Before Jiang Ruan could speak, Xuan Pei had already begun explaining voluntarily: “Lord Mu insisted that Mu Xirou enter the palace. I once had a brief encounter with her and promised her freedom. Since she had to enter the palace anyway, I promised her that one day, when the Great Jin Dynasty changed hands, would be the time of her freedom.”
“She believed you so easily?” Jiang Ruan was somewhat surprised. Xuan Pei’s true strength had only gradually emerged in recent years. For a long time before, in everyone’s minds, he was just an unfavored, useless prince who didn’t even qualify for succession struggles. How could such a person gain Mu Xirou’s trust and even make her willingly become a chess piece?
“Everyone has weaknesses, and she’s no exception,” Xuan Pei said vaguely. “Since she was destined to enter the palace anyway, rather than living in melancholy after entering the palace, it would be better to use her own life to fight for a future. Perhaps she could gain some frank freedom.” Xuan Pei was speaking about Mu Xirou, but to Jiang Ruan’s ears, it sounded more like he was talking about himself. Jiang Ruan looked at the youth before her and sighed softly in her heart. She thought she had protected Xuan Pei very well, but in fact, during the days when she and Xuan Pei hadn’t yet recognized each other, Xuan Pei had already made too many preparations for today. That hatred and endurance had never left his heart for a single day, and she had actually overlooked this.
Though she didn’t know how Xuan Pei had persuaded Mu Xirou to become a chess piece, Xuan Pei must have paid quite a price. Jiang Ruan didn’t ask further. Xuan Pei was no longer the child who needed her to plan everything. He was using his own methods to protect her and pave the way for her.
“Good,” Jiang Ruan said. “Now I need you to give me one of the edicts.”
Xuan Pei was slightly startled but didn’t refuse. Instead, he instinctively asked, “What does Mother Consort need the edict for?” He didn’t specify which edict, but both understood it must be the one with Xiao Shao’s name. Since Jiang Ruan had said Xiao Shao wouldn’t compete for the throne, Xuan Pei believed he truly had no such intentions. But why did Jiang Ruan still need that edict?
“The edict isn’t safe staying in the palace,” Jiang Ruan shook her head. “Xiao Shao’s identity is a secret. If this matter gets out, the entire Great Jin Dynasty would be thrown into chaos. Even if you have His Majesty’s edict making you crown prince, you probably couldn’t convince everyone. It would only give Xuan Li an opportunity—he’d be delighted to see such chaos. Now that Eunuch Li has been murdered, Xuan Li has probably noticed something amiss. He has people arranged everywhere in the palace—he might very well investigate Mu Xirou. Then even you might be controlled by him. This edict is too unsafe staying in the palace. It’s better if I take it away and destroy it.”
“But…” Xuan Pei felt something was strange but couldn’t say what was wrong. While he was hesitating, he heard Jiang Ruan continue: “Prince Jinying’s mansion isn’t so easily entered after all. The Brocade Guard is more loyal and capable than palace guards. Moreover, if I take away the edict, you just need to hint slightly to Xuan Li, or you don’t even need to hint—Xuan Li’s people will know about this matter. That way, he’ll direct all his attention toward Prince Jinying’s mansion. The edict remaining in the palace will actually be safer. This way, you’ll also gain considerable time, and Xuan Li won’t watch you constantly without relaxing.”
This made sense, but Xuan Pei didn’t realize that Jiang Ruan had cleverly inserted herself into Prince Jinying’s mansion. Indeed, Xuan Li might still lack some courage when dealing with Prince Jinying’s mansion, and Xuan Pei knew the Brocade Guard’s strength well—even if Xuan Li wanted to act, he’d have to carefully consider beforehand. But dealing with Jiang Ruan, especially an unprotected Jiang Ruan, would be much simpler.
Jiang Ruan didn’t give Xuan Pei time to think through the key points clearly, saying, “Good, take me to get that edict now.”
