“Is this the White Lotus Sect’s Mother Buddha headquarters?”
Su Jingxi looked up, letting out a small gasp of amazement. This unremarkable White Robe Temple before her somehow concealed the Mother Buddha who had thrown two capitals and five provinces into chaos. The contrast between appearance and reality was truly striking. Now that the Mother Buddha was gone, who knew what fate awaited this small temple?
Su Jingxi turned her head and saw Wu Dingyuan standing hesitantly at the temple entrance. She teased, “Would you like to borrow my copper coin for divination again?”
Wu Dingyuan shook his head. “No need. I have no choice in this matter. Consulting any deity would yield the same result.”
“Even the deities couldn’t have guessed what you’re thinking,” Su Jingxi sighed. “To seek the White Lotus Sect’s help in rescuing the Crown Prince. Though all things change in this world, this change is too dramatic. When we left Jinling, we could never have imagined today’s situation.”
“To repay the debt of saving my life, I have no other choice,” Wu Dingyuan emphasized expressionlessly, as if afraid others might misunderstand. Su Jingxi smiled without pointing out that at least the words “no other choice” were his true feelings.
Being strangers in Jinan Prefecture, it would be nearly impossible for Wu Dingyuan and Su Jingxi to rescue someone from the Regional Military Commission. After discussing their options, Wu Dingyuan awkwardly realized he had only one choice: to seek help from the White Lotus Sect.
The White Lotus Sect had operated in Jinan for many years, with extremely deep roots and abundant resources at their disposal. More importantly, the Mother Buddha’s death at Daming Lake caused them to completely break ties with the shadowy figures behind the plot in the two capitals. From that moment on, the White Lotus Sect had to find a new path forward. Wu Dingyuan believed that a practical person like Zuo Yehe would make the most rational decision.
His only concern was that she might use this opportunity to impose conditions. Just thinking about Mother Buddha’s dying wishes gave Wu Dingyuan a headache. But to rescue Zhu Zhanji, he had no choice but to face these difficulties head-on.
He took a deep breath to calm his emotions. Just as he was about to step into the temple, there was a creaking sound as the main door was pulled open from inside, revealing a fierce face more terrifying than a door god. Though Su Jingxi was mentally prepared, she still gasped and stepped back at the sight of Liang Xingfu. Wu Dingyuan immediately moved in front of her and whispered, “Don’t worry, he won’t harm us for now.”
Indeed, as he said, Liang Xingfu made no move to attack them, nor did he mutter anything about “repaying debts.” Like a puppet, he stiffly opened the door and gestured for them to enter. It seemed the Mother Buddha’s dying constraints were truly effective, though Wu Dingyuan secretly wondered what method she had used.
As they walked past the side halls, they saw one door slightly ajar. The Mother Buddha’s body lay inside, covered with hemp cloth, while Wu Yulu knelt beside it, chanting sutras without pause. For the White Lotus Sect, the Mother Buddha’s death absolutely could not be made public, so there would be no funeral rites. Wu Dingyuan even suspected they might simply dig a hole and bury her without ceremony.
As he hesitated, wondering whether to say a few words to his sister, a beautiful woman emerged from the Hall of No Beams. Seeing Wu Dingyuan and Su Jingxi standing side by side, she first paused in surprise, then warmly came forward to greet them.
“Isn’t this Doctor Su? How did you end up in Jinan too?” Zuo Yehe affectionately took Su Jingxi’s arm, like an intimate friend.
Su Jingxi smoothly withdrew her arm and glanced at Wu Dingyuan. “I’m just worried he might come to harm. People’s hearts are treacherous; one must be cautious.”
Zuo Yehe said, “Sister is right to watch him so closely. Men are like grass on a wall—one gust of wind and they topple over, unable to distinguish between musk and fox stench.”
Su Jingxi smiled. “Your name is truly like wall grass. Zuo Yehe… isn’t that just the stonecrop that grows between roof tiles?”
“Oh? The Mother Buddha gave me this name and I thought it sounded nice. I didn’t know it had such meaning.”
“I read about it in medical texts. Zuo Yehe is also called roof grass, house lotus, or rootless roof plant. It blooms in autumn and withers before winter—a plant with a fragile destiny. It only grows on old houses and broken walls, between tiles and beams. Its nature is cold and lonely, never able to join the flower garden.”
“So you’re saying this grass is completely useless?”
“Not necessarily,” Su Jingxi smiled warmly. “When brewed and taken internally, it can promote blood circulation and aid digestion. When crushed and applied externally, it can treat malignant sores and burns. You see, whether a plant has use depends entirely on if it’s placed in the right position.”
Though Zuo Yehe detected the subtle implications, she couldn’t match Su Jingxi in medical knowledge and was momentarily lost for words. Wu Dingyuan quickly stepped between them and cleared his throat. “Let’s discuss business.”
Zuo Yehe turned to face him, smiling brightly. “You hurried away from the Seven Saints Temple to find Sister Su—does she know everything about our arrangement?”
Wu Dingyuan frowned, sensing a trap in the question. He decided to speak directly: “I need your help now to rescue someone.”
“Who?”
“The Crown Prince.”
This answer greatly surprised Zuo Yehe—the Crown Prince who had come to Jinan Prefecture. Her alluring eyes shifted from Wu Dingyuan to Su Jingxi and back again, already guessing some of the situation.
“Is it Jin Rong?”
After receiving Wu Dingyuan’s confirmation, Zuo Yehe furrowed her brow, falling into deep thought.
Her hesitation was understandable. The current situation was extremely complex—former allies had become deadly enemies, while former prey had come seeking cooperation. Even she was uncertain how to handle these intricate relationships. After careful consideration, Zuo Yehe suddenly smiled. “Master Iron need not be so distant. With just one word from you, all our followers will naturally obey.”
Wu Dingyuan understood—these were her terms. If he assumed leadership of the White Lotus Sect as Iron Xuan’s son, he could command all their followers’ strength. But this was exactly what he most wanted to avoid.
“That matter… let me consider it first.”
Zuo Yehe said, “I’m not trying to use this to threaten you. Our followers’ morale was crushed at Daming Lake. Without a strong figure to lead them, I fear this tent cannot be raised.”
As Wu Dingyuan tried to persuade her further, Su Jingxi gently stopped him and stepped forward. “What kind of relationship does Jin Rong have with your White Lotus Sect?”
Zuo Yehe replied angrily, “Jin Rong has always been our sect’s great enemy. Since becoming Shandong Regional Military Commissioner, he has been extremely zealous in suppressing us. The Mother Buddha’s initial decision to cooperate with that noble person was partly to reduce the pressure from Jin Rong.”
“But once that noble person breaks with you, he will ruthlessly continue the suppression, so where will the White Lotus Sect find support?” Su Jingxi’s voice was gentle, but it made Zuo Yehe’s expression change slightly. “If the White Lotus Sect wants to survive, you must make a decision now. If you continue to hedge your bets, you may end up pleasing neither side.”
Su Jingxi spoke diplomatically, but everyone present understood her meaning. If Zuo Yehe remained neutral, the White Lotus Sect would face destruction regardless of whether the Crown Prince or that noble person ultimately prevailed. They had no room for choice or negotiation—siding with the Crown Prince was their only hope for survival.
