This was unmistakably murderous intent!
Wu Dingyuan’s eyes flashed as he drew back his iron ruler, blocking the sword tip’s advance with a resounding clang. Without hesitation, he pivoted left while his right fist shot straight toward the attacker’s face. The tall military guard, completely caught off guard by such a fierce counterattack, took the blow directly to his nose. Blood spurted as he stumbled backward.
Taking advantage of his successful strike, Wu Dingyuan followed through with his right shoulder, shoving the prisoner toward the shorter guard. With his arms bound, the prisoner stumbled forward, crashing into the shorter guard’s chest.
In the brief moment of their entanglement, Wu Dingyuan completed his turn, stepping forward swiftly to pull the saber from the shorter guard’s waist. With a sharp squelch, he drove it into the guard’s side before immediately withdrawing it. Both the prisoner and the guard collapsed simultaneously, just as the taller guard was recovering from his daze. With a roar, the tall guard swung his blade, but Wu Dingyuan had already fully drawn his weapon and spun to parry.
The blades met in a shower of sparks. The tall guard had assumed Wu Dingyuan was a worthless drunk weakened by wine and women, but now he was horrified to discover his opponent was a seasoned fighter who had been concealing his skills.
This moment of shock was all Wu Dingyuan needed. His parry with the yanling saber was merely a feint—his left hand had already sneaked the iron ruler in low, jabbing at his opponent’s vital point near the waist. The tall guard howled in pain, his stance faltering. A moment later, he let out an agonized scream as the yanling saber carved a deep groove across his throat, sending blood spraying several feet.
From start to finish, the entire exchange lasted only a few breaths, flowing like water. Wu Dingyuan planted the yanling saber on the riverbank and dropped to one knee, breathing heavily. His prolonged drinking had limited his stamina; he could only succeed with an aggressive assault while his opponents underestimated him. In a prolonged fight, he would have had no chance against two opponents.
These two guards were certainly accomplices of the ship bombers, searching along the river to silence any potential survivors from the treasure ship. Though the enemies now lay dead, Wu Dingyuan’s face showed no joy—only deep regret.
The fact that the tall guard recognized Wu Buping meant the bombers had bought off many locals in Nanjing. From now on, anyone they encountered could be the bombers’ pawns; any acquaintance could turn their blade against them. How many such people were there? How could one identify them? He had no answers.
These madmen who dared to destroy the Crown Prince’s treasure ship would surely not allow the only witness to reach the authorities—they would not rest until he was eliminated.
Wu Dingyuan gazed at the imposing city walls in the distance. Behind those continuous ramparts, countless malicious intentions seemed to surge forth like dark clouds, quickly blotting out the sky above the southern capital. He realized that his moment of compassion in saving this fellow had dragged him into a dangerous quagmire.
But it was too late for regrets now. He had already killed two men, and even if he abandoned the prisoner and left, it would only attract more killers. Wu Dingyuan looked down in disgust at the prisoner, who still lay atop the shorter guard’s corpse. Though his head was covered, he couldn’t escape the sharp smell of blood, and his body continued to tremble in terror.
“Should have let him drown in the Qinhuai River,” Wu Dingyuan thought regretfully.
But there was no medicine for regret in this world. Wu Dingyuan sighed, then disposed of both guards’ bodies in the water before pulling the prisoner to his feet. At this point, the reward money no longer mattered. This fellow would attract countless assassins—the sooner he could hand over this hot potato, the better.
Ultimately, he needed to find his father first.
As the Chief Constable of the Yingtian Prefecture, Wu Buping should be patrolling along Chang’an Street, the necessary route into the Imperial City. From Shangu Platform to Chang’an Street, the shortest path was northward through Tongji Gate. Tongji Gate, next to the East Water Gateway dock, was one of the thirteen city gates. Inside the gate was the wide Tongji Gate Avenue, which ran north alongside the Inner Qinhuai River before turning right onto Chang’an Street.
However, the East Water Gateway dock was now paralyzed, and chaos reigned before Tongji Gate. From a distance, Wu Dingyuan could see countless people trying to flee outward while others pushed to get in, buzzing like a disturbed beehive. Not only would passing through be impossible, but even approaching would be dangerous—if the enemy could plant explosives on the treasure ship, they might have arrangements at the dock as well.
After some thought, Wu Dingyuan decided to head east with the imperial prisoner. Three li to the east was another gate called Zhengyang Gate, which opened directly to the south side of the Imperial City, not far from Chang’an Street—it was the main gate of the Imperial Avenue. No matter how extensive the enemy’s influence, they couldn’t possibly have bought off every gate guard.
