73: Chapter 73 Bloodstained Intrigue

"Does this still require this Crown Prince to teach you?"

The voice of Crown Prince Xia Hong suddenly turned cold, not like anger, but rather like a frozen river in winter—calm on the surface, but hiding a chill underneath that could freeze a person's bones until they cracked.

He just leaned back on the throne, too lazy to even lift his eyelids, as if the strategist kneeling before him was not a follower of many years, but some eyesore of an object.

The strategist's stammering came to an abrupt halt, like a chicken with its neck being choked.

The great hall was so quiet that one could hear the faint crackling of the candle flames.

Your Highness finally moved. His long, narrow Phoenix eyes lifted slightly, and his gaze slowly swept over the strategist—very slowly, like a snake patrolling its prey, sticky and cold, making you clearly know it was measuring where to strike.

"In the border prisoner-of-war camp," he began, his tone indifferent, as if he were discussing what to eat for dinner, "wasn't a batch of Cultivators from the Dark Abyss Dynasty just brought back?"

His fingertips landed on the armrest of the throne, once, twice. The ebony wood emitted a dull sound with each tap, and every sound felt like it was striking the strategist's heart, causing the thing inside his chest to thump wildly, fast enough to jump out of his throat.

"They were already meat on the chopping block to begin with," the Crown Prince tilted his head, a smile appearing at the corner of his mouth—a smile that looked terrifying in the candlelight. "Being able to contribute one last bit of effort to this Crown Prince's great cause—that is an honor they have cultivated for eight lifetimes."

The strategist lowered his head, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He wanted to say something, but found his lips were frozen.

Suddenly, the Crown Prince leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his entire body pressing down like a mountain.

His voice also dropped, low, as if drifting up from a crack in the ground, carrying a sinister dampness that drilled straight into one's ears:

"Those flies outside the Imperial Capital—the Family and merchant guilds attached to the four Sects, haven't you heard?"

He paused, something flickering in those eyes.

"Recently, evil Cultivators have been rampant. If one day they…" He enunciated the last few words very lightly, very slowly, as if chewing on some delicacy, "meet with the fate of having their entire clan executed, it would just be their own ill fate, and they couldn't blame anyone else, right?"

The words landed.

The strategist stiffened all over, as if someone had poured a basin of ice water over his head. The water flowed down his hair into his neck, trickling down his spine, freezing his internal organs into blocks of ice.

He finally understood.

This wasn't just using death-row prisoners!

This was to uproot the peripheral forces of The Three Sects!

This was to use thousands of lives as sacrifices!

And after it was done, he would splash the dirty water onto the evil Cultivators—clean and neat, no one would be able to trace it back to him.

He was mad. Truly mad.

His lips moved, words of remonstrance swirling on the tip of his tongue—Your Highness, this cannot be done. Once exposed, the entire Great Xia will be turned upside down. The people in the imperial court will not let this opportunity pass, and by then...

But when he looked up and met the Crown Prince's eyes, all his words were choked off as if by a hand, forcibly blocked back.

In those eyes, there was no hesitation, no struggle, nothing at all.

There was only something that made one's spine chill—as if those who were about to die were not people at all, but just a few numbers written in an account book, just a few bricks to be placed under his feet.

The strategist gripped his hands tightly inside his sleeves, his fingernails digging into his flesh, the pain making him shiver all over.

But he did not look down, and did not even dare to let his expression change in the slightest.

He bowed his head fiercely, burying all the fear and struggle in his eyes into the shadows, his voice as rough as sandpaper grinding over rotten wood:

"...Yes, Your Highness. This subordinate will go and handle it immediately."

"Keep it clean." The Crown Prince had already leaned back into the chair, waving his hand as if shooing away a fly. "If there are any slip-ups—you know the consequences."

"This subordinate understands."

The strategist bent his waist and retreated step by step. His knees were soft, his footsteps heavy as if filled with lead, and with every step back, he could hear the creaking sound coming from the joints of his bones.

The moment the hall door closed with a "creak," he dared to raise his hand to wipe his forehead.

It was covered in cold sweat. His back was also soaked, the cold fabric sticking to his skin, freezing his teeth until they chattered. He leaned against the door panel, gasping for air, like a fish thrown onto the shore.

The great hall fell silent again.

Crown Prince Xia Hong sat alone on the throne, his gaze falling on the remains of the shattered table on the ground—porcelain shards were scattered everywhere, gleaming with a cold white light in the candlelight, and the broken wood was jagged, like some kind of ominous omen.

Suddenly, the corner of his mouth twitched.

This smile slowly spread from the corner of his mouth, staining his cheeks, staining the corners of his eyes, until finally, his entire face became ferocious.

In that smile, there was unwillingness, madness, and a ruthlessness that one dared not ponder too deeply.

"Ming Yuefeng, Wang Li, Zhang Xuan..." He muttered these names, his voice low, like a curse held in his mouth, enunciating every word with extreme weight. "And my dear elder sister—"

He paused, something changing in his eyes, faintly revealing a trace of scarlet light, like a beast.

