Chapter 35

XIAN

Wang paled. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

"I... didn't." He pointed a finger at Xian. "He... told me. That's all he's been bragging about! He's the one who broke

into the box and found his name inside!"

"That's right—because pretending to be dead and running away is exactly what I would do if I knew I was going to be the crown

prince," Xian replied.

Rage spasmed across Wang's face. He started toward Xian, drawing his sword—

Zhen moved forward, flicked open the white fan, and held it to Wang's throat. Wang skidded to a halt, startled. The sharp

edge of the fan nicked his neck, drawing a thin line of blood.

General Jian's hand went to his own weapon, but Feng stepped to his father's side and stopped him. It was the first time Xian had seen his best friend standing up for Zhen. He had also never witnessed Zhen in fiery protector mode, which was incredibly appealing.

Their father's eyes blazed at his eldest son. "What devil emboldened you to commit this unspeakable deed, Wang?"

Wang dropped his sword, defeated.

"I succumbed to a moment of weakness!" He fell to the ground. "I am your firstborn, the son of your wife. All my life, I have

done everything to gain your approval—"

"Yet you were brazen enough to defy the one command everyone in this kingdom knows!" his father thundered. "The box behind

the plaque was deemed sacred by your forefathers. By opening it, you have offended not just me but your ancestors—a sin that

is deserving of death!"

Wang crawled on elbows and knees to the king's feet. "Please, Father, forgive me! Surely you will show mercy to your own flesh

and blood?"

No one in the courtyard spoke. Xian could see the pained expression on his father's face; despite Wang's malice, his firstborn

was still one of his favorite sons.

Finally, General Jian came forward.

"If I may intercede, Your Majesty," he said with a bow. At the king's assent, he continued. "The political situation at this time is especially delicate, and Southern Tang is watching us closely for any hint of weakness or disharmony. Other kingdoms do not have the same succession practice that Wuyue does; they follow the strict tradition of appointing the eldest son of the queen or empress as the crown prince. As such, they may not fully understand the significance of the box behind the plaque. If word gets out that you have executed your firstborn son for this crime, they may interpret it as a sign of internal discord within your court, which might spur them to attack our borders, hoping to catch us in a state of civil turmoil."

The king was silent. Xian held his breath. Wang lay facedown on the ground, his rib cage rising and falling as he awaited

his fate.

"Very well." The king glared imperiously at Wang's prostrate form. "You stole something from me that you should not have.

I will punish you in my capacity as your father rather than your king. For your lack of filial piety—the eighth of the ten

abominations—instead of death, you will be given the next most severe penalty: ròu xíng , corporal punishment. You shall be dealt a severe blow to your right hand, which is the sentence given to a thief. I will

grant you the dignity of receiving your punishment in private rather than in the outer court as other officials would have."

He gave Xian a curt nod. "You shall deal the stroke to your brother using his own sword. Do it now."

Xian blinked. He would be the one to carry out Wang's punishment?

Wang stared up at Xian in dread. There was obviously no doubt in his mind that he would walk out of that courtyard permanently

maimed.

Xian picked up Wang's fallen sword. The weapon had been his father's gift to Wang on his sixteenth birthday—the same sword he himself had wielded as a teenager, the one that had been given to him by his own father. Many in the royal court believed this sword was a kingmaker, a strong indication that Wang would be the chosen heir. Perhaps it had been true at that time—and Wang was willing to kill to reclaim the favor he once had.

"Hold out your right hand," their father ordered Wang.

Wang crawled to his knees and extended his trembling arm, tears streaming down his cheeks. As Xian stepped forward, he cast

a surreptitious glance around; their father's expression was stoic, while General Jian's face was somber. Zhen had averted

his gaze, as if he couldn't bring himself to watch. Feng met Xian's eyes and gave a barely perceptible dip of his chin. The

king had spoken, and Xian was duty bound to carry out his command.

The tension in the air was palpable as Xian towered over Wang, the sword hilt gripped in his hand, its tassel swishing against

his wrist. Cutting cleanly through a limb was harder than it appeared; equal measures of precision and force were needed to

sever tendons, muscle, flesh, and bone in a single stroke.

Xian focused on Wang's quivering forearm—then he drew back his sword and brought it down in a swinging arc.

Wang let out an anguished scream as the blade made contact with his forearm. He twisted away, collapsed onto his side, and

clutched his arm, his face scrunched as he sobbed piteously. Blood blossomed on his robe sleeve—but contrary to everyone's

expectations, his hand was still attached to his body.

Their father frowned at Xian. "Did you deal a light stroke on purpose?"

"No, Father." Xian dropped to a knee and placed the bloodstained blade on the ground in front of him. "I dealt a serious blow to his hand as you ordered, completely severing an important tendon in his forearm. He will never be able to wield a sword again." Xian glanced at Zhen, who couldn't hide his amazement. "Someone I care about very deeply once reminded me that the small dot of the opposite color in each half of the yin-yang circle represents the choice to act not just to one's own advantage but to the other person's."

