Chapter 1 — The Night of Blood

The full moon bathed the Huang Empire in a cold, silver glow.

Though it was deep into the night, the capital shone as brightly as day.

Tonight was meant to be a celebration.

It was the birthday of Emperor Xiao Mingyu.

The streets overflowed with people—lanterns swaying, music echoing, laughter rising into the sky. Vendors shouted, performers danced, and travelers crowded every corner of the bustling city.

At the heart of it all, a young street performer stood beneath flickering torchlight.

With a sharp flick, he snapped open his fan, his slender waist bending gracefully as his brows lifted in playful mockery. His voice rang out, clear and teasing, drawing laughter from the crowd.

“Within the golden palace halls…

A fragile jade lies pale and soft,

Skin whiter than any maiden’s blush…

Yet no heir shall ever be born.”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Some clapped. Others covered their mouths, delighted by the bold satire.

The emperor—delicate, pale, and rumored to be… less than a man.

A dangerous joke.

But before the laughter could settle—

“BOOM…! BOOM…! BOOM—!!!”

The ground trembled.

Heavy hoofbeats tore through the night like thunder.

In an instant, the festival shattered.

From the edge of the market, stalls collapsed, lanterns crashed, and a wave of black-armored riders stormed into the city.

Their presence was suffocating.

Like wolves descending upon helpless prey.

Cold, merciless eyes. Bloodthirsty blades. Flames held high.

They did not slow.

They did not hesitate.

They rode straight into the crowd.

“Run—!!”

Screams erupted.

People scattered in terror, pushing, falling, trampling over one another in desperate attempts to survive. Mothers clutched their children, elders collapsed beneath pounding hooves, and within moments—

The joyous festival turned into a living nightmare.

Fire spread.

Smoke choked the air.

Blood painted the streets.

And the rebels surged forward—toward the Golden Palace.

The palace gates did not hold.

With a deafening crash, they shattered under the force of the cavalry.

From that moment on, the once-peaceful palace descended into hell.

“Rebels! The rebels are here—!”

Servants screamed as they fled through the corridors. Some wept. Some ran barefoot. Some never made it past the blades that cut them down where they stood.

Flames climbed the rooftops.

The scent of blood filled the air.

And amidst the chaos—

One man walked forward.

Slowly.

Silently.

Ye Han.

His black armor was soaked in blood, yet his expression remained terrifyingly calm. His sharp eyes ignored the fleeing servants, fixed only on a single destination.

Xiao Tian.

The traitor.

“Where will you run…?”

His voice was low, almost gentle.

But it carried the weight of death.

Dragging his blade across the stone floor, Ye Han advanced, the harsh scraping sound echoing like a funeral bell. Guards rushed toward him—

And fell.

One strike.

Two strikes.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

Lives were cut down like falling leaves, yet not once did his gaze waver.

Because in his ears—

There were only the echoes from seven years ago.

The screams of his parents.

The fire.

The blood.

He found him.

Xiao Tian.

Trying to flee.

In that instant, something inside Ye Han snapped.

Without a word, he raised his arm—

And threw his sword.

“—!”

The blade pierced straight through Xiao Tian’s back.

A scream tore through the hall as the man collapsed to the ground, blood spilling from his mouth.

Ye Han approached slowly.

Step by step.

Looking down at the man who had destroyed his life.

“Do you remember me…?”

His voice trembled—not with fear, but with rage buried for years.

“Do you remember the king you murdered? The queen you burned alive? The child you butchered?!”

Xiao Tian’s eyes widened in horror.

“Y-You… Ye Han…?! You’re still alive—?!”

“Of course I am.”

A cold smile touched Ye Han’s lips.

“I lived… just to kill you.”

A flash of steel.

Silence.

The man’s head rolled across the floor.

Blood splattered across Ye Han’s pale face.

“Ye Han…”

A soft voice called from behind.

Lin Shu.

She stepped forward, worry in her eyes, gently reaching for his arm.

“You’re hurt… there’s blood on your face…”

For the first time—

Ye Han exhaled.

The weight in his chest loosened slightly as he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

“I did it…”

His voice was quiet.

“But it’s not over yet.”

He walked on.

Toward the throne hall.

Toward the final person.

There, upon the golden throne—

Sat the emperor.

Xiao Mingyu.

Dressed in imperial robes, crowned in gold, he waited in silence… as if already prepared to die.

Beside him stood two young attendants, no older than fourteen. Though fear trembled in their eyes, they did not run.

They chose to stay.

To die with him.

The doors burst open.

And time… seemed to stop.

After ten years—

Their eyes met.

Ye Han froze.

For just a fraction of a second.

Because the man before him—

Was not just his enemy.

But someone he had once loved.

Mingyu’s pale face remained calm, though sorrow filled his gaze.

(…You’ve grown.)

Even now—

Even facing death—

There was pride in his eyes.

Ye Han let out a low, mocking laugh.

“Still the same, I see…”

Step by step, he approached, raising his blade to Mingyu’s throat.

“They say you’re unfit to rule.”

“So I came… to take back what belongs to me.”

Mingyu did not resist.

“Then kill me.”

His voice was steady.

“But let them go. They have nothing to do with this.”

Something snapped.

Ye Han laughed—cold, furious.

“After seven years… that’s the first thing you say?”

He threw Xiao Tian’s severed head at Mingyu’s feet.

“Or do you want to ask how I killed your father?”

Mingyu trembled.

But he said nothing.

“Kill me.”

That was all.

Ye Han’s eyes darkened.

Too easy.

That would be far too easy.

With a slight gesture—

His soldiers moved.

“—!”

Two screams.

Short.

Sharp.

Then silence.

Mingyu’s world shattered.

The two girls collapsed beside him.

Lifeless.

Blood splashing across his face.

“...No…”

His voice broke.

He pulled them into his arms, trembling.

They weren’t just servants.

They were—

His only family.

When the pain reached its peak—

It disappeared.

Leaving nothing behind.

Mingyu closed his eyes.

And waited.

For death.

But it never came.

“Take him.”

Ye Han’s voice rang coldly.

“Throw him into the dungeon.”

Mingyu’s eyes flew open.

“Ye Han—!! Kill me!”

He struggled, screaming as soldiers dragged him away.

“Kill me!!!”

But Ye Han did not look back.

He walked to the throne.

And sat down.

At last.

“I’ve taken it back…”

He whispered.

But for some reason—

His chest felt heavier than ever.

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