105: Chapter 105 If it's war, then war.

Imperial Study, main hall.

Outside the window, the sunlight is pressed down by clouds; the light filtering into the room is heavy, turning the blue-brick floor a grayish-blue.

Three envoys stand in a row below the steps. The North Yan envoy, Huo Qing, stands on the left, wearing dark blue official robes. He is thin and refined, known in the North Yan court for his "talent in debate," said to be able to turn a disadvantage into an advantage. In the middle is Zhao Xian, the Vice Chancellor of West Liang, pot-bellied, with his hands clasped behind his back inside his wide sleeves, wearing his usual condescending expression. The Great Qing envoy on the far right is the youngest, dressed in red court robes with gold embroidery, standing ramrod straight.

After the three enter the hall, you do not speak immediately.

You glance at them, then lower your head to continue flipping through a memorial.

Silence.

The three below the steps look at each other. The North Yan envoy, Huo Qing, is the first to clear his throat. He bows, his tone sincere:

"Your Majesty, the three nations have come together with no other intentions, merely..."

"This Palace knows."

You interrupt him, raising your hand to pick up the three neatly stacked state letters from the desk.

You weigh them in your hand, then tear them in half.

Huo Qing's voice gets stuck in his throat.

You do not look at him, but stack the halves together and tear them again. The shredded paper flutters from between your fingers, drifting lightly onto the floor.

The color drains from the face of the West Liang Vice Chancellor, Zhao Xian.

Only the young Great Qing envoy, full of youthful vigor, takes half a step forward, lowering his voice, his tone filled with uncontrollable anger:

"Your Majesty, these state letters represent the dignity of our nations! Such actions... do you not hold our Great Qing in..."

You turn your head and look at him.

His voice cuts off.

It is not because someone stopped him; he stopped himself.

You speak, your voice not loud, but clear:

"If you want war, then war it is. Great Li will accompany you to the end."

You could hear a pin drop in the hall.

Huo Qing takes a deep breath, changing his angle, his tone becoming even more gentle:

"Your Majesty, regarding the matter of the Dao Opportunity, if Great Li monopolizes it, the people of the Martial Forest in the three nations will not be convinced. I fear there will be complications in the future..."

"Complications?" you continue calmly. "Then we fight." You raise your eyes. "North Yan has been amassing troops at the border for the past two years, which This Palace has chosen to ignore. The West Liang Ministry of Works has been imitating our Great Li firearms; it is said they have almost finished the exterior shell. As for what is inside, This Palace will wait and see."

Zhao Xian's hands clench inside his sleeves.

"As for Great Qing," you finally look at the young envoy, "those three hundred elite Martial Artists assisting with research are no longer needed. Last time your people snuck into our Great Li weapons workshop, I wonder if they gained anything? If they did, remember to return it."

The young envoy's lips move, but no sound comes out.

You lower your head again, pick up the memorial, turn to the next page, and say faintly:

"See them out."

A court lady waiting in the corner steps forward silently, calmly making a gesture of invitation.

The three exchange glances.

Huo Qing is the first to recover, bows deeply, and turns to leave with steady, quick steps. Zhao Xian follows with a livid expression. The young Great Qing envoy is the last to leave; at the door, he turns back once, his eyes filled with resentment and frustration, but suppressed beneath it is uncontrollable dread.

The doors of the Imperial Study close.

You put the memorial back, look down at the shredded paper on the floor, and rub your temples.

For the next three days, after finishing the backlog of government affairs, you lock the Imperial Study again. You place an oil lamp on the desk and take the red emperor heart pendant from your collar, placing it under the light.

Under the candlelight, the blood-colored, teardrop-shaped pendant glimmers eerily. The viscous, living blood inside flows slowly, weirdly beautiful and demonic.

Ten days pass.

In the Imperial Study, over a dozen candles have burned out. On the desk lie seven or eight deduction charts, a pot of cold tea, and a pair of iron chopsticks, with the tips holding the red emperor heart pendant, suspended directly over the oil lamp flame.

It has been roasting for over an hour.

The pendant remains motionless, its temperature unchanged.

You put down the iron chopsticks and support your forehead.

Over these ten days, you have used almost every method you could think of: pouring True Qi into it—it didn't move; hammering it with a blade—not a scratch left; burning it—it smoked for a long time, but the pendant remained cold.

You even had people bring Great Thunder-struck Wood, built a circle out of the splinters, placed the pendant in the center, and used True Qi as a catalyst to forcibly simulate a muffled thunderclap.

The electric arc struck the blood-colored teardrop, sending sparks flying.

The pendant remained cold.

You place the iron chopsticks on the table, stare at the thing for a moment, sigh, and say in a calm tone:

"Since I cannot use you, then no one else should think about using you either." You pick up the pendant, weighing it nonchalantly. "I will throw you into a cesspit and see who can find you then."

As the words fall, the entire Imperial Study is silent for two seconds.

Then, the blood-colored teardrop suddenly lights up.

The red light flashes on and off, becoming increasingly dense and rapid.

Then, a voice rings out in the Imperial Study.

It is childish, crisp, and furious.

"Mortal woman! Put this Venerable One down immediately! Am I someone you can profane! Throwing me into a cesspit, how vulgar! How tacky! Do you Mortals understand what a peerless treasure is!"

You are stunned for two seconds.

Then you twirl the pendant on your fingertip:

"So you can talk."

"..."

The red light pauses for a moment. The artifact spirit's voice carries a hint of stiffness, as if realizing it had just exposed itself:

"Of course this Master can talk! This Master was just too lazy to pay you any mind!"

You nod, looking enlightened.

"So you thought the methods I used before were too inferior, so you didn't bother responding?"

"That's not it," the artifact spirit pauses, its tone unclear whether it is explaining or expressing disdain. "It's mainly that those methods of yours... were truly absurd. Great Thunder-struck Wood, roasting with fire—what did you take this Master for? An iron pot?"

You do not respond to that, asking directly:

"Can I use you or not? If you can be used, say so; if not, say so."

"Cannot be used," the artifact spirit says decisively. "You are a Mortal, you have no Spiritual Root, and you are a woman. Even if you threw this Master into magma and fished me out, it still cannot be used."

"Really can't?" You put the pendant on the table and tap it with your finger. "Although I am a woman, I have a Pure Yang heart."

The Imperial Study falls silent again.

It is even quieter than before.

The red light of the blood-colored teardrop begins to flicker, as if trying to digest this statement, but its brain is clearly jammed; it takes a long time to process.

"...There is such a thing?" The artifact spirit's voice has a rare trace of hesitation. "Then I... will check for you."

A warm force overflows from the pendant, gently probing into your body, like someone reaching out and groping in the dark. It circles around, then shrinks back.

"Checked." The artifact spirit's voice becomes certain again. "No. A woman cannot possibly have a Pure Yang Physique. This Master still remembers that. Although this Master often forgets things, I definitely did not forget this."

You stare at the pendant and say slowly:

"So, you are useless to me."

"Correct."

"Then I have no choice but to throw you into the cesspit."