53: Chapter 53 Xia Zhiqing

The candlelight in the palace flickered on and off.

The flames shivered in the night wind, casting Emperor Xia Quan's shadow onto the wall, stretching it long and upright—like a solemn, frozen statue, standing unchanging for a thousand years at the boundary between darkness and light.

His fingertips tapped lightly against the carved lattice window.

"Tock—"

"Tock—"

"Tock—"

Each sound was exceptionally piercing in the dead silence.

The noise was not heavy, yet it struck precisely on the taut heartstrings of those present, causing their breathing to stagnate and their hearts to tighten.

One after another, like the tolling of a countdown bell, it echoed coldly through the empty palace.

"The Yanyang Secret Realm is fraught with unpredictable dangers."

His brows furrowed into deep ridges, within which hid all the caution and calculation accumulated over his decades-long reign.

His voice was wrapped in an unshakeable ponderousness and gravity, each word falling heavily:

"Even for a Golden Core Cultivator, entering inside requires walking on the edge of a blade, treading on thin ice."

He paused, his gaze like a deep pool, bottomless:

"Letting young disciples who have yet to mature enter to fight... the risk is too great."

"Father!"

Princess Xia Zhiqing stepped forward abruptly.

Her skirt swept across the floor with a 'swish,' tearing a rift through the stagnant air.

Her voice was like tempered steel—not ordinary steel, but steel that had been forged and hammered thousands of times, suddenly pulled from the furnace, still sparking!

"Ordinary hard Cultivation can no longer keep up with the pace of the Prodigies of the Hundred Dynasties War!"

She moved forward, again and again.

Her fiery red combat outfit burned brilliantly in the flickering candlelight, as if it would burn through this heavy night.

"The flames of the Hundred Dynasties War are about to reach the borders of the Great Xia—if we want to stand tall in the coming war, if we want to ensure the Great Xia is not ground into dust by the other nations..."

Her voice rose sharply, each word like an iron hammer striking a copper anvil, sparks flying:

"We must borrow the boundless spiritual energy of the Secret Realm and stake everything on one throw!"

"I am willing to personally lead the team into the Secret Realm and hand-pick those who can weather the storm, those who can support the future of the Great Xia—"

She enunciated every word:

"—the backbone of iron and blood!"

Beside her, Crown Prince Xia Hong felt his heart tighten.

He hurriedly stepped forward half a pace, his tone full of urgency—that urgency was real, it was the worry of an older brother for his younger sister, and the fear of a Crown Prince for the future.

His voice trembled slightly:

"Imperial Sister! You must think twice!"

"The Secret Realm is filled with murderous intent, deadly traps are everywhere, and tyrannical Yao Beasts run rampant—the mortality rate is terrifyingly high!"

He was practically shouting, his voice filled with pleading:

"If... if something happens to you and those disciples, the future of the Great Xia will truly collapse!"

"Imperial Brother, there is no 'if'!"

Princess Xia Zhiqing interrupted sharply.

She turned her head abruptly, her eyes suddenly as sharp as cold blades—the blade's edge pierced through the swaying candlelight in the palace, pointing straight into the depths of Crown Prince Xia Hong's eyes, and into the heart of Emperor Xia Quan:

"If we dare not even take this small risk, and only know how to guard our current comfort and survive—"

Her voice was not loud, but bone-chillingly cold:

"The Great Xia will sooner or later be picked clean in the cracks between the Hundred Dynasties."

She slowly withdrew her gaze and looked back at Emperor Xia Quan.

The sharpness in her eyes had not diminished, but there was something more heavy added to it:

"Rather than waiting for death, it is better to fight with all we have."

"For the Great Xia, to fight for a path to survival."

Emperor Xia Quan looked at the burning sharpness dancing in his daughter's eyes.

For a moment, his heart surged with stormy waves, ripples spreading layer by layer, washing towards the dusty corners deep within his memory.

He had always felt that Princess Xia Zhiqing's temperament was too fiery.

