Fifteen Days Between Two Capitals – Chapter 30

The eighth day of the sixth month, in the first year of Hongxi’s reign.

Wu Dingyuan hadn’t enjoyed such a leisurely life in a long time.

Previously, he had been unconscious. Now, for the past two days, he was fully awake in the Imperial Prison.

“Imperial Prison” was a colloquial term – its official name was the Imperial Gaol, managed by the Northern Commandery of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. It housed criminals arrested by imperial decree, all of whom were of distinguished status. Thus, the facilities here were far more comfortable than ordinary prisons, and the jailers’ attitudes were quite decent – after all, who knew when any of these imperial prisoners might be restored to their positions? It was best not to offend anyone.

Especially since the Emperor had directly issued a verbal decree requiring this particular prisoner to be well looked after. The subordinates naturally understood, sending in fine wine and good food like flowing water. Wu Dingyuan ate and drank to his heart’s content, occasionally throwing dice with the jailers and chatting with them, experiencing unprecedented relaxation. As for how the Emperor would deal with him, he didn’t care at all.

He had just finished eating braised pork knuckles from Fuxing Restaurant and had two measures of strong spirits. Feeling slightly drowsy, he was about to doze off against the corner wall when suddenly, a jailer came to knock on the bars, saying there was a visitor. Wu Dingyuan looked up to see Yu Qian walking in with a solemn expression, holding a small yellow scroll. He was about to call out “Little Apricot,” but Yu Qian glared at him and spoke first: “By imperial decree, the imperial prisoner Wu Dingyuan is to be transferred to the Ministry of Justice Prison for deliberation by the Three Judicial Offices!”

The Imperial Gaol of the Northern Commandery was under direct imperial management – imprisonment or release required just one word from the Emperor. However the Ministry of Justice Prison was a formal legal prison, where prisoners’ entry and exit required proper procedures, and sentencing needed joint deliberation from the Ministry of Justice, the Court of Judicial Review, and the Censorate. Wu Dingyuan’s transfer from the Imperial Gaol to the Ministry of Justice Prison meant the Emperor no longer wished to handle his case personally, and everything would be judged according to the Great Ming Code.

Wu Dingyuan understood all these intricacies, given his background as a constable. He wasn’t upset, just smiled slightly at Yu Qian and rose to be shackled. Yu Qian waved off the jailer: “The prisoner’s right hand is already damaged, there’s no need. Let him be.”

He led Wu Dingyuan out of the Imperial Gaol, heading south along the palace corridor towards the Ministry of Justice Prison outside the Thousand Steps Gallery. Yu Qian abandoned his usual chattiness, remaining silent throughout and never looking back. Only the long wings of his black official hat would occasionally tremble, betraying his unsettled state of mind.

Strangely enough, while this road was usually heavily guarded, with fixed sentry posts on the walls and patrolling soldiers on the ground, today they had all disappeared. The entire corridor was extremely quiet, with only the two of them walking slowly. After turning a corner, Yu Qian suddenly stopped, and without turning around, asked, “Does your head still hurt?”

“Only when I see him.”

“Don’t worry about Hong Yu and your sister. His Majesty has already arranged for their proper care.”

Wu Dingyuan nodded: “Thank you. I have no other concerns now.”

“You… why are you so stubborn!” Yu Qian still didn’t turn around, but clearly couldn’t hold back anymore, stamping his foot hard, “If you had just discussed it with me beforehand, it wouldn’t have come to this – now no one can save you!”

“Some things can’t be compromised just because he’s the Emperor. I’m grateful for this headache; it keeps reminding me.” Wu Dingyuan looked up at the tall walls of the Forbidden City, “I may not have the power to change everything, but I still have the freedom to withhold my understanding.”

“That day, I forcefully dragged you into this mess, and today I’m the one sending you to the Ministry of Justice Prison. You want to be Han Xin, but I don’t want to be Xiao He! Wu Dingyuan, you fool! Our paths end here today!”

As they were speaking, there was suddenly the sound of a door moving nearby. Wu Dingyuan looked sideways to see a narrow-wheeled cart entering the corridor through a side door at the base of the tall vermillion wall.

This side door was exclusively used by palace servants, where daily miscellaneous goods were brought in and garbage and waste were taken out. On the cart sat four deep, wide wooden barrels, emanating a faint stench – it was a night soil cart carrying palace waste. Two waste collectors wearing bamboo hats were managing the cart, one holding the handles at the back, one pulling from the front.

The cart rumbled up to Wu Dingyuan’s side, and the worker pulling at the front lifted his hat, revealing a delicate face: “Master, we’ve come to get you.” Wu Dingyuan was surprised to see it was Zuo Yehe, and the one pushing the cart was Zhou Dewen. How had these two managed to sneak into the Forbidden City? Wu Dingyuan was quite shocked and quickly turned to look at Yu Qian, who still had his back turned, pretending to be completely unaware of what was happening behind him.

Zuo Yehe didn’t say much, quickly lifting the lid of one barrel and inviting Wu Dingyuan to sit inside. The barrel was quite wide in diameter and had been cleaned thoroughly; when he curled up inside, the wooden lid fit perfectly. Wu Dingyuan finally understood what Yu Qian meant by “our paths end here.” This little apricot, who appeared so upright and honest, had quite the dirty methods. In Nanjing, he had already made the Crown Prince lie in a night soil cart, and now he was using the same trick, making Wu Dingyuan endure the same stench. Wu Dingyuan felt a wave of emotion – for someone of Yu Qian’s character, allowing White Lotus members to infiltrate the Forbidden City to rescue an imperial prisoner was truly extraordinary.

“Hey, when I leave, won’t you…”

Zuo Yehe said in a low voice: “Master, don’t ask. Censor Yu cannot turn around, much less answer.”

Wu Dingyuan immediately understood. By not answering, this would simply be a White Lotus Society rescue operation. If Yu Qian were to respond, it would become a case of internal and external collusion. Everyone understood this, but appearances had to be maintained.

He looked at Yu Qian’s back standing in the middle of the corridor one last time, then curled up inside the barrel. As the wooden lid blocked out the light, Wu Dingyuan suddenly felt something wasn’t quite right. Given Little Apricot’s character, while public pleading might be possible, he would never engage in prisoner rescue operations. Moreover, how could Zuo Yehe and the others possibly come and go freely in the heavily guarded Forbidden City? Where had all the corridor guards gone?

Wu Dingyuan suddenly had a strange feeling, as if a pair of eyes were watching everything from afar, but he couldn’t confirm it now. At this moment, Yu Qian, still with his back turned, suddenly made a deep bow. The night soil cart slowly moved out through the side door, heading along the outer corridor toward the exit.

Throughout its entire journey leaving the Forbidden City, there was indeed a gaze from high above, watching from the top of a distant enemy tower, never leaving that small black dot. Only after the cart had left, completely departing the Forbidden City, did this gaze withdraw from the top of that tall enemy tower.

“You always complain about being confined to a small space, but am I any different? Well, we’ve known each other for a while – at least one of us should be free.” The Emperor murmured to himself, suddenly remembering the “Champion Dragon” he had almost set free.

“The Marquis of Fuyang and Princess Yongping have arrived,” announced the young eunuch outside.

“Have them wait for me in the Southern Study,” Zhu Zhanji said expressionlessly, then turned to descend the enemy tower.

This Marquis of Fuyang, Li Maofang, was a timid middle-aged man who shrank behind his mother, Princess Yongping, saying nothing. When Princess Yongping saw her nephew, though her face was full of smiles, there remained a hint of wariness in her brow. Though she didn’t know the details of the recent events in the capital, she knew her two brothers had come into conflict. There were no small matters in the royal family, and as a princess of the Zhu family, she naturally possessed basic political instincts. The Li family had been severely punished by Emperor Hongxi just last August, and they couldn’t afford any mistakes now.

When Zhu Zhanji saw the two, he first exchanged pleasantries, with both sides tacitly avoiding any mention of Emperor Hongxi and the Prince of Han. When the groundwork had been sufficiently laid, Zhu Zhanji asked, “My coronation ceremony is approaching, and close ministers will all receive rewards. Marquis of Fuyang, you previously had your noble patent revoked by the late Emperor – I called you here to see if there might be an opportunity to make amends.”

Mother and son were both stunned; they hadn’t expected Zhu Zhanji to be so kind.

“However, I cannot completely reverse old decrees upon ascending the throne, as that would violate filial piety, so we’ll have to find a workaround. Instead of returning the noble patent to you, we can give it to your son.”

Princess Yongping awkwardly replied, “Your Majesty, Maofang only had one son named Li Zhi, who passed away three years ago.”

“Oh?” Zhu Zhanji was somewhat surprised, “Did he not leave behind any children?”

“No, even his widowed daughter-in-law who lived in the residence passed away last year.”

Zhu Zhanji softened his tone: “Oh, I did hear about that incident. Wasn’t it my uncle, Marquis Zhang, who sent you a prescription?”

“Yes, indeed, but she was suffering from the wood-yan disease, and even that prescription couldn’t save her.”

“What was the prescription called?”

Princess Yongping and her son exchanged glances, both somewhat confused. Li Maofang had a better memory: “Sini Huiyang Decoction.”

Zhu Zhanji made a sound of acknowledgment and continued, “Do you still have this prescription?”

Li Maofang said, “It should still be in the study. I can have someone present it to Your Majesty.”

“No need, I’ll send someone to fetch it.”

Zhu Zhanji called a young eunuch and gave him Li Maofang’s letter of authorization to go to the Fuyang Marquis residence, specifically instructing him to personally witness the prescription being retrieved.

“Did you share this prescription with anyone else?”

Princess Yongping pursed her lips: “Though Marquis Zhang meant well, that prescription was truly ineffective. How could we give it to others?”

“How did Wang Jinhu contract this wood-yan disease?”

Princess Yongping was somewhat puzzled about why the Emperor kept circling back to Wang Jinhu – perhaps some palace concubines had contracted the same illness? She vaguely replied, “She accidentally hit her head on a screen, the impact was too severe.”

Zhu Zhanji suddenly noticed Li Maofang’s lips twitch noticeably, and sweat began to form on his forehead. Princess Yongping inconspicuously shifted her position, trying to shield her son.

“There is indeed something wrong!” Zhu Zhanji’s suspicions grew stronger, and he unceremoniously pushed Princess Yongping aside. “Speak quickly! How did Wang Jinhu die?”

When the Emperor suddenly shouted like this, Li Maofang’s shoulders began to shake like sifting chaff. As Zhu Zhanji rose and pressed forward, Li Maofang slipped off his round stool with a “thud,” falling directly to his knees. Seeing her son so incompetent, Princess Yongping angrily pounded his back, but it was too late.

Li Maofang stammered out his response, leaving Zhu Zhanji dumbfounded – he hadn’t expected to uncover a story of such debauchery. It turned out this old man had developed lustful desires for his widowed daughter-in-law and tried to force himself on her in the residence. Wang Jinhu was righteous and resisted to the death. During their struggle, she accidentally hit her head on a stone screen, rendering her unconscious.

