This was a development no one had anticipated.

No one expected Wu Dingyuan to behave like a ruffian and desecrate the Imperial Coffin of the Late Emperor. Even more puzzling was what he hoped to achieve at this point. Even if it was purely out of spite, surely there was no point in antagonizing Emperor Hongxi!

Hanwang and Zhu Zhanyu raised their heads, still shaken from the shock, and watched as the golden nanmu wood coffin bobbed several times on the water’s surface before finally stabilizing—after all, the flood waters at Wumen Gate had only grown deeper, providing enough buoyancy for the hollow coffin. Zhu Zhanyu understood what Wu Dingyuan intended to do: if the several-hundred-jin wooden coffin were to strike them head-on, they would be crushed even if not killed outright.

Realizing this, he couldn’t help but admire the minor constable. Even at the end of his rope, the fellow had managed to devise such a deadly counter-move. It was truly impressive.

“What a pity,” he thought. “I reacted faster than you, embracing Father Wang to avoid your final strike. Fate favors us, and Heaven’s grace is with us—how could a mere ant like you hope to change the tide of destiny?”

Zhu Zhanyu looked up toward the hill with pity, but Wu Dingyuan was nowhere to be seen. He froze for a moment, quickly shifting his gaze, only to spot that tall, thin figure rushing down the wide platform, leaping high into the air, and then… landing atop the Dragon Coffin!

As his feet touched down, the wide coffin swayed in the water but did not capsize. After steadying himself, Wu Dingyuan reached up with his left hand and pulled free the funeral banner bearing the words “Imperial Coffin of the Late Emperor” from beside the casket. With a twist of his wrist, he planted it into the water at an angle and pushed, causing the Dragon Coffin to drift unsteadily toward Duan Gate.

He… he was using the Emperor’s coffin as a boat!

Everyone at Wumen Gate was struck speechless by this absurd scene. The high officials were beyond words, and even the imperial guards and eunuchs at the gate stood slack-jawed, at a loss for what to do. What kind of brazen madman would think to use an emperor’s coffin as a vessel to navigate flood waters, especially with Emperor Hongxi’s remains still inside? Such transgression would warrant being executed by lingchi ten times over.

Only Yang Shiqi and Zhu Zhanyu remained unmoved.

Yang Shiqi was deep in thought, wondering why Wu Dingyuan if he was the Crown Prince’s man, would commit such an insulting act against Emperor Hongxi. Could there be some deeper meaning? But the coffin was drifting so slowly—a few archers could easily dispatch the man atop it. Based on what Yang Shiqi knew, he couldn’t conceive of what other counter-moves Wu Dingyuan might have left.

As for Zhu Zhanyu, he had given up trying to guess the other’s motives. What was the point? Though Wu Dingyuan kept surprising them, what did it matter? It was just the desperate struggle of a cornered beast, meaningless resistance. Does one try to understand an ant’s thoughts? No, one simply steps on it. At this moment, Hanwang beside him let out an angry growl. He had suddenly realized something embarrassing. The Dragon Carriage at the top of the slope was now empty, with Wu Dingyuan standing atop the Dragon Coffin, making it impossible to complete the most important ritual—guiding the Imperial Coffin.

Without completing this ceremony, legitimacy could not be established, and without legitimacy, authority could not be claimed. How could one dare ascend to the throne when the previous emperor’s remains had escaped from under one’s nose? Hanwang felt a surge of vexation in his chest. He was just one step away from the throne—why wouldn’t this simply give up? Why did it insist on causing trouble? What was the point?

He raised his eyebrows and pointed angrily, shouting at Zhu Zhanyu: “Fifth Brother! Kill that mongrel quickly!”

Zhu Zhanyu grunted in acknowledgment and picked up his firearm again. Father’s ascension had already been delayed far too long—it was time to get things back on track. He raised the gun barrel, aiming at the thin figure drifting further and further away.

Just before he pulled the trigger, the figure moved again. Although Zhu Zhanyu had resolved not to try to understand his opponent’s actions, he couldn’t help but take one more look. What he saw left him frozen once again.

Wu Dingyuan switched to hold the banner pole with his now-useless right hand, and with his left, tore open his outer robe with a ripping sound, revealing two wooden tablets.

These tablets were bound to his chest and back, protecting his torso and spine. They were two chestnut wood spirit tablets, decorated with golden dragons and cloud patterns, each one foot and two inches long and four inches wide. In blue characters, they read respectively: “Spirit Tablet of the Imperial Founder, Most August Emperor of Supreme Sagehood and Divine Might” and “Spirit Tablet of the Imperial Successor, Most August Emperor of Perfect Filial Piety.”

A wave of shocked cries arose at Wumen Gate. These were the spirit tablets of the Hongwu and Yongle Emperors from the Imperial Ancestral Temple!

The Ming Dynasty had seen four emperors thus far. The Jianwen Emperor was not included in the succession, and Emperor Hongxi had just died and had not yet been enshrined. Currently, only the Hongwu and Yongle tablets were housed in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. This scoundrel… when had he managed to steal these two items from the temple?! Zhu Zhanyu could not suppress his shock, his wrist trembling involuntarily.

“What are you waiting for? Shoot!” Hanwang urged.

Zhu Zhanyu narrowed his eyes and aimed again. But suddenly he felt a malicious gaze from the side. He turned slightly to see his Second Brother staring at him as if waiting for something. A historical precedent suddenly came to mind.

During the Cao Wei period, Cao Mao, dissatisfied with the Sima clan’s power, had led palace guards in rebellion, only to be killed by the Crown Prince’s retainer Cheng Ji with a long spear. Sima Zhao then declared Cheng Ji a regicide and ordered his entire clan executed. The Cheng brothers stripped naked, climbed to the palace roof, and cursed loudly before being shot dead with arrows.