Zuo Yehe habitually reached into her dress pocket but found nothing to eat. She blinked and looked at Wu Dingyuan: “Master Iron, is this your wish as well?”
She pronounced “Iron” very clearly. Wu Dingyuan’s face reddened slightly: “Rescuing him is urgent—we can discuss other matters later.”
Zuo Yehe immediately bowed without hesitation: “For the sake of our holy sect’s survival, Master Iron can set aside private grievances and consider the bigger picture. All our followers will respectfully obey the Sect Leader’s command!”
Wu Dingyuan stiffened at her words. He had thought she was backed into a corner, but she had somehow turned the situation around on him. Unable to either accept or reject, he could only furrow his brow and forcefully change the subject: “Let’s discuss the urgent matter. The Crown Prince entered the Shandong Regional Military Commission office and hasn’t returned. Can you find out his whereabouts?”
Zuo Yehe replied, “If the Sect Leader inquires, I shall tell all I know.” She clapped her hands and called over an idle person at the door, whispered a few words, and the person hurriedly left to carry out the orders.
“We happen to have followers working as storehouse laborers in the Military Commission office. News should arrive shortly.”
After this explanation, Zuo Yehe invited them both into the Hall of No Beams, also calling Liang Xingfu inside. These mortal enemies sat on meditation cushions, forming an odd seating arrangement. With the Mother Buddha gone, the hall felt rather empty. Zuo Yehe first respectfully lit some incense, then began chanting prayers for the deceased along with Liang Xingfu. The other two looked at each other awkwardly, but not wanting to rush them, maintained their silence.
After about the time it takes to burn two incense sticks, news finally arrived. Zuo Yehe opened her eyes and smiled, “The storehouse worker says he didn’t see anyone resembling the Crown Prince, but he saw Jin Rong leave the Military Commission office with his guards. From the guards’ idle chat, they most likely went to the South Military Camp.”
“South Military Camp?” Su Jingxi asked.
“The South Military Camp is Jinan Guard’s station, located outside the Shuntian Gate at the foot of Li Mountain,” Zuo Yehe explained. “Since Jin Rong went there, there’s a ninety percent chance the Crown Prince was taken there too. Think about it—within the city, there’s the Provincial Administration Office and the Jinan Prefecture Office. If news leaked out, it would be a huge problem. Once the Crown Prince is confined in the Jinan Guard’s military camp, it becomes much harder for outsiders to intervene.”
“So we need to break into a military camp to rescue him…” Wu Dingyuan ground his teeth. A military camp was different from other places—there was no room for stealth or clever tricks. Attempting a rescue would be extremely difficult.
Zuo Yehe smiled, “For this matter, we should consult the Mother Buddha.” She gestured for Liang Xingfu to move aside the Buddha shrine, pulling out a stack of documents from underneath and spreading out several sheets: “The Mother Buddha operated in Jinan for so long, always preparing for the worst, and laid down some contingency plans—these will be key to rescuing the Crown Prince.”
Wu Dingyuan and Su Jingxi looked together at the first sheet, which showed a map of Jinan Prefecture with over thirty small circles marked in vermilion.
Zuo Yehe explained, “These are Jinan Prefecture’s more than thirty main springs and wells. If we simultaneously poison all these locations, Jinan will surely descend into chaos. Once Jinan is in chaos, the Jinan Guard will have to deploy troops to help, and we can take advantage of the opportunity to enter.”
Wu Dingyuan was shocked: “How can we do that? It would harm too many innocent people. We’re trying to rescue someone, not massacre a city.” Su Jingxi also said, “This method is too slow to take effect. It won’t work.”
Zuo Yehe pulled out another sheet showing a larger map of Jinan and the surrounding area: “There are more than ten sluice gates near Wukou Town on the Xiaoqing River. If we destroy them, we can flood Jinan. This is how Zhu Di captured Jinan City back then.”
Wu Dingyuan shook his head repeatedly. “No, no.” These contingency plans prepared by the Mother Buddha were all designed for mutual destruction—once activated, they would destroy everything. While they needed to rescue the Crown Prince, Wu Dingyuan couldn’t accept holding an entire city’s population hostage.
Zuo Yehe seemed to have anticipated this and quickly produced a third sheet. This was another map of Jinan Prefecture, marked with about ten thick ink dots distributed throughout the city—most numerous in the east, followed by the south and west, and the fewest in the north.
“What are these?” Wu Dingyuan felt an ominous threat.
Zuo Yehe’s voice was full of mockery: “You should all have seen these in Nanjing.”
Wu Dingyuan’s eye twitched as he immediately understood the significance of these ink dots. It was the tremendous force that had shattered the thousand-timber treasure ships, the fury of the fire god that had instantly swept through Nanjing’s officialdom. He never expected the White Lotus Sect to have buried so much gunpowder throughout Jinan Prefecture. Though these people worshipped Maitreya Buddha, they had the nature of Zhurong, the fire god, in their bones.
Zuo Yehe enthusiastically introduced each ink dot: “This point is in Liujing Lane east of Baotu Spring, where a battalion of Jinan Prefecture troops is stationed; this point is at the southern end of Provincial Guest Street, near Daiyue Temple and Taiping Temple; this point is between the West Gate Grain Market and the Mule and Horse Market; and this point is right next to the Shuntian Gate in the south, where Shandong’s largest gunpowder workshop is located.”
Eighteen dots marking secret gunpowder caches adjoined crucial points in the city, like eighteen spears held at Jinan’s throat. If they all exploded at once, half of Jinan would be engulfed in flames. No wonder the White Lotus Sect had handled things so skillfully in Nanjing—they already had experience.
Wu Dingyuan shook his head. “This would harm even more innocent people than destroying the sluice gates and flooding.”
Zuo Yehe rolled up the map. “Sect Leader, with such righteousness, you might as well go to the examination hall and try for a scholar degree. Why bother with rebellion?”
Wu Dingyuan knew Zuo Yehe had a point. Setting off explosions throughout Jinan would certainly create chaos, and if they then gathered forces to raid the South Military Camp, their chances of rescuing the Crown Prince would exceed ninety percent. But how would this be any different from what the White Lotus Sect had done in Nanjing? Both sides reached an impasse. At this point, Su Jingxi, who had remained silent until now, spoke up: “Even with tiger sulfur powder, the powder’s properties are unstable. You’ve stored gunpowder at these locations for years—aren’t you worried about accidents?”
Zuo Yehe replied, “At these eighteen locations, the saltpeter and sulfur are kept separate, stored in proportioned amounts in straw bags. When needed, our followers will mix them on-site, place them in sealed wooden barrels, and detonate them. The whole process takes less than half an hour.”
“Then how do you control the timing to make them explode simultaneously?”
Zuo Yehe turned around and pulled something else from beneath the Buddha shrine. It was a ball of pine sawdust held together with fish glue. She pulled an incense stick from the censer, inserted it into the pine ball, and showed it to Su Jingxi. Both visitors suddenly understood, secretly admiring the Mother Buddha’s ingenuity.
