Chapter 233: Hold your ground!
The southern wing of the palace lay in darkness, the air damp and thick with the scent of old stone and sweat. Torches flickered, their light casting long, jagged shadows on the cracked marble floors. In the shadows, the last of Pei Rong’s loyalists gathered—huddled together like cornered wolves, eyes glinting with the last scraps of defiance.
They had been here for hours, their whispers filling the cold silence. The hall was an old storehouse once used to hold treasures of the empire—silks, jewels, and fine porcelain now long plundered and forgotten. The rebels had stripped the shelves bare, stacking broken furniture and splintered shields in makeshift barricades. It was a pitiful fortress, but it was all they had.
Their leader—the man who had fired the arrow that felled Zhao Yan—sat on an upturned crate at the center of the room. His name was Han Sui, a wiry man with a thin scar that ran from his ear to his chin. His bow was propped beside him, the polished wood gleaming in the torchlight.
"You saw it," he said softly, his voice low and fierce. "You all saw it. The arrow struck true. Right in the heart. I did what no one else could do."
Around him, the men nodded, their faces lit with a desperate kind of reverence. In that moment of violence, they had seen their chance—an opening to shatter the empire and seize its future. But now, with Pei Rong dead and the loyalists closing in, doubt flickered behind their eyes.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a crooked nose, spat on the floor. "You did what had to be done, Han Sui," he said roughly. "That prince... he was a symbol. A ghost wearing a crown. You reminded them all that even ghosts can bleed."
Another man, younger, his face smudged with soot, let out a nervous laugh. "Aye," he said. "The empire will remember what we did tonight. They’ll remember we were not cowards."
But the words felt thin in the cold air. The truth lay heavy in their chests: Pei Rong was dead, and with him, the last promise of power had died too. The empire was slipping through their fingers like water.
Han Sui’s gaze swept the room, his dark eyes glittering. "Listen to me," he said sharply. "We are not done yet. The empire has always been ruled by those who seize the moment. Pei Rong is gone, but the fight is not over. We are the last claw of the tiger—and we will not go down without a roar."