These two spirit tablets before him were the sacred vessels of the founding emperors’ spirits, equivalent to their physical presence. If he shot them, regardless of any justification, he would be guilty of regicide. When that time came, his Second Brother would be Sima Zhao, and he would be Cheng Ji. After a moment’s consideration, Zhu Zhanyu lowered his gun and said to Hanwang: “Father, those are the imperial spirit tablets… how can we shoot?”

Hanwang was first stunned, then angered. This Fifth Son was too clever by half! If he had simply fired without asking, the deed would have been done, and a pardon could have been issued afterward. But now that he had loudly asked whether it was permissible to shoot at the spirit tablets of the founding emperors, how could anyone answer yes?

“Are you certain of what you saw?” Hanwang asked one more time, unwilling to give up.

Zhu Zhanyu replied: “I saw very clearly. That traitor must have stolen them from the Imperial Ancestral Temple.”

Hanwang suppressed the rage in his chest, flung his sleeve, and said gravely: “Quickly, chase after him! Let’s see what he’s planning!”

Besides this father and son pair, everyone else had also seen the two tablets. Only now did they understand Wu Dingyuan’s true intention: he planned to use the flood waters to transport the Imperial Coffin out of the palace. The two spirit tablets he carried served as the perfect protection—no one would dare interfere. It seemed unthinkable, yet it was happening before their eyes. The Dragon Carriage was for lying in state, the Dragon Coffin for the funeral procession—no matter who fought whom, all conflicts revolved around ritual propriety, and no one would dream of showing such disrespect. Only someone with absolutely no reverence for the imperial family could devise such an outlandish scheme to break the deadlock.

They could see the minor constable paddling frantically while muttering something. Anyone who looked at that thin figure couldn’t help but wonder: was he perhaps chanting some White Lotus cult incantation?

“This is such a pain…”

Wu Dingyuan complained as he took deep breaths. His right hand was completely useless now, the pain extending to his shoulder. He had to switch to his left hand to hold the banner pole, pushing forward stroke by stroke.

The Dragon Coffin was not a proper boat after all and was difficult to control in the water. Fortunately, the flood waters flowed from the Inner Golden Water River, gathering at Wumen Gate before flowing toward Duan Gate and further south to Chengtian Gate. He didn’t need to expend too much effort; he just needed to guide the coffin slightly to follow the current’s direction.

The sounds of wind, rain, shouts, and footsteps filled his ears. Wu Dingyuan turned his neck to see imperial guards gathered on the Wumen Gate tower, along the side corridors, and on the walls of the Altar of Land and Grain, all with powerful bows and crossbows aimed at him. These men, who had hesitated to act during the standoff between Hanwang and Empress Zhang, had no such reservations about dealing with a mere commoner.

One command would turn Wu Dingyuan into a porcupine. But the two-spirit tablets on his chest and back, along with the coffin beneath his feet, created an invisible field of intimidation. Three of the Ming Dynasty’s emperors to date (excluding Jianwen) were gathered around this minor figure, causing weapons to fall away and enemies to stay in their hands—no one dared approach.

Due to the flooding, none of the gates along the way had been closed. The coffin boat rode the wind and rain, following the flood waters past Duan Gate and on to Chengtian Gate. Despite being surrounded by troops, Wu Dingyuan moved like a leisurely fisherman on a wild river, poling along unhurriedly. The crimson walls retreated on either side as he drifted along, his robes flying in the wind, as casual as a stroll through a garden.

Past Chengtian Gate, the view suddenly opened up. Before him lay the broad Chang’an Street, and opposite, a perfectly straight north-south road extended from Chengtian Gate to Daming Gate in the south, flanked by continuously covered corridors a thousand paces long. This was the outer imperial city, where government offices were located, but now it was flooded worse than Wumen Gate—the water had risen halfway up the city gates, and waves rolled as far as the eye could see along the imperial road.

As the view opened up, Wu Dingyuan straightened his chest, suddenly feeling a surge of exhilaration.

Throughout history, how many people have ever pierced an emperor’s coffin through the imperial city? This was an experience no amount of money could buy. Even the best storytellers in the entertainment districts would be accused of making things up if they wrote such a tale. He touched the chestnut wood tablet on his chest—up close, it was just a piece of wood painted with gold powder, yet it had intimidated the entire court into keeping their distance. Jingxi’s calculation had truly been brilliant.

This had been Su Jingxi’s special instruction before departure. Though she didn’t know the details of the capital’s situation, she knew Wu Dingyuan’s style would cause an uproar, so she suggested that if he had the chance, he should try to obtain the spirit tablets from the Imperial Ancestral Temple—carrying those would allow him to move freely. In truth, if even one person on the opposing side had been willing to sacrifice themselves, this strategy would have failed. But as Wang Ji had said, the various factions in the Two Capitals Plot were bound together by interest alone. In such an organization, where everyone acted for themselves, calculation and wariness were natural. Su Jingxi’s strategy had struck at their weakness.

“This isn’t my invention, but your father’s old trick,” Su Jingxi had said after giving her instructions.

Wu Dingyuan didn’t understand at first, but later learned the story from Ye He on the journey. When Zhu Di attacked Jinan City, he brought several large cannons. Iron Xuan had painted a large portrait of Zhu Yuanzhang on the city walls and placed spirit tablets at every battlement. As a result, Zhu Di didn’t dare fire, giving Iron Xuan his opportunity to break the siege of Jinan.

