‘I met Seven and Two today.’ The emperor sat at the rosewood table, his yellow eyes fixed on the tiny almond biscuits nestled on their pte. He did not wear his dragon robe; rather, he wore the white mourning clothes that reminded Three of the princess trapped in the earth far below. ‘They were in poor condition.’

  Three shifted on her feet. ‘That’s to be expected, though. After all, they —’

  He cut in, ‘Do you care about them?’

  She paused, uneasy. ‘I do. But it won’t affect my performance.’

  He reached out and took another biscuit. ‘Really. Then, do you feel guilty when you kill? Do you hesitate?’

  Her unease grew. It was like the creaking of ke ice; it was as though she was standing on a frozen river, never knowing when her world would come crashing down, drowning her in cold. ‘I try not to, Your Majesty.’

  He wiped his lips on a silken napkin. ‘I have but one question for you today.’

  ‘Yes.’ Her hands fisted behind her back with nervousness.

  The emperor reached forward, plucking a biscuit off the pte. It was with a terrible slowness that he chewed. A swallow. ‘Who killed my children?’

  She froze.

  He stood. How was he so tall? Three stumbled back — even though it was her master before her, the throne she existed to serve, her muscles couldn’t help but tense, flinching back in terror and a horrible instinct to fight.

  Fight?

  Her own thoughts shocked her.

  How could she dare resist her master?

  ‘Who killed my children? Tell me.’ The emperor roared, ‘TELL ME!’ He seized her by the shoulders, her knees hitting the edge of the rosewood table with a fsh of pain.

  ‘I, I just —’ Her mind rolled, in a terrifying attempt to survive, but her tongue knotted in her mouth and fear bnked out her eyes. She fumbled and confessed, forcing herself to answer her master, ‘I did, on orders. I —’

  The emperor grabbed her neck and threw her.

  His grip was filled with a qi that overflowed with anger — the explosive force of it smmed her into the wall, pain ripping into her chest. She toppled to the ground, panting and groaning when fists pounded into her stomach.

  ‘They had just come of age!’ He screamed and kicked her hard in the head — a dull bang rang out as her qi shielded her head and neck. She flew to the side, body limp and stiff like a doll.

  Nausea and pain broiled from inside; she bent over, hacking, dry heaving as a hand dragged her back by the hair. ‘Use your qi,’ the emperor hissed. ‘You’re not dying today, not now. You’re going to live a long, long life, and you’re going to spend every breathing moment wishing you were dead!’

  His hands locked around her throat. He didn’t crush her airway; rather, he slowly squeezed, watching as she gasped and heaved, her legs buckling, and suddenly the man colpsed to his knees.

  ‘She had just turned twenty-two,’ he cried. ‘And he wanted to see the South. Who gave you that right? Who let you take them away? They had their whole lives in front of them!’

  Her lungs burned. She heaved, trying to speak, but there wasn’t anything in her voice other than a wordless confusion.

  ‘Your qi holds no guilt,’ he hissed. ‘You feel nothing. Why? WHY?!’ He screamed and shook her, screeching, ‘FEEL IT! FEEL MY AGONY, MY PAIN!’

  He let her go. She colpsed, heaving, shock and pain filling her chest. The fear was paralysing, harsher than river water, like eels wrapped around her limbs.

  His eyes were colder than ice.

  ‘You don’t think yourself guilty.’ He stood up. ‘Then, is your little princess guilty? Should I torture her instead? Guiltless guard? Killer of None?’

  Her Xi Yu?

  The little princess trapped deep below the soil?

  No.

  She would not survive. She isn’t a cultivator, she hasn’t been refined!

  ‘No,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t, please don’t!’ Crawling forward, blood spilling from her torn lips, she pleaded, ‘We were all forced by circumstance. The st emperor —’

  ‘Zixin? You think she’s the only one to bme?!’ The emperor roared, ‘She killed her own daughter, her own son for that throne — does that make the throne a killer? How can I kill a throne?’ He screamed, a fist smashing into her head, ‘Tell me, how can I kill a throne?!’

  The world spun, pain bcking out her eyes. She blinked it away, a throbbing in the back of her head.

  ‘Who can I bme? Who can I kill? Zixin is dead, the heirs are all dead or mine and you’re my guard, I’ve won, I’ve won, I have my revenge, I’ve killed them, I’ve killed Zixin —’

  The man, the emperor, the father, the husband, he fell to his knees. He sobbed, ‘Why isn’t it enough? Zixin, why, why, why did you give me the throne? Why like this? Why this way?’

  Agonised qi billowed out of the man. It was thick with pain, a torture so horrible that when it wrapped around her, she could barely breathe, a pain ripping apart her heart, worse than knives or poisons or the sharpest betrayals.

  ‘What do I do,’ Bao Jinmeng sobbed, ‘what do I do to make it stop? How many more must I kill?’

  Three watched the man’s tears fall. It was a surreal thing — it was as if she was not watching the grief and agony of someone else’s pain but rather listening to a tale of a grieving father.

  It was all so ridiculous.

  She had brought death to others for so many years — so how was it that only now she realised what a terrible, miserable thing it was?

  ‘Don’t kill my princess,’ she whispered. She took Bao Jinmeng’s hands and pced them on her neck, torment dripping from both their eyes. His agony, his pain, his grief and guilt poured into her body in an unstoppable torrent, stronger than the rushing rivers that fed carp deep below.

  ‘I’m the guilty one,’ she said, ‘so torture me instead, until your grief subsides. Pour your agony into me.’

  ‘That’ll take years,’ he said. ‘My lifeforce runs deeper than the darkest wells.’

  ‘I was made to heal quick. That’s what I was born for. And…’ She forced a smile to her face, ‘Serving a master will make me happy.’

  Bao Jinmeng reached out and pulled her into a hug.

  And Three fell into the fmes of the deepest hell.