Wu Dingyuan never imagined he would see Liang Xingfu again.
He was Tie Xuan’s most loyal subordinate, a madman bent on killing the families of all former friends. He was the most formidable enemy during the first half of the Crown Prince’s escape, yet also the most reliable ally in the battle of Jinan. His mind was unsound, yet he was clear about what he was doing. During that deadly battle at the Southern Camp’s training ground, Liang Xingfu, who stayed behind to cover their retreat, was overwhelmed by the surge of soldiers. While lamenting his fate, Wu Dingyuan had secretly felt relieved. He had no idea how to face a living Liang Xingfu.
Never did he expect that Liang Xingfu would appear again at the moment he faced certain death.
From behind, that broad back was covered in wounds—some were burns, more were cuts, and there were even traces of firearms. These wounds crisscrossed each other, with peeling skin and festering scabs, forming a mess without a single patch of healthy skin. One could imagine that the rest of Liang Xingfu’s body was in a similar state.
An ordinary person would have been bedridden long ago. Wu Dingyuan couldn’t fathom how this man had managed to drag such severe injuries from Jinan to the capital.
By now, Liang Xingfu had already stabbed the sword-wielding soldier to death, violently throwing the corpse away. The body spun limply in the air several times before crashing into two companions behind. Simultaneously, Liang Xingfu leaped high like a great vulture and then crashed down with the force of a mountain.
These Qingzhou Banner soldiers had all heard of the fearsome reputation of the “Sick Buddha’s Enemy,” and were already intimidated before the fight began. Seeing their companion’s brutal death, their courage wavered further. When Liang Xingfu entered striking range, they froze like chicks under a hawk’s talons—forget about resistance, they even forgot to run.
A series of dense screams erupted in front of the Ziwei Hall, interspersed with the sounds of breaking bones and spurting fluids. In no time, all dozen or so elite banner soldiers had perished. Wu Dingyuan had never doubted his killing efficiency, but this time felt different.
The original Liang Xingfu had been like an extremely calm boulder, steadily attacking at his own pace, each punch and kick highly efficient. But now he was like magma, flowing and ravaging like fire as if trying to expend all his power at once. Perhaps knowing he was near his end, he had become more urgent? When this thought struck him, Wu Dingyuan felt a sudden pang in his heart.
Liang Xingfu slowly turned around in the pool of blood, fresh gore splattered below his neck, looking like a demon who had just crawled up from the eighteenth level of hell. He dragged his steps, swaying slightly as he walked up to Wu Dingyuan, staring at him intently. Wu Dingyuan felt unnerved by that stare—it was the same look from when he had tried to kill him in Huai’an.
“The smell of blood is too strong here. The main force will arrive soon, and then it will be too late,” Liang Xingfu said.
“Too late for what?”
“To perform the Shituo Secret Method, to sacrifice flesh and blood, to achieve great liberation. Only through this ritual can I help you reach the Pure Land to meet your father.”
Wu Dingyuan sighed. So this was still all this man could think about. It seemed his purpose had never changed—he wanted to flay Wu Dingyuan alive. Whether covering their retreat at the military camp, traveling to the capital, or fighting to protect him to the death—it was all to ensure he didn’t die by anyone else’s hand. Forget it… Wu Dingyuan was too tired to dodge anymore. With no movement from the Crown Prince, he was ninety-nine percent certain to die today, so why struggle? He spread his hands and slumped heavily against the coffin, waiting for Liang Xingfu to make his move.
Liang Xingfu studied him, his fierce face surprisingly showing a touch of kindness: “Before, I wanted to help you achieve liberation to repay Wu Buping’s kindness; now, I want to help you for the master’s sake. Do you know how much the master loved you? Back in Jinan Prefecture, every time he returned home, he would hold you affectionately for a long while. I never saw him show such an expression with anyone else.”
This was the first time Liang Xingfu had mentioned Tie Xuan in front of him. Wu Dingyuan tried hard to appear indifferent, turning his head away.
“You were picky back then, loving nothing but the hawthorn cakes from Yimeng. You would cry if you didn’t get them every day. The master had no choice but to ask someone to buy them from Linyi. Actually, as the Provincial Administrative Commissioner of Shandong, he could have had countless people eagerly bringing them as gifts with just a word, but he insisted on buying them with his salary. I couldn’t stand it and secretly made a trip to Linyi myself, bringing back several dozen jin to make into cakes. He gave me a beating, saying I was meddling, and wanted to return them, but when you started crying, the master had no choice but to keep them.”
As he spoke, Liang Xingfu pulled out a paper package from his chest. The package was crushed beyond recognition, and when opened, revealed crumbled hawthorn cakes—who knows where he had bought them.
“Have some, you used to love these as a child.” Liang Xingfu offered the hawthorn cakes with an almost pleading look. “If he knows you’re going up to join him, he’ll be overjoyed—don’t you want to see the master?”
Wu Dingyuan’s hand shot out, knocking the package to the ground. “Whether I want to or not, you’re going to do it anyway, so what difference does it make? Who would want this!”
“I would.” The giant’s mood suddenly turned somber. “I dream of seeing the master.”
Wu Dingyuan sneered, “Then why don’t you go die!”
Liang Xingfu trembled at these words, remained silent for a while, and then suddenly looked up and asked, “Do you have any unfulfilled wishes?”
Wu Dingyuan knew it was pointless to reason with a madman. He simply pointed at the Astronomical Bureau behind the Ziwei Hall: “If you have the ability, carry this dragon coffin to the top of the Astronomical Bureau.”
