Dossiers

The inner courtyard of the Prime Minister's Manor was not particularly large, though that was only in comparison to the outer court, which spanned several city blocks; its overall grounds still covered at least two or three mu. Unable to cultivate with Source Qi and lacking any sort of entertainment in the inner court, Xu Yuan bade farewell to Xu Changge after learning of Tianyan's recent situation. Humming a little tune from his hometown, he strolled all the way to his old man's study. Under upturned eaves reminiscent of flying swallows, the red sandalwood doors were embellished with elegant, understated carvings. Standing before them, Xu Yuan glanced over the entrance and found that even such an important place still bore no lock. Casually pushing the door open and stepping inside, Xu Yuan felt the corners of his lips curl into an involuntary smile at the sight of the elegant layout, unchanged for more than a decade. Beyond the doorway stood a silk folding screen embroidered with ink-wash landscapes. Stepping past it, one could see a heavy desk of Chinese redbud and willow wood set at the deepest part of the room. Although his old man dabbled in calligraphy and painting, those had merely been tools to win favor with his superiors before he came to power, not genuine hobbies. For that reason, no mounted calligraphy, paintings, or antiques adorned the walls of the study; there were only various bookshelves packed with documents of every description. With the soft thud of boots on the floor, Xu Yuan planted himself straight into his old man’s chair and swept his gaze across the study. Faint, elegant incense mingled with the scent of books. The entire room was serene and tranquil, as if entirely insulated from the clamor of the outside world. For some reason, every time he sat in this seat, he could not shake the feeling that he had mounted the imperial throne itself. "..." Shaking his head, Xu Yuan cast the thought aside. Raising a hand slightly, he followed his memory and used Source Qi to draw over a stack of paper dossiers from the first bookshelf on his right. Because this study was where his old man handled government affairs at home, the dozen-odd shelves held no ancient scriptures or cultivation arts. Apart from occasional calligraphy his old man penned with a weasel-hair brush, they held nothing but classified administrative documents. And the first bookshelf on the right held the confidential intelligence reports compiled and submitted by subordinates within the past month. Pondering this, Xu Yuan could not help feeling a flicker of doubt. Why was it that back when he used to sneak into the study to pilfer things, all he could find was his old man's calligraphy and paintings, without ever seeing a single one of these confidential reports? At that thought, Xu Yuan let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. To think he had believed he was acting so discreetly back then—turns out his old man had quietly permitted it all along. Amidst the drifting incense, Xu Yuan began thumbing through the dossiers in his hands. One after another. Until he came across a file edged in gold. After skimming just a few lines, Xu Yuan's brow twitched upward. It was a report regarding the war on the Northern Border. Reading through every word with meticulous care, Xu Yuan’s brow furrowed tightly. The contents of this very first report were explosive. The dreadful plague released from Wanyao Valley's Ten-Thousand-Corpse Pit had already spread beyond the mountain gates of the great sects in Fengbei Province and seeped into every corner. From the high-ranking elders of the northern sects down to the common populace, anyone infected turned into a fierce ghost consumed by desires. These infected commoners, martial apprentices, and high-level cultivators had formed tidal waves that battered commanderies and counties everywhere. The infected already numbered in the tens of millions. Looking at this information, Xu Yuan immediately extracted the most crucial point. Due to this single plague, nearly a third of Fengbei Province had fallen. Moreover, aside from Fengbei Province—the hardest-hit disaster zone at the northernmost edge of Great Yan—scattered reports of the illness had already cropped up within the borders of two other provinces. The situation on the Northern Border was spiraling out of control. And the imperial court's command was simple. Without the slightest softness of heart, and without waiting for a cure to be researched that could restore the afflicted commoners. A single word: kill. Kill them outright. This meant that Li Zhaoyuan and Wanyao Valley had already achieved the first phase of their conspiracy. "..." The study was quiet, incense coiling into the air. His hand gripping the report tightened slightly. After a long silence, Xu Yuan set the dossier down and silently opened the second one. This one, too, was about the war on the Northern Border. However, the date at the bottom was much more recent than the last—it had been submitted just two days ago. After finishing the contents of this report, Xu Yuan drew a deep breath, slowly rose to his feet, and began pacing unconsciously across the study. In his past life, when watching documentary videos about World War II and seeing the death tolls of nations in war, his emotions would stir. Yet his era had long been at peace, and that war had occurred nearly a century prior; he had never truly been able to comprehend the weight behind those numbers. Yet this report drove it home. Just as he and Lou Ji had initially deduced: Although the infected cultivators and low-rank martial apprentices were fearless in the face of death, they formed no battle formations. Beneath the iron-blooded might of Great Yan’s imperial legions, their only possible end was a one-sided slaughter. With the court's decree handed down, the horrific plague had gradually been brought under preliminary control within a mere twenty days. And the cost was tens of millions of corpses. The original text of the report read: *"Beneath the walls of cities, severed limbs and mangled flesh pile into mountains; the tens of millions of madmen who charged the battle lines have all been slain."