A’Lei’s first reaction upon hearing this was: “Ah? Isn’t that too early?”
Hu Shanwei said, “His Majesty married Empress Ren Xiao when he was the same age as the Imperial Grand Prince now, and the following year gave birth to the current Crown Prince, becoming a father.”
Zhu Zhanji was sixteen, Zhu Zhanhe was fourteen—both were at proper marriageable age. Even A’Lei, who was sixteen this year, should theoretically be married by now.
It’s just that the Chunwei couple had suffered greatly from arranged marriages. Hu Shanwei had not hesitated to turn against her father, stealing the household registration documents to take the female official examination as an escape from the world. Mu Chun had used a knife to cut himself, not hesitating to disfigure himself to show his resolve in opposing the arranged marriage his father had planned for him.
The couple had given their daughter A’Lei the freedom to choose her own marriage, never pressuring her to marry, letting everything follow its natural course. Moreover, A’Lei was devoted to mechanical work, appreciating the perfect meshing between gears. Though she had matured physically, mentally she had never considered matters of love and marriage.
After all, romance couldn’t help her make clocks—it wasn’t within her consideration.
Now, suddenly learning that Little Chicken Brother and Water Pit Brother, who had grown up with her, were both going to get married, A’Lei suddenly felt as if something had hollowed out both her heart and mind. She lost her center of gravity, feeling as if she were stepping on a bundle of cotton, swaying unsteadily.
Growth had brought her many things, but it would also take many things away from her hands. A’Lei understood that while she had the freedom to choose her marriage, Little Chicken Brother and Water Pit Brother’s marriages were decided by imperial authority—they had no say in the matter.
Once these two married and had their own small families, she would have to distance herself from them.
A’Lei couldn’t accept this reality for the moment, but she couldn’t remain silent either, so she casually asked, “Do the Imperial Grand Prince and the Heir Apparent of Prince Han also know that the selection is being held for them?”
Hu Shanwei said, “They should know. Both of their marriages are waiting for His Majesty to decide—neither the Eastern Palace nor Prince Han’s mansion can interfere. And it’s not just these two imperial grandsons in the capital who have reached marriageable age. Adding up all the regional princely mansions, there are about twenty imperial grandsons of marriageable age, all waiting for the selection, waiting for His Majesty to arrange their marriages. There are also sons of princesses—National Generals and such—some of whom also want to use the selection to find good wives for their sons. Having His Majesty bestow the marriage would be quite dignified.”
A’Lei didn’t know what kind of feeling was in her heart—it just didn’t feel good. She also didn’t understand why she suddenly felt sad. Using the excuse of going back to draw blueprints, she hurriedly left.
On the surface she appeared very calm, but her pace was quick, almost running, as if walking fast enough would allow her to shake off her unhappiness.
Hu Shanwei noticed A’Lei’s sudden mood drop. She was about to follow and probe her daughter’s thoughts when Shen Qionglian arrived with a look of watching drama unfold, saying that Noble Consort Zhang urgently needed her.
“Prince An and Princess An have started fighting, mutually accusing each other of wrongdoing. Now His Majesty has summoned Prince An, and Noble Consort Zhang is comforting Princess An, requesting Palace Director Hu to come help.”
Prince An was Gaozhu’s twenty-second son, now only about thirty years old.
Princess An, née Xu, was Prince An’s first wife. She was the half-sister of Empress Ren Xiao, sharing the same father but different mothers—daughter of Zhongshan Prince Xu Da. Empress Ren Xiao was born to the principal wife, Lady Xie. She was Emperor Yongle’s proper sister-in-law. Back then, Gaozhu trusted Xu Da and had betrothed all three daughters of the Xu family to three of his sons—the Xu family produced three princesses.
Princess An came from noble birth, had high seniority, and a strong temper. Noble Consort Guo alone couldn’t handle her.
Hu Shanwei had no choice but to abandon pursuing her daughter and followed Shen Qionglian to Yanxi Palace, continuously inquiring along the way:
“Was it real fighting or just quarreling?”
“Real fighting. Princess An comes from a military family and knows martial arts. Prince An is a man with greater strength, but didn’t dare use his full force in retaliation. Both have some superficial injuries.”
“How did the fight start?”
“Princess An has never given birth and also won’t allow Prince An to take concubines. Prince An kept a mistress outside and secretly fathered two sons. Prince An felt that at Princess An’s age, pregnancy was impossible, but if Prince An’s mansion had no heirs, the lineage would end and the title would be reclaimed in the future. So he told her about the two illegitimate sons, wanting Princess An to bring the mistress and illegitimate sons into the princely mansion, acknowledge their status, record them in the jade register, so they could be enfeoffed as heir apparent in the future to inherit the title…”
Upon hearing this, Hu Shanwei immediately felt this was bad. “Princess An has the same temperament as her sister Empress Ren Xiao—how could she tolerate Prince An marrying without informing her? No wonder they fought.”
