In Crown Prince Zhu Zhanji’s mind, the capital remained the most unfathomable mystery of all.
Ever since the explosion of the treasure ships in Nanjing, the Crown Prince had slowly begun to see the outline of the plot between the two capitals during his flight. Zhu Buhua, Guo Zhimin, Wang Ji, the White Lotus Society, Jin Rong, Prince of Han… one connection after another emerged, each person playing their role. Yet the most crucial piece—the capital itself—remained shrouded in mist.
Though the Jingnan Campaign years ago had also involved an uncle rebelling against his nephew, at least Prince Yan Zhu Di had been a regional governor commanding frontier forces, controlling the great city of Beiping, and matching the southern army in strength. But now, the Prince of Han was merely feudal in Le’an Prefecture. What methods could he possibly employ to suddenly afflict Emperor Hongxi with illness, to silence all the important ministers, to keep the capital garrison and imperial guards at bay, and to reduce Empress Zhang, the master of the imperial harem, to sending only a vague secret letter?
All these questions could be distilled into one: What exactly did the Prince of Han intend to do in the capital, and what was he capable of doing?
Throughout their journey, the Crown Prince and Yu Qian had discussed many possibilities but reached no conclusions. Even after Zuo Yehe joined them, she couldn’t provide answers. The White Lotus Society had only been responsible for the Nanjing phase—they knew nothing about the capital’s affairs. That place was like a thick curtain drawn down, concealing the truth within.
The only one who could answer these questions was Zhang Quan, who had left from behind that curtain ahead of time.
“Wait! First, explain your situation clearly!”
At this moment, Yu Qian stepped forward, glaring at Zuo Yehe. They were about to discuss palace secrets—how could this White Lotus protector listen in before explaining herself fully? Zuo Yehe was prepared for this. She glanced at Wu Dingyuan before calmly relating the events in Jinan to everyone.
The story she told now was identical to the version she had told the Crown Prince. When Yu Qian heard that Liang Xingfu was dead, he let out a great sigh of relief. However, Zhang Quan sneered, “Your so-called Holy Mother certainly played her cards well. When one side fails, she simply switches to the other—does she think the Ming royal family is like vegetables for sale at the market?”
Zuo Yehe remained composed, kneeling properly: “The Holy Mother knows her sins run deep and has commanded me to do my utmost to make amends for past wrongs. If Master Zhang is unwilling, you may kill this commoner here—I harbor no grudge. After all, the Crown Prince already knows everything about our society’s true nature. When he ascends the throne to govern, I trust this will be of some small benefit.”
Zhang Quan snorted through his nose; to him, this was a threat. But to Zhu Zhanji’s ears, it carried a different meaning. He had personally experienced why the White Lotus gathered and why they rebelled. Zuo Yehe’s words weren’t entirely threatening—they carried something of an admonishment.
Thinking this, Zhu Zhanji waved his hand: “Regardless of how the White Lotus aided evil before, they did provide significant help when I left Jinan. There is no greater good than knowing one’s faults and correcting them. As for specific rewards or punishments, we can discuss those after this matter is settled.”
Zhang Quan responded with a “Yes” and pursued the matter no further, though his sharp gaze remained fixed on Zuo Yehe. She showed no discomfort, first gracefully bowing to the Crown Prince and saying she would go to the kitchen to find some food, then leaving the cabin.
With her departure, the atmosphere became somewhat lighter. Zhang Quan furrowed his brow in contemplation, seeming to consider how to begin. Yu Qian was eager to speak several times but held back, not wanting to overstep.
“His Majesty might still be alive.” These were Zhang Quan’s first words.
The Crown Prince and others brightened at this, but Zhang Quan’s expression showed no sign of relief.
“Let me start from the beginning. Your Highness left the capital on May 3rd. According to the duty eunuchs, in the following seven days, His Majesty visited over twenty consorts, so many that the Office of Internal Service couldn’t even record their titles in time…”
Zhang Quan spoke very discretely, but Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. His father was good in every way except for his weakness for women—he showed no restraint in the bedroom. Having his uncle bring this up before everyone was truly mortifying. Zhang Quan continued, “His Majesty was corpulent and usually quite weak, yet he suddenly displayed such vigorous energy—it couldn’t help but raise suspicions. It was said that a Daoist had presented a pill called the Primordial Pill that caused this. On May 11th, while still amid this frenzy, His Majesty suddenly collapsed in bed. The Imperial Medical Academy was helpless, and their medical records only vaguely mentioned internal wind affecting the yin.”
At this point, Su Jingxi suddenly interrupted: “When His Majesty fell ill, did he show signs of rolling phlegm in his throat?”
Zhang Quan started, first looking at the Crown Prince, and seeing him nod in approval, answered, “Indeed, there was a continuous sound of phlegm in his throat.”
Su Jingxi said, “I’ve heard of this Primordial Pill—it’s no Daoist immortality pill, but rather an aphrodisiac popular in the Jianghuai region. Besides aphrodisiac ingredients like cistanche, seahorse, and epimedium, it also contains potent substances like soft-shelled turtle. When taken, it causes blood to surge like a flood. While young, strong men might handle it, those who are overweight are extremely likely to suffer from qi and blood reversal due to excessive emotional stimulation, leading to phlegm rising and causing a stroke.”
Su Jingxi was extremely knowledgeable about medicine, and with her explanation, everyone understood clearly—this was undoubtedly a calculated attack against Emperor Hongxi.