The structure was extremely simple: place the pine ball in the powder barrel, then light the protruding incense stick. When the incense burns out, it ignites the resin-rich sawdust, which then detonates the gunpowder. This way, they could control the explosion timing by calculating the incense stick length. Moreover, it could operate autonomously, allowing people to leave well beforehand and avoid being caught in the blast.
Su Jingxi took the clever ignition device, examined it briefly, passed it to Wu Dingyuan, then asked, “I’m not very familiar with gunpowder. Besides tiger sulfur powder, what other mixtures does the military use?”
Wu Dingyuan was well-versed in this: “There’s tiger fury tight powder for cannons, usually mixed with cypress ash; slow powder for firearms, mixed with light coal ash; willow branch powder, nightshade powder, flying crow powder, and so on—probably several dozen types.”
“Is there a mixture that produces lots of smoke but has less explosive force?”
Wu Dingyuan thought for a moment: “Well, yes. I saw the Longjiang Shipyard make a kind of signal powder, similar to firecrackers—thunder-like sound, thick smoke that lingers, specifically made for Admiral Zheng’s fleet to communicate across the ocean.”
Su Jingxi’s eyes lit up. “Do you know the formula? Does it need any additional materials?”
Wu Dingyuan said, “Gunpowder is just one part saltpeter, two parts sulfur, three parts charcoal—nothing else needed. Different properties come from adjusting these three ingredients’ ratios.”
Su Jingxi said, “What’s our goal? Not to kill civilians, but to divert Jin Rong’s attention and that of the entire Jinan Prefecture office. We just need to adjust the powder mixture on-site, changing it from tiger sulfur powder to signal powder. As long as smoke and fire rise impressively, it will be enough to capture attention without thunder-like destructive power.”
This was an excellent compromise. Both Wu Dingyuan and Zuo Yehe breathed sighs of relief. Zuo Yehe said, “Then, Master Iron, write down the formula, and tomorrow I’ll pass it to the followers watching over the powder to prepare in advance.”
“No!” Wu Dingyuan exclaimed urgently, “We must act tonight, or it will be too late.”
If the Crown Prince remained in Jinan another day, he would miss returning to the capital in time, and everything would be ruined—even the White Lotus Sect’s support of the Crown Prince would become meaningless.
Zuo Yehe pondered briefly, then said she would need to personally arrange the personnel and mix the powder. As for raiding the South Military Camp and rescuing people, they should discuss that with Liang Xingfu. Su Jingxi stood up: “I’ll go with you. I know a bit about mixing ingredients and can help.” Zuo Yehe naturally understood her intention but didn’t refuse: “With Sister, a skilled physician, helping, we’ll surely accomplish twice as much with half the effort.” She gave Wu Dingyuan a long look before hurrying away with Su Jingxi.
In the Hall of No Beams, only the Mad Buddha’s Enemy remained facing Wu Dingyuan. Without others mediating between them, the two men felt incredibly awkward. Wu Dingyuan suspected Liang Xingfu might take the opportunity to strike and kill him.
But Liang Xingfu now resembled an aged tiger—though still imposing, his overwhelming killing intent had become imperceptible. Wu Dingyuan frowned and said, “Let’s be clear upfront. This alliance is purely to rescue three people. The grudge between you and my family is a separate account—we’ll settle that later.”
Liang Xingfu ignored his words and casually picked up the Mother Buddha’s broom, drawing a simple diagram on the dirt floor.
It showed the South Military Camp’s layout—though just a few strokes, the internal arrangement was clear. The camp was divided into northern and southern areas, each with its gate. Inside the South Gate were the seal office, Martial Sage Temple, martial arts hall, kitchen, armory, and other facilities; inside the North Gate were the banner platform, central command platform, stables, and a large drill ground. Wu Dingyuan studied the dust diagram, contemplating for a moment before looking up: “How many troops are stationed in the camp?”
“Jin Rong is the Shandong Regional Military Commissioner, commanding ten guards and four garrisons throughout Shandong. His forces in Jinan consist of six companies from the Jinan Guard and his troops,” Liang Xingfu explained slowly.
“How many forces can you mobilize in Jinan?”
Liang Xingfu held up his fingers: “Thirty people.”
The attack at Daming Lake had thrown the White Lotus Sect’s Jinan altars into great confusion. With the Mother Buddha gone, it was already quite difficult for Zuo Yehe and Liang Xingfu to hastily mobilize thirty combat-capable followers. Fortunately, the gunpowder explosions would draw away at least two-thirds of the Jinan Guard’s forces, giving them a fighting chance.
Wu Dingyuan picked up a small twig and sketched in the dust: “Hmm, in that case, we should divide our forces into three teams, preferably disguised as civilians. Find some excuse to get inside first, then when the explosions outside begin…” A large hand suddenly shot out, interrupting his words. Wu Dingyuan thought Liang Xingfu was having another episode and quickly backed away. But the hand merely snatched away his twig.
“Don’t bother with such flourishes. Once the gunpowder explodes across Jinan, the Jinan Guard will certainly deploy troops through the North Gate to maintain order in the city. Don’t split up—charge straight through the South Gate, kill all guards, find the prison cells, get the Crown Prince out, and leave the camp. That’s it.”
This plan was brutally simple… but Wu Dingyuan understood that with such hasty circumstances, simpler plans were often easier to execute. After brief consideration, he had one concern: “What if the Jinan Guard suspects something and returns to camp? How do we handle that?”
“I’ll guard the North Gate. None of them will get through,” Liang Xingfu replied flatly.
Wu Dingyuan couldn’t raise a single doubt about this statement.
Several hours passed, and Jinan’s daytime clamor gradually settled as the sun set in the west.
The Spring City was famous for its magnificent sunset. Each evening, it unfurled like silk dyed in five colors, leisurely spreading to occupy half the sky. The city’s seventy-two jade springs bubbled and flowed, each stream reflecting a small patch of rosy light. Seventy-two shimmering ribbons crisscrossed through the city, decorating Jinan into a great pavilion of flowing colors.
At this time, city residents would carry wooden buckets to nearby springs to fetch water. They believed that spring water tinged with sunset’s glow contained borrowed celestial essence that could extend life. However, the water had to be drunk immediately in the sunset’s light—if taken home, it would lose its potency.
Near Baotu Spring in the city, residents formed long queues before three spring pools, waiting to share in the sunset-blessed spring water. This being the hometown of Confucius, everyone was courteous and orderly, with no quarreling. There were only whispers about the events at Daming Lake that afternoon.
Suddenly, a tremendous boom exploded out of nowhere, like thunder from clear sky. The spring water trembled violently, rippling with countless waves. The residents standing nearby were stunned motionless, unable to react, standing like stone statues.
Only when a cypress bucket splashed into the spring did they snap out of their daze, turning to look toward the explosion. The sight before them was even more shocking. Above a residence near Guanghui Bridge rose a pitch-black cloud flower, soaring upward while unfurling outward in layers like an opening parasol, blocking the sky and sunset until the light dimmed.
Someone screamed, and the water-fetching crowd scattered in panic, crying and shouting. Not knowing where was safe, strong men carrying buckets, elderly pulling children, peddlers pushing wheelbarrows, merchants clutching headcloths and fans—all crashed about like headless flies, spreading panic like ripples. Finally, even the officials guarding the springs threw down their badges and vanished, leaving only chaos around Baotu Spring.
