Chapter 87: He Knows Too Much!

“You think I wouldn’t dare?” Li You let out a cold laugh. “Let me tell you, there is nothing in this world I do not dare. The reason I have not acted is because I do not trust you. Hmph! It’s not that I look down on you, but do you really believe a handful of nobodies thrown together could start a rebellion? Hah! Foolish dreams!”

The tall man in black’s eyes grew icy, then he replied in a cool, detached tone, “What if we truly had that kind of power?”

Li You stared in astonishment, then sneered. “And what power do you claim to have?”

“We can easily kill those closest to Li Shimin. We control the treasury and can claim the wealth of the empire for ourselves. We command a vast network of connections—the Luoyang incident is proof enough. We can slip into the imperial palace under everyone’s nose, without a trace.” The tall man in black stepped forward, fixing Li You with a piercing gaze. “We can come and go as we please, and no one the wiser!”

“Wh-what do you want?” Li You was cowed by the man’s presence, collapsing into his chair. After all, he was just a boy in his teens—his pampered arrogance was enough to bully servants, but faced with real danger, his true nature surfaced immediately.

The tall man in black frowned at the sight of Li You slumped in his chair. He took a step back and said in a calm voice, “Now, can we talk?”

Li You swallowed hard, regaining a sliver of composure. “Talk about what?”

“You tell me.”

“He is my father!”

The tall man in black hesitated for a moment. “What is it? Are you too soft-hearted?”

Li You laughed coldly. “Soft-hearted? Why would I be? Don’t you know how he came by that throne? Hmph! To him, we’re nothing but tools to secure the Li dynasty. In his eyes, there are only two types of princes—those who are useful, like my elder brother Chengqian and my fourth brother Litai, and those who are useless, like me and my sixth brother Liyin. To him, we’re worthless. Do you really think the august Emperor of Tang would concern himself with the likes of us?” Li You’s expression was calm, his gaze cold and empty, his voice devoid of any emotion. Perhaps the man in black’s intimidation had unsettled him so much that all he wanted was someone to confide in.

“At the end of the Sui dynasty, my maternal grandfather, Yin Shishi, stayed in Chang’an with Prince Dai, Yang You. In the thirteenth year of the Sui Dae era, after my grandfather Li Yuan—my imperial grandfather—rose in rebellion at Taiyuan, his youngest son, Li Zhiyun, was killed by my grandfather Yin Shishi. He was only fourteen. Later, Yin Shishi and Gu Yi ordered the exhumation of the Li clan’s ancestral tombs. Thus, when my grandfather Li Yuan entered Chang’an, he executed Yin Shishi and Gu Yi for resisting the righteous army. There is blood and enmity between the Yin family and the Li Tang house. Tell me, with such a background, how much do you think I mean to him?”

By the end, Li You was nearly shouting. Perhaps the long years of suppression in the palace had left him desperate for release, and the appearance of the man in black provided just the opportunity.

The tall man in black fell silent for a long while, taken aback by Li You’s outburst, as did his slightly shorter companion, who stared in disbelief at the exchange.

After a long pause, the shorter man tugged at the taller one, bringing him back to himself. The tall man let out a long breath, said nothing, and strode to the main seat, where he sat down. Instantly, his bearing changed—no longer merely imposing, but regal. As he sat, he removed his mask, revealing a face of undeniable nobility.

The change in his demeanor sent a shiver through Li You. When he saw the man’s true identity, he was utterly crushed; staring at the man seated at the head of the room, he collapsed in despair.

Li Yi, seeing that the other’s identity was exposed, gave a wry smile and took off his own mask.

The two men in black were none other than Li Er and Li Yi. This had all been Li Yi’s idea. Once he’d pieced together the events, he decided to take a gamble: impersonate members of a secret organization to deceive Li You. The nightclothes they wore were the same as those favored by assassins—distasteful, perhaps, but Li Yi could hardly worry about that now. The token he produced had once belonged to Li Zihao; it was the final, incontrovertible proof for Li You of their supposed identities.

Li Yi chose such a clumsy approach because he had analyzed Li You’s personality. According to the historical records he’d read, Li You was an utter scoundrel—a fool with more money than sense. Li Yi reasoned that, given Li You’s intelligence, as long as he was careful, Li You would never see through the ruse. And from his knowledge of history, Li You, for all his depravity, would never dare rebel against Li Er unless pushed to the very brink. Li Er’s overwhelming presence had already left a deep mark on the hearts of his sons; this was clear from the hasty, ill-prepared attempts at rebellion by both Chengqian and Li You. None of Li Er’s sons would ever dare plot a revolt right under their father’s nose—they simply weren’t capable. Thus, Li Yi was sure Li You had no real connection to any secret faction; at most, this was a chance collaboration. Once again, Li Yi’s gamble had paid off.

Though Li Yi knew he would get no useful information from Li You, he still came—not for any other reason than to make Li You uncomfortable. Normally mild-tempered, Li Yi was not one to let a slight pass without reprisal. He was no paragon of virtue. His philosophy was simple: if you make my life miserable, I’ll make you lose all hope for yours—by any means necessary. Schemes? The more devious, the better. Li Yi never pretended to be a good man; he always saw himself as selfish. What’s mine, no one else touches. Anyone who tries—dies.

Of course, there was an exception: Cheng Yaojin. In Li Yi’s eyes, Cheng Yaojin was a lovable rascal. If Li Yi wanted revenge, he had a thousand ways to make Cheng Yaojin kneel and beg for mercy, but he never bore any real hatred for him. Their rivalry was more like a squabble between children, fought over a moment’s pride, with no lasting ill will. Cheng Yaojin was a wily old fox, a child at heart, and Li Yi never took their contests seriously. In fact, he treated it all as a game—a game of life, ideals, and responsibility. Or, perhaps, just a contest to see who would admit defeat first.

But this time, it was clear that Li Yi had miscalculated. He had not anticipated things would escalate so far, or that he would overhear secrets not meant for his ears. Quite plainly, he now knew far too much.