Great Ming: Zhu Yuanzhang Calls Me a Heretic? Then a Heretic I Shall Be

With a wave of his sleeve, the temple gates burst open. The two men faced each other across the threshold. One glance held years of grievances and a blood feud. Zhu Yuanzhang said nothing as he strode into the temple, his imperial robe dust-covered, his steps steady. “Wicked Taoist, you deceived me. You deceived me so completely.” Zhu Yuanzhang looked at the man before him, the one he had once honored as his Imperial Preceptor and revered as a deity. His throat tightened, but not a tear fell. Only a desolate grief remained. His wife was dead, his grandson lost, his heir gone, and the fate of the empire devoured... Zhao Yu had torn the mighty Ming apart. Zhao Yu raised an eyebrow, his voice calm and even. “If Your Majesty came only to reproach me, then all I can say is that I am sorry.” “But even if I could start over, I would do the same. I am a wicked Taoist by nature. Why should I ever show mercy?” Facing the frail, pale emperor, now on the brink of death, Zhao Yu offered nothing but a casual apology. Zhu Yuanzhang nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer all along. “Indeed.” Zhu Yuanzhang lifted his eyes, his gaze suddenly sharp as a blade. “But there's only one thing I want to know. Can I take you wicked Taoist down with me today?” Before the words had even left his mouth, Zhu Yuanzhang flung up his right hand, revealing a dagger glinting coldly from beneath his imperial robe. At the sight, Zhao Yu's lips curled into a disdainful sneer. Did this dying mortal emperor really think he could hurt him with a dagger?