Chapter 571: Chapter-571
Then, the slow, rhythmic sound of clapping broke the silence.
It was the Emperor.
He stood up from his golden throne, clapping his hands together with slow, heavy, and genuine admiration. Following his lead, the Empress began to applaud as well. Within seconds, the entire Great Hall erupted into a thunderous, overwhelming standing ovation. The civil officials, the noblewomen, and the Vanguard generals all rose to their feet, the applause echoing off the golden dragon pillars.
The Emperor raised his hand, and the applause instantly ceased as the court bowed their heads.
"Magnificent," the Emperor declared, his voice thick with emotion. "Truly, unequivocally magnificent. You have not only entertained this court, Lady Heena, but you have reminded us of the blood and iron upon which this empire was built."
The Emperor looked at the head eunuch.
"The prize is decided!" the Emperor boomed, a fierce smile on his face. "Reward the Vanguard Madam with the ten thousand taels of gold! And bring forth the finest imperial wine! Tonight, we toast to the legacy of General Riao and the unbreakable spirit of the Vanguard!"
"I thank Your Majesty for his boundless grace," Heena said, offering one final, flawless martial bow.
She turned and walked back to her table, her champagne robes gliding effortlessly over the jade floor. As she took her seat, the generals from the surrounding tables raised their wine bowls to her in a silent, deeply respectful salute.
Samuel sat right beside her. He didn’t offer a dramatic compliment, nor did he put on his usual foolish, loud persona.
Instead, he quietly picked up his jade teapot and poured her a fresh, warm cup of tea. He slid it across the table toward her, his dark, bottomless eyes locked onto her face. Beneath the table, out of sight of the prying court, he gently covered her hand with his own.
"You truly are a terrifying woman, Wife," Samuel whispered, his voice incredibly soft, laced with an awe he rarely showed anyone. "You didn’t just win their gold. You just made the entire civil court bow their heads to a military ghost."
Heena picked up the teacup with her free hand, a faint, exhausted, but victorious smile touching her glossy red lips.
"I told you," Heena murmured, taking a slow sip. "I know how to play the game."
As Heena settled back onto her plush silk cushion, she elegantly lifted her jade cup, taking a slow, calming sip of the sweet imperial wine. Over the rim of her cup, her sharp eyes drifted across the Great Hall.
She met the gaze of the Prime Minister’s Third Wife.
The young woman was staring directly at Heena. The previously vacant, doll-like deadness in her eyes was completely gone, replaced by a turbulent, overwhelming mix of awe, sorrow, and—most importantly—a tiny, flickering spark of rebellion.
Seeing this, Heena didn’t smile. She didn’t nod. She just calmly turned her head away, looking back toward the center of the hall, acting exactly as if nothing had happened.
But inside her mind, the glowing blue lion was already chattering away at lightning speed.
"Wow, Host. Wow," the System projected, pacing back and forth on the invisible tabletop. "Were you not originally going to perform your pure martial arts dance? The one you are truly famous for? The one that perfectly showcases the absolute, unbridled ferocity of a frontline general?"
Heena didn’t react externally. She just lazily swirled the wine in her cup.
"Why the heck did you suddenly turn the dance into such a tragic story?" the System demanded, crossing its glowing paws. "I don’t think I remember you ever being so... modest."
’What the hell do you mean by modest?’ Heena muttered back in her mind, her internal voice dripping with icy annoyance. ’I was just doing what I needed to do. It was a good story.’
The System let out a loud, highly expressive digital scoff.
"A ’good story’?" the lion mocked in sheer disbelief. "Host, your original sword dance is legendary! You have literally won banquets by performing that exact dance in three different worlds! And you are telling me that, compared to such a magnificent, flawless martial arts display, you suddenly decided you’d rather perform a soap opera?!"
Heena maintained her perfect, composed expression. She calmly watched the civil officials laughing and toasting each other, replying smoothly in her mind. ’It was just a reflection of history. A necessary reminder for the court.’
The System stopped pacing. It sat down on its haunches, looking up at her with far too much knowing intelligence in its pixelated eyes.
"Why do you not just accept it, Host?" the lion asked softly.
Heena paused, the rim of the wine cup resting just millimeters from her glossy red lips. ’Accept what?’
"Accept that you started this whole play because you wanted the Prime Minister’s wife to see it," the System said, completely stripping away her excuses. "You wanted to show her what a woman could really do. You wanted her to know about the education system and the general who refused to die. You threw away your guaranteed winning move just to give that broken girl a lifeline."
Heena let out a sharp, cynical internal scoff.
’Of course not,’ she shot back coldly, taking a sip of her wine. ’Do you think I am some kind of Saint Mary? I don’t do charity.’
The glowing lion didn’t back down. It just smiled—a soft, incredibly fond digital smile.
"No," the System agreed quietly. "You aren’t a saint. But you are... you."
Heena’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She set her jade cup down on the wooden table with a soft clack, her internal voice dropping into a flat, merciless tone.
’No matter how much you try to butter me up with this emotional nonsense,’ Heena threatened smoothly, ’I am still not going to give you my ATM card back so you can buy useless digital food. So just get lost.’
The Imperial Banquet resumed its course, but the atmosphere inside the Great Hall had fundamentally shifted. The civil officials, who had spent the first half of the evening whispering behind their painted silk fans and mocking the Vanguard’s lack of culture, were now decidedly subdued. Heena’s breathtaking, devastating performance of the Red Moon Hunt had not only secured the Emperor’s favor and ten thousand taels of gold, but it had also firmly established an undeniable, suffocating psychological dominance over the scholars.
Palace servants in flowing green robes practically floated across the jade floor, carrying massive, steaming silver platters.
The fourth course of the feast had arrived: braised imperial duck with plum glaze, steamed lotus root stuffed with sweet sticky rice, and bowls of clear, restorative bird’s nest soup. The fragrant, savory aroma of the delicacies mingled with the heavy scent of incense burning in the golden braziers scattered around the hall.
Yet, for one man in the front row, the exquisite food tasted like absolute ash.
The Prime Minister sat perfectly upright on his silk cushion, a serene, scholarly smile plastered across his handsome face. To anyone watching, he looked like the very picture of a benevolent, loyal minister enjoying the festivities. But beneath the table, his hands were trembling with a dark, unadulterated rage. His perfectly manicured fingernails dug so deeply into his own palms that small crescent-shaped drops of blood threatened to break through the skin.
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