At Yanxi Palace, a medical woman was using an egg to roll on Princess An’s face to reduce swelling. There were clear finger marks on the princess’s face—she must have been slapped by Prince An during their mutual combat.
Noble Consort Zhang’s figure now increasingly resembled Tang Dynasty Noble Consort Yang Yuhuan. She had completely come to terms with things now, broad-minded and portly. Since Princess An had no children, and she herself had once been sent to the cold palace for obsessing over offspring, she understood Princess An very well.
Noble Consort Zhang comforted Princess An: “Princess, you’ve been wronged today. While heirs are important, we cannot abandon the dignity of the imperial family. Prince An shouldn’t have laid hands on the Princess—His Majesty will surely punish Prince An.”
For a dignified prince to actually beat his wife was truly detestable. Noble Consort Zhang had to maintain neutrality in her position and uphold justice, but in her heart she sided with Princess An.
But Princess An looked down on Noble Consort Zhang. Noble Consort Zhang came from a noble family, and the three Xu sisters were also from noble families. No matter how much you control the six palaces and monopolize the emperor’s favor, you’re still just a concubine. My sister was the legitimate empress, the Crown Prince has to call me aunt, half the imperial family carries our Xu family blood, and my family still has two dukes.
Given Princess An’s status, she didn’t want to speak with Noble Consort Zhang. This was understandable—no one would like their brother-in-law’s favorite concubine.
Princess An was indifferent to Noble Consort Zhang and didn’t respond. Noble Consort Zhang felt somewhat embarrassed. Fortunately, Hu Shanwei arrived and personally peeled a lychee: “Princess An, calm your anger. Getting angry only harms your own body—it doesn’t transfer to others at all.”
Hu Shanwei was a familiar face. Princess An ate the lychee, which only made her more heated, her eyes reddening as she poured out her grievances:
“When Prince An and I married, it was Palace Director Hu who held the princess’s册 and personally witnessed my wedding. Back then, we newlyweds were truly happy for a while. During the Jingnan Campaign, because Empress Ren Xiao was my elder sister, Prince An suffered endless suspicion from Emperor Jianwen, yet he never divorced me despite the troubles, and we weathered the most difficult times together as husband and wife. Since His Majesty ascended the throne and our lives improved, we’ve grown increasingly distant.”
Princess An choked up: “I cannot bear children, but he sired two bastards outside without matchmaking or betrothal, and I’m supposed to acknowledge them? I am a princess—I cannot, in desperation for heirs, confuse the imperial bloodline and fail in my duties as princess. Though we have no sons, the imperial family has so many collateral grandsons. According to protocol, we could adopt an heir to continue Prince An’s lineage—it’s not as if I’ve truly cut off the incense. Why does he curse me as unvirtuous? They say young couples become companions in old age, but that’s just nonsense to deceive women. How many remain harmonious for life, white-haired together? More often, affection ends before beauty fades!”
With Hu Shanwei, Princess An opened her heart, crying about her poor judgment in men, and incidentally crying for her second sister, Princess Dai, née Xu:
“We women, no matter how illustrious our natal families or how excellent our character and talents in the boudoir, once we marry, the happiness of our remaining years can only be controlled by our husbands—not one bit is up to ourselves. I cannot bear children, but my second sister gave birth to a legitimate eldest son—so what? Prince Dai took a heap of concubines and even encouraged them to bully my second sister. Are the daughters of the Xu family easily bullied?”
“When my second sister showed some resistance, Prince Dai couldn’t stand it and wanted to divorce her and even strip my nephew of his heir apparent position. Fortunately, His Majesty is reasonable—he supported my second sister, rejected Prince Dai’s petition, and reprimanded Prince Dai. This time I entered the palace to ask His Majesty to support me just as he supported my second sister.”
Actually, the truth behind Princess Dai’s “showing some resistance” was ordering someone to boil a pot of paint and pour it over the heads of two troublemaking concubines—literally hardcore “showing color.” Both concubines were disfigured on the spot, and after healing, their entire bodies were covered in scabs, losing favor thereafter. Even Prince Dai, who wanted to play hero and save the beauties, got splashed with hot paint, leaving permanent colorful scars like tattoos.
Prince Dai angrily wanted to divorce his wife and, in his hatred, wanted to depose the heir apparent born to Princess Dai. But Emperor Yongle, considering Empress Ren Xiao’s feelings, wouldn’t allow Prince Dai to divorce his wife or depose the heir apparent. Worried that the couple might fight again and cause fatalities, he built another residence where Princess Dai and the heir apparent moved out of the princely mansion. The couple lived separately, already like strangers.
