At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, they called me a demonic monk.

Chapter 1 Imperial Edict: Returning Power to the Lineage of Emperor Mingzong

Deep within the capital's palace, a silent storm of bloodshed was quietly brewing amidst the night fog.

Emperor Wenzong of Yuan, Tugh Temur, lay on his dragon bed, his body emaciated. The candlelight was dim, and the imperial physicians came and went, and the medicine was changed again and again, but they could not hold back the emperor's fading spirit. His cloudy eyes stared at the dragon-patterned ceiling, and in his daze, he kept seeing his elder brother and Shishi, their seven orifices bleeding, floating between the beams.

The night wind swept through the palace corridors, howling like weeping, as if the ghosts of his elder brother and Shi were murmuring, each sound striking the last vestiges of the emperor's clarity. "Brother...I..." His chapped lips moved slightly, but could only produce a sound like a broken bellows.

"Your Majesty..." The eunuch stammered as he presented the ginseng soup, but the emperor suddenly opened his eyes, his withered hands gripping the satin quilt tightly. A strange, almost eerie flush, like a final glow in the flickering candlelight, rose on his sallow face, and he gasped for breath: "Pen... vermilion pen... quickly!"

As the imperial edict was laid out on the jade table, the emperor's brush trembled between his fingers, the crimson ink spreading like blood on the silk. "I have received the Mandate of Heaven and reigned for many years, yet my virtue is lacking..." With each word he wrote, his breathing grew heavier, and in his trance, the phantoms on the beams appeared more vividly, as if a cold wind were lifting curtains. "Remembering the late emperor's agreement, that power would pass from brother to brother, and from brother to nephew... I... shall return power to the lineage of Emperor Mingzong, to secure the nation..."

Before the last stroke was completely dry, the vermilion brush slipped from his pale fingers, clattering onto the gold bricks like tears of blood. The emperor fell backward, the last image in his fading pupils being the raging, blood-red eyes of the coiled dragon on the ceiling, staring at the end of this earthly emperor.

Just then, the autumn wind swirled with withered leaves, lashing against the windowpane and making the blood-stained edict, soaked in regret and remorse, rustle softly. Immediately afterward, the palace bells tolled mournfully throughout the night, casting a pall of sorrow over the entire imperial palace.

A rapid clatter of hooves shattered the silence of the curfew in the capital, the thunderous sound rushing straight toward the heavily guarded gates of the Grand Chancellor's residence, belonging to Yan Timur.

Inside the Grand Chancellor's residence, the all-powerful Grand Chancellor Yan Timur leaned languidly against a brocade couch, his newly acquired Asian concubine in his arms, his fingertips casually caressing a newly presented Persian crystal goblet. The grape wine within shimmered with a dark red luster, reflecting his enigmatic, enigmatic smile. Suddenly, the mournful tolling of the palace bells rang out, and his hand, caressing the goblet, froze abruptly, causing the wine in the goblet to sway slightly.

As his trusted aide lowered his voice and relayed the contents of the will word for word, the priceless crystal goblet slipped from his fingers and shattered with a loud crash on the Persian carpet. Crimson wine splattered, seeping like thick blood into the luxurious carpet, carving ominous, sinister patterns. This powerful minister, who usually remained unfazed even in the face of a collapsing mountain, stood frozen, his face drained of all color.

—The desolate land of Wanghuchadu, the endless sandstorms, the cup of poison he himself had arranged, the increasingly hazy, resentful, and pained eyes of Emperor Mingzong and Emperor Shiyi after drinking it… everything was vividly before his eyes, searing his pupils. If this will were followed, and Emperor Mingzong's son, Toghon Temür, were to be enthroned, once that wolf cub ascended the throne and his wings were fully grown, the first blade of revenge would be placed against Yan Temur's neck! At that time, the entire century-old foundation of the Kipchak family would be uprooted, leaving no trace of its remains!