Liang Xingfu didn’t ask why but walked straight to the mule cart. He embraced the coffin with both arms, lifted it onto his right shoulder, and managed to carry the entire dragon coffin by himself—truly displaying supernatural strength. Liang Xingfu carried the coffin step by step onto Suxin Road.
At this point, there was no meaning in Wu Dingyuan running away, so he followed closely behind. The two men and the coffin wound through the curved corridors of Suxin Road, and suddenly the view opened up, revealing a huge stone platform ahead.
By now, it was nearly dusk. The haze that had shrouded the capital had finally dispersed completely. The setting sun, as if to compensate for its absence, lingered in the sky, casting thick, immovable twilight shadows on the Astronomical Bureau, creating an iridescent, ethereal glow. The tall platform was half pale blue, half reddish-brown, its outline softened, carrying an ineffable sense of sanctity.
Wu Dingyuan followed closely behind Liang Xingfu, climbing the dragon spiral stairs step by step. The giant figure ahead almost dissolved in the light, mysteriously transformed, as if ascending a sacred altar.
Su Jingxi had once analyzed it for him. In a sense, the mental illness he and Liang Xingfu suffered from was almost identical. Wu Dingyuan had sealed off all memories before age six to forget the scene of his mother’s tragic death; Liang Xingfu, to forget the shock of Tie Xuan’s lingchi execution, chose to believe it was the Shituo Secret Method for ascending to the Pure Land.
This illness was practically incurable unless one could find their own way out, establishing connections with the real world. Wu Dingyuan had forgotten everything but retained his fear of Zhu Di’s face—this was his connection to the truth. While Liang Xingfu remembered everything, his obsession led him to deliberately misinterpret it all.
“That’s why Liang Xingfu is so obsessed with performing the Shituo Secret Method. Once this obsession disappears, he’ll have to face the cruel truth,” Su Jingxi concluded.
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t realized that Tie Xuan’s death had such a profound impact on Liang Xingfu—even after so many years, he still couldn’t accept the truth. More absurdly, this old subordinate of Tie Xuan would soon kill Tie Xuan’s son out of unparalleled loyalty.
Liang Xingfu quickly reached the top of the Astronomical Bureau, placing Emperor Hongxi’s coffin among various instruments. He crouched down, his chest heaving constantly, as if the burden of this journey had been extremely heavy. The crimson sunset painted his body, blending with the fresh blood, making it impossible to distinguish between the two.
Wu Dingyuan walked to the edge of the high platform, arms folded. From this height, the eastern city was fully visible. Large groups of Qingzhou Banner troops were swarming towards the Astronomical Bureau, led by Zhu Zhandao. But the distant Dongbian Gate showed no change, and the even more distant Datong Bridge and Tonghui River dock remained peaceful. He pursed his lips and gazed at the distant sunset—without exception, this would be his last time seeing it. June 2nd was about to pass, and it seemed the Crown Prince hadn’t managed to arrive in time after all.
“It’s almost June 3rd. I’ve delayed until now for you, so I haven’t broken my word.”
Wu Dingyuan muttered to himself, then turned to Liang Xingfu: “You don’t have much time left, better hurry.”
Liang Xingfu gripped his shoulder, making him turn around, and said with heavy breathing: “First, recite the Shituo Secret Method’s incantation with me.”
“What? I’m about to die, and you want me to study?”
“When we begin cutting flesh and blood, you must keep chanting for the power to penetrate and guide you to the Pure Land.”
Wu Dingyuan couldn’t be bothered to argue—whatever he said goes. Fortunately, this Shituo Secret Method wasn’t long, just three sections, all in plain language. Perhaps Lin San had made it up on the spot to deceive Liang Xingfu.
After repeating it several times, he memorized it. Liang Xingfu said, “Remember, you must keep chanting until all the flesh and blood are scraped clean.” Just as Wu Dingyuan was about to mock him, he realized no one was behind him anymore. Looking back, Liang Xingfu had left the top platform and charged straight down.
At this moment, Zhu Zhandao had just emerged from Suxin Road, just in time to see Liang Xingfu swooping down like a great eagle, frightening him back into the corridor. There was a huge crash as both legs landed simultaneously, shaking the ground and sending the surrounding banner troops stumbling.
“Sick Buddha’s Enemy?”
Zhu Zhandao called out through gritted teeth. So the White Lotus Sect had completely betrayed them—no wonder there was carnage in front of the Ziwei Hall, clearly Sick Buddha’s Enemy’s handiwork. But on second thought, it was fine. Since Emperor Hongxi’s coffin had been carried up to the high platform, it couldn’t go anywhere else. This matter would finally have an end, just at the cost of more lives.
“No matter how formidable he is, he’s just one person!”
Zhu Zhandao waved his hand, and the Qingzhou Banner troops charged forward with battle cries, hoping to rely on their numerical advantage to completely overwhelm their opponent. Liang Xingfu stood firmly at the dragon spiral stairs of the high platform, immovable as Mount Tai. The space below the Astronomical Bureau was very narrow, leaving neither side room to maneuver—they could only clash head-on. The moment the two sides made contact, an extremely brutal battle erupted.
Wu Dingyuan stood on the high platform, looking down at the battle scene below, quite puzzled. Why didn’t Liang Xingfu take this last chance to flay him, instead of running down after teaching him the incantation? At this point, what was the meaning of defending the stairs?
