Shu Jian’s face instantly flushed blood red. He couldn’t understand how his uncle had guessed so accurately, as if he had been right there beside him, witnessing that testament with his own eyes. He instinctively wanted to tell the person before him that he didn’t believe those words. Even if, hypothetically speaking, his uncle truly coveted his throne, he would never act according to what the testament instructed.
Yes, he absolutely would not. He could swear to it. The words in that testament even filled him with rage whenever he recalled them. At the New Year’s grand court assembly, his impulsive refusal to accept the resignation was his silent rebellion against that testament—yet he discovered he couldn’t rebel completely. For the first time in his life, he felt himself so weak. His heart was in such chaos, as if the heavens above had suddenly split open, leaving him momentarily unsure what to do.
He and Shu Shenhui looked at each other for a moment before he finally averted his gaze in embarrassment, stammering denials: “No… there’s no such thing! Third Imperial Uncle, you’re overthinking. She… she just came to see me…”
After speaking, he felt his heart racing and breaking into a cold sweat, afraid the person opposite wouldn’t let the matter drop and would continue questioning. Fortunately, the person opposite said nothing more and didn’t continue pressing, only watching him silently. But under that fixed gaze, his sense of relief quickly vanished. Whether from hot or cold perspiration, sweat began streaming continuously from his forehead.
It seemed like no time had passed, yet I also felt like an eternity of torment. Shu Jian saw him slowly nod: “I understand. I take my leave.” After saying this, he respectfully bowed as usual, turned, and walked out.
Shu Shenhui left the imperial study, his pace unhurried as always, walking through the palace buildings that had become layers of heavy shadows in the night, finally returning to Wenlin Pavilion.
This place had already begun being packed in preparation for his departure, but the packing had stopped halfway through. The entire Wenlin Pavilion was now shrouded in ink-black night, with no lights visible inside or out.
He slowly stopped at the foot of the steps before the pavilion and stood still.
Zhang Bao, who had followed behind him, quickly went inside and woke the sleeping attendants. Several people startled awake from their dreams, lit fires and lamps, then followed Zhang Bao out to receive their master. They rushed to the main gate only to find the steps empty, with no one in sight.
Shu Shenhui had gone to the Imperial Ancestral Temple. At this hour, the duty officer responsible for the keys was also asleep. Suddenly awakened by guards, he hastily rose, hurried over to pay respects, and dared not ask many questions before opening the main gate.
He walked alone along the dim sacred path, came before the temple, and pushed open the doors of the main hall. Accompanied by the heavy sound of door hinges turning, the temple doors opened. He stepped over the high threshold, entered this vast and sacred dark hall, and came before the altar where the memorial tablets of several deceased rulers of Great Wei were enshrined.
There burned the eternal lamps that never went out day or night. On each new moon and full moon, when sacrifices and offerings were made, these bright lamps watched over the souls of his grandfather, father, and his elder brother.
Shu Shenhui faced the altar, crossed his legs, and sat on the ground.
Boundless darkness poured down from the soaring ceiling, swallowing his figure. In the depths of the quiet hall, he closed his eyes and sat silently through the night, as if asleep.
When the first thread of dawn light penetrated through the gap of the hall doors that had remained open all night, he slowly opened his eyes.
After a night had passed, when he opened his eyes, his face bore a layer of pale color like the dawn outside the hall. His eye sockets had sunken deeply, and bloodshot veins appeared at the corners of his eyes.
He rose from the ground, carefully straightened his clothing that had become wrinkled from sitting all night, then methodically kowtowed before the tablets of the founding emperor and Emperor Wu. After completing this meticulously, he slowly turned his head toward the final tablet, gazed at it for a moment, approached, and finally stopped before it.
“Imperial Brother, since ancient times, ministers assisting monarchs have never been easy—otherwise, why would there be Fan Li’s warning about birds killed when bows are no longer needed? If regular ministers face such fates, how much more so regents? When I executed Prince Gao that day, he also cursed me. However, I originally thought it would be because Your Majesty, upon growing up, understood that imperial authority should be sole and unwilling to be constrained, would distance himself from me. I truly never imagined—”
His voice froze like a winter spring, his eyes suddenly filling with blood, and the corners of his eyes repeatedly showing heavy red mist. After a moment of silence, he continued: “I never imagined this day would come so early, and because of you, Imperial Brother—”
“I have always prided myself on superior intelligence, but I was thinking too simply before. Looking back now, I can understand. For an emperor, you would naturally have such concerns. I have always taught Jian’er the same way. But I cannot halt the military campaign—this is the most advantageous opportunity, one that countless Yanmen soldiers have long awaited. If we miss it, there are too many variables and unknown costs.”
“If current military action would be detrimental to Jian’er, I apologize to Imperial Brother. But having accepted the regency, everything must be prioritized for the nation. Regarding Great Wei, I have a clear conscience.”
“Rest assured, Jian’er grew up under my watch. I believe he will become a qualified ruler—this has always been my wish.”
“After completing this matter, I won’t make things difficult for Jian’er. His position isn’t easy either.”
In the depths of the dark hall, through the swirling incense smoke, Shu Shenhui spoke these final words to that lofty, half-visible tablet in a calm tone, then lingered no longer.
He turned and strode out of the Imperial Ancestral Temple.
Outside, dawn had not yet whitened, and cold mist pervaded.
He walked alone on the straight sacred path, heading outward with steady steps and resolute bearing.
He would exert all his strength, spare no cost, to complete this task.
