> Chapter 28: Judgment Day

  The Forbidden City stood as it had for centuries, a magnificent testament to imperial power with its vermilion walls and golden rooftops gleaming under the summer sun. But within those walls, the heart of Chinese governance had transformed into something unrecognizable during the Empress's three-day absence.

  In the Hall of Supreme Harmony, former Crown Prince Zhu Cing sat upon a hastily constructed throne positioned beside the empty Dragon Throne. Though not daring to sit upon the actual seat of imperial power, his proximity to it sent a clear message to assembled officials. His attire—deep purple silk robes embroidered with golden dragons that dangerously approached imperial symbolism—further reinforced his presumption of authority.

  At twenty-three, his handsome features carried the arrogant confidence of youth raised in luxury without understanding the true weight of governance. The wine cup in his hand, frequently refilled by attentive servants, suggested his celebration had begun well before the morning court session.

  Beside him stood Imperial Uncle Liu, his sixty years evident in the gray streaking his beard but his eyes sharp with calcution beneath the formal blue ministerial robes that disguised ambition behind bureaucratic propriety. His weathered hands, adorned with jade and gold rings signifying ministerial authority, gestured emphatically as he addressed assembled officials and foreign representatives.

  "The Portuguese proposal offers substantial benefits to southern maritime provinces," Liu procimed, his stentorian voice filling the vast chamber. "Their request for additional trading rights along the Yangtze represents mutually advantageous arrangement given their pharmaceutical contributions to imperial medical repositories."

  Several Dutch representatives stood nearby, their stiff European attire—heavy brocade jackets and starched colrs—causing visible discomfort in the summer heat. The Portuguese delegation appeared more comfortably dressed in lighter materials adapted for warmer climates, suggesting longer experience with Chinese conditions. All watched the proceedings with careful diplomatic neutrality masking obvious calcution regarding shifting power dynamics.

  Ministerial officials arranged in precise hierarchical formation before the thrones offered occasional murmurs of agreement without committing to specific positions. Many gnced nervously toward the empty Dragon Throne, its magnificent golden surface untouched for three months since the Empress's colpse during her wedding ceremony.

  "Furthermore," Liu continued with practiced diplomatic flourish, "expanded European presence provides valuable counterbance against Japanese maritime ambitions while generating substantial customs revenue through reguted—"

  "There will be no trade concessions with those who bring poison to imperial household," interrupted a calm voice from the chamber's rear entrance.

  Absolute silence fell instantly across the vast hall as every head turned toward the source. Sam stood in the massive doorway, his casual posture belying the overwhelming presence that seemed to fill the cavernous space. He wore simple bck silk robes embroidered with silver patterns resembling circuitry rather than traditional Chinese designs. His dark hair shimmered with occasional silver highlights as he moved forward, each deliberate step echoing across suddenly silent marble floors.

  What drew every eye, however, were not his exotic features or unusual attire but the silver eyes scanning the assembly with inhuman detachment. Those eyes reflected no emotion, no uncertainty—only calcuting assessment as they moved systematically across faces suddenly drenched with terror-induced sweat.

  "Master Zhu," gasped Prince Cing, his wine cup slipping from nerveless fingers to shatter on marble floors as his complexion rapidly shifted from flushed celebratory pink to sickly pallor. "We... had no word of your return."

  "Obviously," Sam replied, continuing his measured advance toward the throne dais.

  His simple response carried such menace that several officials immediately prostrated themselves in formal kowtow, foreheads pressed against cold marble floors with such force that skin split, drawing blood. Others seemed physically unable to move, bodies frozen in terror as autonomic responses shut down higher brain functions in primitive surrender reaction.

  Minister Chen, who had been standing proudly in his crimson official robes moments before, suddenly colpsed to his knees, his body trembling so violently that his official hat fell off, rolling away across the polished floor. Nearby, an elderly court record-keeper began quietly sobbing, the scroll in his hands dropping forgotten as tears streamed down his wrinkled face.

  The European representatives exchanged confused gnces, clearly cking contextual understanding regarding the silver-eyed man's identity. Something in the Chinese officials' reactions, however, prompted cautious imitation. One by one, they lowered themselves in approximations of kowtow, though their stiff European garments made proper prostration physically impossible.

  "He's back... Heaven help us all," whispered a minor official in yellow robes to his colleague, voice barely audible despite the hall's perfect acoustics. Both men immediately pressed their foreheads harder against the floor, drawing blood in desperate show of submission.

  Sam reached the bottom step of the throne dais, pausing to survey the scene with clinical detachment. "Three days," he said simply. "Three days without imperial presence, and already foreign traders negotiate sovereign concessions with traitors."

