Chapter 44: Upheaval in the Royal Court

About a thousand miles north of Wisdom City lay the royal court of the Mermen. At this moment, the entire court was plunged into a tension unlike any before.

The common folk living around the court were roused from their sleep by the sound and movement of the mermen. Terrified, they saw that the night pearls outside were lit one after another, illuminating the whole royal court. The imperial guards stationed north of the court were entering from their barracks outside the city.

Squads of fully-armed mermen soldiers patrolled every corner, forbidding all civilians and slaves from leaving their homes. Even the currents seemed infused with an air of foreboding. This atmosphere brought to mind, for the elders among the mermen, the scenes from two hundred and twenty years ago after the last king’s passing.

Then, too, the queen’s loyal troops occupied the city, and rumors swept through the royal court’s streets: the Redfin clan’s army in the east had crowned Prince Quanyi as king and were coming to punish the usurpers. But those tense days were postponed for a decade, thanks to Prince Quanyi’s voluntary withdrawal, until his disappearance allowed the conflict to finally erupt.

Now, history threatened to repeat itself. Many began to suspect—had something happened to Lord An?

Whatever the case, the sky above the royal court was about to change.

...

Within the royal court, the imperial guards had taken up positions, sealing the palace’s exterior tight. Yet they had not entered the palace proper. The reason was clear: the guards had been summoned by Quan An himself.

At four hundred and forty-one years old, Quan An had suddenly collapsed in public while handling official documents yesterday, causing a commotion among his attendants. He recovered late that night, though only briefly, just long enough to summon the chamberlain and call in five thousand imperial guards from the north barracks.

These five thousand were the court’s elite, professional soldiers, unlike the militias of other city-states. In places like Qu Shui City or Wisdom City, troops served as warriors in times of war and returned to civilian life, tending fish and spinning silk, during peace.

Now, Quan An remained unconscious. The royal court was in turmoil—no one knew what lay ahead.

Inside the First Prince’s residence, Quan An’s eldest son paced anxiously, uncertain what to do. At that moment, a merman hurried over, visibly nervous, and addressed him: “Your Highness, news from the palace—His Majesty is exhausted from years of labor, his life hangs by a thread.”

The First Prince’s expression turned grave. “Before my father lost consciousness, did he leave a testament naming me as his successor?”

“Your Highness, the king did issue an edict to the chamberlain, ordering the imperial guards to assemble outside the court,” the merman reported quickly. “But as for the contents—other than the king and the chamberlain, no one knows.”

This made the First Prince even more uneasy; he paced, cold sweat beading on his brow. “What exactly did that edict say?” His mind was in turmoil; he had no idea what it contained. The merman tried to reassure him: “Your Highness, don’t worry. The Third Prince is your full brother and always stands by your side. You’ve married the daughter of Lady Quan Ying, ruler of Qu Shui City, and are on good terms with Patrol City and Dan Shui City. Besides, you are the eldest son—the throne is yours by right.”

“No, no…” The First Prince shook his head furiously. “That’s not certain. My second brother is no dim pearl, and Father always preferred him—by law, he might favor my brother. Besides, the chamberlain is his uncle. If Father dies and the chamberlain alters the testament, what then?”

Despite his words, the First Prince lacked conviction. He knew his father favored his brother, whose talents surpassed his own. Compared to his sibling, he had only one advantage: he was the legitimate eldest son. Of the seven original cities, three supported him, and among the four new cities, two pledged him loyalty. In total, five cities backed him, while only two stood with his brother.

This was his greatest strength. Yet, with the mobilization of the imperial guards, anxiety gnawed at him. He wondered if the guards were assembled against him.

“Your Highness means…the chamberlain might forge the edict?” The merman at his side was not worried; instead, he whispered, “Rest assured, I come from Qu Shui City. Lady Quan Ying instructed me that, should anything change, all eight thousand soldiers of Qu Shui City will follow you to the death—and there’s more. Among the royal troops, I’ve recruited three hundred men. If you’re anxious…”

He stopped, having said all that needed saying.

“Isn’t this too rash?” The First Prince hesitated, indecisive.

After all, the royal court had only seen two generations of rulers; never before had a usurper taken the throne, nor had anyone stormed the palace while the king was gravely ill. If he set the precedent, what if his descendants followed suit?

“Your Highness!” The merman gritted his teeth. “For the past century, your conflict with the Second Prince has intensified. If he becomes king, what chance do you have at survival? What of us, your loyal subjects?”

It was no longer merely the First Prince’s concern—the fate of countless mermen depended on him, just as in the days of Quan Xi and Quan An. Back then, their rivalry was less fierce, for they were princes of an age of expansion, and intrigue was still nascent. Even so, after Quan Xi disappeared, his loyalists staged a brief rebellion.

The First Prince was jolted to realization. Yes, if his brother ascended, how could he hope to live? Likewise, if he became king, he would not spare his brother.

“If we take such action, what about the five thousand imperial guards outside? Who among you can defeat them?” This was his last concern.

