Who put the yellow robe on me?

"Shut up!" Emperor Liang's roar echoed through the Wanhe Hall, shattering the celadon teacups on the golden nanmu dragon-shaped table, fragments flying onto the dragon robe of the Ninth Prince, who knelt in the foreground. The smoke rising from the sandalwood incense burner suddenly twisted, as if frightened to death by the roar.

At this moment, in the hall, the two sixteenth princes, who looked strikingly similar, raised their heads almost at the same time.

The dusk outside the hall gradually deepened, and the afterglow shone through the cracks in the carved wooden door, scattering mottled light on their handsome and complex faces, casting alternating light and dark lines on their faces.

The dark-skinned prince's Adam's apple trembled slightly, as if he was uttering a silent protest. His throat still stank of rust, a chilling aftertaste of blood and gravel mixed with galloping horseback in the rainstorm a few days ago. The pale-faced prince's sleeves hid the trembling that had never been wiped away. The faint scent of rouge emanated from his palms, but it was mixed with the moist satin texture that seeped out from the cold sweat, making him look particularly fragile.

"Report——!"

Suddenly, a burst of hurried and orderly footsteps was heard outside the hall, as if thousands of troops were rushing towards the hall with iron steps.

As the footsteps gradually approached, the collision of armor and armor made a crisp and sharp sound, like the beating of war drums, and each word shouted, "General Zhong Wenbin requests an audience!"

The three words "General" exploded in the silence, tearing through the solidified air like thunder, and instantly plunged the entire court into an extremely tense atmosphere.

A trace of surprise suddenly flashed in the eyes of the dark-skinned Jiang Chen, and his pupils shrank slightly. He felt a strong smell of gunpowder suddenly rising in his nostrils. The smell was coming from the distant Kucha City.

It was the scent of gunpowder, blood, and burning flags on the battlefield, which made him involuntarily recall the day before leaving the Western Regions when Zhong Wenbin led the Daliang army to attack Qiuci in the Western Regions and trampled the golden crown of Qiuci, the royal city of the Western Regions, underfoot. The last battle flag on the city wall was being licked by the raging flames until only ashes were left.

Inside the hall, all the ministers were whispering and gasping, and the air was filled with a mixture of uneasiness and surprise.

At this moment, Prime Minister He stepped out quickly, and his voice reached the ears of Emperor Liang in a calm and steady voice: "Your Majesty, the victory of the Western Expedition is related to the fate of the country and the safety of the people. Why not listen to the military report first?"

His calm words were like a cold needle, trying to calm the chaotic situation a little.

Emperor Liang's skinny fingers slid tightly across the dragon-head armrests carved with dragons and phoenixes. The gilded scales rubbed against his fingertips so hard that it hurt, as if every golden scale was accusing him of the vicissitudes of time.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly his mind flashed back to the military intelligence report sent back by the spies three days ago: Zhong Wenbin was fighting a final fierce battle under the city of Kucha. He should have been rushing to the court with an expedited memorial. Why did he suddenly appear here? This question stirred a thousand waves in his heart. He coughed a few times, his voice mixed with doubt and anxiety. "Announce!"

The palace gate suddenly burst open, and the setting sun outside cast a blood-red glow on the silver armor of the newcomer, coating the general's armor with a blood-red luster. Zhong Wenbin strode forward, and each step was accompanied by the metallic clash of armor, as if the ancient war drums were beating again.

The bandage wrapped around his right arm was constantly oozing dark red blood from the wound, mixed with the unique sea buckthorn fruit fragrance of the Western Regions. As he approached step by step, the bloody smell and the fruity fragrance, under the influence of sandalwood, intertwined to form a hideous and strange smell that spread throughout the hall.

"Your Majesty, I, Zhong Wenbin, pay my respects to you."

When Zhong Wenbin knelt on one knee, the armor on his body kept shaking off a few wisps of yellow sand under the heavy impact, and the sand seemed to carry an exotic hum as it fell to the ground.

Jiang Chen, who had dark skin, suddenly felt his throat tighten - the heavy memories came to his mind, it was the fine and hard sand on the Loulan Ancient Road. Three months ago, he and Zhong Wenbin lay side by side on the vast sand dunes, watching the hawks circling and fighting in the blue sky. The lonely and magnificent scene was still vivid in his mind.

The Emperor Liang's tearing cough seemed to rip the silence and the ripped air in the hall. He spoke with difficulty: "Western Region... cough cough... how is it?"

His voice was both hoarse and commanding, but it couldn't conceal his deep concern for the outcome of the battle.

"Kucha City is broken."

Zhong Wenbin raised his head. The new scar at the corner of his eye was still dripping with blood, announcing the brutal battle behind each scar.

"More than 300 members of the Western Regions royal family are now imprisoned in the Kucha Palace!" His voice was sonorous and powerful, as if he wanted to spread the news of victory to every corner.

Upon hearing the news, there was a burst of gasps in the court, and the whispers were full of excitement and nervousness.

"Good! Good!"

The Emperor Liang's cloudy eyes suddenly flashed with a brilliant light, as if igniting the hope of restoring order. "I grant you, my beloved Zhong, a golden seal and an iron certificate, and confer the title of King of Zhenxi!"

His words were like the final verdict on fate, and his voice was filled with unquestionable determination.

Suddenly there was a cry of surprise in the hall, and amid the deafening sound, all the ministers bowed their heads in greeting.

In the three hundred years since the founding of Daliang, only General Mu, a founding hero, has ever received this honor. But now, the glory of the Mu family seems to be facing an unprecedented crisis. The Minister of Rites, Mu Shenru, suddenly coughs violently, and the jade tablet in his hand falls to the ground with a clang, as if foreshadowing the decline of their Mu family's last glory. The shadow taken away by the Zhong family is ruthlessly covering everyone.

"I am terrified." Zhong Wenbin kowtowed deeply, his childish yet resolute voice echoing through the hall. "The greatest achievement in this Western Expedition belongs to His Highness the Sixteenth Prince! Without the strategy Your Highness left before departure, the walls of Kucha would have been difficult to breach in ten days. Without Your Highness's surprise attack on the grain route and the rebellion of the Kucha High Priest, my remains would have long been buried outside Yumen Pass!"

As soon as the words fell, the atmosphere in the hall suddenly turned cold, and everyone held their breath. Just when everyone thought that the sound of victory was enough to calm the fatigue of the battlefield, a voice suddenly came -

"General, you've arrived just in time. There are two Sixteenth Princes here. Could you please take a look and see which one is the real Sixteenth Prince?"

The Ninth Prince's sneer was like a biting cold wind. As soon as he finished speaking, an even louder commotion was immediately set off in the hall.

The ministers were whispering to each other, and the air was filled with a dangerous and strange atmosphere.

A sneer suddenly appeared on the face of the dark-skinned Sixteenth Prince. His eyes were deep and firm, as if he had already anticipated this moment.

He spoke slowly, his voice low and sonorous: "General, have the people in the Western Regions been properly resettled?" Before he finished speaking, his tone already contained an unquestionable determination.

In sharp contrast to him was the pale Sixteenth Prince. His fingers trembled unconsciously due to nervousness, and his palms still retained the warmth of last night's cold dew, as if a faint floral fragrance mixed with the salty taste of sweat was slowly sliding down the cold bluestone floor tiles.