Murong Qiufeng and Shangguan Ye hurried to the Ministry of Justice, but before they even reached the main office, they were stopped by guards waiting anxiously at the gate and escorted straight down into the prison cells.
The atmosphere was suffocating. The Ministry of Justice was already a place heavy with dread and severity, but now it carried an even darker air—one reeking of death. The closer they drew to the underground cells, the stronger the stench of blood became.
Both men’s hearts grew heavier. They already had a grim guess at what awaited them, though they still hoped—futilely—that it would not be as bad as they feared.
But their hopes were shattered the moment they reached the prison doors. Corpses lay strewn across the floor, blood pooled thick and dark, even staining the gray stone walls a ghastly red. Judging by the condition, the dead hadn’t been moved—no doubt on Hou Qianxing’s orders.
What shocked them most was the brutality. Not a single corpse was whole. Every guard had died a horrific death—limbs hacked apart, torsos split open. The scene was like a vision of hell itself. The sheer cruelty made Qiufeng’s stomach clench with anger.
“To kill is one thing,” he muttered, his brows tightening, “but why this barbarity? To slice them alive, leave them to bleed out in agony… this isn’t killing, it’s butchery.”
Shangguan Ye’s gaze was colder, sharper. He was scanning details. “No one’s touched the bodies?” he asked a nearby guard.
The man straightened quickly. “No, Your Highness. Lord Hou gave orders as soon as he arrived that nothing was to be disturbed.”
Qiufeng’s eyes widened as he made the same realization Ye had: the corpses—all of them—were guards. Not a single prisoner among them.
“You’re saying Lord Hou came after this was already done?”
“Yes, sir. He was at the palace. When word reached him, he rushed here immediately, but by then the ground was already covered in bodies.”
“And where is he now?” Ye’s tone sank low, probing.
“Lord Hou is inside, inspecting the cells.”
They exchanged a look and stepped into the prison.
The inside was even worse. Each step squelched like walking across a rain-soaked marsh, only here it was blood, thick and half-coagulated. The stone floor was slick with it, black-red like tar. “A river of blood” was no longer just a phrase—it was the exact scene before them. Enough blood to stain an actual river red.
Qiufeng went pale. He had seen killings before, but never anything this savage. Outside the guards had died gruesome deaths, but here in the cells… it was slaughter beyond recognition. Bodies hacked apart, scattered in pieces.
Who could be this monstrous? This wasn’t battle—it was sadistic, inhuman carnage.
In that moment, Qiufeng almost wished Princess Zhao Xiru had been taken alive. To imagine she’d been silenced here—like this—was unbearable.
“Your Highness. Brother Qiufeng.” Hou Qianxing approached, bowing first to Shangguan Ye before nodding to Qiufeng. Since they had worked together recently, their relationship had warmed, and he’d even begun addressing Qiufeng as “brother.”
The single word made Shangguan Ye’s brow twitch. His gaze slid over Hou with sharp suspicion.
Hou froze for half a beat. Why did the prince look at him like that? With such… odd hostility? He couldn’t possibly be jealous, could he?
Qiufeng, oblivious, stepped forward anxiously. “Brother Hou, did you discover anything? And what of Princess Zhao and her companions?”
Hou’s expression darkened. His usual composure was strained by barely suppressed anger. “None of the guards survived. Even the Imperial Guard sent by His Majesty—all dead. As for the rebels, every prisoner in these cells met the same fate—slaughtered like the rest. Every single one, regardless of their crimes. All except two.”
Qiufeng’s heart tightened. “Two?” He already guessed the answer.
“Princess Zhao Qi and Song Yicheng.”
A complicated feeling welled up in Qiufeng—was it relief that they lived, or dread of what that survival implied?
Shangguan Ye folded his arms, his tone cold, though his eyes flickered with something else as Qiufeng and Hou exchanged words too easily for his liking.
Hou, sensing Ye’s stare boring into him, cleared his throat and turned to him. “Your Highness, I asked you both here because I need your insight. The victims weren’t just killed. Some show signs of poisoning. Whoever did this… was skilled. Likely someone from the martial world.”
Ye’s eyes narrowed, unreadable. He cast Hou a long, meaningful look before crouching to examine the corpses himself.
Qiufeng hesitated, then joined him. Thanks to Yun Feiyang, he had been trained in weaponry and wound analysis—skills every member of Mufeng Tower was expected to learn. The Tower wasn’t renowned only for the speed of its intelligence network, but for the ability to uncover what others overlooked.
