Dean Chen and Zhan Yi had been keeping watch in the main hall ever since returning from the palace, waiting for news.
Dean Chen knew the Beili Emperor's temperament all too well. As long as there were sufficient benefits on the line, no amount of evidence would make a difference.
'I can only hope the old ancestor of the Zhong family and the two Princes make some headway.'
Anger, indignation, disappointment, regret, sorrow—a torrent of emotions welled up inside him, creating a stifling, oppressive weight.
In all his years, Dean Chen had never experienced such a heavy, complex mix of emotions, nor such a heart-wrenching pain.
Sang Zhi stepped through the door. The sight of the coffin in the main hall seared his eyes, and he rushed over to its side in just a few steps.
Everyone in the hall was startled to see the Eighth Prince.
"Eighth Prince."
Dean Chen was also surprised. "How did you leave the palace?"