The prisoner, likely terrified by the bloody combat earlier, had stopped struggling and allowed Wu Dingyuan to escort him quietly. The two followed the moat eastward and soon arrived at Zhengyang Gate.
Due to recent earthquakes, part of Zhengyang Gate’s archway had collapsed, preventing the gates from closing properly, and repairs were underway. Dense bamboo scaffolding covered the gray-black gate, while basins of mortar and blue bricks were piled beneath the entrance. The two large iron doors, recently removed from their hinges, leaned against the gateway, leaving a large gap.
A crowd of garrison soldiers and craftsmen gathered before the gate, anxiously whispering among themselves. Even the construction supervisor and the gate general seemed distracted, constantly gazing westward. They must have heard the massive explosion but didn’t yet know the severity of the situation.
Wu Dingyuan displayed his badge, saying he needed to escort a prisoner into the city. An elderly soldier responsible for verification warned, “Why don’t you try another gate? This one’s quite inconvenient today.”
“Impossible. This prisoner must be delivered to the authorities immediately, without delay!” Wu Dingyuan instinctively gripped his iron ruler, fearing this might be another enemy assassin. As the old soldier tried to say more, Wu Dingyuan barked, “This man is involved in an assassination attempt against the Crown Prince. If you delay his delivery to the authorities, will you take responsibility?” Hearing such a serious matter, the old soldier’s hands trembled as he quickly returned the badge and cleared a narrow path. “Well, you insist on going through—if anything happens, don’t blame us.”
Under the strange gazes of the garrison soldiers and craftsmen, Wu Dingyuan escorted the prisoner into the dark gateway.
Before the capital’s relocation, Zhengyang Gate had been the main entrance to the Imperial City’s outer wall and was thus built particularly grand. The gateway could accommodate two carriages side by side, with stone slabs on the ground, blue brick walls, and fine green stone forming the arch above. However, due to the ongoing repairs, various construction materials blocked half the light.
Seven or eight steps in, Wu Dingyuan’s surroundings darkened to tunnel-like conditions. Though it was May outside, a chill permeated the gateway, with wisps of cold air seeping through brick cracks and ground seams, wrapping around their legs.
Halfway through, Wu Dingyuan suddenly sensed something and looked up, finally understanding why the old soldier had acted so strangely.
Above his head hung a massive stone slab, about thirty feet long and ten feet wide. The stone hadn’t yet been set into the arch and was suspended by several hemp ropes, swaying precariously. Below the arch lay the collapsed remains of scaffolding. The earlier explosion had shaken the supporting scaffold apart, leaving the half-raised stone dangling. The workers, fearing another tremor might bring the stone crashing down, had fled to the gate tower outside.
This massive blue-gray stone, quarried from Mufu Mountain, was blunt-edged and thick. Such an enormous mass now swung slowly like a pendulum in the darkness, creating an imminent threat of death from above that sent chills down one’s spine. For some reason, Wu Dingyuan didn’t hurry to escape but instead showed a meaningful bitter smile.
In this pitch-dark gateway, both the path ahead and behind were unclear, while death hung by a thread overhead. This ominous omen, tinged with irony, captured Wu Dingyuan’s attention. They say that when facing certain death, people can’t look away but instead stare fixedly. The imagination of being crushed into a bloody pulp at any moment raised goosebumps on his skin—whether from fear or excitement, he couldn’t tell.
The prisoner beside him, head still covered, remained completely unaware of the danger and stood obediently in place. After who knows how long, he finally made an uneasy sound, pulling Wu Dingyuan from his death-related reverie. Wu Dingyuan took one last glance at the massive stone overhead, shook his head, and continued forward with the prisoner.
They soon passed through the gateway, suddenly emerging into bright light—they had entered Nanjing proper. North of Zhengyang Gate ran a wide east-west avenue called Chongli Street, its western end intersecting with Chang’an Street.
Chongli Street was far from peaceful now, being home to many government offices. The treasure ship explosion had thrown everything into chaos. Waves of infantry and cavalry poured out from various guard stations, rushing madly toward the East Water Gateway, countless hooves and boots kicking up yellow dust from the street. Many minor officials and clerks poked their heads out from their office doorways, standing dazed in the rising dust.
Watching the rescue teams, Wu Dingyuan suddenly realized he had made a mistake.
