49. Festival of Lights and Hidden Schemes

On the thirtieth day of the lunar month, the eve of the New Year, families reunite, filled with joy and togetherness.

Wanderers return home, reuniting with long-missed loved ones, tears in their eyes, sharing tales of hardship and longing. The air is warm with the aroma of steaming meals and savory meats. A cup of hometown wine is raised, toasting dreams of joyful reunions.

Yet, in the capital, a different scene unfolds.

The city glows with lanterns, bright as day. Crowds weave through the streets, enchanted by the sights, while beauties carry delicate lamps.

Some engage in riddle games, while veiled maidens laugh softly. Mischievous children dart through alleys with sparklers. From high towers, noblewomen smile at the spectacle, and even sheltered ladies linger in the enchanting beauty of the mortal world.

What a splendid scene of prosperity! Truly, a land painted with the hues of a grand empire!

The chill of winter cannot dampen the warmth of merriment and joy.

New Year's Eve sweeps away the old year's troubles, welcoming the spring, where all things revive with vibrant life.

Yet, beneath this festive joy, dark currents swirl, and schemes simmer. Who knows how many harbor secret motives and hidden agendas?

"Feng, look!"

Suya's frail, pale face, delicate as if a breeze could topple her, blooms with rare color. Even the renowned, serene goddess of medicine, famed across the land, is but a young maiden, barely past her coming-of-age, not yet twenty. Having spent years in the mountains with herbs and exotic beasts, she rarely witnesses such grandeur. Her excitement and delight are unmistakable.

Her pale beauty is striking, radiant yet delicate. Her starry eyes sparkle, her nose is like carved jade, and her lips, lightly red as if touched by cinnabar, carry a pure, ethereal charm. Her small, oval face is smooth and harmonious, her refined features evoking images of snow lotuses on high peaks or gently flowing streams.

Fireworks burst upward, painting the sky with dazzling brilliance, as revelers in new clothes weave through the bustling streets.

"Mm!"

Seeing Suya's rare joy, Feng, who has been by her side, smiles warmly. But beneath his smile lies a heavy heart, burdened with worry.

He frets over the Demon Sect's schemes and mourns his tangled feelings for Qing and Li.

Since returning, he regrets his deliberate distance from Qing and his failure to muster the courage to kiss Li. Leaving the palace, he felt utterly defeated.

He regrets, yet, in truth, he can offer no promises.

Blinking, he notices a group struggling to drag a massively fat man, dressed in lavish silks, toward a carriage. Clearly from a wealthy family, the man is immovable, like a mountain of flesh. The group sweats profusely, as if trying to haul a runaway heir back home, resorting to gentle persuasion and earnest pleas.

Feng listens and overhears an older servant coaxing, "Master, the lord heard rumors of trouble in the capital. Our lives are at risk. Please, let's go back!"

"I'm not leaving! She hasn't left, so why should I?"

The obese man clings to a pillar, immovable despite the group's efforts, muttering, "I, Wally Wang, am smitten. I'll stay with her in the capital, come what may."

"Young master!"

The older servant, dropping formalities, pleads, "The world is full of beauties. Why fixate on one? The lord has found you plenty of women. Why risk it? If something happens to you, how will we face the lord?"

"You explain however you want, but I'm not leaving!" Wally Wang plays the rogue, refusing to budge.

Feng chuckles, amused by the scene, and sighs.

Then he thinks of Xian Lilith. Is she truly safe?

He cannot be sure. Her fox-like smile and enigmatic charm flash in his mind, elusive and hard to decipher.

Xian Lilith, a demoness, dances between the mortal world and illusion, cloaked in the dust of worldly desires. Her intentions, whether playful or guiding, are impossible to read.

He glances toward the palace, hesitant and restless, unaware that Suya notices his unease.

Suya's smile falters, a pang of discomfort and sadness stirring within her.

Even now, is Feng still thinking of Princess Qing? But I am the one by his side.

Unaware of her feelings, Feng wanders absently, his heart elsewhere. Suddenly, a jolt in his spirit makes him turn.

In the sea of people, he glimpses a dreamlike figure, real yet unreal.

Her eyes hold a knowing smile, as if she has watched him for a long time.

Her lips part slightly, as if speaking, her bare jade feet lightly touching the ground like a dragonfly skimming water. Then, she vanishes into the crowd.