Twenty-five years later, Iron Xuan’s son once again held high the Zhu family’s spirit tablets, still protecting a Ming emperor, still opposing a member of the Zhu clan who sought to usurp the throne. The river of time had made a complete circle and returned to its starting point—one couldn’t help but marvel at the peculiarity of fate.

But this time, history would not repeat itself!

Wu Dingyuan bit his lip and used his left hand to make a powerful stroke, turning the Dragon Coffin eastward onto the flooded Imperial Street.

Perhaps because a fierce gust had scattered the lead-colored clouds, the rain that had raged for days finally began to slacken. However, the accumulated floodwaters were too great—it would take half a day for them to recede.

Hanwang and the high officials couldn’t wait that long. They scrambled onto pleasure boats requisitioned from the Southern, Middle, and Inner Garden Lakes, desperately pursuing toward Chengtian Gate. As for the imperial guards, attendants, and palace eunuchs, some jumped into the water and swam frantically outward, some remained frozen in place at a loss for what to do, while others tried climbing the walls, attempting to run along the roof ridges.

Yang Shiqi didn’t leave. He first called several panicked minor eunuchs, sending them to the platform where Empress Zhang was. A eunuch with some medical knowledge checked her pulse and reported that she was not in immediate danger. Yang Shiqi sighed in relief and had them escort her and the two princes back to the inner palace to rest.

After arranging these matters, Yang Shiqi asked those around him about the situation outside. An imperial guard told him that the traitor who had seized the Imperial Coffin and spirit tablets had reached the Imperial Street and was drifting eastward.

“Eastward?”

Yang Shiqi sensed something. Wu Dingyuan’s series of actions, though unconventional and bold, had successfully broken the deadlock—impressive indeed, but what was his purpose? Given the man’s demonstrated meticulousness and decisiveness, this couldn’t be mere spite. Now he was steering the Dragon Coffin eastward on the flood waters—what was so important in that direction? Having served in the capital for many years, Yang Shiqi knew its geography well. He mentally reviewed the city map and suddenly realized.

In the southeastern corner of the capital was the East Convenience Gate, with the Great Passage Bridge outside. Below the bridge was a massive transfer dock connecting to the Great Passage River, which extended to the Korean Camp in Tong County and joined with the White River, leading straight to Tianjin Guard. This waterway, known as the White Canal or North Grand Canal, was the endpoint of the grain transport system.

Originally, this canal had terminated at Jishui Pool in the north, connecting to the White Floating Spring waters of Changping. However, since Emperor Yongle’s tomb was placed at Mount Tianshou in Changping, they could no longer use those waters for fear of disturbing the dragon veins. Now Jishui Pool’s transport function was abandoned, the palace river had become a scenic waterway like the Inner Qinhuai, and the transport dock had been moved east to the Great Passage Bridge.

Wu Dingyuan had mentioned that the Crown Prince was rushing back to the capital. Logically, the canal route would be the fastest way. If he spoke the truth, the Crown Prince would likely dock at Great Passage Bridge outside the East Convenience Gate. Could it be… was Wu Dingyuan planning to take the Dragon Coffin to meet the Crown Prince at East Convenience Gate? The idea seemed absurd! Yet the more Yang Shiqi pondered, he couldn’t think of any other possibility.

Whether it was Hanwang, Empress Zhang, or the court officials, all were trapped in conventional thinking: whoever guided the Dragon Carriage and Coffin would become the succeeding emperor. Only Wu Dingyuan had turned this on its head—if the Crown Prince couldn’t come to the Dragon Coffin, then the Dragon Coffin would go to the Crown Prince. Bold, brilliant, and blasphemous—this was Yang Shiqi’s assessment of the plan.

Regardless, any plan that could thwart Hanwang’s scheme was good. As Yang Shiqi was considering how to overcome the flood waters and reach East Convenience Gate, someone suddenly tugged at his robe…

What Yang Shiqi had figured out, Zhu Zhanyu could understand as well.

He was now frantically working the oars, sweat streaming down his chubby cheeks. The small boat quickly passed through Duan Gate, with the towering Chengtian Gate ahead. Hanwang had walked this route countless times, but this was his first time by boat.

“You’re saying he’s headed to East Convenience Gate to meet the Crown Prince?” Hanwang asked gravely.

“Exactly. The Crown Prince traveling from Nanjing would follow the grain transport canal north. East Convenience Gate is the terminus of the thousand-li canal—he must pass through there. Wu Dingyuan must be heading that way.”

Hanwang raised his hand, using a gold-threaded handkerchief to wipe blood from his mouth. The pain from his broken teeth throbbed, making his mind increasingly agitated. After much careful planning, just one step away from success, accounting for everything—yet this unexpected complication had emerged!

He wasn’t afraid of Wu Dingyuan escaping, but if a Crown Prince was rushing to arrive from the outside, that changed everything.

“Didn’t you say you sent men to pursue and kill him?” Though they were alone on the boat, Hanwang lowered his voice, as they were passing through Chengtian Gate’s dark tunnel. Such darkness was perfect for secret conversations.

Zhu Zhanyu replied: “After the Crown Prince’s sea-going vessel passed through Geshang Lock, I had elite cavalry tracking him the whole way, personally witnessing him pass Tianjin Guard. Now the Qingzhou banner troops are split into three groups, using Langfang as an axis to block him front and back, forming layers of defense. The Crown Prince only has Zhang Quan with him—there’s no possibility of breaking through. Please rest assured, Father King.”

“Tang Sai’er also claimed she’d killed the Crown Prince in Nanjing, saying there was no chance of survival! When you took over in Huai’an, you also said there was no chance of him heading north!” Hanwang’s anger rolled in his throat. “Yet look at the situation you’ve created!”

