Chapter 10: Final Words and Promise

The Min Imperial Palace was a sleeping beast, its usual nighttime murmurs hushed into an uneasy silence after Min Yulin's brutal display. Only the occasional shift of a guard or the distant mournful cry of a night bird disturbed the stillness. Yulin moved through the darkened corridors, his footsteps silent, echoing the profound stillness within him. The raw anguish he had shown earlier, the hot tears that had traced paths down his cheeks, were gone. His face had settled back into its customary mask of cold determination, but his eyes, though dry, held the ancient, weary sorrow of a soul far older than his 11 years. He had shed his tears for his mother, for the innocence he had lost, and for the fragile future of Min Haotian and Shen Zhiyu. Now, only grim resolve remained.

He approached the Emperor's private quarters, a grand, opulent section of the palace that now felt cold and distant. The guards at the outer perimeter, loyal to the Emperor but intimidated by Yulin's recent ferocity, merely bowed deeply, not daring to meet his gaze. He didn't bother announcing himself. The flimsy pretense of filial piety had dissolved the day his mother died, the day he had stood by her birthing chamber, pleading for help that never came, while his so-called father was undoubtedly lost in the silken embrace of Lady Han Zhenlan.

He pushed open the heavy, lacquered doors to the Emperor's study. The room was bathed in the soft glow of perfumed oil lamps, revealing a scene of quiet, almost domestic, distress. Emperor Min Tianyou sat slumped at his large desk, a half-empty wine goblet beside him, his face etched with a mixture of confusion, frustration, and what might have been genuine regret. He looked smaller, diminished, under the weight of his recent failures and Yulin's public defiance.

Beside him, Empress Han Zhenlan paced, her movements agitated, her exquisite robes rustling with her fury. Her face, usually so carefully composed, was marred by a tear-streaked grimace, and her eyes, though still sharp, held a desperate, animalistic anger. She dabbed at the bloodstains on Min Chengyou's bandages with a silk cloth, her injured son slumped in a nearby chair, groaning softly, his ruined eye covered, his hand heavily bandaged. Min Cheng'an, her younger son, hovered nervously behind her, his own face pale with a mixture of fear and sympathy for his brother. They were a pathetic tableau of raw, exposed vulnerability.

Yulin paused at the threshold, taking in the scene. He didn't offer a bow, or any form of greeting. He simply stood there, a silent, formidable presence, his hands resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, radiating an aura of chilling calm that instantly seized their attention.

Empress Han was the first to react, her head snapping up, her eyes narrowing into venomous slits when she saw him. "You!" she shrieked, her voice raw, devoid of its usual cultivated sweetness. "You animal! Look what you've done to my son! Your own brother!" She pointed a trembling finger at Chengyou, her grief curdling into seething hatred.

Emperor Min looked up, his eyes unfocused, then slowly sharpened as they landed on Yulin. A flicker of his old imperious temper resurfaced, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. "Yulin! How dare you enter unannounced! And after the chaos you caused! What is the meaning of this?!" he demanded, though his voice lacked its usual force, trembling slightly at the edges.

Yulin's gaze swept over them, settling on the Empress, then on the Emperor. He didn't acknowledge their accusations, didn't defend his actions. He simply delivered his message, his voice low, steady, and infused with a terrifying finality.

"Well," Yulin began, his tone cold, almost conversational, making the Empress flinch. He walked slowly into the room, his eyes fixed on Empress Han, "I don't have to go far, concubine Han. Listen, we have many things to settle down, don't we?" He used the term "concubine" with deliberate, brutal intent, stripping her of her empress title, reminding her of her true, subordinate status in his eyes. The Empress gasped, her face flushing crimson, then paling at the open insult. Chengyou groaned louder, while Cheng'an's eyes widened in horror.

"Anyway," Yulin continued, ignoring their reactions, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "make sure to pray for my death. Because if I come back alive, your and your bastards' lives will be shortened." He glanced at Chengyou and Cheng'an, his gaze devoid of mercy.

Emperor Min roared, slamming his fist on the desk. "Yulin! That is enough! How dare you speak to the Empress in such a manner! And these are your brothers! Your mother's death was not Empress Han's fault! It was the will of heaven!" He clutched his head, trying to maintain some semblance of imperial authority. "You are creating trouble! You defy your Emperor!"

At the mention of his mother, and the Emperor's pathetic defense of Han Zhenlan, Yulin's eyes darkened, the coldness in them intensifying to a truly terrifying degree. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his gaze burning into the Emperor's.

"Emperor Min," Yulin stated, his voice now flat, devoid of any warmth, any hint of son, "you do know you are putting a rusted blade into fire, don't you?" He paused, letting the implication hang in the air. The Emperor stiffened, his eyes wide with a dawning realization. Empress Han, beside herself with rage, clenched her sleeves, her nails digging into her palms. They both knew the truth of Yulin's veiled accusation, the unspoken history of his mother's slow poisoning, the Emperor's complicity through inaction, his convenient blindness fueled by his 'first love'.

"Make sure," Yulin continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl, "you put your filthy woman and her followers on a leash. Because if I come back, dead or alive, I will make sure to cut the throat of everyone you and this woman hold dear to." His gaze swept over Empress Han, then her two sons, lingering on Cheng'an, who visibly flinched, then finally returned to the Emperor, a cold, unwavering promise of absolute destruction.

The Emperor stared at him, his face ashen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. He had seen the ruthlessness Yulin was capable of, the sheer, unhinged ferocity. He knew his son was capable of carrying out this terrifying threat. He had pushed Yulin, broken him, and now the consequences of his callous indifference were staring him in the face.

Empress Han's breath hitched. Her initial outrage had given way to a chilling fear. This was not the boy she had ignored and tormented. This was a force of vengeful nature, a storm ready to consume them all. The extent of Yulin's hatred, the depth of his brokenness, was laid bare.

Yulin stood there for another long moment, letting his words sink into their very souls, ensuring they understood the gravity of his vow. He had laid out his terms. His return, in any state, would spell their doom if Zhiyu or Haotian came to harm. He had shed his tears, spoken his truth to Zhiyu. Now, he delivered his chilling prophecy to his enemies.

Then, without another word, without a backward glance, he turned and returned to his room. The heavy doors swung shut behind him, leaving behind a profound, terrifying silence in the Imperial study. The Emperor and Empress, along with their sons, were left to ponder the chilling implications of Yulin's final words, knowing that their lives, and everything they held dear, now hung by a thread, contingent on the safety of an Omega prince and a toddler.

The remaining hours of the night dragged on for Zhiyu. He couldn't sleep, his mind replaying Yulin's words, the anguish in his voice, the chilling threats delivered to the Emperor and Empress. He looked at Haotian, sleeping peacefully in the cradle Yulin had provided, his small chest rising and falling rhythmically. This tiny life, so utterly dependent, was now the fulcrum of such immense power and terrifying promises. Zhiyu felt a fierce surge of determination. He would protect Haotian, and he would endure, for Yulin's sake, for the promise of his return.

As dawn broke, painting the sky with streaks of crimson and gold, the palace began to stir. The quiet was replaced by the low hum of activity, the clatter of weapons, the distant neighing of horses. Yulin was preparing to leave. Zhiyu knew he had to be strong. He had to be resilient. He had to be worthy of the protection Yulin had so violently, so irrevocably, sworn. He gathered Haotian in his arms, holding him close, his heart a mixture of profound sadness and steely resolve.

The next day, another banquet was held – a farewell banquet, they said – but it was more silent than usual, a suffocating tension filling the air, a precursor to the storm that was about to break from an unexpected quarter.