The young Emperor wiped his face with his hand, "Sister Dou Kou and the others say that his route to the palace never changes, not even the footprints... This guy is too cautious, Mr. Zhao, I... How can I kill him!"
Indeed, Zhao Rong nodded but did not utter a word, nor did he give him an answer.
At this moment, the young boy's face was covered in tears, mingling with the blood from the severed hand, blurring together and staining his small face.
He spoke in a disheartened tone, "Mother said that we are but orphans and widows, each step fraught with danger, and the consecration ceremony is our biggest opportunity, but now I can hardly even protect myself..."
Zhao Rong remained silent still.
In the face of the young Emperor's heartfelt and candid revelations, he merely listened attentively and nodded.
With eyes cast downward, he calmly filled the grave for the buried hand, his hands coated with soil.
