On the seventh day of the first month in the twenty-fifth year of Jingyuan, Zhu Minda took his family to pray for blessings at Zhaojue Temple.

That day, he was only one step away from the throne.

When entering the temple gates at dawn, he looked up at the old bell atop the pagoda tower. The bell’s body required five people linking arms to embrace it, and each strike would resound throughout all of Yingtian City.

Yingtian, Yingtian—born of heaven’s mandate, crowned by heaven’s will.

Years ago, when Zhu Jingyuan conquered Nanjing and renamed it Yingtian Prefecture, he had said to Zhu Minda: “Minda, look—this realm under heaven rightfully belongs to our Zhu family. I am the king born of heaven’s mandate. I saved the common people from fire and flood, and you will be the next master of this empire.”

To this day, Zhu Minda could no longer remember clearly why he had walked such a blood-soaked path.

He only knew that he was born to be the heir apparent. Those illegitimate sons—the cunning ones, the ruthless ones, the reckless ones—wanted to seize his position as heir. They were never supposed to be able to wrest it from him.

Because Father Emperor had said so—the throne was his.

The Feathered Forest Guards entered in full military formation, taking positions at each courtyard gate of Zhaojue Temple. The temple’s abbot came to receive them, performing a Buddhist salute with joined hands. When Zhu Minda returned the gesture, he instinctively turned to look behind him.

Little Zhu Lin was imitating him, palms pressed together, performing a proper Buddhist salute as well.

Zhu Minda smiled faintly.

The morning wind was cold, carrying with it the familiar scent of incense that reminded him of many years past.

Thirteen had been born in early spring of the second year of Jingyuan. By then, the court structure was established, and the hearts of the people were gradually uniting. When Thirteen could speak, run, and think for himself, Father Emperor and Mother Empress brought him to Zhaojue Temple to pray for blessings.

That had been in the fifth year of Jingyuan. Thirteen had stood beside him behind the Emperor and Empress. He was still so small then, just like Lin’er now, but when performing the salute, he too had been proper and dignified.

Zhu Minda had always felt regret that by the time Seventeen reached the age to come to Zhaojue Temple, he himself had already married A’jing and could no longer accompany the imperial procession. The three brothers had never once accompanied Father Emperor and Mother Empress to pray for blessings together.

Entering Zhaojue Hall, they first offered incense and kowtowed to Buddha, then were led by young monks to the temple buildings behind to burn incense and recite sutras.

The incense was sandalwood. The sutra recited was the Lotus Sutra.

All things and phenomena—such is their cause, such is their condition, such is their effect, such is their retribution.

The temple hall was neither large nor small. Besides Zhu Minda’s family of three, Shen Jing’s personal maid Shuxiang had also come along to look after Zhu Lin.

Zhu Minda, Shen Jing, and Zhu Lin knelt before the Buddhist altar. On both left and right sides, one hundred and eight incense candles burned, behind which sat eighteen monks on each side.

When Zhu Minda was lighting incense, he inadvertently glanced toward the monks and suddenly felt something was wrong.

One monk’s kasaya seemed to conceal something bright. Reflecting the brilliant candlelight, it flashed with a piercing gleam.

That was the color of silver armor.

Zhu Minda’s heart tightened. Among the Twelve Guards, only the Feathered Forest Guards wore silver armor.

He remembered that after the winter hunt, he had questioned Shen Xi about why he had sent the Golden Crow Guards to follow him instead of protecting Zhu Nanxian, who was trapped in the restricted zone.

Shen Xi had already mentioned then that he suspected Wu Yusheng and the Feathered Forest Guards harbored treacherous intentions.

At the time, Zhu Minda had laughed it off. He had been ambushed in the hunting grounds, and if not for the Feathered Forest Guards, he would likely have lost his life long ago. This military guard had followed him for nearly ten years—he didn’t believe they served another master.

The sound of shuffling footsteps came from outside the hall.

Zhu Minda had spent time in the military as a child. He was familiar with such sounds. This was the sound of people secretly mustering troops.

Before departing this morning, when he mounted the imperial carriage, Qingyue had come to stop him.

He stood below the carriage, looking up and asking: “Brother-in-law, could you not go to pray for blessings today?” He added, “These next few days, could you and Second Sister and Lin’er just stay in the palace and not go anywhere?”

At the time, Zhu Minda had found it laughable. The blessing prayers and troop inspections after the winter hunt were traditions that had been followed for decades since the founding of the Great Sui Dynasty. How could he, as the one about to inherit the throne and become the second monarch, abolish ancestral customs?

