At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, they called me a demonic monk.

A sudden gust of cool breeze swept through the hall, and Bu Dashili couldn't help but shiver, his fingertips feeling icy cold.

The cool breeze was like unlocking a long-sealed prison of memories. Five years ago, that bloody night that changed the fate of countless people, those details she had forced herself to bury and try to forget, suddenly surfaced with unparalleled clarity—In 1328, Emperor Taiding died, and the court was in turmoil. Khoshir was far away in the north, while his younger brother, Tugh Temur, was nearby in Jiangling. Tugh Temur was enthroned by Yan Temur. Later, although the capital city of Dadu had been pacified by enemies from Shangdu, the undercurrents beneath the throne of Emperor Wenzong Tugh Temur did not cease. His elder brother, Khoshir, was like a wolf entrenched in the northern deserts, sharp-clawed and surrounded by iron cavalry. According to the Mongol ancestral system, seniority was paramount, and Wenzong's succession by his younger brother ultimately could not silence the public's discontent. In the court, outwardly, there were shouts of "Long live the Emperor!", but beneath the surface, a current of doubt surged.

In November of that year, under the careful manipulation of Yan Timur, Emperor Wenzong feigned an edict, announcing his willingness to abdicate the throne to his elder brother. He then dispatched envoys with lavish gifts to the north to welcome He Shiyi to the capital to ascend the throne. The edict was sincere and earnest, but in reality, it concealed a murderous intent—once his elder brother stepped into the capital's trap, he could be eliminated in one fell swoop, eliminating any future threat.

Unexpectedly, He Shi was not one to be easily captured. He had already seen through this "Feast at Hongmen" and deliberately delayed his journey south, stopping frequently along the way. Finally, in the first month of the following year, he went so far as to offer sacrifices to Heaven north of He Ning and declare himself emperor, proclaiming himself Emperor Yuan Mingzong. This action undoubtedly tore off his brother's hypocritical mask.

Emperor Mingzong then marched south step by step, revealing his ambition. He lavishly promoted his old subordinates and confidants from the northern deserts, either entrusting them with important positions such as prime minister of the Central Secretariat or giving them free rein in key provinces like Gansu and Jiangsu. In a short time, he had more than eighty ministers who followed him, effectively establishing a separate court. Even before entering the capital, he already intended to seize all the power in the country.

When the news reached Dadu, Emperor Wenzong and Yan Temur exchanged dismayed glances in the deep palace. Given the current situation, if Emperor Mingzong were to enter the capital and all the civil and military officials were to switch allegiances, wouldn't the tide have turned and all their efforts be in vain?

In shock and anger, Emperor Wenzong adopted Yan Temur's treacherous plan and decided to personally travel north to "welcome the emperor."

In August of the second year of the Tianli era, the two brothers met in Wanghuchadu. The wind and sand from beyond the Great Wall howled and raged across the wilderness of Wanghuchadu, stirring up not only clouds of yellow dust that blotted out the sky, but also the unfathomable suspicions, conspiracies, and murderous intents beneath the dragon throne of the Great Yuan Empire.

The two emperors, nominally "brothers in harmony"—the elder brother Khoshi (Emperor Mingzong) and the younger brother Tugh Temur (Emperor Wenzong), who had ascended the throne first—finally met in this desolate frontier. Emperor Mingzong came from the northern deserts, carrying the support of the steppe kings and the legitimacy of "the eldest son returning to court," his momentum unstoppable; Emperor Wenzong arrived from Dadu, controlling the central government and possessing abundant provisions in the Han lands, with the fierce and elite army led by Yan Temur following him like a shadow, never leaving his side.

On the surface, it was a grand royal banquet, with roasted lamb and fine wine in the tents, and singing and dancing. Brothers held hands, sharing "family ties," seemingly truly fulfilling the oath of "the younger brother succeeding the elder, and the nephew succeeding the younger." However, beneath the golden cups and jade goblets, an irreconcilable undercurrent of power surged. Emperor Mingzong, claiming legitimacy, sought to reclaim the power that rightfully belonged to him, while Emperor Wenzong and Yan Temur, after months of maneuvering, were unwilling to easily relinquish control of the empire. That supreme throne, like a mountain peak that could only hold one fierce tiger, was destined to tear apart the brothers who approached it.

On the desolate, wind-eroded plains of Wanghuchadu, after a brief rest, Emperor Mingzong and his brother Tugh Temur intended to travel together to Dadu (Beijing) to complete the much-praised tale of "brothers yielding to each other." Little did they know that the fierce winds beyond the Great Wall had not yet subsided, and the younger brother had already paved a path of no return for his elder brother.

On the second night, the campfire was lit again, and wine cups clinked inside the golden tent. The two brothers sat facing each other, drinking merrily, the candlelight flickering gracefully in the night breeze. In this seemingly tender moment, Yan Timur quietly presented a golden cup filled with fine grape wine. The wine shimmered with an amber glow in the candlelight, but it had been mixed with a colorless and odorless poison. That night, Emperor Yuanmingzong and his son died suddenly in the tent, all their ambitions and grand plans vanishing with their souls. The historian used only the two words "sudden death" to bury all the agonizing struggles and heart-wrenching events in the dust and sands of the frontier.