Princess An stood up and bowed toward Kunning Palace: “If my elder sister Empress Ren Xiao were still alive, how would Prince An and Prince Dai dare be so presumptuous!”
The three Xu sisters all had fierce temperaments and couldn’t tolerate their husbands’ philandering. Unfortunately, Empress Ren Xiao was fortunate to meet Emperor Yongle, sharing deep marital affection. The two younger sisters married Prince Dai and Prince An—two couples who had once loved each other had become bitter enemies, determined to humiliate each other severely.
Princess An vented her resentment, heartbroken and spirits crushed. Hu Shanwei silently served as a listener beside her. Marriage, especially imperial marriages, was a high-stakes gamble with more losses than wins. Once-proud daughters of prestigious families had been worn down into shrews in others’ eyes. Fortunately, Princess An and Princess Dai had a good sister to protect them—otherwise, these two princesses would have faced worrisome fates.
At Qianqing Palace, imperial physicians treated Prince An’s wounds and bandaged him. Princess An, fighting barehanded, couldn’t match her husband, so she grabbed a sword from the wall and stabbed at him. The Xu daughters all knew some martial arts to varying degrees. Prince An couldn’t defeat the princess and had several sword wounds, but though Princess An was angry, she retained her reason and didn’t strike Prince An’s vital points.
Prince An accused the princess of crimes: “…She tried to murder her own husband! Fourth Brother, this life is unbearable—your subject brother wants to divorce his wife!”
Emperor Yongle was furious enough: “Now you’ve really accomplished something—you’ve learned to beat women!”
Prince An: “That virago struck first! If your subject brother hadn’t fought back, I’d probably be dead under that virago’s sword. Fourth Brother must uphold justice for me.”
Emperor Yongle said coldly: “We three brothers all married three daughters of the Xu family—all bestowed marriages by Gaozhu. Divorcing a wife means defying the imperial decree and being unfilial.”
Seeing Emperor Yongle’s expression, Prince An couldn’t help shivering: “Having such a vicious woman beside one’s pillow, who knows when she’ll cut off my head. Since I can’t divorce my wife, then like Princess Dai, arrange for her to live elsewhere—your subject brother doesn’t want to see her for even a moment.”
Emperor Yongle had long received intelligence about Prince An’s mansion’s sordid affairs from Ji Gang: “If Princess An moves out, are you planning to hand over the mansion’s domestic affairs to that woman you married without informing anyone, without matchmaking or betrothal? Brazenly raising illegitimate sons in a dignified princely mansion?”
Prince An knelt and pleaded: “Your Majesty, these two sons are your subject’s own flesh and blood. Princess An is jealous—she cannot bear children and won’t allow me to take concubines. Fearing the extinction of my lineage, I chose a virtuous woman outside. Her looks are ordinary, but her character is good—I’m not a lustful man. This woman doesn’t care about status and followed me, quickly becoming pregnant. I worried that the princess, this tigress, might be as ruthless as her sister and pour a bucket of hot paint on a pregnant woman, killing two lives.”
“So I’ve kept them outside all along. Now the eldest son is eight and the younger is four—they must return to their ancestral home eventually. But the princess won’t let the mother and children step foot in the mansion, calling them ‘lowly woman’ and ‘bastards’—she’s exactly like a marketplace shrew, without any trace of a marquis’s daughter’s bearing. She even beat me, and in a moment of rage, I slapped her. Who knew this poisonous woman would actually draw a sword on me, wanting to fight to the death? Please, Your Majesty, uphold justice for me.”
After listening, Emperor Yongle felt displeased, finding the phrase “as ruthless as her sister” grating. He knew Prince An referred to Princess Dai, but Princess An’s elder sister was also Empress Ren Xiao.
Empress Ren Xiao had died too early and remained forever the white moonlight in Emperor Yongle’s heart. Now buried at Changling in Beijing, the name was chosen for “long yearning that breaks the heart.”
In his later years, Emperor Yongle was naturally suspicious and felt Prince An was pointing at the mulberry to scold the locust tree, speaking with hidden meanings. He had loved only Empress Ren Xiao his entire life and only wanted children born to Empress Ren Xiao. Children born to concubines led to legitimate and illegitimate children competing, causing family disasters—such troublesome roots were better not planted.
Moreover, Prince An was of the previous generation of princes, but in this generation, whether the Eastern Palace or Prince Han and other princes, all were born to Empress Ren Xiao. By blood, they were closer to the aunt Princess An than to Prince An.
Therefore, no one sympathized with Prince An—everyone stood on Princess An’s side.
Emperor Yongle gave Prince An a thorough scolding and made him kneel before the ancestors at Fengxian Hall. As for that woman and the two illegitimate sons, they were arrested by the Imperial Clan Court on charges of confusing the imperial bloodline and instigating discord between Prince An and the princess, banished far away to Liaodong for lifelong imprisonment, never permitted to step foot in the capital again.