Almost simultaneously, violent tremors shook throughout Jinan. From Provincial Guest Street to the Mule and Horse Market, from the examination hall to Xiaogan Spring, eighteen fire-laden black clouds rose up like eighteen demon gods towering over the Spring City. The terror of this sun-blocking darkness was as fierce as the demons released by Grand Marshal Hong, sending residents into panic as they fled crying out, throwing the entire city into turmoil.
Jinan had four official jurisdictions: the Lixia County office managing city affairs, the Jinan Prefecture office overseeing four prefectures and twenty-six counties, and the Provincial Administration Commission and Regional Military Commission governing all of Shandong. With sudden chaos in the city, the Lixia County office dared not make decisions and urgently reported to the Jinan Prefecture office, which in turn consulted the Provincial Administration Commission.
The Provincial Administration Commission was also terrified by this sudden upheaval. An attack of this scale surely meant the enemy had follow-up actions planned. Only military forces would suffice for defense, so they sent a notice to the Shandong Regional Military Commission requesting immediate deployment of the Jinan Guard.
Within half an hour, the North Gate of the South Military Camp thundered open as Jinan Guard troops marched out in formation, rapidly heading to various parts of the city to guard against possible attacks.
In an alley before the north office gate, a date seller slowly packed up his stall. He secretly counted passing soldiers, marking a line on his wooden cart for every hundred. After drawing six lines, he straightened up and quickly pushed his cart away. Soon after, at the South Gate in another direction, a group of refugees carrying large and small bundles gradually approached. The guards were busy discussing the eighteen explosions and hadn’t yet climbed up to light the lamps. In the twilight, they couldn’t see that these “civilians” were all young men, nor notice that most of their bundles were oddly long.
In the chaotic commotion, a powerfully built man reached the gate first. While the guards weren’t paying attention, his left fist struck one guard’s abdomen while his right hand gripped another’s throat. In an instant, two guards lost their fighting ability.
The other soldiers were startled and about to draw their swords when suddenly a group of “civilians” appeared behind them. They shed their bundles, revealing gleaming short swords and spears, and struck without mercy. Only one soldier lucky enough to dodge the attack immediately fled toward the camp, but after just a few steps, an iron ruler suddenly extended from behind a pillar and struck him. With a cry of pain, he instantly collapsed unconscious.
Wu Dingyuan withdrew his iron ruler, feeling slightly satisfied. These were Jin Rong’s personal troops—Jin Rong served Zhu Di, and Zhu Di was Iron Xuan’s enemy, so striking hard could count as small revenge. He turned to look back—no soldiers remained standing at the gate, only Liang Xingfu stood like a solid black tower on the steps in the middle of the office entrance.
“Let’s move!” Wu Dingyuan didn’t want to say more.
Liang Xingfu braced his arms against the door panels and pushed forward with his core strength. Veins bulged in his neck as the hinges creaked, and he actually forced the heavy gates open.
Wu Dingyuan darted in first, followed by Liang Xingfu, then the thirty White Lotus followers swarmed in. Having studied the South Military Camp’s layout beforehand, they headed straight for the prison area without hesitation.
Wu Dingyuan and Liang Xingfu led the charge. Whenever they encountered someone blocking their way in the corridors, whether personal guard or civil clerk, they knocked them down and pressed forward, leaving the followers behind to handle the aftermath. A few quick-thinking guards tried to retreat into side rooms, but the followers broke the windows and threw lime powder inside, followed by water skins. This forced them to either come out and fight or suffocate inside.
The attackers were like the sharp edge of a butcher’s knife, entering the imperceptible gaps, silently piercing into the bull’s heart.
Wu Dingyuan had to admit to himself that having a psychopath like Liang Xingfu on their side was like wielding an exceptionally effective hammer. In this short stretch alone, nearly twenty men had fallen before him. Any resistance lasted no more than two breaths before him—his combat efficiency was truly terrifying.
It seemed the Jinan Guard had indeed been drawn away, leaving only a skeleton crew behind. Their sharp double-headed assault quickly reached the armory. According to the simple map, the prison entrance was just around the right corner of the side corridor. At this moment, a rich aroma wafted into Wu Dingyuan’s nostrils. He frowned—there was no kitchen nearby, so where was this food smell coming from?
He took a step forward and suddenly noticed two figures crouching beneath the corridor pillar to the right.
These two men wore loose short jackets, half their upper bodies bare, with greasy towels draped over their shoulders—the perfect image of kitchen workers. They were hunched over a portable stove, slurping continuously.
The portable stove was actually a military-issue vertical iron tube lined with heat-resistant ceramic tiles. A wide-mouthed pot sat atop the tube, with fine charcoal burning below. The aroma was wafting from the pot’s mouth.
Their position blocked the path to the prison cells—there was no way around. Wu Dingyuan couldn’t afford delays, so he brandished his iron ruler and charged forward like a demon. He was almost upon them before the two cooks realized the danger. They tried to flee while still smacking their lips, accidentally kicking over the stove with a crash, shattering the pot. Wu Dingyuan noticed it had been full of oily chunks of braised meat, each tied with reed grass, the gaps between the grass soaked with brown fatty oil. He was in no mood to appreciate the cuisine and leaped over the greasy mess, charging toward the prison cells. Liang Xingfu and the White Lotus followers would deal with the two cooks.
The South Military Camp’s prison wasn’t large. After running a dozen steps, Wu Dingyuan reached the largest cell at the end. He stopped, peering through the bars while furrowing his brow, preparing himself for another headache attack.
But the expected headache didn’t come, because the cell was empty.
Wu Dingyuan froze, not quite believing his eyes. He looked again—the cell was lined with straw, finger marks scored the walls, a chamber pot in the corner reeked of urine, but there were no prisoners. His eyes swept over the straw layer and noticed a ring of black stains around the edges—indicating the straw had been recently disturbed.
Wu Dingyuan’s face darkened. Being moved at this critical moment wasn’t a good sign. Something suddenly occurred to him, and he quickly ran back out of the prison to where Liang Xingfu had the two cooks pinned down, about to silence them.
“Wait!” Wu Dingyuan shouted, and Liang Xingfu’s hands stopped.
“The Crown Prince isn’t in the cell—question them!”
There was only one reason to cook beside the prison—a condemned prisoner’s last meal. And only someone of the Crown Prince’s noble status would merit such rich, oily braised meat.
Liang Xingfu had reached the same conclusion. He lifted the two men as easily as chickens: “Speak! Who was this meal for?” Pale-faced, the cooks spilled everything like beans from a bamboo tube.
It turned out they were the Regional Commissioner’s cooks. That afternoon, they’d received Jin Rong’s orders to carefully prepare a pot of braised meat for the prisoner. This dish required slow simmering, and by the time it was ready, an hour had passed. The prisoner had barely taken one bite before Jin Rong’s guards took him away, leaving a full pot of meat for the two cooks to feast on.
When Wu Dingyuan asked where the prisoner had been taken, the cooks trembled and shook their heads, saying only that they’d gone north, possibly to the drill ground. A thread of unease crept into Wu Dingyuan’s heart.