With such a major incident, how could Wu Buping, as Chief Constable, still be on Chang’an Street? He must have rushed to the East Water Gateway scene immediately.
But the East Water Gateway dock couldn’t be approached now. After some thought, Wu Dingyuan considered simply delivering the prisoner to the Yingtian Prefecture office but realized that wasn’t realistic either. Not only was the prefecture office far in the western city with too many variables along the way, but there would be no one to receive the prisoner—all the high officials of the Yingtian Prefecture had rushed to the East Water Gateway to curry favor with the Crown Prince, whose fate remained unknown.
Other government offices posed the same problem.
Nanjing’s security forces were quite complex. The Five Cities Military Command answered to Nanjing’s Ministry of War, the Eighteen Imperial Guards were controlled by the Five Army Command, the Yingtian Prefecture controlled the Three Battalions, the Defense Office managed the city gates’ keys, and the Imperial City housed a contingent of Imperial Guards transferred from the capital early that year.
These various city defense forces each had their chain of command and usually ignored each other. The East Water Gateway dock explosion had eliminated many top officials, leaving numerous offices leaderless. The entire city of Nanjing was now completely paralyzed.
He now held an imperial prisoner but had nowhere to deliver him.
Wu Dingyuan looked around and suddenly noticed a vermillion-doored, white-walled office building on the north side of Chongli Street, between the Astronomical Bureau and the Ministry of Ceremonies. The building bore no plaque, and its door pillars were painted black, displaying an austere presence distinctly different from ordinary government offices. An idea formed in his mind.
This was the Inspectorate of the Embroidered Uniform Guard of Nanjing, which answered directly to the Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander in the capital rather than any Nanjing office. It displayed no plaque or sign, maintaining a unique position in Nanjing’s officialdom.
Wu Dingyuan clicked his tongue and, though not without regret, decided to hand this hot potato over to the Embroidered Uniform Guard. They might not offer much reward, but at least he could rid himself of this major trouble. He hated complications and just wanted to quickly conclude this unexpected task, return home, and have his sister warm up some wine for a moment of peace.
Wu Dingyuan pulled the prisoner to the Inspectorate and knocked on the main gate, finding it slightly ajar and easily pushed open. After taking a few steps inside, he suddenly heard an angry roar from the inner courtyard:
“The nation faces a crisis, yet you dare remain indifferent?”
The voice boomed like a great bell, making even the roof tiles vibrate. Wu Dingyuan led the prisoner around the screen wall to see a spacious square courtyard, where a young official in light green robes stood before the courtyard entrance, arms outstretched, firmly blocking a line of Embroidered Uniform Guards.
The young official appeared to be twenty-seven or twenty-eight, not particularly tall, but with a straight nose, upswept brows, and an especially square chin. When he pressed his lips together, his entire countenance became as unyielding as stone.
A Lao Qianhu with graying whiskers patted his brocade spring sword and berated him: “We’re heading to the dock to rescue our superiors—how is that remaining indifferent?” The young official stepped forward, his gaze intense: “The East Water Gateway incident is for the Defense Office to handle. The Embroidered Uniform Guard’s duty isn’t to rescue but to quickly investigate the traitors!”
A Vice Lao Qianhu beside him sneered, “For a mere Ceremonial Officer, you speak as grandly as a Grand Secretary! Instead of staying properly next door, you come here giving orders!” He moved to push him aside.
Seeing them try to shove him, the young official’s face reddened as he straightened his chest and shouted: “While you all rush to the dock, the criminals can take advantage of the chaos to slip away! If we miss this opportunity, the Eastern Palace will be in danger! The southern capital will be in danger! How can none of you understand this!” Seeing his stubborn attitude, Vice Lao Qianhu’s hand hesitated. Though a Ceremonial Officer was only an Eighth Rank minor official, the position required being a jinshi degree holder, and he, as a military official, dared not truly rough up a civil official. The situation remained deadlocked.
Wu Dingyuan roughly understood the situation. This official must be a Ceremonial Officer from the neighboring Ministry of Ceremonies. After the treasure ship explosion, he had run to the neighboring Embroidered Uniform Guard office, demanding they investigate immediately instead of joining the rescue effort at the dock.
From the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s perspective, this seemed absurd. The Ministry of Ceremonies normally handled issuing imperial edicts and foreign diplomacy—what business did they have giving orders here? But with their leaders trapped at the dock, these remaining Lao Qianhus and Vice Lao Qianhus found themselves leaderless, surprisingly blocked at their gate by this minor Ceremonial Officer.