Soon he discovered that Liang Xingfu’s fighting style had become even more frenzied. Faced with a circle of endless weapons—spears, hook sickles, straight sabers, iron caltrops—he did not attempt to dodge, allowing these weapons to cut into his flesh while seizing the opportunity to crush their wielders with his massive fists. This nearly suicidal fighting style inflicted heavy casualties on the banner troops—either their skulls were crushed or their spines snapped, with people rolling down the stairs every moment. The steps, which had been washed clean by days of heavy rain, were now almost completely covered in brain matter and fresh blood.
Liang Xingfu paid an enormous price for this. His entire body was a bloody mess, every inch of skin torn and split, some cuts so deep that white bone was visible. The fresh blood gurgling from his wounds had already lessened, as he had nearly bled dry.
“Start chanting!” he roared towards the sky, his voice hoarse.
Zhu Zhandao and the banner troops didn’t understand what was happening, but Wu Dingyuan on the platform top finally grasped Liang Xingfu’s intention.
The Shituo Secret Method that Sick Buddha’s Enemy was now performing wasn’t meant for Wu Dingyuan but for himself. His frenzied, death-defying fighting style allowed his flesh to be cut away strip by strip, no different from being flayed alive. By chanting the Shituo Secret Method’s incantation now, he could purge the worldly poison from his soul and achieve great liberation. To ascend to the Pure Land and meet his master—at least that’s what Liang Xingfu believed.
All these years, Liang Xingfu had been focused on “liberating” others, until Wu Dingyuan’s challenge “Why don’t you go die” made him suddenly realize that the person who most wanted to see Master Tie was himself. “If I endure the same pain as the master, I’ll surely reach the place where he ascended, whether it’s the Pure Land or the eighteenth level of hell.”
Though Liang Xingfu hadn’t spoken these words aloud, Wu Dingyuan could hear the giant’s inner cry. Without realizing it, tears streamed down his face, though he wasn’t sure if they were for Sick Buddha’s Enemy or his father Tie Xuan. A stream of incantations flowed from Wu Dingyuan’s mouth, repeatedly chanting, flying down from the high platform onto the hellish blood-soaked steps. These fabricated false incantations seemed to have gained true divine power. Liang Xingfu was imbued with new strength, spreading his arms to once again blast three banner soldiers and their wooden shields down the stairs, then crushing the facial bones of a soldier who tried to grab his legs with one stomp, his fierce aura blazing hot and suffocating.
Zhu Zhandao, watching the battle from the corridor entrance, wore an expression of uncertainty. He had expected to pay a price, but not this high. The narrow terrain neutralized their numerical advantage, forcing them to attack in sequence, and they faced such a fierce guardian. Until he died, no one would be able to charge up.
As Zhu Zhandao pondered other options, hurried footsteps approached from behind. The Prince of Han had finally arrived, with Crown Prince Zhu Zhantan close behind, though looking pale as if greatly shocked. They had been delayed by that dam for a long time, not daring to force their way through, and had to take a detour—a great loss of face.
“Is it resolved?” the Prince of Han demanded immediately.
Zhu Zhandao replied, “The dragon coffin and Wu Dingyuan are on the platform. Once we deal with Liang Xingfu guarding the stairs, it will be settled.”
The Prince of Han wanted to question why a mere guard had delayed them so long, but upon hearing the name Sick Buddha’s Enemy, he swallowed his words.
“Could we use bows and arrows?” Zhu Zhantan suggested carefully.
Zhu Zhandao sneered, “Second Brother, you’ve walked through Suxin Road—with its winding corridors, there’s no line of sight. Unless you want to try shooting an arrow yourself?”
Zhu Zhantan choked, not daring to respond. The Prince of Han looked up, his eyes meeting Wu Dingyuan’s at the platform’s edge, and couldn’t help sighing: “This little constable from Nanjing—who is he? With all our calculations, how did we miss him?”
Though they were enemies, this man’s courage to storm the Wu Gate and steal the emperor’s coffin in broad daylight stirred the Prince of Han’s admiration for talent. Zhu Zhandao said, “The Buddhist Mother has two protectors. The scholarly one is Ye He, and the martial one is Liang Xingfu. Now both are risking their lives to help him—clearly, he’s no ordinary person.”
Hearing this, the Prince of Han abandoned any thought of recruitment. Zhu Zhandao reassured him: “Father, don’t worry. Though Liang Xingfu is fierce, he’s at his limit. It will be decided within two-quarters of an hour.”
“There won’t be any more variables?” the Prince of Han asked again. He now had psychological trauma from Wu Dingyuan’s actions. At Wu Gate, victory had seemed certain, yet they were delayed for half a day, nearly losing their sure thing.
“Look, the dragon coffin is on the high platform, it can’t go anywhere, and only Wu Dingyuan remains of our enemies.”
“What about the Crown Prince?”
Zhu Zhandao smiled: “Reporting to Father. Before arriving, I contacted local troops in Qingzhou, Cangzhou, and Tianjin. They’ve combed the Grand Canal between Tianjin and the capital three times like a fine-toothed comb, finding no trace. Fearing the Crown Prince might leave the canal and take a detour into the city, I also stationed men at the eastern gates—Dongbian, Chaoyang, and Dongzhi—as well as Chongwen Gate in the south and Anding Gate in the north. There’s been no activity.”
“Then where is he?”
“I don’t know, but it no longer matters,” Zhu Zhandao answered. “If the Crown Prince hasn’t entered the capital by now, he won’t make it in time. The last variable can be eliminated.”
“You mean…” The Prince of Han understood but needed someone to say it aloud.