  Uncle Liu found his voice first, political training overcoming instinctive terror through decades of bureaucratic self-preservation. "Master Zhu, these trade negotiations support imperial interests through—"

  "Quiet," Sam interrupted without raising his voice. The single word carried such absolute authority that Liu's jaw snapped shut involuntarily, teeth clicking together with audible force.

  Sam ascended the dais steps with deliberate slowness, silver eyes never leaving the former crown prince now visibly trembling despite desperate attempts to maintain dignified appearance. When he reached the ptform level, he casually inspected the constructed throne where Cing remained seated, frozen between terror and court protocol requiring imperial permission to rise.

  "Comfortable?" Sam inquired, running one finger along the throne's armrest. The wood splintered beneath his touch, fragments curling away like paper before fme though no fire was visible.

  A collective gasp echoed through the hall at this casual dispy of impossible power. Many officials had witnessed Sam's supernatural abilities before, but always with the Empress present—her calm presence somehow buffering the raw terror his demonstrations evoked. Now, without her mediating influence, his inhuman nature stood fully exposed before the court.

  "I... it's just a temporary seat," Cing stammered, shrinking away from Sam's proximity. His youthful features, normally handsome in their aristocratic arrangement, contorted with naked fear that transformed him from confident prince to terrified child. "Until my sister recovers from her unfortunate—"

  "Poisoning," Sam completed the sentence, his tone conversational despite the accusation's severity. "Regur doses of toxins designed to kill a baby while making it look natural. Pretty clever pnning for someone who can barely read state documents without help."

  The silence following this decration became profound enough that several officials' racing heartbeats became audible in the cavernous space. Near the chamber's rear, a senior minister lost consciousness entirely, colpsing with soft thud rgely ignored amid collective terror.

  "Poisoning?" echoed one European representative—a Dutch merchant perhaps braver or simply more ignorant than his colleagues. "Such serious accusations require proper evidence before—"

  Sam's silver gaze shifted momentarily to the European's direction, and the man's words died in his throat as though physically strangled. "Evidence," Sam repeated with a slight smile. "Yes, humans do love their evidence."

  With casual gesture, the Engineering Gauntlets materialized around his forearms, silvery metal flowing like mercury before solidifying into precisely calibrated instruments extending from wrists to elbows. Blue-white energy pulsed through circuit-like patterns as they activated, causing nearby officials to prostrate themselves more desperately, bloody foreheads pressed against marble with renewed fervor.

  "I could show evidence," Sam noted dispassionately. "One command would py recordings of every secret meeting, every poison being mixed, every whispered plot about killing the Empress and taking over."

  His gaze swept across assembled officials, who began frantically confessing participation or knowledge without specific accusation.

  "I knew but said nothing!"

  "The prince threatened my family!"

  "I merely delivered messages without knowing contents!"

  "Spare me, Master Zhu! My children are innocent!"

  The cacophony of desperate confessions filled the hall until Sam's voice cut through the noise without apparent effort.

  "Shut up."

  Immediate complete quiet descended again, broken only by occasional whimper quickly suppressed through terror-induced self-control. Sam seated himself casually on the Dragon Throne—the first time anyone had occupied it since Youzhen's colpse—and studied the assembled court with thoughtful detachment.

  "Maybe I've been too merciful," he observed conversationally, addressing no one in particur. The statement caused several officials to lose bdder control, dark stains spreading across formal robes as psychological terror overwhelmed physical control.

  Sam noticed several individuals still standing despite surrounding prostrations. His silver eyes narrowed slightly. "Eyes too high," he stated simply.

  Some recipients of this observation didn't immediately understand its meaning. Without warning, invisible force smmed them violently to the ground, breaking bones with sickening cracks that echoed throughout the hall. Their screams sted briefly before self-preservation instinct silenced them, terrified eyes fixed on marble floors now spattered with their blood.

  The dispy caused Minister Wong to vomit uncontrolbly, adding to the growing stench of bodily fluids permeating the once-pristine hall. Nearby, two younger officials began frantically whispering prayers to ancestors and Buddhist deities, their formal composure completely abandoned.

  "Guards!" Prince Cing suddenly called, desperation overcoming reason as he attempted to rise from his makeshift throne. "Seize this—"

  "Nobody's coming," Sam interrupted mildly, gesturing casually. The prince's body froze mid-movement, suspended by invisible force that permitted specifically requested silence but prevented all other movement including breathing. His face gradually darkened as respiratory function ceased, terror-widened eyes bulging slightly before Sam released the force with casual disinterest, allowing desperate gasping respirations.

