The emperor rose from his throne with the slowness of a predator circling its prey. His heavy boots struck the polished floor, each step echoing through the suffocating silence of the chamber. Yunxi, still on his knees, raised his head at the sound. The sight of the emperor closing in sent his body stumbling backward in sheer terror.
Terror had its own language, and it spoke through Yunxi's wide, bloodshot eyes, the quiver of his pale lips, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly as though he were drowning.
His mother cried out, rushing forward instinctively, but before her hands could touch him, the royal guards seized her arms. Her fragile form was forced down against the cold marble, her cries muffled by the weight of armored fists.
"No—mother!" Yunxi choked, scrambling forward to plead, but before his voice could reach her, the emperor's shadow fell over him. A rough hand seized his wrist, another tangled into his silken hair, yanking his head back so violently his throat arched. Yunxi's face was dragged close until all he could see were the emperor's merciless eyes.
His own eyes were swollen, red and puffy from endless tears, his lashes wet and trembling.
"What happened?" the emperor asked again, his voice low, controlled—but it slithered across the hall, reaching every corner.
"Please…" Yunxi's broken voice escaped, no answer, only a plea.
The emperor's gaze hardened, his grip on Yunxi's hair tightening until his scalp burned. His words pressed against Yunxi's ear, but his tone was loud enough for all to hear.
"Tell me what happened that night. Tell me you had no hand in it. Tell me my doubts are lies I have created."
Yunxi sobbed harder, trembling hands rising desperately to clutch at the emperor's wrist. "Ar Ji… you are hurting me," he whispered, using the forbidden name he once spoke only when begging for warmth.
The emperor snapped. With a vicious yank, he flung Yunxi backwards.
"Don't call me that."
His voice thundered. "Don't."
He turned as though to return to his throne, but midway, his cold voice cut the air:
"…Start."
The order was enough. Guards surged forward, seizing Yunxi's relatives—traitors in the eyes of the crown. Screams filled the hall as they were dragged down the countless staircases, their bodies yanked and beaten, tied with coarse ropes. Some stumbled, bones cracking, others thrown without mercy.
The emperor followed shortly, his robe trailing like a shadow behind death itself.
"Your Majesty—please!" Yunxi cried, struggling violently against the guards who bound him. His tears blurred his vision, but he fought, begging for mercy.
"You could save them, Kim Yunxi," the emperor said without turning, his tone calm, cruel. "Tell me the truth."
Yunxi's breath hitched. He remembered the nights the emperor had promised him happiness, whispered vows into his ears "You promised… You promised me joy—"
The emperor whirled on him, seizing his collar and shoving him back until his knees buckled. "I didn't break my promises!" His teeth ground against each word. "You broke them first. You betrayed me. Your family betrayed me more than once. Do you think am stupid?"
Yunxi's fear was animalistic. Though they had shared years together, though he had once nestled in the safety of those same hands, he had always known the truth: his emperor was a monster.
With one brutal movement, the emperor dragged Yunxi against his chest, his back pressed against solid muscle, his delicate body dwarfed by the this sovereign. Yunxi, barely twenty, looked like porcelain in the grip of a titan. One of the emperor's hands bound Yunxi's frail wrist, the other coiled around his slender neck, forcing him to stare down at his family.
Below, they were a mess of bruises, broken bones, and blood. Mothers clutched children, elders collapsed, uncles beaten until they spat crimson.
"Minister Kim," the emperor's voice rang, smooth as silk but sharper than a blade, "your son refuses to speak. Then beaten until he gives me what I want."
"No! Stop—!" Yunxi's voice cracked, his body thrashing. His father's cries, his mother's wails filled the chamber as rods lashed their skin. Blood spilled, staining the white marble. Yunxi's panic shattered him; he kicked, stamped, pulled against the hold crushing him. "Father! Mother!" His shrieks tore through his throat until he was hoarse.
"I'll say it! Please—stop! I'll tell you what happened!" he screamed, stamping his feet against the floor like a desperate child.
The emperor didn't move, didn't loosen his grip. His lips curled in irritation. "I have been pleading with you to speak all this time. Now it's your turn to plead." His voice was soft, but his eyes glowed with cold rage.