Zhu Zhanyu said: “The last ten miles are half the journey. Having come this far, Father King, you mustn’t let a minor figure disturb your composure.”

Hanwang fell silent for a moment, tucked the handkerchief back into his sleeve, and sat heavily at the bow. Being nearly fifty, the prolonged standoff had left him physically and mentally exhausted. The small boat had reached the middle of the tunnel, casting his face in deep shadow.

“Zhanyu, why did you push off before Zhantan could board?”

“Your son was worried Wu Dingyuan would escape, and acted hastily…”

“In this tunnel, it’s just us father and son—we can discuss even treason and conspiracy, what can’t we discuss?” Hanwang sighed. “I know you and Zhantan are at odds, unwilling to yield to each other—that’s human nature. But with matters still unsettled, family shouldn’t scheme against each other.”

Gone was his dominance from Wumen Gate, replaced by the rambling concern of an old father. Zhu Zhanyu’s rowing rhythm remained unchanged: “There can only be one Crown Prince position, just as there can be only one Heir Apparent position.”

“Are you accusing me of favoritism?”

“No, there’s a proper order of seniority. I have no complaints about Second Brother being Heir Apparent—being Prince of Linzi isn’t bad either. I only blame Father King for giving me this opportunity to change heaven and earth, letting me glimpse a sliver of destiny. Once the heart is moved, there’s no going back.” At this point, Zhu Zhanyu suddenly smiled. “Wasn’t Grandfather originally planning to live out his days as Prince of Yan? When Emperor Jianwen reduced his power, it gave him an opportunity he had to seize. And Father King, if you hadn’t obtained that medicine prescription, wouldn’t you have resigned yourself to being a prince? How can anyone not be tempted when they see an opportunity?”

Hearing this argument, Hanwang was momentarily speechless.

Zhu Zhanyu continued: “Father King, your kindness to me is as heavy as a mountain—your son will support you with all his strength, without question. But this rivalry between brothers, as you know better than I, is unavoidable. Your son doesn’t ask for favoritism, only that you choose and use the worthy.”

Hanwang was silent for a long while, then suddenly asked: “Do you remember when you were seven, and I took you to play at the Divine Engine Camp?”

“I remember—the camp had all sorts of cannons and guns, I loved it. That’s when I became fascinated with firearms.”

“Heh, you don’t know—after that visit, I was severely reprimanded by Father Emperor. The officials accused me of having ulterior motives when inspecting the capital garrison and examining weapons and submitted numerous memorials. But I truly had no such thoughts—I simply wanted to make you happy. What’s wrong with a father taking his child to play? Not just you, but Zhanzheng, Zhantan, Zhanha… I wanted you all to be happy, but every time I took you out, someone would watch us father and son, finding various reasons to impeach me, twisting everything into plots of usurpation.”

Hanwang paused: “Originally, I didn’t care about these things—too many debts to worry about. But this time, some officials insisted on punishing you too, saying that playing with inauspicious weapons at such a young age was not fortunate for the imperial clan. I stormed into the palace shouting and arguing, willing to accept being confined to my residence for three months, just to get your punishment waived.”

Zhu Zhanyu continued rowing, his eyes flickering with unspoken thoughts.

“After that incident, I suddenly became afraid. Things were fine while Father Emperor was around, but what about after? My elder brother has a woman’s heart and is easily swayed—what would I do if the officials ganged up on me? If something happened to me, what would happen to your children? You were too young then to know what kind of life your father lived in the capital. Daily attacked by censors as cruel and tyrannical, teacups in the capital filled with stories of my ambition, they even thought up reasons for my usurpation—just because I was the second son, because I had achieved too many merits during the Jingnan Campaign. Eventually, I started believing it myself, hehe.”

“Father King…”

Hanwang stood up again, patting Zhu Zhanyu’s shoulder, showing rare tenderness: “Later I understood—freely taking sons out to play, others could do it, but not me. Being in this position meant accepting this fate. People must understand who they are to know what they should do. You’re right—having glimpsed destiny, one must seize it. As it is for me, so it is for you!”

As they spoke, the small boat emerged from Chengtian Gate, the sudden daylight making both men squint.

Though the rain had subsided, the floodwaters on Imperial Street hadn’t receded. Sunlight broke through gaps in the dispersing lead-colored clouds, casting a pale glow on the water’s surface. Only now did Beijing reveal its majestic grandeur. In the distance, father and son could see a coffin and a figure drifting eastward at a surprisingly steady pace, about to leave the imperial city and enter East Chang’an Street.

Half a li east of Chengtian Gate along Chang’an Street stood a thick palace wall. At the eastern base of the imperial city was East’an Gate, marking the boundary between the imperial city and the outer city. Due to the flooding, East’an Gate was wide open to help drain the accumulated water from Imperial Street. With spirit tablets front and back, Wu Dingyuan faced no resistance from the guards who dared not approach, and with the gates unable to close, he passed through freely.

“These capital garrison troops, each thinking only of self-preservation, actually let him pass!” Hanwang said bitterly.

Of course, he understood that maintaining their neutrality was the best outcome he could hope for. Hanwang looked back at the chaos of officials, palace servants, and guards in various colored robes making their way across the water. How could they not follow when the emperor’s coffin was being stolen before their eyes? But he couldn’t expect any of them to charge into battle.

“Father King, you still have one force available,” said Zhu Zhanyu.

When Zhu Zhanyu arrived in the capital, he had brought a unit of Qingzhou banner troops. These were Jin Rong’s most loyal men, determined to kill Wu Dingyuan even at the cost of their own lives. If ordered to attack, they wouldn’t hesitate because of the spirit tablets.

“Where are they positioned?”