She lacked a bit of composure, not as gentle and steady as Crown Prince Xia Hong, always charging headlong into things, like an uncontrollable fire.

But at this moment—

At this moment, he suddenly realized.

This "ferocity" to dare to break the deadlock in a desperate situation was precisely the character most lacking in the Great Xia, which was beset by internal and external troubles.

The tapping of his fingertips gradually ceased.

The palace was so quiet that one could clearly hear the "crackle" of the burning candles—the faint sound was magnified countless times at this moment, striking every person's heart with each sound.

Even the air seemed to have frozen.

Silence.

A long silence.

After a long while, he nodded slowly.

The nod was very light, yet it felt as heavy as an immense weight.

He said:

"Very well. Just as you say, we shall open the Yanyang Secret Realm."

He looked at his daughter, something trembling slightly in his gaze:

"The selection of candidates is up to you. But remember—"

His voice sank, as if squeezed from deep within his chest:

"You must prioritize the lives of the disciples. Do not disregard life and death in pursuit of results."

"I obey the decree!"

Princess Xia Zhiqing bowed to accept the order.

The loose hair on her forehead fell, obscuring her brows and eyes, but it could not hide the light that suddenly lit up in her eyes—as brilliant as fireworks suddenly blooming in the dark night, scorching the heart.

When she straightened up, she bowed deeply to Emperor Xia Quan again.

This time, the arc of the bow was deeper than before, deeper, so deep she was almost folded in half.

Her voice had a few more parts of heavy solemnity than before—it was the solemnity that only comes after casting life and death aside:

"Father, I have one more request. I beg Father to grant it."

"Speak."

Emperor Xia Quan watched his daughter's rare, serious expression.

His heart sank inexplicably.

This sinking was light, yet it felt as if something was quietly deviating from its predetermined track.

He vaguely sensed—what she said next would definitely not be simple.

Princess Xia Zhiqing slowly straightened up.

Her gaze was burning, locking onto Emperor Xia Quan.

This gaze was like a falcon staring at its prey, sharp, focused, and allowing no evasion.

Her voice was as clear as bronze inscriptions, each word hitting the palace hard, making people's eardrums buzz:

"I beg Father—"

She paused, took a deep breath, the sound of the inhalation clearly audible in the dead silence:

"Regardless of the outcome of this Hundred Dynasties War, I want eighty percent of all gains from the war."

"In addition, I also ask Father to grant—"

She enunciated each word, every word weighing an immense amount:

"—the Imperial Guards to be temporarily under my command."

The words fell.

The palace was deathly silent.

That silence was deeper, heavier, and colder than any time before.

It was as cold as a frozen pool in the twelfth lunar month, capable of freezing one's breath into ice shards.

Crown Prince Xia Hong was struck as if by lightning.

He stood up with a start, his movement so violent that the chair behind him toppled to the ground with a "clatter."

The sound exploded in the dead silence, startling everyone.

"Princess Xia Zhiqing, have you gone mad!"

His voice was full of shock and angry shouts, an anger that was real—the instinctive, unmasked shout of a Crown Prince feeling threatened:

"Do you know what you are saying! Eighty percent of the gains! Commanding the Imperial Guards!"

His face flushed red, blue veins throbbing on his temples:

"How is this a request? It is clearly an attempt to betray the Great Xia and establish your own separatist regime!"

Before he finished speaking, he immediately turned to Emperor Xia Quan, bowing and reporting urgently.

The posture of his bow was almost like throwing himself over, his tone so anxious it was as if he were burning:

"Father! This is clearly Princess Xia Zhiqing's rebellious heart, it is treason!"

"I beg Father to punish her severely, never to indulge her!"

But Princess Xia Zhiqing faced this sharp questioning—

Without even lifting her eyelids.

As if she hadn't heard.

She just stared fixedly at Emperor Xia Quan.

In that gaze, there was not a hint of retreat.

Hard as refined iron, indestructible.