To be honest, Wu Dingyuan strongly agreed with the young Ceremonial Officer’s judgment. Rather than rushing to add to the chaos at the dock, the Embroidered Uniform Guard would do better to investigate leads quickly. However… what business was it of his?
The Ministry of Ceremonies in Nanjing was merely an idle office, where promotion was hopeless and officials merely waited out their days. Among all the high officials in Nanjing, how did it fall to this minor official from a defunct bureau to worry about state affairs? This young Ceremonial Officer must have addled his brains by eating old imperial grain.
Wu Dingyuan, not wanting to hear their argument, gave a forceful cough.
Both the young official and the Guards turned to look, somewhat surprised. Wu Dingyuan pushed the prisoner forward one step: “I am a constable from the Yingtian Prefecture, stationed at Shangu Platform. I’ve captured a suspect who jumped from the Crown Prince’s treasure ship and am here to transfer him to your custody.”
Hearing this, the crowd immediately stirred. Wu Dingyuan removed the prisoner’s hood and kicked the back of his knees, forcing him to kneel. The Guards’ eyes widened as they saw a dust-covered, exhausted face with wet, tangled hair hanging down, scattered with debris and rope fragments.
Wu Dingyuan briefly recounted the encounter at Shangu Platform, though to avoid complications, he omitted the incident with the two assassins. The Guards, experienced in investigations, immediately recognized the suspicious nature of the man’s activities. As the Lao Qianhu moved to question him further, the young Ceremonial Officer rushed forward first, examining the prisoner with furrowed brows before reaching to remove the hemp ball from his mouth.
Long-suppressed fury erupted from the prisoner’s mouth: “You bastard sons of badgers! Blind dogs’ balls! I am the Crown Prince of Great Ming! The Crown Prince! Release me at once! Or I’ll execute your three generations! No, nine generations! Ten generations!” The Ceremonial Officer’s eyes flashed as he quickly helped him up, untied his bonds, then lifted his robes and dropped to his knees, addressing him as “Your Highness.”
This sudden turn of events left the surrounding Guards bewildered. The Lao Qianhu asked suspiciously, “How would a mere Ceremonial Officer know what the Crown Prince looks like?” The young official lifted his chin: “I was a jinshi degree holder in the nineteenth year of Yongle, and saw Emperor Taizong personally during the palace examination. This man before us looks exactly like him!”
Those around still showed some doubt. Zhu Zhanji angrily pulled a blue lotus cloud-shaped jade pendant from his neck, raised it high, and shouted: “Look at this!”
This jade pendant had been given to him by the Yongle Emperor during a military campaign when he accompanied his grandfather. It was inscribed with the four characters “Wei Jing Wei Yi” (Precision and Unity), and he never parted with it—everyone knew it as the Crown Prince’s possession. Seeing this proof, the Guards had no further doubts and dropped to their knees en masse. Only Wu Dingyuan remained standing, frozen in shock.
This bombing suspect was the Crown Prince of Great Ming.
This… this defied all logic. The treasure ship had nearly reached the East Water Gateway—the Crown Prince should have been surrounded by Eastern Palace officials preparing to disembark. How could he have been alone at the stern?
Only when his arms were suddenly seized did Wu Dingyuan snap out of his daze. Several Banners had rushed forward and roughly pinned this traitor who had held the Crown Prince captive to the ground, immobilizing him. Wu Dingyuan gave a “heh” and smiled self-mockingly, offering no resistance as he slowly lowered his head.
The Lao Qianhu, knowing the prisoner’s presence would only embarrass the Crown Prince, ordered: “Take him to the inner prison for later questioning!” The Banners shouted in acknowledgment and dragged Wu Dingyuan to the rear courtyard. Once the brute’s figure disappeared, the Lao Qianhu personally brought out a circular chair from the courtyard, fawningly inviting the Crown Prince to rest.
Zhu Zhanji dropped into the seat, staring blankly at the screen wall, his chest heaving. His mind remained in a fog—everything had happened too suddenly: first, the bone-melting explosion, then nearly drowning in the icy river, followed by being hooded, kicked, and beaten, with the acrid smell of blood penetrating his nostrils—if this were a nightmare, surely he should have awakened by now.
The Ceremonial Officer picked up the jade pendant from the ground, checked it for damage, and reverently returned it with both hands to Zhu Zhanji. Zhu Zhanji looked up and mumbled, “What… what happened?”
