The forum had fallen into a heavy silence. The surprised gazes and hushed whispers reached their peak when Shang Shanghu entered.
He was the palace's guardian, one of the most trusted men of King Luoxian, and his presence in this assembly was considered highly unexpected. His tall figure, draped in dark armor, exuded an aura of power and danger.
His face, hardened and weathered by years of exposure to the sun and battle, bore deep lines; his lips were dark, his eyes puffy, his eyebrows arched, and his curly, disheveled hair tied with a leather strap—all together painting the image of a young man who had endured countless hardships. At first glance, his disheveled appearance made him seem disorderly.
As he reached the middle of the hall, many took note of the two daggers fastened to his belt; their naked, polished blades reflected the light like two wild flames. Those familiar with Shang Shanghu's past knew well the words inscribed on those two daggers.
On the right dagger, it read:
"Your death is near."
And on the left dagger:
"To prove loyalty, blood must be spilled."
No one knew why these phrases were engraved on the blades, but whispers circulated in private circles, suggesting that the daggers were a gift from the ruler of Beichi; a gift that was not only a memento but also a deadly message to enemies.
As soon as Shang Shanghu entered, several sycophantic officials, always on the lookout for someone to flatter, gathered around him. With passion and protest, they began recounting the words and actions of Su Jiong, as if it were a sacred duty placed upon them.
However, Shang Shanghu, with a cold and indifferent gaze, simply stared at them. His eyes, like the blades of his daggers, gleamed mercilessly.
A hidden hatred behind his gaze reflected a thought swirling in his mind; the same thought Su Jiong shared:
"These talkative politicians don't even deserve to breathe. They should all be beheaded and erased from the face of the earth."
But alas, they could not. Alas, the times did not permit it.
Ying Zhi, who had been watching Shang Shanghu's entrance from a distance, immediately decided to stay behind the ranks of the officials. He knew well that any interaction with this man would only bring trouble.
The relationship between him and Shang Shanghu was like the enmity between a wild boar and a desert mouse; one ready to strike, the other waiting for a chance to flee.
Jue Yan fixed his gaze on Ying Zhi. Mischief, or perhaps hatred—he wasn't quite sure which—flared up within him. Without a pause, he reached forward and pushed Ying Zhi.
Ying Zhi didn't even have the chance to understand who had betrayed him. It wasn't until he found himself within the piercing gaze of Shang Shanghu that he realized there was no escape. A smile appeared on his face; a smile that held no trace of joy, but instead spoke of surrender and helplessness. With a stiff, trembling movement, he gave a brief bow and said, "Commander Shang, how fortunate to see you here. It truly brings me great joy!"
But the truth was, nothing could be worse than this.
Shang Shanghu immediately replied:
"But I am not happy at all."
His response was so swift and abrupt that for a moment, Ying Zhi felt time itself had stopped. He had expected their gazes to meet in a heavy silence, or for Shang Shanghu to ignore him with his usual indifference. But this was the first time he had heard such a sentence in such a situation from Shang Shanghu, and it left him utterly surprised.
Shang Shanghu was, by nature, a man of few words. He spoke little, listened even less, but killed much. It was said that the number of lives he took in a week was more than the words he uttered in the entire week. Whether that was true or not, it was up to those who had spread the rumor.
Upon hearing this, the officials present instinctively took a few steps back. After the chaos Su Jiong had caused, concern and anger were evident on each of their faces, and at first glance, Shang Shanghu seemed like the savior they needed. But the truth could not be denied.
They all knew well that Shang Shanghu was no less than Su Jiong.
In reality, the officials, hoping to put out the fire, intended to do so with another flame; in other words, they had sought refuge from a wounded wolf in the hands of a fresh one.
With every step Shang Shanghu took, one of the officials stepped aside, as if a cold breeze had swept through them. Finally, he stopped just a few steps away from Su Jiong and Su Yao. His eyes carefully slid over these two cousins. To him, they were remarkably similar—everything from the curve of their noses to the angles of their faces, from the shape of their ears to the darkness of their eyes. Yet, In the depth of their gazes, there was a stark difference, as vast as the difference between heaven and earth.