“When the dust settles and Lord An is gone, everything will be as you command. The guards follow the Merman King—but that king need not be Lord An alone.”

Hearing this, the First Prince nodded, casting aside hesitation. “Very well. Let it be so—this is the moment of truth!”

Meanwhile, a similar drama unfolded in the Second Prince’s residence. Unlike his brother, he was still anxious. None of his servants sent to contact his uncle had returned, so he decided to wait and see. Still, he ordered his servants to arm themselves, prepared for anything, and sent someone to contact a minor commander of the guards outside the city. This was his last resort.

He knew his relationship with his brother was now irreconcilable—if he failed, he would have to flee and petition the court to grant him lands.

Just then, a distant shout broke out:

“Second Prince! The chamberlain brings urgent news!”

...

Quan An, bedridden, never imagined that his sons were already scheming for the throne, treating him as if he were dead.

Though ill, he was far from dying. He merely suffered from exhaustion; after recovering his spirits, he felt somewhat better, though he would need months of rest to fully recuperate. The sudden assembly of the imperial guards was prompted by the memories of Quan Xi’s death, which haunted him, making him fear he might meet the same end—so he swiftly enacted emergency protocols as if he had already passed.

As it turned out, it was nothing—a false alarm.

Quan An had only been awake briefly; now, feeling weak, he drifted back to sleep.

When he awoke again, it was to chaos.

He sensed a commotion outside. “What’s happening?” he asked irritably. Since ascending as Merman King, none had dared disturb his rest—how could anyone make noise in the palace now, when he was so ill?

His attendant, seeing him awake, bowed hastily. “Your Majesty, something terrible has happened!”

“What is it?” Quan An, though groggy, forced himself to ask.

“The First Prince suddenly led his servants into the palace. Commander Hai Huo opened the north gate and brought three hundred soldiers, claiming…the chamberlain had altered the testament to make the Second Prince king…”

“What?!” Quan An was enraged, coughing up blood in his fury, the scent of blood filling the chamber.

“Traitor…traitor…” he gasped, then hurriedly asked, “Where is the chamberlain?”

“He’s holding the inner city, negotiating with the First Prince,” the attendant stammered nervously.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Quan An tried to steady himself.

“It was the chamberlain’s order…he said your edict named the Second Prince as successor, and you should rest…”

Hearing this, Quan An nearly fainted.

He had indeed issued a testament. But the chosen successor was the First Prince! He still favored the legitimate heir.

Gripping the edge of his bed, Quan An tried to calm himself. “When did the chamberlain give you these instructions?”

“After your last awakening…about four hours ago.”

He was furious. Four hours? That meant preparations were made before the First Prince’s uprising. The chamberlain really had forged the edict! And the First Prince’s reason for revolt was, by chance, exactly right.

Wait—perhaps the First Prince had learned the truth and risen to defend the throne?

Quan An’s mind was in turmoil. No, it was too sudden; his eldest could not have gathered so many mermen so quickly—it must have been planned.

If so, what was his second son doing? The chamberlain was his uncle; surely the Second Prince knew about the forged edict.

Ill and confused, Quan An felt surrounded by traitors.

He drew a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the attendant. “How many attendants remain in the palace?”

The attendant, frightened, replied, “Your Majesty, there are twenty attendants and fifteen guards nearby.”

“Bring them in, escort me out—” He stopped, shaking his head. “No, you help me up, take me away!”

The palace was no longer safe. When it was built, Quan An had left a secret passage unknown to all, for emergencies—now was such a time.

Whatever his sons’ intentions, he had to escape.

All were traitors! The only ones he could trust were the imperial guards, sworn to the Merman King.

With five thousand guards and the people’s loyalty, these traitors were nothing.

The attendant dared not disobey and immediately helped him up.

But just then, fierce fighting broke out outside the palace doors. Perhaps the inner gates had fallen, or maybe the Second Prince and his servants had forced their way in. Chaos swept the court, cries and clashes everywhere.

Mermen, mad with bloodlust, rampaged; rebellion flourished, and nobles who once demanded reverence were trampled by commoners and slaves. It was a frenzy, and everyone seemed convinced of one thing:

Lord An was dead.

In the imperial guards’ camp, Commander Hai Yu was troubled.

He knew something was amiss in the royal court. Before him lay two letters, one from the First Prince, one from the Second; both promised him the position of city ruler if successful and confidently declared Lord An dead, accusing the other of rebellion or forgery.

It left him perplexed, but ultimately, every new king would need him.

If Lord An was dead, all that remained was to await the outcome.

The guards would always be loyal to the Merman King—whomever that might be. The rest was none of their concern.

Commander Hai Yu took a deep breath. He dared not meddle in royal affairs; after all, the royal family were born noble, and he, a commoner, risked annihilation if he interfered.

From afar, he caught the faint scent of blood in the sea, and shook his head.

The throne was truly a hot potato.

In the end, had Lord An not kept the balance between his sons’ factions, never confirming an heir, would things have come to this?