Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun began living the high-level retired cadre lifestyle of watching buckwheat flowers bloom and mung beans sprout, carefree and content with nothing to worry about.

Compared to her previously busy, highly tense career as Palace Supervisor, retired life moved at a turtle’s pace. The couple’s rhythm completely revolved around the two children’s schedule.

To improve her relationship with her daughter, Hu Shanwei abandoned all dignity and boldly learned to swim at forty years old. Her old arms and legs kicked until sore, she nearly drank a belly full of cold water, and was taken advantage of in the water by her private instructor Mu Chun, who abused his position – details too inappropriate to describe.

She put her hands in soil to feel wriggling earthworms for the children’s fishing bait, acted as human decoy to distract mother hens while A’Lei stole freshly laid eggs from nests, employing diversionary tactics. Hu Shanwei was chased by mother hens in desperate flight until Mu Chun finally rescued her with a stick.

Hu Shanwei plucked chicken feathers from her hair bun, gasping: “Why are mother hens so fierce?”

Mu Chun laughed: “Mother hens are gentle – tomorrow when they collect goose eggs, try provoking the geese.”

The next day, Hu Shanwei was chased by a flock of geese with necks stretched straight like spears, forced to jump into water and use her newly learned dog paddle swimming skills to successfully escape.

Hu Shanwei barely survived reaching shore and questioned why Mu Chun didn’t help, just stood watching and laughing! She was so angry she wanted to divorce him on the spot.

Mu Chun laughed until he coughed: “I taught you so many times, but you never dared swim alone, too dependent on me. See, without my help, you swam faster and better than before. Congratulations on mastering it today – this teacher has nothing left to teach you.”

Hu Shanwei pounced on him, using fists and feet to demonstrate what it meant for students to beat their teachers and commit treason against one’s master.

Hu Shanwei and Mu Chun’s marriage was most harmonious when they lived apart. Living together, Mu Chun’s unreliable troublemaking style made Hu Shanwei want to divorce him every few days. Nevertheless, Hu Shanwei still hoped such days would continue forever.

Thus, summer quietly passed leaving little secrets. Daily playing in water and running with the two children, stealing eggs, catching fish and shrimp, Hu Shanwei’s fair complexion also darkened, as if plated with honey. By autumn, her skin was a healthy light honey color, eyes sparkling with smiles, losing the natural intimidating aura from her Palace Supervisor days. Her temperament transformed completely, even her appearance seemed to change, with remarkable anti-aging effects – the woman in the mirror seemed increasingly younger.

Hu Shanwei’s dedicated companionship finally paid off. By autumn, A’Lei finally allowed her to bathe and sleep with her.

Due to excellent food, the pair of little white rabbits from summer were raised fat as piglets. The two puppies – called Little Black and Little Flower according to their coloring – could now follow their little masters running in the chrysanthemum field. Mu Chun trained them in games like fetching balls and “treasure hunting,” working toward becoming hunting dogs.

Mu Chun used this to encourage the two children: “Look, even dogs must study hard, how much more so people?”

Hu Shanwei felt something was off about this statement, but had to admit it made sense.

The children’s pride was stirred, and they persisted in their daily hour of reading lessons. Besides basic education, as the Crown Prince’s godfather, Mu Chun regularly read court bulletins to Little Ji, explaining recent major court events, imperial edicts, personnel changes, etc. Little Ji initially found it incomprehensible and would fall asleep listening, more effective than lullabies. Before Mu Chun finished a few sentences, he’d be sleeping in his godfather’s arms.

Not until Hu Shanwei returned home and Emperor Yongle ascended the throne, when Little Ji occasionally heard his godfather and godmother discuss when Beijing would send people to fetch him, did the five-year-old suddenly become enlightened and understand things.

He left Prince Yan’s mansion before age two. His earliest life memory was Mu Chun carrying him onto a large sea vessel – his first ocean voyage, with seagulls dancing and dolphins leaping. He loved the vast sea and sky. So when Li Jinglong’s 500,000 troops besieged Beijing with only 10,000 defenders, arguably Prince Yan’s mansion’s most perilous moment, for him it became beautiful memories.

Prince Yan’s mansion had dispatched a hundred elite guards to follow them to Kunming, responsible for protecting the mansion’s eldest grandson. Mu Chun never hid his true identity from him. Therefore, Little Ji knew he would someday return “home” – a place completely foreign to him.

Little Ji didn’t quite understand what “going home” meant, but he saw that after Hu Shanwei “came home,” godfather Mu Chun was perpetually cheerful, willingly enduring “domestic violence” beatings from his godmother. He also saw A’Lei sister receive double affection, with “sister” Hu Shanwei treating A’Lei almost obsequiously. This made Little Ji anticipate “going home.”

The increased smiles and happiness of godfather, A’Lei sister, and tutor Hu Rong after godmother Hu Shanwei came home, plus these people’s care and dependence on Hu Shanwei, made Little Ji feel that going home would be very good for him and his long-forgotten family members.