Feng searches for a moment, but it feels like a fleeting illusion. Despite his efforts, he finds nothing.

He stands, lost and dejected.

Unnoticed, Suya lowers her head, her hands clutching her plain skirt, a trace of sorrow crossing her serene, beautiful face.

In the glow of lanterns and the vibrant tapestry of the festival, who can truly fathom the hearts of a young man and woman?

Unbeknownst to them, a pair of eyes watches from a distant high tower.

The tower, seven stories tall, stands among the city's lofty buildings. Though not as grand as the imperial palace, it commands a view of the capital's bustling splendor.

A childlike figure, small and delicate, stands at the tower's railing. Snowflakes drift in the cold wind, carrying the faint scent of fireworks. The tiny figure remains still.

Candles flicker on the eaves, and lanterns sway, casting a dim light that stretches the child's shadow long and eerie. The shadow lacks the vibrancy of youth, exuding only deathly stillness, like an old man on the brink of collapse.

Despite his childish appearance, his presence is heavy with decay, like withered wood.

"Evil King, what are you looking at?"

Inside, a refined man sits beside a coffin, sipping wine alone. Noticing Evil King's gaze, he pours another cup and joins him at the railing. The child on the railing is barely as tall as the man.

The man takes a sip, gazing at the city's radiant lights stretching endlessly across the capital. His hand pauses, and he falls into a trance.

"People."

The child's voice is ancient and cold, his face expressionless.

Feng searches for Xian Lilith, Suya watches Feng, and Evil King observes Suya.

Tao's eyes glimmer with intoxication and sentiment. Without asking who Evil King watches, he sighs, "So beautiful! Truly beautiful!"

"In all my years in the capital, I've never felt it could be this breathtaking."

"It's not yours, so you find it beautiful," Evil King retorts bluntly. "You're just jealous."

"True!"

Tao downs his wine, exhaling a breath laced with alcohol, his face hardening as he sheds his wistfulness.

"I envy Ren, even resent him!"

He steps back and pats the coffin. "That's why I can work with you without guilt."

Within the imperial palace, a vast procession of carriages, horses, and ceremonial guards stretches over ten miles along the imperial road, leading to where Ren and Mei await.

On New Year's Eve, the emperor joins the people in celebration.

Ren will leave the inner palace to tour the capital, distributing wine and imperial gifts under the people's gaze, symbolizing the bond between Bright Hua's emperor and his subjects.

This is Ren's first New Year as emperor, making the event exceptionally grand. The Black Tortoise and Yan Fu armies guard the exterior, while the Imperial Guard and Embroidered Guard patrol in secret. Any hint of trouble would spark alarm.

Dressed in a formal dragon robe, though not the ceremonial crown, Ren appears regal, ensuring the capital's people see their sovereign. From top to bottom, no one dares slack, despite the strained treasury. Such an event cannot be delayed.

Tomorrow's ancestral rites demand an even grander robe, crafted with dragon aura and the finest artisans' skill. Any flaw could cost lives.

Yet Ren is the most uneasy.

His face shows no joy, only stern authority. An emperor's smile brings universal delight; his anger shakes mountains. His thunderous presence silences nearby eunuchs and maids, who dare not breathe.

Ren stands in the light, while Tao lurks in shadow. Conspiracies force him to react, and he has long known his brothers' malice, even as Prince Ren. He dares not relax.

The affairs of the world are rarely perfect. One misstep, and all is lost.

He muses, reaching Vermilion Pavilion, murmuring, "So, I will not lose."

The pavilion's doors open, lanterns flickering. From the deep palace emerges an elegant, noble figure.

Mei, adorned with jade hairpins and a phoenix crown, radiates icy grandeur in her ornate robe. Her flawless face, lightly made up, exudes cold beauty. Her calm eyes, red lips, and tall, graceful figure complement the phoenix robe perfectly. Her youthful visage, untouched by time, carries the elegance of a painted lady or a storybook heroine, as if stepping from a fairy tale.

Ren's eyes flash with awe.

Though their marriage is fractured, a mere facade, he cannot deny Mei is the most beautiful woman he has ever known, once an indelible part of his heart. Memories of their past linger, not only in Mei's mind but in his.

He admits Mei is the ideal empress, managing the palace and appointments with unmatched precision, a true partner, were it not for his bias toward Consort Yu Fei. In poise and wisdom, Mei outshines her rival.