“Within two-quarters of an hour, Father, you will receive the dragon coffin from the Astronomical Bureau and send it out through Zhengyang Gate. Tomorrow, June 3rd, coincides with the auspicious Tiande day, favorable for all matters—perfect for ascending the throne.”
As if punctuating Zhu Zhandao’s words, a tremendous roar suddenly erupted from below the Astronomical Bureau. Though fierce beyond measure, everyone present could tell it was the final outburst of a cornered beast. Two blood-covered soldiers staggered back, immediately replaced by two fresh troops. They sprang nimbly up the steps, thrusting their spears at Liang Xingfu from a distance. Both spearheads pierced his lower abdomen and side, pinning him to the platform’s edge. But Liang Xingfu struggled madly, forcibly tearing the spear wounds wider and looser, then pushed himself forward along the spear shafts.
In the instant, before the two soldiers realized they should retreat, Liang Xingfu’s arms encircled them in a crushing embrace. There was no technique left, just the most primitive flesh-against-flesh combat. As bones throughout his body made creaking sounds, the two men’s faces quickly turned blue. Other comrades rushed up, frantically hacking and stabbing with swords and axes, cutting off his ears, piercing his fingers, slicing away the muscle from the back of his neck… but Liang Xingfu remained like cast iron, maintaining his embrace.
By the time Zhu Zhandao sensed something wrong and ordered them to stop, the soldiers discovered this fierce deity had been dead for some time. His body was pinned to the stone steps by spears, his skin seemingly dismembered like lingchi execution, transformed into a carelessly piled mass of blackish-red rotting flesh. Blood vessels, organs, and bones were exposed in scattered pieces. As for those two unfortunate soldiers, their spines had been crushed, and they had died, their waste flowing down the steps.
A long chanting sound drifted down from the platform top, enveloping this magnificent and horrifying scene, each word falling into the gaps between the rotting flesh. Wu Dingyuan had never chanted an incantation so devoutly. At this moment, he suddenly understood the Buddhist Mother’s words: “They live in such pain, they need something to hold onto, even if it’s false.”
Liang Xingfu’s face was completely mangled, making it impossible to know whether he found liberation or awakening in his final moment.
“Now it’s my turn, isn’t it?”
Wu Dingyuan leaned against the coffin, arms folded, gazing at the sky. Brilliant stars were appearing one by one in the night sky, as if some vast force stirred among them, speaking of something mysterious. He didn’t understand astrology but found that focusing on the view brought extraordinary peace to his mind.
“Liang Xingfu has gone to his imagined place—where will I go after death? Among the stars?” Wu Dingyuan suddenly felt a twinge of regret; if Su Jingxi were here, she could surely answer this question. She knew everything.
He heard the clang of armor and chaotic footsteps but couldn’t be bothered to look back. Several torches were raised high as cautious soldiers stepped onto the platform top, followed by the Prince of Han, Zhu Zhandao, and Zhu Zhantan.
Zhu Zhandao immediately spotted Zhu Yuanzhang’s ancestral tablet on the coffin, noting that Zhu Di’s tablet wasn’t there but wasn’t tied to Wu Dingyuan either. He quickly went to retrieve the tablet while soldiers rushed forward to pin Wu Dingyuan to the stone floor. Zhu Zhantan paced around the platform, unable to hide his excitement.
The Prince of Han ignored all this, his attention entirely focused on the dragon coffin.
It rested quietly in the center of the Astronomical Bureau, its colors slightly different top and bottom due to water stains. The Prince of Han reached out, running his hand along the slightly warped edge of the coffin, wanting to push open the lid to look inside, but after a moment’s hesitation, he gave up. So close to success, he was suddenly overcome with an inexplicable melancholy, reciting word by word: “The flowers of the Changdi, how glorious their bloom. Of all people today, none like brothers true… This is what you taught me to read, brother, saying it described brotherly unity. The Book of Songs was too difficult; I could only memorize these four lines, but what use were they? If you must blame someone, blame our father.”
After speaking, he took a deep breath, dispersing this hint of melancholy, his eyes regaining their gleam. The Prince of Han walked to the back of the coffin where the mourning rope still hung. He bent down to pick up the rope’s end, looking down at the platform below with satisfaction. Lü Zhen had arrived; as the Minister of Rites, his witness of the Prince of Han taking up the mourning rope and leading the funeral procession would give the whole process legitimacy.
However, for some reason, Lü Zhen hadn’t climbed the platform, as if waiting for something. Perhaps he felt one person wasn’t enough and wanted to gather more high officials. The Prince of Han thought, unable to suppress a cold snort. Among these nobles and grand secretaries, except for Lü Zhen, not one had sided with him. Now that heaven and earth were changing, he would see if they could read the times.
A moment later, another person rushed to the platform below. As soon as he stopped, he called up: “Prince of Han, quickly descend the platform, do not transgress and bring about your own downfall!”
Yang Shiqi? The Prince of Han’s eyebrows lifted. Earlier this fellow had worked in concert with Empress Zhang, causing him much trouble—how could he still be so stubborn now? Did he truly wish to follow Fang Xiaoru’s path? But strangely, Lü Zhen didn’t hurry to refute him, remaining silent instead.
After Yang Shiqi, other high officials gradually arrived at the scene. Outside the Ziwei Hall, many soldiers in bright armor had gathered. The Prince of Han barely made out the uniforms of the Imperial Guard and the Three Great Camps—had they hurried here to pledge loyalty to the new emperor? The Prince of Han and Zhu Zhandao exchanged glances, both sensing something strange.