Prince An was beaten by the princess, knelt before the ancestors for a day and night, his wounds became infected, and his mind became delirious with fever. Returning to the mansion to find his concubine and sons gone, he was heartbroken and desperately demanded Princess An return his wife and children. The couple began fighting again and were separated by the Brocade Guards.
The ill Prince An was isolated and took a turn for the worse that very night. Later, after languishing in bed for half a year, he died just like that.
Princess An cried once, then laughed once, then wailed once, and finally let go. When Emperor Yongle discussed with her about selecting a son from the imperial clan for adoption, Princess An said coldly: “The person is dead—why care about the hollow name of continuing incense? Moreover, with one less prince, the Ming Dynasty has one less expense for supporting princes. This silver could be better used for canal construction or turned into military rations. Prince An’s title should be… abolished.”
Hearing this, Emperor Yongle thought it made sense. Supporting one less prince, calculated through generations of descendants, could save at least half the cost of building the Grand Canal. He thus abolished Prince An’s title. Princess An became a dowager consort, living comfortably and freely in Prince An’s mansion until her natural death, after which the Imperial Clan Court reclaimed the mansion.
Due to his two younger brothers’ tragic marriages, Emperor Yongle increasingly felt that their father Gaozhu had been truly far-sighted in establishing the basic selection rule of “selecting beauties from the fields, marrying commoners”—how much worry it would save in the future! In the imperial family, when a daughter-in-law’s maternal clan was too powerful, it easily caused trouble and unrest.
Emperor Yongle thus ordered Hu Shanwei to follow the same pattern, conducting the selection according to the old rules and strictly controlling the selected women’s backgrounds.
This was the Ming Dynasty’s second large-scale commoner selection, twenty years later. The current Crown Princess Zhang and Consort Guo Liangdi in the Eastern Palace both emerged victorious from the first selection. Despite the Eastern Palace weathering storms, it always remained standing—these two wise helpmates deserved much credit.
Judging from the current harmony in the Eastern Palace and the intelligent eldest grandson Zhu Zhanji, Palace Director Hu had presided over successful, victorious, and unifying selections.
Besides the most important Imperial Grand Prince, they also needed to resolve the marriage matters of the princely mansions’ imperial grandsons.
For princely mansions, especially the legitimate eldest grandsons who would inherit titles, everything from naming at birth and entering the imperial jade register to marriage and childbearing required decisions from the Imperial Clan Court, which managed imperial family members. Princely mansions had no right to select their own daughters-in-law and granddaughters-in-law. Emperor Yongle himself came from princely origins and had reduced princely powers after taking the throne. For future princely consorts, he naturally hoped their status would be as low as possible, as obedient as possible, unable to strengthen the princely mansions’ power.
Emperor Yongle took this selection very seriously, specifically instructing Hu Shanwei to maintain strict standards and select good women—low in birth but not low in intelligence or character.
Hu Shanwei immediately felt the task was daunting. Appearance and intelligence could be discerned through layers of selection, but character was something that might not be fathomable even after ten or twenty years—moreover, people could change. The transformation from a commoner girl to a high-ranking princess consort, the changes in status and temptations of power were the ultimate test of character.
So character was essentially unmeasurable. Just like talent shows six hundred years later, the “selected women” initially passed through layers of elimination based on appearance and intelligence, everyone wanting to present their best side to the audience, each establishing various personas. Some personas would quickly collapse, others could persist for ten or eight years, even a lifetime.
Hu Shanwei busily prepared for the selection with great urgency. The two actual parties involved showed no signs of joy, shyness, or other standard expressions expected of prospective grooms upon hearing the news.
The first to learn the news was Imperial Grand Prince Zhu Zhanji. His mother, Imperial Grand Princess Zhang, came from the selection herself and naturally paid special attention to selections. Though she had no authority to personally choose a daughter-in-law, she could eliminate those her son disliked based on his preferences and try to keep the types he liked.
Now the question arose: what kind of girl did her son like?
The Crown Princess thought for a long time and realized that among her three sons and one daughter, she knew absolutely nothing about her eldest son.
Yes, truly nothing. Forget about what kind of girls he liked—she didn’t even know what foods he enjoyed.
Her eldest son never showed his true nature in front of her, always trying his best to play the role of a perfect son, taking care of her emotions.
Because her lame husband’s position was always precarious, Zhang had also acted like a turtle pulling in its head. Her hands never dared extend beyond the Eastern Palace, and the lame Crown Prince had secretly bribed little eunuch Wang Zhen as an informant, planting him in the Imperial Grand Prince’s palace (though Zhu Zhanji had already seen through this and turned him).
The Crown Princess thought it over and decided to ask her eldest son directly. They were mother and son after all—speaking openly might be better than mutual testing, especially since she lacked the ability to probe her eldest son’s true thoughts.