Though Princess Yongping knew her son had committed a bestial act, she could only try desperately to cover it up, falsely claiming to others that Wang Jinhu had contracted wood-yan disease. The physicians who were called treated her according to this misdiagnosis, naturally to no effect, and she died within days. Hearing this, Zhu Zhanji’s anger erupted uncontrollably. No wonder Su Jingxi had traveled thousands of li from Suzhou to seek revenge – for a woman to be so brutally harmed by her own family was truly outrageous.

Princess Yongping’s face turned pale, and forgetting her dignity, she quickly knelt beside Li Maofang, begging the Emperor to show leniency for the late Emperor’s sake. This only made Zhu Zhanji more furious – if Li Maofang hadn’t created this scandal, he wouldn’t have received the “Sini Huiyang Decoction” prescription from Zhang Quan, which wouldn’t have fallen into the Prince of Han’s hands, triggering the subsequent chain of events.

He kicked out violently, stomping hard on Li Maofang’s chest, causing him to cry out in pain and collapse to the ground. Princess Yongping let out a shriek, rushing over to support her son, and began wailing: “Your Majesty, please understand, it was that little harlot Wang Jinhu who seduced Maofang! She had been widowed for three years and was already stirring with spring desires – it wasn’t Maofang’s fault!”

This woman, for the sake of her degenerate son, had begun to randomly malign the dead. Zhu Zhanji was about to kick again, but his leg froze mid-motion.

Wait, widowed for three years?

Wang Jinhu died in the twenty-second year of Yongle, so her husband Li Zhi must have died in the nineteenth year of Yongle. But Zhu Zhanji clearly remembered Su Jingxi saying that Wang Jinhu had married into the Beijing family in the twentieth year of Yongle – the timeline didn’t add up.

“When did Li Zhi and Wang Jinhu marry?”

“In the nineteenth year of Yongle,” Princess Yongping answered in a low voice, barely daring to breathe. “My grandson was frail, and the fortune teller said a wedding would bring good luck. We searched everywhere and finally found a family in Xuanfu willing to marry into the Fuyang Marquis household. Unfortunately, my grandson’s fate was thin – he passed away after just a few months. If not for this, how could such a disgraceful scandal have happened later…” At this painful memory, she broke into loud sobs.

But Zhu Zhanji’s mind was focused on something else: “Xuanfu? Wasn’t her native place Suzhou’s Changzhou?”

Princess Yongping looked at the Emperor in confusion: “She was born and raised in Xuanfu – how could she have been registered in Suzhou?” Li Maofang quickly raised his head to curry favor: “We still have the betrothal letter at home, I can show it to Your Majesty.”

Now Zhu Zhanji was quite puzzled. These two had admitted to such a shameful act of incest – they had no reason to lie about this. He immediately dispatched another young eunuch to investigate the Fuyang Marquis residence.

Shortly after, the first eunuch returned. He had gone directly to the sandalwood cabinet without letting the servants handle it, retrieved the prescription, and brought it back. When Zhu Zhanji examined it, it was indeed in his uncle’s handwriting and called “Sini Huiyang Decoction,” but the contents were completely different from the life-saving prescription stored in the Imperial Medical Bureau.

This was strange. If Zhang Quan’s Sini Huiyang Decoction given to the Fuyang Marquis wasn’t the life-saving prescription, then Princess Yongping couldn’t have given the prescription to the Prince of Han. Zhu Zhanji’s entire line of reasoning fell apart.

The second eunuch arrived slightly later. He had retrieved the betrothal letter from the Fuyang Marquis’s residence and questioned several servants and maids, along with neighbors, matchmakers, and relatives who had attended the wedding – Wang Jinhu was undoubtedly from Xuanfu. This was even stranger. Wang Jinhu’s background and the time she married into the Fuyang Marquis family didn’t match Su Jingxi’s description. Princess Yongping and Li Maofang also stated they had never heard Wang Jinhu mention the name Su Jingxi.

Thoroughly confused, Zhu Zhanji could only send the two back to their residence for self-reflection. He wanted to summon Su Jingxi to the palace for detailed questioning but then realized that since Wu Dingyuan had escaped, she had probably already left the capital with him. He would likely never see her again. Zhu Zhanji felt an inexplicable surge of jealousy, which quickly turned into remorse and deep guilt. He raised his left hand, gently touching the old wound on his shoulder, as if he could still feel the warmth of those delicate hands.

After the situation had stabilized, the Imperial physicians had examined him and marveled that His Majesty could remain so healthy after fifteen days of jolting travel with such a wound – surely it was heaven’s blessing. But Zhu Zhanji knew it wasn’t heaven’s blessing at all – if not for Su Jingxi’s careful attention, he would have died from the arrow wound’s complications.

And this virtuous and loyal woman, after arriving in Beijing, had become deeply reserved, claiming no credit, not even mentioning his promise to help her seek revenge. He knew she didn’t want to distract him from his important affairs or cause him trouble. But the more she acted this way, the more guilty he felt – if he couldn’t even fulfill this small promise, how could he be a proper ruler?

This matter still needs investigation. Even if Su Physician wouldn’t speak of it, he couldn’t just pretend ignorance and let it pass.

Zhu Zhanji made up his mind, and his mood improved somewhat. Just then, the Hanlin Academy came to ask about the reign name. He opened the book and, suddenly inspired, marked the character “Xuande” with his vermillion brush.

“Inform the Court of Imperial Sacrifices that we’ll use this reign name – it looks auspicious.”

At this moment, Empress Dowager Zhang entered the hall, her face full of surprise: “I just saw your aunt leaving in tears – what did you say to Princess Yongping?”

“The things her son has done!” The Emperor briefly explained the Fuyang Marquis’s incest and murder case, shocking the Empress Dowager.

After lamenting the family’s lack of morality, Empress Dowager Zhang said: “If you have time now, there’s a palace matter that needs your consideration.” Zhu Zhanji was in no mood to handle such things: “Mother, you can decide on matters of the inner palace.”

“No, this matter requires your participation.” Empress Dowager Zhang was firm. Zhu Zhanji had to set aside the matter of Su Jingxi and inquire with his mother.

Empress Dowager Zhang beckoned, and several palace maids brought forward a stack of brocade-edged documents, placing them on the desk. Zhu Zhanji glanced at the cover – they were palace personnel registers. Empress Dowager Zhang adjusted her breathing before speaking: “When the late Emperor passed, there were virtuous consorts who followed him. I hope Your Majesty will permit them to accompany him in the imperial tomb, as was done in life.” The room’s temperature suddenly dropped.

This has been a tradition since the founding of the Ming Dynasty. After Emperor Hongwu’s death, thirty-eight consorts sacrificed themselves for burial, entering the Xiaoling Mausoleum. Emperor Yongle’s final edict required “funeral rites to follow the Founder’s precedent,” resulting in sixteen consorts and numerous palace maids being buried in the Changling Mausoleum. Emperor Yongle’s words about “following the Founder’s precedent” cemented burial sacrifice as ancestral law. Now with Emperor Hongxi’s passing, this tradition of burial sacrifice naturally couldn’t be exempted.

Zhu Zhanji opened his mouth but found his throat too dry to make a sound. This wasn’t battlefield killing or executing traitors – it was sending a group of completely innocent consorts into the tomb.

“When did this happen?”

Empress Dowager Zhang replied expressionlessly: “On the twenty-fourth of May, the night the late Emperor passed. Noble Consort Guo, Pure Consort Wang, Beautiful Consort Wang, Obedient Consort Tan, and Favored Consort Huang – five women in total who willingly sacrificed themselves to accompany the dragon’s ascension as honored guests.”

An uncontrollable chill rose from Zhu Zhanji’s heart. He had met all five consorts – some kind and generous, some clever, some timid, some strong-willed, each with their personality, but now they were all dead.

He had known about burial sacrifices before but had no direct experience of them. Only when these familiar people sacrificed themselves did Zhu Zhanji feel the bone-deep chill. The phrase “willingly sacrificed themselves” was just a euphemism – he knew that no one would give up their life without cause, willingly entering that gloomy tomb.

“The Prince of Han was pressing too hard at the time, insisting that the late Emperor couldn’t be without attendants, that the inner palace should set an example, and he brought up ancestral law. I knew he was using this as a pretext, but the situation was precarious – we couldn’t give him any excuse. I had no choice but to select five consorts who ‘voluntarily’ accompanied their lord that night.”

The Empress Dowager spoke coldly, but Zhu Zhanji’s stomach cramped. Five lives were extinguished in one night, just to avoid giving others a pretext. The Prince of Han was hateful indeed, but the Empress Dowager’s methods were equally thunderous.

Seeing the Emperor’s apparent reluctance, Empress Dowager Zhang said: “The Prince of Han originally wanted to follow the Founder’s precedent of thirty-eight consorts, intending to slaughter the entire inner palace. I argued with him for half a day to reduce the sacrifices to five – it couldn’t be fewer. At least those five consorts would have had to follow the late Emperor eventually – it just happened a few days earlier.”

Zhu Zhanji looked at her in surprise: “So Mother, you’re not grieving for the five consorts’ deaths, just thinking the timing was wrong.”

“When an emperor passes, consorts being buried with him – this is our Great Ming’s ancestral system.”

The Great Ming ruled through filial piety, and the words “ancestral law” came down like cast iron, difficult even for an emperor to dispute. Zhu Zhanji could only close his eyes painfully, unable to meet his mother’s indifferent gaze.

Thinking the Emperor was blaming her, Empress Dowager Zhang’s eyes immediately reddened: “At that time, I was watching over the late Emperor’s coffin, protecting your two brothers, and constantly monitoring the funeral proceedings while guarding against the Prince of Han’s schemes – I was truly exhausted and could not consider alternatives.”

Zhu Zhanji quickly comforted his mother, patting her shoulder: “This was the Prince of Han’s treachery, not your fault, Mother. We’ll settle this account slowly in Le’an Prefecture.”

Empress Dowager Zhang wiped her eyes and raised her head: “The five consorts’ coffins are still stored by the palace wall. If Your Majesty doesn’t mark their names in the palace personnel register with vermillion, they cannot enter the mausoleum.”

According to custom, the selection of burial consorts was to be made by the succeeding emperor, but Zhu Zhanji’s situation was special. Now he needed to add his marks to complete the ceremony.

Zhu Zhanji took the palace personnel register and began turning the pages. It listed all the consorts of Hongxi’s inner palace – their names, native places, backgrounds, birth dates, and times of entering the palace and receiving titles, all in great detail. He read carefully, marking with vermillion ink the names of those who were sacrificed. Each circle felt like adding another shocking bloodstain before his eyes.

After finishing the register, Zhu Zhanji felt his breathing constricted. He tossed aside the register and said to Empress Dowager Zhang: “When Father’s mausoleum is complete, these five consorts should all receive a proper burial with honors, and their families should be rewarded appropriately, but… let’s keep it at five. No more additions.”

Empress Dowager Zhang nodded silently.

Zhu Zhanji glanced sideways and saw several more palace personnel registers, presumably from the Hongwu and Yongle reigns. He picked one up to browse, and every few pages he could see names marked with imperial vermillion circles, some pages filled with marks. The circles were densely packed, like bloody hands reaching out from the tomb.

“The Founder passed too long ago to discuss. But the Taizong Emperor only passed last year, with many burial sacrifices – perhaps some haven’t received proper care. Let’s remedy this all at once.”

