Chapter 47: Plotting Treason and Usurpation Part 1

Wei Shu leaned obliquely against the wide back of the chair, his fingertips unconsciously twisting a data card no larger than a fingernail. The cold, reliable data brought no comfort at all; instead, it drew out the chill deep in his bones, bit by bit, wrapping around his heart.

Outside the window lay the artificial sky dome of the Empire’s Capital Star, where false stars flickered with indifferent light.

Wei Tingxia’s face, carrying an obvious warning, still floated before his eyes.

Wei Shu’s fingertips suddenly tightened, the data card digging painfully into his palm.

Too many things had happened these days. What others on the planet saw as a terrorist attack struck Wei Shu as a malicious warning before any real move, like Damocles’ sword hanging over his head.

The blast at the experimental grounds… so many of the rescued “cargo”…

Someone had discovered his secret.

This was Capital Star, the most noble place in the entire Empire. Everyone should be an extension of Father Emperor’s will. If they had truly examined the data, they would know the ultimate beneficiary of the experiment was not him, Wei Shu. Even just for their own lives, they should have left cautiously and quietly.

Yet they had acted so boldly, then vanished without a trace afterward—

Wei Shu was no fool. Of course, he could smell something off from these faint clues. The one who had made the move this time was definitely no Imperial.

Wei Tingxia’s words echoed coldly in his ears once more.

…Thud!

A faint sound instantly pierced his taut nerves. Wei Shu shot upright, his sharp gaze fixing on the door: “Who!”

The door slid open silently a crack, and the old but respectful figure of the butler appeared there. “Your Highness, it is I.”

“Oh, it’s you.” Wei Shu’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned back into the chair, though his voice still held a trace of lingering shock. “What is it?”

The butler lowered his head, his voice even softer: “It concerns the reconstruction of the experimental grounds… Too many researchers were lost, and manpower is severely lacking. I’m afraid… we cannot meet the sample quantities needed for follow-up experiments.”

“Then go recruit some!” Wei Shu furrowed his brows, his tone laced with impatience. “Can’t you even manage that?”

The butler’s body trembled, his head bowing deeper, his voice trembling with fear: “Your Highness, calm your anger! It can be done, of course it can! I’ll handle it right away, with no slacking! It’s just… it’s just…”

He swallowed hard, then added cautiously, “The previous batch of test subjects is completely gone. Right now, everywhere is urgently scouring for more, and it will take some time…”

“Scouring?”

Alarm bells rang in Wei Shu’s mind, an ominous premonition seizing him instantly. He shot to his feet, his voice rising with undeniable urgency: “Stop! Don’t capture any more! Stop immediately—!”

But before the words finished, the urgent command collided with an invisible wall and dissipated into the terrified air.

A shrill gleam of cold light flashed without warning from the shadows beyond the door crack, so fast it evaded visual capture, leaving only the icy trail of torn air.

The butler didn’t even have time to cry out; the terror on his face froze solid.

Splurt!

The muffled, piercing sound of blade slicing into flesh and bone.

Time seemed to stretch.

Wei Shu watched as the butler’s hunched body, robbed of all support, bizarrely shifted and split apart from the middle.

Hot liquid, thick with the smell of rust, sprayed out like flung ink, carving a scarlet fan in the cold air. A few scalding droplets even splashed onto Wei Shu’s wrist, which he had instinctively raised, leaving glaring red spots.

The butler’s upper body slid silently down, thudding onto the cold floor with a dull impact. His turbid eyes still held shock and bewilderment, staring straight toward Wei Shu.

His lower body stood rigid for a moment before slowly toppling without control. The dark red liquid spread like living vines across the pristine floor.

Wei Shu’s pupils contracted sharply, his blood freezing in that instant. He stared deathly at the thick shadows beyond the door crack that had devoured the butler, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, nearly shattering his ribs.

Dead silence.

Only the faint drip of blood on the floor, like the countdown of a death knell.

Then, from that shadow steeped in death, a foot slowly stepped forth.

Black military boots, finely made yet stained with fresh blood. Each step into the sticky pool produced a teeth-gritting wet squelch.

The owner of the boots finally emerged fully.

It was an exceptionally tall man, dressed in a white shirt likewise spattered with blood, his long pants tucked into the boots, his silhouette upright and brimming with power. He stood at the edge of the shadow cast by the doorframe, the light outlining his angular jaw and slightly hooked thin lips.

“I’ve waited for this day a long time,” he said. “So long that now it’s here, I almost don’t know how to start.”

As the distance closed, Wei Shu quickly made out the assailant’s face.

“I know you,” he narrowed his eyes, forcibly suppressing his racing heart. “You’re Second Brother’s omega, called Yan Feng.”

“Your guess is right on a tiny part of it—for instance, I’m not an omega, and my name isn’t Yan Feng.”

The aura of a top alpha erupted suddenly, like a mountain crashing down, instantly filling the entire space. Wei Shu’s face drained white as paper.

This was the most barbaric, crude way to fight, like beasts baring bloodied fangs before a duel, warning the opponent of the agony to come.

Ever since the Empire entered the civilized era, alphas had been taught not to do this.

“You didn’t deny being his,” Wei Shu keenly noted the loophole. “Second Brother has some real skill.”