Then a thunderous voice burst into the night sky like fireworks: “Treasonous rebels! If you don’t come down and surrender now, then when?”
The voice was full of vigor, like a great bell, making everyone’s ears ring. The Prince of Han didn’t remember hearing this voice before, and neither did Zhu Zhandao. Father and son looked down together to see a young man with a straight nose and upswept brows standing with his chest thrust out, looking up and shouting.
“Who are you to make such noise here!” Zhu Zhandao couldn’t help but rebuke.
“Yu Qian, Right Editorial Director of the Eastern Palace!”
The name itself didn’t cause much reaction, but the words “Eastern Palace” stirred up tremendous waves in the hearts of the Prince of Han and his son. Hadn’t all the Crown Prince’s staff been blown to pieces in Jinling? Where had this Right Editorial Director come from?
The Prince of Han suddenly thought of a possibility, his pupils contracting sharply. Zhu Zhandao’s body also swayed, nearly falling off the platform: “Impossible, impossible…”
They didn’t have to wait long before three people emerged from Suxin Road. First came a scholar in white robes, wearing a tall hat with a long beard, his features somewhat resembling Empress Zhang’s. Then a woman in civilian clothes supported a young man as he walked slowly out.
The young man had a square face and broad forehead, his complexion dark, bearing a strong resemblance to Emperor Yongle’s portrait in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Though his steps were unsteady and his complexion poor, with what appeared to be a bandage on his right shoulder, his eyes blazed with sharp light, like the legendary Leaning Heaven Sword, piercing straight toward the Astronomical Bureau.
Uncle and nephew’s eyes met, both speechless, neither knowing what to say. In the silence, thousands of words seemed to clash violently, yet perhaps nothing needed to be said. For a moment, even the night wind around the Astronomical Bureau seemed to freeze.
The first to break the silence was Zhu Zhandao. He grabbed the platform edge, losing composure as he shouted down: “Impossible! I set up interceptors on the Tonghui River, I stationed men at all the gates—how could you get in?!”
Zhang Quan lifted his head, laughing loudly: “Young Master Suanni, you’re not familiar with North Zhili’s waterways. You don’t know that when the Grand Canal reaches Wuqing, there’s a stream called the Wuding. This stream is usually too silted to use for transport, but during the May rainy season, light boats can pass. Following this stream west, one can trace the Ciwei River directly to Liangxiang.”
“Liangxiang?”
Liangxiang was located in Fangshan, southwest of the capital. Zhu Zhandao quickly sketched a map in his mind. This had been a brilliant feint. After fleeing Nanjing, the Crown Prince had always traveled along the canal routes, making everyone subconsciously assume he would enter the capital from the southeast, following the Wei Canal, Bai Canal, and Tonghui River. Who would have thought Zhang Quan would make a feint, circling to enter the capital from Liangxiang in the southwest, completely evading the layers of encirclement he had set up? No wonder the Qingzhou Banner troops couldn’t find anyone along the canal despite multiple searches.
“My men were following the Hailuo boat! It never changed course!”
“The boat didn’t change, but that doesn’t mean the people didn’t. Haven’t you heard the story of Zu Mao exchanging helmets to save Sun Jian?” Zhang Quan said playfully, his expression relaxed.
Yang Shiqi glanced at Lü Zhen, then stepped forward: “Fortunately, Master Zhang’s calculations were brilliant. While you were all chasing east, I had already received word and left through the Western Gate to receive the Crown Prince at Liangxiang.”
Zhu Zhandao felt a tightness in his chest. He thought he had gained the advantage, but Zhang Quan had outmaneuvered him completely. He had believed everything was foolproof, never realizing he had been misled from the start. Especially Wu Dingyuan’s desperate rush toward the Eastern Gate with the coffin, which reinforced this misdirection, making him never consider guarding the western gates of the capital.
He glared hatefully at Wu Dingyuan, who was pinned to the ground, but suddenly noticed his look of surprise. Had they not planned this? Did Wu Dingyuan also believe the Crown Prince would enter from the southeast? So you were just another pitiful sacrificial pawn! Zhu Zhandao gave him a somewhat sympathetic look, then glanced down at the platform, only to notice the Crown Prince’s strange expression. Earlier, Zhu Zhanji had been glaring at his royal father with hatred, but after Zhang Quan’s explanation, he had averted his gaze, appearing quite guilty. Something’s not right… Zhu Zhandao thought.
At this moment, Yu Qian, standing before the group of high officials, began shouting again: “Prince of Han, if you don’t surrender now, do you dare to defy imperial authority? Do you still plan to resist? Defying your father’s orders, plotting to kill your brother and nephew, intimidating your widowed sister-in-law, scheming to steal the family inheritance—even a common family’s unfilial son would be executed for any of these crimes, let alone a prince! Coveting the throne is unforgivable, violating human relationships shows no mercy! The late emperor was merciful in not punishing you severely, yet you persist in evil! Heaven, Earth, Sovereign, Parent, Teacher—which of these can you face?”
His vocal advantage and scholarship were displayed to full effect at this moment. Righteous and severe, his words flowed endlessly like countless spears and halberds sweeping toward the Astronomical Bureau. Amid Yu Qian’s denouncement, the Imperial Guard and capital garrison troops gathered around, surrounding the high platform.
Their previous tacit agreement with the Prince of Han had been to stay out of palace struggles, as the outcome of his competition with the two princes for the throne was uncertain. But everything changed when the Crown Prince appeared. Zhu Zhanji’s status as heir was indisputable, and whether for public justice or private interest, these men had to stand unequivocally on his side.
