The Youngest Son of the Nanyang Jin Family - Chapter 77

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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The Youngest Son of the Nakhyang Jin Family — Chapter 77

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People called the Current Emperor the Iron-Blooded Emperor.
The twelfth son, with no connection to the imperial throne or its lineage.
Moreover, born from a Gisaeng whose family had no ties whatsoever to any powerful faction—a child of the Red Light District itself.
Raised not in the Imperial Palace but among the Gisaeng, his childhood was spent running through the Red Light District like a common thug, doing odd jobs for the women who raised him.
The situation began to shift mysteriously when he turned fifteen.
His brothers started dying, one by one.
Some fell to illness, others were struck down by swords during secret missions, one drowned in an outhouse, and another burned alive.
Though it appeared as though someone were systematically eliminating rivals, no one suspected the twelfth son.
It was absurd to think that someone who had never even entered the Imperial Palace could orchestrate such schemes.
Everything came to light when he turned twenty.
On the day the ailing Emperor’s life hung by a thread, he launched an assault through a secret passage leading to the Imperial Palace, accompanied by two hundred subordinates.
No one had anticipated it.
The Imperial Palace descended into chaos, drenched in blood in mere moments.
With the overwhelming power he had secretly accumulated, he seized the Palace in a single stroke, executed every remaining brother, and appeared before the dying Emperor, drenched in blood, without hesitation.
No one knows what words passed between him and the Emperor as he lay dying.
But that day marked the moment the throne changed hands.
Those who witnessed it were most shocked that the Emperor’s closest confidants—his most trusted ministers—all followed him.
Though their reasons remained unclear, it became apparent later that these very men had orchestrated the silent assassinations of his brothers, and by redirecting suspicion away from the twelfth son, they had ensured he remained above reproach.
The true horror came afterward.
Once he ascended the throne and claimed the imperial seat, he executed every minister who had invested in him, displaying their severed heads, and exterminated their entire families.
His reasoning was simple: those who betray once will betray again.
The blade he wielded to consolidate his power never ceased its work, and Beijing became a city haunted only by the silent screams of the dead.
Thus, people did not hesitate to call him the Iron-Blooded Emperor.
His obsession with power, authority, and life itself was so consuming that he had tried everything for immortality, and despite approaching a hundred years of age, he still clung to the throne without relinquishing it.
The embodiment of absolute power.
That was the Iron-Blooded Emperor.
Yet such power inevitably creates victims.
None other than the Current Emperor’s eldest son and Crown Prince.
Despite being nearly fifty years old, he remained in the position of Crown Prince.
It was unprecedented in history.
“It must be miserable.”
I smiled wryly at the thought of the Crown Prince.
Had I been in his position, I would have ground my teeth in anguish.
It would have been better not to be Crown Prince at all.
Yet he was not without ability either.
Rumors spread that he was incomparably superior to his brothers, and his character was so virtuous that people spoke of him becoming a benevolent ruler devoted to his subjects.
Yet it remained impossible.
As long as the Current Emperor lived, the throne belonged to him.
And so rebellion erupted.
The Crown Prince’s final hope lay in the Current Emperor, who languished and withered away toward death.
Since no physician could do anything as he deteriorated and fell apart, he must have believed without doubt that the throne would soon become his own.
But it was Chaeseoha who shattered that belief entirely.
A single Spirit Elixir she had given to me.
That elixir and Chaeseoha’s medical skill revived the dying Emperor.
The officials who had nearly fractured rallied once more in loyalty to the Emperor, and the Crown Prince’s foundation inevitably crumbled and weakened again.
Thus the Crown Prince had no choice but to act.
In the end, he raised a rebellion, seized the Imperial Palace, slaughtered all officials loyal to the Current Emperor, and beheaded Chaeseoha—the root cause of it all—displaying her head as a warning.
Yet he could not bring himself to behead his own father; instead, he confined him to an isolated chamber, cut off all food and drink, and through prolonged suffering, allowed him to waste away unto death.
From the Iron-Blooded Emperor’s ambition, another Iron-Blooded Emperor was born.
The reason I found this situation intriguing and investigated it was my curiosity about how the Crown Prince’s meager forces could have succeeded in rebellion.
My conjecture is that the decisive factor was none other than the Imperial Guards the Current Emperor had assigned to the Crown Prince.
Chungho.
Though now the Crown Prince’s guard, he was once the senior disciple positioned to inherit the next leadership of the Martial Arts Sect.
I judged that disciples from the Martial Arts Sect—both lay practitioners and ordained monks—had aided the Crown Prince in secret through his connections, which was likely decisive.
The reason I am certain of this is first that imperial support for the Martial Arts Sect increased substantially after the Crown Prince took the throne, and second that most of the guards assembled afterward have ties to the sect.
“Either way, if I can exploit it, that’s fortunate enough.”
I chuckled softly and adjusted my bamboo hat.
This place where I walked, having escaped Dowon Village.
None other than the Red Light District of Beijing.
Despite the late hour, crimson lanterns illuminated the streets brilliantly, and countless Gisaeng and men wandered the streets in pleasant intoxication.
I surveyed my surroundings while taking in the sights visible between the brim of my bamboo hat.
Among the countless establishments, I searched for a single name.