Without a moment's hesitation toward Su Jiong, Shang Shanghu took a step forward and, with measured respect, said:
"My lord, greetings to you."
Su Yao nodded with a regal demeanor. However, it was Ming Yuan who broke the silence with a crooked, mischievous smile: "Ah… Commander Shang, I didn't expect to see you here!"
Shang Shanghu cast a glance at him. In his eyes, Ming Yuan appeared more than anything like a chick just hatched from its egg; eager, but raw and inexperienced.
He responded in a cold, detached tone:
"I didn't expect a bunch of kids to cause such a ruckus either."
Jue Yan protested: "We're not kids!"
Shang Shanghu shrugged, showing no sign of concern for his anger:
"To me, you are."
Su Yao asked:
"Commander, was it my father who sent you?"
Shang Shanghu, who adopted a more polite tone in front of the prince, replied:
"Perhaps… I'm not sure. Lord Jie Fei gave me a letter and told me to come here."
Su Jiong, who had been silent until now, spoke up:
"Even though Lord Governor is outside the palace, news reaches him faster than you!"
His gaze sparkled; not from anger, but from something deeper, something darker. Yet, Shang Shanghu, despite his fiery and volatile appearance, seemed to possess boundless patience. He neither grew angry nor lost his temper in response to the young Phoenix chick's barbs. He simply stood still.
Su Yao asked softly:
"What orders did Deputy Jie give you?"
Shang Shanghu paused for a moment, as though searching for the right words. Then, with a tone that clearly held reluctance and embarrassment, he answered: "He told me to oversee the discipline ceremony, Your Highness."
His eyes were fixed on the ground. In them, something stirred, resembling dissatisfaction—perhaps even a hint of shame or disdain. But orders were orders. Su Yao nodded with a faint smile: "I see."
He then turned gently and stared at Su Jiong. He paused for a moment, then said:
"Ajiong, things are getting complicated. Please leave here. I don't want you to get into trouble."
Su Jiong hastily replied:
"I'm already In trouble right now!"
He was about to continue, but Shang Shanghu interrupted him firmly, saying:
"Your Highness, Master Su is not permitted to leave."
Jue Yan and Ming Yuan jumped up, their faces contorted. Su Jiong quickly turned and, furious, asked:
"Then why can't I leave?!"
Shang Shanghu paused for a moment, as if weighing the gravity of his order in his mind, torn between speaking and remaining silent. But finally, he said:
"According to the order, you are to carry out the prince's discipline ceremony, young master."
The words coiled around Su Jiong like a steel chain. His mind froze for a moment, and the world seemed to spin around him.
At first, the statement was so absurd and far-fetched that he gave a bitter smile, as though he had heard a nonsensical joke. With a sarcastic, incredulous murmur, he whispered, "What do you mean?!"
Shang Shanghu repeated:
"I mean you must flog the prince yourself."
In that moment, something in Su Jiong's face cracked. His eyes widened, his lips trembled, and for a moment, it felt as though all the blood in his body froze. Shang Shanghu's words were like a dagger, tearing into him, rending his soul from within.
"What… what are you saying?!"
His voice trembled, not only with anger but with a deep, painful disbelief.
Shang Shanghu said nothing more. He was a messenger of the order, not a judge or executioner. He averted his gaze from Su Jiong and, this time, looked directly at Su Yao:
"My lord, His Excellency is on his way. He will be at the palace soon. Lord Jie has said that the Governor ordered that the discipline must be completed before His Excellency arrives. Please cooperate."
Su Yao blinked once, his expression blank. Deep in his eyes, something gleamed—not fear, not anger, but a heavy calm, like an ocean that had accepted the storm.
He spoke with quiet composure:
"Very well."
Then he turned to Su Jiong. With a steady, firm voice, he said:
"Ajiong… look at me."
Su Jiong stubbornly refused. His breath was shallow with anger and desperation, his fists clenched, and inside, a tempest raged.
"Su Jiong, look at me!"
But Su Jiong averted his gaze from Su Yao, like a child trying to escape punishment—or perhaps like a man who would not kneel before an unjust order.
