Wu Dingyuan had a dream.
It wasn’t exactly a pleasant dream, nor was it a nightmare.
He dreamed of returning to the Hour of Wu on May 18th, back to the banks of the Qinhuai River, in front of the Fan Gu Platform. Once again, he witnessed the explosion of the Crown Prince’s dragon boat, except this time there wasn’t a single survivor visible on the water’s surface. Nanjing descended into chaos, but none of it concerned a lowly constable like him. When he returned home, Iron Lion hadn’t come back yet but had sent word that he was busy working on a case. At least his sister was there, warming up a pot of wine for him, and Wu Dingyuan contentedly collapsed onto his bed.
The chaos outside quickly subsided. When Wu Buping returned home, he said the White Lotus Sect had caused the trouble but had been completely suppressed, though unfortunately, everyone in the Eastern Palace had perished. Sometime later, news arrived from the capital that the Emperor had passed away, and because his other sons were too young, his dying edict appointed his younger brother, the Han Prince, as regent. Within days, the Han Prince had become Emperor.
None of these changes had anything to do with Wu Dingyuan. He remained as decadent, lazy, and peaceful as ever, though every time he passed through Zhengyang Gate, or went by Houhu, Dongshuiguan, or Dashamao Lane, a strange emotion would well up inside him as if he had forgotten something important. At such times, voices would echo in his ears, sometimes a resonant male voice, sometimes a gentle female voice. They were unfamiliar yet somehow familiar, and these voices always asked the same question: “Is this the life you want?”
Wu Dingyuan couldn’t be bothered to answer, and these voices would quickly fade away. But once, when Wu Buping returned home, Wu Dingyuan saw a massive black shadow looming behind his father. The shadow’s outline was indistinct, yet it emanated an overwhelming pressure.
A coarse male voice emerged from the depths of the shadow, speaking not in human language but in what seemed to be some kind of incantation. Upon hearing this chant, Wu Dingyuan’s head began to throb violently, and the world around him started to sway and ripple, quickly dissolving and reforming into a pitch-black prison cell. In the gloomy firelight, a person with a grotesque expression slowly walked into the cell…
“Ah!”
Wu Dingyuan suddenly awoke, breathing heavily.
As his mind cleared, he looked around and found himself lying on a raised platform bed. The bed was layered with three brocade mattresses, with purple gauze curtains hanging from small silver hooks outside, blocking the dazzling light from beyond. He pushed aside the curtains and walked out, discovering he was in a spacious, quiet chamber.
The room was decorated with elegant simplicity while maintaining an air of grandeur. By the window stood a small rosewood table with a vase containing a peony branch, its petals still bearing dewdrops, clearly freshly replaced this morning. A stick of sandalwood incense burned on the desk, its wisps of blue smoke drifting toward a Qiyang stone screen decorated with butterfly carvings nearby, where they gathered and lingered.
Wu Dingyuan rubbed his head, trying hard to remember what had happened before. His last memory was falling from the Bureau of Astronomy, and then nothing. His body felt fine now, except for his right hand which was still wrapped in thick cotton bandages. He tried to control his fingers, but they were completely unresponsive. This was where the Xuan Ni Prince had shot him with the fire lance – it was probably permanently ruined.
Someone lifted the curtain and entered. Wu Dingyuan recognized him – it was Hai Shou, whom he had stripped naked in front of the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Seeing him awake, Hai Shou was overjoyed and said, “His Majesty ordered me to wait here. You’re finally awake!” When Wu Dingyuan asked where he was, Hai Shou replied that they were in the mansion of Yang Shiqi, the Junior Tutor.
Hai Shou called for several serving maids to help Wu Dingyuan wash up and change clothes. Having never experienced such treatment, he could only stand stiffly as they attended to him. After the lengthy process was finally complete, a physician in black robes came to examine him. Finding nothing seriously wrong, the doctor departed. Before Wu Dingyuan could catch his breath, a series of footsteps sounded from the outer corridor, and a man in blue robes eagerly pushed open the door.
“Little Almond?”
Yu Qian’s expression changed slightly, but seeing Wu Dingyuan still looking unwell, he ultimately held back: “How are you feeling now?”
Wu Dingyuan touched the back of his neck: “Well, at least I’m alive… What happened last night?”
“Last night? You’ve been unconscious for four days! It’s now the sixth day of the sixth month, just in time for the Dragon Boat Festival rice dumplings,” Yu Qian said sympathetically, patting his shoulder.
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t expected to be unconscious for so long. Looking at the bright sunlight outside the window, he found the dream rapidly fading, that other possible future forgotten in an instant.
“Why are you the only one here? Where’s Jingxi?”
“Doctor Su hasn’t rested these past few days, watching over your bedside day and night. She’s just gone out to purchase some medicinal ingredients. Why so anxious?” Even someone as slow as Yu Qian could detect something different in his tone.
Hai Shou, who had been listening nearby, quickly bowed and led everyone else out of the room. Left alone with Wu Dingyuan, Yu Qian didn’t wait to be asked before launching into an account of subsequent events.
The palace uprising of June 2nd couldn’t be made public, so they still had to put on a show for the world. The Crown Prince made another trip outside the city on June 3rd, waiting at Liangxiang for the officials to bring Emperor Hongxi’s “final edict.”
That period of conflict was deliberately erased, and in the official records of the Hanlin Academy’s History Office, it was recorded thus: “On the day of Gengchen in the fifth month, His Majesty fell ill and summoned the Crown Prince back with an imperial letter. On the day of Xinsi in the fifth month, his condition worsened severely, and he left a final edict passing the throne to the Crown Prince. That same day, he passed away in Qin’an Palace. On the day of Xinchou in the sixth month, the Crown Prince returned to Liangxiang, received the final edict, entered the palace to begin mourning, and accompanied the dragon hearse out through Zhengyang Gate.”
“It sounds rather foolish, but the procedures must be followed,” Yu Qian explained.
“So Big Radish… just became Emperor like that?” Wu Dingyuan smacked his lips, finding it somewhat incredible.