Exiled abroad for three years, without real power, yet able to win over someone with such methods…

Yan Xinfeng smiled and nodded. “He does indeed have skill.”

Before the words finished, a cold gleam slashed from the side, precisely severing Wei Shu’s arm as he reached for the alarm button.

The shrill scream was choked back in his throat, twisting into a muffled whimper. Yan Xinfeng strode calmly over the corpse into the room, ignoring Wei Shu’s agony. He pushed open the window, letting the stifled howls of pain escape.

Three minutes passed in dead silence.

“No need to cut off your hand, really,” he said, lowering his gaze to the spasming figure on the floor, his tone flat as if discussing the weather. “But if I didn’t, it wouldn’t feel good in my heart. You’re the last one alive around here. Any final thoughts?”

Wei Shu curled in the blood pool, the agony nearly shredding his mind, yet he forced out a hoarse rasp: “Wei Tingxia… How much did he pay you? I’ll double it! As long as you pledge loyalty to me… you’ll get even more…”

Yan Xinfeng scoffed, his eyes indifferent. “Pass.”

“I’ll give you ten times what he offered!” Wei Shu struggled to roar, his eyes wild with despair and unwillingness.

“What he gave,” Yan Xinfeng’s voice suddenly turned icy cold, laced with a deep, barely perceptible disgust, “you can’t give. Besides…”

He paused, his gaze sweeping the silent manor outside the window before returning to Wei Shu, full of scorn and revulsion. “I knew the Capital’s imperial family was a pile of rotten mud, but I didn’t expect it to rot and stink this badly.”

“Rotten mud? Stinking?”

Wei Shu laughed through the pain, with a ruthless, do-or-die ferocity. “You think my Second Brother is some good guy?! He’s just using you! Using you to clear his obstacles! Once he sits on that throne… someone like you who knows his secrets will be the first he eliminates!”

He thought these words would at least buy some hesitation or doubt, but Yan Xinfeng just nodded casually. “Oh, whatever then.”

Wei Shu’s eyes froze, and in his pain-hazed daze, he asked: “What do you mean?”

“Ha,” Yan Xinfeng laughed once, shaking his head. “Third Highness, you think too highly of yourself. To be honest, I’d rather follow him picking trash than work for you. Besides him…

“…who else would hand the power to kill a prince to me?”

As the words fell, blood light flashed before Wei Shu’s eyes.

……

……

Two hours later, another major event shocked the court.

The Third Prince’s manor was razed by a massive fire, blood washing through inside and out. Wei Shu had vanished, no bones remaining.

When the news reached Wei Heng’s ears, the Eldest Prince accidentally shattered the cup in his hand. He looked sharply at the messenger. “No word on dead or alive?”

The assistant bowed. “The scene only turned up one of Third Highness’s arms. Impossible to confirm life or death.”

Wei Heng waved him off, signaling silence.

Though no body was found, given the situation, Old Three surely wouldn’t survive.

But why? This was Capital Star, not some rundown backwater planet. How could bandits strike repeatedly and even abduct a prince?

Wei Heng took a deep breath, staring at the documents in the upper left of his desk, his eyes gradually darkening.

Things really were different now.

Wei Shu was his full brother by the same mother. Though they hadn’t been close growing up, they shared the same blood. Besides, he wasn’t one for strife. Wei Heng had even planned, once he became emperor, to enfeoff him as a prince and let him live out his days in peace.

Pity heaven had other plans.

Wei Heng said, “Double the security around me.”

“Your Highness, rest assured—it’s already arranged, specialists from the military,” the assistant replied. “The bandits haven’t been caught yet. Public panic is rising. Do you want to…”

Wei Heng now enjoyed the Emperor’s deep favor. If he caught the bandits, he could shine before Old Emperor again. Perhaps Father Emperor, in a good mood, would name him Crown Prince outright.

“No rush,” Wei Heng said. “Let them scurry a bit longer first.”

Besides him, there was still one other prince on Capital Star. If he could take out Wei Tingxia along the way, Wei Heng would profit big.

The assistant never expected this; his eyes flickered, but he murmured assent and left.

……

Meanwhile, Wei Tingxia flung the towel to the ground, his face dark enough to drip water.

“You’re filthy!”

He turned on the showerhead, aiming it at Yan Xinfeng like a gun, then dodged aside in disgust as the bloody water flowed to the floor.

“You just had to splash yourself in blood—you’re sick,” he muttered. “The smell makes me want to puke.”

Yan Xinfeng stood in the bathtub, shaking his head to fling off water. “What a delicate flower.”

Wei Tingxia, now soaked himself, grew more irritated. He sneered and unhesitatingly critiqued his earlier moves: “You looked like a dog.”

Biting outside, rolling in mud, dripping back home to mess up the place. A thorough bad dog.

“Mm, right, I’m a dog—and so are you,” Yan Xinfeng accepted it all, his tone provocative. “Little du—”

He didn’t finish the last word before Wei Tingxia hurled the showerhead. It struck Yan Xinfeng’s forehead squarely, denting the smooth metal surface. Water sprayed wildly upward to the ceiling, drenching them both thoroughly.

Wei Tingxia was soaked head to toe, like after a warm downpour. He gnashed his teeth and stepped into the tub, grabbing Yan Xinfeng’s neck: “Bastard, I’ll choke you…”