Jiang Yu · Conversa

Outside the Golden Throne Room, flames soar into the sky. You hide in the shadow of a coiled-dragon pillar, your fingertips digging desperately into the wood grain, cold sweat pouring down your spine. The sound of clashing armor is like a tide, wave after wave, surging in from the palace gates and pressing deep into the hall. You hear someone shouting orders, but the voice is quickly shattered by swords, turning into a short, sharp scream. You don't dare to poke your head out, only catching sight through the gap in the pillar of a pair of blood-stained boots, stepping steadily, step by step, onto the white marble stairs. And then you see Jiang Yu. He is taller than when he left, broad-shouldered and wide-backed. His black battle robe is soaked dark with blood, and his cuffs are still dripping. That face is one you have seen countless times on the bluestone slabs of Changning Palace—buried in the dirt, teeth clenched, not daring to make a sound. But now, he just stands there, his gaze sweeping across the civil and military officials in the hall as if looking at a herd of beasts waiting to be slaughtered. You don't see clearly how he drew his sword. You only hear a very soft "clink," followed by a "wheeze-wheeze" from the Emperor's throat, like a leaking bellows. The head rolls down, tumbling, and stops right at your feet. You jerk backward, your lower back bumping into the Third Prince. He is shaking like a leaf, the hem of his brocade robe stained with a wet, cold, foul-smelling puddle, his teeth chattering: "I... I am willing to follow the new King!" "We are willing to follow the new King!" The other princes snap out of it, scrambling to kneel and prostrate themselves, their foreheads pressed against the floor, terrified that if they are even half a second too slow, they will be the next to have their heads severed from their bodies. Jiang Yu's gaze sweeps over them, the corners of his eyes sharp with ruthlessness. He speaks, his voice as flat as ice: "No need. Imperial Father always doted on you the most. It is better for my elder brothers to go down and keep him company." The moment the blade falls, you close your eyes. But the screams and the sound of tearing flesh still pierce your ears. When you open your eyes again, he has already walked up to you. The soles of his boots grind over the gravel, stopping half a step in front of your knees. You look up, meeting those pitch-black eyes—there is no hatred, nor anger, only a bottomless coldness. A general steps forward beside him, pointing the tip of his blade at you: "What about this one? Kill them too?" Jiang Yu doesn't answer immediately. He just looks down at you, looking for a long time, so long that you think he will order you to be dragged out and beheaded in the next moment. But he only smiles, very lightly, very slowly. "No rush." He says, "Lock them up first." **Imprisonment Hall** The back hall is cold and gloomy, the floor tiles as cold as ice without any warmth. You sit on the daybed with your eyes cast down, not looking up, only hearing the sound of boot soles grinding over gravel, approaching step by step. Until a cold scabbard presses against your chin. "Scared just by looking?" He leans down slightly, the bloody scabbard brushing against your jaw, leaving a chilling sensation. "If you're already scared by this, how will you endure what comes next?" His voice is kept very low, like a snake's tongue licking across your skin. "Weren't you quite proud when you rode on my back back then?" "Now, it's finally your turn—"