Leaving the Palace, Ninth Royal Uncle Is Free

The Emperor didn’t invite Ninth Royal Uncle for a casual game of chess—he wanted to use the match to apply pressure, hoping to make Ninth Royal Uncle lose his nerve before the real conversation began and seize the upper hand. But he hadn’t expected...

Ninth Royal Uncle’s chess skill had become even more formidable. The Emperor used to be able to play him to a draw, sometimes even win a few pieces. But now, forget about winning—just losing by fewer pieces was already an achievement.

The Emperor couldn’t be bothered to count how many pieces he’d lost. He tossed the chess pieces aside and refused to play any longer.

He was the Emperor—if he didn’t want to play, he didn’t have to. Ninth Royal Uncle couldn’t object. The Emperor flung the chess pieces in a fit of temper, while Ninth Royal Uncle, always composed, showed no emotion whether winning or losing, calmly picking up each piece one by one.

That’s just how the Emperor was. If he wanted to lose, he’d give way even to a beggar; if he wanted to win, not even Heaven itself could refuse him.

Ninth Royal Uncle’s fingers were long and fair. When he elegantly picked up the chess pieces, your eyes couldn’t help but follow his hands. The Emperor realized he’d unconsciously let Ninth Royal Uncle lead him.

By the time the Emperor noticed, Ninth Royal Uncle had already picked up most of the pieces. Outwardly, the Emperor stayed calm, but inside he was in turmoil—a dignified sovereign being led by the nose. If word got out, no one would believe it, but that’s exactly what had happened.

Exhaling softly, the Emperor took up his cup of tea to steady himself. He sipped, letting the warm, fragrant tea calm his restless heart.

Bang—the Emperor deliberately set his cup down with extra force, making the table shudder and splashing a few drops. Normally, whenever he did this, officials, generals, and even empresses and consorts would be startled into kneeling. But this time...

Ninth Royal Uncle acted as if nothing had happened, continuing to pick up the chess pieces. Once he’d put them away, he sat perfectly still, unmoved no matter what tricks the Emperor tried—calm as a mountain, his mind undisturbed.

The Emperor understood: with this younger brother—raised with imperial education but left free since childhood—his usual tricks were useless. So he spoke plainly: “Ninth Brother, your chess keeps getting better. I thought you’d get rusty after so long in the palace.”

On the surface, he was talking about chess, but really he meant Ninth Royal Uncle’s reach was too long—still meddling in outside affairs from inside the palace. This was a warning: the Emperor believed the Mysterious Benefactor was really Ninth Royal Uncle, and wanted him to rein it in.

Unfortunately... Ninth Royal Uncle knew the Emperor too well. The more certain the Emperor sounded, the less sure he actually was. If he truly had proof that Nolan was the porridge-giver, he’d have announced it already. In that case...

The people would remember him, but the pro-Emperor faction at court would demand his execution—for having overshadowed the throne and harboring dangerous ambition.

“Unlike you, Brother, I don’t have a realm to run. I pass my idle days tinkering with little things like this, so naturally my chess improves.” Ninth Royal Uncle deflected lightly.

He didn’t mind the world knowing he was the Mysterious Benefactor—but not yet. The relief work had cost him dearly; he wanted maximum impact.

If he revealed himself too soon, it wouldn’t cause enough of a stir and wouldn’t win him the public’s heart. Besides, with the Emperor also distributing porridge to compete, letting his name out now would only blunt the effect.

The Emperor’s eyelids flickered, as if weighing the truth of Nolan’s words. He mulled it over for ages but found no flaw, and finally gave up.

“Is the palace boring for you? Are the servants failing you?” Every attendant serving Ninth Royal Uncle was one of the Emperor’s spies—even his sleep was watched. If Nolan claimed to be satisfied, that would be suspicious indeed.

“I’m flattered, Brother. The palace is fine, and the servants are diligent. But no matter how grand the palace, it’s not my home—I still miss Ninth Prince Manor.” Ninth Royal Uncle was bluntly asking when he’d be allowed out, and making it clear he had no interest in palace life.

The Emperor’s heart jolted—Ninth Royal Uncle’s words hit him like a stone thrown into a calm lake. He looked up, his sharp gaze boring into Nolan, but Nolan didn’t flinch. Their eyes met: one fierce and probing, the other deep and serene, as if untouched by worldly strife.

Eastlyn’s two most exalted brothers faced off in a silent contest of wills—one attacking, one defending, until the Emperor was satisfied and looked away, ending the duel.

The Emperor averted his gaze, speaking as if making casual conversation: “This year brought a once-in-a-century blizzard. I worried about unrest, but it turns out there are men of great virtue among the people—someone set up porridge stalls and helped the commoners survive the disaster.”

There was no way the Emperor had come for small talk—this was a transaction. If Ninth Royal Uncle gave him a lead on the Mysterious Benefactor, he’d let him return to his manor.

Nolan understood perfectly. The Emperor was pressing him to admit the Mysterious Benefactor was connected to him. Since that was what the Emperor wanted, Nolan would give it to him.

