An eight-year-old kid emptied his scumbag father's warehouse and followed his grandparents into

He rubbed the soles of his shoes against the gold bricks, as if to crush the invisible criticism. The court beads around his neck suddenly snapped, and the beeswax beads rolled to the ground. One rolled onto the tip of Baiguan's boot, and against the black surface of the boot, it looked like a drop of congealed blood.

"Your Excellency is right. King Yan, please remain calm, put your country first, and lay down your sword."

As the Minister of War spoke these words, his Adam's apple rolled up and down, as if he had swallowed a piece of burning coal. He raised his hands to his chest, palms facing outward, revealing the calluses left by years of gripping knives, but now they opened and closed in vain like dried-out river clams.

"Please, King Yan, put your country first and put down your butcher knife."

The sound echoed from behind the hall pillars, carrying a buzzing sound. The kneeling censor rested his forehead on the ground, the wings of his black gauze hat trembling like a dying moth.

"Yes! Everything needs evidence."

These words floated in the air, like a snowflake falling into a frying pan, melting with a sizzling sound, leaving only a trace of burnt suspicion.

Someone took the lead, and the murmurs of doubt arose again, but this time most of them stood on the side of the emperor and the right prime minister, and even seven or eight people took the initiative to move closer to the right prime minister.

As they moved, their clothes rustled, like a flock of frightened quails huddled together. A young minister's jade pendant caught on the belt of another person, and they both shuddered, but neither dared to lower his head to untie it.

The rest of the people put all their energy and spirit into the three people above.

Eunuch An, who had recently replaced Eunuch Li, had retreated a few steps and stood up again, kneeling heavily. "Your Highness, Prince Yan, fratricide is a great taboo!"

His forehead banged against the gold brick with a thud, and incense ash fell through his hair. His fingernails were still stained with cinnabar from grinding ink for the emperor that morning, and now he dug into the cracks in the bricks as if to draw out blood.

"That's right. If this is the case, even if the King of Yan succeeds, he will be cursed for eternity!"

An old imperial censor, speaking with a broken tooth, pronounced "criticize" instead of "criticize Ming," sending a strange echo through the hall. His sleeves were stained with the fumes from the imperial kitchen, mingled with ambergris and making one feel suffocated.

"I hope the King of Yan will reconsider!" Another official knelt, and soon, more than half of them knelt. Although many officials stood upright, some waited and watched, and did not say a word.

As he knelt, the hem of his court robes kicked up a fine cloud of dust, which drifted in the beam of light filtering through the window. A third-rank official's patch was askew, and the golden pheasant's eyes were squinting at the throne, as if it, too, was waiting for the outcome.

"Here is the late king's true will!" Suddenly a loud voice came from behind Prince Yan and the Dog Emperor. As soon as the voice fell, Prince Jing strode to the side of Prince Yan.

Prince Jing's voice was like a newly sharpened knife, splitting the stagnant air. His eyes were as cold as shattered ice as he moved, and the faded crimson of his court robes resembled a frozen beacon fire.

He stood proudly with a tall and burly figure, holding a bright yellow scroll in his hand. At first glance, his figure and face looked somewhat similar, so he might have mistaken him for the real emperor.

The shadow cast by his brow in the backlight was as deep as if carved by a knife, overlapping with the outline of the late emperor's portrait. It startled two nearby palace maids so much that they overturned the incense burner, and the silver charcoal rolled out, scorching the carpet so much that a wisp of green smoke came out.

"Impossible, it's fake, you can't have a real will." The dog emperor screamed hysterically, his eyes were red and bloodshot. If he hadn't had a sword stuck to his neck, he would have wanted to grab it immediately.

The emperor's voice cracked, like a rooster being strangled. The collar of his robe had cut into his flesh, leaving a red mark on his collarbone, but he struggled forward regardless, the golden crown holding his hair tilted to one side, and the dangling beads slapped his cheeks.