“We entered through Chongwen Gate but hadn’t anticipated such heavy rain which impeded large troop movements. So I had them wait at the Platform Factory near East River Rice Lane.”

The Platform Factory was located in the southeastern part of the imperial city, slightly to the south. It had been used to store firewood during the Forbidden City’s construction and was built on high ground to prevent moisture damage. Hanwang considered this, then said: “Perfect—have them move north immediately. They must stop him at all costs!” Normally, bringing outside troops into the city was strictly forbidden, but given the current situation, the banner of “recovering the Imperial Coffin” would provide sufficient justification.

Zhu Zhanyu immediately left the boat, jumping onto another to rush toward the Platform Factory. Zhu Zhantan, panting heavily, caught up and took the oars, making a show of rowing with all his might. Hanwang glanced at his heir, said nothing, and merely gestured to hurry.

Eager to make up for his earlier failure, Zhu Zhantan rowed with great effort. Hanwang’s small boat cut through the flood waters like an arrow in pursuit. The bizarre mixed group behind Hanwang dared not slack off, following closely, many thinking to themselves: we’re not following Hanwang, we’re trying to recover the Late Emperor’s coffin.

Riding the surging waters, they quickly passed through East’an Gate. Beyond the palace wall, Imperial Street was no longer flanked by towering halls and pavilions, but by courtyard houses divided by hutongs. These too were submerged, with people crowding the sloping gray tile roofs.

Hanwang had no interest in these commoners, focusing solely on what lay ahead. At this speed, they would catch up to the unwieldy coffin within minutes. Then, even if people dared not act directly, they could surround Wu Dingyuan and resolve the situation.

Zhu Zhantan, physically weak, was already panting after just dozens of strokes, and the boat gradually slowed. Hanwang was greatly displeased—this child couldn’t even manage this simple task! Just as he was about to scold him, Zhu Zhantan suddenly straightened his arm, pointing ahead in surprise.

Following his son’s gesture, Hanwang’s brow furrowed.

Several hundred paces ahead on Imperial Street—roughly south of the Imperial Academy—a long high wall cut across their path. This wall wasn’t a straight line, but an irregular curve running diagonally from west to east, encompassing the Imperial Academy to the north and Wool Hutong to the south, dividing the imperial city from most of the eastern district.

Looking more carefully, one would notice it resembled a dike, narrow at the top and thick at the bottom, constructed not of blue bricks and stone but of a huge pile of debris—earth, rocks, broken flags, doors, carts, boxes, furniture, everything imaginable, even colorful bedding, like a beggar’s collection.

Though hastily constructed, the dike was built with remarkable skill, making full use of various materials’ stacking properties and the terrain to effectively hold back the surging floodwaters from western Imperial Street, preventing their spread eastward.

Atop this long dike, countless heads bobbed—men and women, young and old, all in tattered clothing. They stood with various tools in their dripping hands, intently watching the flood waters repeatedly striking the embankment, like loyal frontier soldiers guarding a border. The scene was both strange and magnificent.

“What is this?” Even the well-traveled Hanwang was stunned.

“I passed through here yesterday, and this wasn’t here,” Zhu Zhantan said uncertainly. Could this thing have been built overnight?

But more pressing was that Wu Dingyuan and his coffin had reached the dike’s edge. The Dragon Coffin’s flat bottom with slightly upturned edges and smooth sides, combined with the high water level, allowed it to surge up onto the dike’s top. The tall, thin figure atop the coffin appeared to look around, then waved his hand. Several people immediately ran over to help push and carry. In moments, Emperor Hongxi’s Dragon Coffin was pushed down the other side, temporarily disappearing from view.

“Bastards!”

Hanwang exploded in rage. These lowborn curs had grown bold enough to openly assist a rebel in moving the Dragon Coffin. He urged Zhu Zhantan to speed up, but the boat’s bow was too straight to clear the dike in one go. Upon touching the dike’s face, they were forced to stop.

Without waiting for his father’s order, Zhu Zhantan began cursing: “Dogs, how dare you block the Imperial Road! Clear it immediately!” The commoners on the dike showed fear at his shouts, but they looked at each other, no one moving, all instinctively turning their gaze toward a middle-aged man in the crowd.

This middle-aged man was bare-chested, his face showing fatigue but his demeanor steady. He stepped up onto the dike and cupped his hands in greeting: “Respected sir, we cannot break this dike. If we do, all the flood waters accumulated in the imperial city will sweep through the entire eastern district, dooming half the city’s population.”

“Who are you to make such noise here!”

“I am Zhou Dewen, ward chief of Banbian Shop in Daxing.” Zhou Dewen replied calmly.

Zhu Zhantan laughed in fury: “Well, ward chief of Daxing, what are your intentions in building walls in the Eastern District!”

Unexpectedly, Zhou Dewen showed no fear. Looking around, he responded in a strong voice: “Let me tell you, sir. For days the rain has poured, collapsing over a hundred zhang of city walls. Countless homes, dwellings, and shops are submerged or toppled. How many people are displaced, their possessions swept away? How many are trapped on rooftops with nowhere to flee? Yet the court has not sent a single soldier for disaster relief, not one official to provide aid or comfort. We common people can only save ourselves—please understand.”

His words drew waves of sighs from those around him, with thousands on the dike nodding involuntarily. Zhu Zhantan was stunned—this dike had been built overnight by the city’s residents. No wonder the materials were so varied—they must have been donated by each household. These people would naturally give their all to protect their homes.

“Father, they’re just trying to survive…” Zhu Zhantan turned back hesitantly, but Hanwang cursed his incomprehension: “You pig—no, dog brain! Think carefully! In last night’s heavy rain, how could this Zhou Dewen mobilize thousands of city residents? Could a mere ward chief accomplish this? Ask if the Three Guards could do it! Could the Ministry of Works do it?!”