  Several officials who had served in the pace for decades exchanged knowing gnces of pure dread. They had seen this before—the casual demonstration of impossible power that defied natural ws. One elderly scribe began silently writing his will on his sleeve with a fingernail, knowing what would likely follow.

  "I've been wondering something," Sam continued as if nothing had interrupted his thoughts. "When a person has everything—plenty of food, too much money, fancy rooms—what makes the Dragon Throne worth killing family? Worth murdering your sister, poisoning your pregnant niece, getting rid of loyal officials?"

  Prince Cing, still gasping for breath, could only shake his head in terrified denial despite the evidence of his guilt written pinly across his youthful features.

  Uncle Liu, political instinct superseding survival instinct, attempted pcating response. "Master Zhu, if mistakes occurred during the Empress's temporary illness, those responsible will face proper—"

  "Minister Zhang," Sam interrupted, addressing a trembling official near the dais. "You've served three emperors honestly. What's the punishment for trying to murder the ruler and imperial heir?"

  The elderly minister, his formal midnight-blue robes now stained with blood from self-inflicted forehead wound during desperate kowtow, managed coherent response despite visible terror. "The... the w demands lingering death for such treason. The criminal and his retives to ninth degree must be executed according to their involvement."

  Sam nodded slightly, appearing pleased with this historical context. "Old-fashioned justice keeping crime and punishment banced," he observed. "Yet many officials here cim loyalty to the Empress despite watching her being poisoned for months."

  His silver gaze swept across prostrate officials, many now openly weeping with terror. "Don't tell me you didn't know," he continued conversationally. "Don't insult me by pretending ignorance when poison was given daily, when loyal servants were sent away, when new power structures were built by moving officials around."

  Sam leaned forward slightly, causing several officials to flinch despite not being direct recipients of his attention. "Your doing nothing makes you just as guilty. Each loyalty oath broken by silence. Each day without action as your ruler was slowly poisoned alongside her unborn child."

  The confirmation of imperial pregnancy created fresh wave of terrified murmurs quickly suppressed as Sam's attention sharpened momentarily. His next statement silenced even breathing throughout the vast chamber.

  "My unborn child."

  The three simple words confirmed rumors that had circuted in whispers throughout the Forbidden City yet seemed impossible given the silver-eyed demon's inhuman nature. That supernatural coupling had produced living heir to Dragon Throne represented unprecedented circumstance beyond traditional political calcutions.

  "I could forgive many things," Sam continued after allowing implications to fully register across assembled officials. "Ambition. Opportunism. Political games. That's just humans being human."

  His voice remained conversational despite content growing increasingly ominous. "But trying to harm my bloodline... pnning to kill my child... this goes beyond forgivable into territory requiring complete correction."

  Sam's silver eyes took on distant quality as he continued, apparently addressing himself rather than terrified audience. "Death seems too quick regardless of how painful. Humans die too fast under normal torture. Your bodies just quit when pain gets too much, preventing proper suffering that matches the crime."

  Several officials fainted as Sam calmly contempted torments beyond human endurance, his casual enumeration of possibilities causing psychological breakdown among those still conscious enough to comprehend implications.

  "Maybe just killing everyone is the simplest solution," he mused, scanning the room as if contempting immediate implementation. "Simple cleanup of everyone present would fix immediate security problems, though killing potentially innocent bystanders might be excessive."

  The Portuguese ambassador, perhaps braver than wise, attempted intervention through diplomatic channel. "Sir, international rules regarding diplomatic immunity clearly establish—"

  "Diplomatic immunity only works between roughly equal powers," Sam interrupted without looking in the European's direction. "Your countries are tiny insects barely visible from actual civilization perspective. Your rules matter about as much as ant colony politics."

  The casual dismissal of European diplomatic frameworks silenced further intervention attempts, foreign representatives joining Chinese officials in terrified silence as Sam continued methodical consideration of appropriate responses.

  "Processing each person individually would take too long given how many were involved," he eventually concluded, apparent administrative efficiency outweighing retributive thoroughness. "So we'll try something different."

  He stood suddenly, causing collective flinch throughout assembled officials. "Each official here will decide their own punishment based on how much they participated in the treason," he announced with clinical detachment. "Punishment to be carried out inside private homes using traditional methods matching the crime."

  Several officials appeared momentarily relieved until Sam continued. "Exception applies to imperial retives who pnned and carried out the conspiracy. The former crown prince, Imperial Uncle Liu, and their bloodlines need elimination to prevent simir genetic defects from contaminating future governance."

  He paused, appearing to reconsider terminology. "Correction rather than elimination," he amended with academic precision. "Complete correction."

