75: Chapter 75 Seeking a Tiger's Skin

"Xuanyuan Zhanxian?!"

When these four words were squeezed out of Emperor Xia Quan's throat, they no longer sounded human, but rather like a whimper torn from the depths of his chest.

Three parts disbelief, six parts bone-deep dread, and the remaining one part—was actually fear. Naked, unmasked fear, as if someone had clamped their hand around his throat, making even breathing a luxury.

The words fell to the ground, exploding in the vast, abyss-like audience hall.

The sound struck the dragon-patterned pillars, rebounded, struck again, layer upon layer, lingering for a long time.

The gilded palace lamps overhead swayed with a rustle, casting shattered light and shadows; the long wind passing through the hall seemed frozen by this sudden terror, abruptly stopping, not even daring to howl.

Deathly silence.

Princess Xia Zhiqing heard her own heartbeat, thump, thump, thump—each beat hammering against her eardrums.

Her slender hand abruptly gripped the jade pendant at her waist, the cold jade digging deep into her palm, and the stinging pain was the only thing that helped her steady her slightly trembling frame.

In those beautiful eyes, usually clear as a mountain stream, turbulent waves surged, followed immediately by an impenetrable fog.

Great Wu Dynasty.

These three words were the heavens for the million miles of the Northern Territory.

It was arrogant, it was indifferent, it looked down upon all living beings from on high.

Usually, when an envoy from Great Wu visited, they would not even deign to look directly at the royal family of a small nation. But now—just for one person?

Letting an envoy visit in person?

Leaving behind such cold, iron-hard words?

Her fingertips turned white from the force, yet her voice remained steady, though beneath that steadiness hid an imperceptible tremor: "Father... aside from this sentence, did the envoy mention even half a reason? Or... hint at anything with his eyes or actions?"

As her words fell, the air in the hall grew even heavier. So heavy it could be wrung out like water, so heavy it made one unable to breathe.

Emperor Xia Quan slowly shook his head.

The movement was so slow, as if he had exhausted all his strength; the silver strands at his temples shimmered with frost in the dim light, and his whole person exuded a decaying desolation.

"The envoy only slammed that piece of black iron engraved with the 'Great Wu Order' onto the imperial desk." He raised his hand, pointing to the pitch-black token on the desk, his voice as hoarse as an old bellows. "'Clap,' it sounded, as if slamming onto my old bones. Then he dropped that sentence and turned to leave."

He closed his eyes, as if recalling that nightmarish scene: "His footsteps never paused, his eyes... were like looking at an insignificant object. No, not an object, but an ant. There was not even half a shred of room for negotiation."

"Indisputable..." Princess Xia Zhiqing repeated in a low voice, the four words spilling from her lips, light as a sigh, heavy as a curse. Her heart sank, bit by bit, into a bottomless abyss.

Just then—

"Father!"

Crown Prince Xia Hong stepped forward, the hem of his brocade robe sweeping across the gold bricks, making a harsh rustling sound.

A light flashed quickly in his eyes—the light of calculation, shining glaringly in the dim audience hall.

"The Hundred Dynasties War now has six slots!" He deliberately raised his voice, his tone as impassioned as a war drum. "I have many capable generals under my command, every one of them an expert who can shoulder a heavy burden! As long as you give me the chance, I will surely let them slash through the ranks and seize flags on the battlefield, earning enough face for our Great Xia!"

He did not mention "Xuanyuan Zhanxian" at all, staring only at those six slots.

As if those six slots were already in his pocket; as if those six people could already win him the entire empire.

Emperor Xia Quan's gaze moved slowly between the two. Crown Prince Xia Hong's eagerness was like a burning fire; Princess Xia Zhiqing's calmness was like a pool of bottomless water.

Finally, he let out a heavy sigh.

This sigh rolled out from the depths of his chest, wrapped in the vicissitudes and helplessness of the years, echoing in the empty audience hall.

Like an aging lion letting out a final, low roar.

"Six slots," he said, his voice low, as if coming from very, very far away, "the two of you will each take three."

He paused, lowering his eyes to look at the mottled Dragon pattern on the imperial desk—the Dragon pattern he had carved when he ascended the throne, thirty years ago, its edges long since worn away by time.