With the Crown Prince’s appearance, the Prince of Han lost all possibility of turning the situation around, both in terms of military force and legitimate authority. Lü Zhen had already retreated to the back of the crowd; the only force remaining in the Prince of Han’s hands were the few dozen Qingzhou Banner troops guarding the steps. The Prince of Han had lost—he had woven an immense plot between the two capitals, once coming infinitely close to the dragon throne, but ultimately lost completely.
Just when everyone expected this prince to go mad, the Prince of Han raised his hand and playfully dropped a stone, forcing Yu Qian to dodge aside, interrupting his torrent of condemnation.
“Nephew Zhanji, what day is it today?” the Prince of Han asked from above, his tone unusually calm.
“The second day of the sixth month.” Zhu Zhanji answered, having been particularly sensitive to calendar dates during this period.
“The second of the sixth month… What a coincidence.” The Prince of Han smiled. “Exactly twenty-three years ago, on the second day of the sixth month in the thirty-fifth year of Hongwu, do you know what happened?”
The thirty-fifth year of Hongwu was the fourth year of Jianwen, but after the Yongle Emperor ascended the throne, he erased this awkward period, extending the Hongwu reign period by four years. Everyone present knew this story, but they didn’t understand why the Prince of Han suddenly brought it up—had he gone mad?
Zhu Zhanji stared at him intently, gesturing to Yu Qian not to interrupt.
“On the first day of the sixth month that year, His Late Majesty led the army to Puzikou. Our military situation was excellent; once we crossed the river, Jinling would have been ours. But Sheng Yong and Xu Huizu were still resisting. They set up an ambush at Puzikou, actually trapping His Majesty’s central army. That battle lasted a full day and night, His Majesty couldn’t break free and almost agreed to negotiate a return north. If that had happened, all our efforts would have been wasted. On the second day of the sixth month, I arrived with Ren Rong, leading a thousand border cavalry, firmly holding back the southern army’s assault.”
The Prince of Han became animated as he recounted these events.
“When His Majesty learned of my arrival, he was overjoyed. He said I was already exhausted, but my son could continue fighting. Just as I was about to lead the troops in battle, His Majesty took up his command baton, tapped my back, and said something else: ‘Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill!'” At this point, the Prince of Han’s voice suddenly rose, shouting hoarsely as if venting: “Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill! Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill!”
This royal secret was unknown to anyone before. The various officials and generals looked at each other in disbelief, and even Zhu Zhanji’s expression changed.
“You must work hard, your elder brother isn’t in good health.”
Everyone present, being seasoned courtiers, understood the profound implications of the Yongle Emperor’s words.
“I was extremely encouraged then, fighting with endless strength, breaking through the southern army’s defense in one push, opening up the situation. The final success of the Jingnan Campaign was all due to my merit! That was Father’s reward to me, what I deserved.” The Prince of Han became excited. “What a dangerous yet tempting encouragement that was. Without those words, I would have been content being a prince, living out my days in comfort. But father had to say that, unleashing the tiger from my heart’s chains!”
The Prince of Han turned back, tapping the coffin with his finger: “Since then, every time I saw my brother, those words swirled in my mind, impossible to drive away, impossible to forget. From ‘the Crown Prince is often ill,’ I waited for until ‘the heir apparent is often ill,’ from there until ‘the emperor is often ill.’ I knew that with you, Zhanji, even if the emperor died of illness, I had no hope, but father’s words wouldn’t easily disappear. For twenty-three years, they’ve circled in my mind every night. Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill! Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill! Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill! Take heart, the Crown Prince is often ill! Like a demon’s possession, keeping me awake at night.
“You ministers have all impeached me, saying I’m tyrannical and violent, saying I’m overbearing. But has any of you delved deeply into who made me this way?” The Prince of Han almost roared as he pounded the coffin lid. “This is all your grandfather’s fault! If he had no intention of changing the succession, why did he give me hope? Having given hope, why did he then cut it off? He released the tiger in my heart, letting it roar, but wouldn’t feed it. If I didn’t do something, I would have eventually been driven mad by these words. What could I do? When a fierce tiger isn’t fed, it must descend the mountain and choose its prey!”
Though knowing the outcome was decided, Zhu Zhanji couldn’t help taking a step back. In that instant, the Prince of Han’s eyes glowed green, truly like a man-eating hungry tiger.
“Twenty-three years ago on the second day of the sixth month, my life changed completely. Today is also the second of the sixth month, and this torment should finally end.”
Yu Qian couldn’t help shouting: “You think saying this will earn you clemency?”
The Prince of Han gave him a bland look: “I’m just teaching my nephew what kind of person I am, why I did these things.”
Zhu Zhanji looked at his uncle, overwhelmed with emotions. Since confirming the Prince of Han was the mastermind, he had harbored tremendous hatred, imagining countless times how to kill this traitor. Now with revenge at hand, he didn’t feel the anticipated satisfaction, but instead was enveloped by extremely complex emotions.
After speaking, the Prince of Han seemed to have put down a heavy burden. He turned sideways, glancing at the trembling Zhu Zhantan, then walked to Zhu Zhandao’s side, affectionately patting his back: “Zhandao, I understand your feelings perfectly, because I’ve lived with them for these twenty-some years. I always held you back before, fearing one wrong word would make you suffer like me. It seems I was wrong—I should have let you compete earlier, perhaps today’s situation wouldn’t be like this.”
Zhu Zhandao’s shoulders trembled, seemingly unable to bear this sudden display of paternal love.