Zhu Zhanji flipped through the register, familiar and unfamiliar names flashing past. Suddenly, his brows furrowed, and he quickly turned back several pages, looking carefully. His gaze seemed welded to the register, unable to move away for a long time. Empress Dowager Zhang noticed her son’s strange expression and called to him several times with no response. Thinking he was in a trance, she hurriedly shook his body.

She saw Zhu Zhanji’s features frozen like a wooden statue, allowing her to shake him while staring blankly. Empress Dowager Zhang keenly sensed that something in her son’s heart seemed to be cracking open, held together only by sheer will to prevent collapse.

At this moment, Hai Shou arrived at the door, saying he had something to report. The Empress Dowager answered for the Emperor, and Hai Shou entered with a small fish-shaped message tube, saying it was an urgent letter from Suzhou, originally addressed to Marquis Zhang, but he had instructed before leaving that if he wasn’t present, it should be sent directly to the palace.

Hearing the word “Suzhou,” a gleam flashed in Zhu Zhanji’s eyes. He reached out, emptied the paper roll from the tube, read it several times, and then looked up at the packages of medicine by the couch. He suddenly stood and strode quickly out of the Southern Study.

“Where are you going, Your Majesty?” Empress Dowager Zhang was startled.

“Mount Tianshou!” Zhu Zhanji replied without looking back, walking faster and faster.

“What are you going there for?”

“To get some answers!” The Emperor tossed out this cryptic response, his figure already through the door, nearly knocking Hai Shou over.

Just as Zhu Zhanji was leaving the Southern Study, Wu Dingyuan was climbing out of the night soil cart.

Though the barrel had been thoroughly cleaned, it had been used before, and that faint smell couldn’t be eliminated. Wu Dingyuan didn’t know if this was the Emperor’s intentional revenge or Zuo Yehe’s oversight, and could only awkwardly keep wiping himself. Looking up, he saw the towering Wansong Elder’s Pagoda before him.

It turned out this night soil cart had stopped at Ruan An’s door in Brick Pagoda Hutong.

Entering the house, Ruan An was characteristically indifferent, continuing to study the construction plans for the Nine Gates and Nine Locks. Zuo Yehe instructed Zhou Dewen to open another clean barrel, which contained five hundred and one taels of pure silver ingots, with pearls stuffed in the gaps between them. Among this pile of silver ingots was stuck a goose-quill saber.

He could read Zhu Zhanji’s meaning: from now on, their relationship was severed, with no debts between them.

Zuo Yehe stood beside him: “Having some regrets?”

Wu Dingyuan looked up: “Different people do different things. I am Tie Xuan’s son – how could I shamelessly serve as an official under a Zhu family emperor?”

“To strike the Emperor with a blade and still escape with your life – tsk tsk, in all the Great Ming, only you, Master, could achieve this.”

“Don’t call me Master.” Wu Dingyuan frowned, looking at Zuo Yehe, “The White Lotus Society bet on the Crown Prince, and because of my one strike, not only did you fail to receive rewards, but you’re forced to flee together – truly a great loss.”

Zuo Yehe crunched on dates: “As you said, Master, different people do different things. We’re just wild fox chan practitioners risen from the mud – even if we gained temporary recognition from the court, we’d run into trouble sooner or later. Why bother seeking that kind of trouble?”

“Then wasn’t all your effort wasted?”

Zuo Yehe laughed: “Not at all, not at all. Master, you’ve been unconscious and don’t know – throughout the Northern Metropolitan Area, everyone’s talking about how a demon dragon was going to flood the capital, but the Buddha Mother manifested her divine power and, in a single night, brought forth a lotus dam on the Imperial Street to block the dragon’s flood, saving countless lives, then removed the dam overnight. Now the masses burning incense and joining the altar are as numerous as mountains and seas, all praising the Buddha Mother.”

Wu Dingyuan was speechless, never expecting that night’s community self-rescue effort would be transformed into such a tale. Zuo Yehe narrowed her eyes, her tone slightly shifting: “Actually, whether it’s the Prince of Han or the Crown Prince, who becomes Emperor makes no difference to our holy sect. Even the success or failure of the two capitals’ plot is irrelevant. The holy sect doesn’t seek court recognition or gold and silver rewards – we only want opportunities to create stories. Think about it: common people don’t understand scriptures or care for reasoning, they just love semi-true legendary stories about the Buddha Mother’s manifestations. If the Crown Prince had been blown up in Nanjing and the Prince of Han had ascended the throne, there would have been another story: the Buddha Mother manifesting in Jinling, striking down with lightning the demon possessing the Crown Prince. The effect would have been the same.”

The chaos across the realm was merely story material for the White Lotus – this was the Buddha Mother’s core purpose. Wu Dingyuan recalled his conversation at the White Robe Temple, and couldn’t help but admire that old woman’s insight. “Without spending money or wielding weapons, the White Lotus’s foundation relies on these stories. As long as they circulate among the people, our holy sect will never perish,” said Zuo Yehe.

“Hmph, you promoted me to Master also because you saw the story value of Tie Xuan’s son, to help you attract believers, right?”

Zuo Yehe asked with a grin: “So will you still serve as Master?”

“If I don’t, what will you do?”

“It doesn’t matter. After escorting you back to Nanjing, I’ll return to Jinan, create a story about the Buddha Mother ascending to heaven, take over the sect’s affairs, and continue as before.”

Hearing this, Wu Dingyuan felt slightly ashamed. Zuo Yehe casually waved her hand: “Sister Su told me that the plant Zuo Yehe doesn’t seek favor when planted doesn’t pursue profit when dwelling, doesn’t offer fragrance for others, and doesn’t depend on the location to grow. She said this was the Buddha Mother’s intention in naming me. I didn’t fully understand at first, but after building the dam on Imperial Street, I truly grasped the Buddha Mother’s meaning – she never saw me as weak grass seeking shelter under a great tree, but as moss deeply rooted in lowly places, able to stand independently in the wind. Even without you, I can lead them to survive.”

Zuo Yehe’s eyes revealed joy and determination at finding her true direction. Wu Dingyuan silently marveled that such a simple dam had simultaneously fulfilled two people – one of the court and one of the common folk – perhaps this truly was the Buddha Mother’s manifestation.

“By the way, where’s Jingxi?” Wu Dingyuan looked around.

He had been unconscious for several days, and as soon as he woke up, Yu Qian had dragged him to the Forbidden City and then straight to the Imperial Prison – he hadn’t seen Su Jingxi at all. In fact, since that night when they had pledged their love, he hadn’t been close to her. Now that his heart’s burden was lifted and the great matter concluded, he was eager to see her and talk with her properly.

Zuo Yehe smiled: “Actually, Sister Su came to me after you were imprisoned. She calculated quite accurately, telling us to remain calm – within days, someone would come to resolve things voluntarily.”

“Then where is she?”

“She said she had one small matter to attend to in the capital and would join us after completing it.”

“Those were her exact words?”

“Yes, why?”

Wu Dingyuan, like a keen hunting dog, sensed something strange in the tone. Su Jingxi’s business in the capital could only be avenging Wang Jinhu – this was by no means a small matter. She had described it so lightly as if deliberately concealing something. Could it be because of him? Wu Dingyuan’s heart jumped. He had broken with the Emperor, meaning Su Jingxi couldn’t get court support, and Wang Jinhu’s marital family was likely powerful – given her character, she might attempt revenge alone.

“She just said that and left?”

Wu Dingyuan stared at Zuo Yehe, his gaze hot and sharp, like two red-hot pokers fresh from the forge. Zuo Yehe said yes, but Wu Dingyuan immediately caught an unnatural expression on her face.

“What else did she say? Tell me quickly!” He grabbed Zuo Yehe’s arms fiercely, sensing something was amiss. Zuo Yehe hadn’t expected her casual words would put her in such a difficult position with the Master. The more she tried to evade, the more suspicious Wu Dingyuan became.

“There are things you don’t know. Jingxi staying behind alone this time – she could be in mortal danger!” Wu Dingyuan said urgently.

Hearing this, Zuo Yehe reluctantly lowered her voice: “She… she also left a letter for you, telling me to give it to you after we crossed the Yellow River.”

“Where’s the letter?”

Cursing her carelessness, Zuo Yehe grudgingly took out an envelope from her bosom. Before she could fully retrieve it, Wu Dingyuan snatched it away, tearing open the envelope with a “rip” and pulling out several sheets of peach-red letterpaper.

The pages were filled with tiny regular script, clearly Su Jingxi’s handwriting. Considering Wu Dingyuan’s literacy level, it was written in simple, colloquial language. Wu Dingyuan found a stone fortress model to sit on in the courtyard and began reading the letter. He read for nearly half an hour – the longest continuous reading he had ever done in his life. Zuo Yehe saw his complete concentration and wanted to tease him, but quickly realized something was wrong.

Wu Dingyuan’s wrists were trembling slightly, his jaw muscles repeatedly tightening, making his sunken cheeks appear even more gaunt. A fine network of blood vessels silently surfaced in his eye sockets. He kept reading, almost becoming one with the stone fortress. Zuo Yehe didn’t dare disturb him and could only wait patiently beside him.

After scanning the last line, Wu Dingyuan folded the letter carefully, tucked it into his bosom, and then raised his head: “Ruan An, are you familiar with the Changling area of Mount Tianshou?”

Ruan An, absorbed in his drawings, didn’t look up: “I did participate in Changling’s construction.”

“Are there any models or blueprints in this courtyard?”

“After imperial mausoleums are completed, models and blueprints must be destroyed.”

Wu Dingyuan walked up to him, pushed aside the half-finished drawing, and placed a new sheet in front: “I don’t need the tomb’s interior, just the terrain distribution around the mausoleum. Draw me a simple map now – it must be accurate! And quick!” Though Ruan An didn’t understand why, he picked up his charcoal pen and quickly drew a simple map of Changling. Wu Dingyuan tucked away the map, took a few silver ingots from the clean barrel, drew the goose-quill saber, and walked toward the door.

Zuo Yehe exclaimed: “Master, where are you going?”

“Mount Tianshou.”

“What are you going there for?”

“To get some answers!”

In the fifth year of Yongle, when Empress Renxiao Xu passed away, the court had originally planned to build the imperial tomb at Purple Mountain in Jinling.

But a geomancer named Liao Junqing told Emperor Yongle: “The royal qi has moved north to Yan; the mausoleum should be built in Beiping to secure the foundation for a hundred years.” He went to Yan and finally selected an auspicious site called Yellow Earth Mountain.

This Yellow Earth Mountain lay northwest of the capital, a remnant range of the Taihang Mountains, and northern screen of the Yan fief. Its magnificent and solemn mountain ranges rolled continuously, like thousands of heavenly horses galloping down from the nine heavens. Protected by dragon and tiger mountains on either side, complete with front court and rear support, and crossed by a jade belt of water, it was an excellent feng shui configuration. In Liao Junqing’s words: “Four mountains bow to the position, the grave formation is natural, capturing the righteous qi of the world, establishing a grand foundation for ten thousand generations.”

Construction of Changling officially began in the seventh year of Yongle, with the underground palace completed in the eleventh year. In the twenty-second year of Yongle, when the Emperor passed away, he was formally entombed in Changling to rest in eternal peace. Yellow Earth Mountain was renamed Mount Tianshou, becoming the Ming Dynasty’s most noble imperial ground. Emperor Hongxi’s planned tomb was also below Mount Tianshou, northwest of Changling, though currently only marked by some boundary trenches.

