86: Chapter 86 Audience at the Palace

Xuanyuan Zhanxian's fingertips tightened slightly, feeling the tangible warmth radiating from the food box in his palm.

This warmth was not scorching, yet it permeated the wooden walls of the box with unusual firmness, threading its way through his fingertips into the depths of his heart, as if instantly dispelling the chill of this late autumn midnight and suppressing a deeper, surging coldness.

He suddenly raised his head and curved his lips toward Nangong Yueyao.

This smile was very faint, yet it was like the first fine crack on the ice of early spring, carrying a power that could soothe the heart.

His tone was deliberately relaxed, even carrying a hint of a youth reminiscing about snacks:

"The osmanthus cake Aunt made—I have been craving it for... many, many years."

He paused, looking at her with clear and firm eyes, enunciating every word clearly: "When I return, I want to eat it again."

Nangong Yueyao turned her face away abruptly, the movement of her hand so fast it was as if she were trying to hide something.

Her fingertips quickly brushed across the corners of her eyes, touching a patch of scalding wetness.

She took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the surging sob, her voice carrying a trace of imperceptible hoarseness, yet she had regained the composure of a matriarch:

"Go quickly. Do not let... Your Majesty wait impatiently."

She said the last few words very softly, yet they were full of meaning.

Xuanyuan Zhanxian nodded slightly, then turned around, and in one step, arrived before Old Fu.

He reached out, not to pat or comfort, but to firmly and heavily grasp the old man's withered, cold, and still slightly trembling hands.

The warmth of his palm, carrying the scorching heat and strength unique to a young life, passed through Old Fu's pitifully thin sleeves without obstruction, like a steady stream of warmth, injecting itself into Bloodline that had been frozen stiff by fear and despair.

He lowered his head, looking into Old Fu's tear-blurred, panic-stricken, and turbid eyes, and revealed a smile that was exceptionally bright, even carrying a touch of youthful spirit and full confidence.

This smile, under the cold moonlight, was so dazzling it was almost too much to look at directly.

"Old Fu," he began, his voice not loud, but every word clear, carrying an unquestionable weight that struck the silent night and the old man's dying heart, "wait for me to return."

He leaned in slightly, ensuring the old man could hear every word, every promise: "I will take you to the Xuantian Sect, find the quietest mountain peak with the most Spiritual Qi, and let you retire there. We will no longer have to deal with the foul atmosphere here."

Old Fu's withered hands were tightly enveloped by those young, warm, and powerful palms.

This warmth, this strength, and the ironclad certainty in these words were like a beam of sunlight so intense it could dispel all gloom, piercing through the mountainous, iron-heavy despair and fear piled up in his heart without warning.

His turbid old eyes suddenly widened, his pupils slightly contracting in the moonlight, churning with turbulent waves—it was disbelief, the wild joy of finding a way out of a desperate situation, the bitterness of sudden release after long suppression, and finally, all of it turned into tears that were more torrential than before, yet completely different, breaking through the dam once again.

"Young... Young Master..." His lips trembled violently, and he used all his remaining strength to grab Xuanyuan Zhanxian's hand in return, as if a drowning person had grasped the last piece of driftwood, his nails turning white from the force.

A "he-he" sound of choked sobs came from his throat, and then, he nodded heavily, with all his might!

Every nod was like a promise made with his life.

"Yes! Yes! This old servant will wait! This old servant will definitely wait! Waiting for Young Master to return!" His voice was as hoarse as a wheezing, broken bellows, yet it strangely revealed an unprecedented brightness and eagerness, like a candle in the wind, suddenly bursting forth with its final and brightest flame.

Xuanyuan Zhanxian then let go, the warmth seeming to linger on Old Fu's palm.

He turned to Nangong Yueyao again, casting a look at her—in this look, there was a composure beyond his years, the confidence to let her rely on him, and even more, the clear promise of "there is no need to worry for me."

Subsequently, he did not linger for even a moment, turned resolutely, and strode toward Wu An, who was waiting quietly not far away, and the squad of silent, murderous Imperial Guards who stood like steel sculptures.

One step, two steps...

His gait was steady, stepping on the bluestone slabs, emitting a clear and even sound, unhurried, without a hint of hesitation, and he did not look back again.

The cold moonlight cast his tall, straight figure onto the ground, stretching it very, very long.

That figure was like a sturdy pine, like an isolated peak, as if no matter if there were monstrous waves or an abyss ahead, nothing could make him waver in the slightest, nothing could crush him in the least.

The food box in his hand, still warm, seemed at this moment to become a silent symbol—carrying the last bit of human warmth from within Xuanyuan Mansion, confronting the cold armor and this long, murderous, and heartless night.

Wu An watched the youth walking toward him step by step.

The look under his armor was complex and hard to discern; there was scrutiny, evaluation, and perhaps a faint trace of being moved that he himself had not even noticed.

