The hall fell into a hush as Zhu Mingyu crossed the threshold.
He moved like silk—unrushed, unconcerned, each step deliberate. His expression remained unreadable, his hands clasped behind his back, his ceremonial court robes falling in deep, regal folds. There was no dramatic entrance. No storm of fury. Just silence, calm, and a strange kind of heaviness that settled into the floor with him.
He bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," he said.
The Emperor's knuckles were white around the armrest of his throne.
"Did you think you could walk in here," he growled, "after being accused of treason, and carry on as if nothing has happened?"
Zhu Mingyu didn't straighten right away. He remained bowed for three long seconds before rising, eyes downcast in perfect deference.
"I never thought I could stop accusations, Your Majesty. But I had hoped the truth might still matter."
Minister Bai stepped forward with a scroll raised high.