This plan had been too hasty, with no backup preparations. Now that the Crown Prince was missing, they would have to spend considerable time searching. And the longer they delayed, the more variables would arise.
A thousand thoughts flooded Wu Dingyuan’s mind, but he gritted his teeth and cut them all off. Time was critical—there was no room for careful deliberation. At this point, they could only act on instinct. Wu Dingyuan glanced at the sky and growled: “Quick! To the North Gate!”
As this group headed north, Su Jingxi once again climbed the Huibo Tower on the north bank of Daming Lake. But this time, her companion wasn’t the Crown Prince but Zuo Yehe.
Rising above the city wall, Huibo Tower commanded a view of all of Daming Lake and Jinan City. From here, they could see eighteen black clouds looming above the city, like eighteen drops of ink splattered across a colored silk scroll of “Along the River During the Qingming Festival.” The explosion effects showed that converting the tiger sulfur powder to signal powder had been successful—the intensity was low, but the smoke was extremely thick, creating an atmosphere of “black clouds pressing down, threatening to crush the city.”
“Now, let’s see what Wu Dingyuan and Liang Xingfu can do.”
Zuo Yehe leaned on the railing, pulling fresh lotus seeds from her pocket and crunching them. Su Jingxi asked curiously, “Lotus seeds are sweet and can relieve anxiety, quench thirst, nourish the heart, and calm the spirit. But you eat the bitter core too—doesn’t it taste bad?”
Zuo Yehe smiled and popped another seed into her mouth: “Lotus seeds are sweet outside but bitter inside. The Mother Buddha said this is why our sect is named after the white lotus—this is exactly what it symbolizes.”
“Sweet outside but bitter inside…” Su Jingxi pondered these words. “But what does that have to do with the White Lotus Sect?”
Zuo Yehe said, “What good are those incense and clay statues in the temples? Deep down, everyone is bitter—they just seek peace of mind and fool themselves into happiness. Isn’t the White Lotus Sect just like a lotus seed?”
This frank admission surprised Su Jingxi: “Did the Mother Buddha teach you this?”
“Yes, she often said that every person in this world is like a lotus core, all bearing bitterness in their hearts. All life is suffering—even she was no exception. There is no liberation, no true enlightenment.” Zuo Yehe tossed lotus seeds into her mouth one after another, her movements becoming increasingly rapid.
Su Jingxi’s hand suddenly stopped hers: “Actually… you can just cry.”
The lotus seed tossing stopped abruptly.
Zuo Yehe smiled: “Why should I cry?”
“Haven’t you noticed? As soon as the Mother Buddha was mentioned, you started chewing much more intensely,” Su Jingxi’s voice grew gentler.
“What? I’m just hungry.”
“When the heart is sick, external symptoms manifest and become habits. Some people bite their nails when emotionally blocked; others shake their legs when tense. Your constant need to eat is probably also a deep-rooted heart sickness. Let me guess—did you once suffer from starvation?”
At Su Jingxi’s words, Zuo Yehe burst out laughing: “Sister has good insight. Starvation? I didn’t just starve—I crawled out of a pile of corpses. I even ate human flesh.” She spoke casually, but Su Jingxi’s heart jolted, feeling cut by the sharp edge hidden in that smile.
Zuo Yehe held a lotus seed, examined it briefly, and then tossed it into her mouth. Her pearl-white teeth crushed it to powder.
“I don’t remember where I’m from or who my parents were. I only remember that year when my hometown faced severe famine and many people died. My parents must have loved me—they gave me their last bit of food and then starved to death. I was so hungry, wandering in a daze with a group of people, eating pot ashes, dirt, locust tree leaves, bark, and even locusts and ants. When we’d eaten everything but were still hungry, what then? We ate people. At first, they only ate the dead, but later they ate the living too. I was just a skeletal little girl when they set their sights on me. About to be cooked, I thought it might be good—at least I wouldn’t be hungry anymore. Unexpectedly, the Mother Buddha happened to pass by and saved me, keeping me at the altar ever since.”
Faced with this sudden confession, Su Jingxi felt awkward. Zuo Yehe glanced at her with an ambiguous smile: “Since then, whenever I have free time, I want to eat. I’m always afraid—what if I’m hungry the next moment? I don’t want to experience that feeling again, so I eat desperately, trying to keep myself as full as possible. I suppose this is a kind of heart sickness too? As long as I’m full enough, I’ll never return to those days, never have to relive those memories—do you understand now, Sister?”
Su Jingxi was stunned for a while before sighing: “I was presumptuous. I’m sorry…”
Zuo Yehe waved it off, gazing at the foot-washing stone by Daming Lake with glistening eyes: “Death is like a lamp being extinguished. With the Mother Buddha gone, she’s completely gone—all that talk of Pure Land and reincarnation was just lies. Once someone dies, you can never find them again—only a Buddha statue and some meditation cushions remain. So I have nothing to cry about. I just want to eat some lotus seeds and truly taste the suffering of this world that the Mother Buddha spoke of.”
Zuo Yehe suddenly smiled: “Sister Su, you’re strange—how did I end up telling you so much… Hey, do you always pry into others’ affairs?”
“I’m a physician—it’s a habit.”
“Sister, you’re so good with words. No wonder that group of men can’t see through your games…”
“See through what?” Su Jingxi narrowed her eyes slightly.
Zuo Yehe met her gaze fearlessly: “The Crown Prince went north to seize power; Yu Qian went north out of loyalty; Master Iron went north to save his family. The only one whose motives I can’t figure out is you, Sister. One doesn’t rise early without profit—you put in so much effort, surely you must have your agenda?”
“Of course I do.”
Su Jingxi’s frank admission left Zuo Yehe unsure how to probe further.
Su Jingxi lifted her head, watching the smoke gradually disperse in the night sky: “You’re quite right. Those foolish men probably think it’s perfectly natural for a woman to follow men. They’re so arrogant they never seriously considered why I would journey north with them—it never occurred to them that I might have my purpose.” Su Jingxi paused briefly, slowly exhaled, and smiled at Zuo Yehe. “After hearing your story, it’s only fair that I share one of my own. As women, perhaps you’ll understand.”
Without waiting for Zuo Yehe’s response, Su Jingxi began telling the story of her and Jinhu. This account matched what she had told Wu Dingyuan in Huai’an, but with more details: how she and Jinhu met, how they studied medicine together, gathered herbs together, Jinhu’s emotional changes before and after her distant marriage to the capital, and Su Jingxi’s struggle to seek revenge after learning of Jinhu’s death in the twenty-second year of Yongle…
“So when you ask if I have other motives, I do. Everyone involved in Jinhu’s death must die. But they all hold high positions—I’ve barely managed to kill Zhu Buhua through great effort. For the others, only by escorting the Crown Prince to the capital and using his power do I have any chance at revenge. Jinhu is still waiting for me in the darkness. I cannot fail her and am willing to pay any price, including myself.”
“Miss Jinhu… how enviable. If I had such a confidante, I could die without regrets.” Zuo Yehe was deeply moved by the story, forgetting even to eat the lotus seed in her hand.
