A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

In another palace, Zhu Cheng was playing chess with an old man.

This palace is much smaller than Yongning Palace, but it is decorated quite simply, without any fancy decorations.

The walls were bare except for a few landscape paintings hanging on the walls, their brushstrokes vigorous and their artistic conception profound.

A copper lamp was lit in the corner, its light dim and somewhat superfluous in the afternoon sun, yet no one bothered to extinguish it.

The chessboard was placed by the window, and sunlight streamed through the carved windowpanes, casting dappled light and shadow on the board, like a golden fishing net covering the distinct black and white chess pieces.

Zhu Cheng sat on the left, holding a white chess piece in his hand, his brows slightly furrowed. He stared at the chessboard for a long time, but couldn't find a place to put the piece.

The old man opposite him looked to be in his seventies or eighties, with snow-white hair casually tied up with a wooden hairpin.

He was wearing a faded gray Taoist robe with frayed cuffs, looking like an old handyman sweeping the floor in some dilapidated temple.

But his eyes were clear and bright, like two mountain springs, without any of the turbidity of old age.

The old man also held a black bean in his hand, not urging him, just smiling and watching Zhu Cheng, like an old cat patiently waiting for a mouse to come out of its hole.

On the chessboard, black and white pieces crisscross, and the battle rages on.

The white piece was surrounded by the black pieces, struggling left and right, but unable to break through. It was like a wild beast trapped in a cage, futilely banging against the bars.

Black, on the other hand, pressed forward relentlessly, steadily encroaching on White's territory and giving the opponent no chance to breathe.

Zhu Cheng stared at the chessboard, a fine layer of sweat beading on his forehead.

He held the white piece in his hand, rubbing his fingers on its surface for a long time, lifting it up and putting it down, then lifting it up again and putting it down again, repeating this three or four times, but he didn't dare to put it down.

The old man wasn't in a hurry. He picked up the tea that had long since gone cold, took a sip, smacked his lips, and slowly said, "Your Highness, there's still a way out of this game. Why come to this?"

Zhu Cheng didn't speak, stared at the chessboard for a few more seconds, and then his hand holding the chess piece suddenly trembled—

"Splash—"

A large number of chess pieces on the board were knocked over by his sleeve.

The black and white seeds were mixed together and rolled everywhere. A few even fell to the ground, rolling a long way before hitting a corner of the wall and stopping.

A perfectly good game of chess instantly turned into a complete mess.

The old man paused, holding his teacup. He looked down at the messy chessboard, then looked up at Zhu Cheng, a wry smile on his face.

He stroked his beard and spoke with a smile:

"Your Highness, your sportsmanship in chess is deteriorating. To overturn the chessboard when you can't win is not the behavior of a gentleman."

Zhu Cheng remained expressionless, pulled his sleeves back, and straightened his robes: "Please forgive me, Supervisor. It was just a warning sign of the dragon's aura; my hand trembled slightly."

"A dragon aura warning? Heh, it must be Your Highness's guest. He's quite a character, isn't he? Does Your Highness have a conflict with him?"

The old man raised an eyebrow slightly and chuckled.

Zhu Cheng waved his hand, his tone casual and unsurprised, "It's alright, seventeen or eighteen times a day, I'm used to it."

He said this with a calm expression and a composed tone, as if he were talking about something as mundane as "the cafeteria made scrambled eggs with tomatoes again today."

But in his heart, he was already cursing.

Damn it, here we go again.

Even a fool could tell who wanted to mess with him.

Who else could it be but that bastard Ji Zuodao?

He's not even hanging around that bastard anymore, so why is that bastard trying to kill him again?

Zhu Cheng took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, then took another breath and exhaled again, repeating this three times before finally suppressing the anger in his heart.

He bent down and picked up the chess pieces that had fallen to the ground one by one, putting them back into the chess box. His movements were unhurried, as if he were using this action to organize his thoughts.

The supervisor didn't urge him, but waited quietly, sipping his now-cold tea.

His gaze fell on Zhu Cheng, with the calm of an old monk who had seen through the ways of the world.

