Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi and his father Prince Yan were completely different types of people. Prince Yan belonged to the category of those with very strong personal convictions, charging toward a goal, willing to abandon even face for the sake of victory, forging ahead with determination—very much like his own father, Emperor Gaozhu. The Crown Prince of Yan, however, always kept his thoughts deeply buried in his heart, skilled at adopting others’ opinions, always maintaining a Buddha-like harmony, his heart as broad as his physique, good at tolerance, without the peculiar arrogance of the imperial family. He was courteous to everyone. His fate was also excellent—with a wolf-like father and tiger-like mother, his grandfather was Emperor Gaozhu, his maternal grandfather was Xu Da, the greatest founding minister, and even his concubine was a woman from the noble Guo family. Previously, when serving as a hostage in the capital, his consort Lady Guo’s family secretly provided considerable help. The Crown Prince of Yan could be said to have a destiny where he could win just by lying down.
He seemed to need to do nothing… just obey and be obedient. Obedience ensured safety.
Character determines destiny. Thus the Crown Prince of Yan perfectly avoided Emperor Jianwen’s trap of sowing discord, packaging the letter together with the court envoy and sending them to Prince Yan.
When Prince Yan opened the letter, his spine couldn’t help but turn cold. His younger brother Prince Zhou had been trapped by his own son who couldn’t resist the temptation of noble titles. This scheme of driving a wedge between father and son was too vicious—it had harmed his brother Prince Zhou, and now it was coming to harm him. This showed that this strategy was too effective.
Prince Yan had previously thought his eldest son was too timid, but now he felt that being timid was actually a good thing. If his son had been bold, eager to take on responsibilities, and fond of making independent decisions, and had opened this letter—even just to look, without following through—it would have planted seeds of mutual distrust between father and son. In the face of power, the feelings between spouses, father and son, and brothers were all very difficult to withstand testing.
Especially under such tense circumstances.
Having exposed Emperor Jianwen’s conspiracy, Prince Yan immediately wanted to execute the court envoy who had come to sow discord, but Chan Master Dao Yan persuaded him otherwise: “When two armies fight, envoys are not executed. The treacherous minister Fang Xiaoru, however, encouraged His Majesty to execute Yan territory’s envoys, and the people widely criticized this as unjust. How can we make the same mistake? Send both the letter and the envoy back, condemning the treacherous minister for disregarding human ethics and inciting father and son to fight each other. Let everyone know the true face of this so-called great scholar and literary leader. This will confirm that Fang Xiaoru is His Majesty’s treacherous minister, making our uprising to ‘clear the court of treacherous ministers’ even more justified.”
Chan Master Dao Yan to Prince Yan was like Fang Xiaoru to Emperor Jianwen—both were core figures of their respective think tanks. From the oath-taking ceremony of the Jingnan Campaign, Chan Master Dao Yan had played a decisive role at every crucial moment, therefore Prince Yan almost always followed his advice.
So Prince Yan immediately suppressed his anger, quickly put away the letter, returning it intact to his nephew the emperor, and had Ji Gang spread his magnanimous and wise deed of exposing Fang Xiaoru’s divisive scheme and safely returning the envoy—this “repaying evil with good” glorious achievement—to the ends of the earth, letting everyone know Prince Yan’s goodness and Fang Xiaoru’s treachery.
How could someone who devised such a vicious scheme possibly be a good person? The young emperor had been deceived by treacherous ministers. This prince’s mission to eliminate treachery had not yet succeeded; the Yan army still needed to work hard.
Emperor Jianwen’s attempt to steal a chicken ended up losing the rice, and he also lost Fang Xiaoru’s reputation in the process—his integrity in old age was not preserved.
Huang Zicheng, who was recruiting soldiers in the rear, heard the widespread rumors of “Prince Yan and his son’s deep affection defeats treacherous minister’s divisive scheme” and became greatly anxious. Empty talk really harmed the country! Fang Xiaoru had no political experience whatsoever and acted based on assumptions without considering consequences—he was truly incompetent at everything.
However, Huang Zicheng had no solution either, as His Majesty simply trusted Fang Xiaoru.