Zhang Quan sighed: “The Imperial Guard immediately arrested the eunuch who had recommended it, but when they went to capture the Daoist called Xuanyuanzi, he was already dead in his temple.”
Su Jingxi shook her head and said no more.
Zhang Quan continued: “The Primordial Pill incident left no witnesses to testify, but the emperor still needed saving. On May 12th, the Imperial Medical Academy announced to Empress Zhang and several Grand Secretaries that the emperor’s condition was critical, his pulse continuing to weaken, his breathing intermittent—there was nothing more they could do. The Grand Secretaries discussed quickly summoning the Crown Prince back to stabilize the situation. But on that very day, the Prince of Han suddenly appeared in the Forbidden City.”
The Crown Prince’s heart jumped—so his uncle had already left Le’an Prefecture.
“Normally, a feudal prince leaving his fief without imperial orders is a serious crime. But the Prince of Han came under the banner of paying respects to Empress Renxiao, his and the emperor’s mother—no one dared stop him. As soon as he entered the palace, he went straight to Qin’an Hall, threw himself beside the emperor’s bed wailing, then angrily berated those around him, saying, ‘Why do you all stand by idly? Are you plotting against my dear brother?’ At this point, Zhang Quan gave a cold laugh. “Everyone knew the Prince of Han’s words didn’t match his heart, but since he held the moral high ground, no one could say anything. Several Grand Secretaries decided to wait and see what tricks he would play.”
“But then, the Prince of Han produced a prescription, claiming it was a miraculous life-saving formula that could save his brother. This truly surprised everyone—after all, if he saved the emperor, he would still have to return to being a feudal prince; if he failed to save the emperor, the crime of killing the sovereign would fall on his head. Since when had the Prince of Han shown such brotherly devotion and virtue?”
Zhang Quan shook his head as he spoke, continuing, “At the time, neither Empress Zhang nor the Grand Secretaries knew how to respond—they were caught in indecision. The Prince of Han beat his chest, saying, ‘My royal brother’s life hangs by a thread, yet you people still hesitate! Very well! I’ll make a military pledge—if this prescription truly kills my brother, I’ll follow him in death. Is that acceptable?’
“Under the Prince of Han’s intense pressure, Empress Zhang and the Grand Secretaries decided to try it as a last resort. Unexpectedly, this life-saving prescription worked.”
At this point, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but exclaim “Ah!” nearly rising to his feet. Su Jingxi furrowed her brow and asked, “What was in this life-saving prescription?”
Zhang Quan shook his head: “That I don’t know. But the medicine was effective—the emperor’s pulse, breathing, and heartbeat all returned, except…” Here he gave a bitter laugh. “Except His Majesty couldn’t speak or move, couldn’t even lift his eyelids—he was like a living clay statue.”
Zhang Quan didn’t continue, but everyone present understood. An emperor in such a condition created an extremely troublesome situation.
He couldn’t handle affairs of state, couldn’t make decisions, couldn’t express any opinions, yet he was still alive. No one dared announce his death, no one dared arrange for succession—what if the emperor woke up? That would be an enormous taboo. One could imagine the awkward deadlock that must have descended upon Qin’an Hall.
“At this point, the Prince of Han spoke again. He said this life-saving prescription had two parts—external and internal. The external part used medicines and stones to treat the symptoms, keeping the emperor breathing; the internal part was a ritual called the North Star Grand Ceremony of Manifestation, which required people blessed with fortune to pray sincerely. Only by combining both internal and external treatments could the emperor fully recover his consciousness.”
“What does he mean by ‘people blessed with fortune’?”
“Grand Preceptor Zhang Fu, Junior Preceptor Qin Yi, Junior Tutor Yang Shiqi, Junior Protector Xia Yuanjie, Junior Protector Huang Huai, as well as the Crown Prince’s Junior Preceptor Lu Zhen, Crown Prince’s Junior Tutor Yang Rong, Crown Prince’s Junior Protector Wu Zhong, and Jin Youzi!” Hearing this long list of names, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but draw in a sharp breath.
After Emperor Hongxi ascended the throne, he established a system of “Three Excellencies, Three Shepherds, and Three Preceptors,” restoring nine honorary titles that he bestowed upon his trusted ministers. Except for Grand Tutor Mu Sheng who was far away in Yunnan and Grand Protector Chen Mao who was in Ningxia, all of Emperor Hongxi’s Three Excellencies, Three Shepherds, and Three Preceptors were now in Qin’an Hall.
By naming these high officials, the Prince of Han had effectively captured the entire central government in one net.
“My uncle wants to use the ceremony as an excuse to cut off the court officials’ contact with father?” Zhu Zhanji raised an eyebrow. He had read history books—such instances were all too common.
Zhang Quan sighed lightly: “You’re wrong. The Prince of Han’s demands were exactly the opposite—he wanted everyone on that list to stay in Qin’an Hall without leaving, saying he needed to borrow their fortune through the North Star Grand Ceremony of Manifestation to strengthen the emperor from proximity.”
This wasn’t about isolating the emperor from his officials—it was about isolating the entire Ming dynasty’s core decision-makers from the outside world. Zhu Zhanji marveled at his uncle’s ambition: “Would those officials obey such commands?”