Of course, he was satisfied with life in Yunnan, but he clearly understood this wasn’t his home. His home was the lofty “court” and “imperial family” in the bulletins – the emperor was his grandfather, the crown prince his father. His home had a very prestigious name – “the palace.”

Others going home called it going home; his going home was called returning to the palace.

During riding and archery training, the guards always encouraged him to study well, so when His Majesty sent people to fetch him back to the palace, he could perform well before His Majesty and Crown Prince. His Majesty and great-great-grandfather Emperor Gaozhu “both won the realm on horseback” – they would surely love a child accomplished in both literature and martial arts.

Little Ji was confused. In his eyes, children didn’t need to please anyone to naturally receive family love and affection. Like A’Lei sister – no matter how naughty, how she splattered ink dots on white paper and clothes drawing tadpoles, her sister and brother-in-law would forgive her, bathe her, and dress her in clean clothes.

Perhaps the palace was different from home.

Little Ji was a precocious child. Though puzzled, he didn’t ask others, keeping it inside while practicing riding and archery more earnestly, trying to become the kind of child “palace people” would like.

So during thunder and lightning, A’Lei sister would fearfully burrow into her sister and brother-in-law’s arms, but Little Ji wouldn’t. Even when awakened frightened at midnight, he only curled up in bed enduring alone, because guards always said His Majesty and Crown Prince liked “brave” children.

Only when godmother Hu Shanwei came at midnight to comfort the awakened yet stubborn him, saying everyone had fearful moments, even His Majesty feared things. Bravery meant being clearly afraid yet choosing to continue forward.

Little Ji immediately forgave his own timidity – even Imperial Grandfather feared things, nothing shameful about it.

Autumn arrived. Little Ji could guess his way through court bulletins, skillfully ride Sichuan ponies, hit targets five out of ten times without missing completely, occasionally hitting bulls-eyes. Little Ji felt such a version of himself should be liked by family upon returning to the palace, just like godmother was liked upon coming home.

But waiting until winter, the “palace people coming to fetch him” scenario mentioned by godfather, godmother, and guards never materialized.

Little Ji petted puppy Little Flower’s belly. Little Flower purred contentedly while Little Ji worried: Had the “palace people” forgotten him? This was normal, since he couldn’t remember family either, not even his birth mother the Crown Princess.

Little Ji cleverly searched court bulletins for news of new grandsons born to the imperial family – there were none. In the current Ming imperial family, he remained the only grandson.

Why was this? Little Ji was very confused but dared not ask adults.

At such a young age, Little Ji bore adult pressures, worrying day and night. Though he ate fine food and played plenty, he never grew taller or gained weight, just wouldn’t put on meat.

A’Lei grew everything except wisdom. When winter’s cold arrived, Hu Shanwei held her sleeping – soft and chubby, simply too comfortable.

Little Ji never gained weight, especially his chest remaining thin as a pipa. Mu Chun worried about explaining this to Emperor Yongle, thinking horses don’t fatten without night grass, so he had the cook make Little Ji a bowl of milk-based cheese before bed each night.

Mu Chun hid this from A’Lei, sneaking it to Little Ji nightly like a thief, instructing: “Never let A’Lei sister know – she can’t have this extra meal. Your godmother can barely lift her now. This is our secret. You’ll be a good boy who keeps secrets, right?”

Little Ji ate sweetly, nodding repeatedly.

After a month, finally seeing results with some meat on Little Ji’s face, Mu Chun continued his excellent work as feeder.

But one night, Mu Chun brought cheese plus coarse white hemp mourning clothes for him to change into: “Your maternal grandfather passed away. Though far apart, you must wear mourning for him and observe filial piety.”

Little Ji didn’t remember parents, naturally not maternal grandfather. Maternal grandfather Zhang Lin was originally a minor banner officer from Yongcheng County, Henan – a low-ranking military official who thought becoming a centurion would be thanking heaven. Unexpectedly, he had a good daughter who caught Emperor Gaozhu’s policy of “marrying commoners, selecting beauties from fields.” Miss Zhang participated in imperial concubine selection, passing all rounds and ascending to heaven in one step, becoming Princess Yan’s heir apparent.

Initially, Miss Zhang followed her husband as hostages in the capital, but Prince Yan and Princess respected this commoner in-law, finding ways to transfer in-law Zhang Lin to serve as official in Beijing, entrusting him with important responsibilities.

Though Zhang Lin gained wealth through his daughter, he remained cautious and low-key, doing solid work and earning respect through ability. Prince Yan increasingly appreciated this in-law. Later when raising troops for “Jingnan,” Zhang Lin naturally joined the rebellion.

Prince Yan appointed Zhang Lin as Beijing’s military commander, managing Beijing’s defense – essentially entrusting home protection to his in-law, showing trust in the Zhang family. Zhang Lin lived up to expectations, assisting Princess Yan and son-in-law Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi in Beijing’s defense, fighting desperately for victory.