It was now nearly the end of the you hour and beginning of xu hour, with the eighth day of the sixth month drawing to a close. The setting sun, like an old man unwilling to depart, clung to the evening dew with weakening rays, desperately delaying the moment of being swallowed by the horizon. The heavy remaining light showered Mount Tianshou, making its three brush-rack peaks blood-red on one side and deeply mysterious on the other, outlining an eerie twilight around the mountain’s contours.

As the slanting light gradually retreated, the ink-black areas steadily expanded. Whether mountain flowers and trees or tomb-front pines and cypresses, whether Huangquan Temple’s bell and drum tower or Changling Guard’s garrison camp, all lost their original colors, assimilated into this netherworld as one. It was as if Changling was slowly opening its savage gates, drawing all earthly things into its pitch-black underground palace.

However, after the last trace of sunset disappeared, a fire dragon could be seen swiftly moving through the darkness from south to north, its head pointing directly at Changling. This fire dragon was formed by countless torches. In the snake-like procession, one could see the Imperial Stables’ Warrior Corps, the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s Light Cavalry, the Three Sons Camp’s Horse Masters, the Capital Prefecture’s Swift Hands, Changping County’s Braves, and others, all in different uniforms and equipment. Their only commonality was the bewildered expression on their faces, though none dared show any slack.

Because at the dragon’s head was the current Emperor. He rode the most fierce Liaodong stallion, galloping forward without a moment’s pause. No one knew where he was going or why.

From the moment Zhu Zhanji burst out of the Forbidden City, all departments along his path were inexplicably startled. How could the Emperor travel without advance notice by signal tablet or imperial procession escorts, just charging out alone on horseback? Out of responsibility, they all had to spur their horses to follow. Thus, unit by unit, camp by camp, and military forces continued to join along the way. By the time they approached Changling, this force had snowballed into a mixed army of nearly a thousand men.

On the journey from the capital to Mount Tianshou, Zhu Zhanji only changed horses once. Even Liaodong divine steeds couldn’t sustain such frantic running. Near Changling’s entrance, Zhu Zhanji’s mount let out a cry of anguish before collapsing, literally running itself to death. Zhu Zhanji rolled up from the ground, didn’t even spare it a glance, lifted his robes, and stumbled toward the red-sealed gate.

The people behind gradually reached the moon platform before the tomb gate but pulled their reins, not daring to advance. This was the Yongle Mausoleum – unauthorized entry meant death, especially since they carried weapons, which was even more taboo. The Emperor stopped, turned back, and shouted: “Don’t follow!” then passed through the gate alone, soon disappearing at the end of the spirit way.

Zhu Zhanji didn’t care about the confusion of those behind him; he had only one goal.

Tonight’s darkness was heavy, fortunately with a crescent moon hanging alone in the sky. The ethereal moonlight showering down, each beam directly illuminating the netherworld, draped the entire mausoleum in a silver-gray veil. Whether the left and right spirit temples, spirit storehouses, stele pavilions, or the tall stone sculptures along the spirit way, all projected a strong sense of detachment, as if soaked too long in the nine springs, bearing an unbridgeable gap with the world of the living.

The long journey had exhausted Zhu Zhanji but hadn’t dimmed the fire in his eyes at all. He ran swiftly along the spirit way with rapid footsteps, his winged benevolence hat tilted to one side, his mourning clothes in disarray, his rhinoceros belt loose, his gold-thread shoes lost, yet he refused to pause for a moment. In the vast Changling burial ground, the Emperor’s hurried footsteps echoed.

Zhu Zhanji had accompanied his father to offer sacrifices several times before and knew the mausoleum’s structure well. He went straight into the second courtyard, bypassed the sacrificial hall housing the spirit tablets, then passed under a star-pattern gate tower, and before him was a huge stone offering table.

This was a long white marble altar table with a sumeru base and upper and lower decorative borders. At the center of the tabletop were displayed one three-legged tripod-shaped stone incense burner, two lotus-petal stone candlesticks, and two handled stone vases for honoring the spirit tablets.

However, on the stone table before him, besides the five ritual vessels, there were pure white two-foot-long candles inserted everywhere. About thirty in number, their flames flickered like ghost fires, emitting a cold fragrance. Under each candle was pressed a strip of white silk. When the slightest ghostly wind blew across the hall, these silk tails would flutter, like pale, thin arms struggling.

Zhu Zhanji saw two people standing before the stone table. No, more precisely, one standing and one kneeling.

Zhang Quan, wearing his usual Taoist blue robe, knelt before the stone table, head bowed, life or death unknown. And that woman with the broad forehead and star-filled eyes, her hair long, stood beside him, holding a prayer tablet covered with a layer of green paper filled with vermillion characters.

Zhu Zhanji wanted to shout, but when the sound reached his lips, it was blocked by a mass of stagnant qi. Su Jingxi slowly turned her head; her smile was still gentle, but under the flickering candlelight, the shadows of her features lengthened and shortened, as if another her was hidden inside, and could no longer be contained.

“Your Majesty, you’ve caught up sooner than I expected,” Su Jingxi remarked admiringly.

Zhu Zhanji turned his gaze to Zhang Quan, and called out “Uncle,” but received no response. It wasn’t clear whether he had been drugged unconscious or was already dead. He shouted at Su Jingxi in frustration: “What have you done to my uncle?”

“Please don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’ve merely drugged Marquis Zhang unconscious. The ritual isn’t complete – he can’t die yet.” Su Jingxi pressed the fengchi acupoint on Zhang Quan’s neck, causing him to tilt his head back unconsciously, making some mumbling sounds.

Zhu Zhanji could hardly believe that this malicious woman was the same person who had carefully tended to him along their journey. He felt both angry and hurt, and after a long while, finally squeezed four words through his teeth: “You deceived me!”

Su Jingxi brushed the hair from her forehead and looked at the Emperor. In the moonlight, her face showed no trace of color, but her eyes were particularly sharp. If Zhu Zhanji had remembered the scene at Shence Gate that night, he would have realized she looked the same now as she did then.

“Yes,” Su Jingxi admitted frankly.

Hearing her confess it herself, Zhu Zhanji’s body shook as if bitten by a poisonous snake. A piercing pain spread from his shoulder, and fresh blood broke through the nearly healed scab, flowing down his arm. It wasn’t clear whether the wound had burst from the long journey or if his emotional turmoil had caused his qi and blood to surge.

But Zhu Zhanji’s heart hurt more than his shoulder wound. Wu Dingyuan and you both – I treated you with complete sincerity, yet you both harbored hidden schemes! One wanted to kill me, one wanted to deceive me… Hurt and anger alternately struck his spirit, making him almost unable to stand.

Su Jingxi said: “Control your anger, Your Majesty. Your arrow wound isn’t healed – this could harm your dragon body.”

“Stop your pretense!” Zhu Zhanji shouted angrily, pressing his shoulder and gritting his teeth, “Back in Nanjing, why didn’t you just poison me then? Why put on this show now!”

Su Jingxi showed slight surprise: “Your Majesty and I had no grudge – why would I have harmed you then?” She raised her hand and patted Zhang Quan’s head cloth: “I only want those who deserve death to die.” She bit off the last word, her eye corners suddenly tightening, blue veins rising on her broad forehead.

Zhu Zhanji reasoned that she was alone and moved forward, intending to rescue his uncle first. But as he stepped forward, he suddenly felt his whole body go soft. Alarmed, he thought: “Poison?” He fell sitting to the ground with a thud, his mind still clear but his limbs weak and powerless. The ethereal fragrance from those thirty-plus candles must have been laced with some strange drug. Zhu Zhanji silently regretted his carelessness – how could he have thought Su Jingxi wouldn’t prepare in advance, given her cunning?

“When did Your Majesty realize something was wrong?”

Zhu Zhanji laughed coldly: “I questioned the Marquis of Fuyang. Wang Jinhu wasn’t from Suzhou but from Xuanfu, and she didn’t know you at all! Your whole story about her was completely fabricated!”

Su Jingxi sighed softly: “She was an unfortunate girl, but we truly never met.”

Zhu Zhanji said: “With this one point invalidated, your other claims naturally fall apart. Guo Chunzhi and Zhang Quan did exchange letters, Zhang Quan gave the Sini Huiyang Decoction prescription to the Marquis of Fuyang, and the Marquis killed his daughter-in-law through his debauchery. But these three events had absolutely no connection! Even that Sini Huiyang Decoction was completely different from the life-saving prescription offered by the Prince of Han! It was all just a shameless lie you pieced together!”

“This story wasn’t entirely my invention,” Su Jingxi said with an ambiguous smile.

Zhu Zhanji paused, finally realizing what she meant. Su Jingxi hadn’t said anything – she had merely taken Zhang Quan’s letter to Ruan An, added a poetry manuscript envelope, and wrapped the medicine package in another similar paper. That was all. The connecting of clues had all been Zhu Zhanji’s deduction.

“Physician Su, you are truly skillful!” Zhu Zhanji said hatefully, “Without a word or trace, you let me think I had discovered secrets when you were manipulating everything from behind the scenes.”

Thinking back now, though Su Jingxi had seemed quiet and dutiful throughout their journey, in every conversation she had either given subtle reminders or clever hints, imperceptibly guiding the others. The reason Zhu Zhanji believed this story full of holes was that Su Jingxi had been subtly misleading him from the beginning.

A chill rose in Zhu Zhanji’s chest. Her grasp of psychology was too precise, like an antelope hanging by its horns – leaving no trace. Except for Wu Dingyuan’s slight suspicion, the other two had noticed nothing. Su Jingxi was like a spider, patiently weaving her web, slowly drawing people into her trap.

“I’ve been watching Zhang Quan’s movements in the capital since last year. When I learned he had given a prescription to the Marquis of Fuyang, I dug a little and uncovered the Marquis’s scandal. I hadn’t decided how to use it, but Your Majesty gave me an opportunity, so I found a way to connect it to the Prince of Han’s life-saving prescription.”

“Then where did the Prince of Han’s life-saving prescription come from?”

“This humble subject doesn’t know.”

“So the two prescriptions had absolutely no connection, right?”

“When someone holds preconceptions, they tend to believe only what fits those preconceptions,” Su Jingxi said. “I only needed to plant the preconception in Your Majesty’s mind and make slight adjustments at a few key points – Your Majesty naturally filled in the rest of the story. It wasn’t very difficult.”

Zhu Zhanji felt somewhat ashamed and angry but had to admit Su Jingxi was entirely correct.

From the beginning, the story had holes. But the Crown Prince was fleeing from Nanjing to the capital, barely able to take care of himself, let alone verify anything. This factor had been calculated by Su Jingxi as well.

“No, your marriage to Guo Chunzhi’s son Guo Zhimin was a key part of the story. But before the incident in Nanjing, I didn’t know you at all, much less involve you!” Zhu Zhanji suddenly realized another possibility, “Unless… you knew something would happen? Were you also involved in the two capitals’ plot?”

