Chapter 43: Defying the Emperor

Chapter 43: Defying the Emperor

A long, narrow wound on Ling Yehan's neck was a shocking sight, bright red blood slowly oozing from between the flesh and winding down his neck. The white collar of his undergarment was instantly stained blood-red, yet he seemed completely oblivious.

Zhang Fu's face was now no better than Ling Yehan's. While sending someone to report back to the palace, he dared not take his eyes off Ling Yehan for a second, fearing that this stubborn fool would continue slitting his throat after he left. That would be worse than giving him a white silk to hang himself right there.

The nearby Metropolitan Governor Wang Duan was utterly stunned, completely baffled by what was happening between the Emperor and the Marquis of Jingbian. Compared to this scene of direct throat-slitting, he now even felt that Ling Yehan's earlier act of surrounding Duke Meng's residence with troops was not such a big deal.

Ling Yehan, however, seemed utterly oblivious to the gazes of those around him. His eyes drifted vaguely toward Zhang Fu, and he seemed to offer a faint smile:

"Eunuch, the edict has been delivered. Return to the palace and report your mission accomplished."

Zhang Fu dared not leave:

"Marquis, your wound needs immediate treatment. Where is the nearest imperial physician? I will accompany you."

He felt dizzy just looking at the blood gushing out.

"Just a scratch. It won't kill me."

With that, ignoring everyone's stares, he grabbed the reins and mounted his horse. Only when Zhang Fu saw that he had not taken the ten daggers did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.

Ling Yehan, with his bloody neck, wandered the streets like a lost soul. He could not enter the palace, nor did he want to return to his residence. In this state, he certainly could not go to the Metropolitan Governor's office either. He simply walked into a random open tavern and slapped the table twice:

"Waiter, bring me your best wine."

The waiter, startled by the wound on his neck and noticing his official attire—seemingly that of a high-ranking official—did not dare offend him. He quickly brought the wine and cautiously said:

"Sir, there's a clinic next door. Would you like me to call a physician for you?"

Ling Yehan wasted no words, bowing his head and saying only two words:

"Bring wine."

"Yes, yes, right away."

The red cloth cork was pulled out. Ling Yehan lifted the wine jar with one hand and, without blinking, poured it directly onto his neck. The strong alcohol splashed onto the wound, like a red-hot iron brand piercing into the flesh. The intense pain felt as if a cart wheel had rolled over him, and the wound turned red from the irritation.

Ling Yehan gritted his teeth without making a sound, his bloodshot eyes welling with tears from the pain. They quickly filled his eyes. He tilted his head back, lifted the wine jar, and poured the wine into his mouth. Tears streamed down the corners of his eyes and disappeared into his hairline.

Cheng Baobao could not sit still after hearing that Ling Yehan had not only caned several centurions for visiting brothels but also surrounded Duke Meng's residence with troops. He hurried out of his residence to find him.

"Young master, look, isn't that the Marquis's Black Whirlwind?"

Cheng Baobao looked at the horse, black as satin, and immediately spurred his horse over. He swung the reins, jumped off his horse, and rushed into the tavern. Sure enough, Ling Yehan was inside, but his condition...

"Hanhan? What happened to your neck? Did the Imperial Guards dare to lay hands on you?"

Ling Yehan looked up. Cheng Baobao found the tears in his eyes even more frightening than the blood on his neck.

Meanwhile, in the palace, a secret guard knelt on one knee and reported all the major events the Marquis of Jingbian had caused in the capital that morning:

"The Marquis of Jingbian first surrounded the Drunken Immortal Inn, dragged five men who had failed to report for morning roll call to the Metropolitan Governor's office into the street, stripped them, and caned them ten times. Then he went to Duke Meng's residence. The last person who had not reported was Duke Meng's second son. Duke Meng's residence claimed the second son was ill, but the Marquis brought an imperial physician and insisted on seeing him personally. The Marquis's Personal Guard surrounded the Duke's residence, threatening to break down the door if the man was not handed over. Finally, Duke Meng allowed the Marquis to enter. The physician diagnosed that the second son was not infected with a contagious disease, so the Marquis ordered him to be dragged into the street and similarly stripped and caned ten times."

Xiao Chen supported himself on the desk, his fingertips turning white from the pressure. His temples throbbed, and his jaw clenched tight:

"Impressive. He didn't waste a single moment this morning."

No one in the hall dared to speak at this time. Xiao Chen pressed his throbbing temples, his heart heavy. He could easily imagine how many officials would submit memorials condemning that stubborn man. He thought of the Ling Yehan he had seen in his dream yesterday—familiar and calm in handling affairs—completely unlike the person now raising hell outside the palace. What a wasted life.

The sound of hooves approached from afar. The Imperial Guards had finally found Ling Yehan and dismounted outside the hall. They were shocked when they saw his condition:

"Marquis, His Majesty summons you to the palace."

Ling Yehan instantly looked up, his face flushed, a flicker of light in his eyes. He had not eaten in the morning and had now drunk a bellyful of wine, making him lightheaded. He set down the wine jar and stood up. Cheng Baobao blinked, completely unaware of what was happening but not daring to follow.

