Emperor Wu Su's tone held no anger.
Within his clear, cold voice, there was a faint, almost imperceptible rasp.
"Beili reveres martial prowess in the hope of deterring other nations in these chaotic times, not for you to engage in brawls."
This time, Wei Ting spoke before Zhao Minghong could.
"I am guilty. I await Your Majesty's punishment."
Prince Yong cursed him inwardly, 'What an old fox,' and said a beat too late, "I was wrong. I await my Imperial Brother's judgment."
Separated by a screen, Ji Qingwu felt a pang of hunger. She stared at the array of fragrant, sweet pastries before her but didn't dare touch them, holding her breath as she listened to the voices in the hall.
Hearing their admissions of guilt, Emperor Wu Su said, "General Wei, you may rise."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
As Wei Ting got to his feet, Zhao Minghong, still kneeling on the floor, shot him a sideways glare.