Taking advantage of the evening when the Crown Prince came to the Eastern Palace for his routine morning and evening attendance to his parents, the Crown Princess spoke directly: “You’re sixteen this year, at marriageable age, time to continue the imperial lineage. His Majesty has already ordered Palace Director Hu to oversee the selection, following Gaozhu’s example of ‘selecting beauties from among commoners, marrying from the fields.’ Female officials have been sent to assist with selections at various princely mansions, and selected women from all regions should arrive in the capital in two months. The six palace bureaus are currently preparing Chuxiu Palace to house the selected women from various places…”
At fifteen, Emperor Yongle had held a grand capping ceremony for his most beloved eldest grandson, marking his adulthood. A man should establish a family and career—marriage was necessary for mainstream social recognition, so marriage would definitely follow the capping ceremony.
Zhu Zhanji calmly knew this day would always come. He prepared himself for it daily, but when it actually arrived, he discovered his preparations were woefully inadequate—like a hole-riddled fence trying to meet mountainous waves.
It crumbled at first impact.
The moment he heard about the selection, his ears immediately rang, his mind buzzed with wild bees, and he had no idea what the Crown Princess said afterward.
I’m going to marry—I’m going to forever lose the only glimmer of light in my heart.
In the brief sixteen years of my life, I’ve always been arranged and controlled. Everything I do is what I should do—being a perfect son, grandson, Imperial Grand Prince. Since memory began, I’ve never indulged my own wishes.
To be the perfect son, grandson, and Imperial Grand Prince, the first thing to do is forget oneself. Castrate one’s self.
Only when facing A’Lei does he remember that he too possesses something called selfhood. She’s the only light in his heart—when he was forbidden from eating meat during mourning periods, she would give him half her portion, foolishly sharing half the “sin of killing” with him; she would learn Sun Wukong’s somersaults to make him laugh…
Their childhood bond mixed affection, friendship, and love together. Even he couldn’t distinguish which emotion was strongest, but he was certain A’Lei stirred all the seven emotions and six desires he kept hidden. His castrated self made him feel he was actually flesh and blood.
He always lost composure before A’Lei—stumbling, speaking thoughtlessly, doing foolish things, telling nonsense. He could manage everyone else’s emotions, even mediating skillfully in the complex relationship between the Crown Prince and the Emperor, yet he simply “couldn’t get along” with A’Lei. It wasn’t that he automatically lowered his intelligence and emotional quotient—he simply saved his only bit of authenticity for her.
At this moment, Zhu Zhanji’s mind held no joy, only sorrow and anger. He was about to lose his only glimmer of light, and the future road was so long and full of thorns—he would have to walk it alone.
Zhu Zhanji’s soul flew away, leaving only a calm, composed shell. The Crown Princess asked twice: “What kind of woman do you like? Though I’m incompetent, I can help screen them for you.”
Zhu Zhanji showed no reaction.
When the Crown Princess asked a third time, he awakened as if from a dream and gave the standard answer: “Naturally, a woman who can be filial to her parents.”
In feudal society, loyalty and filial piety were most valued. Women rarely had opportunities to achieve anything in “loyalty,” so they could only focus on “filial piety”—there were far more filial daughters than filial sons.
All selected women were filial daughters—Zhu Zhanji’s answer was meaningless.
The Crown Princess had no choice but to be more specific: “The female officials’ selections from various regions will naturally be good, but people have hundreds of appearances and thousands of personalities. For instance, tall, short, fat, thin, oval faces, goose-egg faces, round faces—some gentle, quiet, lively, reclusive, cheerful, talkative, outgoing, introverted, and so on. As a member of the imperial family, you can choose what you like. Whether principal consort or attendant concubines, they’ll be with you for life—you can’t just make do. Tell me, what appearance, character, and temperament do you prefer?”
The Crown Princess had broken down the selected women into categories—Zhu Zhanji need only check boxes. After all, they were all commoner women; the imperial family could choose freely.
But no matter what categories the Crown Princess offered, Zhu Zhanji’s mind held only one person.
Except for her, living with any other woman would be making do.
And this was something he couldn’t voice.
By logic, she too was a commoner woman of humble birth, qualified to participate in the selection. Even without Palace Director Hu as her powerful patron, her appearance and character were sufficient for residence in Chuxiu Palace. But among all the commoner women in the world, she alone wouldn’t participate in the selection.
She herself worked making clocks in the palace, yet she couldn’t enter the palace as a consort. She wasn’t a woman for others to choose.
I have no chance—she can only accompany me until I’m sixteen. From now on, we’ll go our separate ways.
