Li Yuangui made a split-second decision. He leaped forward, shouting to stop the Son of Heaven while simultaneously tearing off Sang Sai’s disguise.
His motion was too forceful, overturning the wine tray along with its cups and flasks, sending them clattering to the ground. Amid the chaos, the Emperor showed no surprise. Calmly, he poured out the poisoned wine in his hand, publicly revealing the truth.
Oh no. It’s over. Li Yuangui shut his eyes in anguish. I’ve done something stupid again.
This scheme had indeed been planned between him and his father. Li Chengqian truly hadn’t intended to kill his father—at least not this time.
With a sharp tug, the Sang Sai he had seized suddenly moved. He likely carried no blade, but with reddened eyes and fingers splayed like claws, he threw himself at the Tang Emperor with all his might. His snarling, vicious expression suggested he meant to strangle his enemy and perish together with him.
Li Yuangui failed to restrain him with a backward grab, but then he saw his elder brother act.
Having often accompanied the Emperor on hunts, he had witnessed the man’s deadly archery and prowess in slaying beasts. But this was the first time he had seen his brother engage in close combat—though “combat” wasn’t quite the word, as the Emperor carried no sword.
Clad in the coarse mourning robes of a filial son, the Emperor held only a bamboo staff, commonly called a “mourning stick,” which was sturdy but lacked the lethality of a blade. Yet he remained unshaken. With a glance at his attacker, he shifted slightly, swung the staff, and sent its tip straight through Sang Sai’s outstretched arms to strike his face with precision.
A cry of pain rang out. The Heavenly Khan had sent the Tuyuhun youth flying with a single blow.
And that was that. The surrounding ministers and guards were no fools—they swarmed the assassin, subduing him with utmost zeal. Li Yuangui no longer needed to move. He stood frozen, staring blankly at his brother.
That strike was swordsmanship… though not particularly refined, nor delivered with overwhelming force, as it was merely a casual counter from a standing position. What shocked Li Yuangui was how, in the sudden chaos, the Emperor had shown no instinctive flinch or evasion. His judgment of the enemy’s movement had been flawless—substituting the staff for a blade, he struck the vital point in one motion. The angle was perfect, leveraging the bamboo’s flexibility to twist Sang Sai’s momentum midair and fling him aside.
From the founding of the Tang to the unification of the realm, this Emperor had led from the front, braving arrows and stones in countless battles, yet never suffered a serious injury. It seemed his survival wasn’t solely due to divine favor, loyal guards, or superior armor. He truly was fearless and battle-hardened—at the very least, his instincts for dodging lethal blows were razor-sharp.
“What are you gawking at?” The bloodied tip of the bamboo staff tapped Li Yuangui’s cheek this time, and the Emperor couldn’t help but chuckle at his half-brother’s dumbstruck expression. “You’re just as much of a troublemaker!”
With that, he turned toward the now securely bound assassin and barked, “Let him up—who are you?”
The guards loosened their grip slightly, allowing Sang Sai to raise his upper body and glare up at the Heavenly Khan. His face was battered and bloody, his expression even more ferocious:
“I am the Crown Prince of the Tuyuhun Khaganate—Zun Wang!”
Li Yuangui stiffened. This arrogant youth was the son of Murong Fu-yun and the Tibetan queen? Not the son of the Tuyuhun minister, King Sky Pillar, as he had previously claimed?Kang Su-mi's wariness and hostility towards him, the loyal and brave warriors who had defected from his own country in batches, and even today's bizarre arrangements—all of it suddenly made sense. Judging by the Emperor's calm expression, he had long known the identity of this young man. Li Yuangui couldn't help but wonder if he was the only fool left in the dark.
"The former Crown Prince of Tuyuhun? Splendid." The Son of Heaven of the Great Tang smiled faintly. "Today, I am fortunate to witness the Crown Princes of two successive reigns of Tuyuhun—your father, Fu Yun, acted against all reason and morality, and now his kingdom has fallen and he lies dead. Your birth mother's clan is also imprisoned by our Great Tang. You sought to harm me with such despicable tricks as secret poisoning, and now you’ve been exposed on the spot. King Zun, what do you have to say for yourself?"
