Having disposed of Li Yuanfu, whose face was ashen and who had fled in utter disgrace, Emperor Xia Hong directed a glare as sharp as a knife, laden with boundless fury and chilling murderous intent, straight toward the tall, pine-like figure standing below the steps—Qin Lie.
That gaze was complex to the extreme: it held the furious rage of someone publicly coerced and stripped of all dignity; deep wariness and suspicion toward the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, represented by that scroll; a sense of impotence as Qin Lie’s power swelled beyond his control; and, above all, the helpless resignation of having to swallow a bitter pill, biting down until his teeth shattered and mixed with blood.
He took a deep breath, as though inhaling a millennium of glacial ice and molten magma, and forced his face—dark as the bottom of a pot—back into the hypocritical expression of a benevolent ruler rewarding a meritorious subject. Yet that smile was as stiff as a carved stone mask, the corners of his mouth curving with axe-hewn rigidity, while deep within his eyes lay an unmelting, eternal frost and cold calculation.
Chapter 328