Zhu Zhanji was like a walking corpse. He seemed to hear another person saying: “Your son has never considered this question. Women should prioritize virtue. As imperial family daughters-in-law, they may have methods, but their intentions must not be crooked. Moreover, your son is occupied with countless affairs daily. In the future harem, they’ll spend more time with Mother than with me—Mother should also choose daughters-in-law compatible with herself.”
Zhu Zhanji’s standard answer remained flawless, reasonable and well-founded, not seeming like perfunctory words.
The Crown Princess felt satisfied and stopped questioning.
Zhu Zhanji didn’t return to the Imperial Grand Prince’s palace. His state of mind had collapsed like a nest of ants scattered by flood waters, wandering aimlessly without knowing where he’d gone.
“Your Highness, this hall is already locked. The clockmaking masters have all gone home to rest.”
“Your Highness?”
Zhu Zhanji focused and saw it was the palace hall where A’Lei custom-made clocks for Emperor Yongle, now empty.
Hu Shanwei had agreed to let her daughter work in the palace on one condition: they must enter and leave the palace together, no night shifts, because A’Lei’s eyes wouldn’t permit it.
“Your Highness, it’s time to return for dinner.”
Zhu Zhanji didn’t want to return to the Imperial Grand Prince’s palace, so he turned: “To the Youth Army camp.”
Northern Youth Army camp.
Cousin Zhu Zhanhe was leading a group of “youth soldiers” much older than himself in their distinctive evening lessons—a tradition formed when Mu Chun served as instructor: arena combat where the defeated had to clean latrines. Whether you were a Thousand-Household Captain or common soldier, the victor ruled while the loser spread manure on walls.
Someone challenged Zhu Zhanhe. Though only fourteen, he looked mature with the appearance and physical ability of a twenty-four-year-old, handily defeating his opponent.
Watching Zhu Zhanhe excitedly throwing punches, laughing and shouting, the despondent Zhu Zhanji thought he couldn’t suffer alone—he had to add some trouble for you too. Who told you to laugh so happily?
Zhu Zhanji bullied his little brother again.
In the bath house, Zhu Zhanhe lifted a bucket of cold water to bathe. Unexpectedly, his big cousin behind the screen said: “Imperial Grandfather announced the selection—you and I will probably marry within half a year.”
Splash—Ah!
Caught off guard, Zhu Zhanhe’s raised bucket of cold water crashed down, the rim striking his big toe painfully, making him hop around.
Hearing his cousin’s miserable cry, Zhu Zhanji immediately felt slightly better. Still pretending to be kind, he took medicinal wine to personally tend his cousin’s toe, taking the opportunity to twist the knife: “What kind of girls do you like? There’s still time to say—I can have Mother keep your preferred type.”
As brothers, each stabs the other in both flanks. I won’t allow only myself to suffer—I must share with my dear cousin.
“Be gentler.” Zhu Zhanhe sucked in cold air: “I don’t like any of them. I only like Sister A’Lei.”
Boom!
As if someone had dug up thoughts buried three thousand miles deep in his heart for public execution, Zhu Zhanji felt two thunderclaps explode in his brain: “What did you say?”
“Ah, that hurts! Let go, I’ll do it myself.” Zhu Zhanhe snatched the medicinal wine: “I like Sister A’Lei.”
“You want to marry her?” Zhu Zhanji’s gaze rapidly turned icy.
Zhu Zhanhe shook his head while applying medicine: “Not marry her. Besides, someone like Sister A’Lei wouldn’t marry into the imperial family anyway.”
Zhu Zhanji: “Then why say you like her?”
Zhu Zhanhe spoke with rare seriousness: “Precisely because I like her, I wouldn’t marry her. The imperial family is a gorgeous prison woven from fame and fortune. You and I were born into this with no choice—we’re both serving life sentences as prisoners of fame and fortune. I once thought I could ignore fame and fortune, not participate in struggles, staying aloof—but the Heavenly Strategy Guard’s cannon explosion incident made me realize this was all wishful thinking.”
Zhu Zhanhe lay on the bed, hands behind his head as pillow, extending his swollen toe to draw circles at Zhu Zhanji’s face: “Actually, I think this is wonderful news—Father finally gave up and went to Qingzhou to establish his princedom. But who can say what the future holds? Women who marry me are quite pitiful—both wealth and destruction are possible. When the nest overturns, how can any eggs remain intact? With only my brute courage, I couldn’t protect a wife. I can’t let Sister A’Lei suffer.”
Zhu Zhanji realized he’d always underestimated this seemingly foolish cousin. He wrapped ice in a handkerchief to apply to Zhu Zhanhe’s toe for swelling: “I swear, no matter what happens in the future, I’ll protect you. Don’t you trust me?”
“I trust Big Brother.” Zhu Zhanhe smiled: “I just don’t trust imperial power. Under imperial authority, Big Brother is often powerless too. Liking Sister A’Lei is my own business. Seeing her free to do what she loves makes me happier than marrying her and making her live in fear. Being human, happiness is most important. Don’t you think so, Big Brother? You should also let go.”
