Chen Lun soon received reports from his subordinates that the night guards at the West Gate said the Regent Prince had left the city from there about two quarters of an hour ago.
Outside the West Gate lay vast countryside, but some ten li away was a particular place—the Huguo Temple.
Instinct told him that he had very likely gone there.
In the imperial palace, Prince Xian returned to report, presenting the belt and memorial he had brought, along with the young emperor’s abdication edict.
Walking on the path out of the palace, his steps gradually slowed and finally stopped.
The rift between the young emperor and the Regent Prince had grown deeper. After Gao He’s death, the court was calm, and the northern war progressed steadily with victory imminent. He knew that when news of victory arrived, the peace between the young emperor and Regent Prince would surely be broken, leading to great upheaval. Worried that Chen Lun might invite trouble, he had used Princess Yongtai’s childbirth as an opportunity to strictly order him to take leave at home, avoiding being swept into the conflict.
His premonition had indeed come true.
Tonight, when the young emperor commissioned him to convey such words, he was extremely reluctant, yet that youth was the emperor—what could be done about it?
Before his eyes appeared the scene from moments ago when the young emperor received the reports. He looked at the presented items with downcast eyes, saying not a word. He could not even discern half of the emperor’s inner emotions at that moment. If he had still felt uncertain before, then in that moment, he was certain. Recalling the overnight confinement of the eldest princess, forcing Lan Rong to death, and the handling of that imperial edict—all these actions were not impulsive moves. That young emperor had long been prepared, merely enduring in silence before now.
Just around this time last year, he had still made the rash decision to flee the palace privately. In barely a year, such tremendous change made Prince Xian feel somewhat chilled.
The imperial throne could truly transform a person into a blade in human form.
He had spent his life wisely protecting himself, never saying a word he shouldn’t say nor doing a deed he shouldn’t do, earning the title of Prince Xian and a position of honor.
Prince Xian stood for a moment, slowly turned around, and departed.
…
Shu Jian stood in the divine hall of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.
Facing him were the spirit tablets of the founding emperor, Emperor Wu, and Emperor Ming.
Once this place had made him feel eerily oppressive, the most frightening place in the imperial palace. Now he stood alone in this vast hall for a long time.
He had long known that the most frightening thing in the imperial palace was not ghosts and spirits.
He remembered that when he first saw Emperor Ming’s testament, he had feared his father’s scheming. But now, was he not the same?
When had he begun to covet the position beneath him, unwilling to let it fall to others?
Was it when he went out last year, witnessed various things, and later at that ceremony when ten thousand in the army shouted “Your Imperial Majesty,” making his blood boil? While feeling responsibility, was he also awakened to that strong desire to stand above all others?
No, perhaps before he had exhausted all means to escape the palace, yet dreamed of being blocked outside the palace gates, unable to return, and awakened from that nightmare, in his subconscious, he had long believed that position belonged to him. Even if he didn’t much want to sit there then, that position could not be replaced by another.
All along, he had both resisted the heavy pressure and responsibility this position placed on him, while also enjoying the pleasure and satisfaction that supreme power brought him.
Like his father, he was naturally such a person—extremely selfish and extremely cold-blooded at heart.
He had thought more than once how his Third Imperial Uncle, who had so carefully taught him, could have ulterior motives. But another voice would coldly tell him that this position was so desirable—how could there truly be someone in the world who wouldn’t be moved by it? If years ago, Prince Xian could contend with Emperor Wu, would he have willingly yielded?
Thus, he had wavered and hesitated repeatedly until reaching today.
With the great army capturing the southern capital, he and his Third Imperial Uncle should finally have a resolution.
By now, he knew he had completely lost—he could never contend with his Third Imperial Uncle.
He also knew that beneath the seemingly calm court, many were secretly waiting for his Third Imperial Uncle to make a move, then support him to the throne.
It was said some had already written congratulatory memorials.