Zhu Zhantan awoke as if from a dream, looking at Zhou Dewen with a new wariness. He suddenly jumped from the boat onto the dike, snatched a rake from an old woman’s hands, and glared around: “Clear this away! Or you’ll all be charged with rebellion!” Zhou Dewen stepped firmly in front of him: “Do you know how many lives you’ll destroy with one rake?” Zhu Zhantan hesitated briefly, but seeing his father’s expression, steeled himself and struck down with the rake.

“Stop!”

This wasn’t Zhou Dewen’s voice, but hundreds shouting in unison, their combined voices like thunder, causing even the leaden clouds to shudder.

Zhu Zhantan’s hands trembled, the rake splashing into the water. Looking up, he saw countless murderous gazes directed at him and turned to flee back to the boat. The old woman grabbed his right leg, and three or four men rushed forward, grabbing his arms and waist, pressing the noble heir of Hanwang against the dike’s edge like a sandbag.

Hanwang was furious and moved to rescue his son, but as he stepped forward, a chill ran through him. A veteran of many battles who had fought Tartars in the north and southern armies in the Huai River region, he recognized that familiar sharp killing intent. Though facing only weak commoners behind a fragile wall of refuse, their desperate resolve to fight to the death matched any powerful enemy he’d faced on the battlefield.

“They truly mean to fight the court to the death?”

Hanwang had this absurd thought, yet couldn’t convince himself it was impossible. Truthfully, since watching Wu Dingyuan escape with the Dragon Coffin, nothing in the world seemed certain anymore. At this moment, over a dozen small boats caught up. The first to arrive was Lü Zhen, who immediately ordered in his shrill voice: “Ram through it! Ram through it all!”

The brave warriors on the boats rowed forward fiercely. This action enraged all the dike defenders—the entire length of the narrow dike seemed to come alive, countless people bending to gather and hurl tiles, stones, and miscellaneous debris.

Amid thunderous shouts, the fragments flew like a locust swarm, darkening the sky. Lü Zhen and his soldiers at the bow couldn’t even dodge. Unable to withstand the barrage, they had to jump into the water. Lü Zhen couldn’t swim and could only flounder until someone helped him scramble onto Hanwang’s boat. The mighty Grand Mentor to the Crown Prince and Minister of Rites, one of the Ming Dynasty’s highest officials, had been beaten black and blue by common capital residents. Hanwang had no time to comfort him, deciding to focus on the bigger picture: “We’ll deal with them later, pursue them first!”

He adjusted his black horn belt and leaped from the boat onto the dike’s top.

As long as they didn’t mention dismantling the dike, the commoners weren’t as aggressive. Seeing Hanwang approach, they respectfully backed away. As Hanwang prepared to move forward, he saw two familiar faces emerge behind Zhou Dewen.

“Ruan An? You’re part of this rebellion too?”

Ruan An shook his head blankly: “What rebellion? I just gave them some construction advice. See how well it keeps out the water?”

Hanwang knew he was simple-minded and turned his attention to the woman: “Zuo Yehe!”

Zuo Yehe swallowed a piece of hard bread, then smiled and bowed: “Greetings, Hanwang.”

Seeing her, Hanwang’s thoughts raced, suddenly understanding everything.

The people’s self-preservation effort was all the White Lotus Sect’s doing! They were experts at inciting popular uprisings—they must have mobilized all their sleeper agents in the capital to help the Crown Prince!

“You wrong me, sir.” Zuo Yehe knew what Hanwang was thinking. She glanced around, “There aren’t more than a hundred White Lotus members on this dike—most are just eastern district residents. They’re only trying to survive. If the court won’t help them, someone must.”

Hanwang cared nothing for this—Wu Dingyuan was already out of sight beyond the dike. He knew the White Lotus’s methods well; if they suddenly turned hostile, it would be a major problem. Looking back, he saw boats gathering before the dike. Though the imperial guards were elite troops, they couldn’t gain the upper hand quickly.

“Return my son first!”

The men released Zhu Zhantan, pushing him toward Hanwang, who stepped back to keep the option of jumping to his boat: “Our two houses were cooperating so well—does the Buddhist Mother know what you’re doing?”

Zuo Yehe shrugged: “The Buddhist Mother is dead. The new Sect Leader is carrying the coffin eastward now. Whether this is appropriate or not, you can ask him yourself.”

Hanwang’s mouth twitched involuntarily. He’d focused on palace affairs these past days, thinking external matters needed no attention, yet such massive changes had occurred. Seeing Zuo Yehe in coarse clothing, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding poor, he couldn’t help but sneer: “You and the Buddhist Mother rejected boundless wealth and glory, only to end up mixing with these lowborns. Like foxes and rats, you can’t escape your base nature!”

Zuo Yehe picked up a broken tile, pointing to some green growth on it: “Hanwang, do you know what this is?”

“Clear the way now! You might still be spared death. If you remain obstinate, don’t blame me for uprooting you all!”

Zuo Yehe continued as if unhearing: “This little thing growing in tile cracks is called tile pine, also called Zuo Yehe. Have you read Cui Rong’s rhapsody? ‘It needs not flatter to advance, nor seek profit to dwell; Its fragrance is not for others, its life not bound by place. Its nature is humble, asking nothing of heaven; Its shade is thin, just enough for self-shelter…'”

Here, Zuo Yehe scratched her head sheepishly: “That’s all I can recite, just learned it recently.”