The crowd exchanged glances, unable to explain the specifics. Finally, the young Ceremonial Officer declared loudly: “Your Highness’s vessel was bombed by traitors, affecting the officials at the East Water Gateway dock.” The surrounding Lao Qianhus and Vice Lao Qianhus drew sharp breaths—this fellow was bold indeed, daring to make such definitive statements before the situation was clear. Would he take responsibility for such words?
Zhu Zhanji glanced at the young Ceremonial Officer. Earlier, when hooded, he had heard a voice shouting “The Eastern Palace is in danger!” and felt favorably disposed of: “What is your name?”
The minor official quickly replied: “Your servant is Yu Qian, Ceremonial Officer of the Nanjing Ministry of Ceremonies.” His voice rang clear, his eyes gleaming. The Lao Qianhu secretly scorned him—not yet thirty and already relegated to a defunct retirement office, what was there to be proud of?
Zhu Zhanji nodded, saying “Well done,” then fell silent. Yu Qian seized the opportunity: “The situation in the city remains unstable. I request Your Highness remain here temporarily, waiting for word from the Earl of Xiangcheng and the Chief Eunuch before taking action.”
Zhu Zhanji’s brows furrowed slightly: “Where are they now?” Yu Qian replied: “Both await Your Highness at the East Water Gateway dock. As for their current condition… uh, it’s unclear. Your Highness’s person is precious beyond measure, blessed by Heaven. It would be wise to send someone to inquire first and wait for these two commanders to come provide escort.”
Yu Qian’s appearance was proper, and he had a habit of maintaining direct eye contact when speaking, making him quite persuasive. Zhu Zhanji decided to follow his advice and remain at the Embroidered Uniform Guard office to observe the situation. The Lao Qianhu, unhappy that Yu Qian had stolen the spotlight, hurried forward to announce his name to the Crown Prince.
Zhu Zhanji showed him no warmth, given how the old man had tried to obstruct Yu Qian earlier. Seeing the situation, the Lao Qianhu hastily volunteered to personally go to the dock to gather information, then hurried away.
After the Lao Qianhu left, someone brought the Crown Prince a basin of well water to wash his face and hair. The Guards, accustomed to handling prisoners, proved quite clumsy at attending to nobility. Zhu Zhanji managed a cursory face wash, then curled up in the circular chair, his hands resting limply on the armrests.
Usually, such tasks would be handled by attendants, but now all of them, including Sai Zilong, had been reduced to ash, leaving him completely alone. This thought brought endless grief welling up inside him. Along with the grief came waves of increasing terror, like a whip lashing at his mind’s nerves, constantly rekindling the horrific explosion scene.
Yu Qian dared not disturb the Crown Prince, knowing that someone who had just experienced such upheaval needed time to process it quietly. He approached a nearby Vice Lao Qianhu, suggesting they bring the Crown Prince some hot tea, preferably with calming sour dates or cypress seeds. Vice Lao Qianhu glared, wondering who this fellow thought he was to give orders in the Embroidered Uniform Guard office, but then remembered how the Crown Prince had just praised him as “well done,” and reluctantly turned to order someone to prepare the tea.
Yu Qian then asked about the location of the inner prison, saying he wanted to see the man who had brought in the Crown Prince. Vice Lao Qianhu wanted to refuse but couldn’t withstand Yu Qian’s knife-sharp gaze and answered grudgingly. He called a Banner to lead the way and keep watch, ensuring the Ceremonial Officer didn’t do anything unnecessary.
Yu Qian followed the Banner into the rear courtyard’s second hall. Behind the hanging flower gate was a corridor with carved return patterns, surrounded by double-eaved wing rooms. To the north was the Distinguished Guests Hall, with the Seal Press Room, Recording Room, duty officers’ quarters, and archives positioned along the sides. The inner prison lay at the southern end of the corridor.
This area was only used for temporary prisoner holding, with most cells empty. Though dirty, it didn’t carry much oppressive energy. As they approached, the Banner kindly warned: “Keep your distance when questioning him, lest this worthless fellow’s ill fortune rub off on you.”
“Oh? You know him?”
Gossip being human nature, and the Banner being familiar with the Yingtian Prefecture’s affairs, he briefly explained the origin of Wu Dingyuan’s nickname. After listening, Yu Qian walked silently to the last cell, where through the wooden bars he saw the famous wastrel.