Yu Qian’s face turned stern: “Shut your mouth! Show some respect! Well, he hasn’t officially ascended the throne yet, but it will be soon. The Ministry of Rites has set the date for the twelfth day of the sixth month, the day of Gengxu.” At this point, he couldn’t help but feel emotional. Thinking back to their desperate situation on May 18th, it seemed like another lifetime. Who would have thought that such a hopeless situation could be turned around bit by bit?
“By the way, good news has also arrived from Nanjing. Both the Earl of Xiangcheng and Eunuch Zheng have regained consciousness and dealt severely with a batch of people, stabilizing the situation.”
“What about the Han Prince?”
At this mention, Yu Qian grew even more excited: “You probably don’t know yet. The person who pushed down Zhu Zhanyu and you was the Han Prince’s heir, Zhu Zhantan. Tsk tsk, the Han Prince’s plot between the two capitals, beginning with brother turning against brother and ending with brother turning against brother – how ironic.” Though Wu Dingyuan didn’t understand the meaning of “brother turning against brother,” seeing Yu Qian’s rare display of sarcasm, he guessed it wasn’t a positive expression.
Yu Qian continued: “A ruler’s word cannot be taken back lightly. Since His Majesty made a promise, he allowed the Han Prince, Zhu Zhantan, and that group of Qingzhou banner troops to leave the capital as agreed. However, several units of the capital garrison closely followed that force, essentially escorting them. The Han Prince and his group can only go to Le’an Prefecture, nowhere else, and must travel day and night, not stopping for even a moment in any prefecture or county they pass through. Let them experience our hardships for a change.”
“Big Ra… His Majesty just let him off like that?” Wu Dingyuan found it somewhat unbelievable.
“It’s all because of you!” Yu Qian suddenly rubbed his hands, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “About the Crown Prince taking a detour into the city – although it was Master Zhang’s strategy, His Majesty still feels guilty about it. These past few days he’s been constantly telling me, wondering how to explain it to you.”
Wu Dingyuan merely grunted, saying nothing. Su Jingxi had warned him earlier that Zhang Quan must have been hiding something, but he hadn’t expected him to play it so absolutely.
Setting aside morality, Zhang Quan’s “diversionary tactic” was executed beautifully. First using Wu Dingyuan as bait to draw all the capital’s attention to the east, then taking advantage of this to slip past the Xuan Ni Prince’s blockade and enter the city from the west. If they had followed the original plan and taken the Tonghui River, they probably wouldn’t have made it past Tongzhou before being surrounded and killed by the fierce Qingzhou banner troops.
Trading just Wu Dingyuan’s life for the Crown Prince’s reversal of fortune – anyone planning this would have made the same choice.
Seeing Wu Dingyuan’s silence, Yu Qian thought he was still troubled and tried to console him: “I can testify that His Majesty didn’t know about Master Zhang’s plan until we were on the Wuding River. He was so angry then, even scolding his uncle, and wanted to get off the boat immediately. In the end, it was only when Lady Su intervened that he was barely pacified. Later, as you saw, he even let go of a prince who attempted usurpation, all for the sake of a minor constable – this is truly unprecedented in history.”
“Alright, alright, stop explaining, I’m fine,” Wu Dingyuan shook his head. “Such an unprofitable deal – hasn’t he thought about what comes next? Just let the Han Prince stay in Le’an Prefecture like nothing happened?”
Yu Qian spoke seriously: “After investigation, the court discovered that the Han Prince’s plot extended far beyond what we saw. There were military responses in Shandong, Shanxi, Tianjin, and the Northern Metropolitan Area. If he had managed to form a united front, it would have been another Jingnan Campaign. So several senior ministers suggested temporarily allowing the Han Prince to return to Le’an Prefecture as a measure to stabilize public sentiment. Once His Majesty successfully ascends the throne and fully controls the situation, we can deal with them one by one – that’s why even Lu Zhen wasn’t severely reprimanded and retained his original position.”
“That Lu Zhen? Even keeping him – are they waiting for New Year’s?”
Wu Dingyuan couldn’t believe it. That fellow had repeatedly caused trouble at the Meridian Gate, first deliberately provoking conflict between the two princes, then spreading news of the Crown Prince’s death, each time perfectly timed to advance the Han Prince’s plot. How could Zhu Zhanji not deal with such a person?
Yu Qian smiled bitterly: “Lu Zhen is too cunning. From beginning to end, he never explicitly supported the Han Prince. Each of his statements, taken individually, either came from public duty or resulted from being deceived. His Majesty can’t find any clear evidence of wrongdoing, so he’s letting him be for now. Never mind him – even the Han Prince never openly said he wanted to be Emperor, only that he came to serve as regent. Since the conflict between the two capitals can’t be made public, His Majesty can’t even issue an edict declaring his intent to usurp the throne. He can only suppress it quietly for now and find another reason later…”
Wu Dingyuan grew impatient listening to all these twists and turns of court politics: “So Big Radish has won now, right? Did you get promoted?”
Yu Qian smoothed his blue robe, showing a hint of pride: “Thanks to His Majesty’s favor, I am now the Censor of the Shanxi Circuit in the Censorate.”
Wu Dingyuan had seen those censors in Nanjing – they were all fastidious people who could find fault even in an egg. Hearing that Yu Qian had become a censor, he frowned: “Big Radish is too stingy. Why not make you a Prime Minister?”
“Nonsense! Nonsense!” Yu Qian was both shocked and angry, glancing out the window. “What qualifications do I have? How could I leap to such heights? That would make me an opportunistic villain! Gradual advancement – that’s how the court shows its care.”
Wu Dingyuan narrowed his eyes, also looking outside: “Then when is he going to pay back what he owes me?”
Yu Qian started, then remembered – initially, the Crown Prince had promised Wu Dingyuan five hundred and one taels of silver plus a bag of pearls for escorting him north.