Zhang Quan made a helpless gesture: “Everyone knew it was nonsense, but since the Prince’s external treatment had truly saved the emperor, no one dared doubt or refuse to participate in his internal ceremony—if anyone showed the slightest skepticism and the emperor suddenly passed away, wouldn’t they be held responsible?”
The Crown Prince fell silent. He knew these people weren’t united—Lu Zhen and Yang Shiqi, for example, were mortal enemies. At this critical moment, anyone showing even a slight weakness would be seized upon by their opponents. The list the Prince of Han had drawn up had calculated that they would keep each other in check.
“So this group of Excellencies and Preceptors gathered in Qin’an Hall, praying day and night. Even Empress Zhang and all the consorts were strictly confined to the inner palace, and not allowed to move freely. The entire Forbidden City was completely sealed off, internally controlled by the Brave Warriors of the Imperial Stables, while the capital’s Three Great Garrisons—the Five Armies, Three Thousand, and Divine Engine—along with the Shuntian Prefecture received orders to seal the city gates, not to be opened without imperial edict.”
Zhu Zhanji’s vision darkened for a moment—if the three capital garrisons and imperial guards had all been bought by the Prince of Han, there would likely be no hope of turning the situation around. But then he thought again: if the Prince of Han already controlled these forces, why would he need to move the Qingzhou Banner army north? Why would he need to play this game with the North Star ceremony?
Thinking more carefully, the Prince of Han must only be using the pretense of praying for the emperor to order the imperial guards and capital garrisons to seal the city—a kind of “holding the emperor hostage to command the feudal lords,” without having complete control. Though the situation was bad, it wasn’t hopeless.
“How long is this supposed to last?”
“The Prince of Han promised that within six days, the emperor’s condition would show clear progress.”
“Why specifically six days?” Zhu Zhanji didn’t quite understand.
Zhang Quan said: “Because he’s waiting for news about you.”
“About me?”
“Starting the ceremony on May 12th, after six days, Your Highness, calculate what date that would be?”
Zhu Zhanji’s eyelid twitched—May 18th, the very day he arrived in Nanjing, the day of the treasure ship explosion. Zhang Quan grimly raised one finger: “If the emperor lives, the Prince of Han has no chance to ascend; if the emperor dies, the Prince of Han still has no chance, because you are the Ming Crown Prince, and the succession is indisputable. For the Prince of Han, his only possibility of ascending the throne would be if Your Highness died before His Majesty, and His Majesty was unable to name an heir—only then would he have legal grounds to compete.”
“So uncle is waiting for my death…”
“Yes. He created this North Star Grand Ceremony of Manifestation with only one purpose—to lock down the high officials who had the authority to issue edicts, preventing them from recalling you midway. Once you arrived in Nanjing on May 18th and turned to ash with the treasure ships, the ceremony could end. With both father and son dead, the Prince of Han could use the excuse of a nation without a ruler to legitimately request succession from brother to brother.”
When this possibility was voiced, both Zhu Zhanji and Yu Qian nodded once. Though they were unclear about the changes in the capital, they had made similar deductions about the core reason behind the plot between the two capitals. However, some things were simply unspeakable.
It should be known that according to succession rules, if Emperor Hongxi and Zhu Zhanji both died, either the Prince of Yue or the Prince of Xiangxian should ascend to the throne, with Empress Dowager Zhang serving as regent. But Emperor Yongle had ascended by attacking the emperor as a feudal prince, an uncle overthrowing his nephew. Now if the Prince of Han made the same demand, the Jingnan Campaign might repeat itself.
Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help but say angrily: “If even you, uncle, can see this so clearly, how could those high officials simply let the Prince of Han have his way?”
“No, no,” Zhang Quan shook his head. “The reason those people agreed to participate in the Grand Ceremony was also because they could stay by His Majesty’s side, preventing the Prince of Han from having any chance to forge edicts. But they didn’t know that the Prince of Han would simultaneously move against the Crown Prince in Nanjing. If I hadn’t left the capital early, I wouldn’t have figured this out either.”
“By the way, uncle, how did you manage to leave early?”
“This was thanks to my sister…” At this point, Zhang Quan’s eyes became solemn, and various subtle emotions—grief, admiration, and gratitude—appeared on his fair face.
“In Qin’an Hall, the only one who sensed that the Prince of Han might move against you was your mother, Empress Zhang. But she also had to participate in the ceremony and couldn’t leave, so before the capital was sealed, she managed to send out two messages. One was a private letter to me—she knew I lived in Tongzhou, outside the seal’s restrictions, and was the only one who could pass on messages. What I just told you about the palace changes was partly deduced afterward, but mostly what she told me. However, I didn’t know at the time that she had also used the Empress’s phoenix seal and the Emperor’s seal to send you an urgent secret edict. Considering it had to go through official posts, she didn’t dare make it too obvious and could only hint through the use of the seals.”
“Mother…” Zhu Zhanji’s eyes moistened at the thought of Empress Zhang steadfastly guarding his half-dead father, surrounded by powerful enemies, yet still remembering her son thousands of miles away.
That letter had been so timely—sent on the 12th, arriving in Nanjing on the 18th. If Empress Zhang had hesitated even slightly, Zhu Zhanji might have already died in Nanjing’s imperial city.
“My sister has always been a wise woman with her mind since childhood, determined and decisive. At this crucial moment, if she hadn’t seized the opportunity to send these two messages, our uncle-nephew relationship and the entire Hongxi line would have fallen.”