She wedged the tile into the dike and smiled gracefully: “Did you know, Hanwang? Though I negotiated the Two Capitals Plot with you, I hated every moment. If not for the Buddhist Mother’s insistence, I wouldn’t have spent one moment in your company. That Xuan’er prince, always scheming to make me his concubine, and the others, each with their dark designs. They spoke of garden orchids, but the stench was overwhelming!”

Hanwang’s eyebrows twitched involuntarily.

“These past years, my happiest moment was last night—I didn’t even realize it myself. Working with poor men to move planks, with simple women to tie ropes, following Zhou Dewen through rain-soaked streets, rousing everyone house by house. Calling out work songs myself, sweating as we built this dike bit by bit… Only now do I understand why the Buddhist Mother gave me this name? Rather than the peonies and crabapples of refined gardens, tile cracks under eaves better suit Zuoyehe’s growth. Only among these poor and broken things do I feel truly happy. Thanks to the Sect Leader, I’ve finally found where I belong.”

“What are you trying to say!”

Zuo Yehe pointed at the dozen boats approaching through the flood: “Water can carry a boat or overturn it. I used to think it was just a metaphor—today, Hanwang gets to see it firsthand.”

She pulled up a makeshift flag fashioned from a wine banner and waved it vigorously. The dike was too long for people at either end to hear what was happening, so they watched for flag signals. Seeing the signal, everyone let out a low roar, gripping debris in their hands, straightening like soldiers about to charge, staring ahead intently—looking exactly like tile pines standing proud among ruins.

Hanwang’s face turned ashen, the scene reminding him of the Jingnan Campaign. In that war, the most formidable opponents weren’t the Southern army’s main force, but the local defenders of Jinan City. Though just civilians forced to take up arms, when protecting their homes, they showed such tenacity and determination that even the elite Yan army troops were stopped in their tracks.

In these dirt-and-sweat-stained faces before him, Hanwang saw the same fierce eyes as the Jinan defenders. He finally began to sense real trouble.

A donkey cart moved slowly along Imperial Street, its elegant coffin occasionally bumping against the frame with a clang, as if the deceased was dissatisfied with the pace.

“This Zuo Yehe, what a troublemaker…”

Wu Dingyuan led the old donkey, muttering softly, seemingly talking both to himself and explaining to Emperor Hongxi behind him.

When he first saw the temporary dike, he too was startled, thinking it was some northern custom. Only when he got close and saw Zhou Dewen standing on top did Wu Dingyuan realize this was the White Lotus Sect’s doing.

After leaving Gold Sea Bridge at midnight, Zuo Yehe had decided to stir up some commotion in the capital—the bigger the disturbance, the less pressure on Wu Dingyuan in the Forbidden City. She found Zhou Dewen, who said the officials were too preoccupied to help, so the best solution was to unite the common people for self-preservation.

Then Ruan An made a suggestion. Having observed the capital’s water flow patterns, he proposed building a dike at the Imperial Academy to hold back the flood waters from the imperial city, potentially saving half the city.

This would have been nearly impossible to execute, but with Zuo Yehe’s authority as a Dharma Protector, Zhou Dewen’s local connections, and Ruan An’s construction expertise, they miraculously completed this inner-city dike before noon the next day. While the dike blocked their pursuers, it also stopped the surging waters. Beyond the dike, the water was shallow, forcing Wu Dingyuan to abandon floating the coffin and transfer Emperor Hongxi to a donkey cart.

From the dike to the East, Convenience Gate was only about two li, but the old donkey had to stop and catch its breath every few steps. Moving in fits and starts, that four-cornered tower at the city’s southeast corner seemed eternally out of reach.

Wu Dingyuan’s anxiety was useless. He simply retired the two imperial spirit tablets and held the cart’s edge, helping push forward. As his long legs alternated through the murky water, he suddenly felt lost.

Earlier at Wumen Gate, his single-minded focus had been moving the Dragon Coffin, but he hadn’t thought about what came next. He didn’t know when the Crown Prince would reach Great Passage Bridge, or what to do if he didn’t come. But then he thought—why worry? If the Crown Prince didn’t come, all was lost anyway. At worst, he could burn the spirit tablets as a funeral offering, fulfilling his duty to the Iron family.

At this thought, the coffin suddenly jolted, striking the frame with a “thunk” as if in protest. Wu Dingyuan looked back and grinned: “Don’t worry, Emperor Hongxi. Debts must be paid to their proper owner—I’ll only burn Zhu Di’s tablet. The Hongwu Emperor has nothing to do with me, so he is safe. As for you, I heard from Aunt Hong that you issued edicts pardoning the Jingnan Campaign victims trapped in the teaching quarters, showing some conscience. For the Crown Prince’s sake, I’ll leave yours alone too.”

As he pushed the cart, he started talking to the coffin. “Honestly, even if you issued an edict now allowing me to take revenge, I wouldn’t know how. Go after Zhu Di? He’s already dead—at most, I could burn his tablet for some satisfaction. Should the son pay the father’s debt? You’re dead too. Should the grandson pay? But when Zhu Di killed my father, the Crown Prince was just a child. Ah, I’ve got such a strange fate with your Zhu family. My birth father was killed by Zhu Di, my adoptive father was essentially killed by Hanwang, and now I’ve saved your son. How should this all be counted? Even the most brilliant accountant couldn’t figure it out.”

Wu Dingyuan found that the dead made the best listeners—never interrupting, never responding, always quiet. Usually not talkative himself, keeping things bottled up, now he couldn’t stop talking in front of Emperor Hongxi.

“Before, I wouldn’t have known what to do—I was living in a daze myself. But thanks to the tribulations you father and son faced, I’ve finally figured things out on this journey. At least I know who I am and what I should do. Let’s keep things clear between us—debts of gratitude will be repaid in full, and debts of vengeance—I won’t forgive a single one.

