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Feng Jingfan continued crawling, her actions becoming slower and slower until finally, she was no longer able to move as she hung there in the air.

She hadn't been able to die a comfortable and eternal death lying down—too many knives were stuck in her, propping her body 30 degrees in an exhausting posture.

Her hand continued to remain raised, forever reaching out.

The fake lotus saint who had spent her whole life learning to be elegant and righteous had died in the ugliest manner possible.

The entire palace floor was filled with blood, seeping from the countless knife wounds, flowing and forming an illegible drawing.

Feng Xuan lay curled up on the bed, coughing incessantly. His life had already been sapped dry from the beginning, having been with the Empress, Epsilon, and Feng Jingfan for so long in addition to taking care of court matters. It was almost time for him to draw his last breath, and he had been holding on stubbornly. Feng Jingfan's blow earlier had made him feel like his entire body was going to collapse.

He lay there coughing, yet a hint of gleefulness was apparent on his face. So what if he was about to die? In the end, he was still the victor. He had chosen the most ruthless ruler, after seeing Fuyao's merciless actions without any hesitation; watching Fuyao stop Jingfan with her finger, succinct and straightforward. If she hadn't acted as she had done, he might have wavered—Xuanji didn't need a weak, indecisive, good person for the Emperor!

30 years ago, when his own father had acceded the throne to him, he, too, had been covered in blood, the blood of his siblings.

His father had said to him then—it didn't matter to have more children as there would be more options then. The first generation of Xuanji had difficulty picking a good leader because he had too little children, and in the end, the son had caused Xuanji to fall for several decades. If not for the capable next generation, the nation would perhaps have ended a hundred years ago.

His father had also said to him—”Don't love too much. If you love too much, it will be hard for you to part in the future.”

Hence, he had never truly loved, all those warm emotions and doting were, but necessities, such as the Empress; the entire Five Regions Continent knew that he, Feng Xuan, was a cuckold who had welcomed a tiger into his home and had become a laughingstock. However, he had to love the Empress to be a cuckold; he had never loved that fake bitch, so how could he be a cuckold?

The one who was a cuckold was probably the man who was as powerful as a deity.

He once thought that there was a way to resolve it—Ze Ning was young, and Epsilon was in his prime; when a man and woman spent an extended amount of time together, it was inevitable that some sparks would fly. As long as they committed adultery, Epsilon's technique would be broken, and her pride would fall. By then, where would they find the capacity to flaunt their power?

As such, he had already taken action on Epsilon for many years, those heart-meddling pills, adding a little at a time in his food, in the bath, even on those close to him, just to make him lose control, to make him launch himself upon his wife. However, what he had never imagined was how respectfully that b*tch had held herself, remembering her royal status and not letting Epsilon come within three meters of her. Thus, Epsilon had remained as powerful as ever, all those years of planning had been completely suppressed by the power of his martial ability.

However, suppression was after, merely suppression. After suppressing a fire for so long, once it exploded, it would burn even more ferociously. After all, it worked, didn't it? Look, even his daughter had used the same method to end the pair once and for all.

Desire and hatred were the same, they were both fearsome blades, and if used correctly, they could become the most opportune weapon.

Such as Meng Fuyao, if she hadn't been driven by hatred and revenge, would she have been this ruthless?

However, her hatred also had to be contained within a certain threshold, if he were to let her hatred run wild, she might really burn Xuanji up.

Feng Xuan continued coughing, spitting out a mouthful of phlegm and blood. He picked up the decree and smiled invitingly at Meng Fuyao.

His face was deathly pale and his eyes a sunken black, and under the dim candlelight, along with the stench of blood, he waved the Imperial Decree in what he had deemed as a tempting manner, giving a ghastly smile at Meng Fuyao.

Meng Fuyao stared at the smile, feeling as if she were looking at a ghost that had suddenly popped out from the ground. The creature definitely had no humanity; since birth, its mission had been to devour all of the flesh that had fallen off itself.

She fell silent for a long time.

Feng Xuan wasn't in a hurry. He waited patiently, not believing that anyone wouldn't be moved by the power to rule thousands of miles' worth of mountains, rivers, and land. She, Meng Fuyao, General of Wuji, King Meng of Dahan, Prime Minister of Xuanyuan, who loved to meddle in the political affairs of every nation, a born politician who always had a trick up her sleeve, why wouldn't she accept the offer to expand her authority? Which General, King, or Prime Minister would refuse the chance to become the Emperor of a nation, the Empress of Xuanji?

The stench of blood lingered in the air, and a single candle flickered dimly. Outside, long rows of windows were beginning to lighten as a pink hue appeared on the eastern horizon. Even the darkest night would pass, and the sky was starting to light up.

After the sky brightened, it would signal the coronation ceremony of the new Empress that Feng Xuan had painstakingly chosen.

And, the new Empress, still squatting atop the roof of the palace, gazed silently at the countless people who had died fighting for the Imperial Decree.