“Now?” Xuan Pei was somewhat surprised why Jiang Ruan was so urgent today, saying somewhat aggrievedly, “Won’t Mother Consort sit here longer? After taking the edict, you’ll have to leave the palace, won’t you?”
“There are some things to do today,” Jiang Ruan touched his head. “Besides, you have two edicts here. It’s better to take it back while it’s still not too late, to avoid unnecessary complications. Palace matters have taken some turns—I need to return to the mansion to think things through. As for you, Pei’er, you must not act rashly these few days. No matter what happens, just remember to go with the flow. If you need to make any decisions, remember to find Xiao Shao to discuss them. Don’t be reckless.”
Xuan Pei pouted: “Why do I have to find him?” Seeing Jiang Ruan’s serious expression, he coughed lightly: “I understand. If anything happens, I’ll definitely find a way to discuss it with him.”
Only then did Jiang Ruan smile: “Good, let’s go.”
Under the situation where countless eyes in the palace were watching the Southern Garden, Xuan Pei could still control the current direction without showing any emotion. On the surface, it seemed Xuan Li had the upper hand, but in fact, the person beside the Emperor’s pillow was arranged by Xuan Pei. Xuan Pei responded to all changes with constancy—this was the most prudent approach. In this chess game, whoever knew more had better chances of winning. Obviously, Xuan Li knew far too little.
Where the Emperor placed the edict, Mu Xirou knew most clearly. Speaking of it, it was quite ironic—ancient monarchs were always most suspicious, but regarding someone as cold as Mu Xirou, who never gave the Emperor a kind look, the Emperor instead considered her most sincere. The older he got, the more he distrusted those around him. Those gentle whispers—he feared they contained hidden daggers from beautiful women. Mu Xirou’s incompatibility in this environment instead made her the most trusted person beside the Emperor. Placing the edict with Mu Xirou—she had no dealings with the harem or the court, so no one would think that such an important thing as an edict could be known by a mere female family member like Mu Xirou.
In the end, Jiang Ruan did obtain the edict under Xuan Pei’s arrangements. In front of Xuan Pei and Mu Xirou, she casually opened the edict and glanced over it roughly. Her heart settled slightly—it indeed established Xiao Shao as crown prince, and even stated Xiao Shao’s identity as Crown Prince Hongxi’s son. This edict weighed heavier than Mount Tai in her hands, but Xuan Pei didn’t care. Only after Mu Xirou left did he hesitate: “Mother Consort, won’t this bring trouble to Prince Jinying’s mansion?”
He didn’t want to care about Prince Jinying’s mansion’s fate, but unfortunately, Jiang Ruan was now Princess Consort Jinying—they shared both glory and loss. If something happened to Prince Jinying’s mansion, Jiang Ruan would also be implicated. So Xuan Pei had to compromise and consider Prince Jinying’s mansion’s welfare.
While thinking this, Jiang Ruan had already organized the edict and placed it in a wooden box along with some trinkets rewarded by the Empress Dowager, rising to prepare to leave. Xuan Pei was startled, both regretting that Jiang Ruan was leaving before sitting longer and surprised that she placed the edict so carelessly. Though he felt Jiang Ruan’s actions were quite prudent, Xuan Pei still felt uneasy and reminded her: “Mother Consort, shouldn’t you put that thing somewhere else? This way seems rather…”
“Don’t worry, the most dangerous place is the safest place,” Jiang Ruan smiled slightly. “If I acted overly secretive, it would be like protesting too much, making people suspicious for no reason. I’m fine, so you don’t need to see me off, lest people become suspicious. Now you must make no mistakes in anything—be more cautious.”
Xuan Pei felt something was strange about Jiang Ruan today, though he couldn’t say where exactly. But Jiang Ruan hadn’t given him such detailed instructions about various matters for a long time, which made Xuan Pei feel that the current situation was more difficult than imagined. He ordered Mingyue to escort Jiang Ruan out of the palace, and Mingyue complied.
