TSFLIP Chapter 293

That night, Lan Tingrong’s army stormed the imperial palace and joined forces with Lan Gan’s troops, catching Qian Qiu completely off guard. Realizing the dire situation, Qian Qiu hastily ordered his men to bring the Empress as a hostage, but it was too late—she had already disappeared.

Qian Qiu, wounded and desperate, hid behind his loyal death soldiers, his voice venomous as he snarled, “Lan Gan, do you no longer care if your grandson lives?”

Lan Gan’s expression darkened. “Qian Qiu, if you hand over the antidote, I may spare your life.”

“Grandfather, is Tingyu poisoned?” Lan Tingrong asked, slicing down an enemy soldier with ease, his tone filled with shock. Until now, he had no idea his younger brother was poisoned. This sudden revelation left him momentarily stunned.

Lan Gan felt a pang of frustration. He had only received a letter an hour ago, compelling him to march his troops into the palace. The letter was brief but clear: if he didn’t act, his eldest grandson’s life would be forfeit at Qian Qiu’s hands. Though Lan Gan dearly loved Tingyu, when it came to preserving the strength of the Duke of Zhen’s lineage, only Tingrong could carry on their legacy.

He couldn’t afford to let anything happen to Lan Tingrong.

Lan Gan coldly questioned his grandson, “Why did you choose this moment to march into the palace?”

The Empress’s imprisonment had been a well-guarded secret by Qian Qiu.

Lan Tingrong hesitated briefly before replying, “I received a letter from you, Grandfather, saying we needed to coordinate an attack against Qian Qiu. That’s why I returned to the capital. Grandfather, that letter…”

Lan Gan’s face darkened further. He had never written such a letter.

As Qian Qiu’s forces suffered loss after loss, and most of his men lay dead, he forced himself to endure the pain of his injuries and sneered, “Lan Gan, you better think carefully. If I die, I’ll make sure Lan Tingyu dies with me!”

Lan Tingrong glanced at his grandfather, awaiting his response.

Without hesitation, Lan Gan declared, “It is my duty to rid the kingdom of traitors. If sacrificing one grandson can bring peace to the realm, it is a price worth paying.”

Lan Tingrong gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles whitening.

Qian Qiu gritted his teeth. “Very well. The Duke of Zhen truly lives up to his reputation—heartless enough to make even me take notice!”

“Don’t waver, Tingrong. These rebels must be executed on the spot,” Lan Gan ordered.

“Yes, Grandfather,” Lan Tingrong replied, his voice steady but heavy.

Raising his hand, he commanded his soldiers to charge.

Lan Gan maintained a stern expression. Deep down, he didn’t want to sacrifice Tingyu, but the bloody confrontation in the palace could no longer be concealed. If they failed to capture Qian Qiu and present him as an example, the world would demand answers. In time, people might accuse the Duke of Zhen’s household of treason. The family’s century-old honor could not be tarnished under his watch.

As for Tingyu…

The letter mentioned an antidote. Whether it was real or not, Lan Gan told himself that if Tingyu didn’t survive, he still had his brave and capable eldest grandson, Lan Tingrong.

Seeing the battle turn against him, Qian Qiu realized fighting to the death would only end in his demise. The palace was now firmly under the control of the Duke of Zhen’s forces. Alone, escape seemed impossible. But no… though the Empress was missing, he still had one last bargaining chip.

Under the cover of his dead soldiers, Qian Qiu slipped away from the battlefield. Injured further and bleeding heavily, he pushed himself onward, killing several guards along the way. Ignoring his wounds, he struggled his way to the dungeon.

The dungeon was dim and damp, devoid of sunlight for years. Many had perished there, and the air carried a lingering sense of dread and resentment. Ordinary people confined there often succumbed to despair, becoming mentally unstable or even suicidal. Yet one man, locked in the innermost cell, remained calm and composed no matter the circumstances.

At that moment, he wasn’t even in his cell. Instead, he sat leisurely in a chair, sipping tea. The table and chair had belonged to the jailers, who now lay lifeless on the ground.

Their eyes were open, necks twisted at unnatural angles, but otherwise unscathed. Anyone skilled in martial arts would recognize the cause: their necks had been snapped in a single, decisive strike.