Due to Ji Gang’s poor mathematical skills, he had disrupted everyone’s plans—his own, Zhu Zhanji’s, and A’Lei’s.

This showed how important learning was. Poor academic performance meant even villains would bungle their schemes.

This was a classic elementary second-grade math problem about meeting points. Without Ji Gang’s interference, Zhu Zhanji would have stepped on the landmine first and achieved his desired death (fake death minus one character). At that moment, traces of Little Chicken Brother’s existence would be scattered everywhere.

The instant Zhu Zhanji exploded, A’Lei would still be 699 meters away—a safe distance. A’Lei wouldn’t die.

Then Ji Gang’s scheme to incite imperial family infighting would succeed, Zhu Zhanji would die, A’Lei could completely give up hope and sail west, and the entire “Hu Shanwei” could end with this chapter in celebration. It would truly be killing four birds with one stone.

But Ji Gang’s mathematics was too poor. Fearing he might harm A’Lei and cause Hu Shanwei lifelong pain, he had no choice but to detonate the mines early.

Ji Gang’s soul ultimately hadn’t been completely consumed by the game of power. He retained his last bit of humanity for Hu Shanwei’s sake. This directly changed everyone’s fate, the Ming Dynasty’s history, and the completion progress of “Hu Shanwei.”

Like all the tiles being fed into a mahjong machine, automatically shuffled and redistributed, building four walls—everything starting anew.

What to do now?

Ji Gang, A’Lei, and Zhu Zhanji were all pondering the same question.

Ji Gang knelt hypocritically, apologizing: “This subordinate arrived too late to protect you, causing the Imperial Grand Prince alarm. Please punish this subordinate.”

Ji Gang’s primary task was protecting Zhu Zhanji and Zhu Zhanhe; his secondary task was strategizing for suppressing pirates and offering counsel.

So whether the pirates were suppressed mattered little to him, but if the Zhu brothers were assassinated, he would bear primary responsibility.

Ji Gang had originally thought that with Zhu Zhanji’s first independent campaign against the cunning, formidable pirates, the young prince would listen obediently to him—an experienced general who had fought pirates before—treating him as a trusted advisor.

But that didn’t happen. Zhu Zhanji used the Youth Army’s inner circle. The thousand Brocade Guards Ji Gang brought only patrolled the camp to prevent spies from causing trouble.

Zhu Zhanji rarely consulted others directly when facing problems, never being a “hand-out party” member. Despite his young age, he remained remarkably composed, holding back for two months while personally leading Youth Army reconnaissance teams to gather firsthand intelligence on the pirates, devising layered tactical strategies to trap the pirates on the island like catching turtles in a jar.

Ji Gang thought this was due to Zhu Zhanji’s precocious maturity and exceptional talent. He’d only guessed half—the other reason was Zhu Zhanji’s secret agenda of faking his death. So experts like Ji Gang from the Brocade Guard had to be kept at distance to avoid arousing suspicion through telltale signs.

Therefore, Zhu Zhanji maintained respectful distance from Ji Gang, excluding him from core matters.

Naturally, Zhu Zhanji wouldn’t punish this “veteran general” while trapped on the island. He personally helped Ji Gang stand: “Commander Ji, why such words? The pirates are cunning and impossible to guard against completely—it’s not Commander Ji’s fault. You advised me earlier not to venture out recklessly. This is the pirates’ stronghold with too many hidden passages and chambers. I was overconfident, too eager for victory, and acted rashly.”

“I called for Commander Ji regarding last year’s gunpowder factory warehouse theft. This case is of major importance—an imperial case His Majesty personally assigned to Commander Ji.” Zhu Zhanji pointed at the landmine fragments on the table. “Military craftsmen discovered these came from the gunpowder factory. Perhaps these are the goods Commander Ji has been searching for.”

“Really?” Ji Gang’s acting was explosive, his micro-expressions transitioning smoothly from surprise to delight. “Truly, ‘After wearing out iron shoes searching everywhere, I found it without effort.’ This subordinate searched fruitlessly for half a year, was scolded by His Majesty and had salary deducted. To think the thieves sold them to pirates—no wonder this subordinate could never find them.”

Zhu Zhanji nodded: “This connects to last year’s case.”

Ji Gang asked: “Who sold them to the pirates? Has anyone confessed?”

Zhu Zhanji shook his head: “No one has admitted it yet. They all deny ever seeing landmines.”

