On the day of the Grand Assembly of Ten Thousand Arts.

The Grand Assembly was scheduled to take place at the hour of Si.

However, before the latter half of the hour of Mao, Xiao Mochi had already woken up.

As usual, he changed into his official robes, washed up, and then had breakfast in the courtyard.

His breakfast was simple, unlike the lavish feasts enjoyed by ordinary royalty and high-ranking officials.

Xiao Mochi’s meals had always been modest—just a salted vegetable, a salted egg, and a bowl of porridge in the morning.

After finishing his meal, the serving maid took away the food box.

In the past, if he wasn’t attending the morning court, he would spend his free time reading in the courtyard, depending on whether he had time to spare.

But today was different.

There was no court session, and there was still a long while before the Grand Assembly. However, instead of reading in the courtyard, Xiao Mochi entered his study.

He carefully sorted out some books, packed them into wooden boxes one by one, and labeled them with notes.

Finally, he cleaned up the study, dusted off his robes, and stepped out of the Prime Minister’s residence.

In front of the residence, a carriage and horses were already prepared, waiting for him to board.

But this carriage was different.

The vehicle that the Prime Minister would normally ride had its own proper standards.

Yet the carriage before Xiao Mochi now looked like an ordinary wagon used by common drivers to transport goods.

Standing before the carriage was an elderly man.

The old man was dressed in plain hemp clothing like an ordinary peasant, his back slightly hunched, resembling a humble farmer.

However, his aura and the depth of his eyes resembled an abyss.

It felt as if staring too long into his gaze would drag one in, mercilessly pulling them into the depths.

“Mr. Fang,” Xiao Mochi bowed respectfully to the elderly man before him, his tone filled with deference.

“Mm.” Fang Ling nodded and smiled. “How about riding in my carriage today? The Prime Minister wouldn’t mind, would he?”

Xiao Mochi also smiled. “Mr. Fang, how could I possibly mind? To share a carriage with you is my honor. How could I dislike it?”

“Then please, Prime Minister.”

Fang Ling stepped aside, even personally placing down a wooden footstool.

Xiao Mochi stepped onto the stool and boarded the carriage. After retrieving the stool, Fang Ling sat beside him.

The two of them drove the carriage together toward the imperial palace.

“Today is bound to be extraordinary,” Fang Ling gazed ahead, his grip on the reins unwavering.

“Indeed,” Xiao Mochi nodded. “Today will be lively, without a doubt.”

“What do you think the future generations will say about us?” Fang Ling asked, his tone carrying both openness and the weight of a fateful jest.

For this old man, this day had been a long time coming.

Xiao Mochi pondered for a moment. “That depends on whether we succeed or not. If we do, then history will judge us favorably, and today will be remembered with some measure of respect.

But if we fail, those sects will not spare the Wu Kingdom.

The people of Wu will suffer.

And no one likes to suffer.

If that happens, we will be cursed by the people for generations.”

Fang Ling nodded. “That’s true. But at least I won’t be the only one getting cursed—I’ll have some company.”

Xiao Mochi simply smiled and remained silent.

Once again, silence settled between them.

“You don’t actually have to go to your death,” Fang Ling spoke again after a while.

Xiao Mochi shook his head. “This is not about going to my death. And if I don’t go, how else will today’s events unfold?”

“Sigh…” Fang Ling let out a deep breath. “Scholars like you… there are far too few of you in this world. So few that it feels almost tragic.”

“There are still many,” Xiao Mochi looked at Mr. Fang. “Aren’t you one of them?”

“Me?” Mr. Fang pointed at himself, then burst into laughter. “Hahaha! I don’t have the same resolve as you. If I were in your position, I might not make the same choice. I’ve already lived long enough—if I die today, so be it. Besides…”

As he spoke, his eyes dimmed, as if recalling something. He shook his head. “I just don’t want to have nightmares anymore. I only hope to find some peace in my heart.”

“Forget it, forget it.” Fang Ling spat out the blade of grass he had been chewing. “How is His Majesty?”

Xiao Mochi nodded. “His Majesty hasn’t said much. But Mr. Fang, you know as well as I do… compared to us, His Majesty is actually…”

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Fang Ling already understood what he meant.

“His Majesty… Perhaps from beginning to end, he was never like an emperor.” Fang Ling sighed.

Xiao Mochi pulled his sleeves closer around himself. “And yet, it is precisely this kind of emperor who seems the most human… Otherwise, I would not have returned.”

“Many people believe that after that incident, His Majesty changed completely. But in truth, he has never changed. He has always been the same.”

Xiao Mochi lifted his gaze to the sky and spoke with deep emotion.

“The only pity is… she won’t be here to witness today’s events.”

To the south of the imperial palace, there was a vast sea of violet orchids.

This place had always been a forbidden area within the palace.

Other than Emperor Wu and Wu Yanhan, no one was allowed to enter.

Within the flower sea stood a palace.

But because it had been abandoned for far too long, the entire structure was now covered in violet orchids.

Emperor Wu, dressed in his dragon robe, walked into the flower sea.

In his hands, he carried a jug of wine and a basket.

At the very center of the flower sea stood a solitary tombstone.

Engraved upon it were just a few simple words—

“Grave of my beloved wife, Jiang Hua.”

In truth, there should have been more words carved onto this stone.

Words like “Empress of Wu.”

Stepping forward, Emperor Wu sat cross-legged before the tombstone.

One by one, he took out the pastries from his basket and placed them in front of the grave. Then, he poured a cup of wine for his wife.

“I’m here.”

Gazing at the tombstone, he spoke softly.

His voice was gentle—so gentle it seemed like he had become a different person entirely, devoid of the decisiveness and ruthlessness that the court officials knew him for.

“This time… it may be the last time I come to see you.

What I am about to do next… I know you would have supported me, wouldn’t you?”

Reaching out, Emperor Wu gently caressed the tombstone.

But no one could answer him.

Only the summer wind passed through the sea of flowers.

Like the embrace of a woman, it gently wrapped around the lonely man, holding him in its arms.