Had he truly chosen the right path?
His decision to save Su Yao was now becoming a catastrophe. Now, faced with this humiliating command, Su Jiong was forced to either destroy his cousin's dignity or, with no way to change their fate, witness his fall. This was unbearable.
Su Yao stepped forward and firmly grasped Su Jiong's chin. His eyes were sharp and resolute. He said:
"Ajiong… listen carefully! Now that it's come to this, you have to finish it. I'm asking you to do this. Do you understand?!"
Su Jiong's voice trembled with rage as he said:
"I won't do it!"
Su Yao's face hardened. In the depth of his gaze, there was nothing but desperation.
"You must do this!"
"No, I won't!"
Su Yao took a deep breath. There was a shift in his expression, and the pleading was gone.
"Su Jiong… I order you!"
Su Jiong's shout echoed through the hall:
"Isn't this what brought you here in the first place? Getting involved in politics! Now, you want to make your crime worse by ordering me around?!"
Ming Yuan immediately stepped forward and whispered in Su Yao's ear, "My lord, please be cautious! We are the officers of the Inspection Bureau. You cannot give us orders!"
Su Yao did not take his gaze off Su Jiong. His voice was cold and measured:
"I know this well. In fact, that's exactly why I'm doing this. Perhaps Su Jiong will stop his rash behavior this way." Then, with a tone that was a mix of reproach and warning, he added, "Su Jiong… if you want to make my crime worse, continue this behavior!"
Su Jiong did not respond. He lowered his head and stared at the ground. His heart pounded in his chest, as though it wanted to leap out. He felt suffocated, as If the sky itself were collapsing on him.
He muttered, "Damn… damn it!"
Anger, desperation, and helplessness bubbled up within him. His mind, which always found a solution to any situation, was now blank.
There was no way out. The hall had turned into a cage, and Shang Shanghu held the key to it. Even Su Jiong himself hesitated to confront Shang Shanghu.
Without waiting for a response, Su Yao calmly turned around and, indifferent to the heavy gazes around him, returned to the punishment platform. Right before everyone's eyes, he knelt again. Then he said:
"Officer Su… come here!"
Su Jiong stood motionless, as if he had fallen into another world, hearing no sounds around him.
"Su Jiong… I'm talking to you, come here!"
Su Yao's voice was firm, but there was no trace of anger or pleading in it—just a simple command, a truth from which there was no escape.
Su Jiong's breaths grew heavy and irregular. His shoulders trembled with each breath. His jaw clenched tightly. The pain that surged from his heart seemed insignificant compared to the weight of what was now upon him. Jue Yan slowly stepped forward. His face was grim. He gently placed his hand on Su Jiong's shoulder and, in a soft tone, said:
"Young master, there's nothing more we can do. We have no chance now. Please, respect the prince's wishes."
Su Jiong took a deep breath—as if he hoped it would extinguish the fiery turmoil inside him, but It did not.
His fists were clenched. His bruised and battered face was shattered by the intensity of his anger. He took a step forward; his footsteps were heavy.
He could feel the malicious gazes of the officials, could see the gleam of satisfaction in their eyes. For them, this scene was nothing but an act of humiliation, something they were relishing in watching. He climbed the steps of the punishment platform. Step by step. Each step was a blow to his pride. The wooden floor beneath his feet creaked with a muffled sound, as If even the earth could not bear the weight of these moments.
Ming Yuan lowered his head and closed his eyes. His thoughts, like autumn leaves in a storm, swirled aimlessly and chaotically. "What did we think, and what has happened!"
At first, he had imagined that, in the worst-case scenario, they would be forced into a confrontation to save the prince, with swords drawn. But he never thought it would come to this—to the point where Su Jiong himself would have to lash the prince.
Su Jiong was now only two steps away from Su Yao. The punishment rod, in the hands of one of the eunuchs tasked with carrying out the sentence, was raised high and stretched toward him.
"Young master Su… please proceed."