Zhu Cheng picked up the last chess piece, put it back in the chess box, then sat up straight again and gathered all the chess pieces on the board, sorting them one by one, clearly distinguishing between black and white.

He raised his head, looked at the supervisor, remained silent for a few seconds, and then spoke, his voice a few decibels lower than before:

"Supervisor, can Qiqi really bring the Ming Dynasty back to life?"

The supervisor's hand, which was holding a teacup, stopped.

He didn't answer immediately, but instead put the teacup on the table, stroked his beard, and looked out the window.

Looking at the golden glazed tiles, looking at the golden dragon of fortune circling above the Forbidden City.

The golden dragon traversed the clouds, sometimes revealing half of its body, and sometimes disappearing into the mist.

The golden scales shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight, as if forged from the purest gold.

But it always lacks that soaring spirit.

The supervisor looked at him for a while before turning his gaze to Zhu Cheng and slowly saying, "Of course it's possible."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a firm, unquestionable power, as if he were stating a truth that had been verified countless times.

"Back then, this old minister sealed all the dragon energy that was about to fall from the Ming Dynasty into Her Highness's body, using Her Highness's special destiny to nurture it."

"Once the dragon energy within the princess's body is successfully infused into this place, this area will become a true Ming Dynasty secret realm, instead of the pseudo-secret realm that is only the size of the Forbidden City."

Zhu Cheng remained silent.

He lowered his head, looking at the distinct black and white chess pieces on the board, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, making a soft "tap-tap" sound.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse:

"Qiqi... will she be alright?"

"Back then, I almost died after half of my dragon energy was drained away. Qiqi, on the other hand, will have all of her dragon energy drained away."

Upon hearing this, the supervisor remained silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly.

The sigh was very soft, like a fallen leaf drifting onto the water, creating a barely perceptible ripple.

"Please rest assured, Your Highness."

"If an ordinary person who is nourished by dragon energy has their dragon energy drained, they will indeed die. Dragon energy is connected to life; taking away dragon energy is equivalent to taking away half of one's life."

He then changed the subject: "But Her Highness the Princess is different."

Zhu Cheng raised his head and looked at him.

"Your Highness is destined to be a celestial child."

"He was born with an ethereal aura by his side."

"During the Chongzhen era, an old minister refined her into a zombie, using dragon energy as a guide and immortal energy as a foundation, thus creating the princess's physique of being half immortal and half zombie."

He paused, then looked directly into Zhu Cheng's eyes:

"This constitution allows Her Highness to survive even after her dragon energy is drained. She won't die or be injured, but she will fall into a deep sleep, and will awaken again after about a hundred years."

"A hundred years..."

Zhu Cheng repeated the word, his voice carrying a complex emotion, as if he had breathed a sigh of relief, yet also as if a stone was still weighing on his heart.

He lowered his head, looked at the distinct black and white pieces on the chessboard, and remained silent for a long while.

The supervisor didn't speak, but simply picked up his cup of now-cold tea and sipped it slowly, looking calmly at Zhu Cheng, like a stone statue that had witnessed many vicissitudes of life.

The palace was extremely quiet, with only the occasional chirping of birds outside the window and the faint whispers of palace maids in the distance.

After a while, the supervisor put down his teacup and spoke.

His voice was not loud, but it carried a heavy weight that pressed down on people's hearts: "Your Highness, this is a responsibility that Princess should bear."

He paused, then said, "It is also a responsibility that the Ming Dynasty's royal family should bear."

He raised his head, looking directly into Zhu Cheng's eyes, his gaze filled with an unwavering determination:

"The Zhu family has worked so hard for so many years. You, your elders, your ancestors, generation after generation, haven't you all been striving for this moment?"

Zhu Cheng remained silent.

He sat by the window, sunlight streaming through the carved windowpane and casting a play of light and shadow on his face.

His expression was unclear; all that could be seen was that his lips were slightly pursed, as if he were suppressing some emotion.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice very soft, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat: "This king... understands."

He reached out, picked up a white piece from the chess box, ran his fingers over its surface, and then placed it steadily on the chessboard.

"Clatter".

A crisp sound echoed through the empty hall.