But the teardrop mole beneath Shen Xi’s right eye seemed to hold a river of worry. He was no longer his usual carefree, smiling self. Standing there, cold and distant, he had said: “Brother-in-law, I feel like… like someone has clouded my vision. Give me two more days to think things through properly, all right?”

Now Zhu Minda thought he should have believed Qingyue.

The sound of troops mustering outside the hall was like gentle rain. If he had been reciting sutras, he certainly wouldn’t have heard it.

Zhu Minda feigned carelessness and knocked the sutra text from his hand. Shuxiang, kneeling at the back of the hall, started to rise to pick it up for him, but Zhu Minda shook his head: “This palace will do it myself.”

Then, holding the candle stand, as he picked up the sutra text, he glanced through the blurred paper window. Sure enough, the Feathered Forest Guards’ deployment outside was different from before.

Zhu Minda’s eyes darkened. He couldn’t help but look back at Shen Jing and Zhu Lin behind him. Lin’er wore an innocent, confused expression, but Shen Jing’s eyes already showed pain.

She was a Shen family daughter after all. Though content with the status quo and reluctant to overthink, she was sharp and intelligent.

Zhu Minda fell silent for a moment, then gave Shen Jing a slight shake of his head.

He calmly walked to the Buddhist altar, placed the candle stand on it, and picked up the prayer beads beside it.

This string of prayer beads was made from one hundred and eight turquoise stones. Zhu Minda gripped them tightly and yanked forcefully left and right. The silk thread snapped, and the lustrous green beads scattered and bounced, clattering and rolling all over the floor.

This commotion instantly alerted the guards outside the hall. Wu Yusheng’s voice came through the door: “Your Highness, what has happened?”

Zhu Minda took a breath and said calmly: “Nothing. The prayer beads broke.”

He knew these traitorous Feathered Forest Guards were waiting—waiting for when he finished reciting the Ten Suchnesses and the monks in the hall had all departed. Then they would make their move, because this way no one would witness their heinous acts.

He had only this moment left.

Zhu Minda’s cold gaze swept around the room as he rebuked: “What are you standing there for? Pick up the beads for this palace!”

The monks seated on both sides hurriedly knelt and searched the floor for the prayer beads. As Zhu Minda bent down to help Shen Jing up, he whispered in her ear: “Leave quickly.”

Shen Jing’s eyes were full of deep sorrow. She opened her mouth, seeming to want to say something, when her fingers hanging at her side were suddenly grasped by a small, chubby hand.

It was Zhu Lin.

He was stumbling as he climbed down from the prayer cushion, one hand holding Shen Jing’s, the other reaching out to hold Zhu Minda’s.

Zhu Minda smiled bitterly, raised his hand to pat his head, looked at Shen Jing once more, then coldly rebuked: “What chaos is this? Shuxiang, escort the Crown Princess and the Imperial Grandson to the side room to rest for a moment.”

Shuxiang stared at him blankly, understanding after a moment.

She immediately picked up Zhu Lin, steadying her voice as if everything were normal: “Crown Princess, Young Highness, this servant will attend to your rest.”

Zhu Minda watched the three of them depart, then turned back around, striving not to show the slightest abnormality.

He knew there was a high window above the side room. Shen Jing was intelligent—she would know the best moment to leave. She would protect Lin’er.

One hundred and eight beads scattered across the floor. With dozens of people helping to collect them, it took only moments to gather them all.

One monk re-threaded the beads with silk and presented them before Zhu Minda. Zhu Minda thought—this moment had come far too quickly.

He calmly accepted the prayer beads, then raised his hand and forcefully pushed open the temple hall doors.

Great swaths of spring light poured through the opened doors, illuminating his crimson robe embroidered with golden dragon patterns until the cloud designs seemed to surge and flow.

Zhu Minda stepped forward, his face showing not the slightest trace of fear. He swept his gaze over the Feathered Forest Guards arrayed left and right, awaiting orders, and laughed coldly: “What is this? Are you rebelling?”

He clasped his hands behind his back and was about to walk forward when cold light flashed before his eyes. Two long spears crossed before him, blocking his path.

Ahead, Wu Yusheng sat high upon his horse, lowering his eyes: “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

Spring light slanted ahead. The vast sky stretched high above. All around, endless cold wind surged, as if stirred by countless invisible hands, churning and overturning everything.

Hearing this “forgive me,” Zhu Minda suddenly felt tired.

He thought: there’s nothing to forgive. In this life, it’s nothing more than the victor becoming king and the vanquished becoming bandit.

Shen Jing and Shuxiang climbed out through the high window. Before them were the high walls of the rear courtyard and the gaps between temple buildings.

The two of them hid in this gap with Zhu Lin, waiting until the guards stationed in the Buddhist courtyard ran toward the front courtyard.