It was as if she had already cast life and death aside, and all accusations and angry shouts were nothing more than wind in her ears, dissipating as it blew past.

Emperor Xia Quan's pupils suddenly constricted.

The fingertips that had been tapping the window lattice stiffened abruptly.

This stiffened posture was subtle, yet magnified by the candlelight, magnified by the dead silence—his knuckles turned pale from the force, a pale that was glaring.

This was suppressed rage.

It was the rage of an Emperor on the verge of eruption after his bottom line had been touched.

The air in the palace froze instantly.

Even the dancing candlelight seemed to freeze.

The flames hung in mid-air, motionless, as if grabbed by an invisible hand, squeezed tightly.

Only deathly silence remained.

It pressed down heavily, making it hard for people to breathe.

"Princess Xia Zhiqing—"

Emperor Xia Quan's voice was suddenly bone-chillingly cold.

The voice was not loud, but it sounded as if it came from the depths of a ten-thousand-foot ice abyss, cold enough to make one's marrow tremble.

The immense pressure unique to a Nascent Soul Cultivator spread uncontrollably through the palace—

An invisible force, like a collapsing mountain, pressing down until people's chests felt stifled.

The temperature in the palace dropped sharply.

The light of the candles dimmed a few degrees.

"Do you know what you are saying?!"

His voice rose, carrying an irrepressible rage, an instinctive counterattack after his bottom line had been touched.

But deep in his eyes, there was a tiny, subtle thing he himself did not want to admit—

It was surprise.

It was also doubt.

He was surprised that she dared to put forward such conditions.

He doubted what she actually wanted to do.

He knew better than anyone—

This was by no means a simple request.

The gains from the Hundred Dynasties War were the Foundation of the Great Xia's national destiny for the next ten years.

Provisions, Medicinal Pills, spiritual weapons and Magical Artifacts, Cultivation Techniques—each and every one was a lifeline.

Eighty percent.

Enough to shake the Foundation of the Dynasty.

Enough for Princess Xia Zhiqing to raise a private army that obeyed only her orders!

And the Imperial Guards—

Were the last barrier protecting the capital and the royal family.

They were the core military force that recognized only the sovereign and no one else!

Handing over the command was tantamount to handing over his own lifeline, the safety of the entire royal family—

Personally into the hands of another!

Yet, under that pressure that almost crushed people—

Princess Xia Zhiqing's figure remained as upright as a pine.

This uprightness was not forced; it permeated from her bones.

Like a red-tasseled spear stuck into the ground, unyielding, its tip pointing straight at the firmament.

Her shoulders did not slump in the slightest.

She met her father's furious gaze without fear.

This posture of meeting his gaze was not an offense, but an openness—an openness bordering on tragic heroism.

Her voice remained clear, but it held a few more parts of deep calculation and rock-like determination:

"Father, calm your anger!"

"I have absolutely no heart of treason!"

She stepped forward again.

That step was planted extremely steadily, causing the golden bricks in the palace to seem to tremble slightly:

"It is precisely because I am wholeheartedly for the Great Xia, wholeheartedly wanting the Great Xia to be strong—"

Her gaze was like a torch, burning brightly:

"—that I have to take this risky move!"

"Father!"

Her speech speed unconsciously increased, every word carrying the force of an immense weight, shaking the palace:

"The gains from the Hundred Dynasties War are abundant—but just think!"

She raised her hand, the gesture as if to tear open something invisible:

"If distributed according to the old rules, the forces in the court are intertwined—clans, nobles, old ministers, peeling off layers, intercepting everywhere, engaging in malpractice and corruption!"

Her voice grew higher and higher, higher and higher, as if suppressed for too, too long, finally erupting at this moment:

"In the end, what can truly be used to Cultivate top combat power, strengthen the country and the army, and improve the situation of ordinary Cultivators—"

She paused abruptly, her voice dropping suddenly, falling heavy and cold:

"—how much can remain?"