Zhu Zhanji’s hand holding the ice paused: “Stop talking nonsense.”
Zhu Zhanhe grabbed Zhu Zhanji’s hand with utmost seriousness: “Big Brother, I’ve never asked you for anything growing up. This once, I beg you—don’t set your sights on Sister A’Lei. Don’t drag her into being prisoners with us brothers. Sister A’Lei focuses on mechanics and hasn’t thought about marriage, but isn’t Palace Director Hu’s meaning obvious enough? She and Lord Mu have always guarded against us brothers. That couple would never agree. Their family of three are eagles flying freely in Yunnan—when the Ming capital moves to Beijing, that’s when they’ll go home. I think that’s A’Lei’s best destination.”
Zhu Zhanji tried to shake off Zhu Zhanhe, but his foolish brother gripped too tightly to escape. The ice in their palms quickly melted.
What Zhu Zhanhe understood, how could the shrewd Zhu Zhanji not comprehend?
It was just reluctance and inability to let go!
Zhu Zhanhe knew his big brother’s methods and imperial power’s might—if he truly wanted something, he could obtain it. He had to make Big Brother completely give up: if you love her, don’t marry her.
Zhu Zhanhe gave a negative example: “Marrying into the imperial family means losing control of your life. Let’s not speak of distant examples—Big Brother, do you know Xie Zaixing?”
Zhu Zhanji: “Our great-great-grandfather’s given name—is that something you can say? Don’t speak such words to others.”
Xie Zaixing, former founding hero of the Ming Dynasty. He was the father-in-law of founding hero Xu Da and maternal grandfather of Empress Ren Xiao, née Xu Miaoyi.
Zhu Zhanhe continued: “Great-great-grandfather had no sons, only two daughters—beautiful and intelligent, called the Twin Jades of Wu in that era. Elder Xie married our cousin Uncle Zhu Wenzheng, Prince of Nanchang, while younger Xie married our maternal grandfather Xu Da. Everyone said the sisters had good marriages, but what happened later? What became of the Xie family? What happened to the sisters?”
Zhu Zhanji immediately fell silent.
Not because he couldn’t answer, but because the Xie family and Xie sisters’ fates were too cruel.
The entire Xie family was executed, Elder Xie committed suicide for her husband, and younger Xie died of melancholy shortly after giving birth to Empress Ren Xiao.
Zhu Wenzheng was Emperor Gaozhu Zhu Yuanzhang’s own nephew. Back then, Zhu Wenzheng’s father had given his rations to his younger brother Zhu Yuanzhang and starved to death. From then on, Zhu Yuanzhang treated the orphan Zhu Wenzheng as his own son, training him in both civil and military arts until he became capable of anything. Especially during the Battle of Hongdu, Zhu Wenzheng with only fifty thousand defenders withstood Han King Chen Youliang’s six hundred thousand troops for three months, creating a miracle and gaining great fame.
Zhu Wenzheng’s reputation far exceeded that of Crown Prince Zhu Biao at the time, and his father-in-law was Xie Zaixing, the great general who controlled military power. Zhu Yuanzhang grew wary of his nephew. “Coincidentally,” someone accused Zhu Wenzheng and Xie Zaixing of plotting rebellion. Zhu Yuanzhang used thunderous methods to exterminate the entire Xie family and imprisoned Zhu Wenzheng until his death.
The once-glorious Xie sisters—despairing Elder Xie committed suicide for her husband, while younger Xie, despite having husband Xu Da’s protection and lovely daughter Empress Ren Xiao by her side, died of depression after witnessing her family’s destruction and elder sister’s suicide.
The Xie family’s prosperity ended, their former pavilions and towers all became dust.
The former Twin Jades of Wu, more delicate than flowers, also quickly withered.
Empress Ren Xiao was Zhu Zhanji and Zhu Zhanhe’s grandmother. These two carried Xie family blood and naturally understood their ancestors’ origins and various secrets.
Great-great-grandfather Xie Zaixing and cousin-uncle Zhu Wenzheng actually hadn’t rebelled—they died from Emperor Gaozhu’s suspicion.
A blood-soaked lesson.
Zhu Zhanji remained silent for a long time, until the ice in his hand completely melted and his palm went numb from cold, before saying: “Not every woman who marries into the imperial family has such tragic endings. Didn’t Imperial Grandfather love Grandmother for his entire life?”
Empress Ren Xiao was the eternal white moonlight in Emperor Yongle’s heart.
Zhu Zhanhe countered: “Our grandmother Empress Ren Xiao donned armor to fight as a woman to protect Beijing, injuring her foundation. From then on, illness plagued her body—she lived only to forty-six, serving as empress for just five years. Do you think this ending was good?”