"I am no longer young," his voice dropped a few more degrees, so low it was almost inaudible, "the future of Great Xia must eventually be handed over to you young people."

This sentence was like a thunderclap, exploding deafeningly in the deathly silent audience hall!

"Father!" Crown Prince Xia Hong suddenly looked up, a scorching light instantly erupting in his eyes—that light was wrapped in wild joy, in ambition, in a flame that almost threatened to ignite his entire being!

Three slots!

He could send his three top Geniuses into the Hundred Dynasties War!

As long as these people achieved great results, he could use this great merit to firmly grasp the throne in his hands!

The previous fear of the Great Wu envoy, the worry for Great Xia's national destiny—all were blown away by this immense joy!

He could even hear his own heartbeat, thump, thump, thump, like war drums, like a song of victory.

Princess Xia Zhiqing's delicate body trembled slightly again. Complex light flashed in her beautiful eyes—shock, gravity, and a hint of imperceptible worry.

She understood.

Father's move, how could it be a simple division of slots?

It was clearly using the outcome of the Hundred Dynasties War to determine the final heir to the throne!

This was an opportunity—win, and she would be the future master of the Dynasty.

But it was also a sharp sword hanging over her head—lose, and she might not even be able to keep her current position.

Let alone that there was still a Great Wu envoy with unknown intentions looming, someone who made Father tremble just saying the four words "Xuanyuan Zhanxian".

She suppressed the surging waves in her heart, curtsied, her voice respectful and steady, though beneath that steadiness hid a tremor only she could hear: "Father is in his prime, the court and the world depend on you to preside over the big picture, why say such things?"

Emperor Xia Quan waved his hand.

This movement carried endless exhaustion, endless vicissitudes.

The wrinkles on his face deepened in the dim light, and the gravity between his brows was more suffocating than dark clouds pressing down on a city.

"Old is old," he said, his tone carrying an indescribable heaviness, "my energy is not what it used to be, and my vision has dulled."

He looked up at the two, his gaze suddenly sharp as a knife—that look was like a dying beast, erupting with its final edge!

"This Hundred Dynasties War is by no means an ordinary competition!" He enunciated each word, every word like iron, "The forces involved behind it, the hidden risks, are far more than you imagine. You must be cautious; the people you select must not only be strong, but also reliable—this is not just about winning glory for the country, but more importantly... it concerns the national destiny of our Great Xia!"

By the end, his voice sank, carrying a clear warning like a thin needle, precisely piercing the most secret calculations in both their hearts:

"Remember, the big picture is paramount. Some lines must never be crossed; some people... must never be provoked."

"Some people"—everyone understood that he was talking about the forces behind Xuanyuan Zhanxian. How large were those forces to make a Great Wu envoy visit in person? How deep were they to make a monarch tremble when saying the words "must never be provoked"?

"This child obeys the decree!" Crown Prince Xia Hong immediately replied loudly, the excitement in his voice almost overflowing.

He could not help but clench his fists, his knuckles turning white—his mind was full of how to arrange his Geniuses, how to steal the spotlight at the Hundred Dynasties War, how to... sit on that Dragon throne.

Princess Xia Zhiqing also bowed and accepted the decree, her tone as firm as iron: "This child will certainly do her utmost, and will not let Father down."

But the hand she kept at her side quietly tightened.

Father's seemingly fair distribution was actually pushing the struggle between her and Crown Prince Xia Hong from the court to a more dangerous battlefield.

On the battlefield, there was not only each other, but also a "Xuanyuan Zhanxian" hidden in the shadows, a Great Wu Imperial Dynasty watching like a tiger, and—the changing winds and clouds of the entire Northern Territory.

"Go." Emperor Xia Quan waved his hand, as if he had instantly exhausted all his strength, "Determine the candidates within three days and report them to me."

He leaned back on the Dragon throne and slowly closed his eyes.

The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes looked particularly deep and long in the faint light, like gullies carved by time, like irreparable cracks in the national destiny of Great Xia.

Crown Prince Xia Hong and Princess Xia Zhiqing exited the main hall, each harboring their own thoughts.