Wu Dingyuan was now bound to a cross-shaped wooden frame, his body pressed against the vertical beam, arms spread along the horizontal beam, completely immobilized—treatment reserved for important imperial prisoners. The stone wall behind him was especially thick, with only a palm-sized ventilation window above. Two iron bars across the window split the incoming sunlight into three beams, like three golden blades pressed against the prisoner’s back. Wu Dingyuan hung his head motionless, appearing resigned to his fate.
However, due to the rushed circumstances, the Guards had only bound him simply, neither stripping his clothes nor gagging him with hemp—though in the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s inner prison, who would hear him anyway?
Yu Qian ordered the cell door open and approached Wu Dingyuan. Being not particularly tall, he had to lift his head to see Wu Dingyuan’s face.
“I know you helped rescue the Crown Prince, but the urgent situation required temporary measures. Once things settle, I will explain your innocence to the Crown Prince,” Yu Qian said softly.
“I pulled him from the river only to suffer needlessly—I deserve this punishment. What innocence is there to explain?”
Wu Dingyuan kept his head down as he rasped his reply. This bitter response made Yu Qian furrow his brows. He stepped closer: “The Crown Prince has just experienced great trauma and hasn’t recovered his senses. He didn’t intentionally frame you. Quickly tell me everything that happened before and after the Crown Prince fell into the water, don’t omit a single detail.”
Wu Dingyuan lazily raised his head: “Shouldn’t the Embroidered Uniform Guard be conducting this interrogation? What business does a little ‘almond’ have poking his nose where it doesn’t belong?” He deliberately twisted “Ceremonial Officer” (Xingren) into “almond” (Xingren), causing a blue vein to pop up on Yu Qian’s forehead as he angrily shouted:
“The situation is perilous and the capital shaken—anyone who eats the emperor’s grain must face danger and aid in crisis! What nonsense about whose business it is?”
Wu Dingyuan laughed, “Good, good—that’s exactly what the Emperor and Crown Prince love to hear. You’ve seized your chance for instant advancement; you won’t be a little ‘almond’ much longer.” Yu Qian, as if insulted, grabbed his collar and shouted: “Don’t think everyone is as despicable as you! Though I hold a lowly position, I am no opportunist!”
Yu Qian, born to the Yu family of Qiantang, particularly detested being called a scheming climber. His voice was naturally resonant, and with his emotions stirred, it shook dust from the ceiling. Wu Dingyuan sneered, glancing at him sideways, saying nothing more.
Yu Qian realized he had lost his composure. Releasing the other’s collar, he said coldly: “Stop playing dumb. A Yingtian Prefecture constable catches a bombing suspect but doesn’t take him to his jurisdiction for merit, instead freely delivering him to the Embroidered Uniform Guard—you feared for your life and wanted to stay clear of it all. You must have discovered something you didn’t mention earlier, isn’t that right?”
Wu Dingyuan’s mouth twitched—this “little almond” was indeed sharp, hitting the mark in one sentence.
Yu Qian glared at him angrily: “I’ve never seen such a fool. When the Crown Prince fell in the water, you didn’t know his identity and went into great trouble to save him. Now that you know he’s the Crown Prince, you’re reluctant and resistant—you’re truly a stubborn mule!”
In his agitation, he had begun in official speech but ended with a Qiantang dialect phrase. Wu Dingyuan understood enough to know it described someone obstinate and unappreciative.
The insult unexpectedly reminded Wu Dingyuan of his father. Whenever they solved major cases together, Wu Dingyuan would firmly refuse to appear and claim credit, only taking money to spend on wine and brothels. His father Wu Buping would give him the money while cursing “dead grandson”—a northern phrase meaning roughly the same as the Qiantang insult.
Thinking of his father, Wu Dingyuan suddenly realized that with such chaos at the East Water Gateway, Wu Buping, as Chief Constable of Yingtian Prefecture, would surely be implicated. If the case wasn’t solved, knowing the official nature, they might make him a scapegoat—after all, wasn’t he responsible for maintaining order in Nanjing?
At this thought, Wu Dingyuan sighed: “All right, all right, I’ll tell you.”
He then related his entire experience to Yu Qian: guarding Shangu Platform, seeing the figure on the treasure ship, rescuing the Crown Prince, encountering the two murderous garrison soldiers, and his decision to bring the prisoner to the Embroidered Uniform Guard.
After hearing the account, Yu Qian gained a new respect for this lazy constable. Though crude in speech, his analysis of events was concise, precise, and penetrating—even veteran officials might lack such insight. The “worthless fellow” the Banner had described was quite shrewd beneath his facade.