  Sam stepped down from the throne dais, moving through prostrate officials who pressed themselves impossibly ftter against marble flooring as he passed. Near the chamber's center, he paused to deliver final instructions.

  "You have one day to finish personal business and say goodbye to family," he stated, his tone suggesting administrative announcement rather than death sentence. "I'm finding myself developing unexpected appreciation for human family connections. Their inevitable grieving deserves minimal preparation time."

  No one moved despite apparent dismissal, confusion regarding appropriate response temporarily overriding terror-induced paralysis. Sam surveyed the frozen tableau with mild annoyance.

  "Leave," he crified simply.

  The resulting exodus resembled nothing in Imperial court history. Centuries of ceremonial protocol governing proper chamber departure vanished beneath survival instinct. Officials trampled each other reaching exit points, formal hats and insignia scattered across marble floors as decorative elements became entanglement hazards during desperate flight.

  Minister Feng, an elderly official who had always maintained perfect dignity through five decades of court service, crawled on hands and knees toward the nearest exit, sobbing openly in terror. The Chief Ritual Officer, whose position demanded absolute adherence to ceremonial propriety, shoved two junior officials aside with surprising strength for his advanced age, desperation overriding lifetime habits of decorum.

  Prince Cing and Uncle Liu, despite being specifically designated for "complete correction," joined the panicked exodus, primal survival instinct overwhelming logical assessment regarding futility of escape from supernatural entity who had previously demonstrated capability to destroy entire bloodlines without apparent effort.

  Within surprisingly brief period, the vast chamber stood empty except for foreign representatives apparently uncertain whether general dismissal included diplomatic personnel. They remained partially prostrated, uncomfortable compromise between dignity and terror creating awkward postures that would appear comical under less threatening circumstances.

  Sam turned his attention to these remaining individuals—Portuguese, Dutch, and Spanish ambassadors accompanied by various trade representatives and religious advisors. His silver eyes assessed them with same detached interest one might observe particurly unusual insect specimens.

  "Your countries helped with the poisoning by providing special compounds that Chinese doctors wouldn't recognize," he stated without preamble. "You're guilty through pretending not to know the intended use despite obvious context clues."

  The Dutch ambassador attempted denial, his heavily accented Mandarin carrying desperation beneath diplomatic phrasing. "Master Zhu, our medicine exchanges involved only healing compounds for mutual—"

  "You have two months," Sam interrupted without acknowledging the expnation attempt. "Go back to your countries and bring a royal female hostage. Virgin. Young. She'll experience firsthand what systematic poisoning feels like while doctors pretend they can't help."

  The ambassadors exchanged horrified gnces, momentarily united despite national rivalries through collective shock at proposal transcending every diplomatic convention governing international retions.

  Sam continued with casual precision that magnified the horror of his demands. "I'll ensure she's pregnant first, of course. Seems only fair she experiences exactly what the Empress endured."

  The implication of forced impregnation followed by deliberate poisoning during pregnancy struck the European representatives like physical blow. The Spanish ambassador's face drained of all color, while the Portuguese representative made reflexive sign of cross despite diplomatic training against revealing religious affiliations in Chinese court settings.

  "This barbaric demand viotes God's w and civilized conduct between Christian nations and—" the Spanish representative began, finding courage to object through religious framework.

  "God's w?" Sam repeated, seeming genuinely amused by the reference. "Your countries cim divine backing while running systematic exploitation, svery, and genocide across continents. You talk about God while making special poisons for pregnant women. Your fake holiness exceeds even normal human standards."

  His silver eyes hardened suddenly, amusement vanishing beneath cold calcution that transcended normal human emotional range. "Fail my requirements, and I'll show you actual divine wrath. Your religious books describe heaven's anger in detail—fire raining from skies, waters turning to blood, firstborn children dying in single night."

  He smiled slightly, the expression somehow more terrifying than previous cold detachment. "I'll make those poetic exaggerations into reality. The destruction will be, as your books say, biblical."

  The Portuguese ambassador, either bravest or most diplomatic among European representatives, attempted reasonable objection. "Sir, with respect, such threats go beyond possible implementation regardless of your evident influence in Chinese governance. The distance alone between our nations and China—"

  "Two months," Sam repeated without acknowledging the logical objection. "Failure brings consequences you can't even imagine. Choose carefully."

  With that final statement, Sam turned and departed the Hall of Supreme Harmony, his unhurried steps echoing across empty marble floors that minutes earlier had supported hundreds of terrified officials. He left behind devastating uncertainty—European representatives caught between diplomatic impossibility and threat they couldn't quite dismiss despite apparent impusibility.