But the palace had many ears and eyes. Normally, countless eyes were already fixed on the Southern Garden. Today when Jiang Ruan entered the palace, it had already aroused everyone’s suspicions. Seeing Jiang Ruan talk with Xuan Pei for a long time before coming out, and when she went to visit the Emperor, they seemed to see Mu Xirou there too—this was puzzling.
Xuan Li stood in his room, listening to his subordinate’s report, his gaze somewhat deep. Since the Emperor fell ill, he had to be a filial son—of course, it was also more convenient for him to search for things around the Emperor. So instead of returning to his own mansion, he had been staying in the palace, personally boiling water and preparing medicine for the Emperor. Those who didn’t know were truly moved by his filial piety, and officials in court occasionally wrote memorials praising Xuan Li’s filial heart. Xuan Li naturally didn’t mind his good reputation spreading—when serving the Emperor, he also tried his best to do everything perfectly. He no longer needed to use any tricks in the medicine. With an illness that even Xia Qing couldn’t cure, he didn’t need to act personally.
However, Xuan Li frowned tightly. Originally, he thought it would be perfect if the Emperor just kept sleeping until his death. But now it seemed the Emperor’s illness came at a bad time, because he still hadn’t found that edict. The Emperor had written the edict early, and it didn’t contain his name—this was something he had long suspected and later confirmed from Eunuch Li’s mouth. Knowing a son is the father’s business, but knowing the father is also the son’s business. After being father and son with the Emperor for so many years, Xuan Li had forgotten when he stopped viewing him as a father and instead saw him as an opponent, an obstacle. In all these years of secret confrontations, he had never gained the upper hand.
Including the Emperor’s secret care and protection of the Crown Prince, Xuan Li was fully aware. Because of this, he couldn’t proceed with his plans better. Sometimes Xuan Li was very puzzled—the Emperor clearly disliked the Crown Prince very much. The Crown Prince was incompetent and without virtue, so why did the Emperor still shield him and not let him give up that position? Anyone could see that the Emperor keeping the Crown Prince was just temporarily not wanting anyone to sit in that position—for whom was he preserving the crown prince position? Xuan Li had always thought that among the Great Jin Dynasty’s princes, only he was most qualified. But he also clearly felt that though the Emperor appreciated, praised, and encouraged him, treating him very well, he had never intended to let him sit in that position.
Xuan Li was puzzled, then unwilling. Under the suppression of such emotions, he had become twisted. He eliminated possible threats one by one in palace struggles, but in the end, the Emperor still had no intention of changing him to crown prince. He finally abandoned the last trace of mercy in his heart and poisoned the Emperor’s food.
Throughout history, regicide, patricide, and succession struggles were not uncommon. Xuan Li was no longer the person who had struggled with making this decision—he calmly believed this was right, this was the best method. To get what you want in this world, you seize it, you fight for it. He had always been the most patient and excellent hunter and would surely laugh last.
But halfway through, Xuan Pei emerged as a disruption.
From an incompetent, useless prince to now being an opponent who could stand against him on equal footing, whenever Xuan Li faced Xuan Pei, he couldn’t help feeling a vicious anger. Initially, in his mind, Xuan Pei wasn’t even qualified to become an opponent. But now, the Emperor actually intended to make him crown prince, and Xuan Pei even gained Prince Jinying’s mansion’s support—how could Xuan Li feel good about this? If possible, he would have cut Xuan Pei into pieces long ago.
Just now his subordinate reported that Jiang Ruan had stayed with Xuan Pei for a long time, which made him somewhat suspicious. Hearing they had also gone to see the Emperor together and that Mu Xirou was also there, a guess arose in Xuan Li’s mind.
If we were to say where in this world an edict would be safest, it would undoubtedly be Prince Jinying’s mansion. Perhaps civil and military officials would say that an edict produced from Prince Jinying’s mansion would have no persuasive power, because it was simply a family of traitorous subjects. But only Xuan Li knew that the Emperor had always trusted Xiao Shao with complete faith—that trust sometimes made him jealous. In the past, Xuan Li had even thought the Emperor and Xiao Shao had some blood relationship, but later the spies he sent found nothing. Xuan Li clearly knew that the Emperor had never doubted Prince Jinying’s mansion.