Hongya Pavilion.

Just before the rebellion erupted.
A gathering place where those who had joined forces with the Crown Prince convened.
People had come to call this assembly the Red Night Assembly.
Soon enough, fortunately, a suitable establishment appeared not far away.
Among the countless pleasure houses in Beijing, it was an unassuming place—neither particularly distinctive nor lavishly ornate.
Yet there was no doubt that it was the Hongya Pavilion.
It was a high-class establishment that could only be used by renting out the entire pleasure house, and the gisaengs who worked there were said to be famous courtesans brought from the Red Light District of Beijing specifically for those who had reserved the place.
For a wealthy Crown Prince, it was an ideal place to drink alone.
As expected, the perimeter was heavily guarded.
Though they weren’t openly dressed in Imperial Guard uniforms, their bearing was distinctly different from those guarding other establishments.
Among those fortifying the pleasure house, there were roughly a dozen visible to the eye, and if I counted those in hiding as well, there seemed to be around thirty.
I smiled as I confirmed this.
I was intensely curious about what this new Iron-Blooded Emperor looked like.

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Though this was undoubtedly a pleasure house, there wasn’t even the faintest scent of any woman in the room.
Only scattered wine bottles and the gazes of those standing watch.
And one figure sitting there, gulping down alcohol.
He paid no mind to the stares of others, simply drinking the wine before him.
Judging by how much he’d consumed, the number of empty bottles scattered about was considerable.
Yet it seemed insufficient, for each time a bottle emptied, a fresh one was brought in.
“Your Majesty, you cannot drink any more than this.”
“Ha, are you trying to stop me?”
“…I speak only out of concern for what may come to pass.”
“What may come to pass… ha, I wish I could simply drink myself to death.”
“Your Majesty!”
“Chungho, your shouting is making my ears ache. Do not raise your voice.”
“Then you should not speak such things.”
At Chungho’s words, the man smiled bitterly and raised the wine bottle to his lips once more. After drinking deeply for a while, he pulled it away and gazed back at Chungho, whose eyes were filled with worry.
“Have you seen her?”
“Seen what… Your Majesty?”
“The masked woman beside His Majesty. Do you know who she is?”
“I do not.”
“Ha, they say she is a descendant of Uiseon.”
“…!”
“His Majesty’s complexion seems to have improved considerably, does it not? His gait has become more vigorous as well.”
At those words, Chungho’s pupils trembled.
Yet he quickly composed himself and regained his expression.
“You are mistaken. The Chae Family fell long ago.”
“Whether it’s a misunderstanding or not, the problem is that His Majesty’s condition has improved as a result.”
The Crown Prince raised his wine bottle toward the Imperial Palace visible through the window.
It felt as though he were toasting with his father there, but soon a sneer crossed his lips as he leaned his back against the wall and sprawled out.
“Chungho, do you know? Throughout history, there has never been a Crown Prince who failed to ascend the throne by this age.”
“….”
“His Majesty made me Crown Prince at an age younger than I am now. Yet I cannot make my own son Crown Prince. Hahahaha.”
Crunch—!
The Crown Prince’s grip tightened as a bitter smile played across his face.
Crack—!
As the wine bottle in his grasp made a sound as though it might shatter, a startled Chungho quickly reached out and snatched it from his hands.
“You’ll hurt yourself.”
“You prevent me from doing anything.”
The Crown Prince steadied his breathing and grasped a fresh wine bottle beside him.