He suddenly sprang to his feet, like a trapped beast wounded by an arrow, grabbing the collar of the eunuch who stood there in shock, almost lifting him off the ground: "Who else has seen this edict?!" His voice was hoarse and distorted, his eyes malevolent, causing the eunuch to clench his teeth and tremble with fear as he answered in a broken voice, "Yes...yes...Lord Boyan, the Privy Councilor, who was your fellow regent...and...and several close attendants in Her Majesty the Empress's palace, all know. The original edict...is currently enshrined in the Empress's palace..."

Before he finished speaking, Yan Tiemuer drew the gold-inlaid curved sword hanging on the wall. A cold light flashed, like autumn water across the sky, and in an instant, a thin red line appeared on the eunuch's throat. He collapsed limply, and warm blood slowly soaked the luxurious carpet.

"They already know," he slowly wiped the hot blood from the blade, his voice colder than the eternal ice of the northern frontier, "Why are you only informing me now?" The flickering candlelight illuminated his grim face, the shadows deep and ghostly.

He gripped the gilded hilt of his sword tightly, a barely perceptible tremor running through him. Years of meticulous planning, step by step, had been aimed at installing Emperor Wenzong's youngest son, the easily controlled Yan Tiegusi. This game, wagered on the fate of the nation, had consumed his life; it was nearing its end. How could he allow it to crumble at this crucial moment—because of a sudden imperial edict?!

The night was cool in the deep palace, and the lighting had been changed to white candles, with the blue smoke of agarwood swirling in the hall.

Yan Temur knelt before Empress Budashiri, his tall frame now humbly curled up on the cold brick floor. His slightly distorted reflection was clearly visible on the bricks, mirroring his dark and troubled state of mind. Tears streamed down his face as he spoke earnestly, each kowtow resounding heavily. A patch of blood and gore seemed to glisten on his forehead, staining it with an unsightly pattern: "Does Your Majesty not know that 'when the nest is overturned, no egg remains intact'? If Emperor Mingzong's son ascends the throne, where will you and Prince Yan Tegusi find refuge?" He raised his face, blood and tears mingling on his features, yet his gaze was like a quenched knife, each word like a jackal lurking in the dark, precisely tearing at the deepest fears of a woman deep within the palace.

The Empress sat upright, but the phoenix-patterned silver cup in her hand trembled slightly, the warm milk tea inside rippling in delicate circles, just like the sudden surge of emotions in her heart. The hall was silent, save for the occasional soft popping of the candle wick, mingling with Yan Tiemu'er's heavy breathing.

After a long silence, she finally raised her pale face, her gaze piercing through the swirling incense smoke, revealing a clarity that seemed to break through the fog. Her voice, though soft, was as resolute as metal striking stone: "Let us... obey the late emperor's orders. Let us not... cause any more trouble."

Her hands, too, were stained with blood. Countless long nights had been spent tormented by those hidden sins, unable to sleep and plagued by nightmares. She did not want to inflict that torment any further, especially since Emperor Wenzong's edict, written in tears and clearly demanding the return of power to Emperor Mingzong's lineage, was now burning like a branding iron on her hands and her heart.

The moonlight, as cold as ice, poured down upon Queen Budashiri, making her embroidered gold phoenix robe gleam with an undeniable, chilling radiance. Her voice, freed from its previous hesitation, grew increasingly resolute. Her gaze, sharp as a torch, pierced the man who held immense power, now kneeling on the ground. "This matter concerns the very foundation of the nation, the late Emperor's dying wish. Do not... delay any longer!"

"procrastination?!"

Yan Timur whirled around, the movement sending a gust of bloody wind through him. He took a step forward, his eyes bloodshot in the candlelight, his voice low and menacing, each word piercing the Empress's heart: "Your Majesty! Do you think I'm stalling? Emperor Mingzong's eldest son, Toghon Temür, is thirteen years old this year! He's not an innocent child. Do you think he knows nothing about how Emperor Mingzong died suddenly at Wang Huchadu's hands, or why Empress Babusha 'fell ill with grief' and passed away shortly after Mingzong's death? Do you think no one has whispered the 'truth' in his ear all these years?"

He practically spat out the last two words through gritted teeth, and a chilling aura instantly gripped the entire hall.