* In a mere twenty days, the various generals commanding troops in the north had slaughtered the massive swarms assaulting the commanderies and counties to the last person. It was a contest of slaughter. Li Zhaoyuan, Li Qingyan, Marquis Wucheng, and Zong Qingsheng were all involved. And the victor among them, beyond any shadow of a doubt, was the Second Prince, Li Zhaoyuan, who had the backing of Wanyao Valley. He had not only led his army to wipe out the largest horde of madmen besieging the provincial capital at minimal cost, but had also eradicated a large sect that had been thoroughly infected. *Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.* Xu Yuan paced back and forth, his hurried footsteps echoing continuously in the quiet study. Suddenly— *Smack!* Xu Yuan slammed the dossier in his hand violently onto the floor. He could accept sacrificing everything for the sake of future peace and prosperity, but he could not accept plunging the living world into misery merely for personal ambition. For the first time, Xu Yuan felt that Li Zhaoyuan truly deserved to die. When Li Zhaoyuan had arranged for that white fox to assassinate him and Li Qingyan, Xu Yuan had merely viewed it as the man's tactics. After all, in Li Zhaoyuan's position, to survive and claw his way out of hell, he had to resort to every possible means. Yet perhaps because his position as the "Crown Prince" of the Prime Minister's Manor had come too easily, Xu Yuan realized he had still underestimated the sheer brutality behind the word "succession struggle." The words in the report were concise, but behind them lay endless suffering and devastation. To seize that supreme throne, Li Zhaoyuan had actually reduced tens of millions of common folk to desiccated bones. Those afflicted, innocent commoners had been turned into military merits. Their countless corpses were forging a staircase for Li Zhaoyuan to ascend to the supreme throne! "Changtian, calm your mind." A deep, steadying voice suddenly drifted from the doorway of the study. Xu Yuan turned his head with a ferocious glint in his eyes, only to see Xu Yinhe already standing at the entrance. Taking in the bloodshot, fierce light in his third son's eyes, Xu Yinhe walked slowly into the study, his voice calm and gentle: "A cure for that plague cannot be developed in the short term, and even if developed, it could not be mass-produced quickly. The situation on the Northern Border cannot afford to wait." "I know this was the best choice, and I am not questioning your or the Emperor's decision, but..." Xu Yuan's voice was low and hoarse, his fists clenched tightly inside his sleeves. "But Father, you must already know which faction this plague originated from, don't you?!" Xu Yinhe's tall, composed figure moved past Xu Yuan. He bent down, picked up the dossier from the floor, brushed away nonexistent dust, and turned his deep, unfathomable gaze back to him. "Naturally, I know." Xu Yuan stared into his father's eyes and said in a low voice, "Then I want him dead." "..." Silence fell. Xu Yinhe met Xu Yuan's gaze for several breaths, then gave a slight nod. "Very well. "But not now." Xu Yuan fell quiet for a moment, lowered his eyes, and asked softly, "Because of the Emperor?" Xu Yinhe did not answer, but the look in his eyes said it all. The reigning Emperor, Li Yaoxuan, would not permit Li Zhaoyuan to die. His breathing quickened slightly as Xu Yuan looked up, his tone turning cold: "Why? "Does that old bastard Li Yaoxuan truly intend to leave the throne to Li Zhaoyuan?" "..." Xu Yinhe still did not give a direct answer. Holding the dossier he had just retrieved, he walked behind the desk, sat down, and murmured, "If Li Zhaoyuan were the Empress's child, all of this would be very simple." Hearing his old man's words, Xu Yuan caught his breath. Though it was not an explicit affirmation, the statement spoke volumes. At the very least, it showed that Li Yaoxuan genuinely favored Li Zhaoyuan. *Like father, like son.* In other words, the current Emperor was the exact same kind of person as Li Zhaoyuan. Xu Yuan suddenly wanted to laugh, but the laughter died in his throat. More than once, Lou Ji had told him: *The blood on your father's hands is no less than that of Li Yaoxuan.