“As for your reward, there’s been quite a debate in court. While you’ve accomplished great deeds, you also broke several taboos by forcibly entering the Imperial Ancestral Temple, desecrating spirit tablets, and trampling on the imperial coffin. Especially that tablet of the Yongle Emperor that you split in two…”
Wu Dingyuan seemed completely unconcerned: “I didn’t ask about that. I’m asking when he’ll pay his debt! Once it’s paid, I can head back to Nanjing sooner.”
Yu Qian didn’t know if he was joking or serious. Just then, Hai Shou’s voice came from outside: “Master Wu, Censor Yu, His Majesty has sent an oral decree requesting both of you to enter the palace.”
So quick? Both men were startled. Wu Dingyuan had only just regained consciousness, and the Emperor already knew? They immediately understood – the Emperor must have instructed Hai Shou to report to the palace as soon as Wu Dingyuan woke up.
“Perfect, you can ask His Majesty directly for payment,” Yu Qian said teasingly.
Wu Dingyuan had wanted to wait for Su Jingxi’s return, but now that the Emperor had summoned them, they had to leave immediately.
Two sedan chairs were already waiting outside, and Hai Shou had thoughtfully lined them with mirror-smooth cushions for a completely comfortable ride. The two men got into the chairs and, guided by two horses, headed toward the imperial city.
Yang Shiqi’s mansion happened to be not far from the Bureau of Astronomy in East Puhu Alley. So on the night of June 2nd, when Wu Dingyuan was injured and unconscious from his fall, he was brought here for treatment due to its proximity. After the sedan chairs left the Yang mansion, they soon reached the Imperial Academy, turned south for several hundred paces, and arrived at the intersection of Imperial Academy South Street and Chang’an Imperial Road.
That day, countless citizens had piled up a long embankment here to hold back both the flood and the Han Prince. Now, four days later, Wu Dingyuan looked around and found the street had returned to its former width, with no trace of the embankment remaining. Instead, it was filled with a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of carriages and pedestrians, chaotic but brimming with vibrant energy.
Wu Dingyuan observed these common people with interest, amazed at the city’s resilience. Since the floodwaters had receded, city walls needed rebuilding, official mansions required repairs, civilian households needed to replace belongings, and government offices and temples needed restoration. The capital’s enormous demand for materials had attracted merchants and laborers from the surrounding areas. The court was pleased to see the people resolving matters themselves and opened all four city gates, waiving both customs and entry taxes. As a result, the capital had been especially lively these past few days, seemingly having recovered its vitality from that surging flood.
When Wu Dingyuan first arrived in Beijing, it had been amid howling winds and rain, so his initial impression was of a damp, dark, and chaotic metropolis. Today, under the blazing summer sun, he finally saw the true face of this young capital: imperial streets straight and orderly, shops and corridors neatly arranged, streets intersecting in a highly organized space. In the azure sky, large eagles occasionally flew past with clear cries. Compared to the intricate and complex Southern Capital, this new city born just a few years ago appeared quite rough, lacking ornamental details in many places. But overall, it exuded an atmosphere of upward momentum, broad and spirited, completely unlike Jinling’s air of twilight decline. Wu Dingyuan could now somewhat understand why Zhu Di had decided to move the capital to Beijing. Capital determines a dynasty’s character, and he didn’t want the Ming to fall too early into decline and complacency, preferring to maintain the pioneering spirit of the dynasty’s founding.
“Ah, in the nineteenth year of Yongle, I entered the Imperial Academy from this very intersection to take the national examination!” Yu Qian excitedly pointed at the buildings along the road. “The great city had just been built then, the roads weren’t even properly leveled yet, and the examiners told us we were the first batch of jinshi scholars in the new capital.”
Ignoring his nostalgia, Wu Dingyuan asked directly: “The embankment here, it was torn down?”
“Yes, firstly because it affected traffic, and secondly because it was somewhat embarrassing for the court…” Yu Qian’s tone became subtle. “Some people at court even wanted to punish Zhou Dewen, the Daxing Ward Chief. But I convinced His Majesty to reject that idea – after all, the embankment did hold back the Han Prince for quite a while, so it could be considered meritorious.”
From Yu Qian’s indignant tone, it seemed the court didn’t know about Zuo Yehe’s existence, believing it was all organized by Zhou Dewen. She had disappeared early after everything was over.
“In my opinion, this was never a crime to begin with. When disaster strikes, near and far should help each other; when bandits come, people should build fortifications together. If the court can’t save them, shouldn’t the people be allowed to save themselves? Zhou Dewen did nothing wrong – if I had been there, I would have done the same thing.”
“Little Almond, you seem very concerned about this matter.” Wu Dingyuan noticed his growing agitation with curiosity.
Yu Qian sighed softly: “Do you remember what happened in Huai’an?”
“Kong Eighteen?”
“That day when I borrowed troops from Fang Du to save the Crown Prince, I didn’t expect to capture Kong Eighteen. Only after leaving Huai’an did I learn the full story behind Kong Eighteen’s actions, and I deeply regretted it. When the officials were clearly at fault, he was merely trying to protect himself, yet he had to bear punishment – is that fair? These past few days, I’ve been thinking about Kong Eighteen in Huai’an and Zhou Dewen in Beijing, wondering what they did wrong, and what I would have done in their place.”
“And what did you conclude?”
“I couldn’t figure it out,” Yu Qian shook his head. “His Majesty told me that after joining Kong Eighteen’s rebellion once, he understood everything, and suggested I should try it too. So I found Zhou Dewen and spent two days with him at the worksite repairing the Xuanwu Gate walls. During those two days, I ate and lived with the laborers, talked with them a lot, and heard many stories.”
Wu Dingyuan glanced at Yu Qian in surprise, noticing that the skin above his neck was indeed darker than before – so that’s what he had been doing.
“I understand now the significance of that embankment. This city isn’t just walls, isn’t just the Son of Heaven, isn’t just the officials, but more importantly, it’s the common people living within it. Even if the walls collapse, even if the Emperor is absent, even if the officials do nothing, as long as the people’s hearts remain, it can save itself. Mencius’s saying ‘The people are most precious, the state and land next, the ruler least’ – that’s what it means.”