In this moment of deathly silence and panic, Yan Timur displayed the decisiveness and ruthlessness of a seasoned general. He immediately donned his armor and weapons, exuding a chilling aura, and led his elite personal guards to "protect" the still-terrified Emperor Wenzong, setting off that very night. The sound of horses' hooves shattered the tranquility of the frontier, and also the last vestige of the traditional relationship between ruler and subject. This was not to mourn the deceased, but to seize the initiative—they had to return to the capital, Dadu, the center of power, before news of Emperor Mingzong's death spread and his supporters made any move, to imprint the fait accompli in everyone's mind: the emperor had died suddenly, Wenzong was by his side, the mandate of heaven had decreed his right to reclaim the throne!

The howling wind and sand bid farewell to the rapidly cooling body of an emperor, and also witnessed a cruel journey home, treading over the bones of his elder brother. In the darkness of night, the caravan sped away like arrows, leaving Wang Huchadu's tragedy far behind, leaving only a sky full of dust that gleamed coldly in the moonlight.

This journey home, paved with the blood of his loved ones, extinguished the last vestige of fragile royal kinship, leaving behind a deep imprint of suspicion, fear, and profound guilt on the latter half of Wenzong Tugh Temur's life, and becoming an inescapable nightmare for all who knew the truth.

Furthermore, Empress Babusha, who was imprisoned in the cold palace, soon passed away. Although the official document stated that she "fell ill from grief and followed the late emperor," would everyone believe such a flimsy explanation? With the new emperor's ascension to the throne, would this blood debt be easily forgotten?

"But..." The Empress's voice trembled slightly in the icy, frozen air, like a candle flickering in the wind, trying to grasp the last shred of reason and law, "He is, after all, the eldest son of Emperor Mingzong, according to ancestral rules..."

"Ancestor rule?!"

Yan Timur suddenly let out a cold laugh, his sharp voice cutting off the Empress's unfinished words. He stared intently at the Empress's pale yet resolute face, his last hope of turning the tide through old ties and intimidation abruptly extinguished. He clearly felt that the seemingly indestructible foundation of power he had cultivated over many years was crumbling inch by inch under the impact of Emperor Wenzong's edict, dragging him irreversibly into an abyss. The tide has turned, there is no turning back—these eight words were like a red-hot iron, searing deep into his soul.

However, how could a powerful minister who had dominated the court for over a decade and manipulated events so easily simply submit to execution? Even if he lost everything, he would make one last desperate attempt, even if it meant completely overturning the game and turning the world upside down!

A flash of almost insane ruthlessness and determination suddenly crossed his eyes, and his low voice carried a desperate, undisguised threat, like a viper flicking its tongue in its final hiss:

"Your Majesty! You insist on following this 'ancestral rule' today, very well... very well! But do not forget—at Wang Huchadu's banquet back then, what was handed to Emperor Mingzong was not just a cup of wine! Those who arranged things behind the scenes, those shadows passing messages in the deep palace... Do you think the new emperor will hold me alone accountable for this blood debt?! Those involved in this affair, from top to bottom in the palace, were far more than just Yan Temur!!"

He took another step forward, his tall figure casting a shadow that completely enveloped Budashili on the phoenix throne, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating: "If my family falls, countless people and countless secrets in this capital will likely be buried with it! Among them... there may very well be those Your Majesty has always cared for and wished to protect!"

Upon hearing this, and imagining the potential for widespread purges and annihilation, Empress Budashiri felt as if all her strength had been drained. She slumped onto her large phoenix chair, the imperial edict in her hand feeling as heavy as a thousand pounds. She, a woman deep within the palace, held a will that would decide the future of the empire, yet beneath her feet lay an abyss. What should she do?

In this deathly silence, a more insidious and potentially pivotal plan, hidden deep within Yan Timur's furious eyes, instantly overshadowed his earlier loss of control. His gaze seemed to pierce through the thick palace walls, past the terrified and helpless Empress, and land on a more suitable and easily controlled target—Emperor Mingzong's second son, the seven-year-old Yilinzhiban. The child was currently in the capital, like a helpless lamb, easily manipulated.

A far safer idea than supporting Emperor Wenzong's son, Yan Tegusi, or compromising with Emperor Mingzong's eldest son, Toghon Temür, began to take shape in his mind—it would be better to support Emperor Mingzong's second son, Yilinzhiban, who was in the capital. That child was only seven years old, an age of ignorance and dependence on others. Pushing him onto the coveted throne would merely be placing a finely crafted puppet to be manipulated. The real threads would be firmly tied to Yan Temur's fingers. Then, he would still be the one issuing commands across the vast Yuan Dynasty!

He resolved to suppress all his sense of defeat and rage, and fight this final battle! Only in this way could he continue to firmly grasp this vast empire forged with blood and intrigue in his own hands, and become the true decision-maker behind the dragon throne! This game is not over yet!