Shen Jing knew this was because Zhu Minda had walked out of the hall before finishing the sutra recitation, alarming them.

Her heart felt hollow, as if wind blew through it, but she bit her lip and refused to dwell on it. Her gaze fell on Zhu Lin as she forced herself to calm down.

She came to Zhaojue Temple every year—for festivals, to pray for her parents’ safety, to accumulate merit for Qingyue, to ask about Third Sister’s fortune.

Now all four main gates were guarded. Shen Jing knew that following the wall to the rear courtyard, there was a small medicinal garden. Beyond the garden, through a short alley, there was a small door that monks used for private comings and goings. Perhaps they could escape through there.

Shen Jing led Shuxiang and Zhu Lin to the medicinal garden. Looking through the wall toward the alley, she saw Feathered Forest Guards stationed at the alley’s end as well.

Their only escape route was gone.

Shen Jing turned her head and suddenly spotted a young novice monk loosening soil for medicinal herbs in one corner of the garden. He straightened up, staring at them in bewilderment.

She thought carefully for a moment, then removed one of Zhu Lin’s shoes and tossed it near the path leading from the medicinal garden to the alley. Turning to look at Shuxiang, she said: “First hide with Lin’er in the medicinal garden. When I’ve drawn away the Feathered Forest Guards from the rear courtyard, you must take him back through the rear gate to the hall where we were reciting sutras, then find a place to hide near the Buddhist altar.” She paused. “Someone will come to rescue you.”

Shen Jing knew that once the Feathered Forest Guards discovered she and Zhu Lin were missing, they would certainly have searched that hall already. Even if they searched again, it would be last.

Shuxiang asked in a daze: “What about Your Highness? Will Your Highness come find us afterward?”

But Shen Jing didn’t answer this question.

She smiled sadly and said softly: “You once told me your hometown is in Shu, didn’t you?” She looked at Shuxiang. “If you can survive, take Lin’er to Shu in the future. Give him a humble name. Don’t let him be surnamed Zhu or Shen. Raise him, and for his entire life, never tell him who he truly is, or who his parents were.”

After saying this, she looked deeply at Zhu Lin once more, as if to imprint a lifetime of parting sorrow into this single glance.

Zhu Lin had learned to call for mother and father early on, but unfortunately, at one year old he had suffered a terrible fright, and afterward couldn’t even make sounds.

Zhu Minda had consulted countless physicians and doctors for Zhu Lin. All said his throat was fine—perhaps he’d been frightened, and whether he could speak again in the future would depend on fate.

And at this very moment, little Zhu Lin looked at his mother consort in confusion. As if realizing something, he suddenly widened his eyes, reached out trying to grasp Shen Jing’s sleeve, and his mouth suddenly emitted hoarse, halting “ah, ah” sounds.

Shen Jing’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, but she took a deep breath, suppressing the tears to the bottom of her eyes, and said firmly: “Cover his mouth. Don’t let him cry out.”

After seeing Shuxiang hide with Zhu Lin in a small temple building, Shen Jing turned and walked to the young monk in the corner of the medicinal garden.

All around, the wind was vast and boundless. She looked at the young monk and suddenly smiled: “Young monk, will you help me with something?”

The young monk seemed to recognize her, or perhaps found her so kind-looking, as beautiful as the Guanyin in paintings. He couldn’t help but nod respectfully.

Shen Jing raised her head, her gaze traveling past the ancient temple buildings to rest on the highest pagoda: “Do you see that old bell?” she said. “Will you help me ring the bell? Twelve times, so that all of Yingtian City can hear it.”

The young monk stared at her blankly. He was a Buddhist, removed from the red dust of the world, yet in this moment, in Shen Jing’s eyes mingled with sorrow and grief, he comprehended what were called the seven worldly emotions.

Suddenly moved to compassion, the young monk pressed his palms together and said softly: “Female Bodhisattva need not be so courteous. This humble monk will go ring the bell.”

Hearing these words, the tears brimming in Shen Jing’s eyes suddenly rolled down.

She lifted her skirt, knelt before the young monk, and quietly kowtowed three times.

I’m sorry, she said in her heart. This bell-ringing will likely cost you your life.

But this is my selfishness as a mother. I hope someone will hear this bell tolling. I hope someone can arrive in time to save Lin’er.

Shen Jing had lived her life with kindness toward others, treating the world with gentleness. She never imagined that at life’s edge, she would have to commit an evil act.

This young monk with clear, handsome features and compassionate heart—she was about to harm him. After he finished ringing the bell and was discovered by the Feathered Forest Guards, what fate would befall him?

Shen Jing didn’t dare think about it.

She rose from the ground, forced herself to smile, and said softly to the young monk: “Go quickly.”