“Though it’s too late, I still must say, you were always my choice for the most suitable heir. Please forgive your father for not telling you earlier out of selfish reasons.”
A deep sob escaped from the trembling Zhu Zhandao as he grabbed the Prince of Han’s legs, wailing loudly. The Prince of Han stroked his head kindly, saying, “There, there, don’t cry. Father and son dying together is a kind of reunion.”
“No! We still have a chance!”
Zhu Zhandao suddenly raised his head, wiped his tears, and in one motion pulled out the Prince of Han’s dagger from his waist. Taking advantage of the Prince of Han’s momentary shock, he rushed to Wu Dingyuan’s side, dragging him by the hair to the platform’s edge, pressing the dagger against his throat: “Crown Prince, if you don’t let my father and me leave, he’ll die before your eyes today!”
Zhu Zhandao’s action sparked an uproar below. The Prince of Han frowned: “Why bother… he’s just a constable, who can he threaten?” Zhu Zhandao gripped the dagger tightly, biting his lip: “How will we know if we don’t try!”
The crowd below was initially startled, then relaxed. Of all possible hostages, he chose such an insignificant figure. Compared to a prince guilty of attempting to usurp the throne, the choice between the two was obvious. It seemed the Prince of Han’s party truly had reached its end.
But the ministers and military commanders slowly realized something was wrong. The Crown Prince remained silent, and even the impassioned Yu Qian suddenly fell quiet, standing there unable to speak a word.
Lü Zhen, quickest to read the situation, stepped forward to advise: “Your Highness, please order the attack quickly! I am willing to brave arrows and stones to ease your burden!” The Crown Prince gave him a cold look and spat from his throat: “Get lost!” Lü Zhen reacted as if he’d hit a stone pillar, his face rapidly cycling through shades of red, iron-blue, and deathly pale.
After dismissing Lü Zhen, Zhu Zhanji turned his head slightly, looking at Su Jingxi beside him. He said softly, “Doctor Su, you’ve removed your hairpin?”
Su Jingxi made an affirming sound, still supporting his arm.
“If I disregard his life and order the attack ruthlessly, were you planning to press that hairpin to my neck to force the court to withdraw?”
“Yes.”
Zhu Zhanji grew somewhat angry. He simply lifted his chin, exposing his neck: “Then hurry up, I might change my mind at any moment.”
Before Su Jingxi could move with her hairpin, Yu Qian ran before the Crown Prince. Without a word, he lifted his robes and knelt: “Your Highness, I beg punishment.”
“What’s wrong with you now?”
“I saw the small picture but forgot the greater situation, considered private friendship but forgot public duty. I should have rushed to save the state and sacrificed myself to fight traitors, yet I had improper thoughts…”
“Stop the nonsense!”
Yu Qian’s face reddened as he spoke with extreme difficulty: “I beg Your Highness to spare Wu Dingyuan’s life. If it hinders state affairs, I will bear all responsibility!” He pulled out the small incense burner from his chest and gently placed it on the ground.
Zhu Zhanji looked at Yu Qian, then at Su Jingxi, laughing in frustration: “You two bastards, what do you take me for? I am the Crown Prince of the Great Ming, about to become emperor. If I let usurpers escape now, what will the world think?”
Yu Qian’s face filled with shame, knowing it was hopeless. As Su Jingxi was about to move, Zhu Zhanji bent down to pick up the broken incense burner, sighing softly: “You see me as the Crown Prince, so naturally I can’t sacrifice state affairs for a mere constable. But that fellow never truly saw me as Crown Prince—I could hear it; every time he called me ‘Your Highness,’ it was reluctant.”
“Your Highness…”
“He only treated me as a friend, so I can only respond as a friend.”
Zhu Zhanji shook off Su Jingxi and stumbled forward. Throughout this journey, his shoulder wound had flared repeatedly, and the final rushed entry into the city had left him barely standing, feeling he might collapse at any moment. Yet now he emanated a resolute authority that kept others at bay.
Zhu Zhanji walked straight to the base of the tower and looked up: “Uncle, Zhandao, release Wu Dingyuan. I promise to let you leave the city today. Our Zhu family’s accounts… we’ll settle them later.” He spoke plainly, but the surrounding silence made his words echo long around the Astronomical Bureau.
These words caused an uproar. Yang Shiqi and Zhang Quan were greatly alarmed. After all this effort, when they were about to eliminate the traitors, how could they let the tiger return to the mountain? But the Crown Prince remained unmoved, standing straight, waiting for a response. Even the Prince of Han couldn’t believe the Crown Prince would let him go for such an insignificant person. He cast a questioning look at Zhu Zhandao, who slightly loosened the dagger: “As I said, this man is no ordinary person.”
Zhu Zhandao tried to read his captive, but Wu Dingyuan remained expressionless, showing no joy even upon hearing the Crown Prince would abandon the pursuit of the Prince of Han for his sake. But Zhu Zhandao vaguely saw his lips move, seeming to form three words: “Big radish…”
“Big radish?”
Zhu Zhandao, not being from Nanjing, didn’t understand the meaning, but it didn’t sound complimentary. From his experience, such mockery was something only brothers would use when playing together as children. By then, the Prince of Han had called out: “Do you dare swear by the spirit tablet of Emperor Hongwu and your father’s coffin?”
Without hesitation, Zhu Zhanji placed the small incense burner before him, one hand on his chest, the other raised high: “I, Zhu Zhanji, swear to Heaven, to the ancestors, and the late emperor, that today I will let the Prince of Han and his people leave, returning to Le’an Prefecture as a vassal. If I break this oath, may Heaven strike me down.”