He threw Yunxi aside like a broken doll. Guards pinned the boy again before he could stumble toward the blood-soaked stairs.
"If you do not give me what I want," the emperor said, his tone like ice cracking, "One head falls." His gaze flicked to Yunxi, sharp and merciless.
Tears streamed down Yunxi's cheeks. His lips trembled as he finally whispered, "It was me."
Gasps spread through the officials standing nearby. The words clung to the air, poisonous.
The emperor remained still, as though deaf.
"I poisoned her." Yunxi's voice rang firmer now, cutting through the silence.
The emperor rose in an instant. His hand seized a dagger and hurled it with deadly precision. The blade found its target—burying itself into the neck of one "traitor."
Time froze. Yunxi's ears filled with silence, drowning out the world.
Then—
A child's scream cut through. A small girl broke free, running, stumbling toward the fallen body. Yunxi's gaze followed, his breath shattering.
The corpse lay sprawled, blood soaking her silk gown. Her eyes—gentle eyes—were wide open, staring emptily at the ceiling.
It was his mother.
"Mother!" Yunxi screamed, his voice tearing from his soul. His knees collapsed beneath him as the hall rang with the echo of his cry.
Yunxi pulled and pulled against the iron grips of the guards, his wrists burning raw, his cries echoing helplessly in the vast. His knees scraped the polished tiles as they dragged him back, yet not a single official dared speak, not a single minister whispered. Silence had wrapped the court like a suffocating shroud. Everyone knew Jo Han Ji. They had known him since the day he first drew blood as a boy. Mercy had never belonged to him. To expect it was foolish.
And Yunxi knew this better than anyone.
The man before him—the one who now had him pressed down with such force—was no stranger. He was the same Jo Han Ji who had once laughed at the trembling of soldiers, the same who crushed traitors without hesitation, the same whose hands were stained from youth. Even when they were younger, even before the throne had crowned him, Jo Han Ji had been merciless.
Yunxi remembered too clearly.
It was a late afternoon, the fields stained gold with setting sun. He had been ten, small and stubborn, and Jo Han Ji had been twelve, already towering with a sharpness in his eyes that unnerved grown men. That day, a female guard had been riding close by. She was devoted, perhaps too devoted—always shadowing him, always ready at his side. Jo Han Ji had disliked it, told her to keep her distance. When she refused, his temper flared.
Yunxi could still see it—the bow in his hands, the string pulled taut.
"Don't," Yunxi had whispered then, tugging on his sleeve. But the arrow flew anyway.
It missed it's intended mark. Not the horse's rider but the beast itself screamed, collapsing onto its legs. The guard was thrown, landing hard with a sickening crack of bone. Yunxi had rushed forward, voice shaking, "You could have killed her!"
The woman struggled, gasping, pulling herself toward her sword with shaking fingers. Yunxi thought she would live, that Han Ji would relent.
But he hadn't.
He had strode to her without a word, lifted the blade she could not reach, and with one fluid motion, crimson spilled across the grass.
Yunxi had screamed until his voice broke. He had fallen backward in the dirt, hands trembling, staring at the warm blood soaking into the soil. The woman's body stilled, her eyes wide and unblinking at the darkening sky.
And Jo Han Ji?
He had not even looked at her corpse. He had only turned his gaze onto Yunxi, cold and empty, as if daring him to protest again. That day, Yunxi had sworn never to speak to him if he killed her. But the boy he swore against did not flinch—he had killed anyway, mercilessly, effortlessly.
That memory surged now, colliding with the present—the lifeless body of his mother sprawled on the marble below, his father bloodied, his family beaten. The sound of his own scream seemed to merge with the echo of his younger self.
"Mother… Mother!" Yunxi's voice cracked, tearing his throat. He clawed at the hands holding him, tearing his own skin against steel armor. He wanted to run, to throw himself down the staircase, to cover her with his own body, but the guards restrained him with ease.
The court members still remained silent, heads bowed, their fear as heavy as chains. None dared challenge the emperor. None dared breathe too loudly in the presence of his wrath.
And Yunxi, though he had once sworn, though he had once believed there was a fragment of softness in Jo Han Ji, knew now with chilling certainty: there never had been. There never would be.
The emperor had always been a monster.
But it didn't stop his heart.