“Who gave you permission to enter!”
Xie Yun shoved him away and leveled the tip of his sword at Song Liang’s chest, his voice heavy with anger.
“I was passing by and saw you staring out the window. I thought you were letting me come in, so I did.”
Song Liang looked at the sword aimed precisely at his heart, then at Xie Yun’s dark green eyes. Uncertainty returned, and he continued, “I came in right in front of you.”
Xie Yun clearly had no intention of hearing his explanation. His voice turned icy. “Guards—”
Before he could finish, Song Liang dodged the sword point and suddenly lunged at him. The instant Xie Yun felt the rush of air coming toward him, he realized something was wrong. But he reacted a moment too late and was slammed hard against the bookshelf behind him.
“Ungh!”
Before Xie Yun could speak, a hand covered his mouth. Song Liang’s amused voice sounded beside his ear.
“This feels familiar. Almost makes me nostalgic.”
“…”
A vein throbbed in Xie Yun’s forehead. He abruptly seized Song Liang’s wrist and twisted it outward.
Song Liang grunted in pain, but his other hand remained firmly pressed against Xie Yun’s shoulder. Keeping his body tight against him, he strained upward toward those dark green eyes.
“…Tell me what’s wrong with your eyes. Tell me, and I’ll let go. Otherwise, kill me if you can. Murder the emperor and take the throne.”
“Chen Min—” Xie Yun ground out.
“…Here. Not dead yet.”
Song Liang gritted his teeth against the pain and looked up into his eyes. Those cold emerald irises were now blazing with anger, reflecting his face.
Xie Yun twisted his wrist harder and harder, almost enough to break it. Yet the person pinning him seemed genuinely unconcerned for his life. He kept pressing against him and staring, as though determined to discover the truth and force an answer.
Their bodies were pressed close, their clothes rustling against each other, even their breaths mingling. If either leaned forward just a little, their lips would touch.
Unable to bear the pain any longer, Song Liang simply kissed him.
Xie Yun went rigid. For an instant, he forgot to maintain his grip. But only for an instant—the next moment, he violently shoved Song Liang away.
Song Liang had not expected such a sudden burst of strength. He was knocked to the floor, a dull pain spreading through his chest so strongly that the ache in his wrist scarcely registered anymore.
3085 was startled too. 【Are you all right?】
Song Liang sucked in a breath through the pain. 【Fine. Why did he suddenly get so strong? Is he on something?】
3085 sounded astonished. 【He struck you with internal energy, and you didn’t cough up blood?】
Song Liang: 【…】
Damn. That ruthless? He had even used internal energy?
Clutching his chest, Song Liang was about to get up when Xie Yun suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood.
Holy shit!
Song Liang was alarmed. He had only kissed him once. Had that really made him so angry he coughed up blood?!
He hurried to his feet and tried to approach, only for Xie Yun to raise his sword again. The point aimed directly at his heart, perfectly accurate. Apparently, there really was nothing wrong with his eyes.
Looking at the sword nearly piercing his outer robe, Song Liang wisely stayed back and apologized.
“I’m sorry—”
“Get out.”
His expression dark, Xie Yun wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were vicious, as though he wanted nothing more than to cut Song Liang down.
“I…”
Song Liang had barely begun when the study door burst open from outside. Xuan Seven stumbled backward into the room, as though someone had kicked him in.
“I can’t beat him,” the youth told Song Liang.
Song Liang answered indulgently, “It’s fine. Neither can I.”
It would have been stranger if he could. In the original novel, Cen Huan was the foremost warrior under that god of slaughter, Xie Yun, and ranked among Great Yao’s finest fighters. Why else did Song Liang usually let things slide with him? He really could not win.
Seeing blood at Xie Yun’s mouth, a pool of it on the floor, and his sword pointing at Song Liang on the ground, the mighty Cen Huan’s eyes widened in furious alarm.
“You damned emperor! You dare plot against our prince?!”
“Well, actually, that isn’t—”
Song Liang tried to explain, but Cen Huan had seen red the instant he noticed Xie Yun’s blood. He would hear nothing. Drawing the saber at his waist, he swung to kill.
As the blade descended, the youth beside Song Liang suddenly rushed forward to shield him. Song Liang’s gaze sharpened. He grabbed the youth and dragged him back, putting himself in the blade’s path instead.
“Stop.”
At the critical instant, Xie Yun’s breathless voice rang out. The sharp blade halted barely half an inch above Song Liang’s head. A lifted strand of hair was severed and drifted to the floor.
Cen Huan stared at the young emperor in astonishment. For a moment, he seemed almost unfamiliar.
“However weakened your prince may be, he still isn’t someone I could injure.”
Song Liang raised a hand and moved the saber aside, speaking unhurriedly.
“But if that strike of yours had landed, your prince would be branded a rebel and a regicide. Even if he took the throne one day, his rule would lack legitimacy. He would be condemned by all, cursed by the people, and remembered in infamy forever.”
Cold sweat broke out over Cen Huan. Only now did he realize the enormity of the mistake he had nearly made. He stood frozen, unable to speak.
Song Liang shot him a glare, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and turned to Xie Yun. The man was watching him, his green eyes deep and sharply cold—but evidently perfectly fine.
“I thought Cen Huan was carrying poison here to stage a rebellion, so I followed to see what was happening. Then I saw you sitting by the window in a daze and thought something was wrong with your eyes. I got worried, so—”
Song Liang fell silent briefly, then added, “And just now, my hand hurt too much. I acted on impulse. I didn’t mean to do that. Besides, you hit me with internal energy, so we’re even.”
This version of Xie Yun was, after all, a man of an ancient world who had spent his life in a position of power. It was probably his first time being forcibly kissed. Song Liang did feel somewhat guilty. After speaking, he was too embarrassed to look at the man’s expression and turned to Xuan Seven.
“Let’s go.”
Xuan Seven nodded and followed.
But before they could step through the doorway, Song Liang suddenly spat out a mouthful of fresh blood.
“…”
Everyone froze. Cen Huan’s mouth fell open in shock. Xie Yun’s expression stalled, and Xuan Seven stood rooted to the spot.
Song Liang himself was stunned for a moment before remembering that he had just taken a palm strike.
He turned and gave Xie Yun a deeply reproachful look. Then his body went limp, and he collapsed.
Alarmed, Xuan Seven hurriedly caught him.
Cen Huan was equally startled. His saber had never touched the young emperor, so it could not have caused this. The injury could only have been sustained before they arrived.
Remembering the young emperor’s claim that their prince had struck him with internal energy, Cen Huan’s heart sank. One thought surfaced in his mind: It was over. Their prince had killed the young emperor. Now they really would have to raise an army.
Xuan Seven had evidently reached the same conclusion. He immediately drew the short blade at his waist and held Song Liang protectively, watching the two men in the room with open vigilance.
Just then, Song Liang caught his arm and murmured weakly from his embrace.
“Quick. Take me back to the palace. Pin this on that damned old woman in Shoukang Palace—”
The moment he finished speaking, his eyes closed, and he fainted.
Xuan Seven: “…”
Cen Huan: “…”
Cen Huan licked his lips, dismissed the succession of rebellion plans forming in his mind, and looked at his prince with complicated feelings.
“Your Highness, perhaps he really means no harm.”
How bad could someone be if, even at death’s door, he was thinking of ways not to implicate their prince and instead blame his enemy? Surely he simply admired their prince, nothing more.
Xie Yun: “…”
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