“If I had been involved in that conspiracy, why would I have helped Your Majesty return to the capital?” Su Jingxi’s tone was somewhat helpless, “Of course, I wasn’t entirely ignorant either. I had been collecting various information in the capital and vaguely sensed such a grand conspiracy. I approached Guo Zhimin wanting to investigate, but moved too slowly – barely touching the edge before the plot was launched. I couldn’t withdraw in time and was captured by Wu Dingyuan.”

Zhu Zhanji relaxed slightly, but upon hearing that name, his voice darkened again: “What about Wu Dingyuan? Was he also just a pawn in your hand?” His tone was quite strange, showing both indignation and an inexplicable hint of jealousy.

Hearing this name, Su Jingxi said coldly: “Your Majesty has no right to ask. If I hadn’t prompted Dingyuan to take the spirit tablets of Hongwu and Yongle, he would have been killed by Zhang Quan’s trap long ago.”

“Don’t change the subject. Your private engagement to him – did that also have some purpose?”

Su Jingxi studied Zhu Zhanji’s face, suddenly smiling: “Your Majesty truly is different from other emperors. Even at this moment, you’re concerned about the romantic affairs of an irrelevant person.”

“What irrelevant person! You were someone I let…” Zhu Zhanji suddenly cut off his own words, “…yes, you’re right, he is irrelevant, irrelevant to both of us.” He was silent for a while before reorganizing his thoughts: “Why did you go to such lengths to frame my uncle?”

“Naturally for revenge.” At this point, Su Jingxi’s eyes flashed, “Hasn’t Your Majesty come here in the night because you’ve already discovered the reason?”

Zhu Zhanji’s expression showed not anger but anxious evasion as if he had done something guilty. He opened his mouth but found he couldn’t make a sound.

Su Jingxi said: “Perhaps I don’t need to answer?”

A deathly silence fell before the stone altar table. Then a hoarse voice came from the ink-black darkness: “Say it. I want to hear it too.”

Zhu Zhanji and Su Jingxi were both startled, turning their heads to see a tall, thin man emerge from behind a large cypress tree, his expression showing neither anger nor joy. His right arm hung limply, his clothes covered in dust, clearly showing signs of long travel without rest. When they saw it was him, both showed extremely complex expressions: surprise, joy, worry, and anger.

“Weren’t you supposed to have left the capital?” they asked in unison.

Wu Dingyuan showed a faint smile, unclear whether mocking himself or them: “If Heaven truly had a mind, it should have made me turn back at Fan Gu Platform half a month ago, and none of this would have happened. Though the world is vast, you two are the only ones I cannot stay uninvolved with.”

Wu Dingyuan slowly walked to the stone altar table, first stooping down to lift with his left hand a white silk strip from under a candle, bearing an unfamiliar name written in elegant ink. Another white silk strip bore a different name. He looked for a while, suddenly moved by something, and raised his head to look diagonally upward.

The flickering candlelight revealed a huge dome-like shadow behind the stone altar table, almost merging with Mount Tianshou’s main peak.

This was a circular earthen mound, bound by battlements outside and walls inside, called the Precious City – beneath it lay the underground palace where Emperor Yongle and Empress Xu rested. At the front of the Precious City rose a square building with a xieshan roof, multiple eaves and bracket sets, arched doors on all four sides, and yellow tube tiles covering the roof. A wooden plaque across it bore two large golden characters: “Changling.”

The entrance to Emperor Yongle’s tomb was right here.

Surrounded by firelight, Wu Dingyuan seemed to return to that cramped prison cell in the Imperial Entertainment Bureau. The true enemy of the Tie family was within reach. His life’s greatest nightmare lay buried before him. Yet he was surprised to find his heart incredibly calm.

Su Jingxi’s lips moved twice before she finally spoke: “Dingyuan, you had nothing to do with this matter – returning to Nanjing would have been right. Why did you come here?”

Wu Dingyuan pointed to his temple: “Because you wanted me to come, Jingxi.”

“Nonsense! When did I ever…” Su Jingxi stopped mid-sentence as Wu Dingyuan showed the pages of letter paper, momentarily losing her composure.

“If you didn’t want me to come, why reveal all the truth in your letter?”

Su Jingxi said angrily: “We would never meet again in this life – I just wanted to give you an explanation. You were supposed to open it after crossing the Yellow River.”

“With your insight, Jingxi, how could you not have anticipated I would open it early?” Wu Dingyuan paused, turning his gaze to the other side, “Though I truly didn’t expect to see another person.”

Zhu Zhanji snorted coldly: “Do you realize she’s been playing us both from beginning to end!”

Looking at that face, Wu Dingyuan’s head suddenly throbbed with pain again. He frowned before speaking: “I know she concealed many things from us. But I don’t blame her – I understand that feeling. Besides, didn’t I also conceal my origins from Your Majesty? We are both impenitent…” He looked at Su Jingxi, who softly prompted: “sinners.”

“Yes, we are both impenitent sinners, with an irreconcilable anger in our hearts.”

Zhu Zhanji’s hands shook with rage as he cursed: “You scoundrel… I had already let you go! Have you returned this time to help her take revenge, or to save me?”

Wu Dingyuan gripped the goose-quill saber and exhaled: “I just want to understand everything clearly. Your Majesty, please continue.”

“Continue what?!”

“Of course, the truth you discovered about Jingxi. I want to hear it too.”

# Chapter: Revelations at the Imperial Tomb

His unexpected intrusion prevented both Zhu Zhanji and Su Jingxi from proceeding with their original plans. The three formed a delicate standoff, with Wu Dingyuan unwittingly becoming the person who could influence the entire situation. After a moment of contemplation, Su Jingxi raised her hand and pointed: “Since Dingyuan is willing to listen, let’s find a different place to talk, where the master of this place can hear as well.”

Zhu Zhanji’s face instantly turned pale.

The direction she pointed to was the tall Ming Tower in front of the tomb mound. This was essentially the core of the imperial tomb, a place even the tomb guards’ supervisor couldn’t approach without an imperial decree. Now this woman was brazenly suggesting they climb the Ming Tower—it was practically like stepping on Emperor Yongle’s face.

And that detestable Wu Dingyuan, rather than stopping her, made a gesture suggesting they go together. Though Zhu Zhanji wished to refuse, he lacked the strength to resist and was soon helped up by Wu Dingyuan, stumbling forward.

Su Jingxi lifted a plain white lantern and slowly ascended the tower’s path, with Zhu Zhanji and Wu Dingyuan walking side by side behind her. Over the past ten-plus days, they had supported each other countless times, climbing city walls, embankments, sluice gates, buildings, and ships. Everyone realized this would be their final journey together.

No one made a sound as they tacitly climbed toward the tower.

The Ming Tower of Changling Tomb was about sixty feet tall and a hundred feet in circumference, built with brick at the bottom and wood at the top, almost level with the earthen burial mound. Perhaps it wasn’t just imagination, but as soon as they stepped onto the tower, they felt threads of cold air penetrating their bodies like fine needles, even more, intense than at the stone platform—after all, this was the closest the living could get to the burial chamber, separated from the netherworld by just one layer.

They reached the tower’s top, which had a small surrounding gallery with an oil lamp at each of the four corners and painted railings on the outside. Standing here offered a panoramic view of the entire tomb. The burial mound was planted with pines and cypresses, their shadows creating the eerie atmosphere unique to burial grounds. The heavy, oppressive aura made even the moonlight overhead seem dimmer.

Wu Dingyuan set Zhu Zhanji down by the gallery and then went back down to carry Zhang Quan. The uncle and nephew sat back-to-back along the tower’s inner edge, perfectly positioned to see Emperor Yongle’s tomb.

“This place will do. I think they can hear us now,” Su Jingxi said, holding the railing.

For some reason, both Zhu Zhanji and Wu Dingyuan felt a chill at these words. It had nothing to do with courage; it was purely the cold intent in Su Jingxi’s tone.

“Speak,” Wu Dingyuan directed his gaze at him.

Zhu Zhanji took a deep breath: “Today I reviewed the palace personnel records and discovered that sixteen consorts were buried with Emperor Yongle. Among them was one surnamed Wang, named Jingmei, from Changzhou in Suzhou. She entered the palace in the twentieth year of Yongle’s reign and was given the title of Selected Attendant. In Yongle’s twenty-second year, she was buried in Changling Tomb with the posthumous title of Consort Duan.”

Wu Dingyuan felt Su Jingxi stir beside him.

“My uncle had previously harbored doubts about Su Jingxi’s identity and specifically sent people to investigate in Suzhou Prefecture. They discovered something: after Wang Jingmei’s burial, her family was honored by the court as a Female Imperial Household, with the eldest son granted the hereditary position of Qianhu with salary. However, the Wang family never got to enjoy these privileges. On New Year’s Eve that year, the entire clan suddenly died. The coroner’s report indicated their New Year’s feast included an abalone-shaped pastry containing deadly aconitum poison.”

Wu Dingyuan knew this was a Suzhou dessert, filled with milk, honey, and sugar inside pastry skin. Named for its resemblance to abalone, it was popular with all ages and typically consumed entirely at feasts, rarely leaving leftovers.

“According to the coroner, the poisoner’s technique was masterful. There were no immediate symptoms upon consumption, so no one noticed anything wrong until the feast was ending. Within moments, they were bleeding from seven orifices and died, without exception.”

Su Jingxi spoke flatly: “This was quite simple. One only needed to boil aconitum leaves with pork skin into a paste and wrap it in a sweet milk skin. When they swallowed the pastry, the milk skin coating prevented the poison from acting immediately. Only after the milk skin dissolved in their stomachs would the lethal substance seep into their bodies.”

Her answer was as good as a confession.

[Continued in next section due to length…]

“Such a major case shocked the entire Suzhou Prefecture, but despite thorough investigation, not a single clue was found. The case files still sit unsolved in the criminal archives. However, for me, this is enough,” Zhu Zhanji said.

“And so?” she replied.

“Wang Jingmei’s birthplace, age, when she entered the palace, even her medical training before marriage—everything matches your story of Wang Jinhu except the name! And that poisoning technique, who else could be so skilled but you?” Zhu Zhanji’s voice grew increasingly loud. “I remember you said you came to the capital to seek revenge against Wang Jinhu’s husband’s family. I never imagined then that her husband’s family was the imperial household—those words were aimed at my Zhu family!”

Su Jingxi suddenly burst into sharp, shrill laughter that cut through the night, startling a flock of ravens roosting in the burial grove.

“Your Majesty, you’ve guessed correctly. Not just your Zhu family—everyone connected to Jingmei’s death must join her in burial. Did you hear that? Did you hear?” Su Jingxi’s laughter ceased her expression completely transformed into one of ferocity, hatred, and crimson fury, with bottomless grief in her eyes. Her voice echoed atop the burial mound as if speaking to someone other than Zhu Zhanji.

As Zhu Zhanji tried to speak, Su Jingxi raised her hand, coldly saying, “Let me tell the rest myself.” The hatred emanating from her forced the emperor into silence.

“Jingmei was only nineteen when she entered the palace. Nineteen! The most beautiful time in a woman’s life, yet because her family coveted wealth and status, she was locked in the deep palace. She was completely unhappy there, living as if in a cage, finding slight comfort only in our occasional exchange of letters. After our correspondence stopped, I went to ask her family and learned she had been sent to be buried with the emperor. When I heard this news, I nearly went mad. How dare you! How dare you send an innocent life into a death mound! How dare a ruler of a civilized nation use such barbaric burial practices! What is human life worth in your eyes? She had so many things she wanted to do—how dare you take everything from Jingmei!”