Zhang Quan took out a gold-threaded handkerchief for Zhu Zhanji to wipe his tears, continuing: “After I left the capital, I initially didn’t know what to do. The Prince of Han had likely bought countless followers in the provinces long ago—I couldn’t judge who was loyal and who was treacherous, so I dared not alarm the local authorities.” Hearing this, Zhu Zhanji’s face reddened, but fortunately, the handkerchief covered it, and Zhang Quan didn’t notice anything unusual.
“At the time, I was desperate to know the situation in Nanjing, but time was too pressing. I suddenly remembered my pigeon correspondence with Guo Chunzhi in Taizhou, so I sent a letter asking him obliquely to help investigate the Nanjing situation. Unexpectedly, Your Highness personally sent a pigeon back from the Guo family. Overjoyed, I hurried south along the Grand Canal, estimating to meet you in Linqing.”
At this point, Zhang Quan smiled at Yu Qian. “But instead of finding you in Linqing, I met this Yu Tingyi. He truly is a loyal minister—at the Linqing canal port, he openly recruited boats and sailors in his capacity as an Eastern Palace official, his voice like a great bell, passionate and stirring, alarming the entire Linqing and flushing out all the enemy’s hidden agents. I had just arrived in Linqing, which saved us the trouble of recognition. After much difficulty, I rescued him from the enemy’s hands, and we exchanged intelligence, finally learning of Your Highness’s situation.”
Whether it was Zhu Zhanji, Wu Dingyuan, or Su Jingxi, their gazes toward Yu Qian held some sympathy. They hadn’t expected Yu Qian would use such a clumsy method. But thinking again, alone as he was, if he wanted to quickly contact Zhang Quan, this might have been his only option.
Zhang Quan only said “after much difficulty,” but since the enemy had planned to intercept the Crown Prince in Linqing with full force, Yu Qian’s bold stand must have been as dangerous as the situation in Jinan.
Yu Qian stroked his beard, speaking half resolutely and half calmly: “I don’t have Doctor Su’s medical skills, nor am I as formidable as Wu Dingyuan, so I simply acted openly and directly. As they say, ‘The gentleman is open and at ease, while the petty man is always full of anxiety.’ By appearing publicly in Linqing, first, I could let Master Zhang know of my presence, and second, I could make the enemy think Your Highness was in Linqing, perhaps reducing some pressure on your actions in Jinan.”
“Yu Ting… Yu Qian, you really… weren’t you afraid of being ground to dust?”
Not using his courtesy name was the only way Zhu Zhanji could express his current emotions.
Yu Qian replied calmly: “When I was in Guazhou, I saw people stirring lime powder. At that time, I thought, historical ministers all compare themselves to phoenixes and qilin, but I only need to be like this pure white lime—even if ground to powder, I would have no regrets.”
Zhu Zhanji’s eyes inexplicably grew hot, and he struggled to rise, wanting to support this minor official from Nanjing. But Yu Qian moved first, taking out the small incense burner from his bosom and presenting it with both hands. The Crown Prince took the burner, feeling the scratches on it, overwhelmed with emotion, then suddenly passed it to Wu Dingyuan beside him: “Look at this, come, look at this.”
Wu Dingyuan stiffly accepted the bronze burner, seeing his bloody handprint still there, and gave a slight sigh, so faint that only Su Jingxi beside him could hear it.
Yu Qian continued Zhang Quan’s narrative: “After meeting with Master Zhang, I originally wanted to go to Jinan to help. But Master Zhang felt the enemy situation was unclear, and rushing there might ruin things, so we followed the original plan to hurry to Dezhou. The Young Master Xuan Ni’s influence on the Grand Canal was truly significant—if not for Master Zhang’s extensive connections and help from his friends in the jianghu, we probably would have been stopped midway.”
“Young Master Xuan Ni?” The Crown Prince heard this name with some surprise.
Yu Qian scratched his head: “This is a capable commander sent by the Prince of Han to intercept us. We only know his title but not his background, though he’s caused considerable trouble.”
At this point, Wu Dingyuan suddenly spoke: “I heard Zuo Yehe mention that when their White Lotus Society was in Huai’an, they lost their command authority to Young Master Xuan Ni.”
Zhang Quan’s sharp eyes swept over to Wu Dingyuan, very curious. Despite his wide connections, he had never seen someone so dejected and dispirited, yet somehow this person had become the Crown Prince’s greatest support in returning north. What qualities did he possess to make the Crown Prince detour to Jinan? Unfortunately, no clues were apparent at the moment. Zhang Quan pondered briefly, then raised his hand: “Let’s hear what Constable Wu means—temporarily call her back in for questioning.”
Zuo Yehe was quickly summoned back, and hearing this question, she couldn’t help but smile. Yu Qian frowned and asked what she was smiling about. Zuo Yehe held up two palms, then bent her little finger: “Actually, you don’t need to ask me—you can guess. Among the dragon’s nine sons, each has its preferences. Which son is Xuan Ni?”
Everyone looked at each other, and Yu Qian counted on his fingers: “First is Qiu Niu, second is Ya Zi, third is Chao Feng, fourth is Pu Lao, fifth is Xuan Ni, yes, the fifth son is Xuan Ni!”
Zuo Yehe looked at him, smiling, but said nothing.
Wu Dingyuan was the first to realize: “When I was in Jinling, I heard a rumor that there had been frequent earthquakes in the past year because the current emperor’s virtue didn’t match his position, angering the true dragon. Thinking about it now, this must have been spread by the Prince of Han—he sees himself as the true dragon.”