She stared fixedly at Emperor Xia Quan, the light in her eyes so complex that it made one afraid to look directly—there was grief and indignation, unwillingness, helplessness, and even more, determination:

"It would merely be continuing the current deadlock. Letting the Great Xia slowly rot away while struggling on its last breath!"

"I want this eighty percent of the gains, absolutely not to line my own pockets!"

Her voice rose, reaching its highest point, then suddenly retracted, retracted cleanly.

Only the heavy, enunciated determination remained:

"I want to break this deep-seated, intractable illness!"

"I want to hold these resources, skip over all constraints, and put an end to all internal friction—"

She took a deep breath, the sound of the inhalation as if to suck the air of the entire palace into her lungs:

"To personally push my Great Xia to the height where it should stand!"

"As for the Imperial Guards—"

Her tone rose sharply.

In this rise, it was wrapped with irrepressible urgency and unwillingness.

This urgency and unwillingness were like water that had been blocked for too, too long, finally finding a breach, and pouring out with a roar:

"I am but a woman, my words carry little weight in the court, and I have no real power in my hands—"

Her voice trembled slightly, that was not fear, but grief and indignation:

"Father, think about it, the clans and nobles of the world, the old generals in the army—who would truly listen to my orders?"

She raised her eyes, tears flashing in them, but she stubbornly refused to let them fall:

"Without military power, even if I have the determination to break the deadlock, it is nothing more than talk on paper—"

She enunciated each word, every word like a knife:

"I cannot even stir up a fraction of a wave!"

Before the words fell—

She knelt on one knee abruptly.

Her iron armor slammed heavily against the golden bricks.

"Clang—!"

This crisp sound shook the candles in the palace, causing them to sway violently, sparks flying everywhere.

This sound echoed in the empty palace, one after another, striking into the deepest part of everyone's heart.

She clasped her hands, raising them above her head.

Her knuckles were clenched until they turned pale—pale to the point of being almost transparent.

On the back of her hands, blue veins stood out, as if she were using all her strength to grasp something fleeting.

Her voice was clanging like iron and stone striking, striking heavy echoes in the dead-silent palace, shaking people's souls until they trembled:

"I am willing to take a blood oath!"

"All the resources obtained this time, all the military power I hold—will all be used to protect the Great Xia, to strengthen the Dynasty, absolutely without a shred of selfish intent!"

"When the turmoil of the Hundred Dynasties War is settled, and the Foundation of the Great Xia is stable—"

Her voice paused slightly, in that pause, ten thousand kinds of emotions surged.

Then, she said, every word absolute, said with the resolve of a shattered jade:

"I am willing to personally return all authority!"

"At that time, whether to demote or punish, I will submit to Father's disposal!"

She raised her head abruptly, the light in her eyes so brilliant that it made one afraid to look directly—this was the light that only comes after casting life and death aside, capable of illuminating the darkness:

"But before that—"

"I beg Father to trust me once!"

"Give me a sword capable of cutting through thorns and splitting the deadlock—"

She enunciated each word, every word dripping with blood:

"—a sharp sword!"

Emperor Xia Quan stared fixedly at his daughter kneeling on the ground.

His chest heaved violently.

His heavy breathing was wrapped with the pressure unique to an Emperor—this pressure was not intentional, it was an instinct blended into his bones and blood after decades of holding the power of life and death.

He had ruled the Great Xia for decades.

He had seen enough of the treachery of the human heart, seen enough of power struggles, seen enough of deceit and treachery, overt spears and hidden arrows.

Yet he had never seen—

Princess Xia Zhiqing like this.

She had both unfathomable shrewdness—that shrewdness made one's heart tremble.

And even more, a nearly crazy, peerless courage—that courage made one's blood run cold.

But deep within that shrewdness, behind that courage—

There was clearly something slightly glowing.

That light was faint, yet stubborn.

So stubborn that it made one—unable to look away.

The candles in the palace still flickered on and off.

Emperor Xia Quan stood at the boundary between light and darkness, looking at his daughter kneeling in the darkness.

For a long time, a very long time, he did not speak.