King Zun, who had been operating under the name "Sang Sai," had resided near Chang'an for at least half a year and seemed to understand a fair amount of Han speech. Held down by the guards, he was consumed with rage, first shouting a string of foreign words before finally roaring at the Emperor in broken Han speech:
"You, me, duel!"
The demand was utterly laughable. Though the atmosphere was tense and solemn, many ministers and foreign envoys couldn’t help but chuckle. The Emperor, however, did not laugh. Instead, he studied the Tuyuhun youth’s physique with interest before turning to glance at the Thousand Ox Guards who held the imperial blade—
"Cough, cough!"
A clearly warning cough came from the ranks of the high ministers. Li Yuangui recognized it immediately—it was the voice of Wei Zheng, the Imperial Chancellor.
The Emperor sighed in disappointment and shook his head. King Zun, observing this reaction, seized the moment to shout again:
"I, your Crown Prince, duel!"
This time, the gazes of the thousand or so people in the courtyard all turned to Crown Prince Li Chengqian beside the funeral carriage. As the eldest grandson, he was duty-bound to escort his grandfather’s coffin and had taken his position early. Suddenly singled out, he was startled at first, but then his face lit up with excitement—his expression mirroring his father’s just moments ago—as he dropped the funeral rope and stepped forward.
"Go back!"
The command came from the Son of Heaven himself. The Emperor waved his cane as if shooing a fly, driving his eldest son back to the imperial chariot. The bamboo cane then swung around, pointing toward the crowd of noblewomen:
"You want a duel? Fine, duel with your nephew—the legitimate heir and Crown Prince of Tuyuhun’s current Khan! Lacking virtue and ability, Heaven will surely despise you. Fight however you like—I refuse to believe you can win!"
For a moment, all eyes turned to the tall, imposing figure among the noblewomen. Yang Xinzhi, supporting his mother, stood frozen, completely bewildered.
This was the ultimate purpose of today’s arrangements. In an instant, Li Yuangui understood everything.
Before the chieftains and envoys of various nations, expose and humiliate King Zun, the former Crown Prince of Tuyuhun, stripping him of all dignity and authority, while elevating Yang Xinzhi—Murong Nuohebo—to smoothly leave the Foreign Country and ascend the throne of Tuyuhun.
Most of the foreign nations beyond the borders did not place as much emphasis on bloodline and loyalty as the Han court of the Central Plains. Foreigners revered brave warriors and despised the defeated. Though King Zun was the legitimate heir appointed by his father Fu Yun, if he lost in a one-on-one fight to his nephew Nuozhebo, the news would spread, and the tribes in Tuyuhun who might have still supported him would lose much of their loyalty. After all, no one wanted to say, "We follow a cowardly weakling."Yang Xinzhi himself was tall, with long arms and great strength, having been groomed from childhood for the path of Three Guards—military officer—campaigning with the army—capital official and provincial governor. He had received formal martial arts training from the old Guanlong aristocratic families. Li Yuangui had sparred with both men and assessed that Sang Sai—Zun Wang—would likely not withstand more than twenty rounds of Yang Rou-ta's attacks. Even if Zun Wang fought desperately with doubled ferocity, if Yang Xinzhi couldn't land a hit on the Tuyuhun youth after fifty strikes, he would deserve a beating.
Though the onlookers weren’t as intimately familiar with the two fighters as Li Yuangui, just by observing the disparity in their physiques and the current situation, they could guess the likely outcome. They shook their heads, chatting and laughing with relaxed amusement. Zun Wang himself wasn’t entirely foolish—and he had known Yang Xinzhi before. Turning his head to glare at the towering warrior, he spat blood, gritted his teeth, and snarled at the Emperor:
"Free combat? Then—me and him—polo!"
A polo match to decide the duel? A buzz of alarm rang in Li Yuangui’s mind. This was bad.
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