If the Prince of Han claimed to be the true dragon, then his sons would naturally be dragon sons. Zhu Zhanji quickly went through the royal genealogy in his mind and soon locked onto a name: the Prince of Han’s fifth son, Prince of Linzi, Zhu Zhanyu.
Zhu Zhanji didn’t have much impression of this cousin, only remembering that he was particularly fat. He hadn’t expected that this inconspicuous fat man would give himself such an imposing nickname.
“Can he cause such a big disturbance?” Zhu Zhanji still couldn’t quite believe it. Zhu Zhanyu was five years younger than him—where did he get the ability to command wind and rain on the Grand Canal?
Zhang Quan said meaningfully: “I’m not clear about the three southern canal regions of Hu, Jiang, and Zhe, but in the four northern sections of Bai, Wei, Zha, and He, Zhu Zhanyu has bought off most of the officials.” He deliberately paused, then added: “But in my opinion, it’s not that Zhu Zhanyu’s methods are particularly clever, but rather that these people have long been dissatisfied with the emperor, and they’ve finally found their opportunity.”
Zhu Zhanji understood Zhang Quan’s meaning. After the court moved to Nanjing, the northern canal would inevitably be abandoned, and the placement of tens of thousands of canal officials would become a major issue, involving numerous interests. Zhu Zhanyu, or the Prince of Han behind him, only needed to promise to maintain the capital’s location after ascending the throne to sway people’s hearts. The canal, still the canal—how many waves had this river stirred up? Zhu Zhanji thought. As if in response to his thoughts, the entire ship suddenly shook, probably encountering a strong wind. Everyone quickly found something to hold onto, and it took a while before stability returned.
“These people, they only think about their immediate tiny benefits! They don’t consider the dynasty at all!” Zhu Zhanji angrily struck the cabin wall.
But Zhang Quan shook his head: “The matter of moving the capital and abandoning the canal has much room for discussion… but we won’t debate this today. Tingyi, please continue.”
Yu Qian continued: “After we arrived in Dezhou, we heard that the local White Lotus Society was gathering people to intercept Your Highness outside the city. Master Zhang made a quick decision and brought those jianghu friends to welcome Your Highness. Your Highness’s fortune runs deep—you were fortunately unharmed, truly showing heaven’s mandate.”
That last bit of flattery was rather stiff. But Zhu Zhanji didn’t mind: “So we’re heading to the capital now?”
Zhang Quan said: “The canal transport office in Dezhou has probably also been controlled by Young Master Xuan Ni. That’s why I didn’t arrange for Your Highness to enter the city, but instead obtained a special fast boat to head straight to the capital.” He patted the ship’s side as he finished, showing a reassuring smile.
Everyone looked around the cabin again, cramped and small, wondering what Zhang Quan meant by “special.” Yu Qian hurried to explain: “This ship doesn’t belong to the Shandong Canal Transport Commander but to the Ocean Transport Office. It was originally used for sea routes, so its sail shape, hull, and sides are different from ordinary canal boats.”
“How did a sea vessel end up in the canal?”
This time Zhang Quan took over the topic: “Since the dynasty abandoned sea routes in the thirteenth year of Yongle, these sea vessels became useless. They were distributed to various commanders to transport special cargo that easily damaged ships and used as recycled material—when they wore out, they were discarded without regret, called ‘abandoned sea vessels.’ On the canal, no one pays them any attention.”
Zhang Quan briefly calculated for the Crown Prince. It was now around 6 PM on May 28th. Going directly north from Dezhou through Cangzhou, Tianjin, and Tongzhou to the capital, they needed to cover six hundred li in five days—time was extremely tight. Without this abandoned sea vessel traveling day and night, they might not make it in time.
Zhang Quan seemed extremely familiar with the canal, readily speaking about place names, water routes, and lock types—those who didn’t know better might think he was a long-serving canal official. After hearing his explanation, Zhu Zhanji felt reassured. However, after careful calculation, he became worried again: “Today is already May 28th, a full ten days have passed. I wonder how father and mother are…”
“Your father has been kept alive only by drops of gruel during his unconsciousness—who knows how long he can last. We can only get to the capital as quickly as possible to find out.” Zhang Quan firmly patted his shoulder. “Remember, Your Highness, you’re still alive—that’s our greatest advantage and the biggest flaw in the plot between the two capitals.”
With his uncle’s encouragement, Zhu Zhanji’s spirits lifted, though he couldn’t suppress a yawn. They hadn’t had a proper rest since leaving Jinan. Zhang Quan turned to Su Jingxi: “Doctor Su, right? The Crown Prince’s shoulder is injured—please take him to rest early.”
Su Jingxi bowed slightly: “This commoner will do her utmost.”
Yu Qian and she supported the Crown Prince to the rear cabin. As for Wu Dingyuan, he had already fallen asleep against the cabin wall. This forced Zhang Quan, who had wanted to talk with him, to give up. He ordered someone to carry Wu Dingyuan out and then spread a canal route map on the table to continue studying the route.
While Wu Dingyuan slept soundly, Yu Qian and Su Jingxi helped the Crown Prince into the most spacious cabin, fully equipped with tables, beds, and even prepared incense. Yu Qian took out the incense burner from his bosom and casually placed it on the table, while Su Jingxi helped the Crown Prince remove his clothes and shoes, settled him against the headboard, and carefully applied medicine to his wounds.
