Chapter 11: The Farewell Banquet

The morning after Min Yulin's chilling nocturnal visit to the Emperor's study dawned with an oppressive stillness over the Min Imperial Palace. The sun, usually a cheerful herald, seemed hesitant to fully penetrate the heavy, tension-laden air. News of Yulin's departure to the northern borders had spread like wildfire, mingled with hushed, terrified accounts of the previous day's bloodbath. Everyone knew this farewell banquet wasn't a celebration, but a forced assembly, a public display of unity that felt as thin and fragile as a spiderweb.

Shen Zhiyu, dressed in a simple, elegant robe of deep imperial blue, chosen by one of Yulin's assigned maids, felt the weight of every gaze as he entered the grand banquet hall. He held Min Haotian securely in his arms, the toddler's small, warm body a grounding presence amidst the suffocating atmosphere. The hall, usually a vibrant tapestry of color and sound, was subdued. Ministers and their families, courtiers, and generals sat at their designated tables, their faces stiff, their conversations reduced to barely audible murmurs. The scent of fear, still clinging to the very tapestries, mingled unpleasantly with the rich aroma of roasted meats and fine wines.

Zhiyu found his place at a small, elevated table near the head of the hall, reserved for him and Haotian. He was close enough to observe the Emperor, Min Tianyou, whose face was pale and drawn, his eyes constantly darting towards the doors, as if expecting Yulin's abrupt entrance. Beside him, Empress Han Zhenlan sat rigid and unsmiling, her elaborate robes a stark contrast to her tightly controlled fury. Her injured son, Min Chengyou, was absent, no doubt still recovering, while her other son, Min Cheng'an, sat beside her, his gaze flicking nervously between his parents and the entrance.

A low, unsettling hum filled the hall, a collective breath held. Every eye was on the grand entrance. Finally, Min Yulin strode in, his imposing figure cutting through the tension like a blade. He wore his battle armor, polished to a gleam, a heavy cape of imperial black draped over his shoulders, the insignia of the imperial army emblazoned on his chest. His sword, its hilt plain and unadorned, hung at his hip. His face was a mask of cold, unyielding resolve, betraying no emotion, no hint of the raw anguish Zhiyu had witnessed the night before. He acknowledged no one, his gaze fixed straight ahead as he walked towards the head table.

He didn't bow to the Emperor or Empress. He simply stopped, his stance radiating an almost palpable power that commanded immediate silence. The Emperor flinched, visibly uncomfortable under his son's unwavering gaze. Empress Han merely glared, her lips pressed into a thin, venomous line.

Yulin, after a moment of silent, suffocating tension, turned and nodded curtly to his generals, who stood ready to accompany him. Then, his eyes, cold and assessing, swept over the assembled court. His gaze paused briefly on Zhiyu and Haotian, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he turned away. It was a silent acknowledgment, a subtle confirmation of the unspoken bond they shared, a quiet promise of his return.

The banquet began, but it was far from festive. The clinking of porcelain and the murmur of servants were the only sounds. No one dared to speak loudly, to laugh, or even to move with too much freedom. It was a macabre feast, a silent farewell to a prince whom many feared would not return, or worse, would return with an even greater thirst for vengeance.

Zhiyu, keenly aware of the hostile undercurrents, kept his attention focused on Haotian, distracting the baby with quiet games, whispering stories about brave heroes. He felt the weight of countless, curious, and often malicious, gazes on him. He knew they were judging him, blaming him for the Crown Prince's recent "instability." The anxiety of Yulin's impending departure gnawed at him, a constant, dull ache in his chest. Without Yulin, he was vulnerable. He was foreign. He was an Omega.

The suffocating silence was finally shattered, not by the Emperor, nor by one of the fearful courtiers, but by a loud, grating voice that seemed to relish its own audacity. It belonged to Minister Fang, Empress Han's uncle, the very man whose tongue Yulin had so brutally, and publicly, cut just days earlier. Minister Fang, his face still bandaged where his tongue had been removed, communicated through an interpreter, a young, nervous eunuch who visibly trembled as he relayed Fang's words.

Minister Fang, emboldened by the Empress's presence and a perhaps misplaced sense of immunity, rose from his seat, his gaze sweeping over the hall, landing with malicious intent on Yulin, and then, with even greater scorn, on Zhiyu. The interpreter, his voice shaking, began to translate Minister Fang's agitated hand gestures and muffled pronouncements.

"This humble servant... must speak," the interpreter stammered, his eyes darting fearfully towards Yulin. "Minister Fang says... he feels... profound shame... at the recent actions of the Crown Prince!"

A collective gasp rippled through the hall. Such open defiance was unheard of, especially after Yulin's recent display. The Empress, however, gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement to her uncle.

"Minister Fang believes," the interpreter continued, his voice gaining a desperate urgency, "that the Crown Prince... has brought dishonor... to our Imperial House! Hurting his own flesh and blood..." He gestured vaguely towards Chengyou's empty seat, then towards the minister whose hand Yulin had severed. "...and harming loyal ministers... for an outsider!"

The final words, "for an outsider," were delivered with a deliberate, venomous sneer, aimed squarely at Shen Zhiyu. A hush fell over the hall, thick with shocked silence. The implication was clear: Zhiyu was the cause of Yulin's perceived madness, the foreign element corrupting their noble Crown Prince.

Zhiyu's blood ran cold. His fingers tightened around Haotian. He felt the heat rising in his cheeks, a furious blush of indignation. His mind reeled. An outsider? He was a prince, a Crown Prince of a once-proud empire! He had endured betrayal, lost his family, his home, his very identity. He had been captured, imprisoned, nearly forced into a degrading fate. And now, he was a scapegoat, blamed for the very violence that had saved him.

The anxiety that had been building inside him for days, a suffocating pressure stemming from Yulin's impending departure, suddenly exploded. He had been trying to remain calm, to endure the veiled insults, to prioritize Haotian's safety above all else. But this accusation, hurled by a man who had benefited from his family's downfall, by an uncle of the very woman who had poisoned Yulin's mother, was a direct assault on his dignity, on his very being. It was a taunt that minimized his suffering and painted him as a conniving seducer, unworthy of Yulin's protection.

He looked at Minister Fang, then at Empress Han, whose face held a triumphant, cruel smirk. He saw the condescending pity in the eyes of some courtiers, the outright disgust in others. He felt the fragile connection he had begun to form with this new, unsettling world shatter under the weight of their judgment.

All the suppressed anger, the unaddressed grief, the humiliation he had endured – it all coalesced into a furious spark deep within him. His calm demeanor, the quiet grace that usually defined him, vanished. His eyes, usually pools of quiet wisdom, suddenly flashed with dangerous, untamed resolve. He felt a fire ignite within him, a mirror of the very rage he had witnessed in Yulin.

 As Minister Fang, satisfied with his inflammatory words, bowed slightly, Zhiyu, unable to contain the anxiety and anger building within him over Yulin's impending departure, snapped, his eyes flashing with dangerous resolve, preparing to unleash his own carefully concealed secrets upon the shocked assembly.