Yu Qian raised his hand, pointing toward the imposing cluster of buildings to the west.
“Beijing was completed in the eighteenth year, and I became a jinshi in the nineteenth – you could say I witnessed this city’s birth. If one day it faces catastrophe, I hope I can be like Zhou Dewen – even if the Emperor and officials are gone, I’ll stand up and risk my life to protect it completely!”
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t expected a simple embankment to prompt such a lengthy discourse it had deeply affected Yu Qian. He wanted to make his usual sarcastic remarks, but seeing the other’s eyes sparkling with conviction, he swallowed his words. The fellow’s expression was too earnest, too sincere to bear hurting.
“You’re another Big Radish,” Wu Dingyuan said, shaking his head.
The two sedan chairs swayed through Dong’an Gate and around to Chengian Gate. The area before Wu Gate had been completely cleaned up, with no trace of the flood remaining. They entered the Forbidden City through a side gate, crossed the empty construction site of the Three Great Halls, and arrived at a study at the southern end of the Qianqing Palace.
As the Crown Prince had not yet formally ascended the throne, it wasn’t appropriate to handle affairs in the main hall, so he temporarily dealt with various matters in this study. Hai Shou announced their arrival and then brought Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan inside.
Zhu Zhanji was half-reclining on a brocade-cushioned couch. Though he looked somewhat wan, his spirits were good. He wore mourning clothes, with his right shoulder noticeably bulging – presumably the arrow wound had been rebandaged. A eunuch was holding up a diagram, pointing things out before him. The eunuch was short in stature, with features distinctly different from Central Plains people – it was Ruan An. Seeing the two arrive, Zhu Zhanji’s face lit up, and he told Ruan An to leave.
Ruan An put away his ruler and compass and bowed in departure. As he left, he deliberately greeted Wu Dingyuan, saying seriously: “I’ve already handed over all the documents regarding the capital’s upheaval to His Majesty. You can verify them again.” He pointed to the couch, where a small incense burner was weighing down several papers – these were the handwritten letters Zhang Quan had asked Wu Dingyuan to deliver. Ruan An was meticulous, having even preserved the paper wrapping of the letters, submitting everything.
After Ruan An left, Yu Qian pulled Wu Dingyuan to kneel in homage, but Zhu Zhanji awkwardly waved his hand: “Never mind that…”
Wu Dingyuan’s knees had barely bent when hearing these words, he suddenly stood straight again, though still avoiding direct eye contact. Yu Qian knew his quirk and, seeing Zhu Zhanji’s lack of reaction finally relaxed.
The attending junior eunuch brought two round stools, letting them sit comfortably. Zhu Zhanji nodded toward where Ruan An had left: “Tell me, Wu Dingyuan, did you make promises on my behalf, allowing him to build nine gates and nine locks for the capital?”
Wu Dingyuan lowered his thin face, staring at the stone patterns on the floor: “The situation was urgent then – even if he had asked to be Crown Prince, I would have agreed.”
“You make rash promises, but he took them seriously. Good heavens, this Ruan An came under the pretense of delivering documents, but it turns out he was after the construction project. Says I promised it, wants to stop the Three Great Halls project to build the nine locks first – I never expected to find such a straightforward person among the palace servants.” Zhu Zhanji said this while shaking his head with a smile. “But he has a point – if we have another flood like early June, the court would lose all face. Better to solve it early.”
Since becoming Emperor, his way of speaking had changed, becoming more steady and subtly carrying the authority of a ruler. Yu Qian quickly said: “This matter concerns the people’s livelihood – Your Majesty is most wise.”
Zhu Zhanji reclined against the couch, pulling out a gold-edged paper from the memorials beside him and handing it to them: “Perfect timing – the Hanlin Academy has proposed several era names, but I haven’t had time to choose. Why don’t you two take a look?”
Yu Qian was quite excited – this was a special honor. He took the paper and saw it listed about a dozen names including “Tai Xing,” “Yong Yan,” “Xuan De,” “Chong Yi,” “Zhi Ning,” and “Zheng Tong.” Before Yu Qian could study them properly, Wu Dingyuan had already pointed to one on the paper: “I think this one’s good.”
This was truly unprecedented. The others quickly looked – he had chosen “Xuan De.” Zhu Zhanji asked him why. Wu Dingyuan said: “This one has more strokes, so naturally it’s more auspicious.”
Zhu Zhanji gestured for the palace maids and Hai Shou to leave the study, then collapsed onto the brocade couch: “Now we can talk normally. These past few days you’ve been sleeping comfortably, while I’ve been exhausted. I never knew being Emperor would be so troublesome!”
Yu Qian was startled: “Your Majesty mustn’t speak like that – what if it got out?”
“Haven’t I sent everyone else away? Just the three of us here – can’t I complain a little?” Zhu Zhanji rubbed his dark eye circles, grumbling irritably. “Where’s Doctor Su? Why didn’t she come with you?”
Yu Qian quickly replied: “She went out to get medicines, saying the capital’s pharmacies are cunning and she must verify everything personally.” Zhu Zhanji was quite disappointed: “Doctor Su truly has a healer’s heart. Look, knowing I’m worn out from state affairs, she even prepared a restorative tonic for me yesterday. Those useless Imperial Physicians weren’t happy about it, trying to discourage me from using folk medicine – I gave them a thorough scolding.”
Beside the couch’s small incense burner lay several small medicine packets wrapped in yellow paper, tied with delicate string. The yellow paper wrapping was covered in printed text, probably torn from some old book, but each packet bore a clear line of fresh ink in elegant handwriting – Su Jingxi’s careful notes on combinations and brewing methods.
“If not for Doctor Su’s prescriptions keeping me going, I would have collapsed from exhaustion long ago. Ah, she still has her great revenge to pursue, but I’ve been too busy these past few days to look into it. I’m too embarrassed to face her.”