Su Jiong's gaze was fixed on the rod. It was thick and heavy. His hands froze. With each strike, it could take a person's breath away—and now, he had to deliver a hundred strokes. His hands moved forward involuntarily. He grasped the rod. Its weight shook him. He furrowed his brow. How could a prince withstand the blows of this rod?
His steps were slow and measured, as if each step was taking a hundred years from his life. He stood before Su Yao, looking at the prince.
Su Yao's long black hair, now loose, cascaded down his back. His posture, now bent and broken.
His frail and thin form would soon be black and blue. Su Jiong's hands trembled. How could he bring himself to strike this blow?
How could he accept this situation? None of these humiliations could be endured. This blatant injustice could not go unanswered.
How could Su Jiong submit to a father whose sole purpose was to crush his son's pride and spirit?
Suddenly, a swift and fiery thought struck his mind. A thought that at first might seem foolish, but like a drawn sword, it could pierce the heart of his enemy.
He turned his eyes. His gaze passed through the crowd, through the dozens of suspicious and selfish eyes, through the black-clad guards, Shang Shanghu, Jue Yan, Ming Yuan, and even Su Yao. All eyes were on him, waiting for the moment when the first strike would land. No one knew what decision Su Jiong had made.
The discipline rod slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. The sound of the rod hitting the ground echoed like thunder in the deadly silence, surprising everyone. Su Yao's ears twitched at the sound. He wanted to turn his head and see what had happened, but suddenly Su Jiong unsheathed his sword. Everyone was stunned and bewildered. They hadn't expected Su Jiong to do such a thing.
Shang Shanghu stepped forward angrily and shouted in a harsh voice, "master Su, what are you doing?!"
At that moment, all the guards drew their swords from their scabbards, ready to confront him. But contrary to expectations, Su Jiong turned his sword back toward himself and placed the blade against his neck. Jue Yan, in shock and worry, shouted, "Young Master, no!"
Ming Yuan, still unable to believe this moment, stepped forward instinctively, trying to say something, but Shang Shanghu, who could no longer bear the situation, roared, "Master Su… stop your foolishness!"
Su Jiong, with a bitter laugh, said, "It's you who need to stop with these actions! I won't let you destroy the prince's reputation, even if it costs my life!"
Su Yao hurriedly stood up, his heart torn apart at seeing this scene. He anxiously said, "Ajiong… don't do this! What are you doing?!"
He walked calmly toward Su Jiong, and his words lingered in the air with hesitation: "Ajiong… you don't have the right to hurt yourself because of me. Ajiong..."
Shang Shanghu, realizing the intensity of the tension and the danger of the moment—and knowing that he needed to hold back his anger—said in a calm but serious voice, "Master Su, this is not the right thing to do. Please, maintain your composure. Your life is too valuable to the people of Beichi. Please, think of the consequences."
Su Jiong, unable to bear it any longer, shouted, "For my whole life, you've told me to think about the consequences of my actions! I've been so careful, and look where it has gotten us. My father sacrificed his life for you... for the safety of this land. Now you spend day and night conspiring against his nephew and me. If my father were alive, none of you would be here trying to assert authority over me or Su Yao. My father would never have let such corrupt people interfere in his affairs!"
A voice from one of the officials, who wished that Su Jiong's sword would immediately cut his throat, rose from the crowd, "What do you mean? Are you saying His Majesty is Irresponsible and gave us our posts and titles? Are you implying that if your father were alive, instead of King Luoxian, he would now be the ruler of Beichi?!"
These words quickly stirred strong emotions and harsh reproaches, but this time it was Su Yao who silenced all voices at their roots.
"Shut up! All of you, shut up! Especially you!" He pointed at the man with his finger. "If you say one more word, I'll kill you with my own hands, do you understand?!"
Su Jiong was deeply relieved to see the prince defending him. He then turned to Shang Shanghu and, in a firm and threatening tone, said, "Commander Shang, the choice is yours. Which will it be? My death, or the end of this ridiculous ceremony?"
Shang Shanghu stared at Su Jiong with furrowed brows. He was not in a position to decide alone, but this moment, this decision, would determine the fate of Beichi and the people of Guosu. A yes, or a no.
