Return of Black Lotus system:Taming Cheating Male Leads

Chapter 698: Chapter-698

Heena ascended the white marble stairs with a smooth, feline grace. The physical sensation of simply walking without the agonizing, crushing weight of the blood clot in her skull was euphoric. She felt the cool marble through her thin silk slippers. She smelled the rich, heady aroma of burning amber and sandalwood pouring out from the pavilion doors. The Vitality Booster made the world hyper-vivid, turning the Imperial Palace into a sensory masterpiece.

As she crossed the threshold into the Grand Pavilion, the sheer scale of the empire’s wealth washed over her.

The banquet hall was massive, supported by towering pillars carved from solid, ancient cedar wood, each one intricately etched with soaring dragons and gilded in pure gold leaf. The ceiling was a masterpiece of painted constellations, while massive, glowing pearls the size of human fists were set into bronze sconces along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal moonlight over the room.

At the center of the hall, a sunken stage of polished jade hosted a troupe of thirty dancers moving in perfect, mesmerizing synchrony. Their long, ribbon-like sleeves floated through the air to the melodic, chiming rhythm of bronze bells and the sharp, weeping pluck of traditional zithers.

Surrounding the stage were rows upon rows of low, beautifully carved mahogany tables. Hundreds of serving maids in identical pale green robes moved through the aisles like a choreographed flock of birds, carrying silver trays laden with unimaginable delicacies. There were steaming bowls of swallow’s nest soup, roasted duck glazed in plum wine and honey, delicate porcelain plates of braised bear paws, and towering displays of exotic, carved fruits brought from the furthest southern provinces. Servants poured jewel-toned wines from jade flagons into gold cups, the sweet, intoxicating scent of fermented grapes and peaches hanging heavily in the air.

Heena was escorted to her seat, situated terrifyingly close to the imperial dais, a testament to the absolute military authority of the Vanguard name. As she settled onto her silk cushion, resting one arm casually on the low table, the social maneuvering of the court began.

The initial shock of her entrance had worn off, replaced by the instinctual, venomous curiosity of the nobility.

A high-ranking minister from the Minister of the Right’s faction approached, holding a jade cup of wine, his smile not quite reaching his calculating eyes. Beside him was his wife, draped in heavy, stifling layers of lilac silk.

”Madam Vanguard,” the minister greeted, bowing just a fraction of an inch less than respect demanded. ”We are overjoyed to see you in attendance. The rumors circulating the capital claimed your health was in a rapid, tragic decline. Yet, here you are, looking... remarkably robust.”

His wife let her gaze drag insultingly over Heena’s bare arms and the scandalous slit of her skirt. ”Indeed. Though one might wonder if a fever has perhaps affected the Madam’s judgment regarding appropriate court attire. It is quite... unburdened.”

Heena didn’t blink. She didn’t adjust her posture. She simply picked up her gold cup of wine, swirling the dark crimson liquid slowly, watching it coat the edges of the metal.

”My health is perfectly fine, Minister,” Heena said, her voice smooth, melodic, and carrying a chilling edge that cut right through the chiming music of the hall. She finally looked up, her dark eyes locking onto the minister’s wife with a terrifying, hollow calm. ”As for my attire... I find that heavily layered, restrictive robes are only worn by those who have something hideous they wish to hide. I, however, have absolutely nothing to conceal from the heavens.”

The minister’s smile stiffened into a rigid grimace. His wife flushed a deep, humiliating red, her hands gripping her heavy lilac silk as if suddenly intensely aware of the corruption it hid. Without another word, they bowed stiffly and retreated into the throng of nobles, eager to escape the suffocating pressure of her gaze.

Heena took a slow sip of the wine. It tasted like sunlight and sugar. She was entirely invincible. She watched the Prime Minister sitting across the hall, smiling and accepting the flattery of his sycophants. She watched the corrupt aristocrats laughing, toasting to their wealth, entirely oblivious to the invisible net she had already pulled tight around their throats.

Suddenly, a sharp, echoing crack of a ceremonial whip cut through the music.

The zithers instantly fell silent. The dancers dropped to the jade floor, bowing their heads. Every single conversation in the massive pavilion ceased in a fraction of a second.

”The Emperor and Empress arrive!” the head eunuch’s voice rang out, echoing off the gilded ceiling.

A unified rustle of silk swept through the hall as hundreds of ministers, generals, and aristocrats dropped to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the floorboards. Heena slid out from behind her mahogany table and sank into a flawless, deeply respectful kneel, the crimson silk of her skirt draping elegantly over the polished wood.

From the grand double doors behind the imperial dais, the royal procession entered.

The Empress was a vision of supreme, untouchable virtue. She was draped in layers of the brightest imperial yellow silk, embroidered with soaring phoenixes in threads of pure gold and crushed rubies. Upon her head rested the legendary Phoenix Crown, a towering, magnificent piece of artistry dripping with long tassels of flawless white pearls that swayed gently with her measured, graceful steps. Her face was serene, ageless, and radiated a warm, maternal benevolence that made the court instinctively revere her. She looked like a goddess descending to bless her mortal children.

Beside her walked the Emperor.

He wore matching imperial yellow robes, the nine-clawed dragon sprawling fiercely across his chest. His posture was absolute perfection. To the rest of the kneeling court, the Son of Heaven looked as majestic and composed as ever, a ruler firmly in control of a prosperous era, stepping out to celebrate the birth of his beloved wife.

But as Heena kept her head lowered, peeking through her eyelashes, she saw the truth.

The Emperor was holding the Empress’s hand. He was gently guiding her up the steps of the dais, playing the role of the profoundly devoted, lovestruck husband with a terrifying, flawless precision. But his eyes—those dark, imperial eyes—were a freezing, bottomless abyss. There was no warmth. There was no soul. He was a man walking hand-in-hand with a corpse, leading her directly to the altar of her own destruction.

”Rise, Our beloved subjects,” the Emperor’s voice boomed, rich and warm, betraying absolutely none of the apocalyptic fury boiling beneath his ribs.

The court rose as one, taking their seats once more. The Emperor and Empress settled onto the grand golden thrones overlooking the pavilion.

”Today, we do not speak of politics, nor do we speak of the burdens of the state,” the Emperor announced, raising a magnificent cup carved from a single piece of flawless white jade. He turned his head, smiling deeply at the Empress, who returned the look with a blush of perfect, manufactured modesty. ”Today, we celebrate the heart of this empire. The mother of this nation. To the Empress.”

”To the Empress!” the entire pavilion roared in unison, a hundred gold and jade cups raised to the ceiling.