Ling Yehan did not even have time to change his clothes. Reeking of blood and alcohol, he strode into the courtyard of the Purple Palace Hall. Zhang Fu's eyelids twitched at the sight of him and whispered as he approached:

"Marquis, it is improper to see His Majesty in this state. Allow this servant to take you to the side hall to freshen up."

Before Ling Yehan could respond, a voice filled with suppressed anger came from inside:

"Let him in. I want to see how far he can go with his absurdity."

Hearing that voice, Ling Yehan finally felt a twinge of guilt. But since he was already here, there was no turning back. He stepped into the inner hall, instinctively keeping his distance from the person behind the desk and kneeling directly, respectfully greeting:

"Your subject Ling Yehan pays respects to Your Majesty."

The person before him had not even bandaged the wound on his neck, reeked of alcohol, and his clothes were soaked, as if he had just been fished out of a wine vat. Xiao Chen only glanced at him once before he could no longer suppress the anger in his chest:

"Pay respects? Do I appear well to you?"

Ling Yehan hung his head without a word, biting the soft flesh inside his mouth. He did not know what to say and feared that if he spoke, broken sounds would escape.

This brazenly unrepentant attitude only infuriated Xiao Chen more. He supported himself on the desk and stood up, pushing away Zhang Fu's attempt to assist him:

"Everyone, withdraw."

Zhang Fu glanced at the kneeling figure on the ground and led all the palace servants out, closing the door to the inner hall. For a moment, only the two of them remained in the hall, one sitting and one standing. Xiao Chen slowly walked to Ling Yehan:

"Look up."

Ling Yehan obeyed, raising his head. His bloodshot red eyes were like those of a cornered wild dog, no longer evasive but glaring directly at Xiao Chen.

Xiao Chen directly pressed his hand against the wound on Ling Yehan's neck, showing no mercy. Excruciating pain shot through his neck, but Ling Yehan gritted his teeth without making a sound. The more he resisted, the more Xiao Chen's anger flared:

"Ling Yehan, take a good look at yourself now."

"Your subject has always been like this."

Xiao Chen released his hand upon hearing this, closed his eyes, and said in a deep voice:

"Ling Yehan, what do you want, huh? What are you doing? Are you three years old? Everything must go your way. If the slightest thing doesn't suit you, you put on this life-and-death act for whom?"

Xiao Chen's chest was tight with pain from anger. In their previous life, it was Ling Yehan who had not returned. Now, reborn, it was still him who, fueled by a shameful sense of guilt that couldn't be brought to light and a desire to compensate, claimed to have feelings for him. Did the entire world have to bend to his will? If things didn't go his way, he would threaten with life and death?

Ling Yehan's mind was muddled by alcohol, his eyes and heart obsessively fixed on the person before him. In their previous life, he had not dared to speak or reveal his feelings, only to obediently slink off to the border, only to miss even their final meeting, regretting it for half a lifetime.

In this life, he thought everything could be reborn, that they could begin anew. But, alas, fate plays cruel tricks. He did not want him. After two lifetimes, he still did not want him. He had to slit his throat just to barely see him once. The resentment, unwillingness, frustration, and indignation surged within him.

He raised his chin, staring directly at Xiao Chen, and shouted as if losing control of his emotions:

"For you to see! I want you to see!"

"Slap..."

A sharp slap echoed through the hall. Ling Yehan's head snapped to the side from the force. Xiao Chen's chest heaved violently, the emotional turmoil stirring the child in his womb. He pressed a hand to his abdomen, swaying slightly. Ling Yehan's gaze cleared slightly at the sight of his distress, and he hurriedly rose to support him. Xiao Chen waved his hand away, retreating two steps, supporting himself on a nearby table, and sitting in an armchair.

"Fine, well done showing me. Didn't you like slitting your throat? Why not make a clean cut of it? Go on, slit your throat right here for me to see."

Xiao Chen raised his hand, drew the sword from the wall, and tossed it at his feet. Ling Yehan looked down at Xiao Chen’s sword, picked it up, his eyes showing not the slightest fear:

“The imperial examinations have yet to be implemented, and the Western Barbarians are eyeing our borders. I cannot die now. Once all this is over, and you and the child are safe, you can have my head whenever you want. I cannot cut my throat now—how about somewhere else? My arm?”

He actually rolled up his sleeve and raised the sword to strike, but his wrist was knocked aside by a teacup Xiao Chen hurled. The sword clattered to the ground once more. Xiao Chen, having recklessly used his inner energy, turned pale in an instant. Ling Yehan snapped out of it:

“Brother.”

Slumped in the armchair, Xiao Chen felt waves of sharp pain tightening in his chest:

“Good. Very good. Quite the performance. Guards!”

The eunuchs and imperial guards outside the hall rushed in at his call:

“The Marquis of Jingbian has defied the imperial decree. Drag him out and give him ten strokes of the rod to knock some sense into him.”

Zhang Fu stared at the sword on the floor, the shattered teacup, and the scattered tea leaves, completely baffled at how the situation had escalated to this in less than a quarter of an hour.

With the emperor in a towering rage, no one dared to plead for mercy. Ling Yehan was immediately dragged out by the imperial guards. Xiao Chen slowly slumped over, and Zhang Fu rushed over to support him, crying out in panic:

“Summon the imperial physician!”