This wasn’t amnesty, just allowing him to return to his fief to await punishment. The Prince of Han didn’t expect forgiveness for such crimes; returning safely was enough.
After Zhu Zhanji’s oath, the Prince of Han finally relaxed. He looked around at the surviving Qingzhou Banner troops and said: “You’ve worked hard; quickly disperse now. Surrender if you wish, remove your armor if you prefer, and don’t waste your lives.” These soldiers threw down their weapons and knelt as one: “Our lives were given to General Jin long ago. We are willing to follow Your Highness back to Shandong, steadfast until death.”
The Prince of Han was moved: “Good, good, I will find a way to send General Jin to Le’an Prefecture too. We faced life and death together on the battlefield; dying together now wouldn’t waste our brotherhood.”
He spoke without reservation. Yang Shiqi and Zhang Quan, listening from afar, exchanged helpless glances. A complete victory had been disrupted because of such a minor figure. Now not only the Prince of Han but also the most loyal troops would go to Le’an Prefecture. When they eventually moved to suppress them, it would require much more effort.
But the Crown Prince had sworn an oath, and a prince’s word cannot be taken back. The two could only order the Imperial Guard and capital garrison to disperse, clearing a path out of the capital. One way or another, this strange struggle for the throne could finally conclude. The Qingzhou Banner troops gradually descended the steps, while the Prince of Han placed Emperor Hongwu’s spirit tablet atop his brother’s coffin, knelt to pay solemn respects, then prepared to go down.
Seeing the Imperial Guard made no move to attack, Zhu Zhandao relaxed slightly, lowering the dagger, and said to Wu Dingyuan: “May I ask you one final question?”
Wu Dingyuan opened his eyes, neither agreeing nor refusing.
“Who are you?”
Wu Dingyuan said flatly: “I am Tie Xuan’s son.”
Hearing this answer, Zhu Zhandao’s small eyes suddenly widened. All his previous questions rapidly connected in his mind, almost forming a complete picture.
“So it was you…”
Before he could finish, a dark figure suddenly rushed over, pushing Zhu Zhandao hard from behind. Completely unprepared, he fell straight from the platform’s edge. In desperation, he tried to grab Wu Dingyuan but pulled him off balance too, and both men fell from the high platform.
Below, Zhu Zhanji, Su Jingxi, and Yu Qian cried out simultaneously, all rushing forward. The Astronomical Bureau was over seventy feet high—even Liang Xingfu would surely die falling from such a height.
But the fall was so swift that before they could take a step, two dull thuds rang out. Zhu Zhanji, being closest, felt his throat go dry and his heart race, his legs suddenly too weak to walk. If Yu Qian hadn’t supported him from behind, he might have collapsed on the spot.
Su Jingxi didn’t even look at the Crown Prince, rushing to where the two had fallen. She found the Suanni Prince lying face down, his skull split in two, eyes pointing in opposite directions, blood everywhere—a horrifying sight. Wu Dingyuan, falling slightly later, had half his body lying across Zhu Zhandao’s, eyes tightly closed, his fate unknown. Su Jingxi gently took his right wrist to check his pulse, but her hands shook too badly to get a reading. Without hesitation, she stabbed her thigh with her hairpin, blood spurting. The sharp pain temporarily cleared her panic, allowing her to focus entirely on saving him.
Above on the platform, wild screaming erupted—the voice of the heir Zhu Zhantan.
“I am the heir! Did you hear that? I am!”
Then came a loud slap and the Prince of Han’s roar: “Wretch!” But Zhu Zhantan, as if possessed, danced about wildly, his father’s slap unable to subdue his frenzy: “Didn’t you want to give my title to him? Give it now! Give it! See how a dead man can compete with me! Haha!”
The Prince of Han trembled with rage, raising his hand to strike, but Zhu Zhantan stood laughing on Emperor Hongxi’s coffin: “Go ahead and beat your unfilial son who killed his brother to death!” Hearing this, the Prince of Han’s fierce expression froze, and he lowered his hand dejectedly.
“So be it, so be it.”
Without looking at Zhu Zhantan, he turned and stumbled down the Astronomical Bureau. In that instant, his figure seemed drained of all spirit, like a late autumn leaf.
“The flowers of the Changdi, how glorious their bloom, of all people today, none like brothers true.”
The weary recitation rose in the night sky, unclear whether in reflection or irony. The Prince of Han descended step by step, his voice wreathing around the Astronomical Bureau.
“In death and mourning’s might, brothers’ thoughts take flight. In valley depths they roam, brothers seek their home.
“On plains the thoroughwort grows, brothers face their woes. Good friends we may obtain, yet still we sigh in pain.”
Crows had somehow filled the large locust trees beside the platform, cawing loudly. The complete “Changdi” that Emperor Hongxi had taught him—the Prince of Han had remembered it all along. As for whom he was reciting it to now, no one knew.
“Brothers quarrel within walls, while duties outward call. Good friends we may obtain, no conflict do we gain. Brothers quarrel at the wall… brothers quarrel at the wall…”
As the Prince of Han departed, the recitation gradually faded. The seventy-foot green stone platform still stood indifferently in the night, silent and alone.
Neither the broken corpse at its base, the massive body pinned to its walls, nor the decaying body in the coffin at its top; neither the soul-lost old man, the unconscious youth, nor the wildly dancing madman could cause it to change in the slightest. Its mission was to observe the movement of stars and predict mortal fortune and misfortune, and so it remained unmoved by either.