Zhu Zhanji counted out the memorials beside him one by one: “The era name is a minor matter. Look at all this – we need to handle the capital’s flood aftermath, investigate the Han Prince’s partisans, pacify the situation in Nanjing, win over the Shandong garrison, discuss the late Emperor’s posthumous titles and temple name, my mother’s honorary title, the late Emperor’s coffin has been transported to Tianshou Mountain but has nowhere to place it. Then there’s the matter of abandoning the Grand Canal and moving the capital – these major issues seem endless.”
“Your Majesty, don’t rush. Governing a great state is like cooking small fish – you can’t be too hasty. Progress step by step is the way.”
Holding the memorials, Zhu Zhanji reflected deeply: “It’s strange. Whether it was my father or the Eastern Palace tutors, they had taught these things before, but I always felt there was a veil between us. After traveling along the Grand Canal these fifteen days and looking back at these memorials, suddenly everything seems crystal clear, and I see many things differently. Red Aunt, White Dragon Ring, Wang Ji, Zheng Xianti, Kong Eighteen, Jin Rong, the Xuan Ni Prince, Zuo Yehe, Liang Xingfu – it’s as if they’re all connected by the thread of the Grand Canal. How I should handle the memorials, how they would react – it’s all vivid before me, bringing the whole situation to life. Book learning proves shallow; true understanding comes from personal experience.”
Yu Qian was greatly comforted: “Your Majesty’s insights are truly the nation’s fortune and the people’s blessing!”
Zhu Zhanji said: “Looking back now, I was quite confused when I was Crown Prince – I didn’t understand these things. No wonder people said I didn’t seem fit to be a ruler.” Yu Qian hurriedly tried to explain, but the Emperor waved his hand with a smile: “I understand now – only those without real ability care about such harsh words; once you truly understand things, you stop caring.”
Unconsciously, Zhu Zhanji had switched back to using the royal “we.”
“Speaking of Zuo Yehe and Liang Xingfu, we need to deal with this White Lotus matter as well. Do you two have any opinions?”
In his view, although the White Lotus Sect had merit in switching sides midway, their earlier collusion with the Han Prince, causing trouble in Nanjing, and especially blowing up his dragon boat and countless officials – such crimes could never be pardoned. Moreover, in both Jinan and Beijing, Zhu Zhanji had seen how terrifying the White Lotus Sect’s power hidden among the people truly was.
However, given his connection with Kong Eighteen and especially understanding the White Lotus followers’ motivations, Zhu Zhanji hesitated.
“Your subject believes the rise and fall of the White Lotus depends not on the Buddhist Mother, but on Your Majesty. When the Son of Heaven is wise and the people are well-fed and clothed, who would become White Lotus followers?” Yu Qian responded earnestly.
Zhu Zhanji wore an “I knew you’d say that” expression and looked toward Wu Dingyuan, who remained silent. Zhu Zhanji adjusted his reclining position: “During these fifteen days from Nanjing to Beijing, you rendered great service in protecting me. I’ve been thinking about how to reward you but couldn’t decide. I called you here today to hear your thoughts.”
Yu Qian felt joy followed by worry. Since His Majesty was letting Wu Dingyuan speak freely, the reward wouldn’t be small; he worried that the fellow might lose control and ask for too much, which would make things awkward if it exceeded the Emperor’s expectations.
“Five hundred and one taels of silver from the Imperial Treasury, plus a bag of Hepu pearls,” Wu Dingyuan said without hesitation.
Zhu Zhanji burst out laughing, his mind flashing through scenes from Nanjing, Guazhou, Huai’an, and Jinan, all stirring indescribable feelings… But he soon realized Wu Dingyuan didn’t seem to be joking, and asked in surprise: “You only want that much?”
“This isn’t something I want—it’s a debt that Little Xingren owes me, one that must be repaid.”
Zhu Zhanji stepped forward, clearly dissatisfied. “Wu Dingyuan, did you hit your head too hard? If you don’t understand, you can ask Yu Qian. For your merits, a hereditary marquis title is the bare minimum. As for official positions… if you want to return to Nanjing, you could be a Joint Defense Commander; go to Yangzhou or Huai’an to manage some naval units patrolling the Grand Canal; or simply stay in the capital and serve as an Assistant Commander in the Jinyi Wei. After a year, I’ll promote you directly to full Commander, and we could see each other often.”
As he looked at that disabled right hand, the offered positions grew increasingly prestigious. Yet faced with this torrent of extraordinary honors, Wu Dingyuan maintained his silence. As Zhu Zhanji continued, he felt as if he were practically begging, and his expression darkened as he slammed the table. “Hmph, then what exactly do you want? Tell me!”
Yu Qian shifted uncomfortably on his round stool. Surely this commoner hadn’t gone mad enough to ask for a duke’s title? Yet given His Majesty’s current disposition, he might grant it.
Wu Dingyuan slowly raised his head, looking directly at Zhu Zhanji. As expected, the moment their eyes met, his facial muscles began to twitch, intense pain lashing across his features. But strangely, this time he didn’t avoid it, instead gritting his teeth and maintaining his gaze, even as his veins bulged from the agony.
Zhu Zhanji grew uncomfortable under the stare and looked away first. “Alright, alright, stop torturing yourself, I’m not forcing you! From now on, you won’t have to look at me during audiences, will that suffice?”
Wu Dingyuan’s voice remained calm: “Perhaps I should first explain my situation, and then Your Majesty can decide on the rewards.”
“Very well, speak.”
“In Nanjing, I was just a lazy commoner, neither knowing who I was nor what I should do with my life. Had I not met Your Majesty at the Fan Bone Tower, I would likely have drunk myself to death in the Qinhuai River eventually. Though you’ve caused me no small amount of trouble along this journey, you also gave me a way out, helping me uncover the truth about my past and see my true self.”
