Fresh blood splattered across Noble Consort Zhang's face, still warm.
In this moment, under the shroud of death's shadow, her years of cultivated elegance and composure were utterly shattered. She screamed and threw herself into Lu Yu's arms: "Your Majesty!"
Lu Yu stood up, one arm wrapped around Noble Consort Zhang's slender waist, the other trembling as he pointed at Lu Ying: "You wretch! She is your mother consort! Have you gone mad?! Take your men and leave the Capital at once! I am the Emperor! If you dare disobey me, I will have your head cut off!"
The middle-aged emperor, now over forty, had long since been hollowed out by indulgence in wine and women. Even in anger, he seemed more bark than bite, his fury utterly devoid of any real authority.
Lu Ying replied calmly, "Father, you've recently been preoccupied with Noble Consort Zhang and her son. You must be exhausted. Men, take him away to rest."