So that edict might really be in Prince Jinying’s mansion.
Just thinking of this made Xuan Li feel somewhat irritated. If he knew where the edict was, the next step would naturally be to seize it back, but Prince Jinying’s mansion—what kind of place was that? It wasn’t somewhere people could easily approach.
The spy also said: “When Princess Consort Jinying entered the Southern Garden earlier, she also brought the Empress Dowager’s rewards with her.”
Xuan Li’s spies were always skilled at this, naturally reporting every detail without omission. Bringing the Empress Dowager’s rewards to the Southern Garden wasn’t anything significant—perhaps Jiang Ruan wanted to select some rewards for Xuan Pei. But mentioning this here seemed to touch a nerve in Xuan Li’s mind. Could this be… a method of concealment?
Then Xuan Li shook his head again. How could it be? Even if someone really came to get the edict, it shouldn’t be Jiang Ruan alone—Xiao Shao would be more appropriate. How could they be so careless, so blatant?
But what if this was her cover?
Xiao Shao and Xuan Pei had no real communication. If Xiao Shao came, it might actually confirm that the edict was in Prince Jinying’s mansion. To avoid such a situation and hide the edict’s whereabouts, Jiang Ruan took a dangerous gamble, planning to use “the most dangerous place is the safest place”—how about that?
Xuan Li’s gaze was deep, already lost in his own thoughts. He didn’t know that his death trap had been led by the nose by Jiang Ruan to this point. Jiang Ruan knew his suspicious nature and had laid this trap following his character weaknesses all along. Letting Jiang Ruan go would make Xuan Li anxious and restless; capturing Jiang Ruan might be drawing water with a bamboo basket—empty effort that would expose himself instead. Xuan Li struggled with this dilemma, pondering for a long time. Finally, as if making a firm decision, he clenched his fist: “Go, send word to Dan Zhen. There’s an opportunity before her now—capture Jiang Ruan, but don’t expose yourself.”
His subordinate left to carry out the order. Only then did Xuan Li relax his hand, standing with hands behind his back, looking at the clouds outside the palace walls, slowly showing a cold smile. So what if he couldn’t act easily himself? There was still a useful sword before him. Dan Zhen’s hatred for Jiang Ruan was bone-deep, and Qi Man had been lurking in the capital for years, skilled in concealment. Using someone else’s blade to kill—using these two was most appropriate. Most importantly, they would surely succeed.
Never underestimate a woman’s jealousy.
…
In the carriage returning to the mansion, Lian Qiao and Lu Zhu sat to Jiang Ruan’s right, while Tianzhu sat to her left. Perhaps today Lian Qiao and Lu Zhu also sensed an unusual atmosphere. Though Jiang Ruan said nothing, having followed her so long, they could still glimpse some clues from her expression. Even Tianzhu now showed some tension. Though Lu Zhu and Lian Qiao didn’t know what was happening, they also became nervous.
Fortunately, nothing happened along the way. The carriage moved slowly. Just when Lu Zhu and Lian Qiao were beginning to relax and chat in the carriage, they suddenly heard a commotion outside getting closer. Lian Qiao was startled. The coachman sitting in front was newly recruited to the mansion—though steady, his voice carried some panic: “Young Madam, someone died ahead!”
The carriage jolted violently. Lu Zhu cried out, quickly lifting the carriage curtain to look outside. She saw crowds scattering in all directions as if being chased by something terrible, a scene of complete chaos. Looking more carefully, among those common people seemed to be some unusual individuals. These people dressed exactly like ordinary citizens, but they held long knives in their hands, striking anyone they encountered without method, randomly cutting down anyone they caught. Outside was a scene of wailing and crying—many civilians had already fallen to the ground, blood slowly pooling, creating a shocking sight.
“This is bad, Young Madam,” Lu Zhu said in terror. “There are assassins outside with knives, randomly cutting people down.”