"Here is the late emperor's last will." As Prince Jing's sonorous and powerful voice rang out, more officials knelt down without hesitation. Leading the way were Lord Feng and the Left Prime Minister, as well as the officials around them.

Most people just looked up and watched, seemingly not believing this sudden will.

As the bright yellow scroll slowly unfolded, Prince Jing's voice rose in a serious tone.

"It is God's destiny, the emperor decreed:

With my humble resources, I have inherited this great legacy, and I work diligently and diligently, fearing I will disgrace the trust bestowed upon me by the late emperor. As my years grow older, my energy declines, and I, mindful of the importance of this sacred artifact, must entrust it to the right person.

The Emperor's second son, Xu Dingliang, possesses a gifted spirit of fortitude and perseverance, and a profoundly benevolent and filial disposition. He has served on the frontier since the age of twelve, enduring the rigors of war. He has personally experienced the hardships of soldiers and civilians, always prioritizing the safety of the nation. With a righteous character and unwavering resolve, he has comforted the troops and the people, repeatedly achieving meritorious service and earning the trust of his fellow soldiers and the hopes of the people. I believe his virtue and talent are worthy of inheriting the throne.

The eldest son is honest, yet he loves a leisurely life; the third son is intelligent, but unfortunately he is too young and arrogant. Only Dingliang has both civil and military talents, possesses both benevolence and courage, and can carry on my will and successfully carry on the family line.

You will immediately pass the throne to your second son Xu Dingliang, who will succeed me as the emperor and rule the world.

All civil and military officials, both inside and outside the country, should work together to assist and support the new policies. Upon ascending the throne, the new monarch must prioritize loving and caring for the people, strengthen border defenses, appease the common people, ensure peace within the country, and secure a lasting foundation for his rule.

This is it.

The eighth day of the twelfth month in the winter of the eleventh year of Daqing

"Written by the Emperor"

As the imperial edict unfolded, every word poured into the eardrums of everyone in the hall. People fell to their knees one after another. In the end, there were still seven or eight people who insisted on standing, but their bodies were already shaky.

The old dragon pattern on the edge of the edict shone coldly, like frozen scales. The rustling of fabric as they knelt grew louder and louder, finally merging into a tidal rustle. Suddenly, the sword of one of the standing guards dropped to the ground with a clang, a thunderous explosion in the silence.

"Impossible, impossible, this is impossible..." Xiao Xiang suddenly waved his wide sleeves and rushed up the stairs like a madman. "It must be fake. I will never believe it unless I see the imperial calligraphy with my own eyes."

The cuff of his court robe brushed against the gilded incense burner, sending ash cascading down his collar. His nails scratched at the edict, as if attempting to shred the yellow silk scroll through the air, his fingertips turning a frightening pale blue from the excessive force.

"Personal guards, why don't you stop them?" With the order from King Yan, the four personal guards crossed their four swords in front of Prime Minister Xiao.

The blade's light reflected on the caisson ceiling, casting a flowing golden speckle. Xiao Dinglun's nose almost touched the cold blade, and the white air he exhaled condensed into tiny droplets on the blade, then quickly evaporated.

"You don't dare? That's fake. You are plotting a rebellion." Xiao Xiang staggered, his hand pointing at Prince Yan who was still holding a knife, and then looked at Prince Jing with bloodshot eyes.

The trembling of his fingertips became more and more intense, and finally even the crane patch on his cuff began to tremble, and the crane seemed to suddenly come alive, struggling on the satin to fly.

"It can't be fake. The late emperor wrote it himself, so he's naturally not afraid of being seen." Prince Jing finished speaking, looking at his nephew, who was already curled up on the dragon throne, with a scornful smile. "A decree of succession that dares not be displayed in public would probably give anyone sitting on it nightmares every night, right? My dear nephew, besides those two people back then, who else can verify the authenticity of the will in your hands?"