Ji Gang seized the opportunity: “The Brocade Guard excels at interrogation. Leave this matter to this subordinate. I’ll definitely get to the bottom of it.”

Zhu Zhanji remained noncommittal: “This case was originally Commander Ji’s, so upon discovering clues, I immediately sought Commander Ji’s guidance. If we can follow the trail from the pirate stronghold to recover some stolen firearms, that would be a great achievement.”

Ji Gang accepted the orders and left.

Once Ji Gang departed, Zhu Zhanhe emerged from behind the screen: “Big brother, if you suspect Commander Ji has problems, you should have concealed this matter. Why expose it and have Commander Ji interrogate the pirates? If he… uses torture to force confessions and kills to silence witnesses, we’ll have no evidence.”

Ji Gang didn’t know he’d already successfully attracted Zhu Zhanji’s attention.

Through Zhu Zhanji’s various threats and inducements, they’d successfully turned some pirates who revealed everything about the island’s secret chambers and passages.

Betrayal was like a snowball—once started, it continued. But no matter how Zhu Zhanji’s people questioned them, no pirate admitted to buying stolen gunpowder factory goods from thieves.

Moreover, these surrendered pirates had only heard of landmines but never seen them.

Zhu Zhanji, cunning as a honeycomb, keenly sensed something was wrong—if the pirates didn’t plant the landmines, who was the real culprit? Who wanted to kill him, designing this layered plot of assassination and landmine ambush?

Landmines were expensive firearms that easily misfired from impact. The Youth Army had only obtained twenty boxes for this campaign, reserved for future ambush use.

These twenty boxes were kept by Zhu Zhanhe—no one else could touch them.

After confirming they were gunpowder factory landmines, Zhu Zhanhe personally opened and counted them. Not one was missing, so it wasn’t an inside job.

Zhu Zhanji pondered deeply. As a born political animal, he even listed his own father, Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace, as the primary suspect!

As Imperial Grand Prince, he was one of the heir apparents, competing with the Eastern Palace.

The massive Youth Army was military strength the Crown Prince lacked. The Youth Army was the Imperial Guard’s front division, responsible for patrolling and protecting parts of the imperial palace. The Youth Army’s existence was also a potential threat to the Eastern Palace.

If Zhu Zhanji died, the backup heir apparent and Youth Army would naturally disband, making the Eastern Palace the biggest winner.

The second suspect: Second Imperial Uncle Prince Han. Perhaps Prince Han had devised a vicious scheme for the Crown Prince to kill the Imperial Grand Prince, causing father and son to turn against each other. If I could suspect the Eastern Palace as primary culprit after my incident, then the calculating Emperor would too, becoming even more wary of the Eastern Palace—someone who could kill his own son would find patricide even easier. This might lead to recalling Prince Han to the capital, entrusting him with important duties to check the Eastern Palace’s power.

Prince Han might even frame the Eastern Palace, confirming the father-kills-son crime to enrage His Majesty into deposing the Crown Prince and establishing Prince Han as heir!

The problem was so mind-bending. Whether the mastermind was the Crown Prince or Prince Han, both needed to kill with a borrowed knife. So the question was: who was that knife?

Finding this knife would reveal the true culprit.

Who was the knife?

The Youth Army had no foundation—I personally selected them from civilians and trained them myself. Their loyalty was trustworthy. There was also second cousin Zhu Zhanhe, also trustworthy.

Through elimination, Zhu Zhanji listed Ji Gang as a suspect for being the “knife.”

Because after the pirate suppression battle ended, where Ji Gang went and what he did, Zhu Zhanji didn’t know and couldn’t conveniently ask. After all, Ji Gang was His Majesty’s veteran minister and informant, regularly reporting the Zhu brothers’ performance to the Emperor.

Zhu Zhanji couldn’t directly question Ji Gang. He suspected him but lacked evidence.

But he was incredibly cunning and devised a method to test Ji Gang.

Facing Zhu Zhanhe’s doubts, Zhu Zhanji explained: “The pirates who surrendered to us have been secretly removed from prison and held elsewhere. The people Ji Gang is interrogating now are all pirates who refuse to surrender. If Ji Gang can’t extract anything, then he’s innocent and temporarily cleared of suspicion. But if these people die under Ji Gang’s torture, or if Ji Gang produces confessions from pirates admitting to buying stolen gunpowder factory goods from thieves, then Ji Gang confirms my suspicions—because he’s silencing witnesses, leaving dead men to tell no tales.”