Beijing was defended, but Zhang Lin suffered multiple severe injuries. Throughout four years of Jingnan fighting, Zhang Lin persisted working while ill, defending Beijing impenetrably. Despite famous doctors and precious medicines, his body was ruined.

After Jingnan victory, when in-law Prince Yan became emperor, he made eldest daughter-in-law Zhang the Crown Princess and in-law Zhang Lin Earl Pengcheng, summoning Zhang Lin to the capital to manage Nanjing’s defense as Capital Guard Commander.

This was significant – even Empress Xiaoci didn’t get her family an earldom, Emperor Jianwen didn’t give Empress Ma’s family earl titles. Imperial father-in-law Ma Quan remained a Temple Minister without noble rank.

To thank imperial favor, Earl Pengcheng Zhang Lin worked even harder until his body couldn’t take it – dying from overwork at his post.

Emperor Yongle was deeply saddened, posthumously promoting in-law Zhang Lin to Marquis Pengcheng with posthumous title “Gongjing,” giving him a grand funeral. He also had Zhang Lin’s eldest son Zhang Chang inherit the Earl Pengcheng title.

Why didn’t Crown Prince and Crown Princess appear at Marquis Pengcheng Zhang Lin’s funeral?

Because at this time, the Ming imperial palace’s Empress and Crown Prince’s family weren’t there – they had Emperor Yongle’s formal investiture but were still in Beijing!

This was why Emperor Yongle delayed sending people to fetch his grandson from Yunnan. Besides external court purges eliminating ministers who wouldn’t acknowledge Emperor Yongle’s legitimacy, with blood-scented air and unstable situations, the vast Ming palace now housed only Emperor Yongle alone. Emperor Yongle dared not entrust his grandson to palace staff and had no time to personally care for him.

Also entering the capital with Emperor Yongle was his already-enfeoffed second son Prince Han Zhu Gaoxu, but as an adult prince, it was inappropriate to live in the palace – he resided separately outside.

Why did Empress, Crown Prince and others delay coming to the capital?

The reason was simple: in that brutal Beijing defense battle, not only recently deceased Marquis Pengcheng Zhang Lin was severely injured – Empress Xu was also wounded.

To boost morale, Empress Xu personally fought enemies, suffering back injuries. Later concealing this from everyone, she endured pain until Emperor Yongle’s reinforcements arrived and Li Jinglong retreated.

During Jingnan, Empress Xu’s condition fluctuated. This was kept as a major secret, unknown to outsiders. When Emperor Yongle successfully entered the capital and ascended the throne, his wife should have shared his success, but Empress Xu’s brother Xu Zengshou died just before dawn, killed by Emperor Jianwen’s sword in court, blood splattering everywhere. Zengshou didn’t live long – brother died for Prince Yan’s mansion. Hearing this news deeply affected Empress Xu, causing her old illness to relapse.

Empress Xu’s eldest brother Duke Weiguo Xu Huizu, after desperate resistance, saw his brother’s five rings and surrendered. Emperor Yongle naturally wouldn’t kill his brother-in-law, wanting him to write a confession letter – if Duke Weiguo acknowledged his imperial position and submitted, he’d forgive brother-in-law, letting him continue as Duke Weiguo with military power and continued wealth.

But Xu Huizu absolutely refused to acknowledge his brother-in-law’s legitimacy, cursing Emperor Yongle as a usurper, firmly refusing submission. To show determination, Xu Huizu even chose suicide as strong resistance!

With Xu Huizu’s direct confrontation, what could Emperor Yongle do? As emperor in the crucial moment of consolidating power, he had to punish self-harming brother-in-law Xu Huizu to display imperial majesty.

Emperor Yongle stripped the hereditary Duke Weiguo title, demoting brother-in-law Xu Huizu to commoner status.

As compensation, Emperor Yongle made brother-in-law Xu Zengshou hereditary Duke Dingguo, posthumously promoting him to Prince Wuning with royal funeral honors. He also had Xu Zengshou’s heir Xu Jingchang inherit the Duke Dingguo title. Xu Jingchang was originally eldest brother Xu Huizu’s younger son adopted by younger brother Xu Zengshou – still Xu family bloodline, Empress Xu’s nephew. This balanced punishment with support – ultimately the Xu family remained hereditary dukes, just transferring eldest branch’s title to second branch, from left hand to right hand, meat rotting in the pot, still Xu family people.

But for Empress Xu, losing two brothers at once – how could she not grieve?

Suffering repeated blows, Empress Xu’s condition worsened, unable to make the long journey to the capital for elaborate empress investiture ceremonies. Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi, being purely filial, requested to remain in Beijing caring for his mother’s illness, comforting Empress Xu who’d lost two brothers from her natal family. With everyone busy and tense situations, Little Ji could only stay in Yunnan for New Year.