Strangely enough, though the Crown Prince had previously enjoyed such close contact and accepted it naturally, ever since he had revealed his feelings in Jinan’s training ground—albeit only to Wu Dingyuan, not Su Jingxi—he now felt incredibly nervous in Doctor Su’s presence.
Their faces were very close now, and the Crown Prince could feel her warm breath, hear every rise and fall of her voice, see a crystal bead of sweat form on her broad forehead, smell the faint fragrance from her fair hands, and when Su Jingxi turned her head, a few strands of her hair would lightly brush against him, causing a tingling sensation on his skin. Zhu Zhanji had read Buddhist scriptures, and at this moment, he felt the Buddha had summarized it perfectly: form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and dharma—each temptation so captivating.
The Crown Prince felt his heart pounding heavily and, fearing Doctor Su would notice something amiss, tried desperately to suppress it. Su Jingxi gave him a strange look: “Your Highness, your muscles are too tense—I can’t treat you like this.” Zhu Zhanji dared not meet her eyes and could only turn his face away.
“It’s all that fool Wu Dingyuan’s fault,” he thought angrily. When he had revealed his feelings at the training ground if Wu Dingyuan had also liked Doctor Su, he would have completely given up and thought no more of it; if Wu Dingyuan had said he wasn’t interested, he would have found a way to bring Doctor Su into the palace—if not as empress, then surely as a noble consort.
Who knew that fool Wu Dingyuan would give such an ambiguous answer, neither confirming nor denying? This left Zhu Zhanji at a loss for how to interact with Su Jingxi.
While he was lost in these thoughts, Su Jingxi had finished today’s bandaging and, after giving a few instructions, stood up. That fragrance suddenly dissipated. Zhu Zhanji sighed inwardly, thinking he had missed another good opportunity.
But when he came to his senses, he noticed that Su Jingxi hadn’t left directly as usual, but stood at the bedside wringing her hands, showing rare signs of anxiety. Zhu Zhanji’s heart suddenly filled with inexplicable hope—could it be… He quickly raised his hand: “Doctor Su, do you have something to tell me?”
“Yes…” Su Jingxi’s voice was somewhat timid, quite unlike her usual forthright manner.
Seeing this, Yu Qian hurriedly said he would go check on the ship’s condition, but Su Jingxi said to him: “Master Yu, please stay—it’s better if you’re present for this.”
Yu Qian was startled: “Matters of the inner palace—how dare an outside official be involved?”
“Yu Qian!” Zhu Zhanji shouted angrily, throwing the medicine bottle from the bedside directly at the cabin beam, missing Yu Qian’s head by an inch before rolling onto the floor.
Yu Qian bent to pick up the medicine bottle, looking bewilderedly at Su Jingxi.
“Please speak, Doctor Su.” The Crown Prince tried to calm himself, but his voice couldn’t hide a trace of disappointment. Since she had asked Yu Qian to stay, clearly what she wanted to discuss had nothing to do with romance.
Su Jingxi nervously adjusted her hair before kneeling: “When Master Zhang spoke of His Majesty’s illness earlier, it reminded this commoner of a past event. But to explain this matter clearly would involve the crime of deceiving the emperor.”
“Oh?” Zhu Zhanji found these words strange.
“I had been hoping to avoid this, but after hearing Master Zhang’s account, I realize I must speak. The struggle for the throne is of utmost importance. If personal matters were to ruin Your Highness’s great cause, it would show a terrible lack of judgment. Therefore… therefore…” Su Jingxi seemed to speak with great difficulty, “Therefore, this commoner wishes to be completely honest here and willingly accept any punishment.”
She bowed deeply. Zhu Zhanji glanced at Yu Qian, who understood and quickly checked outside before closing the door.
“This commoner’s true purpose in following Your Highness to the capital was different from what was stated.”
Yu Qian noticed Zhu Zhanji’s cheek twitch. On this journey, almost everyone had hidden motives—he had grown weary of hearing such words.
Su Jingxi said: “Does Your Highness remember my poisoning of Zhu Buhua?”
“Yes, didn’t you say it was to avenge a close friend?” The Crown Prince was startled. “Could it be… you lied to me?”
“No, that was true, but not the complete picture. My initial intention to poison Zhu Buhua was indeed to avenge my close friend, but he wasn’t her only enemy.” Then she slowly told the story of Jinhu. This time, she told it in more detail than the previous two times, like a storyteller in a theater, speaking smoothly with perfect rhythm, as if she had rehearsed it many times in her mind. Toward the end, her voice trembled slightly, as if unable to contain her emotions.
Neither Zhu Zhanji nor Yu Qian had ever seen Su Jingxi display such emotion.
“In the twenty-second year of Yongle, Jinhu died in the capital. I received this news at year’s end. I wept many times and swore an oath to avenge her. So my accompanying Your Highness to the capital wasn’t out of loyalty, but rather from a private desire for revenge, hoping to gain Your Highness’s trust so those powerful people who killed Jinhu would join her in death.”
Zhu Zhanji patted the edge of his bed, very emotional: “Avenging a friend—what crime is there in that! Come, tell me who they are! I’ll help you deal with them all!”
Su Jingxi shook her head: “At this critical moment of survival, using Your Highness’s authority is already overstepping. How could I complicate matters and interfere with important affairs?”
