CHAPTER 223: THE FINAL SHOWDOWN (PART 1)

Wei Ling shook his head, his face hard. "Stories won’t help us now. Pei Rong’s coming for it. If he takes it—"

Zhao Yan nodded once, his eyes never leaving the token. "Then he’ll have the empire in his hands. The token is more than a symbol. It binds the loyalty of the old houses—no one will challenge him if he holds it."

He reached out, his fingers hovering just above the cool, luminous surface.

In that moment, it felt as if every breath he had ever taken, every oath he had ever sworn, had led him to this one instant.

The room was utterly silent, the world beyond the doors forgotten.

He thought of his father’s hand on his shoulder all those years ago. Of the weight of the empire, of every life that would be shaped by the hand that took the Jade Token.

He let his breath out slowly.

And then, a voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"Not so fast."

Zhao Yan froze, his fingers an inch from the token.

The voice was low, a serpent’s hiss in the stillness, and it echoed off the jade walls with a chill that raised goosebumps on his skin.

He turned slowly, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. Deng Mi and Wei Ling shifted around him, blades raised, eyes scanning the darkness.

From the far side of the room, between two towering columns of jade, a figure stepped forward.

Pei Rong.

He wore no armor—only a long robe of blood-red silk that shimmered in the flickering light. But there was nothing soft or regal about him now. His face was pale, eyes bright with a cold, triumphant hunger.

The air seemed to tighten around them, the silence of the Jade House turning heavy and expectant.

Zhao Yan met his gaze, his own expression calm, though his heart pounded like a war drum in his chest.

The Prime Minister’s smile was thin and sharp. "You always were too slow, Zhao Yan," he said softly, his voice almost gentle. "But tonight... tonight you will watch as I claim what is rightfully mine."

He raised his hand, and from the shadows behind him, more figures emerged—men dressed in the same dark armor as the guards who had fallen in the corridors, their eyes cold and flat.

Zhao Yan felt his jaw tighten, his fingers curling around the hilt of his blade.

"Kill him!"

Pei Rong suddenly ordered.

The air in the Jade House was deathly still for just a heartbeat after Pei Rong’s cold command echoed out: "Kill them all."

Then chaos erupted.

The Prime Minister’s elite guards lunged forward, weapons glinting in the green light of the jade walls, their black armor moving like the shadows themselves. Zhao Yan tightened his grip on his sword, meeting the charge head-on.

The first clash of steel was deafening, a ringing cry that seemed to shake the ancient jade itself. Sparks flew, the scent of sweat and blood instantly thick in the air. Deng Mi and Wei Ling flanked him, their blades moving in perfect harmony with his own. Behind them, Zhao Yan’s loyal guards pushed forward, forming a tight wedge that cut into the enemy’s ranks.

The Jade House itself seemed to come alive in the fray. Every polished surface caught the gleam of blades and the fury in men’s eyes. Reflections of the battle flickered along the jade walls, countless ghosts of warriors locked in an endless dance. It was disorienting, and more than once a fighter turned to strike at his own reflection, only to be cut down from behind.

Zhao Yan’s blade was a streak of silver in the green-tinted darkness, cutting through the attackers with a fluid grace that was almost beautiful. He moved like he was born for this—each step measured, each stroke precise. A guard swung at him, the blade whistling through the air. Zhao Yan ducked, his own sword flashing out to meet the attack, steel biting into flesh. The man fell, his blood bright against the jade floor.

Deng Mi was a whirlwind beside him, twin blades a blur as he cut down two attackers in quick succession. "Stay close!" he barked, his voice sharp over the clash of swords.

Wei Ling’s heavy saber met a spear with a resounding crack, the force of the blow echoing through the hall. He twisted his wrist, sending the weapon spinning away, then stepped in to drive his blade into the guard’s chest.

But for every man they felled, two more seemed to take his place.

Zhao Yan’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts. Sweat dripped from his hair, mingling with the blood that already stained his face and clothes. He could see Pei Rong at the far end of the chamber, standing just before the pedestal where the Jade Token waited.

The token itself seemed to glow faintly, the soft green light pulsing like a heartbeat.

Zhao Yan pushed forward, carving a path through the press of bodies. The floor was slick with blood, and the air rang with the screams of the dying. The Prime Minister’s men fought with a desperate ferocity, as if they knew that their only hope for survival lay in keeping him from the token.

A blade slashed towards Zhao Yan’s side. He pivoted, the steel skimming his ribs, pain flaring hot and sharp. He ignored it, his focus absolute. He slammed his shoulder into the attacker, sending him sprawling, and stepped over the man’s broken body without a second thought.

"Zhao Yan!" Deng Mi shouted, cutting down a guard who tried to flank them. "We have to reach the pedestal—he’s going for the token!"

Zhao Yan’s eyes met his, grim understanding passing between them. "Then we don’t stop."

The Jade House was a maze around them—passages twisting back on themselves, alcoves that led nowhere. It was a place built for ceremony, not for war. But in this moment, it was a crucible, testing every breath they took.

Pei Rong’s laughter carried over the clash of steel. "This was always mine to take!" he called, his voice calm, almost amused. "The Jade Token belongs to the man who dares to claim it!"