Panicked, Yan Huan stammered, “Your servant did not know Your Majesty would be here tonight—”
“Silence!” the Emperor cut him off. “If I had not been here, how would I have discovered that, driven by your own lust, you disguised the Capital Garrison as bandits and committed such bestial acts against the people of our Great Chu? How are you any different from the northern barbarians, from the Qiang and You tribes who butcher our people?”
Those words stirred ugly memories among the household of the Duke of Yong — years of guarding Xuancheng against northern raiders — and their hatred for Yan Huan hardened.
The Emperor turned to him. “I entrusted you with the capital’s defenses: to protect the city and its people. And yet there are bandits inside the capital’s borders. Where were the Capital Garrison when this was happening?”
At that, Steward Tian — who had been posted to the outer residence — could not hold back. He pushed through the crowd and dropped to his knees before the throne with a clatter.
“Your Majesty, forgive this humble man for presuming to speak, but whenever those ‘bandits’ are mentioned, I cannot keep quiet. If I do not tell you the truth, I shall die with it.”
The Emperor did not rebuke Tian for his impertinence. “Speak,” he said. “You are forgiven.”
Tian’s face flushed with emotion as he kowtowed. Angrily he began, “I am the steward of the Duke of Yong’s outer estate. Since I was assigned there, the news of bandits coming down from the mountains has come again and again.”
“At first they stole money and grain. When there was nothing left to take they trampled villagers’ fields, molested any young woman with even a hint of beauty, and even dragged girls away to become their captives. There was no end to their cruelty.”
“Why didn’t you report it?” the Emperor asked — the same question Su Qing had asked before.
“We did,” Tian said. “We reported it many times, but it was useless. The Capital Garrison would swagger in a few times, but every time they arrived there were no bandits to be found. The ringleaders would scold the villagers for making false reports, and after that the garrison stopped coming.”
“Yan Huan,” the Emperor spat, his boot connecting with Yan’s chest and sending him sprawling, “you were the former commander of the Capital Garrison. How do you explain this? You knew bandits were active and did nothing to root them out, and now tonight you disguise troops as bandits to frame the Duke of Yong. Do you fancy yourself immortal?”
The Emperor’s kick hit with full force. Yan Huan’s ribs spasmed; he vomited a mouthful of blood and lay on the ground, despair flooding him.
With the Emperor here, his deeds were treason. Tonight he was doomed. But if he was to die, he would drag the Wang family down with him.
A hard, cold resolve crept into Yan Huan’s eyes. Had Wang Chongling not abandoned him — had he not realized he was a pawn the Wang family would throw away — he would never have taken the Capital Garrison down this desperate road.
He forced himself to rise, teeth clenched against the pain in his broken hands — tendons severed by the earlier sword strike — and, crawling toward the throne, he cried out, “Your Majesty, this was not my idea. It was the Wang family. It was Grand Tutor Wang who ordered me to do this!”
A long sword barred his path, its edge gleaming. Cang Xuan’s voice was ice. “One more inch and you’ll lose your head.”
At the memory of that blade severing his hands, Yan Huan trembled and halted.
The Emperor gazed down at him, the lines of his face hard as stone. “At a time like this you still spit accusations, trying to drag Grand Tutor Wang down with you? Do you expect me to believe you on your word alone?”
Yan Huan would not relent. He sobbed, “Your Majesty, I swear it’s true! Though I commanded the Capital Garrison in name, in truth they answered to Grand Tutor Wang. After I was dismissed I feared the garrison would fall into others’ hands, so I went to Grand Tutor Wang for help. It was his idea to masquerade as bandits and pin the blame on the Duke of Yong!”
Now, with nothing left to lose, he poured out the rest. “Not only that — his initial plan was for me to have the garrison remove their armor and plead at the palace gates for me and the Yan household. When the Empress would lure Your Majesty to the gates, assassins would feign an attempt on Your life.”
“If the ruse succeeded, I would be hailed for saving Your Majesty while the assassination would be pinned on the Duke of Yong. A perfect twofold gain. Afterwards, Your Majesty would reinstate me as commander and Su Qing would be executed.”
Such an accusation crashed over the hall like thunder. A chorus of inhalations sounded around them as every eye turned to the Emperor to see how he would answer.
Cang Xuan watched, sword still raised. The Emperor seemed unmoved by the gazes upon him. He lowered his eyes to Yan Huan. “Even if your words are true,” he said coldly, “tell me this: Wang Chongling is both the Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince and the Emperor’s father-in-law, a man of immense power and standing. Why would he sully himself with such a scheme on your behalf? What could he possibly gain?”
He leaned forward, pinning Yan with a look. “I want conclusive proof. Do you have any?”
“Proof… proof…” Yan Huan scrambled, searching his person and the ground as if something tangible might appear. Then panic struck him. Though Wang Chongling had fed him plans and details, Yan Huan had executed everything himself. He had been desperate to hold onto his post in Shengjing, so he had acted alone, in secret, under cover of night. He had left no traces that could incriminate the Wang family.
Wang Chongling — the old fox.
Cang Xuan’s disappointment was visible. He had expected Yan Huan to bring down the Wang family for good; instead the man was a fool who had trusted a powerful house without safeguarding proof. The chance to crush the Wangs had been handed to Yan and flushed away. Worthless — fit only for death.
“No evidence,” the Emperor said with a soft, bitter sigh. “How can I trust your claims based on your testimony alone? How do I know this is not a last-ditch lie to save yourself?”
“You have disappointed me, Yan Huan.”
Yan’s voice turned to a wail. “Your Majesty, kill me and spare my family. Spare the Yan clan—”
The Emperor looked up and addressed Cang Xuan. “Cang Xuan, I do not wish to hear this traitor’s voice any longer.”
“Cang Xuan?!” Su Yuanyuan snapped her head up and met his eyes.
When had he removed the mask? The flesh-like disguise that had hidden his face was gone. Though the clothing remained the same, the man beneath it was utterly different — a face of such wicked, striking beauty it stopped the breath in one’s throat.
His hair was tied high; his posture was unyielding and superior. Standing with sword in hand he was a statue of death. His eyes — a pale, glazed aquamarine — swept toward her with an indifferent, world-weary disdain, as if peering down from some cold height.