Su Jingxi muttered to herself, alternating between calm and frenzy, and no one dared interrupt her.

“The night I received the news, my fingernails left bloody marks on the wall, but such pain was nothing compared to hers. I thought of her day and night, nearly crying my eyes blind, and fell gravely ill. Lying in bed, delirious, I thought perhaps I should become a nun, live in solitary cultivation, and pray for her peace in the afterlife. After I recovered, I visited the Donglin Temple in Ningbo. But unexpectedly, at Ningbo port, I met someone.

“This person was a Korean envoy who had just come from the capital and was preparing to sail home from Ningbo. He was depressed to the point of illness. While treating him, I discovered his mental ailment also stemmed from that burial. Zhu Di had selected sixteen consorts and sixteen palace maids. Among them was a Korean-born maid surnamed Han, who was also among those buried.

“Do you know what that scene was like? Over thirty consorts and palace maids first dined outside Cheng’en Hall, then were led inside. The hall was already prepared with over thirty small wooden beds, with white silk ropes hanging high from the rafters. Everyone was wailing, but none of the eunuchs showed mercy, forcibly helping them up one by one. At this time, Your Majesty’s ‘benevolent’ father came to bid farewell to these women. The Korean maid suddenly knelt, begging for clemency to return home and care for her mother. But your father remained unmoved, spouting some dignified nonsense before leaving. The Korean maid was helped onto the wooden bed, head in the white noose, and turned to call out to her wet nurse behind her: ‘Qu Niang! I’m going!’ Then the wooden bed was suddenly pulled away… In an instant, over thirty lives in Cheng’en Hall were gone.”

As Su Jingxi spoke, her eyes remained fixed on Zhu Zhanji. His face was deathly pale, unable to meet her gaze. At this moment, the emperor would rather face the Prince of Han’s threats than remain here. But Su Jingxi’s indictment continued.

“The details of the Korean maid’s death passed from her wet nurse to the envoy, but he dared not speak of it in the Great Ming, forced to suppress it until it made him ill. With a little prompting from me, he told me everything. I asked if a young woman surnamed Wang who died in the same hall that day had left any words, but the envoy shook his head, saying none of the thirty-plus people were without tears.

“That day, I don’t remember how I returned to the inn or Suzhou, my mind in a complete haze. Back in Suzhou, I unconsciously walked to Jingmei’s family home, only to find it decorated with lanterns and colored banners. The Wang family had been granted Female Imperial Household status and was about to hang up the plaque and erect a memorial stone for the virtuous consort. Firecrackers boomed, suona horns played, and guests streamed in to offer congratulations. Is this how one should act when a daughter has died tragically? Is this title, bought with a daughter’s life, worth such celebration?

“On one side was the festivity of flowers and brocade, on the other the cold corpse in a dark tomb. From that moment, I realized that studying Buddhism could not save her or me. These jackals feeding on Jingmei’s corpse could only be cleansed of their sins through death. Even if I fall into the nine hells, I must avenge Jingmei. In this world, I am the only one she can count on.

“From that day forward, I began desperately collecting every bit of information about Jingmei’s life in the palace, no detail too small. I needed to know everyone involved in her burial—they all must pay the price. Poisoning the Wang family was just the first step. The little eunuch who forced Jingmei onto the wooden bed, the Hanlin Academy scholar who wrote the posthumous titles for the buried consorts, the Ministry of Rites officials who drafted the burial protocols… they were either poisoned by me or ruined through my schemes. But the most important culprits, I saved for last.”

At this point, Su Jingxi gave Zhu Zhanji a cold look. He had never been looked at like this by her before and couldn’t help but shudder. Su Jingxi raised one finger: “First is Zhu Puhua. The subordinates of this Imperial Stables Supervisory Eunuch executed those thirty-plus consorts and palace maids. He supervised outside Cheng’en Hall.”

A second finger went up: “Second is Zhang Quan. The reason the Wang family could send their daughter into the palace was because Jingmei’s father was friends with Zhang Quan, who strongly recommended her to Crown Princess Zhang, enabling Jingmei’s entry into the palace. Speaking of the root cause, Zhang Quan is the most direct killer of Jingmei.” Before Zhu Zhanji could speak, Su Jingxi had raised a third finger: “Your mother, Empress Zhang, is also culpable! If not for her, how could Jingmei have been sold into the palace? As the leader of the inner palace, if she had wanted to prevent it, how could Jingmei have been strangled to death in burial?”

The fourth finger immediately straightened.

“Your father is the same! Everyone says he was benevolent by nature, praise him as a good emperor. But in front of Cheng’en Hall, he could have pardoned those helpless women with one word, yet he watched the consorts die tragically, all to maintain his reputation for filial piety!” The final white finger rose high, like a funeral banner.

“The Prince of Han is equally unforgivable. When preparing for Emperor Yongle’s funeral, there was controversy at the court about the burial of consorts. It was Zhu Gaoxi who jumped out shouting, using ritual law to force the issue, saying that not following the late emperor’s edict would be unfilial. As a result, no one from the emperor to the officials dared object and had to comply—so my escort of Your Majesty back to the capital was also for revenge!”

After enumerating all these sinners, Su Jingxi clenched her five fingers into a fist, raising her voice several more degrees: “And the master of this place, Emperor Yongle. Your dying command demanded everything follow ancestral customs. What are ancestral customs? Of course, the burial of consorts! Everything began with you—you are the true arch-criminal. I don’t care what great achievements you had, or how wise and martial you were. I only know you took Jingmei’s life, took my entire world! And for this, you must pay the price!”

Su Jingxi, with a raised fist, shouted toward the treasure city, hoping her voice would penetrate the burial mound and reach the underground palace. Zhu Zhanji shrank his neck, as if afraid of being scorched by these raging flames.

Among the six culprits, Yongle, Hongxi, and Zhu Puhua were dead, Zhang Quan was brought to the Ming Tower, the Prince of Han fled to Le’an Prefecture, and only Empress Dowager Zhang remained unharmed. Could it be… Su Jingxi had also targeted her? Zhu Zhanji cried out in panic: “My mother had no ill intent, she was only fulfilling her duty! This was ancestral law, no one could change it!”

“Ancestral law?” Su Jingxi gave a bitter laugh. “When did the previous dynasty ever have a system of burying consorts? It only started with the Hongwu Emperor—what kind of ancestral law is that? Moreover, even if it were truly ancestral law, did your grandfather follow it? How did he get his throne? Why is it that when it comes to burial, he suddenly becomes so sanctimonious about not changing ancestral law?”

Zhu Zhanji was left speechless.

“Your Majesty need not argue. In your heart, human lives have different values. Jingmei was just an insignificant weak woman, weightless on the scale—how could she be worth killing so many important ministers, capable generals, and imperial relatives for? Not worth it! Isn’t that what you and your mother think?”

“What… what have you done to my mother?!” Zhu Zhanji clenched his fists.

“Rest assured. She remains safe in the deep palace—what could a common woman like me do?” Zhu Zhanji relaxed slightly, but then Su Jingxi added, “But for a mother, what could be more painful than losing her child?”

An intensely cold chill wrapped around Zhu Zhanji, paralyzing his entire body. Su Jingxi’s gaze at this moment was like a snake watching a mouse.

“So… this was your true purpose. I had been wondering why, with your capabilities in framing Zhang Quan, you left so many flaws for me to discover—it was all to lure me to Changling!”

Zhu Zhanji felt a wave of regret. When he set out, he had thought perhaps he could use his imperial authority to resolve the grudge, so he hadn’t allowed his escorts to enter Changling as a show of sincerity. He never expected this was all within Su Jingxi’s calculations. Su Jingxi, having seen through his thoughts, let out a long sigh: “Your Majesty, I gave you a chance.”

“Nonsense! You deceived me so thoroughly—when did you ever give me a chance?”

Su Jingxi shook her head: “On the sixth day of the sixth month, I sent in the medicine package, letting Your Majesty discover Zhang Hou’s involvement in Wang Jinhu’s persecution. What did you do then? You had promised me that after returning to the capital, you would severely punish those who persecuted Wang Jinhu. But when you discovered it was your uncle, you immediately sent him away to hide at Tianshou Mountain.”

Zhu Zhanji hurried to explain: “I just wanted to investigate the Marquis of Fuyang first, to clarify things…”

“That day, I watched from in front of the Forbidden City. If you had arrested Zhang Quan directly, showing you still valued your promise to me, I might have let it go and left. But you didn’t. When I saw Zhang Quan riding north, I understood everything.”

“I never said I wouldn’t uphold justice for you!”

“Very well then, please issue an imperial decree now, listing the crimes of those six people, denouncing the evil precedent of Hongwu, destroying Changling, smashing the spirit tablets—can you do it?”

Zhu Zhanji fell silent.

“Fine, another option. Do you dare declare now that the ancestral law was wrong and abolish the practice of burial sacrifice?” Su Jingxi pressed aggressively, then glanced at Wu Dingyuan, “Forget abolishing burial sacrifice—do you dare vindicate Tie Xuan?”

Looking at Zhu Zhanji’s flushed face, Su Jingxi shook her head: “Your Majesty need not argue. A fugitive crown prince might engage in honest friendship, but an emperor will always prioritize the bigger picture.”

“I…”

“You are a good person and will be a good emperor. But unfortunately, what I want, you can never give as long as you wear that crown.”

“I want to help you, but…”

“Don’t explain to me—to explain to those dry bones buried here!” As Su Jingxi’s words fell, a strong mountain wind swept down from Tianshou Mountain’s peak. It passed through the tomb walls, over the spirit path, and swirled around both sides of the sacrificial palace. The candles on the stone platform resisted briefly before being extinguished, and the dozens of white silk ribbons pressed beneath them suddenly flew everywhere. From the Ming Tower, these white ribbons looked like dozens of lonely ghosts, floating back and forth within Changling, as if searching for their bones and crying out their unwillingness.

Seeing this scene, Su Jingxi walked dreamily to the railing’s edge, stretching her body out: “Jingmei! Jingmei! Is that you, Jingmei?” But the white ribbons flew too fast and chaotically, dizzying to the eye. Su Jingxi tried to search at first, but soon, a light of understanding shone in her eyes.

“Wang Jingmei, Han Yuer, Li Wan, Cui Shuxian…” Su Jingxi called out the names of all the women buried in Changling. Perhaps it was an illusion, but with each name she called, a white ribbon seemed to pause in the sky, as if turning to respond.

“Each ribbon here represents a woman who once existed. The world may quickly forget their names, history books may not record them, but I remember them all. In their tragic and brief lives, they cried out, they struggled. These voices—Zhu Di, do you hear them? Zhu Gaochi, do you hear them? Zhu Zhanji, do you hear them?”

She first threw down a prayer tablet covered in verses, then spread her arms high to both sides, like a ritual priest chanting. The bitter wind lifted her clothes, her thin, sorrowful figure lonely in paying tribute to these almost forgotten souls flying everywhere before her.