Yu Qian, calmer than Zhu Zhanji, frowned and asked: “Though this matter is improper, it’s not crucial enough to be called deceiving the emperor—what connection does it have with what Master Zhang spoke of today?”
Su Jingxi smiled bitterly: “In my youth, due to a weak constitution, I suffered terrible menstrual pains—each episode felt like dying. When I first entered my master’s tutelage, I knew no one, but Jinhu took the initiative to care for me, just a young girl. She had already studied for over a year and tried a prescription for me to brew and drink. After one dose, my symptoms completely disappeared. From then on, we became the closest of friends, sharing everything. She had profound insights into medicine and great talent. Seeing my frequent ailments, she made a grand wish to create several golden prescriptions for women’s ailments, to reduce the suffering of women everywhere.”
Yu Qian didn’t understand why she had switched to talking about women’s illnesses and was about to speak but was stopped by Zhu Zhanji’s serious expression.
“I greatly admired this wish—if successful, she would truly be a living bodhisattva of infinite merit. So I studied with her devotedly, either researching medical texts or gathering herbs, testing formulas on ourselves, and recording the results. Jinhu collected these prescriptions into a book called ‘Essential Guide for the Inner Chamber.’ Later, when she married and moved to the capital, she left the draft with me, agreeing to add to it yearly.” At this point, Su Jingxi’s eyes turned to Zhu Zhanji, her voice becoming serious: “This ‘Essential Guide for the Inner Chamber’ was our experimental work, and many prescriptions were incomplete. Among them was an unfinished formula called Four Inversions Yang-Returning Decoction, intended to restore yang and stabilize the spirit. We modified it to be more suitable for women. At that time, we encountered an elderly woman with acute stroke, who came to us with a twisted mouth and eyes, and unstable breathing. Jinhu decided to try this unfinished formula. Though the woman’s breathing and pulse stabilized, she couldn’t move any part of her body and couldn’t be roused, as if paralyzed. She passed away completely after four days. The patient’s family didn’t say anything, but Jinhu and I were terrified—clearly, the formula could only return yang but couldn’t save the spirit. That stroke patient had been brought back to life, but at the cost of losing all her senses, unconscious, like a living corpse. Looking back, that elderly woman probably died of starvation and thirst…”
At this point, both Zhu Zhanji and Yu Qian’s expressions changed completely. This Four Inversions Yang-Returning Decoction sounded almost identical to the life-extending miracle prescription.
“Rather than calling it a healing medicine, it would be more accurate to call it a deadly poison. Jinhu and I discussed it and only briefly described it in the ‘Essential Guide for the Inner Chamber,’ not daring to write down the formula. When I heard Master Zhang’s description earlier, I realized Emperor Hongxi’s symptoms matched that elderly woman’s exactly. That’s why I had to confess to Your Highness immediately.”
Zhu Zhanji asked urgently: “Are you saying that after Jinhu went to the capital, she leaked the prescription to the Prince of Han?”
Su Jingxi shook her head: “Jinhu was compassionate by nature—she would never spread such a harmful formula.”
“Then how did the Prince of Han obtain it?” The core of the plot between the two capitals hinged on Emperor Hongxi being neither dead nor truly alive. Under normal circumstances, this would be impossible to achieve, but the life-extending miracle prescription had created this possibility. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it had influenced the Ming Dynasty’s fate. If it was indeed the Four Inversions Yang-Returning Decoction, its source was extremely suspicious.
Su Jingxi appeared troubled: “This commoner has only just realized the connection and hasn’t had time to think it through.”
Zhu Zhanji’s eyes nearly split with intensity: “What’s there to think about? Just because Jinhu didn’t tell outsiders doesn’t mean she wouldn’t tell her husband’s family! Who exactly did she marry into?”
After much hesitation, Su Jingxi uttered four words: “The Fuyang Marquis’s household.”
Upon hearing these four words, Zhu Zhanji sat straight up on his bed.
The Fuyang Marquis was quite an oddity among the nobility. The first marquis, Li Rang, was originally the son of a deputy commander who caught the eye of Princess Yongping, Zhu Di’s second daughter, for his handsome appearance. The news of a prince’s princess marrying down to a deputy commander’s son had spread throughout Beijing, providing plenty of gossip for the entertainment districts. Though Zhu Di had a fierce temper, he couldn’t refuse his daughter and reluctantly agreed. Unexpectedly, when the Jingnan Campaign began, this son-in-law who had married up proved quite remarkable, first capturing Emperor Jianwen’s confidants in Beijing at Dunli Gate, then fighting with Zhu Di at the Battle of Baigou River. More importantly, when Emperor Jianwen tried to force Li Rang’s surrender by threatening his father’s life, Li refused, resulting in his entire family being executed.
After the Jingnan Campaign, Zhu Di, remembering Li Rang’s sacrifice, granted him the title of “Loyal Military Official Who Served Heaven and Pacified the Rebellion,” eventually making him the Marquis of Fuyang, with hereditary rights granted to his descendants. Unfortunately, Li Rang died in the second year of Yongle, leaving only one son, Li Maofang, to inherit the title, living in the capital with his mother, Princess Yongping—making the current Marquis of Fuyang Zhu Zhanji’s cousin.