Huang Zicheng submitted a memorial to Emperor Jianwen overnight. He had recruited one hundred thousand soldiers and was rushing north overnight. While the north had not yet frozen over, they should quickly fight a victorious battle to restore face.
With negotiations broken down, both sides indeed resumed fighting. In the autumn and winter of the third year of Jianwen, smoke of war rose everywhere in the north. Sheng Yong relied on forces several times larger than his opponent and reinforcements, while Prince Yan relied on strategic wisdom, divine courage, famous generals under his command, and a BGM-like immunity from death. Both sides had victories and defeats, but ultimately the Yan army, leveraging their familiarity with the terrain and the advantages of winter warfare, won more than they lost. No matter how Sheng Yong led his troops in attempts to encircle and annihilate them, he could not break through Beiping.
Thus, the Ming dynasty entered the fourth year of Jianwen amid the flames of war.
This year, no one was in the mood to celebrate New Year. On Prince Yan’s side, calculating the achievements of three years of the Jingnan Campaign, although they had fought many victorious battles and gradually turned the tide in public opinion, winning sympathy and support (mainly because Emperor Jianwen had arbitrarily changed ancestral regulations, reduced taxes, suppressed northern officials, and other self-destructive reforms), their territory remained in the north, unable to capture the city of Jinan.
Jinan was like a barrier, keeping Prince Yan locked out.
Emperor Jianwen’s side was even less in the mood to celebrate New Year. Last year’s combination of negotiation and warfare had been useless. The northern expedition to quell rebellion had been fought for two years, becoming more chaotic the more it was fought. Although they had kept the Yan army locked out with the solid gateway of Jinan, this could not be considered successful. The legitimate imperial army, with righteous cause and forces several times larger than the opponent, equipped with gunpowder factories and various new weapons, had not only failed to quell the rebellion but had actually won fewer battles than they lost.
Jinan was a barrier to Prince Yan, but wasn’t it also one to Emperor Jianwen? Like the dilemma of a besieged city—those outside wanted to attack in, those inside wanted to attack out, but neither could achieve their wish.
Due to the mourning period for Empress Dowager Lu and Prince Heng not yet being over, all festivities were not appropriate to celebrate grandly. Even the empress’s most important annual ceremonial event—the sericulture ceremony—Empress Ma voluntarily requested to cancel, citing the need to save people’s labor and money to support the front lines.
Emperor Jianwen also used the one hundred thousand taels of silver prepared for making dragon robes this year for military expenses, wearing only old clothes from before. Dragon robes with gold and silver thread brocade could not touch water and certainly could not be washed. Only five could be made per year, with an average cost of twenty thousand taels each. Even the emperor had to wear them carefully.
Of course, this silver was a fortune to ordinary families, but for warfare, it was merely a drop in the bucket—thrown in without even hearing a sound.
More importantly, as time passed, whether in court or outside, even in the palace harem, everyone was gradually losing confidence in Emperor Jianwen, and people’s hearts were unsettled.
Hu Shanwei convened a meeting of the six bureaus and one department, strictly enforcing palace rules and discipline, forbidding private discussion of court politics.
Hu Shanwei’s real intention was not the ostensible one, because during this special period, Emperor Jianwen’s anger could be triggered at any moment. Once palace servants touched a nerve, even Hu Shanwei could not save them.
Hu Shanwei wanted to protect the palace servants. She had witnessed too many palace upheavals—actually only a few people caused trouble each time, but it always resulted in bloodbaths that swept in a large number of innocent lives.
Under imperial power, whether noble consorts or princes, even crown princes and empress dowagers, would be mercilessly crushed, let alone these palace servants who were like ants?
It’s just that imperial power didn’t care about these ants—no matter how many died, there would always be new people entering the palace to serve. But Hu Shanwei cared; she hoped fewer people would die in the future.
“…Now that the rules are clearly stated, if you want to survive, you must learn to keep your mouth shut. Those idle gossips will cost lives, and when the time comes, no matter who pleads for you, it won’t work. Who can survive will depend on who can control their own mouth.”