Zhu Zhanji and Yu Qian exchanged glances. They already knew about Wu Dingyuan’s situation—wasn’t it just that he discovered he wasn’t born to his parents, which led to his dramatic change in personality? Zhu Zhanji said, “If that’s what you mean, rest assured. I will posthumously grant official titles to Iron Lion as well, and arrange a good marriage for your sister Wu Yulu. If you want to find your birth parents, I can assign people specifically to investigate.”
Wu Dingyuan shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. You must have wondered: Why did Liang Xingfu die beneath the Astronomical Bureau? Why did Zuo Yehe incite the people to build a dam? Why didn’t the White Lotus kill me in Huai’an, instead of taking me to Jinan? And why does a small figure from Nanjing like myself get such terrible headaches just from looking at Your Majesty’s face?”
Zhu Zhanji’s expression shifted slightly. He had indeed pondered these peculiarities, but at the time, busy with escape, he hadn’t given them much thought, assuming they were just the White Lotus sect’s attempts to curry favor with the court.
“I shouldn’t speak of these things. But if I don’t, you’ll learn of them eventually, and by then the meaning will be different. Jingxi told me to be honest and unburdened, so I’ve decided to speak frankly.”
“Wait.” Zhu Zhanji had an ominous feeling. “We can pretend this conversation never happened, and let bygones be bygones. You need not continue.”
“But I must speak. Not just to give you an explanation, but to give myself one as well. I’ve been running away for half my life; I don’t want to run anymore. Coming to the capital this time, I had already decided: either die quickly or resolve everything once and for all.”
A silence fell over the room. Yu Qian stood up, saying quietly, “Since this is a private matter, it would be inappropriate for me to hear. I shall take my leave…”
“Don’t go!” Zhu Zhanji and Wu Dingyuan said simultaneously.
Having a third person present at least helped slightly diffuse the awkwardness, leaving some room for maneuver. Yu Qian had no choice but to sit back down on his round stool, anxiously glancing back and forth. Seeing Zhu Zhanji’s tacit permission, Wu Dingyuan slowly began to speak. Though not particularly eloquent, these matters had circled in his mind countless times, making his narrative remarkably fluid.
He started with the Battle of Jinan during the Jingnan Campaign, spoke of Tie Xuan, then of Madam Tie and her young son’s night in the Jingling Teaching Division prison, explained how Zhong Eryong became Wu Buping, how Liang Xingfu’s personality changed dramatically, spoke of Hong Yu’s misfortune with Kan Ke, and then told of Tang Sai’er and the birth of the Buddha Mother, and Zuo Yehe’s intentions. A web of grievances spanning nearly thirty years was laid bare, revealing every branch and tendril.
This telling took over two hours. During this time, neither Zhu Zhanji nor Yu Qian interrupted once. The room seemed coated in white glue, the two men motionless as clay figures. Who would have thought that a simple headache could be connected to so many matters?
“So… you get headaches from looking at me because my grandfather killed your birth father?” Zhu Zhanji took a sip from his teacup, but his throat remained parched.
“Yes.” Wu Dingyuan nodded calmly.
“How could there be such a coincidence!” Zhu Zhanji slammed down his teacup. “I fall from the treasure ship, and just happen to be rescued by someone with a grudge against the Zhu family?”
“It’s not a coincidence, but fate—karmic destiny, you might say.” Wu Dingyuan smiled bitterly. Without Emperor Yongle’s persecution of the Tie family, he wouldn’t have been adopted by Wu Buping; if he hadn’t discovered he wasn’t their biological son, he wouldn’t have fallen into dissolution; if he hadn’t fallen into dissolution, Wu Buping wouldn’t have assigned him to the most remote post at Fan Bone Tower.
From another perspective, if Tie Xuan hadn’t stubbornly defended Jinan, forcing Emperor Yongle to take a southern route, he wouldn’t have faced danger at Puzikou, which wouldn’t have sparked Prince of Han’s ambitions that smoldered for over twenty years, ultimately leading to the plot between the two capitals and the explosion of the Crown Prince’s treasure ship in Nanjing.
In the grand scheme of things, it was as if an invisible hand had given a gentle push decades ago, creating layer upon layer of collisions that led to today’s awkward and absurd situation. Truly, every action has its cause, every cause its consequence, each sip and peck predetermined by heaven. The two men stared at each other for a long while, both speechless.
“What do you want? Revenge? Vindication for Tie Xuan?” Zhu Zhanji finally managed to speak.
Yu Qian instantly grew tense. Vindicating Tie Xuan was impossible—doing so would not only embarrass the Yongle Emperor but shake the very legitimacy of the Jingnan Campaign. That left only revenge as an option. If Wu Dingyuan were to strike now, the guards outside wouldn’t make it in time.
Wu Dingyuan kept both hands on his knees, not answering, just staring directly at the emperor.
Zhu Zhanji jumped down from his couch, took a goose-quill saber hanging on the wall, and angrily threw it before Wu Dingyuan. “Don’t treat me as just the Crown Prince! If you want revenge, come take it! I’ll give you my life in exchange!”
“Your Majesty!” Yu Qian cried out in alarm, rushing between them. “Wu Dingyuan, think this through! It was Emperor Taizong who killed Lord Tie Xuan, and Emperor Hongxi had been pardoning the Jingnan Campaign’s convicted officials. How old was His Majesty then?” In his rush to save Zhu Zhanji, he forgot to mention his words about Emperor Taizong.
Zhu Zhanji pushed Yu Qian aside with a dark expression. “Let him come! The Zhu family’s wrongs should naturally be borne by me!”
Wu Dingyuan expressionlessly bent down to pick up the sword with his left hand, but with his right hand disabled, he couldn’t draw it from its scabbard. Zhu Zhanji grabbed the scabbard and yanked the blade out. A flash of white light filled the room as Zhu Zhanji tilted his head back, staring intently at his opponent. Yu Qian grew desperate, angrily grabbing Wu Dingyuan’s collar: “You’re not planning to kill the emperor and become the White Lotus sect leader, are you?”