Dispatching Prince Xian was his final gamble.
Now he had won. He should have felt extremely fortunate, yet he was shrouded by unprecedented confusion and despondency rising in his heart again.
So there truly were people in this world who were different from him and his father?
He hung that belt back on Emperor Ming’s spirit tablet, not sparing it another glance as he walked past and stopped before Emperor Shengwu’s spirit tablet.
He raised his head slightly, gazing at this solemn and silent spirit tablet. After a moment, he murmured: “Imperial Grandfather, was I truly wrong?”
Footsteps came from behind. Shu Jian slowly turned to see Prince Xian returning, stepping from the shadows outside the divine hall across the threshold and walking inward.
Shu Jian watched him approach, respectfully bow to the spirit tablets of the founding emperor and Emperor Wu, then turn to him and speak: “Your Majesty, you are wrong!”
“When your father was still crown prince, he tried to fathom the imperial will, deeply fearing being deposed, and made great efforts to befriend your Third Imperial Uncle. When your Third Imperial Uncle was fifteen, once while pretending to be drunk, he claimed his body was chronically weak from self-inflicted wounds and feared he couldn’t bear the crown prince position, wanting to yield it to your Third Imperial Uncle. He swore a solemn oath to heaven to serve loyally with all his strength.”
“If Your Majesty feels those old events too distant, then just last year, when Your Majesty privately left the palace, causing great turmoil in the court, your Third Imperial Uncle was still on a southern inspection tour then. After rushing back upon hearing the news, what did he do? He met ministers at night, rebuked those who questioned in Xuanzheng Hall, suppressed the situation for you, and then searched everywhere. A floating corpse was discovered in the Wei River, whose height and age matched Your Majesty perfectly. All who knew believed it was Your Majesty. It was the Regent Prince who rushed there, and after identification, ruled it out. Later, he also deduced that Your Majesty might have gone to Yanmen, entrusted court affairs to me, left Chang’an overnight, and finally found Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty! I suspect that the lady in Dunyi Palace must have told Your Majesty earlier that the Regent Prince endured without action because he feared damaging his reputation. When three people say there’s a tiger, I fear Your Majesty, you later came to think so too. Your Third Imperial Uncle is the Regent Prince—if he had the slightest intention to harm you, with such a heaven-sent opportunity, then why didn’t he go along with the mistake? If he had simply acknowledged the floating corpse as Your Majesty, he could have rightfully ascended then. Why would he need such elaborate schemes, using this northern war to accumulate merit and seize the throne?”
Prince Xian, reaching this point, knelt before Shu Jian and kowtowed: “Your Majesty! He once placed great hopes in you, unwilling to contend with you, and even more unwilling to implicate others because of Your Majesty’s suspicions of him. This old subject shamefully occupies a high position and is truly incompetent, but simply cannot sit by and watch Your Majesty make a grave error in one moment of poor judgment!”
“If even someone like him cannot have a good end, wouldn’t the loyal and upright scholars of the world be disheartened? What of the Yanmen soldiers who just fought bloody battles for our Great Wei to recover our borders—how could they feel at ease?”
Shu Jian stared fixedly at Prince Xian, stunned. Suddenly, he remembered what his Third Imperial Uncle had said to him that day after killing Gao He in the great hall.
He said he had committed an unpardonable capital crime, asking him for more time until General Changning finished the war and recovered Youyan. He would complete Emperor Shengwu’s dying wish on his behalf, and when that day came, the subject would surely give him a satisfactory account.
Shu Jian shivered and came to his senses.
He suddenly turned, abandoning Prince Xian, shouted for people to come, and ran off swiftly.
…
Shu Shenhui arrived at Huguo Temple at midnight, entering through the back mountain gate.
The mountains were secluded and quiet, the temple shrouded in night, with complete silence reaching his ears.