Though Yu Qian despised Wu Dingyuan’s tendency to shirk responsibility at the first sign of danger, he agreed with his assessment—the mastermind intended to eliminate both the Crown Prince and Nanjing’s officials in one stroke. The scope of their ambition, the meticulousness of their planning, and the ruthlessness of their methods were truly astounding.
Fortunately, the Crown Prince had miraculously survived, and Wu Dingyuan’s impromptu decision to bring him to the Embroidered Uniform Guard had added another layer of unexpected circumstances that even immortals couldn’t have predicted, let alone the rebel bombers.
Which meant the Crown Prince was, for now at least, safe.
Seeing Yu Qian’s brow relax, Wu Dingyuan guessed his thoughts and chuckled: “You think they went to all this trouble with the bombing just to make some noise?”
“What?”
“The day isn’t over yet,” Wu Dingyuan added lazily, lifting his eyelids.
Yu Qian’s eyelid twitched violently.
Damn—the Lao Qianhu had gone to the East Water Gateway dock to gather information. If he boasted about sheltering the Crown Prince, the rebels’ spies would surely learn of it. At this thought, Yu Qian didn’t bother explaining to Wu Dingyuan but quickly left the inner prison, hurrying toward the front courtyard. No matter how slight the possibility, the Embroidered Uniform Guard needed to take precautions.
But when Yu Qian returned to the front courtyard, he found the circular chair empty—the Crown Prince was gone, and the nearby Vice Lao Qianhus had vanished as well. Alarmed, Yu Qian grabbed a remaining Banner and demanded to know what had happened.
The Banner answered honestly. Shortly after Yu Qian left, the Lao Qianhu had sent word from the dock with both good and bad news: The bad news was that the Earl of Xiangcheng was severely injured, having been at the front of the dock and taking the full force of the blast, still unconscious; the good news was that Chief Eunuch Zheng had miraculously escaped harm. Just before the explosion, half his robe had come loose, and several attendants were fumbling with the clasp in front of him, shielding him from most of the blast.
Chief Eunuch Zheng, experienced in crises, remained fearless and took command at the dock. Under his direction, the order was gradually restored at the East Water Gateway and throughout Nanjing’s offices, with rescue efforts proceeding systematically. When the Lao Qianhu arrived to report the Crown Prince’s whereabouts, Zheng He immediately came to escort him, having just taken the Crown Prince away.
The Lao Qianhu had played a small trick, deliberately not informing Yu Qian in the inner prison when taking the Crown Prince.
Learning that Zheng He had taken the Crown Prince, Yu Qian breathed a sigh of relief. Zheng He was a loyal minister from the Yongle era, known for his integrity and strategy, with tremendous prestige from his several voyages to the Western Oceans. With his mountain-like presence to steady things, Nanjing couldn’t descend into chaos.
But this was no time to relax. Yu Qian considered the clue about Wu Dingyuan’s encounter with the two attacking soldiers important and needed to inform the higher-ups quickly, so he asked for brush and paper.
His calligraphy flowed smoothly, quickly filling a page with neat official script. The letter warned the Crown Prince and Chief Eunuch that enemies remained in Nanjing, urging a thorough investigation without complacency. In the end, he didn’t forget to mention Wu Dingyuan’s unjust situation, fearing the nobles might forget in their busy state.
After writing, Yu Qian blew on the wet ink, folded the paper into quarters, tucked it into his robe, and hurried out.
Outside on Chongli Street, chaos still reigned. People stood packed under the banners along both sides, in the gutters, and beneath trees, all wearing terrified expressions. Earlier they had only heard the explosion without understanding; now news of the treasure ship bombing had spread from the East Water Gateway dock, raising tsunami-like waves of fear among Nanjing’s residents. Some scattered civilians had already bundled their belongings and were leaving the city with the elderly and children in tow.
Yu Qian didn’t know the current location of the Crown Prince and Chief Eunuch, but circumstances suggested they would first return to the Nanjing Defense Command—the safest place in the southern capital.
The Nanjing Defense Command lay at the southwest corner of the Imperial City. Whatever route they took, the Xi’an Gate on the Imperial City’s west side would be a necessary passage. He need only turn from Chongli Street to Datong Street, head north through West Imperial City South Street, and reach Xuanjin Bridge outside Xi’an Gate to intercept the group.