This was a war concerning Great Wei’s national destiny, and it was also her long-cherished wish.
He had promised her he would deliver the military deployment order to Yanmen.
Shu Shenhui returned to Wenlin Pavilion.
Zhang Bao, unable to find him the previous night, had panicked and left the palace to summon Li Xiangchun. The old eunuch had instructed him not to make a commotion but to return and wait quietly. Seeing him finally return, Zhang Bao secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
Shu Shenhui entered his usual office space. Without calling for anyone, he personally worked by the dim light from the window, replacing the writing materials and books that had been half-packed, item by item, back to their original places.
“Your Highness, General Liu has arrived,” came an announcement from outside.
Liu Xiang arrived as summoned, hurrying inside and immediately kneeling in prostration.
“Your Highness! This subject is guilty! However, this incident was truly sudden. My subordinates said the Imperial Security Bureau people provoked first, acting unreasonably, surrounding and beating them with superior numbers, bullying the few. Only then were they forced to fight back.”
Liu Xiang, who hadn’t slept well for several nights, now had a darkened complexion and appeared anxious and guilt-ridden.
“This subject has caused trouble for Your Highness. This subject is willing to bear full responsibility!”
Shu Shenhui placed his commonly used purple writing brush, now worn with flattened bristles, on the brush rack, sat down, and spoke: “Write a confession memorial to His Majesty, stating that old injuries are recurring and you can no longer adequately fulfill your current position. Request assignment as a mausoleum guardian, leaving the capital to guard the imperial tombs damaged by earthquakes.”
Liu Xiang was startled and raised his head.
Serving in the imperial palace as Forbidden Army General, such a crucial position concerning the emperor’s safety, was secretly watched by countless eyes. Over these years, though he held a high rank and authority and appeared prestigious publicly, deep in his heart, he constantly felt as if he might step into a void and plummet into an abyss at any moment. It was only because the young emperor and Regent Prince maintained close, trusting relations that things remained calm.
However, overnight, everything seemed to have changed. These past few days, he had also heard rumors circulating in court that the young emperor had changed his mind and was unwilling to deploy troops to Yanmen. For the Regent Prince, military deployment was an arrow already nocked.
Liu Xiang now understood everything. A rift had occurred, undercurrents were surging, and the coming whirlpool would sweep everyone involved into it—none could escape.
At this moment, requesting resignation could still allow him to retreat with his whole body intact.
He gritted his teeth, lowered his voice, and said word by word: “Liu Xiang will not leave! Even if demoted to a lowly clerk, I can still serve my lord loyally!”
Shu Shenhui sat upright and said indifferently: “I said before that you lack wisdom and foresight—indeed so. Those from military backgrounds always have somewhat muddled thinking, self-righteous yet foolish beyond measure! Who is your lord? Do you wish to harm me? The only one you need to serve loyally is His Majesty the current emperor. If you don’t want to live, that’s one thing, but do you want to drag your wife and children down with you?”
“Your Highness—”
Liu Xiang choked up, continuously kowtowing.
“That’s settled. I have other matters to attend to,” Shu Shenhui said after a moment.
Liu Xiang looked dejected and could only rise from the ground, turn, and slowly walk out with heavy steps. Suddenly, he heard another voice from behind: “Prince Xian has a grandson about the same age as your daughter. He once asked me about your daughter. If you’re willing, you could postpone your daughter’s marriage arrangements and have her marry Prince Xian’s grandson in the future.”
Liu Xiang spun around abruptly and saw him wearing a slight smile, looking at him.
Liu Xiang stood still for a moment, his tiger-like eyes slowly filling with tears.
“Thank you, Your Highness!”
He choked up, turned to bow again, and kowtowed heavily.
Shu Shenhui waved his hand, indicating he should go. After the man left, he also left Wenlin Pavilion, walking in the pale morning light, exited the palace, and returned to his princely residence.
He went nowhere else but straight to the storeroom, finding the chest he had opened in April the previous year.
It still sat in the same place, its lid tightly closed. Because no one had touched it for a long time, a layer of dust had settled on the lid.
Shu Shenhui opened it and took out the moon-shaped blade she had abandoned—the one he had once sent as a betrothal gift. Taking it with him, he returned to Fanzhi Hall.
He laid the blade across his desk, looked at it for a long time, then finally sealed it in a case, wrapped it tightly, called Wang Ren, and commanded him to send trustworthy people to deliver it to Yanmen, to give it to her.
“Also, pass along a message from me—”
He stood by the window, looking at the dawn light that had brightened outside, remaining silent for a long time.
“Tell her that I prepared this item before seeking to marry her. She must keep it safe for future use.”
Wang Ren left with the blade. At this moment, the morning mist had cleared, and a column of sunlight suddenly burst through the window, shooting directly into his eyes. Shu Shenhui felt it so brilliantly dazzling that he could barely keep his eyes open.
He turned his face away, closed his eyes briefly to avoid this first ray of early spring sunshine, then felt fatigue wash over him. He ordered cold water to be brought, splashed his face with both hands, and when his spirits recovered, had the old eunuch help him change clothes. Piece by piece, as usual, he put on his court robes, finally personally placing the cap and crown on his head, then stepped out of Fanzhi Hall.
Heaven had eyes. Fortunately, the person in her heart was not him.
What had once been his greatest source of sleepless anguish and unwillingness turned out to be the greatest fortune of his life.
His heart slowly settled. Thinking that she was probably anxiously awaiting news at this moment, he quickly gathered his thoughts, gently spurred his horse, and galloped toward the imperial palace.