A dark thought once again stirred in Minister Zheng's heart. The idea of murdering an innocent child— the heir of his fallen comrade— weighed heavily upon him. Shame began to creep slowly into his soul.
"I know..." Consort Hua whispered as she leaned gently against his shoulder, "it must be difficult for you to even consider such a thing."
Her voice carried a note of sympathy, as though she could see straight into his heart and the torment within.
"But I ask you to remember the past," she continued, her words like silk, soft yet sharp, "The Dragon Throne should have been yours from the beginning— not Sujuan's.Surely you recall...why it was that you were denied the throne all those years ago."
Zheng Shihwei's mind drifted back to the past— to the days when he and Sujuan, his sworn brother-in-arms, fought side by side in the campaign against the tyrant Emperor, Chang Zhou.
That war had been a grueling and bitter struggle. Chang Zhou, a despot of ruthless ambition,
was backed by the Song Tribe— the most formidable of all the fifty clans under heaven. With their support, his army brimmed with unstoppable might.
But in a turning point of blood and fire, Zheng Shihwei had slain the chieftain of the Song Tribe with his own hand. Leaderless, the once-mighty Song warriors scattered like leaves before the wind.
Victory, however, came at a terrible cost— his back was forever broken in the battle, his body maimed for life.
And when Chang Zhou was left without the Song to bolster his ranks, he turned instead to cruelty beyond imagining: he conscripted commoners from across the realm, forcing them to form a wall of flesh against Zheng's advancing army.
Zheng could still hear the cries— those heart-wrenching pleas for mercy from helpless villagers, pressed into war they did not choose.
It was in that moment, through excruciating pain, that Zheng Shihwei rose to his feet.
And with a voice that cut through despair, he delivered a speech that stirred the hearts of the oppressed.
His words ignited a fire in the people's souls. They rose—one by one—against the despot's army.
And in an outcome few dared dream, the tyrant's forces were shattered.
The tyrant Chang Zhou was captured and executed— drawn and quartered by five horses. His remaining royal kin were likewise put to death, while a few fled into exile,
scattering like leaves in a storm. To this day, their fates remain unknown.
At that time, the realm stood without a sovereign. To leave the Dragon Throne vacant would have spelled chaos for the nation. In those days, had he not been crippled— a man of such wisdom and command as he— Zheng Shihwei would surely have ascended the throne himself.
But in the end, he accepted the will of fate. He relinquished his claim and yielded the throne to Sujuan, his beloved brother-in-arms, allowing him to rise as the new Son of Heaven.
It was during that very time that he first met Mu Ying— now known to the world as Consort Hua. Then, she had been but a lowly concubine in the harem of the tyrant Chang Zhou. Her beauty, divine like that of the celestial goddess Ma Gu, captivated him beyond reason.
He fell for her—deep and helpless.
But now, Mu Ying had become the possession of the new Emperor, by law of the imperial household. Emperor Sujuan, too, had fallen madly in love with her— so deeply that he could neither eat nor sleep.
Zheng Shihwei had known then, his friend would never relinquish her to him.
"If you had taken the throne back then," Consort Hua whispered bitterly, "you and I wouldn't need to meet in secret like this." Her words were not entirely sincere— but her voice, her expression, her sorrow… they were heartbreakingly convincing. "And I wouldn't be facing a living grave such as this."
Zheng pulled her into his arms, his voice trembling with resolve. "Mu Ying, I will never let you die."
"Does that mean… you intend to eliminate the child in the Empress's womb?"
"That matter..." Minister Zheng hesitated. "Mu Ying, surely… there must be another way. A path where I can claim the throne—and save you—without taking the life of the unborn child."
A flicker of anger crossed Consort Hua's flawless face, but it quickly faded.
She swallowed the surge of fury that rose within her, knowing well that pressing him now would only make him waver further. A new plan was already beginning to form in her mind.
"If that is your choice," she said calmly, "then you must act quickly. If you delay any longer, I fear that neither you—nor the Empress's child—will ascend the throne at all."
"What are you trying to say, Mu Ying?"