The female officials responded and returned to instruct the palace servants.
Only Shen Qionglian from the Bureau of Court Rites remained in her seat, staring at Hu Shanwei without speaking. Only after everyone else had left did she ask: “It’s the Empress Dowager, isn’t it?”
Hu Shanwei’s expression remained unchanged: “What is Lady Shen saying?”
Shen Qionglian was ice-smart: “You know what I’m talking about.”
Hu Shanwei played dumb: “I don’t have time to play riddles with you. I’m very busy, I’m leaving first.”
Shen Qionglian called out from behind: “The Empress Dowager killed Lady Fan, and Lady Wang was forced to suicide. On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival when the Empress Dowager had her incident, according to custom, as the court poet, I should have written poetry to add to the festivities. But that day I was fine during the day, then suddenly had stomach pain in the evening and severe diarrhea. What a coincidence! Later I learned that the Crown Prince also escaped disaster due to diarrhea. There aren’t that many coincidences—someone must have arranged it secretly, and that person is you.”
Hu Shanwei didn’t even turn her head, saying flatly: “You’re overthinking and talking too much. My words just now went in one ear and out the other. Don’t think you can take chances just because you’re a court official, spouting nonsense.”
Shen Qionglian was ice-smart: “You revealed your own hand. You originally re-entered the palace to investigate Lady Fan’s death, but although you spent the first few months asking around and looking for clues, later you dropped it, not even asking about Secretary Bao’s progress in the investigation, allowing this case to become unsolved. This doesn’t match your usual character.”
Hu Shanwei said: “Not all cases can have results, not all truths will come to light. People must learn to accept reality.”
Shen Qionglian simply blocked the doorway, stopping Hu Shanwei’s path: “But you’re not that kind of person. You gave up for only one reason—you had already found the real culprit and already had a plan for revenge. Now that the Empress Dowager is dead, you’ve completed your long-cherished wish. Why not leave?”
Hu Shanwei said: “I see you’ve developed hysteria, talking nonsense. You must be mad. You should be the one leaving the palace, otherwise both you and your Shen family will face disaster.”
Shen Qionglian wasn’t afraid of her, staring into her eyes: “You must be worried about knowing too much and following in Lady Fan’s footsteps. ‘Under Heaven, all is the king’s land. To the shores of the earth, all are the king’s subjects.’ No matter how far you go, you cannot escape. However, our Shen family ancestor Shen Xiu made his fortune in maritime trade, and our family has ancestral sea charts. This world is vast—beyond the Ming dynasty, there are broader lands. I can have the Shen family send you overseas, where you’ll be safe.”
Shen Xiu was Shen Wanshan. He first rose through salt trading, and because the Yuan dynasty had no maritime prohibitions, the Shen family turned to maritime trade and became extremely wealthy, rising to become the Yuan dynasty’s richest family.
Shen Qionglian was truly a treasure girl. Without her mountain of silver, Hu Shanwei could never have found Lady Fan’s remains so quickly.
Now, Shen Qionglian was proposing maritime travel, sending Hu Shanwei overseas to avoid disaster. Hu Shanwei believed the Shen family had this capability. She would not leave the Ming dynasty, but…
Hu Shanwei recalled that autumn night of wind and rain when she carried the lamp—that figure so similar to Empress Xiaoci, lonely yet strong—and suddenly had an idea.
Hu Shanwei said: “There are many things I cannot tell anyone. That ship bound for overseas… when could you arrange it?”
Shen Qionglian wore an “I understand” expression: “Give me three months. Someone like you would do well overseas too. Just don’t follow Lady Fan’s old path.”
Prince Yan had promised that after success, he would not harm Empress Ma and her son, but Hu Shanwei dared not completely trust this. She had personally witnessed too much fratricide and could not bet the future entirely on Prince Yan’s promise.
That ship bound for overseas was what Hu Shanwei prepared for Empress Ma and her son. Hu Shanwei had once watched helplessly as one Empress Ma gave up her will to live and departed from this world. This time, no matter what, she could not watch another Empress Ma walk toward destruction.