He took another long drink to soothe his turmoil, then gazed out the window at the full moon, his eyes narrowing to slits.
“If that’s the case, then perhaps….”
“Your Highness!”
“Hahahaha, I jest, I jest. I’m well aware we’re not even comparable. Any attempt would result in instant death.”
Considering the power and authority the Emperor possessed, what the Crown Prince held was nothing more than a firefly before the full moon, an egg thrown against stone.
Even if he could completely neutralize the Three Major Forces that protected the Imperial Court, or avoid confronting them altogether, matters would be far simpler.
But the leaders of the Three Major Forces were those who offered absolute loyalty to the Emperor.
That was not easily accomplished.
And that was hardly all.
He could trust no one.
Those he had trusted immediately changed their stance once the Emperor recovered, attaching themselves to his side.
Considering such things, he couldn’t even discern who could be trusted and who could not.
Perhaps among those who remained at his side, there were those the Emperor had planted.
To ascend the throne, he needed a means to sweep away even such vermin.
But with the power he currently possessed, there was nothing he could do.
As he paused in thought and brought the wine bottle to his lips once more, it happened.
A voice flowing from somewhere pierced into his ears.
“Shall I tell you? A somewhat easier and more certain method.”
A startled Chungho’s eyes widened as he drew his sword and launched himself forward.
Considering the events that unfolded in an instant, one could well understand why he had been a chief disciple of the Martial Arts Sect.
He then thrust his blade toward the window.
“Who are you!”
The sword pierced through the wall as cleanly as cutting tofu, and with an explosive burst of force, shattered it. Simultaneously, the figure of a Masked Man appeared before Chungho’s eyes.
The blade flew directly toward his throat.
A perfect technique with no margin for error whatsoever.
And yet.
Shhhhk—
The man retreated backward as though he had anticipated this very moment. He leaped onto the rooftop of the opposite building and stood there rigidly, his gaze fixed upon Chungho.
Chungho’s sword did not make contact.
In an instant so brief it hardly deserved the name, the exchange unfolded, yet I realized his blade had not even grazed the fabric of the man’s garments, and my eyes narrowed.
“Your Highness! He is a Powerful Expert. It would be wise to evade.”
“Do not be so hasty. He does not appear to harbor any malice toward us.”
At that moment, the Crown Prince rose from his seat and gazed outward through the shattered wall.
There stood a man.
He stood motionless at the highest point of the opposite rooftop.
With the full moon at his back, moonlight illuminated him like a halo.
The scene he created was as though a painting had come to life.
Was this intentional?
The Crown Prince let out a hollow laugh and observed him quietly.
With the moonlight behind him, his features were not clearly visible.
From what I could dimly discern, he wore ornate silk robes, and his face was wrapped tightly in cloth, though what appeared to be a mask was visible in the gaps.
One way or another, he clearly wished to conceal his identity.
But what truly troubled me was something else.
His gaze was strangely unsettling.
It did not take long to discern the reason.
The Iron-Blooded Emperor.
Yes, the way this man looked at me was precisely how the Emperor gazed upon others.
The gaze of one who wielded overwhelming power and authority, standing at the highest pinnacle and thus able to look down upon all below with noble indifference.
The Crown Prince furrowed his brow and asked.
“Who is this man?”
My curiosity about this figure would not easily fade.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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