“You understand,” Su Jingxi smiled faintly. “In this life, Jinhu was close only to me; in this life, I was intimate only with her. If not for avenging her, I would have long since tired of living alone in this world. The Mother Buddha said all life is suffering—I quite agree.” She smiled, but Zuo Yehe inexplicably shuddered, feeling a chill. Not an icy chill, not a gloomy chill, but a kind of profound melancholy and determination born of extreme sorrow.
“Willow songs in the courtyard below, sister swings among the flowers. Remembering those spring pavilion days, writing by the red window in the moonlight. Who can deliver the little lotus…”
Su Jingxi gazed at the vast surface of Daming Lake, fingers lightly tapping out the rhythm of “Breaking Battle Lines” on the glazed tiles as she murmured. Zuo Yehe didn’t know this was Yan Jidao’s poem, but each word seemed to perfectly match the current moment and mood. She found herself softly reciting along with Su Jingxi: “…Crimson candles carelessly accompany tears, silkworms spin endless attachment. How much hatred can green temples bear, unwilling to compare heartlessness to broken strings? This year grows old as last.”
As the final word faded, a night breeze silently swept across the tower top. Su Jingxi suddenly drew in a deep breath, her slender fingers seeming to reach for Zuo Yehe’s face. Zuo Yehe startled her body stiffening. But Su Jingxi merely took her hand, picked up that lotus seed, placed it in her mouth, and bit down—indeed finding it bitter through and through.
Silence fell over Huibo Tower. After a long while, Zuo Yehe finally sighed softly: “Now I understand why Zhu Buhua died so mysteriously—it wasn’t the Crown Prince’s or Master Iron’s prowess, but Sister’s handiwork.”
In the Nanjing battle, what puzzled Zuo Yehe most was how Zhu Buhua, who had caught up at Lake Xuanwu, had mysteriously drowned. Only today did she learn that from the moment of his facial abscess, Zhu Buhua had fallen into Su Jingxi’s trap. Unexpectedly, while the grand scheme between the two capitals was unfolding, a small, humble revenge plot was quietly proceeding. And this tiny revenge plot had caused the greater scheme to falter, leading to its complete upheaval.
“Every bite and peck is preordained. If Zhu Buhua knew that the weak woman he killed would become his master’s downfall, he’d probably vomit blood from regret,” Zuo Yehe remarked, her perspective and tone now changed with her different position.
“Wait…” Su Jingxi’s pupils suddenly contracted as she grabbed Zuo Yehe’s wrist. “Say that again.”
“Every bite and peck is preordained.”
“The part after that.”
“If Zhu Buhua knew that the weak woman he killed would become his master’s downfall, he’d probably…”
Su Jingxi caught a crucial detail: “Zhu Buhua’s master?”
Zuo Yehe smiled. “Oh, Sister might not know this. Zhu Buhua always liked to talk about his lord’s great kindness, saying he dared not forget it for a moment. But the lord he spoke of wasn’t Emperor Hongxi.”
“Then who was it?”
“Emperor Yongle, naturally,” Zuo Yehe said. “After Emperor Yongle died, there was only one lord he still served.”
“Who?”
Su Jingxi’s urgency was evident as she vaguely realized they had made a fatal oversight. She and Wu Dingyuan had focused on outmaneuvering Jin Rong but forgotten to ask the White Lotus Sect who was pulling the strings. Perhaps they had subconsciously thought they could ask these questions after rescuing the Crown Prince.
But now Su Jingxi realized that the noble person’s true identity would greatly impact their plan.
Zuo Yehe said: “It’s not hard to guess. Think about it—who else in the Great Ming wants to be emperor?”
“Prince of Han? Zhu Gaoxu?”
“Correct.”
These three simple words sparked massive waves in Su Jingxi’s mind as countless threads wove together into a web. She rushed to the edge of the city wall, leaning out as far as she could, straining to look toward the Regional Military Commission. But it was too far—she could barely make out flickering lights.
“Quick, we must think of something!” Su Jingxi turned to rush down from Huibo Tower.
Zuo Yehe was puzzled: “What’s wrong?”
“If Prince of Han Zhu Gaoxu is really behind all this, then we miscalculated everything. Wu Dingyuan and the others are likely in great danger…”
Su Jingxi’s words were scattered but trembling, as if about to be crushed by fear. As if in response, the Provincial Guest Street area suddenly grew much brighter than before, as if countless lanterns had been raised simultaneously, clustering like stars. In the current Great Ming, the Prince of Han Zhu Gaoxu was a truly unique figure.
He was Zhu Di’s second son and Emperor Hongxi Zhu Gaozhi’s blood brother. Compared to his mild-mannered elder brother, Zhu Gaoxu was hot-tempered and fierce, but he had exceptional military talent, far surpassing his brother in this regard. Under normal circumstances, Zhu Gaozhi would have inherited Zhu Di’s position as Prince of Yan, while Zhu Gaoxu would likely have lived out his life as a border general of the Yan principality.
The Jingnan Campaign turned everything upside down, changing many destinies. When Prince of Yan Zhu Di marched south, he left his eldest son Zhu Gaozhi to guard Beijing but kept Zhu Gaoxu by his side, commanding an army.
Zhu Gaoxu shone brilliantly on the battlefield, displaying true generalship. At the Battle of Baigou River, he led elite cavalry into enemy lines, killing Commander Qu Neng and turning the tide for the disadvantaged Yan forces. At the Battle of Dongchang, he led the rear guard and rescued Zhu Di from danger. At Puzikou, when Zhu Di was locked in a stalemate with the southern army, Zhu Gaoxu’s timely arrival secured victory.
Zhu Di was greatly pleased with this son who repeatedly turned the tide, praising him many times. After the Jingnan Campaign, when Zhu Di ascended the throne, he even considered changing the heir apparent. Most court officials strongly opposed this, so the matter was dropped—Zhu Gaozhi remained Crown Prince while Zhu Gaoxu was made Prince of Han.
By custom, Zhu Gaoxu should have immediately departed for his principality after being made a prince. But his fief was in distant Yunnan, which greatly displeased him. Relying on his great merit, he became obstinate and refused to leave the capital. Zhu Di, feeling guilty toward their son, exceptionally allowed him to remain at his side.
The Prince of Han’s burning ambition rose with each instance of indulgence and tolerance, becoming almost unconcealed. By the thirteenth year of Yongle, when Zhu Di changed his fief to Qingzhou, he still refused to go and privately recruited three thousand elite soldiers as his guard. This time, the Prince of Han’s actions truly angered Zhu Di, who executed several of his confidants and relocated him to Lean Prefecture in Shandong.
In the twenty-second year of Yongle, Zhu Di died during a northern campaign, and Crown Prince Zhu Gaozhi ascended the throne. At the time, rumors spread throughout the capital that the Prince of Han intended rebellion and coveted the throne, but there was no concrete evidence. Emperor Hongxi was naturally kind and unwilling to discipline his wayward brother. He could only adopt conciliatory measures, increasing rewards, making his eldest son heir to the principality and his other sons commandery princes, while still letting him reside in Lean.
Lean Prefecture lay about two hundred li northeast of Jinan, with poor soil and few people, far from the Grand Canal. Everyone thought that even a true dragon couldn’t make big waves in such a shallow pond—surely this prince had finally given up his ambitions? By now, the entire realm—including the emperor—had almost forgotten this marginalized Prince of Han and his never-concealed overwhelming ambition.