The Fuyang Marquis’s household had few members and little presence among the nobility. However, the Crown Prince keenly noted that since Li Rang had participated in the Battle of Baigou River, could he have been connected with the Prince of Han since then, like Jin Rong and Zhu Buhua? After all, Princess Yongping’s relationship with her second brother Zhu Gaoxu was much better than with her eldest brother Zhu Gaochi.
Could it be that after Jinhu married Li Maofang’s son, she inadvertently revealed the Four Inversions Yang-Returning Decoction to the Li family, and then Princess Yongping passed it to the Prince of Han, thus sparking his ambition?
Zhu Zhanji suddenly remembered something. In the eighth month of Yongle’s twenty-second year, the Li family somehow angered Emperor Hongxi, their hereditary rights were revoked and burned, and they were nearly driven from the capital. Was this why Princess Yongping turned to support the Prince of Han? He felt the truth was practically screaming to be revealed.
Just as Zhu Zhanji was about to slam the table and demand a thorough investigation, Su Jingxi advised: “The origin of the Four Inversions Yang-Returning Decoction is of great importance, but it can be investigated after Your Majesty ascends the throne. If we create complications now and delay the greater matter, this commoner’s death would not be enough to atone.”
Yu Qian strongly agreed: “Doctor Su speaks wisely. Our primary focus should be returning to the capital. I think this matter should not be publicized for now.”
Zhu Zhanji grunted in agreement, forcibly suppressing his anger. He was no longer the naive youth who had just arrived in Nanjing. Now, with the road to the capital fraught with danger, forcibly investigating the medicine’s origin was neither possible nor necessary—obsessing over it would only disorder their ranks. If they made it in time for his ascension, nothing else would matter; if they didn’t make it in time, this issue would become irrelevant anyway.
“In that case, let this matter remain known only to us three, not to be shared.”
“What about Master Zhang?” Yu Qian asked.
Zhu Zhanji hesitated: “Uncle is busy planning our water route—let’s not trouble him with this.”
Both agreed solemnly. Zhu Zhanji noticed Su Jingxi still kneeling, looking anxious, and his heart softened. He rose to help her up by her arms: “Medicine itself is without emotion—it’s the Prince of Han who harmed people, not the medicine. Doctor Su, your honesty shows your true heart. Rise, I absolve you of any wrongdoing.”
When the Crown Prince’s hands touched Su Jingxi’s arms, feeling their warm softness, the emotions he had long suppressed nearly burst forth—he wanted to embrace her immediately and comfort her properly. But Su Jingxi had already stood up and stepped back, softly saying she had disturbed His Highness’s rest.
Zhu Zhanji was quite disappointed, but with Yu Qian glaring nearby, he couldn’t say more. He just raised his hand, telling her to rest early too, and that he wouldn’t forget about Jinhu’s matter. Su Jingxi first thanked him, checked his wounds once more, and then left the cabin. Moments later, she suddenly returned. Before Zhu Zhanji could feel joy, she said: “Your Highness, I forgot to mention something.”
“Yes?” Zhu Zhanji had an ominous feeling.
“That elderly woman who took the Four Inversions Yang-Returning Decoction—besides breathing and heartbeat, all her internal organs gradually failed. Jinhu and I speculated that even with daily gruel feeding, life couldn’t be sustained for long—ten days at most.” Yu Qian was shocked and grabbed Su Jingxi, demanding to know why she was saying this now. She replied, “I’ve already committed the crime of deceiving the emperor—how could I conceal anything more?”
Zhu Zhanji asked tremulously: “Is there any real chance of recovery?”
Su Jingxi dared not conceal the truth and bowed her head: “Unless the Medicine King himself were reborn.”
There was no response from across the room. Su Jingxi slightly raised her head to see Zhu Zhanji calmly waving his hand: “I’m tired—you should both rest early.” Yu Qian gave him a concerned look but finally bowed slightly and left the cabin with Su Jingxi.
As the cabin door closed, the room fell into dark silence. Zhu Zhanji sat motionless, staring at a streak of moonlight through the window without a word. Emperor Hongxi had started taking the decoction on May 12th, and now it was May 28th. According to Su Jingxi’s hint, the emperor was probably not just ill—he had likely passed away after the ceremony.
Strangely, hearing this terrible news didn’t cause much disturbance in Zhu Zhanji’s heart. Throughout this journey, as the Prince of Han’s plot gradually became clear, he had mentally prepared himself for his father’s death. He just felt extremely tired, too tired to even try to deduce the current situation in the capital.
He stiffly lay back down on the hard bed, suddenly finding the moonlight too harsh, and lowered the window screen, pulling the blanket over his head. Oddly, though drowsiness weighed heavily and his eyelids drooped, his mind couldn’t find peace. Countless thoughts constricted his head like a tight band, alternately loosening and tightening.
The Crown Prince kept his eyes closed for a long while, then suddenly opened them, helplessly poking his head out to look around. The cabin was extremely quiet now, with only the sound of rushing water outside and the footsteps of night-watch sailors, emphasizing the oppression and loneliness within. The Crown Prince stared at the cramped ceiling for a while, feeling as if he were lying in an unconscious coffin. Was this what death felt like? The vitality around him was rapidly receding, the temperature dropping—despite the late May weather, he felt as if he were back in the snowy northern frontier, his very soul about to freeze.
Is this what Father is feeling now?
The Crown Prince turned over, pulling the blanket over his head again. Soon, faint sobbing could be heard from under the covers. The small incense burner Yu Qian had left stood lonely on the table, without a trace of warmth from any smoke.