“Hmm? You ask what the Crown Prince would think if he knew my background. That straightforward fellow, so simple you could poke a rod in his mouth and it’d come out his rear—wouldn’t he be furious? Well, I don’t know what kind of emperor he’ll be, but he’s decent enough as a friend. Though he still owes me those five hundred and one taels of silver plus a bag of pearls—he’d better pay that back…”

This one-sided conversation was suddenly interrupted by the sound of drums. Wu Dingyuan looked up to see the guards at East Convenience Gate had apparently received orders and were hurriedly closing the gates. With little standing water on this section of the street, the gates could operate normally.

Wu Dingyuan sucked his teeth—now they were completely trapped in the city. But he wasn’t too discouraged; that he’d managed to float an imperial coffin from Wumen Gate to here was already an incredible string of luck that couldn’t last forever. He pulled the donkey’s head, thinking about where else they could go, at least until the Crown Prince arrived.

Bad news came one after another.

A deep, dense sound of hoofbeats approached from the southeast. The standing water trembled slightly, raising unsettling ripples. Whatever troops these were, they certainly weren’t friendly.

The cart carrying the coffin was far too conspicuous on Imperial Street. Once surrounded, escape would be impossible. Wu Dingyuan looked around and spotted a stone-paved road to the north, wider than normal hutongs. Without hesitation, he yanked the cart’s head and plunged in.

This stone road ran north-south, lined with ginkgo and locust trees, with carefully constructed stone platforms. At its end stood a hanging-roof Purple Subtlety Hall, with a stone tablet in front reading “Bureau of Astronomy.” Behind the hall rose a square green fortress about seven zhang high, topped by a square platform of white jade with extended corners, bearing various astronomical instruments. A pale white cloud-patterned stone staircase wound up the tower, giving it an otherworldly air of ascending to the heavenly court.

When living in Nanjing, Wu Dingyuan had secretly visited the North Pole Pavilion atop Astronomical Mountain, where a Daoist worker told him this was where they observed the stars. By watching celestial movements, they could divine earthly fortunes. He’d curiously watched for half a day until his eyes hurt, never understanding it, and never returned.

He hadn’t expected to enter a similar place in Beijing.

Wu Dingyuan didn’t know this was the Bureau of Astronomy built by Guo Shoujing in the sixteenth year of Zhiyuan, nor did he understand celestial movements. With no other choice, he had to entrust his fate to this building that could supposedly divine fate itself.

The Bureau’s most valuable instruments were kept on the high platform, safe from flooding. When the rain came, the astronomical officials had all fled, leaving no one to guard the place. Wu Dingyuan pulled the donkey cart straight to Purple Subtlety Hall before stopping to observe. A crescent-shaped corridor connected the main hall to the observation tower, flanked by gray-white high walls. But the corridor wasn’t straight—it twisted through several sharp turns. This was called the Path of Purified Heart; those who wished to observe the stars would have worldly distractions blocked out upon entering. Passing through the long corridor was like cleansing one’s thoughts, preparing to commune with the stars with an uncluttered mind.

For Wu Dingyuan, this was excellent defensive terrain, but first, he had to get the coffin through the Path of Purified Heart… The corridor’s turns were too sharp for the long cart, and while the coffin would fit, he couldn’t carry it alone. “I can’t exactly open it and carry the body, can I?” Wu Dingyuan hesitated. It wasn’t superstition or disgust holding him back—after so long in death, and with constant rain, the emperor’s remains would surely be decomposed. Any disturbance would scatter them everywhere.

While he hesitated, pursuers charged into the stone road, advancing fiercely toward Purple Subtlety Hall. Wu Dingyuan turned to look and his heart jumped. Their tight clothes and short jackets were identical to Wei Yizhong’s—these were the persistent Qingzhou banner troops. They’d come to the capital too? Had Zhu Zhanyu brought them?

If they attacked, Wu Dingyuan wouldn’t even have a chance for last-ditch resistance. His greatest protection was the spirit tablets of Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Di, but these Qingzhou fanatics answered only to Jin Rong, willing to die for him. To avenge their master, they wouldn’t think twice about destroying imperial tablets.

The Bureau of Astronomy had only one main approach and no other exits. Finding himself cornered, Wu Dingyuan became strangely calm. He drove the donkey cart to the entrance of the Path of Purified Heart, slowly sat on the coffin, then removed the two tablets, placing Zhu Yuanzhang’s back beside the coffin while holding Zhu Di’s. “Sorry, Jingxi, looks like you’ll have to avenge yourself.”

The cavalry passed through the memorial gate, past the stone tablet, and charged to Purple Subtlety Hall. There weren’t many, only about ten—probably a search party scattered through the city, but enough to deal with Wu Dingyuan. They dismounted, drew their sabers, and surrounded the crescent gate of the Path of Purified Heart.

This farce had gone on too long—it was time for the final act.

Rays of sunlight pierced the clouds, flashing white on the swinging blades. Wu Dingyuan found it dazzling and simply closed his eyes, giving up resistance. Suddenly a blade whistled through the air; he raised his arm to block, and with a crack, Emperor Yongle’s chestnut tablet was split in two, falling to the ground.

“Father, Mother, are you a little happier now?”

Wu Dingyuan murmured, waiting quietly for the final stroke to fall.

But after a moment, no blade fell, and the sunlight above him vanished. Wu Dingyuan opened his eyes in puzzlement to find himself overshadowed by a massive figure. This shadow was huge and humanoid, like a rakshasa demon or wrathful guardian king, its thick arm now tightly gripping the sword-wielding soldier’s throat. The other soldiers stood frozen in place as if under a spell.

“Liang Xingfu?!”