With each summoning call, Zhu Zhanji’s arrow wound seeped blood, caused by muscle spasms from extreme tension. He finally understood that she had gone completely mad when she poisoned Wang Jingmei’s entire family. The calmness, rationality, gentleness, and virtue were all facades, all covering up an insane grand plan: for the sake of the most humble woman, she would take revenge on the world’s most powerful people.

“Madwoman, madwoman…” Zhu Zhanji’s lips trembled, unable to comprehend, “You and Wang Jingmei were neither close relatives nor bound by great favors, your friendship lasting only a few years—is it worth going to such lengths for a friend?”

Su Jingxi gave him a faint look, her eyes surprisingly showing a trace of pity: “Your Majesty, you don’t understand, you will never understand. How can these ridiculous things you speak of measure my relationship with Jingmei? The depth of feelings cannot be measured by time; how can worldly logic fathom where the heart leads?”

Zhu Zhanji looked unwillingly at Wu Dingyuan, who shook his head, indicating he didn’t quite understand either.

Zhu Zhanji helplessly closed his mouth, knowing she could not be persuaded—nothing could shake her obsession. Su Jingxi was like a startled horse racing toward a cliff; from the moment she started, the outcome was determined. Only now did Zhu Zhanji realize that Liang Xingfu wasn’t the most insane one. By this time, the paralysis in Zhu Zhanji’s body had largely subsided—if he charged forward with all his strength, he might be able to push Su Jingxi over the railing. But he found he couldn’t move, not because of any poison, but because he couldn’t refute a single word she said.

The phrase “righteously confident” truly described her precisely.

Zhu Zhanji panted as he looked at Wu Dingyuan: “Hey, did she tell you all this in her letter?”

Wu Dingyuan’s lips showed a bitter smile: “Yes, only after reading that letter did I know she had been carrying so much pain.”

“I never imagined… that I was being escorted to the capital by a group of enemies who wouldn’t forgive me.”

“Her burden is heavier, more bitter than mine… The grievances between Zhu Di and my Tie family—I’ve forgotten them, only the headaches remain. But she remembers clearly every moment, suffering every moment. I cannot imagine how she managed to get through each day.”

Zhu Zhanji fell silent. He knew how painful it was to be immersed in hatred. She had been soaking in it for so long, letting the poison seep into her marrow and soul while maintaining a calm exterior and playing along with her enemies. Only someone completely mad could do this.

“Perhaps this is why I admire her,” Wu Dingyuan mused. “She knew what she wanted to do from the beginning and never wavered.”

Zhu Zhanji let out a desperate low growl: “Fools! You fools! I opened my heart to you, and treated you as friends! Why must you all oppose me!”

Hearing these words, Wu Dingyuan couldn’t help but let out a long sigh.

Although his inner conflict with the Zhu family remained unresolved, that departure from the Forbidden City seemed to bring some closure to the emperor. Yet fate played tricks, pushing him back into the midst of conflict once again.

Su Jingxi wanted to kill Zhu Zhanji, and Zhu Zhanji needed to stop Su Jingxi—an irreconcilable conflict. Wu Dingyuan’s unexpected involvement, while adding uncertainty, couldn’t resolve this fundamental contradiction. Instead, it pushed him into an impossible position: either help Su kill Zhu or help Zhu stop Su. There was no third path.

By all accounts, his great enemy was also Zhu Di, and both emotion and reason suggested he should help Su Jingxi. But when he saw Zhu Zhanji’s face, tortured by exhaustion and shock, the image of a bronze brazier floated in his mind. The entanglement between these three people ran too deep—this knot was even more complex than the Prince of Han’s rebellion. He didn’t even dare to cut through it with one stroke.

The three threads twisted together in Nanjing were destined to unravel here beneath Mount Tianshou, after traversing the entire Grand Canal.

By now, the soul-summoning was ending, with white silk ribbons falling among the burial grove, hanging on various branches, as if the burial mound had changed into mourning clothes. Su Jingxi slowly lowered her arms, her face streaked with tears.

Looking at that lonely figure, Wu Dingyuan drew in the mountain’s cold air, his mind suddenly clear. He shook his useless right hand and slowly walked between the two. Looking up, countless stars rose solemnly in the night sky, brilliant and dazzling, reflecting the moon’s glory.

“Jingxi, do you remember that night when we left Guazhou? The sky was just like this,” Wu Dingyuan said. “I still remember our conversation by the water that night. You first confessed that you wanted revenge for someone. I never imagined it would be something this momentous.”

“You also said then that you would keep watching me,” Su Jingxi replied.

“I once heard a fortune teller at Confucius Temple say that these stars were nailed into the sky by the Jade Emperor following a celestial book, which recorded everyone’s fate. Once the stars were fixed in place, mortal destinies were set. If I had looked more carefully that night, perhaps I could have seen tonight’s scene and understood your heart earlier.”

Su Jingxi stepped back, appearing agitated: “Don’t you understand? My heart is filled with avenging Jingmei—there’s no room for anything else. I was just using you to help me destroy Zhu Di’s spirit tablet. Go! Leave quickly!”

Wu Dingyuan held up the letter: “Then tell me, what were those water stains I found in the corner of the letter?”

Su Jingxi froze, instinctively turning her face away. Wu Dingyuan said: “You’ve pinned down my fate for this life, tied our destinies together—it can’t be undone. After my father found me, he changed my name from Tie Fuyuan to Wu Dingyuan. Look how fate has brought meaning to it here.”

As he spoke, he walked to Zhu Zhanji and helped him up with both hands. Zhu Zhanji snorted coldly: “So you’ve decided to help her? Fine, fine, I’ll pretend I never left the treasure ship!”

“Ah, Your Majesty, you were such a trouble at first. Impetuous, young, arrogant, knowing nothing, and stubborn as a radish. But you had one redeeming quality—” Wu Dingyuan patted the dust from his back, “you didn’t act like an emperor at all. Throughout our journey on the canal, you became less and less like an emperor, and more like… a friend.”

He smiled as he said the word “friend.”

The other two were confused—what exactly did Wu Dingyuan intend to do?

“Those fifteen days on the canal meant a great deal to me. Both of you and that canal, helped me truly understand who I am and what I should do. Before coming to the capital this time, I had already decided I couldn’t run away to drink anymore—I needed to bring this to an end.”

At this moment, shouts came from the darkness, with countless torches rushing past the sacrificial hall toward the Ming Tower. A loud voice echoed through the night, clear even from far away: “The Emperor must be in the Ming Tower—hurry to protect him!” It seemed Yu Qian had arrived and taken the initiative to lead this group into the burial ground.

“Little Almond’s voice is still as loud as ever,” Wu Dingyuan sighed helplessly. He took the lantern from Su Jingxi and turned around. The dim candlelight cast his face in shadows.

“I don’t understand the things Jingxi speaks of, nor do I understand your imperial affairs, Big Radish. If possible, I’d wish for both of you to be well. But, Your Majesty, you are the highest official in the realm, commanding millions of troops. While Jingxi, has only herself—she has only me. That night in Guazhou, she said we were fellow travelers, both walking a path without compromise or reconciliation, so I must accompany her to the end.”

Hearing this, Su Jingxi’s shoulders trembled involuntarily, the madness in her eyes dimming slightly. The emperor nodded. Strangely, he felt no frustration, as if he had long awaited this answer. He moved his body, leaning against the railing, letting his limbs relax, his tone unprecedentedly calm: “Doctor Su, as emperor, I cannot give you what you want; but as a friend, I now sincerely apologize to you, on behalf of everyone, for everything.”

Su Jingxi bit her lip and shook her head: “I don’t accept it.”

Zhu Zhanji shrugged: “I know, I know. You two are exactly alike in temperament. Because I’m the emperor, you always have the freedom to not forgive, right?”

“Mm.” This time Su Jingxi and Wu Dingyuan answered simultaneously.

Zhu Zhanji burst out laughing, his expression showing a hint of relief: “I was going to say, pretend you never helped me, pretend I died in the Qinhuai River. But then I thought, no, even if I die now, at least I stopped the Prince of Han, prevented the throne from falling to others—your help wasn’t wasted. Wu Dingyuan, do it!”

Wu Dingyuan saw Yu Qian leading countless soldiers, already reaching the stone platform. “Little Almond’s” sharp eyes were the first to spot the firelight atop the Ming Tower, as he excitedly shouted something to a group of officers. He looked at Su Jingxi again, extending his crippled right hand. Their eyes met, and in an instant, their hearts connected. Su Jingxi let out an “Ah,” hesitated, but ultimately gently gripped his right hand before letting go.

“Big Radish, don’t be sad—we’re all going down together this time.”

Wu Dingyuan suddenly raised his right leg and kicked hard, knocking over one of the eternal oil lamps with a loud crash. This lamp was a dragon-shaped bronze pillar about ten feet tall, filled with fragrant oil, its eternal flame able to burn for three days and nights. After Wu Dingyuan’s kick, the lamp fell, spilling large amounts of fragrant oil that quickly spread across the entire floor.

Simultaneously, Wu Dingyuan’s left hand released the lantern, which broke in the oil. With a whoosh, blue flames rapidly spread across the oil surface, quickly forming a wall of fire. While the lower part of the Ming Tower was built with blue bricks, its upper beams, brackets, eaves, and railings were all made of premium wood that couldn’t withstand the intense heat. Within moments, they began to glow red.

Su Jingxi, unskilled in martial arts, had relied on the eternal oil lamps filled with fragrant oil at the tower’s four corners. Wu Dingyuan had noticed her arrangement as soon as he climbed the tower, understanding her resolution for mutual destruction. He also understood why she had hesitated to act—she was concerned about his presence, knowing that once the fire started, no one in the Ming Tower would survive. So Wu Dingyuan simply took the initiative, lighting it himself.

He had wanted to do this for a long time. What could be more satisfying revenge than burning Emperor Yongle’s eternal resting place?

Rolling smoke poured from every gap, quickly forming thick curtains around the Ming Tower. But just before vision was obscured, a figure suddenly clumsily leaped through the flames, lunging toward them.

“Zhang Quan?”

Wu Dingyuan immediately recognized him. Originally, Su Jingxi had drugged him, planning to sacrifice him in front of the Ming Tower. But Wu Dingyuan’s interference had allowed the drug’s effects to wear off, and Zhang Quan awoke at the most inopportune moment.

Through the swirling smoke, Zhang Quan, no longer dazed, reached for Su Jingxi with grotesque hands. Wu Dingyuan swiftly drew his yan-feather blade, standing in front of her, poised to stab Zhang Quan. At this moment, Zhu Zhanji, who had seemed resigned to his fate, suddenly roared: “Don’t harm my uncle!” He rose from the ground and charged toward Wu Dingyuan’s blade.

Focused entirely on Zhang Quan, Wu Dingyuan hadn’t expected Zhu Zhanji to suddenly enter his field of vision. Their eyes met at extremely close range. Wu Dingyuan had never looked at his face from such a close distance before. A sharp spear pierced his mind, instantly unleashing tremendous pain. At the same time, another eternal lamp pillar fell, causing the sea of fire near the tower’s gallery to leap up twice a man’s height.

In the leaping firelight, scattered shadows, and swirling smoke, in this familiar scene, Wu Dingyuan’s memories suddenly awakened. He seemed to return to that night in the teaching courtyard prison. The same raging fire, the same pervading smoke, and the same face watching him—both Zhu Zhanji’s and Zhu Di’s, sometimes intimate, sometimes fierce, merging into one through the pain, like a knife slicing across his waist, seemingly wringing out his last drop of fear.