The young monk held his wooden prayer beads and earnestly performed a Buddhist salute to her before hastening toward the pagoda tower.

Shen Jing felt this Buddhist salute was as if meant to deliver her salvation.

She suddenly felt somewhat at peace, thinking that good deeds were good deeds, evil deeds were evil deeds, and no one would record merit for her anyway. In the end, all became a mound of yellow earth—what was the point of calculating so much?

Only she, even if she became a mound of yellow earth, would be buried beside him.

Shen Jing raised her hand to her waist, where Zhu Minda had once given her the Nine Dragons Dagger.

The ancient bell rang with a trace of panic, each toll carrying far, truly solid, deep, and resonant.

The Feathered Forest Guards, hearing the bell, fell into momentary chaos, but quieted upon seeing Shen Jing.

Shen Jing walked in time with the tolling bell, her robe and skirt blown backward by the wind, her expression so serene she seemed like an immortal maiden descending through clouds from the ninth heaven.

She walked into the hall and saw three long spears thrust into Zhu Minda’s body. Fresh blood gushed from the corners of his mouth. He groaned, then looked up and froze.

He saw her.

Zhu Minda was first shocked, then furious—why had she returned? Hadn’t he told her to flee? Did she not value her life?

But as blood flowed away, he gradually lost consciousness. The shock and anger in his eyes slowly transformed into threads of grief and sorrow.

His vision was already blurred. He still wanted to see her again.

And seeing her walk toward him, he was truly somewhat happy. He had thought they would be separated for the rest of this life.

A’jing had been by his side since childhood. He had watched over her as she grew from a little girl with hanging hair to the prime of her youth. He waited for her coming-of-age ceremony, watched her become more beautiful day by day, captivating entire kingdoms, then married her as his wife.

Zhu Minda raised his hand, wanting to embrace her, but the long spears pinning his body made movement impossible.

He saw Shen Jing walk before him, smile tenderly, her lips moving as if saying something, but unfortunately he could no longer hear clearly.

After she finished speaking, she looked at him once more, then raised the Nine Dragons Dagger he had given her and plunged it into her own chest.

Fresh blood burst forth, great swaths blinding his eyes, the crimson color as dazzling as all the spring flowers in the entire city.

The moment Zhu Minda closed his eyes, he remembered many years ago, that late spring when A’jing was about to marry him.

Outside the Eastern Palace, the hanging flower garden bloomed with a sea of brilliant crabapple blossoms.

He had given his Nine Dragons Dagger to A’jing. Her face flushed redder and more beautiful than the crabapples.

The spring light was so wonderful that year—there were stone bridges and flowing water, falling petals like scattered brocade. Qingyue held a dog-tail grass stem in his mouth, sitting cross-legged on a large rock nearby, grinning; Thirteen had just finished martial practice, sitting against a tree holding his blade, raising his eyebrows to watch; Third Sister was making tassels and braiding sword knots on the side, clearly not understanding what was happening, still saying, “Second Sister, help me see if I tied this knot correctly?”

And there was Seventeen. Seventeen was still small then, crouching by the pond playing in the water. His foot slipped and he nearly fell in, but Thirteen took two steps over and used his blade handle to hook his collar and pull him back.

Seventeen looked ready to cry from grievance, but Qingyue chased him away: “Go, go, go—on such an auspicious day, swallow those tears back into your belly.”

Thirteen laughed heartily, lifting Seventeen by his back collar: “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Third Sister hastily bundled all the silk cords scattered on the ground into her robe and chased after them: “Take me too, take me too—I want to find Fourth Brother.”

The younger brothers and sisters were still young, laughing and playing as they walked along the stone path where crabapple petals fell like scattered brocade. Before him, A’jing had just turned sixteen two years ago, her face flushed, about to become his wife.

Somehow, this garden full of spring color suddenly took root in Zhu Minda’s heart, becoming the only soft refuge within his heart full of iron and stone.

Zhu Minda remembered what Shen Jing had said to him that day when only the two of them remained, standing beneath the crabapple tree.

He had never heard such beautiful words in his life—so beautiful that he could only see her lips moving.

And those moving lips were exactly the same as when she smiled and spoke her final words just now.

When Zhu Minda finally closed his eyes, his remaining wishes were fulfilled.

Because he heard what she was saying—A’jing would follow His Highness life after life, never separating from His Highness again.

They had not separated.

The military conflicts and open schemes and hidden plots that had filled Zhu Minda’s thirty-two years of life passed like birds fluttering across the vast sky, vanishing without trace in an instant. After a chaotic spring rain, they were finally absorbed into that tender refuge in his heart.

They could finally never be separated again.