* Thoughts spiraled in his mind, and Xu Yuan suddenly felt an urge to just give up and throw his hands in the air. He considered himself a relatively cold-blooded, rational person, but compared to the hearts of those at the center of power, he was nothing more than an amateur. Perhaps having that pretentious posturer Xu Changge as the heir would be better after all. At least Xu Yuan did not believe his eldest brother's disposition would ever show mercy in such matters, let alone waver in his decisions over the lives of tens of millions of commoners. "Phew..." Exhaling a long breath, Xu Yuan pulled up a chair and plopped down across from his father. Watching his third son's face slowly return to calm, Xu Yinhe asked, "How does it feel, coming into contact with matters at this level for the first time?" Leaning back against the chair, Xu Yuan stared up at the intricate ceiling of the study. "Not great. I almost feel like handing this seat over to Xu Changge." Hearing this answer, the graying hair at Xu Yinhe's temples swayed slightly. His weathered, lightly wrinkled face showed no surprise; instead, a faint smile appeared at the corners of his lips. "If one is too cold-blooded, one forgets many things." As he spoke, Xu Yinhe casually picked up another dossier, flipping through it while speaking in a mild tone: "Looking at these things makes even me uncomfortable. But to keep walking this path, one must accept it, endure it, and wait for the opportunity." At this point, Xu Yinhe suddenly raised his eyes, a fleeting warmth of fatherly affection shining in his deep gaze. He said gently: "If Changtian truly does not wish it, Father will not force you." Hearing his old man say this, a smile touched Xu Yuan's lips, and he remarked casually: "Dad, the imperial family is fighting so savagely over the throne they're about to knock each other's brains out. Why do I feel like the position of heir to our Prime Minister's Manor has turned into a hot potato?" A flash of amusement crossed Xu Yinhe's falcon-like eyes. "Changge and Xinyao are always reverent and respectful toward me. You, on the other hand, care nothing for etiquette." Xu Yuan threw his hands up. "What kind of person I am—Father, don't you already know?" As he spoke, Xu Yuan glanced toward the shelf where his old man's calligraphy and paintings were kept. "Cynicism and irreverence have their own merits." Xu Yinhe set down the dossier and lightly tapped the desk with his fingertip. "Your eldest brother clings too rigidly to decorum and rules. If he were to take over the Prime Minister's Manor in the future, he would only mimic my path. But my path may not suit him. "As for Xinyao... those sects are probably all hoping she takes the reins. "If your second brother..." Here, Xu Yinhe's voice came to an abrupt halt. His eyes dimmed, and his lightly wrinkled face seemed to age considerably in an instant. "So in the end, it's still just me," Xu Yuan said, shaking his head with a half-joking chuckle. "I have a general idea of what you wish to accomplish, Father, and I am willing to continue down your path. But I need a little time to adjust." Xu Yinhe quickly composed himself, though the sorrow in his eyes lingered. He said softly, "I should be able to walk most of this path to its end, but tying up the loose ends will likely have to fall upon you all." "..." *Uh-oh.* Xu Yuan suddenly felt like his old man was raising a death flag. He immediately changed the subject: "Father, roughly how much longer does Li Yaoxuan have to live?" "..." Xu Yinhe's brows twitched slightly, his gaze toward Xu Yuan filled with helplessness. He knew his third son was blunt, but on a matter like this, one should at least beat around the bush. With a soft sigh, Xu Yinhe asked back in a low voice, "Why do you wish to know this?" "To make preparations in advance." As soon as the words left Xu Yuan's mouth, the gentleness in his father's eyes vanished, replaced in an instant by a dark, oppressive, and majestic aura crashing down upon him. "..." Xu Yuan was speechless. Xu Yinhe's voice was very soft, yet brooked no argument: "Do not meddle in the affairs of the imperial family." Mountain-like pressure bore down on him. Bracing against it, Xu Yuan offered a strained smile and said with some difficulty: "Dad, no matter how you put it... I am technically a prince consort to the imperial clan. This counts as family business." "..." Listening to these shameless words of someone completely unafraid of scalding water, Xu Yinhe sighed helplessly and reined in his aura: "Enough. Are you worried that Li Yaoxuan will make a move against me before he dies?" "..." Xu Yuan opened his mouth to deny it, but seeing the look in his father's eyes, he ultimately gave a gentle nod. Xu Yinhe gave a faint smile and looked up toward the Palace City, his gaze seeming to pierce through everything. "Changtian, Li Yaoxuan alone is not enough to kill me." "But—" "There are no buts." Xu Yinhe cut Xu Yuan off. Shifting his gaze slightly, he drew a stack of neatly mounted envelopes over before him: "You have finished reading the dossiers. These are letters sent to you by that girl Li Junwu when you went to the Northern Border previously. Take them back to your room and read them." "..." Xu Yuan knew this was his cue to get lost. Silently accepting the envelopes, he turned to leave the study. After taking only two steps, however, he was called back. Looking over his shoulder, he saw an ornate brocade box floating toward him. Xu Yinhe looked at his third son with amusement in his eyes: "I know you cannot sit still. This is the latest human-skin mask Jiang He cooked up over there, complete with your new identity. If you want to go out, wear it. Just remember not to leave the capital." Xu Yuan caught the brocade box, hesitating slightly. "I recall this thing..." "Rest assured. Beneath the Saint realm, no one can see through it. Combined with your black Source Qi, even a Saint would have to circulate their arts to penetrate the disguise."