Zhen's forgiveness of Deng had left a deep impression on Xian—even though, knowing his own half brother, such compassion was

probably misplaced. An old proverb warned that weaklings never forgave their enemies. But still, Xian wanted to choose as

Zhen would have.

His father tilted his head, understanding crossing his stern features. He walked to Xian, who still knelt on one knee.

"A calligraphy master's gentle stroke is not a sign of weakness but of control. A man's mettle is revealed not by his strength

but by his mercy." His father removed the signet ring on his right thumb and held it out to Xian. "I have chosen well, Crown

Prince of Wuyue."

Xian couldn't believe his eyes. The incredulous expressions on General Jian's and Feng's faces confirmed that he wasn't the

only one. His father bestowing the ring on him—this was even more binding than his name in the box behind the plaque. There

would be no need to reveal a successor. The king had already publicly declared his choice.

"Thank you, Father. I will not disappoint you." Xian kowtowed, took the ring, and reverently slid it onto his thumb. He got to his feet. "I regret that my first action as your heir is to inform you that your—our—trusted counselor Fahai has betrayed us. He claimed to be researching a cure for Mother in Leifeng Pagoda, but that was just a smokescreen for his true objective: a secret cultivation pool in an underground chamber beneath his laboratory that he told no one about."

His father's forehead creased. "After the fire, Fahai explained to me that the underground chamber was a special prison he

had prepared to contain the powerful snake spirit. When they found your hairpin along with a charred corpse, Wang testified

that you insisted on riding to the pagoda to meet the snake spirit, against his advice. He was worried, and so he followed

you and saw smoke billowing out of the basement."

Xian looked at his half brother in disgust. "Liar."

Wang cowered, as if afraid that Xian might decide to pick up the sword and take another swing at his bleeding arm.

"Summon Fahai." The king turned to General Jian. "Where is he?"

"He has gone to Leifeng Pagoda to salvage whatever he can from his laboratory," General Jian replied.

Xian took Zhen's hand and pulled him to his side. "Zhen isn't the enemy Fahai made him out to be. He healed me of the deadly

venom that Wang stabbed me with—which means he has the power to save Mother too."

They were interrupted by the arrival of General Jian's second-in-command. The chief guard looked stunned to see Wang writhing on the ground, cradling his bleeding arm.

"Your Majesty." The chief guard bowed to Xian's father. "Please forgive my discourtesy, but I have urgent news that cannot

wait: The masked brigand who was involved in the attack on the prince's delegation on their journey from Changle has surrendered

himself at the palace gates. He says he has an important message that he will convey only to Prince Xian and his companion."

Zhen's eyes widened. He looked toward Xian.

Xian swiftly stepped forward. "Father, please allow me to attend to this matter." At his father's nod, he turned to the chief

guard. "Bring me to him."

Xian, Feng, and Zhen followed the chief guard to the department of military affairs, located to the west of the southern gate

that separated the inner court from the outer. The chief guard led them to the underground prison, where a familiar figure

was locked in one of the cells.

"Hei Xing!" Zhen rushed forward. "Where's Qing? Is she with you?"

For the first time, Xian saw Hei Xing's face unmasked. He had coarse gray hair, and despite the lines on his face, his features

were strangely youthful.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Zhen, but Qing is in serious danger." Hei Xing's expression was grave. "I came without

delay to warn you."

Zhen looked stricken. "What happened to her?"

"We both received your message through the trees asking for our help," Hei Xing replied. "We arranged to meet outside the palace; when we arrived in the early hours of morning, the gates were still shut. I wanted to stay hidden until daybreak, when we would find a way to send you a message. Qing refused and insisted on pestering the guards to let her speak to someone close to you. She told me to wait for her out of sight, but hours passed and she did not return."

"Who did she ask to talk to?" Xian demanded.

"I don't know. I never saw him." Hei Xing paused. "If I recall correctly, she said he was a scholar."

Zhen and Xian looked at each other in consternation.

"Fahai," Zhen said. "He has Qing. General Jian mentioned that he has gone to the pagoda. He must be holding her captive there.

Please, Xian—we have to save her."

Xian nodded. "We will ride there at once."

"What about you?" Zhen said to Hei Xing. "Can you come with us?"

"Unfortunately not." Hei Xing gestured at the chains around his wrists and the cell he was locked in. "I had no choice except

to surrender myself to let you know that Qing is in trouble. But if you are in time to save her, my arrest will be well worth

the sacrifice."

Xian turned to Feng.

"Marshal the palace guard without delay." He raised his hand with the signet ring, which gleamed blue-green like malachite.

"I will lead them to Leifeng Pagoda within the hour."