Chapter 121
Murong Qiufeng stared in shock at Shangguan Ye, whose face was cold and whose words were sharp. His own face was pale, unsure why Shangguan Ye was provoking him like this. Yet, he did not speak to stop him, as an inexplicable trust welled up within him. He believed that Shangguan Ye would not act so recklessly without reason—there must be some deeper intention behind his actions.
What Murong Qiufeng didn’t know was that Shangguan Ye’s words stemmed from his own dissatisfaction with Murong Hao for insulting Murong Qiufeng, prompting an instinctive retort.
Murong Hao was indeed provoked. His bloodshot eyes turned an eerie red, bulging as though they might pop out of their sockets. His gaze grew more frenzied with each passing moment, the pupils dilating as rage and hatred flared like a volcanic eruption. His blue-tinted lips quivered as though trying to speak, but his voice was caught in his throat, and his face turned ashen with fury.
Everyone present felt their hearts leap into their throats.
Yet, it wasn’t just Shangguan Ye’s words that triggered Murong Hao, but Shangguan Ye himself. The person who said those words was far more significant than the words themselves.
Shangguan Ye was a living legend in Yan Country—a myth, a figure admired and revered by thousands. His words carried more weight than any decree. To receive his acknowledgment was a dream many could only hope for. Now, Murong Hao had heard words of affirmation—not for himself, but for the person he despised most. Worse still, he was simultaneously belittled, reduced to nothing. How could he not be agitated?
Ever since learning that Shangguan Ye was returning to court, Murong Hao had schemed tirelessly to win his favor. Even a few words of conversation would have been an honor. He had even pushed for the marriage of his most disliked sister, Murong Qiujun, into the royal household, hoping to forge closer ties with Shangguan Ye.
The plan had partially succeeded: Murong Qiujun was favored, and the Murong family enjoyed some of the resulting prestige. But Shangguan Ye had grown closer to Murong Qiufeng, continually supporting and promoting him. All of Murong Hao’s efforts, it seemed, had only paved the way for someone else—the very person he despised.
He had worked hard, striving for years, only to be forgotten. Though Murong Qiufeng had never sought attention or power and rarely even visited the prime minister’s residence, his mere existence had stolen the spotlight. Everything that should have been Murong Hao’s was taken away. That was the root of his hatred.
Hou Qianxing, seeing Murong Hao trembling with rage and clutching a dagger, signaled the nearby guards to discreetly encircle him.
But Murong Hao was on high alert and noticed the slightest movements. His grip on the dagger tightened as he barked, “Don’t move!”
The prime minister groaned softly, his eyes shut, head tilted back. A thin red line marked his neck where the blade had pierced the skin, drawing blood.
“Husband!” the prime minister’s wife screamed before collapsing in a faint. Already weakened from days of worry, the shock overwhelmed her.
“Father! Mother!” Murong Qiufeng shouted. He instinctively moved to approach, but when his mother collapsed, he turned back to support her.
“Take Lady Murong to rest and summon a physician,” Hou Qianxing ordered. Then, his expression hardened as he barked, “Murong Hao, are you even human? You can run, but where can you possibly hide in this kingdom?”
Murong Hao panted heavily, the hand holding the dagger trembling. He seemed startled by his own actions but, having already drawn blood, found it easier to persist. His eyes glinted with vindictive pleasure. “That’s none of your concern, Hou Qianxing. Indeed, this land belongs to the king, but there are other kings beyond these borders.”
“Oh? The Zhao Kingdom? Or the Lu Kingdom? What did they offer you—power, wealth?” Shangguan Ye sneered, his eyes filled with contempt.
Murong Hao’s expression darkened. He glared at Shangguan Ye’s indifferent face, then suddenly chuckled. “Your Highness, you claim I am inferior to him. Fine, then let’s make a deal.”
Shangguan Ye narrowed his eyes, the disdain within them growing sharper, as if to say, “You think you’re qualified to negotiate with me?”
Murong Hao’s eyes reddened further, his voice trembling with resentment. “You’re trying so hard to capture the Zhao princess and her associates. If you kill Murong Qiufeng right now, I’ll tell you everything you want to know and even help capture the spies.”
Gasps of shock rippled through the room. Shangguan Ye’s eyes flickered with a deadly gleam, Hou Qianxing’s face turned ashen, and the prime minister—his face ghostly pale—forced out a hoarse curse: “Unfilial son!”
He coughed violently, the anguish of a father who had devoted his life to his family only to witness it crumble.
“Old man, just watch!” Murong Hao spat, his eyes gleaming with sadistic anticipation. “So, Your Highness, what do you say?”
Murong Qiufeng stiffened, his eyes filled with unspeakable pain. “Brother, do you really want me dead so badly?”
“Yes,” Murong Hao hissed. “You never should have been born. You should’ve died ten years ago. Why does fate favor you so?”
Murong Qiufeng closed his eyes, drawing a deep, shaky breath before opening them again. He raised his head slightly, his lips pressed tightly together in silent sorrow.
The cold calm on Shangguan Ye’s face vanished, replaced by a terrifying, murderous intensity. For Murong Qiufeng, he might have considered sparing Murong Hao. But now, Murong Hao had crossed a line. He had touched the one person Shangguan Ye would never allow to be harmed.
Murong Qiufeng was his most guarded treasure. Anyone who dared threaten him had signed their own death warrant.