All eyes were fixed on him. Everyone was waiting; waiting for an answer… a response...
A Sacred Gift, or a Dark One?
On the day Shang Shanghu was appointed as the commander of the Black Guard, the ruler of Beichi gifted him two large daggers. At that moment, the gift seemed to be merely a token of respect and affection from the king to his commander. However, it carried with it a hidden and ominous message, one that only Shang Shanghu could understand.
Each of the daggers was adorned with a unique inscription, words that, contrary to the beliefs of most who assumed these words were meant for others, clearly referred to Shang Shanghu himself.
The Inscriptions etched onto the blades carried heavy meaning. The first phrase, "Your death is near," was undeniably a warning. This sentence was not just a threat from the ruler of Beichi, but a reminder that the shadow of death constantly loomed over Shang Shanghu, and that with the slightest mistake, it could come for him. As the commander of the Black Guard, Shang Shanghu was responsible for safeguarding the king's life, wealth, and family. He had not only to protect his lord, but also to be vigilant against any treason that might arise from others against the king. Otherwise, death would draw closer, nearer than Shang Shanghu could ever imagine.
But the second phrase, "To prove loyalty, blood must be shed," carried two layers of meaning. First, it implied that Shang Shanghu must shed the blood of the king's enemies to prove his loyalty. This was an act Shang Shanghu had performed time and again. He knew that to capture his lord's attention, he must spill blood on the battlefields, never hesitating in his pursuit of victory.
However, the second meaning was much more weighty. "To prove loyalty, blood must be shed" also suggested that sometimes loyalty could only be proven with the individual's own blood. Perhaps one day, Shang Shanghu would have to sacrifice his own life in the name of his commitment and honor, just as many former loyal servants had done before him.
In that moment, the gift was not just a symbol of the ruler's affection for his loyal commander, but a bitter and direct warning from the ruler of Beichi. The king's message was clear:
"If you make even the smallest mistake, whether intentional or accidental, you will die."
This deadly warning subtly reminded Shang Shanghu that every move he made was under intense scrutiny, and the slightest error could bring an end to his life.
Shang Shanghu, a Despicable Man with Despicable Traits!
Unlike Jie Fei, who was a nobleman of true lineage, Shang Shanghu was a man of nobility, but one whose character was far from admirable. From an early age, he was drawn to swords and martial arts, quickly attaining remarkable skill. He was always with a sword in hand, training and strengthening both his body and mind.
Shang Shanghu was never an ordinary person; amidst the tough and complex battles he found himself in, he was always in search of superiority.
He was a man who lacked warmth, not because he didn't have the will to form emotional connections, but because he deeply distanced himself from human relationships. To him, social life was nothing more than a game of tricks and politics, and he viewed every person and situation with suspicion. This attitude deprived him of genuine friendships, leaving only a face marked by sorrow and coldness.
Shang Shanghu never yielded in the face of conspiracies and baseless accusations. He was always striving to reach the highest positions, proving his power to the world. Those who sought to take his position would throw him into the center of rumors and insults, but Shang Shanghu, with hard work and perhaps a bit of luck, overcame all obstacles and eventually arrived at the place he held today.
Shang Shanghu had no interest in forming a family. He was unmarried and childless, his heart devoid of any desire to build emotional ties; it was as if his heart had turned to stone. Whenever the desire for physical pleasures would arise within him, he would visit brothels to satisfy those base needs, and after indulging in them, he would return to his cold and soulless world.
He was a man of a complex character; proud and self-satisfied. He constantly distanced himself from others, regarding those around him with a condescending gaze. While he felt fear before the king, If circumstances allowed, he might even consider himself superior to the king and would dare to admit It.
His life, filled with loneliness and coldness, unfolded in a world full of struggles and distrust. He neither sought affection from anyone nor allowed anyone to get close to him. These traits made him a solitary figure In his chaotic world, someone who never sought friendship or alliance, but was always in pursuit of power and dominance over others.
A prince being whipped—what greater humiliation could there be?