The pagoda forest here contained relics of eminent monks and had accumulated stone tablets by many great calligraphers throughout history. In his youth, when obsessed with calligraphy, he often came to practice copying. Accompanied by sleeping remains at his side, sometimes staying for several days, it was an excellent place for solitary quiet. Only later, as affairs grew increasingly busy, he never set foot here again.
Earlier when she practiced writing, he had also thought that when he had time, he would bring her here too, teaching her to study the exquisite aspects of ancient tablet calligraphy. Though this was a burial ground, given her temperament, she should have liked it too.
Now he came again under such circumstances. However, if he were to sleep in this place, it would fulfill his youthful sentiments.
He passed Luohan Hall, where he had once strangled Prince Gao. Prince Gao’s cursing voice seemed to echo clearly in his ears. He also passed near the Scripture Repository and slowly stopped.
This was also where he and she first met, though at that time only she had seen him while he remained completely unaware.
He stood outside the Scripture Repository for a moment. The monk accompanying him also stopped.
“Does Your Highness wish to enter?”
He saw the monk Wuqing hurrying over upon hearing news, opening the door for him. After hesitating, he finally walked in, holding a candle and slowly moving inward along the sutra shelves, imagining where she might have hidden that day to escape his notice. Finally, he came to the shadows in the northwest corner pavilion, where he saw a spider web hanging in the corner with a large spider squatting in the center.
Monks cherished even ants and never swept away spider webs in corners. This web had been here for who knows how long, layer upon layer, extremely large.
A night breeze surged from the dark corner of the pavilion, making the spider web tremble continuously. The creature seemed to wake and began moving across it.
Shu Shenhui stood in the corner, watching this creature busily working by the dim candlelight, spinning silk and reinforcing its web as if never tiring. Gradually becoming lost in thought, he heard urgent footsteps from outside.
“Is Your Highness here?” He heard a familiar voice from outside the scripture building.
He slowly turned his head.
With a bang of the door being pushed open, Chen Lun rushed in. Seeing Shu Shenhui holding a candle and standing in the corner, he sighed in relief and ran forward.
“Your Highness, my uncle has just arrived! The princess has something for him to deliver to Your Highness!”
Shu Shenhui looked up with slight bewilderment.
Chen Heng removed his traveling bag, took out a box, and presented it with both hands.
Shu Shenhui completely came to his senses.
Without needing to open it, seeing this box, he knew what was inside. Slightly surprised, he accepted it, but saw Chen Heng take out another small pouch and present it again: “Your Highness, the princess also commanded me to convey one more message from her.”
He repeated Jiang Hanyuan’s words from that day.
“…After capturing the southern capital, she will go to the destination where she once guided a youth when she was thirteen, waiting for that youth to come again.”
Shu Shenhui was momentarily stunned, hardly daring to believe his ears. His heart pounded rapidly, and after a moment, he came to his senses, his gaze falling on the small pouch still in Chen Heng’s hands.
It was extremely small, less than palm-sized, sewn from the kind of durable coarse cloth used for winter military clothing. Gray and dusty-looking, it appeared quite old and must have been around for some years.
He suddenly snatched it and quickly untied the rope binding the opening. Something slid out and fell into his palm.
This was a jade pendant—the jade was warm and lustrous with exquisite carving. From the carved cloud-dragon pattern, it was an ornament only imperial family and royal male members were qualified to use. It seemed familiar…
Chen Lun saw him staring motionlessly at this piece of jade in his hand, so he also glanced at it, was stunned, hesitated, then blurted out: “Your Highness, isn’t this the jade pendant you once bestowed at Yanmen to that guide soldier? I also have one—I remember it was granted during the palace Lantern Festival. How could it be with the princess?”
He suddenly recalled Chen Heng’s words from just now and was greatly shocked: “Could the princess be that guide soldier from years ago?”
Shu Shenhui’s eyes grew slightly warm. He slowly tightened his grip on the jade pendant, steadied himself, and said hoarsely: “You all go out first.”