Yu Qian adjusted his official headpiece, tightened his black horn belt, and quickly passed through the anxious crowds into an alley. After several years in Nanjing, he knew the city’s geography well and knew which shortcuts to take. In less than two incense sticks’ time, he had reached the middle section of West Imperial City South Street.
Stepping onto the street, he craned his neck northward and saw rolling dust clouds—a group was moving hurriedly about a hundred paces ahead.
The group’s composition was quite mixed, including armored Defense Command guards, short-robed noble household servants, some with bows and arrows, others carrying ceremonial weapons—a disorderly assemblage. Without question, this must be the Crown Prince’s escort. The East Water Gateway explosion had affected too many people, forcing them to cobble together this motley crew.
Most eye-catching within the group was a date-red Qinghai warhorse, its rider wearing a Goryeo crown and scarlet robe, shoulders remaining steady despite the horse’s movement. Beside him was a wide yellow silk sedan chair, carried not by regular bearers but by several decorated horn players.
The tall figure on horseback must be Chief Eunuch Zheng He; in the wide sedan chair beside him could only be Crown Prince Zhu Zhanji.
The group moved quickly; its vanguard had already passed the bridge’s guardian stone lions and was about to step onto Xuanjin Bridge. Yu Qian caught his breath and quickened his pursuit.
Xuanjin Bridge was a three-arched white stone bridge with sloping ends and a high arch in the middle. Spanning the Inner Qinhuai River, it faced Xi’an Gate. When Nanjing was still the capital, officials entering the Imperial City daily had to cross Xuanjin Bridge through Xi’an Gate, making it once Nanjing’s busiest intersection.
Xuanjin Bridge’s most distinctive feature was the pair of stone lions at each end, supposedly to ward off evil but actually to control traffic. They divided the bridge entrance into three narrow passages, preventing too many vehicles and horses from rushing onto the bridge at once.
Thus when the group reached the bridge, they had to adjust their formation. The guards at the front cleared the way, allowing Chief Eunuch and the wide sedan chair to pass through the narrow central passage between the stone lions before following through the side passages themselves.
But this hastily assembled group lacked coordination. Their splitting and rejoining created considerable confusion, with collisions and crowding that temporarily separated them from the two dignitaries ahead. Yu Qian seized the opportunity to reach the rear of the group. Being short, he could only see the Goryeo crown and yellow silk chair top gradually rising as they ascended to Xuanjin Bridge’s highest point.
Suddenly, an extremely ominous premonition struck his heart like a serpent’s fangs. In his ears echoed Wu Dingyuan’s calm voice: “The day isn’t over yet.”
Yu Qian gritted his teeth, lifted his robe hem, and suddenly accelerated, instantly passing three or four rear guards while shouting: “Retreat! Retreat!” The nearest guard, seeing someone rush the formation, immediately wrapped his arms around Yu Qian’s waist, quickly wrestling the small civil official to the ground.
Though immobilized, Yu Qian’s powerful voice couldn’t be stopped. His shouts of “Retreat!” carried from the stone lions to the bridge’s peak. Chief Eunuch heard the voice and only slightly turned his head, continuing forward. But beside him, a hand suddenly lifted the yellow silk sedan chair’s curtain.
Zhu Zhanji poked his head out, looking back in confusion. He recognized the voice—it was that young Ceremonial Officer from the Embroidered Uniform Guard. How had he gotten here?
When the Crown Prince lifted the curtain, the bearers quickly halted. This pause created a half-horse gap between the sedan chair and Zheng He. As Zheng He reined in his horse, about to urge the bearers forward, his nose suddenly caught a strange scent in the air.
This scent was familiar from his long seafaring career, always closely associated with battle, and had pervaded the East Water Gateway dock earlier.
Chief Eunuch’s reaction was lightning-fast. He yanked the reins, making his mount rear up and kick high at the sedan chair. The fierce Qinghai warhorse was extremely powerful, its iron-shod black hooves striking like a battering ram against the chair’s bat-shaped bronze corner ornament. The bearers scattered as they fell, and the massive impact sent the sedan compartment tumbling down the sloping stone surface.
Simultaneously, a muffled explosion sounded from beneath the bridge. The entire stone structure trembled once, splitting open from the middle with a great crack. The crack quickly widened into a crevice, the crevice into a chasm, and soon the entire bridge surface fragmented. The scattered stones became countless gaping mouths, swallowing Chief Eunuch and his mount into the Qinhuai River with a tremendous splash.