Not Kneeling, Refusing to Show Respect

Have you ever seen a suspect more arrogant than the officials themselves?

If you haven’t witnessed it before, today you’ll see for yourself—what it looks like when a suspect is a hundred times more brazen than the officials.

Serena Feng waved Simon Sun and the butler back, stopping them from intervening. The Imperial Guards tried to use Simon’s earlier words against him, but before they could speak, Serena cut in: “Butler, have someone record every step these officers take, every expression, every word they say after entering. Later, we’ll file a complaint at the magistrate’s office accusing the Imperial Guards of using the Emperor’s name to bully commoners.”

Throwing accusations? Anyone can do that. During the ten years of turmoil, the art of slapping labels—these people haven’t even seen real masters yet.

“Serena Feng, don’t go too far. Don’t think we won’t touch you!” The Imperial Guard captain’s face twisted with rage, glaring at Serena fiercely.

“Butler, highlight that line for me. Mark it as a threat.” Serena replied calmly, while the butler, energized, responded with gusto.

The servants of Feng Manor were quick-witted. As soon as Serena spoke, someone fetched ink, brush, and paper, laying it out and swiftly writing everything down.

“You people...” The Imperial Guards’ faces grew uglier. “Do you believe I’ll—”

Halfway through his threat, he stopped, afraid Serena would accuse him of intimidation.

“What will you do to us?” Serena teased, her smug expression enough to make anyone seethe.

The Imperial Guard captain was so furious he nearly spat blood. His face darkened as he lowered his head: “Miss Feng, we were out of line just now. Please be magnanimous and don’t hold it against us. We’re only following orders—please don’t make things difficult for us.”

A true man knows when to yield and when to stand firm. Afraid of suffering at Serena’s hands, the Guards didn’t dare argue further and decided to just take her quietly into the palace.

“If you’d been polite from the start, none of this would’ve happened. You really had to push me to play hardball.” Serena was the classic winner acting innocent, making the Guards grit their teeth but not daring to treat her like they did others.

“Miss Feng, your lesson is well taken.” The captain replied with a forced smile.

It wasn’t Serena herself they feared, but her methods. If she decided to accuse them, even if they’d done nothing, they’d end up with charges on their heads.

Either way, now that Serena was heading to the palace, someone else would deal with her—they’d rather just watch the show.

Simon Sun and the Feng Manor staff were unharmed. Serena didn’t make things hard for the Guards and cooperated, boarding the carriage with a serene smile. To outsiders, it looked like she was going to a palace banquet.

In the palace, not only the Emperor was waiting for her—even Lyndaria’s envoys were there. Judging by their sour faces, it was clear they resented Eastlyn for pushing Serena forward as a scapegoat.

Serena Feng was a hot potato—whoever took her would regret it. Never mind that she hadn’t killed Princess Yara; even if she had, Lyndaria wouldn’t want to take her back.

So, what do you think? Should they kill Serena, or not?

If they kill Serena, Ninth Royal Uncle, the Wang Clan, and Skyvault Palace will never let it go. But if they don’t, what happens to royal dignity?

While the Lyndarian envoys were tangled up in indecision, Serena arrived at the palace. Thanks to the eunuchs’ repeated announcements, she walked straight in without obstruction.

Serena didn’t kneel as usual. Instead, she stood and offered a slight bow: “This commoner greets Your Majesty. Long live the Emperor.”

The Emperor had seen it all before; Serena was no longer nervous in his presence, and his anger no longer fazed her.

The Emperor frowned, deeply displeased by Serena’s lack of respect. Seeing this, the chief eunuch immediately stepped forward and barked, “How dare you, Serena Feng! Why haven’t you knelt before the Emperor?”

All the ministers turned to Serena, expecting her to kneel and beg forgiveness. Instead, she raised her head and snapped back at the eunuch, “You’re the insolent one. In front of the Emperor and these officials, what right does a castrated man have to speak?”

A eunuch is a castrated man, but no one dared call the chief eunuch that to his face. The officials all gasped, secretly cheering for Serena’s audacity.

The chief eunuch trembled as if someone had stomped on his tail. “Serena Feng, you’ve got some nerve. Such insolence will not be tolerated before the throne.” Luckily, he kept his wits and accused her only of disrespect, not of insulting him.

“I’m just stating the truth—how is that insolence? Aren’t you a eunuch?” Serena asked innocently. The Lyndarian envoys lowered their heads, hiding their laughter.

They’d heard Miss Feng was a tough one—even Princess Yara had suffered plenty at her hands. Seeing her now, they realized the rumors were true. At least they didn’t have to worry about Eastlyn sending Serena, the ‘princess-killer,’ back to Lyndaria.

Getting Serena to confess? That won’t be easy.

“Enough.” The Emperor snapped, his shame now public even in front of Lyndaria.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Serena and the chief eunuch both answered obediently.

The Emperor’s displeasure was aimed solely at Serena. This time, even pretending to behave wouldn’t help; he asked coldly, “Serena Feng, why didn’t you kneel before me?”

“Your Majesty, it’s not that I won’t kneel—it’s that I can’t.” Serena replied earnestly, looking every bit the good citizen.

Unfortunately, the Emperor wasn’t moved by this version of Serena. “Can’t? Why not? Don’t tell me you’re wearing the Phoenix Empress Hairpin again today.”

The Emperor’s face was full of mockery. Thinking of the hairpin, he remembered the late Consort Su and felt a pang of grief. But recalling the recent performance of his beauties—and his own growing prowess—he felt a bit better.

Serena also looked regretful when the hairpin was mentioned. If she’d known killing Consort Su wouldn’t matter, she never should have handed over the hairpin to the Emperor.

Regret aside, it was time to act. Serena took out the token hanging around her neck and held it up: “Your Majesty, I have Ninth Royal Uncle’s command token. He said seeing this token is as seeing him in person. Carrying it means he’s here, and he has the privilege of not kneeling before you. So with this token, I don’t need to kneel either.”

Serena was twisting logic—Ninth Royal Uncle’s privilege was his alone, not the token’s. But the ministers all nodded.

Serena’s argument wasn’t wrong: Ninth Royal Uncle could skip kneeling, and the token represented him. Forcing its bearer to kneel would insult him, and that would mean disrespecting the late Emperor, since the privilege was granted by imperial decree.

For a moment, the Emperor couldn’t find any flaw in Serena’s reasoning. Not that he had time to dwell on it—his attention was fixed on the token in her hand.

That token represented Ninth Royal Uncle and could mobilize all his forces in the Capital, including the Divine Tactics Corps.

Just thinking about the mysterious Divine Tactics Corps made the Emperor excited. He said to Serena, “Hand over the token and let me inspect it.”

Once the token was in the Emperor’s hands, Serena could forget about ever getting it back…