"All of you, just wait for this Crown Prince."

His fist clenched violently, his knuckles making a "crack" sound, the pale bones almost bursting through his skin.

"Things that this Crown Prince cannot obtain," he stared at a spot in the Void Realm, as if swearing to someone, "no one else should think of holding them in their hands."

"This Hundred Dynasties War—"

He stood up, his robes dragging a long shadow behind him. The shadow swayed in the candlelight, like an evil ghost crawling out of Hell, baring its fangs and brandishing its claws, pouncing in all directions.

"This Crown Prince will surely tread upon a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood to reach the top!"

Meanwhile, in the deep corridors of the Crown Princes Mansion, Ming Yuefeng was leading the Starry Sky Sect Disciples as they walked out quickly.

The coiled Dragon carved on the pillars bared its fangs and brandished its claws, and the glazed lamps cast a warm yellow light on the floor, but there was no warmth in his eyes, only a layer of frozen cold.

He walked very fast, so fast that it was as if something was chasing him from behind.

No one knew what was surging in his heart.

Those words from his Revered Master, Starry Sky Zi, were like a great bell striking repeatedly inside his Divine Soul. Each strike made his chest feel stifled and his scalp tingle—

"Feng'er, remember! On this trip to the Imperial Capital, everything can be weighed and balanced, but there is one thing you must engrave into your marrow—never offend the Xuantian Sect Disciples! If you encounter something, yield if you can, avoid if you can. You must never come into conflict with them!"

He was puzzled at the time and couldn't help but ask: "Revered Master, my Starry Sky Sect is also a top Sect among the Hundred Dynasties War, we are not necessarily afraid of the Xuantian Sect, why must we be so cautious? Even if that Eldest Princess is of noble status, it is not necessary to—"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was stopped by his Revered Master's gaze.

Starry Sky Zi was silent for a very long time.

In those typically steady eyes, there flashed a trace of something he had never seen before—it was awe, or perhaps even fear.

Finally, his Revered Master leaned into his ear, lowered his voice, and said word by word:

"It is not because of the Eldest Princess's noble status, nor because of the Xuantian Sect's apparent strength. But rather—within the Xuantian Sect, there is a Mahayana Cultivator hidden! This matter concerns the survival of our Sect; it must never be spread, and even less should you try to verify it. Only avoidance is the best policy!"

Mahayana Cultivator.

These four words were like four ancient divine mountains, crashing down onto Ming Yuefeng's heart, pressing him until he could hardly breathe.

He knew too well what this meant.

In this world of cultivation, a Nascent Soul Cultivator can be called an Old Ancestor, a Soul Transformation Cultivator is already the foundation of a Sect, and a Void Refining Cultivator is even rarer than a Phoenix feather.

And a Mahayana Cultivator—that is an existence that truly stands at the Peak of the world, a name that only exists in legends.

A single thought can determine the rise and fall of a Sect, and a single rage can make the mountains and rivers change color.

Such an existence, with just a flick of a finger, could make the Starry Sky Sect disappear completely from this world, not even leaving behind ashes.

Ming Yuefeng only felt his back turning cold, and cold sweat trickled down his spine.

The promises of Crown Prince Xia Hong—to grant land and titles, to let the Starry Sky Sect rise to a higher level—thinking of them now, under the shadow of the words "Mahayana Cultivator," they seemed as light as a joke.

It was laughable that he was sitting there just now, bargaining with the Crown Prince.

It was laughable that he had almost pushed the entire Sect into an abyss of no return.

He took a deep breath, and his pace quickened a little more.

The Three Sects Disciples followed behind him, their footsteps hurried, almost fleeing as they passed through the many halls and corridors of the Crown Princes Mansion.

The vermilion pillars cast long shadows in the night, like the claws of ghosts, twisting and crawling on the ground; the halo of the glazed lamps made the shadows flicker, looking oppressive no matter how one looked at it.

Only when that vermilion gate was finally left behind, and his feet stepped onto the relatively open streets of the Imperial Capital, with the night breeze carrying a chill hitting his face, did the feeling of suffocation that had been pressing on his heart, making it hard to breathe, ease up a little.

Ming Yuefeng stopped abruptly and took a deep breath of the night air.

He turned around and looked at Zhang Xuan, whose expression was equally grave, and Wang Li, who looked irritable and was about to speak.

"Ming Yuefeng, what kind of madness are you spouting?" Wang Li was predictably the first one who couldn't hold back, growling in a low voice, with the aura of flames vaguely escaping from his body, scorching the air and making it slightly hot. "Even if that fellow Xia Hong didn't have good intentions, you didn't have to flip the table directly, right? Now it's great, we didn't get any benefits, and we've offended the Crown Prince to death!"

Zhang Xuan didn't speak, his deep, night-like eyes quietly resting on Ming Yuefeng, his gaze filled with inquiry and waiting.

He knew that for Ming Yuefeng to tear off the mask so decisively—there must be something hidden behind it that was even more terrifying than offending the Crown Prince.