CHAPTER 68: YOU LOOK EXACTLY LIKE YOUR MOTHER

The hall bowed in unison but Jian Ci did not. He stared at his father, jaw clenched, eyes burning with restrained fury. But before defiance could take shape, Jian Rui’s hand pressed firmly on the back of his head, forcing him into a bow.

A quiet signal pulsed through Jian Ci’s communicator—a warning that his psychic field was spiking. He was in the danger zone.

He exhaled through his teeth, forcing the storm back into its cage.

"Rise," Thaurion said, his voice smooth and commanding.

The hall obeyed, a sea of silks and polished boots lifting from their bows. Thaurion’s gaze swept the room, regal and composed, before settling on Jian Ci. He smiled warm and radiant, the picture of paternal pride. It was the kind of smile that could fool a galaxy.

He stepped forward, raising a hand. "Honored guests," he began, his voice echoing through the chamber, "thank you for joining us on this most auspicious day. Today, my son Ci crosses the threshold into adulthood, a moment not only of personal significance, but of imperial promise."

He turned slightly, gesturing toward Jian Ci. "Come, my son. Let your father look at you."

Jian Ci glanced at Jian Rui and Jian Wei, then walked forward, each step heavy with restraint. Thaurion placed his hands on Jian Ci’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.

It felt like being gnarled at by a thousand ants.

"You look exactly like your mother," Thaurion whispered.

Jian Ci stiffened. The storm inside him surged, wild and unrelenting. Three communicators buzzed with a critical alert.

Thaurion released him and turned to the crowd. "May his strength serve the realm. May his spirit remain unbroken. And may his future shine brighter than the stars that watch over us."

Polite applause followed, but Jian Ci’s fist clenched at his side, knuckles white, nails biting into his palm. The smile his father wore was a perfect mask of his true nature. The words he spoke were a performance, a script written for the benefit of the watching nobles. And yet the entire hall applauded his nonsense, their faces lit with admiration, their minds blind to the rot beneath the gold.

Only Jian Rui and Jian Wei saw the tremor in Jian Ci’s jaw. Only they felt the heat radiating from his aura, the psychic pressure building like a storm behind glass. And only they knew how close he was to breaking.

Thaurion finished his speech, basking in the applause. Jian Rui stepped forward, voice calm. "Father, let me take Jian Ci to the bathroom. He’s been unwell recently."

Thaurion turned, smiling at Jian Ci with mock concern. "If you weren’t feeling well, why not tell your father?"

Jian Ci lowered his head, struggling to wear the mask Jian Rui had worn in front of their father for years. The mask of obedience, of restraint and of survival around this vile devil.

Thaurion knew. He knew something was wrong with his son. He also knew Jian Ci despised him.

At Seraphyne’s funeral, the other young children had curried favor, clung to his robes. Only Jian Ci had avoided him, silent and cold.

And tragically, Jian Ci was the one who resembled Seraphyne the most.

Thaurion had hoped that resemblance would soften with age, that Jian Ci would seek closeness.

But he hadn’t. He had avoided him at all cost.

The very presence of Jian Ci in the great hall was a constant, sharp echo for Thaurion, a living memory of that night he took Seraphyne by force. Her beauty had been so breathtaking, so utterly thrilling, that the sheer, blinding ecstasy of it was a feeling he knew he would chase for the rest of his life, a peak he could never again replicate.

Jian Ci, the undeniable, exquisite product of that intense night was thus his favorite of her three sons. Yet, the boy was willful, a fool who constantly rejected his invitations to the imperial palace under the guise of bad health. Jian Ci didn’t know what was truly good for him.

"Go, take care of him and be back quickly," Thaurion commanded, his voice a low rumble across the polished floor.

Jian Rui nodded sharply. "Thank you, father." He turned to his younger brother, his face a mask of detached efficiency. "Let’s go."

Jian Ci moved on unsteady legs, his body listing slightly, a clammy sheen on his pale face. When they reached the expansive, marble-clad main bathroom, Jian Rui didn’t waste a second.

He checked the stall doors with practiced swiftness, ensuring the room was empty. Once satisfied, he activated a psychic shield, a shimmer of energy that would prevent any eavesdropping or surveillance.

Jian Ci barely made it to the ceramic bowl before he bent down and retched, but it was mostly water and a bitter, acidic bile.

"Shit," Jian Rui muttered, stepping back slightly but keeping his eyes locked on his brother. "Are you okay?"

Jian Ci didn’t answer, a thin, rattling gasp escaping his throat as another convulsion seized him. Jian Rui turned to his communicator and tapped on the floating screen. "Jian Wei, get over here. Now."

Jian Wei, who had just finished his own tense conversation with Thaurion, immediately rushed through the echoing halls.

Alarna spotted him leaving and paused mid-step, her brow furrowing with concern. She had seen Jian Ci’s unsteady retreat and wondered if he was unwell. She wanted to follow but held herself back.

Jian Wei burst through the bathroom door, and Jian Rui simply pointed toward the last stall. Jian Wei took one look at his brother, doubled over and shaking, and quickly pulled out his portable medical scanner.

He ran the device over Jian Ci’s torso and winced at the immediate results flashing across the small screen. The truth was stark and frightening: the complex cocktail of suppressant drugs was the only thing stopping him from having a breakdown.

"His anger is making his psychic pulses chaotic," he muttered. "The suppressant’s the only thing holding him together."

Jian Ci finally straightened as the toilet flushed, his face pale and damp with sweat. Jian Wei handed him a bottle of water. Jian Ci rinsed his mouth, spat into the sink, and growled, "I’m going to kill him. I want him fucking dead."

Jian Rui stepped closer, voice low. "What did he say to you?"

Jian Ci rinsed again, spat, then looked up, eyes burning. "The fucker said I look like Mother."

Silence fell. Jian Rui’s jaw clenched, his fist curling so tightly his nails bit into his palm. Jian Wei’s expression darkened.

"He did it on purpose," Jian Rui said, voice taut. "To piss you off. He’s gone too far. I will deal with him later."

Jian Wei reached into his coat and pulled out another suppressant. "Here. We can’t afford an incident. Not now."

Jian Ci took it without protest, injecting it into his neck with practiced ease. Jian Wei cupped his face, checking his pupils, then nodded. "Just a few more hours. Endure it."

Jian Ci exhaled. "Fine."

Jian Rui patted his shoulder, grounding him.