Ren looks away, gazing into the distance.

Their love is a faded flower, irretrievable. What Ren seeks, Mei cannot give; what Mei desires, Ren cannot offer.

"Greetings, Your Majesty!"

Mei curtsies.

"Mm."

Ren nods, asking, "Where's Li?"

Mei replies softly, "She says she's unwell."

"Has the physician seen her?"

"The physician checked. It's minor, no concern."

"Oh."

A long silence follows, as if their only shared topic is their daughter.

Finally, Ren raises a hand. "Empress, let's go."

The imperial couple boards the jade carriage. With Jian Qian's shrill cry of "Depart!" the procession of guards, soldiers, and attendants moves like a coiling dragon, winding through the palace.

Seeing the festive bustle outside, palace maids and eunuchs, long confined, grow restless. Even those from Felicity Palace watch enviously as their peers leave.

"Princess, won't you go out?"

A matron from Felicity Palace ventures into the inner chambers, hoping the playful Li will lead them to see the capital's splendor or visit family.

The 'ailing' princess sits by the window, chin in hand, paintbrush idle, lost in thought. She sighs, giggles, then blushes with shy frustration.

The matron, experienced in such matters, retreats quietly, startled by Li's behavior.

Li takes her brush, sketching a dashing youth with sword-like brows and starry eyes, capturing Feng's stubborn charm vividly.

But then, inspired, she draws a fat, squinting figure, Wally Wang, muttering, "Hmph, you bully!"

Her brush pauses as a thought strikes, her cheeks flushing. Beneath Wally's round belly, she adds a thick, long white radish.

Realizing what she's done, she tears the paper to shreds, her face crimson, heart racing.

"Ugh, disgusting!"

Yet she rubs her thighs, her embroidered shoes tapping the soft carpet, toes curling nervously. The heat lingers, as if her delicate feet still recall that fiery sensation, her heart pounding, legs weak at the memory.

As the palace gates open, the New Year's celebration reaches its peak.

But in the shadows, some grit their teeth.

"My dear brother!"

Tao smashes his wine cup, his voice low with venom.

The sealed coffin opens, revealing a pale, barely breathing youth, his face weak yet noble, not the cultivated nobility of aristocrats but the innate dragon aura of true royalty.

A crack in the coffin's seal releases a faint but supremely noble dragon aura, capable of suppressing all.

The aura forms a four-clawed golden dragon, coiling around the coffin, majestic and unyielding.

"Roar!"

The dragon glares at Tao with hostility and hatred, lunging despite its frail form.

Tao raises a brow, his own Bright Hua dragon aura surging, a robust dynasty dragon dispersing the golden dragon's attack. It forms a mighty jiao dragon behind him.

Though the golden dragon's nobility surpasses Tao's jiao, it is rootless, faltering against the endless dynasty dragon fueled by the people's faith, circling the coffin warily.

"Interesting."

Tao chuckles, eyeing the near-dead youth in the coffin, then turns to Evil King, who gazes elsewhere. "Evil King, your methods are profound, collecting even the last dynasty's royalty, and this dragon aura's rank is no small matter."

"Of course," Evil King replies, still looking away. "He's the Last Emperor's Crown Prince."

Tao's interest piques. "But didn't history say he died before the Last Emperor?"

"The Last Emperor, obsessed with immortality, sacrificed half of Shengjing and still wasn't satisfied, planning to kill his son to extend his life," Evil King says casually, revealing the old dynasty's secrets.

"Wait," Tao hesitates, glancing at Evil King. "Was that your idea?"

"Yes."

Evil King's tone remains light, as if discussing something trivial.

"No wonder the Last Emperor died so miserably," Tao remarks, without pity.

The Last Emperor brought his own ruin. A human emperor, bolstered by dragon aura, could rival the Heavenly Emperor in ancient times. At its peak, even immortals feared dragon aura, and cultivators were suppressed to near-mortal levels.

Ironically, the greatest threat to emperors came from mortal warriors, dismissed by cultivators.

Due to the emperor's unique power, neither heavenly laws nor immortals tolerated a long-lived emperor. Any who sought immortality faced divine retribution.

"Our dynasty's dragon aura is the mortal enemy of the last dynasty's, their enmity deeper than the sea," Tao says, then mocks himself. "Yet here I am, with the last dynasty's prince, digging Bright Hua's grave."