Who could have imagined that this almost forgotten, dormant prince would seize the opportunity to raise huge waves across both capitals? A hidden dragon struggling from a puddle had soared up to bite viciously at the Great Ming’s most vulnerable point. The Crown Prince had thought his opponents were two young princes with undeveloped wings, never suspecting that the true mastermind was his uncle who had won such great merit in the Jingnan Campaign. The difficulty in dealing with these two was completely different.
Just as Su Jingxi realized their miscalculation, Wu Dingyuan and Liang Xingfu were experiencing this “difference” firsthand.
They had just charged into the northern drill ground when they suddenly stopped. The vast field before them was packed with hundreds of soldiers. Each wore a crimson military cap and patterned battle robe with bound leggings—not dressed for immediate combat but rather for a long march.
Though numerous, these soldiers stood in perfect formation without a sound, making the drill ground seem empty. As Wu Dingyuan stepped in, hundreds of caps turned toward him simultaneously.
“Wasn’t… the Jinan Guard supposed to be gone?” Wu Dingyuan was completely confused. Where had all these men come from?
Liang Xingfu stretched out his arm, pointing to the great banner in the south of the field. Wu Dingyuan looked closely and saw that beside the banner reading “Royal Command Shandong Regional Military Commissioner Jin” were countless long pennants: “Qingzhou Guard Zhang,” “Left Yanzhou Guard Fan,” “Dengzhou Guard Zhao,” “Pingshan Guard Dong,” “Laizhou Guard Hu,” “Jiaozhou Thousand Household Fu,” and others—twenty or so in total. The Qingzhou banners were the most prominent.
Wu Dingyuan’s face changed instantly. These banners represented most of Shandong’s military units, and the men on the field were mostly middle and lower-ranking officers—company commanders, banner commanders, and sub-commanders from various guards. With several hundred men here, it meant half of the Shandong Military Commission’s main force was nearby. The Jinan Guard drawn away by the explosions was just an insignificant portion.
Such a large army had approached Jinan silently—not just the White Lotus Sect but even the Jinan Prefecture was kept in the dark. Wu Dingyuan realized that Jin Rong sending the Jinan Guard to maintain order at Daming Lake wasn’t the Crown Prince’s doing at all—it had been planned to cover up the army’s movement.
Wu Dingyuan’s gaze drifted from the great banner to its side, where a dozen men stood on the high flag platform. In the center was the tall, one-eyed general Jin Rong. At his feet lay several corpses in official robes of no low rank, a faint smell of blood in the air—probably deputy commanders or assistant commissioners who had refused to rebel. Behind him stood a row of guard commanders and a thousand household officials who had joined the rebellion.
At the base of the great banner, Wu Dingyuan noticed that familiar figure—it was indeed the Crown Prince!
The Crown Prince wasn’t bound, but his head hung low, with the numb expression of one awaiting execution. Behind him, over ten personal guards had their hands on their sword hilts, watching him intently, clearly ready to kill him at any moment. A drop of sweat slowly seeped from Wu Dingyuan’s forehead and slid down his nose bridge.
The situation couldn’t possibly be worse. Previously, Wu Dingyuan could rely on his martial prowess and terrain advantages to maneuver against pursuers. But now they were in an open field surrounded by hundreds of rebel officers. Forget rescuing the Crown Prince from the platform—even escaping with their own lives would be nearly impossible. As Wu Dingyuan rapidly considered solutions, he suddenly heard a low roar beside him. He was startled and quickly turned to see Liang Xingfu charging forward.
In an instant, that mountain-like figure crashed violently into the enemy formation.
The most terrifying thing about the Mad Buddha Enemy was that even in his madness, he retained sharp insight and cool judgment. This wild, arrow-struck berserker state might seem reckless but was the best choice now—striking first before the enemy could organize. His massive arms swung, smashing, ramming, pushing, and pounding, instantly knocking down over a dozen guard officers around him. The soldiers were caught off guard as he smashed open a path.
In the crowd, this giant elephant unleashed tremendously violent force. Brave warriors went up in waves, were thrown back in waves, went up again, and were knocked down again—as weak as wild grass before him. Despite their overwhelming numbers, the military officers found themselves in the embarrassing situation of many being unable to defeat one. Almost none could last a single exchange with him as bones cracked and screams rose in waves.
Surging waves crashed again and again against a giant reef, each time shattering futilely. And this reef, while withstanding the waves, was somehow slowly moving seaward, nearly grinding out a path of flesh and blood as it pushed forward several dozen yards. His disruption turned the entire drill ground into a stirred hornet’s nest. The dim lanterns couldn’t illuminate the whole scene—those nearby suffered terribly while those far away remained confused, only able to press forward on instinct. Everyone moved involuntarily, everyone tried to understand the situation, and all their shouts, curses, and groans merged into a massive buzzing.
Wu Dingyuan was stunned only briefly before realizing this might be their last chance. He turned to signal the thirty White Lotus followers to retreat, then raised his iron ruler and ducked into the crowd.
At this moment, everyone’s attention was on Liang Xingfu—perfect for fishing in troubled waters. He alone was enough; no need for the followers to die needlessly. As for how to rescue the Crown Prince from Jin Rong and his dozen personal guards after reaching the platform—he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
Under immense pressure, Wu Dingyuan cast aside all hesitation, focusing with 120% concentration. He advanced single-mindedly toward the high platform ahead, sometimes ducking and sidling through momentary gaps in the crowd, sometimes gripping his iron ruler to knock out officers who looked at him suspiciously. He even picked up a military cap from the ground and put it on, making himself less noticeable.
Thus, while the mad elephant trampled through the military formation, this weasel silently infiltrated deep into the army’s ranks. Thirty steps, twenty steps, fifteen steps…
Wu Dingyuan drew ever closer to the flag platform. He could now see the entire rammed earth foundation and the thick wooden supports crisscrossing it. Looking slightly higher, he saw a wide ramp before the supports, extending up to the platform’s flat top. So far, no one has discovered his presence. Wu Dingyuan gripped his iron ruler, his palm slightly damp. He had made his calculations—his left foot would step onto the ramp first, then push off hard, aiming to reach the platform top within two alternating steps. He couldn’t go directly for the Crown Prince—that would get him hacked to death by the dozen guards. Wu Dingyuan’s target was Jin Rong.
“Capture the leader to capture the bandits”—though Wu Dingyuan had never read Du Fu’s poetry, the principle was universal. Only by holding Jin Rong hostage could they hope to rescue the Crown Prince.
Ten steps, five steps, three steps, one step… Wu Dingyuan’s left foot touched the ramp, his calf muscles contracting rapidly as he leaned slightly right. In the next instant, his left foot pushed hard, propelling him up three feet. His right foot extended forward, precisely landing four steps higher. Simultaneously, his left leg swung upward without pause, leaping another four steps. He suddenly reached the platform’s edge, the entire scene lay bare before him.
