MY PRINCE HUSBAND HAS SEVEN WIVES AND I AM HIS FAVOURITE!
Chapter 217: No one can take it from me!

Chapter 217: No one can take it from me!

The arrow’s hiss had barely ended before chaos exploded in the hall.

No one stood still. No one watched in stunned silence. In an instant, everyone was in motion.

The Prime Minister’s men drew their blades, roaring as they lunged forward, trying to close ranks around their leader. The clang of steel rang out, cutting through the frantic shouts and the pounding of feet.

Hua Jing’s lips curved into a faint smile—no fear, no hesitation. She stepped back, her red silk swirling like fire as a soldier swung his blade at her neck. She twisted to the side, the blade missing her by a hair’s breadth, and slammed her palm into his wrist, forcing his sword to drop. She snatched it from his fumbling fingers, the blade flashing as she spun and cut him down.

Another man was already there, lunging at her with a spear. She ducked low, the tip slicing through the air where her head had been. She rolled forward, coming up behind him, and drove the blade into the gap of his armor, her eyes cold.

Zhao Ling Xu was beside her now, his ceremonial robes already splattered with blood. He’d torn off the phoenix-embroidered outer robe, revealing the light armor he’d worn underneath. He slashed with a guard’s abandoned blade, his face set and determined.

No one was a bystander.

Every corner of the hall was a battlefield.

Soldiers clashed with soldiers, the Prime Minister’s men locked in desperate combat against the sudden surge of Zhao Yan’s loyalists. The crack of steel on steel was deafening, the cries of the wounded mingling with the roar of the dying.

A bandit lunged at Hua Jing, teeth bared in a snarl. She kicked him square in the chest, sending him crashing into the dais steps. Before he could rise, she ran him through, her blade clean and final.

Zhao Ling Xu turned, slamming the pommel of his sword into the side of another man’s head, the crack of bone loud even over the noise of battle. Blood sprayed across his sleeve, but he didn’t pause. He pivoted, blade slicing through the throat of the next man who charged him.

The Prime Minister himself fought like a demon, his eyes wild, blade flashing as he cut down two of Zhao Yan’s soldiers who tried to corner him. He roared, his red robes swirling as he lunged at Zhao Yan himself, slashing down with vicious force.

Zhao Yan met the strike head-on, their blades colliding in a flash of sparks. The impact reverberated through the marble floor. Zhao Yan’s eyes were calm, but there was a lethal focus there that cut deeper than any sword.

Pei Rong snarled, hacking again and again, but Zhao Yan matched him blow for blow. Their swords were a blur—metal clashing, sparks flying, blood splattering as they pushed each other back and forth across the blood-slick tiles.

Hua Jing ducked a wild swing from another guard, pivoting and slashing across his belly. She didn’t stop to watch him fall. Another was already on her, a dagger aimed at her throat. She parried with a brutal swipe of her borrowed blade, metal shrieking as she forced the dagger down, then drove her knee up into the man’s chest with a sickening crunch.

Zhao Ling Xu fought his way to her side, his breath ragged but his eyes alight. "Stay behind me!" he shouted.

Hua Jing only laughed, twisting around him to gut another bandit coming from his blind side. "I think not!"

Their backs met for an instant, blades whirling, bodies moving in perfect tandem. Every step was a dance, every breath a battle cry.

The hall itself seemed to shudder with the weight of their struggle. Red and gold banners fluttered wildly in the draft from the shattered doors, the lamplight flickering in mad, dancing shadows.

Zhao Yan’s men forced their way deeper into the hall, cutting down the Prime Minister’s soldiers with ruthless precision. There was no mercy, no pause—just steel and blood and the relentless push forward.

A bandit came at Hua Jing with an axe, his face twisted in a savage grin. She sidestepped, the blade carving through the air, and slammed her elbow into his jaw. His head snapped back, and before he could recover, she grabbed his wrist and twisted, forcing him to drop the axe. It clattered to the floor, and she rammed her sword up under his ribs.

Zhao Ling Xu was fighting two at once now, his blade flashing in the lamplight. He parried a downward strike, spinning to cut the other man across the shoulder, then slammed his hilt into the first man’s temple, sending him sprawling.

Pei Rong screamed in fury, pushing Zhao Yan back a step with a wild, powerful swing. "You think you can take it all from me?!" he roared, spittle flying.

Zhao Yan’s eyes never wavered. "It was never yours."

He shoved forward, his blade crashing against Pei Rong’s with brutal strength, forcing him to stumble.

The Prime Minister’s men were faltering now, one after another falling under the rain of Zhao Yan’s soldiers’ blades. But they didn’t give up—they were cornered, desperate, fighting like animals to protect the man who had promised them everything.

Hua Jing ducked as another guard tried to decapitate her from behind. She pivoted, catching his wrist and snapping it with a vicious twist. He screamed, and she drove her blade into his chest without a second thought.

Blood streaked across her cheek, but she didn’t even notice. Her eyes were bright, alive with that fierce determination that had carried her through every impossible moment.

Zhao Ling Xu was at her side again, his breath ragged, hair sticking to his forehead. They didn’t speak—they didn’t need to. Their blades moved in perfect harmony, each strike an answer to the other.

Zhao Yan forced Pei Rong back, their swords locked, faces inches apart.

"You’re finished, Pei Rong," he growled.

Pei Rong’s eyes were wild, his face twisted with hatred. "Never," he spat. "I built this empire with my own hands—no one will take it from me!"