This suddenly appearing prince, facing such a Formation, showed no sign of cowardice or panic, and was even calmer than he had expected, and even more... unfathomable.

He said no more, simply turning aside neatly to clear the path to the carriage, pressing his right hand against the armor on his chest, bowing slightly, his tone flat, yet unconsciously carrying the respect one only has when facing a true figure of importance:

"Your Highness, please board the carriage."

Xuanyuan Zhanxian nodded slightly, acknowledging it.

He stepped up and boarded the carriage, which was luxuriously decorated, every pattern displaying royal grandeur, yet from its very bones, it exuded coldness and detachment.

The gilded reliefs gleamed coldly in the moonlight; no matter how soft the brocade cushions inside were, they could not warm the chill inherent in the words "Imperial Power."

The carriage curtain was gently lowered from the outside by a silent eunuch.

"Click."

A soft sound, like a clear dividing line falling.

Inside and outside the carriage, they were instantly separated into two worlds.

On one side, a lonely figure in black robes and a box of still-warm pastries; on the other, the tearful eyes of loved ones, the tense nerves of the guards, and this boundless, murderous, and heavy night.

"Depart!"

Wu An mounted his horse, giving the order in a steady and powerful voice.

"Boom—!"

Iron hooves stepped in unison on the bluestone road, emitting a muffled, thunderous sound, rolling forward like the beating of war drums, striking the hearts of everyone watching, and crushing the silence of the night.

The Imperial Guard squad, like a silent torrent of steel, escorted the luxurious carriage, winding toward the Imperial City, toward that expanse of brilliant light that remained illuminated even in the deep night, as if it would never be extinguished.

This brilliance, in the thick night, was like a huge, warm, yet heart-palpitating vortex, radiating an incomparable power of attraction and devouring.

The outline of the carriage, along with the stern squad, gradually merged into the depths of the darkness leading to the vortex, until it was no longer visible.

In front of the Xuanyuan Mansion gate, the night wind grew stronger, whipping Nangong Yueyao's ink-colored skirt, flapping loudly, like a banner quietly unfurled in the dark night.

She stood there quietly, her posture as straight as a spear, her gaze locked firmly on the direction of the street corner where the Imperial Guard squad had disappeared, not blinking for an instant.

This gaze was sharp enough to seemingly pierce through the thick night and palace walls, seeing clearly the treachery and schemes behind them.

Until the last reflection of armor vanished around the corner, and the last echo of hooves dissipated in the wind, she remained standing still for a long time.

Finally, her back, straight as a pine, relaxed imperceptibly, and a trace of undisguisable exhaustion quietly crept up to the corners of her delicate brows and eyes.

However, at the same time, deep in her eyes, that sharp and firm light burned even more intensely, like tempered steel, becoming stronger the more it was forged.

She turned around, reaching out to steadily support Old Fu, who was still trembling slightly from excitement beside her.

Her fingertips were warm and powerful, carrying a power that could stabilize one's heart.

"Old Fu, let us go back." Her voice had completely recovered its usual calmness and dignity, the demeanor of a matriarch who had managed the vast General's Mansion for many years. "Little Zhan, he has always kept his word. If he says he will return, he will definitely be able to bring you back, safe and sound, and with dignity."

She looked into Old Fu's eyes, word by word, incomparably clear: "Before he returns, you must take good care of yourself. Do not let him... worry about you while he is away."

"Yes! Matriarch! This old servant... this old servant understands! This old servant will definitely be fine! Waiting for Young Master to return!"

Old Fu used his rough sleeve to fiercely and messily wipe away the undried tear stains on his face, the fabric rubbing his aged cheeks red.

He tried hard, trembling, to straighten his back, which had been hunched for most of his life.

In those turbid eyes that had originally been soaked in despair, a scorching light reignited at this moment; it was the flame named "hope" and "anticipation."

Even his breathing, like a broken bellows, seemed to have gained a bit more strength because of this flame.

Nangong Yueyao said no more, raising her eyes, her gaze sweeping like cold lightning across the guards behind her, who were still holding their sword hilts with tense expressions.

The night wind brushed past her hair; her voice was not loud, yet it carried the weight of a thousand jin, clearly entering the ears of every guard:

"Everyone, heed my order!"

"Present!" A uniform, unison response like the clashing of gold and iron suddenly exploded, tearing through the night sky, shaking the lanterns under the corridor, and causing fallen leaves to rustle.

"From this moment on, Xuanyuan Mansion is under full martial law!"

Every word she spoke was resonant and unquestionable:

"Activate—all defensive Formation!"

"Yes!"

Once the order was given, the entire Xuanyuan Mansion suddenly awakened like a sleeping giant beast.

The guards moved, each performing their duties, fast but not chaotic.