In Beichi, there was an ancient custom passed down through the ages: the wounds and injuries inflicted on a person in the heat of battle were seen as symbols of honor and glory. However, if those wounds came from a whip and punishment, they were regarded as signs of disgrace and degradation.
Now, imagine a prince's body completely covered in whip marks. Could one even begin to fathom the image that the people would form of such an individual in their minds?
Supporters of this prince would say, "You lacked the courage to stand up to your father and prevent such a catastrophe from befalling you. You are truly incompetent!" Yet, these words could not help but leave their mark on the people's hearts, for those who spoke in his defense also found themselves subjected to harsh criticism.
Critics, on the other hand, turned into fierce enemies, using their sharp tongues to attack whatever remained of his dignity. His adversaries easily found an excuse to mock and humiliate such a prince, further fueling their reasons for continuing the hostility. Could such a prince ever hope to ascend the throne?
In Beichi, another old tradition existed: a prince who had been subjected to the discipline ceremony, whose body bore the marks of the whip, was no longer deemed fit to rule. For when a prince undergoes such a fate, the people no longer see him as a heavenly ruler but instead as one who has fallen from grace, struck down by the heavens themselves.
You may think to yourself how foolish such beliefs are… but this was a reality that many in those times believed in. Even those who didn't hold it as true still used it to their advantage for their personal agendas.
Amidst these beliefs, the prince Su Yao's participation in the discipline ceremony was, in itself, a great defeat. Such an event not only severely diminished his dignity and standing in the eyes of the people, but it also had a damaging effect on his government. Imagine if he were to receive a hundred lashes… such an event would spell the complete collapse for someone on the brink of power.
If you glance at the pages of history and reflect upon the past, you'll realize that most nobles and aristocrats who were stripped of their titles and subjected to such ceremonies would end their own lives. Yes, many of them committed suicide, preferring to embrace death rather than live through such humiliation, showing the world that even in their final moments, a shred of their honor remained intact.
What a cruel and heartless world!
Interference in Political Affairs by Princes: A Forbidden Taboo or a Simple Game?
From ancient times to the present, kings have always taken measures to limit the influence of princes due to concerns over the dangers of losing the throne and their power. These restrictions often took the form of formal laws or were issued as royal decrees and commands.
Among these princes, there were those who assisted their fathers in court affairs, but whether the king welcomed their participation in politics and governance depended on his views and emotions regarding his children's involvement.
During the reign of Su Jiong's uncle, there were no laws restricting the powers of the princes. The laws that had been previously enacted to suppress the political roles of royal children had become outdated and obsolete. However, Su Yao's father, a powerful and conservative king, had no interest in his children's involvement In politics.
He was particularly concerned about the potential impact of Su Yao's involvement in large-scale policies and governance. As a result, he Issued a decree forbidding Su Yao from engaging in any state affairs. This decree was so restrictive that Su Yao could not even give orders to junior officers or government officials.
He could only command the servants working in his personal residence. These servants were selected by the eunuch Gou, the attendant of the Beichi ruler, from among those loyal and special to the royal family.
This situation demonstrated that, despite Su Yao's talent, intelligence, and ability in statecraft, he had no chance of attaining any key positions at court. These restrictions reflected his father's deep mistrust of him and the fears he harbored of any potential threats to the throne from Su Yao. The king believed that any political interference could lead to internal rivalries and threaten the monarchy.
The king only allowed those princes who were completely under his control to enter state affairs. In this regard, Su Yao had no chance of being Included in such circles.
These hostile policies, which outwardly appeared to preserve the power and unity of the kingdom, ultimately led to an indirect rift between the king and his son. Su Yao, who saw himself as capable and worthy of participating in political affairs, grew increasingly angry at these restrictions. Feeling trapped in a web of mistrust and political isolation, he began to cultivate ideas for changing this situation and reclaiming his lost power.
Ultimately, these conflicts and differences between father and son reached a point where Su Yao was completely excluded from any oversight or involvement in politics and was relegated to a place far removed from any political actions. Over time, these mistrusts and political limitations deepened the rift between them. The king, still shadowed by his fear of losing power, continued to work to suppress any threats within the royal family.
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