The crowds scattered and fled. The sounds of blades entering flesh mixed with screams were distinctly audible, making hearts tremble uncontrollably. But Jiang Ruan frowned. Tianzhu had already drawn her sword, protecting Jiang Ruan—at this moment, she absolutely couldn’t leave Jiang Ruan’s side even for a step. Lian Qiao said, “Coachman, quickly go to the side, don’t go that way.”
Getting out of the carriage now was obviously unwise. With assassins mixed in the crowd in unknown numbers, many people were being killed with one strike to the throat while completely defenseless. The carriage was relatively safe—they just needed to stay away from the crowd. Lian Qiao felt somewhat regretful—why hadn’t she reminded the Young Madam to bring more guards when going out today? Now there was only Tianzhu. Even though Tianzhu’s martial arts were excellent, she would be somewhat overwhelmed.
While thinking this, they suddenly felt the carriage shake violently. A clear spray of blood splattered onto the front curtain of the carriage. The carriage seemed to have suffered some violent impact and began racing forward frantically.
“Coachman! Coachman!” Lian Qiao supported Jiang Ruan with one hand to prevent her from hitting the carriage rails while shouting with effort. But there was no response for a long time. Then she pulled open the curtain, and her heart immediately sank. The coachman had a curved blade in his chest and was now half-draped over the horse’s back, clearly dead. There was also a small dagger in the horse’s back—the horse, in pain, galloped wildly, unable to stop for the moment. The crowded fleeing people ahead kept hitting the carriage, causing it to sway violently while still racing forward, as if it might fall and be trampled to mud by the crowds at any moment.
Tianzhu protected Jiang Ruan as the carriage suddenly crashed into something hard. The horse neighed loudly, and the entire carriage body swung forward violently, actually being thrown completely out.
“Ah—” Lu Zhu screamed. She was sitting on the outside and was thrown directly out of the carriage. Jiang Ruan, Tianzhu, and Lian Qiao had just been knocked dizzy from the fall and barely stopped when they heard Lu Zhu’s cry. They quickly pushed aside the curtain to look out, only to see Lu Zhu had indeed been thrown into the crowd. She had been thrown so suddenly that she fell directly to the ground. The chaotic crowd was all screaming and fleeing—who would look at their feet? They stepped right over Lu Zhu’s body one by one. Jiang Ruan’s gaze focused, and she saw among them a man in coarse hemp clothing had quietly drawn a short knife from his waist and stabbed toward Lu Zhu’s back—
“Lu Zhu!” Lian Qiao also saw this and cried out in alarm. Lu Zhu suddenly felt a knife in her back, the pain rendering her almost speechless. The man was about to strike again when Jiang Ruan decisively ordered Tianzhu: “Tianzhu, quickly go help Lu Zhu!”
“Young Madam…” Tianzhu hesitated. She and Lu Zhu weren’t without feelings—after such a long time together day and night, she already considered Lu Zhu a friend. But the Brocade Guard’s rules had always been to protect their master to the maximum extent. To go protect Lu Zhu would leave Jiang Ruan here with only Lian Qiao, who knew no martial arts—who would protect her?
“Go quickly!” Jiang Ruan’s voice grew stern as she gave the cold command, seeing Tianzhu’s hesitation. Tianzhu paused—master’s orders couldn’t be disobeyed. She immediately stopped hesitating and ran toward Lu Zhu. Lu Zhu was watching that blade thrust toward her chest, unable to dodge no matter what, feeling extremely terrified, when she saw Tianzhu’s long sword block the dagger aimed at her chest. Tianzhu then thrust her sword backward into the man’s throat, and he fell down. Lu Zhu looked at Tianzhu with lingering fear, ignoring the pain in her back, and bit her teeth: “Let’s go to the Young Madam…”
Before she could finish speaking, she froze. She saw that beside the already broken carriage, Lian Qiao was half-prostrate on the ground with a shocking smear of blood—unclear whose it was—but looking around, where was any trace of Jiang Ruan?
“This is terrible!” Tianzhu said.