Jin Rong was looking toward Liang Xingfu’s disturbance, brow furrowed, his single eye filled with confusion. Behind him, several junior officers were dragging the corpses of the deputy and assistant commissioners, leaving long bloody trails on the floor. Further away, over ten personal guards tensely gripped their sword hilts, as if facing a great enemy. As for the Crown Prince, he leaned weakly against the great banner reading “Royal Command Shandong Regional Military Commissioner Jin.”
The instant Wu Dingyuan’s gaze swept across the Crown Prince’s face, his memory seemed to clear like dust being blown away, blurry images becoming sharp: a man in dragon robes standing at the entrance of a dim prison cell, hands behind his back, watching the terrified mother and child huddled inside. In the flickering firelight, that fierce face kept subtly changing—sometimes Zhu Di, sometimes Zhu Zhanji.
At this most inopportune moment, Wu Dingyuan suddenly understood: that Yu Qian had said Zhu Zhanji strongly resembled Zhu Di’s portrait. His headaches upon seeing the Crown Prince weren’t from fear of the Crown Prince himself but of Emperor Yongle from that night!
With this realization came the familiar pain. Wu Dingyuan was mid-leap when his head suddenly felt like it was splitting open, causing his right foot to miss its step. Fortunately, his reactions were quick—he desperately grabbed the platform’s edge with both hands, barely avoiding a fall. But this delay cost him the element of surprise, exposing himself to Jin Rong.
Only then did Jin Rong notice the oddity before him: a strange fellow wearing a gray hemp jacket but a military cap was trying to climb onto the platform amid the chaos. His single eye flickered to the distant Liang Xingfu still fighting in the vortex of combat, and a mocking smile touched his lips. Jin Rong slowly walked to the platform’s edge, crouched down, and watched Wu Dingyuan with interest. Wu Dingyuan suddenly tensed his arms, trying to grab Jin Rong’s neck and drag him down together.
Unfortunately, he didn’t know that this Regional Military Commissioner had repeatedly won honors for being first over enemy walls—honors earned through real bloody combat.
As Wu Dingyuan moved, so did Jin Rong. His hands shot out, precisely gripping Wu Dingyuan’s arm joints. His fingers squeezed, making Wu Dingyuan cry out in pain. Jin Rong remained unmoved, maintaining his grip on Wu Dingyuan’s arms as he lifted him bodily onto the platform.
Anyone would suffer being lifted by their joints like this. When Jin Rong threw Wu Dingyuan to the ground, veins were bulging from the pain as he lay curled up, unable to move.
Jin Rong kicked away the military cap, wanting to see who this audacious attacker was. Before he could look closely, a cry came from the direction of the great banner: “It’s you?”
Jin Rong turned his head toward the Crown Prince, voice full of curiosity: “So he’s an acquaintance of Your Highness?”
Standing beneath the great banner, Zhu Zhanji’s breathing became heavy. That man lying on the ground—wasn’t he the “Bamboo Pole”? What was going on? Had Doctor Su found him, and he’d come to attempt a rescue? A heart that had seemed dead as ashes flickered briefly back to life.
“This general thought, given Your Highness’s character, you wouldn’t have any loyal subjects,” Jin Rong’s tone dripped with mockery as he dragged Wu Dingyuan over by one leg. “It seems I was wrong. Even Qin Hui had three friends, let alone Your Highness.” Jin Rong placed his boot on Wu Dingyuan’s chest and slowly pressed down.
“Your loyal subjects are as foolish as you, Your Highness. Just a handful of men daring to charge into the drill ground to attempt a rescue in front of the entire Shandong Military Commission—brave but brainless.”
Zhu Zhanji started—a handful of men? Were there others besides Wu Dingyuan? Jin Rong relished this moment of making his enemy despair. He stepped aside, letting Zhu Zhanji walk to the platform’s edge to view the chaos below.
The chaos Zhu Zhanji saw was nearing its end. A massive figure was gradually being submerged by the human tide. These guard officers were all battle-hardened veterans who, after recovering from the initial chaos, began fighting with strategy. Some attacked the legs, others the back, while some brought forked weapons to entangle and restrict the killing god’s movements. Layer upon layer of nets came down, dozens of two-pronged forks stabbing forward. Even with Liang Xingfu’s fierce combat prowess, signs of defeat began to show.
“That… could that be the Mad Buddha Enemy?” Zhu Zhanji could hardly believe it. He cast a questioning look at Wu Dingyuan, but the latter lay pinned under Jin Rong’s boot, unable to answer.
Seeing Liang Xingfu’s situation mostly under control, Jin Rong stroked his long beard: “It’s getting late, Your Highness should prepare to depart. These loyal subjects might as well be sacrificed to the banner—they can serve you on your journey.”
But Zhu Zhanji hadn’t heard these words at all. He stared at Wu Dingyuan, his entire body trembling violently. Though firmly pinned down, Wu Dingyuan had managed to raise his right fist and clench it forcefully toward him. A long-absent tremor exploded in Zhu Zhanji’s heart with a “boom.” The Crown Prince suddenly heard their oath before that small incense burner: “I, Zhu Zhanji, swear by this burner that no matter how many tribulations come, this prince will never give up, will return to the capital and capture the traitors, witnessed by gods and men!”
“I, Wu Dingyuan, swear with blood instead of incense. I will avenge my father.”
Crimson passion instantly flooded through his limbs, dispersing the dark clouds of despair. The stubborn Zhu family temperament suddenly boiled in Zhu Zhanji’s blood. He slowly straightened up, clenched his fists, and glared at Jin Rong.
Jin Rong looked contemptuously at this soon-to-die Crown Prince. Even in such desperate straits, what was the point of such posturing? Could he possibly have any tricks left?
“One should know one’s place. Your Highness is destined not to be the true dragon—better to accept your fate early.”
“I refuse to accept it!”
A roar rolled from Zhu Zhanji’s throat. Jin Rong stroked his beard as if watching a trapped beast’s futile cry. But just then, his single eye twitched inexplicably. On past battlefields, every time his left eye twitched, it had meant extreme danger approaching.
But this was his own Military Commission’s drill ground—what danger could there be? Jin Rong slowly looked into the distance, where the massive man was now covered in dense nets, then nearby at the tall thin attacker firmly pinned down. He turned to the Crown Prince, an unarmed pampered wastrel not worth mentioning.
So where was the danger coming from?
Jin Rong’s lone eye suddenly twitched again. In a brief moment, he saw something extremely strange: the Crown Prince reached his left hand into his collar, seeming to touch something above his right shoulder. His face contorted as if in extreme pain, then his left hand withdrew, clenched in a fist, swinging toward him. What was strange about that? Why make such a superfluous motion? Jin Rong was momentarily dazed, failing to raise his hand in defense. Blocking seemed unnecessary—the punch looked so weak, what harm could it do?
These questions flashed through Jin Rong’s mind like galloping horses, until the Crown Prince’s fist struck his left eye—his only eye.
What Jin Rong felt wasn’t the dull pain of a punch, but the sharp pain of being stabbed by something pointed. This wasn’t right—how could it be this kind of pain? He suddenly remembered the last thing his left eye saw before losing its light: between the clenched middle and index fingers of that fist was a black spike. No, not a spike—it was an arrowhead, three inches and six fens long, the kind used for small recurve bows.