Wu Dingyuan shook his head: “If I became the White Lotus leader, how could I face my adoptive father? Similarly, if I accepted rewards from the Zhu family, how could I face my birth father?”
“But your friendship with His Majesty along this journey…”
Yu Qian wanted to continue persuading, but his words suddenly stopped. He noticed Wu Dingyuan’s forehead veins bulging like earthworms, pulsing and jumping—from the beginning, he had been staring directly at the emperor, enduring pain like being chopped by knives and axes. Yu Qian suddenly understood why Wu Dingyuan had been so desperate in the capital before—it wasn’t out of loyalty, or even entirely out of friendship, but because he truly hoped to die and cut off all these entanglements.
Wu Dingyuan raised his left arm, forcefully tapping his temple with his index finger: “Your Majesty, I very much want to let all this go and enjoy wealth and glory from now on. But even if I could fool myself, I can’t fool this. Even now, seeing you make my head feel like it’s about to explode—how can I pretend everything is resolved?”
He still didn’t avert his gaze. That pain from long ago scraped at his facial nerves, making every muscle twist and tremble, looking both terrifying and deeply sad.
Zhu Zhanji closed his eyes in dejection. Earlier, he had fantasized that their life-and-death friendship along this journey could somehow resolve the ancient grudge between their fathers. But now he had to admit this knot was too deeply rooted to untie.
While Wu Dingyuan refused to let go of his grievance, Zhu Zhanji asked himself honestly—could he do so either? Resolving the grudge would be simple enough—just vindicate Tie Xuan—but as the Son of Heaven now, could he act solely on personal feelings regardless of the bigger picture? Would he risk the legitimacy of his throne just to gain Wu Dingyuan’s forgiveness?
The crown on his head felt impossibly heavy, making it hard to breathe. As Yu Qian had said, being emperor meant considering too many things to act freely. This dragon throne, obtained through countless hardships, had become the massive barrier between them, and neither could take another step back.
Zhu Zhanji suddenly asked, “I have a question. If you had known the whole truth back at Fan Bone Tower, would you still have pulled me from the water?”
Wu Dingyuan answered, “Yes.” He paused, then asked in return, “If you had known the whole truth before going to Jinan, would you still have come to save me?”
“Yes!” Zhu Zhanji answered without hesitation. “I considered you a friend, of course, I would have come to save you.”
“Too bad you’re the emperor now.”
Hearing these words, a fire exploded in Zhu Zhanji’s chest. He grabbed a small bronze brazier nearby and hurled it violently at the commoner.
The brazier traced a short arc through the air before striking Wu Dingyuan’s forehead with a “thunk,” making him fall backward as blood splattered. The brazier then crashed heavily onto the floor, shattering into pieces, showing the force of the throw. Only when Yu Qian cried out in alarm and rushed to support Wu Dingyuan did Zhu Zhanji withdraw from his rage, realizing he had nearly killed the man in his impulse? His face alternated between green and white as he stood frozen, unsure what to do.
Outside, Haisu heard the commotion and hurried in to check. Seeing Wu Dingyuan’s bloody face and the sword in his hand, he screamed shrilly, “Assassin! Protect His Majesty! Protect His Majesty!”
The Forbidden City, having just recovered from chaos, had guards on high alert. Hearing the warning, over twenty men appeared from nowhere. Just as Zhu Zhanji was about to order them to withdraw, Wu Dingyuan wiped the blood from his face, pushed Yu Qian away, and walked toward the emperor with the sword.
Inevitably, he was immediately pinned down by the group, unable to move.
“You fool… you fool!” Yu Qian paced anxiously. “What was a minor matter has now become an attempted regicide! Doesn’t he understand the gravity of raising a hand against His Majesty?!”
“Precisely because I am the Son of Heaven, he refuses to submit!” the emperor said dejectedly.
He understood Wu Dingyuan too well. For that stubborn mule, any reconciliation would feel like cowering before imperial authority.
Haisu knelt before the emperor, requesting punishment. Zhu Zhanji waved his sleeve and said gravely, “Take him to the imperial prison and have the Imperial Medical Office treat him well. Without my written order, no one is to contact him or take him away!” Then he added, “If he has anything to say, do not delay—report it to me immediately.”
Haisu didn’t quite understand but still followed the order with sweat pouring down his face. As the guards were about to take Wu Dingyuan away, he suddenly struggled. He turned back toward the emperor, his loose hair and blood obscuring his eyes, making his expression unclear. Zhu Zhanji’s eyes brightened—even if the other man just made a single plea, he could use it as grounds for pardon. But Wu Dingyuan merely stared at him for a moment before turning away again.
The guards quickly led Wu Dingyuan away from the Palace of Heavenly Purity. Zhu Zhanji stood on the steps of the Southern Study, gazing at the empty corridor for a long while. Yu Qian worried the emperor had been traumatized but dared not offer comfort. Just as Wu Dingyuan’s figure disappeared at the end of the passage, a sudden gust of wind arose from nowhere, sweeping through the corridor like a wind dragon. The Southern Study’s main door stood open, and the howling gust rushed in, causing the screens to rustle and brocade carpets to flutter. Wall scrolls, writing implements, medicine packets, memorials, offerings, and other light objects went flying about the room in chaos.
One piece of paper floated down to land on the remains of the small incense burner. Yu Qian stepped forward quickly to pick it up, accidentally tearing a corner. It was the memorial from the Hanlin Academy proposing the reign name. While the rest of the paper remained intact, the characters for “Xuande” had been torn by the sharp edge of the broken bronze, making it particularly jarring. Yu Qian carefully smoothed the torn edge and tried to pick up the incense burner, but it was too shattered to piece back together. Blood stains were still visible on the fragments.
“I, Wu Dingyuan, offer blood instead of incense and hereby swear. I will avenge my father!” Yu Qian suddenly recalled Wu Dingyuan’s oath while holding the incense burner—now it seemed almost like a prophecy.
Holding this fragment, Yu Qian turned around. He had intended to counsel the emperor but, looking up, he noticed something wasn’t quite right.