The usually eloquent Zhu Zhanji was again rendered speechless by his foolish cousin.
With his simple mind, Zhu Zhanhe saw some issues more clearly than him.
Seeing his big brother convinced, Zhu Zhanhe released his grip. Zhu Zhanji’s hand regained freedom but remained motionless—the greatest sorrow is a dead heart. From now on, even the only light in his heart would disappear, and he’d spend his remaining life in darkness—he was only sixteen!
As if seeing through his big brother’s thoughts, Zhu Zhanhe patted his shoulder comfortingly: “I’m still here with you. We brothers will serve our prison sentences together—neither of us will harm Sister A’Lei.”
Zhu Zhanji’s dark psychology seriously suspected his cousin deliberately stabbed him twice.
Zhu Zhanhe could love someone enough to let go. Zhu Zhanji felt he couldn’t do it, because Zhu Zhanhe had at least been loved by his parents since childhood. Prince Han and his wife both indulged their eldest son—scolding him verbally for being unambitious while truly loving him deeply. Zhu Zhanhe never lacked security growing up; he could be magnanimous, picking up and putting down freely.
But Zhu Zhanji couldn’t. He’d matured too early, becoming a good son, good grandson, good heir apparent. He’d always suppressed himself, appearing to have few desires while actually burning with fierce inner fire. Losing A’Lei would leave him with truly nothing.
He lacked security; A’Lei was his last lifeline. How could he just let go?
But the tragedy of great-great-grandfather’s family and the Elder and younger Xie sisters served as precedent—imperial power crushed everything. Even someone of Zhu Zhanji’s status didn’t dare beat his chest and declare “I’ll protect you.”
Never mind him being just an Imperial Grand Prince—even Imperial Grandfather Emperor Yongle had lost his life’s beloved Empress Ren Xiao early.
Zhu Zhanji wavered, countless schemes in his mind becoming countless knots impossible to untie.
At nightfall, after a day of military training, Zhu Zhanhe began snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. Having played mind games all day, Zhu Zhanji tossed and turned sleeplessly. He seemed to have an out-of-body experience, his soul floating above the bed curtains, coldly observing his own shell.
Soul-Zhu Zhanji mocked: “Actually, there’s a way to marry A’Lei with Palace Director Hu and Godfather’s approval—you just don’t dare, or perhaps you don’t want to go that far for A’Lei.”
Shell-Zhu Zhanji: “That far?”
Soul-Zhu Zhanji: “Give up your position as Imperial Grand Prince. Haven’t you always been caught between the Crown Prince and the Emperor, suffering on both sides? Don’t you have two legitimate brothers and eight illegitimate brothers? Without you, the Ming would still be the Ming—the Ming has never lacked heirs.”
“As long as you leave the imperial family, you can control your own marriage and marry A’Lei. This is your only choice.”
Shell-Zhu Zhanji: “Leaving the imperial clan—easier said than done.”
Soul-Zhu Zhanji: “Precisely because it’s not easy, such love becomes especially precious. Godfather plotted for years to marry Palace Director Hu, overcoming many obstacles to finally break free from family control, secretly marrying Hu Shanwei and retiring to Kunming. You want love but don’t want sacrifice—how can such a you win A’Lei’s heart? Are clocks not fun enough, or is living freely not good enough?”
In the middle of the night, Zhu Zhanji forcibly shook his unfortunate cousin awake.
Small people have big tempers when woken—Zhu Zhanhe pushed his big brother away: “Don’t think I won’t beat you just because you’re the Imperial Grand Prince!”
Zhu Zhanji said: “I want to discuss serious matters with you. Didn’t Godfather say armies that haven’t truly fought have no soul? We need a great battle to give the Youth Army soul, otherwise we’ll forever remain armchair strategists.”
Hearing about war, Zhu Zhanhe immediately became alert: “Fight whom?”
“Japanese pirates.” Zhu Zhanji pointed to the coastal map: “Japanese pirates are causing trouble in Jiangzhe region. The pirates are fierce—perfect for testing the Youth Army’s mettle.”
Zhu Zhanhe wished he could go now: “But Imperial Grandfather’s side—”
“I’ll persuade the Emperor.” Zhu Zhanji solemnly pressed his cousin’s shoulders: “However, suppressing pirates is only one of my goals. I have another purpose…”
Zhu Zhanji whispered a few words in Zhu Zhanhe’s ear.
Zhu Zhanhe jumped up like a startled wildcat, forgetting his sore toe: “Do you know the consequences of doing this? Are you really willing to give up everything for Sister A’Lei?”
“You must help me—I only trust you.” Zhu Zhanji remained calm as always: “I’ve lived sixteen years always living for others. For the first time, I want to do something for myself, follow my heart’s desire, live for myself once. What Godfather did for Palace Director Hu, I can also do for A’Lei.”