The Cross-Dressing Legend Is Excessively Beautiful - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The fireworks were so magnificent and grand that almost everyone in the capital saw them.

The common folk gathered in bustling crowds, cheering and jumping with joy.

But in the eyes of certain people, these fireworks held a different meaning.

“Prosperity at its peak precedes a fall. Although the Song family holds great power, their conduct is far too high-profile for being right under the Emperor’s nose,” some murmured.

Jing Jianhua, residing in the Crown Prince’s Manor, naturally witnessed the grand spectacle in the sky as well.

Deep black clothing often makes a person appear somber and steady, but on him, it exuded an air of solitary loftiness and elegance. Even the fierce python embroidery on his robes seemed to gain a touch of tranquility, transforming into an auspicious omen from a celestial mountain.

His temperament did not resemble that of a high-and-mighty Crown Prince with the power of life and death; rather, he looked more like a refined scholar who spent his days brewing tea and playing the zither.

Jing Jianhua watched the brilliant fireworks continually explode across the horizon. His eyes remained as still as an ancient, deep pool, making it impossible to guess what he was thinking.

Xiao Hezi stole a cautious glance at Jing Jianhua. He deliberated for a long time, seemingly unsure of how to frame his words, before finally whispering, “The Song family truly displays an air of magnificent luxury.”

These words wouldn’t mean much if applied to any other family, but everyone under heaven knew that Song Ci (the Prime Minister) came from “muddy-legged” humble beginnings. For three generations, his ancestors had been nothing but peasant farmers.

He was a true commoner from a poor family!

Although Song Ci later became the Prime Minister, he ultimately lacked the foundational heritage of a great clan to support him. Relying solely on his official government salary, there was no way he could afford to maintain such a luxurious lifestyle for the Song family.

Yet, no one dared to question this—because those who did had already been sent to the guillotine by Song Ci.

Just after those ministers finished impeaching him in the early morning, Song Ci led the Black Armor Army at midnight to surround their manors. He didn’t let a single fly escape, brazenly uprooting his political rivals’ entire clans.

The charge: Colluding with the enemy, treason, and slandering the Emperor. The punishment: Execution of nine generations.

Glory that had lasted for decades or even centuries was extinguished in an instant.

At the execution grounds, souls were reaped, and blood flowed for three months without ceasing. During that time, the entire capital was enveloped in a soaring stench of blood. Even the cracks in the ground were stained red.

Since then, Song Ci earned the nickname “The Blood-Robed Prime Minister.” His rise to power was paved literally with countless piles of blood and bone.

How could such a treacherous official and such ill-gotten glory not spark resentment?

And yet, who dared to speak out?