Streams of light, some bright, some dim, suddenly lit up from the pavilions, rockeries, ponds, corners of the walls, and even the deep underground of the mansion!

Ancient runes, carrying dim blue, dark gold, or crimson light, appeared, connected, and intertwined in sequence on the bluestone floor, vermilion high walls, and even in the Void Realm!

Hum—

The low humming sound grew from weak to strong, finally converging into an invisible vibration.

A huge, translucent light shield, flowing with complex and profound runes, like an inverted bowl, tightly and seamlessly enveloped the entire Xuanyuan Mansion.

Energy flowed across the surface of the light shield like water waves, emitting a heart-palpitating, powerful fluctuation, silently declaring the absolute defense and inviolability of this place.

A wall of bronze and moat of iron—this was nothing more than that.

At the same time, deep within the Great Wu Imperial Palace, the Imperial Study.

Candlelight was bright, illuminating the hall as if it were day, yet it could not dispel the invisible heaviness and oppression permeating the air.

Emperor Wu Tianba, dressed in bright yellow casual robes, paced anxiously in front of the wide imperial desk.

Heavy dragon boots stepped on the mirror-polished golden brick floor, emitting a muffled "thump, thump, thump" sound; every step seemed to strike at one's heart.

His brows were tightly locked, twisted into a deep " river" shape; his usually dignified and calm face was now covered with obvious irritability and anxiety, and even a few strands of hair at his temples that had not been tied up properly looked messier than usual.

His right hand unconsciously twisted a string of sandalwood prayer beads; the beads collided with each other, making a monotonous and annoying "click, click" sound, which was infinitely amplified in this overly silent hall, failing to calm his mind and instead exposing his restlessness completely.

It had been over an hour since he sent Wu An to "invite" someone.

From Xuanyuan Mansion to the Imperial Palace, at the speed of the Imperial Guard's horses and carriages, they should have returned long ago.

Why was there still no news?

Was that woman, Nangong Yueyao, bold enough to actually dare to defy the imperial decree?

Or... had that son, who had been drifting outside and whom he had never met, encountered some "accident" on the way, and would never reach this Imperial Palace?

Various thoughts crowded in, like venomous snakes gnawing at his reason.

Just as he could no longer hold back, almost ready to issue another decree to send people to investigate, and even as a dark thought he himself did not want to dwell on flashed through his mind—

Outside the hall, clear and hurried footsteps finally came from near and far!

Immediately following was the eunuch's unique, shrill, and clear announcement, piercing through the suffocating wait:

"Your Majesty! General Wu An requests an audience—!"

Emperor Wu Tianba stopped abruptly, turned sharply, his eyes flashing with a burst of light, and he spat out two words in a deep voice, carrying unquestionable urgency:

"Summon him!"

The heavy carved hall doors were pushed open silently, and General Wu An walked in with large strides, his black iron armor still stained with the cold of the night dew and the dust brought by his rapid ride.

He looked straight ahead, walked to the foot of the imperial steps, knelt on one knee, cupped his fists, and said in a deep voice:

"Subordinate Wu An pays respects to Your Majesty! Long live Your Majesty!"

"Where is he?" Emperor Wu Tianba couldn't wait for his complete etiquette, asking impatiently, his gaze eagerly sweeping toward the empty hall door behind Wu An, his heart sinking suddenly—could it be...

Wu An immediately looked up, his speech steady but clear: "Your Majesty, rest assured, His Highness the First Prince is waiting quietly outside the hall. Fearing to disturb the Imperial carriage, this subordinate came to report first."

The heart suspended in mid-air dropped heavily back into place.

Emperor Wu Tianba even let out an imperceptible sigh of relief, and then, that irritability forged by the torture of waiting instantly turned into a more intense urgency, mixed with scrutiny and some unspeakable expectation, his voice rising unconsciously:

"Then what are you waiting for! Quickly summon him in!"

"Yes!"

Wu An received the order, immediately stood up, and walked quickly back to the hall door, facing the heavy night outside, shouting the announcement, his voice echoing in the empty square in front of the hall:

"His Majesty has a decree—Summon, His Highness the First Prince, for an audience—!"

The long trailing sound fell.

The heavy hall doors were slowly pushed open again, emitting a long and muffled "creak" sound.

Outside the door was the warm, yellow, and hazy halo cast by the palace lanterns.

A tall and straight figure, against that light, stepped unhurriedly into this Imperial Study, which symbolized the core of the Great Wu Empire's highest power and was permeated with invisible pressure and coldness.

Still in a simple black Daoist robe, the fabric was plain, with no patterns or decorations.

But his entire demeanor made the gilded brilliance and pearl glow of the whole hall pale in comparison in an instant.

His gait was steady, his gaze calm, as if what he was stepping on was not the imperial steps leading to the Supreme Ruler, but just walking along an ordinary path.