As a child, he grew up being bullied by his father's other children.
Even when aware, the King did nothing, day after day, until that day he summoned him.
He was actually excited, for he rarely saw his father. He had once asked his birth mother, who only wept and apologized.
Yet, he knew it wasn't his mother's fault, for if not for her, how would he have come to this place? But why did his father dislike him?
He didn't understand, only later realizing it was due to his mother's low status. However, even then, he bore no resentment, for his mother always told him not to covet what was not his. Thus, he had held onto this belief for years.
Until his father summoned him to the study. Before entering, he was joyful, glad his father had finally remembered his existence.
But upon entering, he saw his father's cold expression, and beside him, the King's most beloved heir, the heir of Prince Xuan, the most noble person in Qi besides the princes. He had also rarely seen the heir of Prince Xuan, for he heard from his siblings that the heir was his father's favorite child.
Now, he stood beside his father's favorite child. He didn't know his father's intention, but he was still happy.
However, in the next moment, his happiness vanished because someone grabbed him, stripped him of his clothes, and the heir also undressed. He didn't understand at the time, but he knew his mother was taken away in the same manner and never seen again.
He heard his father say to the heir, "The Emperor is already suspicious of me. You are my hope, so you cannot die. From now on, you will be him, and he will be you, the one to die in your place."
He suddenly felt it was laughable that the familial affection he had yearned for would lead to his death.
But he had no right to object. He became the heir. Perhaps it was his father's conscience stirring, as he found people to teach him anew. He was perhaps truly gifted, for he learned quickly, astonishing even his father's advisors in the mansion.
His father's gaze towards him softened from icy to gentle. But he wished his father had remained cold, as it would have made him feel his suffering was exchanged for something earned. Instead, his father's gentleness felt like a mockery, bestowed upon him because he was to die in place of the heir. It was a requested favor, an unwanted bestowal.
He didn't need it, not at all. Half a year passed quickly. Finally, one day, they were surrounded in the royal mansion by the Emperor's imperial guards. He saw his father's former subordinates, producing an imperial decree and listing dozens of his father's crimes. He knew his death was imminent.
They were all brought before the Emperor, whom he saw for the first time. The Emperor spoke of his father's transgressions, and he realized how much the Emperor hated him.
The Emperor laughed at his father, calling him a fool for thinking the heir could escape. How could wealth adapt to poverty?
When the heir was brought before his father, he felt a sense of schadenfreude. He wanted to see his father's reaction upon learning that the heir he desperately tried to protect had not escaped but was captured. He wanted to witness regret, but saw only his usual demeanor.
The heir was the first to be executed.
Then, one by one. Those he had once played with, those who had bullied him and those who hadn't, now waited for the executioner's blade.
When his turn came, he did not weep in fear like his father's other children. He looked at the executioner's blade, wondering how it would fall upon his neck.
Perhaps his expression caught the Emperor's attention. The Emperor had him brought before him, asking why he wasn't crying.
He replied that he didn't know how to cry. The Emperor then asked if he was afraid. He said that if he were afraid and begged for mercy, the Emperor might spare him.
He said no. The Emperor asked why, when his siblings were crying and begging for mercy.
He said he disliked begging, for he had received too little in his life, and thus, he had seen through it all. Even the preferential treatment he received as the heir of Prince Xuan for six months felt like a mockery, as it was in exchange for his own death. He had seen through the coldness of it all.
Perhaps the Emperor became interested in him and told him he could live, but only if he did one thing.
He asked what. The Emperor pointed at Prince Xuan and said, kill him.
He was stunned. Although he resented his father for how he had treated him, he had never wished for his death.
Yet, now he was being ordered to kill him.
He was forced to hold a sword. The sword was not unfamiliar to him; he had become quite adept with it over the past six months, even earning praise from his father's advisors.
And the Emperor wanted him to use the sword to kill that person, his father.
He was compelled to stand before him, before his father.
He pointed the sword at him, at his father.
He looked up and saw in his father's expression a sense of relief, or something he couldn't quite understand.
The Emperor whispered in his ear, again and again, kill him, his father. He raised the sword, aiming at his chest.
He saw his father looking at him, a glint of joy in his eyes. Yes, it was indeed joy. But shouldn't he be sad? For his beloved child had died, and he, the most disliked child, was the one alive at the end, holding a sword against him.
However, he was not mistaken; his father was indeed joyful. His father looked at him and said, "Yu Yuan, live well."
He suddenly surged forward, the sword piercing his father's chest. He was stunned. He lowered his head, watching the sword pass through his father's chest. Suddenly, his father grabbed him. As he struggled, he heard his father's voice say, "Don't hate me. Live well. This is the only thing I can do for you as a father."
He pushed him away and said, "It's too late."