Just as they stepped out of the hall door—

The night wind rushed into their faces, carrying the chill of late autumn. The joy on Crown Prince Xia Hong's face could no longer be contained; the corners of his mouth split open, revealing a nearly ferocious smile.

He glanced sideways at Princess Xia Zhiqing, who had a solemn expression beside him, his eyes full of triumph, full of provocation, full of the contempt of a victor looking at a loser.

"Royal Sister," he said, his voice filled with irrepressible excitement, "it seems that in Father's heart, he still values those who can get things done more. These three slots, I will accept them without modesty."

He paused, deliberately biting hard on the two words "sparring", enunciating each one like a knife, stabbing fiercely at the other:

"At the Hundred Dynasties War, you and I, brother and sister, will have to have a good 'spar'—to see who is truly worthy of holding the future of Great Xia."

The wind blew from outside the palace walls, rolling up the hem of Princess Xia Zhiqing's moon-white dress.

The night wind was cold, blowing the skirt to flap loudly, like a flag fluttering in the wind.

She did not respond.

She only gazed at the gray, hazy sky in the distance—the clouds were pressed very low and thick, like a heavy boulder pressing down on the entire royal city, and pressing down on her heart.

This unease deepened a bit more, so deep it almost threatened to drown her.

Then, she withdrew her gaze and swept it lightly over Crown Prince Xia Hong.

Her gaze was as still as a deep pool, without a ripple—as if the other's provocative words were nothing more than irrelevant wind brushing past her sleeve, not worth mentioning.

Her red lips parted slightly, her voice as clear as a cold spring, yet every word was resounding, like ice beads hitting the gold bricks:

"Royal Brother is absolutely right. The outcome of the Hundred Dynasties War, the ownership of the heir's position, should always be determined by strength—to distinguish the superior from the inferior."

As her words fell, she did not spare Crown Prince Xia Hong another glance.

Turning, she left directly.

The hem of her moon-white palace dress swayed gently with her steps, like plum petals blooming quietly in the cold snow, blossoming into a solitary, peerless flower in the night.

Her back was straight, without a hint of hesitation, exuding an indisputable decisiveness—as if even if there were mountains of blades and seas of fire ahead, she could step over them; as if the dark clouds pressing over her head, the murderous intent hidden in the shadows, and the Great Wu envoy with unknown intentions were all just dust that would eventually be trampled underfoot on her path forward.

Crown Prince Xia Hong watched her figure disappear at the end of the corridor, and a heavy cold snort squeezed out of his nose.

"Hmph—"

The corners of his mouth curled into disdain, but a flash of ice-quenched severity quickly swept across his eyes, like a blade hidden in his sleeve, its cold light suddenly appearing.

"Pretending!" He enunciated each word, his voice squeezed through his teeth, "Just putting on a brave front! I want to see what kind of unrefined trash you can find! This Great Xia throne—"

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning a frightening pale, his nails digging deep into his palms.

"Destined, it can only be mine!"

The night wind howled past, blowing his robes to flap loudly.

But he could not hear the wind, only the heartbeat in his chest, one faster than the last—like war drums, like a song of victory, like the bells of ascension that had already begun to toll.

But neither of them saw through it.

The heavy calculation hidden behind Emperor Xia Quan's words.

That seemingly fair distribution of slots, how could it be a simple "determine the heir based on performance"?

It was clearly the old emperor's final struggle amidst the turbulent waves—

He could not fathom what kind of behemoth stood behind "Xuanyuan Zhanxian", nor could he guess the true intention of the Great Wu envoy's sudden pressure.

He dared not place all his bets on one side—in case he bet wrong, the century-old Foundation of Great Xia would be destroyed.

So he could only use this method.

Balancing the two factions, barely propping up the crumbling Foundation of Great Xia.

Just like a person standing on the edge of a cliff, with a rope on each side—he did not know which one could save his life and which one would snap, so he could only hold onto both, hoping at least one would allow him to hold on until dawn.

The night was like ink.

The Great Xia Royal City swayed in the wind.

And the name called "Xuanyuan Zhanxian", like a sword hanging over their heads, was descending, inch by inch, slowly.