Zhu Zhanhe was straightforward and felt his big cousin was too paranoid: “Even so, this can’t prove Ji Gang is the real culprit. The Brocade Guard’s imperial prison is notorious. Once you enter, even if you don’t die, you lose a layer of skin. Torturing prisoners to death is routine. Even Xie Jin, whom His Majesty once trusted most, was frozen to death in the snow by them, let alone just a few pirates.”

Zhu Zhanhe continued: “Also, I don’t think Ji Gang would dare betray His Majesty and risk ambushing you. You’re the Imperial Grand Prince, the nation’s heir apparent. What benefit would Ji Gang get from killing you? He’s not even a Zhu family member.”

Because I suspect my father and your father—they both have motives as the masterminds behind Ji Gang.

But no matter what, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t voice this. It was too realistic, too cruel.

Zhu Zhanji could only say: “But besides Ji Gang, I can’t think of other suspects for now, so I’ll test him with a few pirates. I also hope he’s innocent. Please keep this secret.”

Zhu Zhanhe trusted his big cousin completely: “Naturally. I trust you must have good reason to suspect Ji Gang. I still need to help send you on your way, so I’ll keep such big secrets for you, not to mention smaller ones.”

Seeing Zhu Zhanhe’s clear gaze, Zhu Zhanji felt heartbroken. If the truth was as I suspected, once I disappear, leaving you alone in the capital, even with Imperial Grandfather’s protection and Prince Han’s affairs not affecting you, how would you manage in the future?

If Imperial Grandfather dies and my father ascends the throne, would he become wary and move against you?

Charging you with treason—knowing father’s character and his reputation for benevolence, he probably wouldn’t kill you. He’d demote you to commoner status and confine you for life, making death preferable to living.

Yes, father could do that.

Thinking this, Zhu Zhanji felt A’Lei’s headache transferring to him. Like carrying an unbearable burden, he held his head in both hands. Thinking of Zhu Zhanhe’s predictable future misfortune, his head throbbed increasingly.

He understood the royal family’s cruelty too well. Even biological father and son were hidden opponents, guarding against each other—what more for Zhu Zhanhe, merely a nephew?

Zhu Zhanji had resolved to live for himself, leaving royal disputes to fly far away with A’Lei.

But sudden changes and suspicions about Ji Gang made him worry about Zhu Zhanhe’s future.

A wild crane’s wings were too small and fragile to protect Zhu Zhanhe.

Only by controlling imperial power like His Majesty could he protect his cousin from harm.

But this would inevitably cost him his freedom.

Because those who controlled imperial power were themselves slaves to that power!

Zhu Zhanji was torn, his head splitting with pain. Just then, sounds of something breaking came from the adjacent room.

Zhu Zhanji hurriedly pushed open the door to find A’Lei had somehow awakened and was sitting on the bed’s edge. On the floor lay broken teapot shards and a puddle of water.

A’Lei apologized profusely: “I… I was thirsty and wanted to pour water, but accidentally dropped the teapot.”

Her mind was foggy and still aching. Her hands wouldn’t obey, having their own ideas—she couldn’t even grip a teapot handle steadily. A’Lei never imagined she’d have days of being unable to care for herself.

“Let me.”

Zhu Zhanji brought in the teapot from outside: “Lie back down first. The military doctor said your foot must stay elevated—don’t let it hang down.”

A’Lei laboriously moved her swollen pig-trotter left foot back onto the bed. Zhu Zhanji poured water and held the cup to her lips.

This was something they’d often done as children. A’Lei was desperately thirsty, so while maneuvering her pig trotter, she drank from Zhu Zhanji’s hands.

Following A’Lei’s drinking rhythm, Zhu Zhanji skillfully tilted the cup slowly. The two cooperated seamlessly and quickly finished the water.

A’Lei propped herself up with two pillows and finally elevated her left foot. Just as she was about to ask for another cup, Zhu Zhanji sat on the bed’s edge and extended his slender arms, embracing her from behind.

Like a long-limbed mantis, he hunched his body, resting his head on A’Lei’s shoulder like a tired bird returning to its nest. His sharp chin pressed into her shoulder hollow, sharp as a dagger. Following the shoulder hollow’s line downward, it pierced straight through, hitting her maiden heart dead center.