Chapter 600: Chapter 600: The First Prince.

The next day,

The news spread faster than the fire.

By dawn, the capital no longer spoke first of the plague, the strange resurrection that had shaken the Dynasty, or even the Emperor’s failing health.

They spoke of the throne.

In teahouses that still had roofs, in alleys thick with smoke, and in half-collapsed courtyards where servants huddled with officials’ wives, the same words passed from mouth to mouth.

The Emperor would not name the Crown Prince as the next Emperor.

Instead, he had declared that the strong and capable would take the dragon throne.

"Have you heard?"

A merchant wiped the dirt from his face and leaned closer to the man beside him.

"His Majesty is dying, and instead of properly passing the throne to one of his sons, he wants to throw it open to everyone."

"Throw it open?" the other man hissed. "That is not succession. That is a... war."

A third voice came from behind a cracked pillar.

"Then who do you think can take it?"

No one answered immediately.

Because in the Fen Dynasty, everyone already knew which names would rise first.

Among them was the First Prince.

Wherever his name was spoken, it carried weight.

"He is the eldest. Not to mention he has been involved in the court for years."

"But being involved does not mean he is the strongest."

"No, but he does have the ministers and the old families on his side. Half of the capital might already secretly support him due to his status as the Crown Prince."

An aide to a pale-faced official lowered his voice and said,

"If this turns into a power struggle, the First Prince won’t even have to draw his own sword; others will draw theirs for him."

Then came the Second Prince.

His name made people glance toward the military camps. ree

"He has the army’s favor."

"Not the whole army," someone muttered. "But enough. The border generals remember who sent grain and resources, and who only sent letters."

Hearing that, a guard nearby spat into the dust.

"If the throne is to be decided by strength, then those wearing armor will not wait for a ceremony."

Then there was the Third Prince.

His name made the scholars uneasy.

"He is the cleverest."

"Yes, but simply being clever wouldn’t be enough for him to win the throne."

"What do you know? He has connections beyond the court. Sects. Hidden power. People who do not show their faces in daylight."

A woman selling burnt flatbread gave a humorless laugh.

"If the First Prince uses the court and the Second uses the soldiers, the Third will use the shadows."

Finally, there was the Fourth Prince.

His name was the one that lingered the longest, not because he was the strongest or had the most supporters, but because no one truly knew what he wanted.

"He’s the quiet one. Now that I think about it, where is he?"

"No idea. But he should probably make a move and appear after such a news"

"Even if he made a move now, wouldn’t it be too late? I mean, all the forces are already divided among the three princes, so he probably has nothing left."

Then, an elderly official seated on the steps of a ruined corridor tapped his cane against the stone while smoothing his beard and murmuring,

"The first three have displayed their hostility for years. The Fourth has merely been observing."

He paused.

"In times like this... the one who watches may be the one who bites last."

By midday, the rumors had taken shape.

Four names.

Four potential banners that had not yet been raised, yet already seemed to hang over the restored capital.

Some said the First Prince would be the one to stabilize the court.

Some said the Second Prince would seize the palace before the ashes cooled.

Some whispered that the Third Prince had already begun moving pieces no one could see.

And some, lowering their voices even further, said the Fourth Prince was the most frightening of them all.

In the streets, a child looked up at his mother and asked,

"Mother... who will be the next Emperor?"

She glanced toward the palace as if she could see another storm approaching, pulled her child closer, and trembled slightly, saying,

"I don’t know."

And for the first time in centuries, no one in the capital could say with certainty who would be sitting on the dragon throne when the flames finally died.

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Simultaneously, the First Prince was informed of the news within a hall of his private mansion.

Ministers were arranged in two rows before him.

Some of them had dirt on their sleeves, while others had clearly not slept.

They were all already choosing their stance as if the old Emperor had already been buried.

And currently, the First Prince, Fen Yinzhi sat at the head of the hall, one hand resting on the armrest.

He was a handsome man in his early thirties, with sharp, well-defined features and dark hair neatly tied beneath a simple golden crown.

His deep crimson eyes were calm and steady, carrying none of the panic that had spread through the capital.

He wore a dark crimson imperial robe embroidered with a coiling golden dragon, the fabric immaculate.

Everything about him was controlled.

Even his silence felt deliberate.

"Your Highness," an elderly official stated with a deep bow.

"His Majesty’s decision has caused considerable unrest within the court. Should we fail to stabilize the situation promptly, the other princes will undoubtedly control the public perception."

The First Prince, Fen Yinzhi slowly raised his gaze, repeating, "Stabilize?"

"Yes. Please issue a statement to comfort the noble houses, reminding them that the eldest son remains the foundation of the dynasty."

Fen Yinzhi remained silent, offering no reply.

He surveyed each of them one by one.

For a moment, no one dared to meet his gaze.

"The very foundation of the dynasty is already in flames," he stated.

He knows full well what his father was also thinking.

Still, no one dared to answer.

He rose from his seat.

At nearly seven feet tall, his straight posture and broad shoulders made his crimson robes appear even more imposing.

He did not need to raise his voice to command the room.

His presence alone was enough to silence the ministers.

"So I will give them another chance to decide... send word to the Ministry of Rites and the old clans. Anyone who still wants order will come to me."

He paused, his expression hardening.

"Anyone who wants war can go to my brothers."

A younger official hesitated before finally asking,

"And what if His Majesty truly means to let strength decide?"

Fen Yinzhi turned toward him.

His calm eyes became cold.

"Then I will show them that strength is not only found on a battlefield."

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The meeting ended soon afterward.

One by one, the ministers bowed and withdrew from the hall, their footsteps fading into the corridors.

The First Prince remained where he was.

Only after the last minister disappeared did his expression relax slightly.

Following that, he perceived the gentle sound of footsteps drawing near.

A woman’s soft, melodic voice then spoke.

"My precious son, are you still concerned?"

The First Prince turned around.

A mature woman entered the hall, accompanied by two attendants walking behind her.

She was the First Prince’s mother, Consort Bai Ming Rui.

Even after years in the imperial palace, she had lost none of her beauty.

She was in her early forties, with smooth, pale skin, long black hair arranged beneath an elegant golden hairpiece, and delicate yet mature features.

Her green eyes were narrow and alluring, framed by long lashes, while her lips carried a natural curve that made even her faintest smile seem deliberate.

Her figure was equally striking.

She was tall and voluptuous, with generous curves hidden beneath layers of luxurious silk.

Every movement was graceful and measured, the kind of elegance that came not from youth but from years of knowing exactly how others looked at her.

Her robes were embroidered with intricate golden patterns, and several pieces of expensive jade jewelry hung from her waist and wrists.

She never entered a room quietly.

She entered as though the room already belonged to her.

The First Prince glanced at her.

Seeing that her beauty and elegance remained unchanged after all these years, he smiled.

"Mother."

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[Here an illustration of the Consort Bai Ming Rui:]

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