He would say what needed to be said—what the Emperor made of it was his own business. Nolan lowered his eyelids, masking his emotions, and replied flatly: “Serena Feng is my woman. Just recently, she cured the Cui Clan’s most honored Sixteenth Young Master.”

With just those two sentences, he steered the Emperor’s thoughts straight toward the Cui Clan.

On the surface, Nolan was talking about a recent event, but really he was reminding the Emperor: only the Cui Clan could afford such a massive outlay of grain. The Mysterious Benefactor was the Cui Clan, and their motive was simple—they wanted the Emperor to release Nolan.

As for why the Cui Clan would do it, Nolan gave the reason: it was the price for Serena curing Holden Cui. He especially emphasized 'the most honored Sixteenth Young Master' to signal that the Cui Clan wouldn’t go to such lengths for just anyone, but Holden Cui was different—his life was worth the cost.

Nolan’s explanation was clearly meant to mislead the Emperor, but it was highly plausible. At least, the Emperor believed it; the Cui Clan had been in seclusion for a century, and their resources were deep.

Compared to Ninth Royal Uncle, the Emperor was much more convinced that the one providing grain for relief was the Cui Clan—not Nolan. He didn’t believe Nolan had that kind of power yet.

With the Cui Clan stepping onto the stage, the Emperor grew even more resentful. He recalled how recently the Cui and Wang clans had joined forces to pressure him into releasing Nolan, and mentally chalked up another grievance against the Cui Clan.

The moment the Cui Clan reemerged, they sided with Nolan, openly opposing the Emperor and making it clear they didn’t respect his authority. The Cui Clan was now the number-one threat. A murderous aura radiated from the Emperor...

Even with his eyes half-lowered, Nolan caught every nuance of the Emperor’s expression, missing nothing. The Emperor’s reaction pleased him—fixating on the Cui Clan was a good thing. If the Emperor tangled with them, Nolan’s own path would be much easier.

Besides, he hadn’t lied to the Emperor—every word he’d spoken was true. It was the Emperor who was overthinking; Nolan hadn’t said anything at all. The Emperor had drawn all his own conclusions.

In any case, the Cui Clan did harbor great ambitions. Nolan wasn’t wronging them—once the Emperor saw their moves, he’d believe Nolan’s words even more.

Once he left the palace, most of Nolan’s energy would go toward Skyvault Palace Sect. With the Cui Clan keeping the Emperor occupied in the Capital, tying down his main forces and attention, Nolan could focus on his own affairs.

Sorry, Cui Clan, but I’m pushing you onto the stage early as my shield. Hope you appreciate the gift I’m giving you.

Nolan reached for the teacup in front of him, holding it in his palm without drinking, quietly waiting for the Emperor’s decision.

He’d given the Emperor what he wanted—now it was up to the Emperor to keep his word. As for the saying that an emperor’s promise is as solid as gold? Don’t kid yourself. The Emperor hadn’t actually said he’d let Nolan go.

People like them never speak plainly, never hand anyone leverage. As long as both sides understand, that’s enough.

Nolan wasn’t disappointed. Sensing the threat posed by the Cui Clan, and catching Nolan’s hint that he had no interest in palace life, the Emperor was starting to relent.

He’d kept Nolan locked up for so long, but couldn’t convict him of any crime. Keeping him any longer would only increase the pressure. Better to use this chance to negotiate for more.

“Ninth Brother, about the disaster relief?” The Emperor looked up, his gaze sharp as arrows, as if trying to see through Nolan.

Whether he was prepared or simply fearless, Nolan remained unruffled: “Rest assured, Brother. Once I leave the palace, I’ll have word sent to Serena Feng.”

He was eager to get to Feng Manor and meet that man called Sean Xuan—but not yet. First, he had to finish his business here; only then would he have the leisure to spar with Sean Xuan.

“It’s late already. Ninth Brother, you’ll return to your manor tomorrow morning.” The Emperor rose, looking down at Nolan with the air of a benefactor.

He waited for Nolan to thank him, but Nolan, always one to push his luck, rose leisurely and, instead of expressing gratitude, made another request: “Brother, I’m used to my own staff from Ninth Prince Manor.”

Nolan reminded the Emperor: since he wasn’t guilty, neither were his people. Release the staff of Ninth Prince Manor—and don’t try to use this opportunity to plant your own spies.

The Emperor had already taken ninety-nine steps; one more wouldn’t matter. Even if he did plant spies in Ninth Prince Manor, Nolan would find excuses to get rid of them within days—it wouldn’t be the first time. Generously, the Emperor promised: tonight, all the manor staff would return.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I respectfully see you out.” Having gotten what he wanted, Nolan finally gave the Emperor his due, sending him off with formal deference.

With his worries settled and the Mysterious Benefactor’s motives uncovered, the Emperor was in high spirits, his steps light, all earlier heaviness swept away.

After the fire at the Imperial Clan Court, when Nolan nearly died, and with officials and noble families pressuring him, the Emperor truly couldn’t keep Nolan locked up forever. So he released him, using the occasion to extract the greatest possible benefit.

Ninth Brother, I didn’t force you—you yielded of your own free will!