“Ah!”

In just a brief moment, Wu Dingyuan’s mind neared collapse, feeling countless sharp knives shredding his brain to pieces. In extreme confusion, he lost all ability to think and judge, instinctively thrusting his blade forward with full force. The blade tip first pierced through Zhu Zhanji’s elaborate dragon robe, then the padding, driving relentlessly toward his heart.

“Block!”

A crisp voice rang out, like a bell or gong, injecting a thread of clarity into his frenzied consciousness. Wu Dingyuan opened his eyes wide, seeing a metal fragment where the blade tip had struck. This fragment was dull in color with clear patterns, bearing the shape of a bloody handprint. It turned out Zhu Zhanji had kept that fragment of the small bronze brazier hidden in his chest, which had just blocked the blade’s momentum.

The bronze brazier fragment reflected in their eyes, causing that thread of clarity to suddenly spread in Wu Dingyuan’s mind. Like boiling water melting accumulated snow, like spring sunshine thawing remnant ice, Zhu Di’s image swiftly receded, merging with the background flames. When Wu Dingyuan looked again, only Zhu Zhanji’s pain-contorted face remained before him.

The yan-feather blade was still pressing forward as if trying to push the fragment into flesh. Wu Dingyuan finally reacted, turning his wrist so the blade tip suddenly deflected, striking the floor with a thud half an inch from Zhu Zhanji’s ear. The emperor’s eyes went wide, his eyelids frozen in fear.

Wu Dingyuan gripped the blade handle, panting heavily, staring at the still-shocked emperor. To his surprise, during this close-range eye contact, his headache symptoms had vanished. The severe pain that had always shadowed him seemed to recede along with that man’s image, like an ebbing tide.

Zhu Zhanji also noticed this change, returning the stare with complex emotions. They gazed at each other briefly, neither speaking.

“Your Majesty!”

By now Zhang Quan had stumbled over, reaching for the yan-feather blade. Wu Dingyuan, still staring blankly at Zhu Zhanji, was completely unaware of the approaching threat. Su Jingxi rushed in from the side, driving a bronze hairpin into Zhang Quan’s waist point, burying it to the base. Zhang Quan cried out in pain, kicking Su Jingxi toward the nearby railing before losing his balance and falling.

This sudden change was too shocking for Wu and Zhu to react in time. After both had fallen, Zhu Zhanji forcefully pushed Wu Dingyuan away, struggling to his feet and running toward his uncle.

Wu Dingyuan momentarily ignored them, rushing to the half-collapsed railing to hold the unconscious Su Jingxi. Her long hair fell in disarray, a trace of blood at her lips suggesting internal injury. Unskilled in medicine, Wu Dingyuan didn’t know how to help, only holding her and repeatedly calling her name.

Fortunately, after fifteen or sixteen calls, Su Jingxi slowly opened her eyes. Wu Dingyuan saw her lips move, knowing she was asking about the emperor’s whereabouts. He looked up to see Zhu Zhanji, teeth clenched, supporting Zhang Quan as they moved toward the gallery’s opposite edge. The emperor seemed to sense Wu Dingyuan’s gaze, pausing briefly to look back, though his expression was obscured by smoke. He then turned and continued moving.

As Wu Dingyuan started to move, Su Jingxi clutched his collar, gently shaking her head.

“No need to chase. With the Ming Tower ablaze, they can’t escape,” she weakly reached up to touch Wu Dingyuan’s face. “Besides, could you strike now if you went after them?”

Wu Dingyuan responded with silence—so she had noticed too.

“Do you remember the prescription I gave you in the Huai’an shipyard?”

“Yes, I remember everything you said. You said my illness could only be cured by facing that fear again and defeating it. But in the end, I still deflected the blade…” Wu Dingyuan said somewhat shamefully.

Su Jingxi said: “Don’t feel guilty. That deflected strike revealed your heart’s true reflection. Only this way could you know what you truly feared. Does your head still hurt when you see him now?”

“No more pain.” Wu Dingyuan touched his head, his tone light. “At that moment when I was about to strike fatally, I realized what I truly feared wasn’t Zhu Zhanji, but Zhu Di. The prescription for healing my heart wasn’t killing Big Radish, but witnessing this great fire at Changling.”

“That’s good, very good,” she said softly.

Wu Dingyuan helped Su Jingxi slowly rise, standing shoulder to shoulder by the railing, looking up at the increasingly fierce flames surrounding the Ming Tower. Su Jingxi noticed that in the firelight, he was smiling—since they’d met, she had never seen him smile so freely.

With a thunderous crash, the supporting beams and footboards before them were the first to lose support, collapsing straight down, and knocking over the other three lamp pillars. More fragrant oil spilled out, provoking greater fury from the flames, which roared as they burned a bright golden edge around the entire Ming Tower.

On the gallery’s other side, Zhu Zhanji exhaustedly dragged his uncle to the railing edge. Catching his breath, he glanced back—smoke and fire blocked his view, and the two figures in the flames were almost invisible, apparently not intending to stop them. Of course, there was no need to stop them; the tower’s upper level was engulfed in flames, and the height made it a dead end regardless.

“Your Majesty… why bother with me! Save yourself!” Zhang Quan gasped intermittently. The bronze hairpin buried in his waist had wounded him severely, leaving almost no chance of survival.

Zhu Zhanji gritted his teeth: “I can’t escape now, but mother has already lost one relative today—that’s enough!” He looked around, still seeking a way to escape. From Nanjing to Beijing, he had faced desperate situations multiple times and always fought through—he wouldn’t easily give up.

At this moment, Yu Qian led his troops to the Ming Tower’s base. Seeing the raging flames and figures above, he knew charging up was impossible. Disregarding protocol, he jumped onto the stone platform and shouted: “Remove your armor! Take off your coats! Your cloaks! Pile all your clothes below! Quickly!”

The well-trained soldiers quickly created a mountain of fabric. Yu Qian stretched his neck, shouting up at the Ming Tower: “Your Majesty! Jump down! Jump down!”

Though the tower was tall, it couldn’t block Yu Qian’s powerful voice. Zhu Zhanji heard above and was overjoyed. By now, surging waves of fire had reached the two men, testing their prey like fierce wolves. He summoned his last strength to push Zhang Quan down, but unexpectedly, Zhang Quan forcefully held him back, pressing Zhu Zhanji against the tower’s edge.

“Uncle, what are you…”

Zhang Quan didn’t answer, instead roaring as he pushed him off the Ming Tower. Zhu Zhanji saw the scenery rapidly rise before his eyes, and felt the wind in his ears, before being caught by a large soft mass with a heavy impact.

A sharp pain shot through his tailbone and right leg—Zhu Zhanji knew serious injury was unavoidable, but at least he was alive. Yu Qian was the first to rush up the fabric mountain to support the emperor, but Zhu Zhanji painfully craned his neck: “Uncle, jump quickly!”

Zhang Quan gripped the railing, trying several times but failing. Su Jingxi’s strike had been too severe; his strength was fading rapidly, leaving him at his limit. Zhu Zhanji grew desperate but couldn’t control his body. Yu Qian tried ordering soldiers to charge up the approach, but all were driven back by the intense heat.

Zhang Quan swayed, struggling to lean out his head, calling down: “Your Majesty, I deserve death—don’t let anyone try to save me.”

“But! But!”

“Your Majesty, calm yourself. My death matters little, I only ask Your Majesty to promise one thing.”

“Speak! I’ll promise anything!” Zhu Zhanji shouted until his voice was hoarse.

“The capital’s north-south location affects the Grand Canal’s rise or fall; the thousand-li canal affects the Great Ming’s millennial foundation. I hope Your Majesty will be cautious, most cautious! Don’t measure only in silver and grain, but consider the realm’s benefit. Be cautious, be cautious…”

With these repeated calls for caution, Zhang Quan’s figure finally vanished into the aggressive flames. Zhu Zhanji sat stunned, never expecting that in his uncle’s final moments, this would be his greatest concern—he even forgot to cry.

“Your Majesty, quickly withdraw…” Yu Qian called four soldiers to forcibly carry the emperor away. But he didn’t immediately follow, instead staring transfixed at the shocking scene before him.

The Ming Tower had become a giant torch, illuminating Changling for miles around. The shape of the sky-reaching flames resembled the clawing fingers of an angry woman, tearing apart the dim curtain inch by inch, both dazzling and tragic. Yu Qian’s forehead was covered in sweat, but his face was pale white, whether from the imperial tomb’s desecration or concern for those stubborn souls atop the Ming Tower.

In the dense smoke beyond his vision, Su Jingxi suddenly drew closer to Wu Dingyuan’s side.

“Your heart’s knot is untied—you could still jump down.”

“I want to stay with you until the end.”

Su Jingxi shook her head: “Ah, I came into this life only to avenge Jingmei, my heart has no room for anything else.”

“Having you in my heart is enough,” Wu Dingyuan said carelessly. “In Huai’an, you mentioned an idiom to me, something about clouds and thoughts?”

“Cloud and tree thoughts.”

“Oh, right. I don’t remember the two lines of poetry you quoted, but that phrase is quite nice: clouds in the sky, trees below. When clouds drift past, trees can’t hold them, so let them drift—not everything needs a conclusion. It’s fine for trees to just watch the clouds like this.”

In the swirling smoke, Su Jingxi could barely see Wu Dingyuan’s face, but she knew he must be watching her, smiling.

Suddenly a tremendous crash rang out as the Ming Tower’s central beam collapsed, landing heavily on the brick base. The entire memorial tower finally lost its shape, triggering a chain reaction as eaves, pillars, and brackets all scattered apart. Many burning wood pieces flew into the treasure city, landing on the burial mound, and igniting the white silk ribbons hanging in the trees.

At this precise moment, another strong wind blew through the burial ground from Mount Tianshou. The fire rode the wind, red flames soaring—in an instant, the entire mountain was covered with glowing ribbons floating and dancing, eagerly igniting every nearby tree, one tree spreading to ten, ten to a hundred until they completely turned to ash. As if someone in the void wielded a brush dipped in fiery ink, painting on Emperor Yongle’s grave: first drawing clear lines, then shading with heavy smoke, finally splashing ink in sheets. In the end, the entire burial mound was enveloped in magnificent flames. If not for the thick earthen mound’s protection, Emperor Yongle’s underground palace might not have been spared.

The solemn imperial tomb could no longer maintain its former dignity, forced to hide its embarrassment behind rolling smoke, like an emperor covering his panicked face with wide sleeves. In such conditions, the fire would not stop until all the trees were consumed.

Yu Qian sighed deeply, about to turn away, when he suddenly trembled, looking up suspiciously. Between the collapsed Ming Tower ruins, the fiercely burning burial mound, and the dense scorching smoke, came a faint song:

“Beneath willows, music fills courtyards,

Among flowers, sisters on swings sway.

Remembering the spring pavilion’s bygone days,

Written by red windows in a moonlit way.

Who can deliver my small lotus now?

Red candles idly accompany tears,

Wu’s silkworms reach their tangled end.

How much hatred can green temples bear?

Refusing heartlessness like broken strings,

This year ages into the next.”