At Zhu Zhanji’s feet lay a medicine packet. It had been blown open, black and yellow powder scattered across the ground. The Son of Heaven stood staring fixedly at the ground, having noticed something. Before Yu Qian could inquire, Zhu Zhanji suddenly stamped his foot, turned back into the room, and began searching. When Yu Qian and Haisu asked what he was looking for, he didn’t answer, continuing to wander about like a headless fly. After a while, Zhu Zhanji’s eyes lit up as he plucked a torn paper from among the scattered memorials.
When the emperor’s gaze met the torn paper, his eyes first brightened, then dimmed, and finally a burning flame grew in his pupils, small at first but increasingly intense.
“Summon Zhang Quan to the palace immediately,” he issued the verbal order to Haisu.
Zhang Quan’s boots echoed sharply against the bluestone as he crossed the Forbidden City’s widest square. Not far away stood the wooden framework of the Three Great Halls construction site. Unfortunately, not a soul was present—with the new emperor’s ascension, whether this massive project would resume remained unknown.
These past few days, Zhang Quan had stayed in his mansion, avoiding all visitors. Though his extraordinary merit in this crisis couldn’t earn him an official position—the emperor couldn’t appoint relatives to office—he would surely receive titles and lands. The title “Marquis Zhang” might soon become a reality. Zhang Quan knew propriety well; at such times, one must not appear prideful of achievements. He simply closed his doors and read books, blocking all who came seeking favor.
He couldn’t fathom why the emperor would summon him so urgently. Upon receiving the order, he followed Haisu to the imperial city without hesitation.
The emperor wanted to meet him in Xianxi Hall. This great hall in the Forbidden City’s northwest corner had been Empress Renxiao Wen’s residence. Now that Empress Zhang would become Empress Dowager, she had tactfully moved here first.
“So this must involve my sister,” Zhang Quan thought. Since returning to the capital, he hadn’t had time to visit his sister at the Du mansion. This would be a good opportunity to see her.
He soon reached Xianxi Hall, where the emperor and empress dowager had been waiting. Empress Zhang, having recovered somewhat after several days of rest, looked much better than before. Upon seeing Zhang Quan, she couldn’t help but embrace her brother and burst into tears. She had endured the pain of losing her husband and separation from her son, standing alone against the Prince of Han. If not for her capable brother protecting her nephew’s return journey, she might have collapsed long ago.
Zhu Zhanji stood silently nearby, allowing the siblings their reunion. He had originally intended to meet Zhang Quan alone, but when Empress Zhang called him to talk, he decided to conduct the meeting here in Xianxi Hall. After Zhang Quan finally convinced his sister to dry her tears, he turned and formally kowtowed to the emperor, asking why he had been summoned.
Zhu Zhanji ordered a round stool brought for Zhang Quan to sit: “Uncle, I’ve called you here to discuss an important matter.”
Zhang Quan brightened: “Perhaps regarding the capital relocation and canal transport reforms? I was about to submit a detailed memorial urging Your Majesty to reconsider…”
“Ah, no, not that matter.” Zhu Zhanji pulled a torn yellow paper from his sleeve: “When Wu Dingyuan arrived in the capital ahead of us, he brought a letter you had written to Ruan An. Thanks to this letter, he was able to break through the deadlock and enable my mother and me to escape danger.” Zhang Quan made an acknowledging sound, but his eyes showed confusion. Zhu Zhanji smiled and shook the yellow paper: “This isn’t that letter—it’s the wrapper that contained the letter. Uncle, you were quite careless, tearing a page from your poetry manuscript to use as wrapping.”
Zhang Quan took it and saw this was indeed true. He had once published a collection called “Chang’an Forest Spring Collection,” containing poems exchanged with friends. This was one such page, bearing a seven-character quatrain.
Zhang Quan was bewildered—he couldn’t remember using such a page as a letter wrapper. Zhu Zhanji began to recite: “‘Reply to Following Marquis Zhang’s Rhyme at the Winter Feast of the Eleventh Month’: What can Bian Que do for wooden rigidity? Four-contrary returning yang cleanses deep illness. Though not in the apricot grove still skilled hands, A benevolent heart consistently saves the world. Signed by Li Maofang, Marquis of Fuyang. The poem is awkward, lacking in both meter and meaning, as crude as a child’s first attempts.”
Zhang Quan explained: “This was from the twenty-second year of Yongle. The Marquis of Fuyang’s daughter-in-law had developed a strange illness, and I gave him a Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction, though ultimately it couldn’t save her. In the eleventh month at the winter solstice, he held a feast at his mansion to celebrate. I wrote a poem, and he insisted on responding—this refers to that incident. Though not particularly accomplished, one can’t refuse such social obligations, so I included it when printing my collection—but I don’t recall using it as a letter wrapper.”
“Uncle, I didn’t know you understood medicine well enough to compose prescriptions.”
“Your Majesty jests. That prescription wasn’t my creation—it came from Guo Chunzhi, the great scholar of Huai’an. We often corresponded about various topics, from Confucian classics to divination, astronomy, and medicine.” Zhang Quan spoke casually, not noticing Zhu Zhanji sitting frozen in his chair, lost in thought.
Ever since Su Jingxi had mentioned the origins of the Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction, Zhu Zhanji had been desperately trying to figure out how the prescription had reached the Prince of Han’s hands. Initially, he thought Wang Jinhu had given it to her husband, the Fuyang heir, who passed it to Princess Yongping and then to the Prince of Han, but Su Jingxi had already dismissed this theory.
The urgency of the situation at the time had prevented him from pondering deeply. Now this torn page of poetry revealed another path of transmission.
The Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction was jointly created by Su Jingxi and Wang Jinhu—there could be no coincidence of identical formulas. Since Zhang Quan said he got the “Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction” from Guo Chunzhi, it was almost certain that the Guo family had obtained it from Su Jingxi through some means, given her former engagement to Guo Chunzhi’s son, Guo Zhimin.
In other words, this prescription that had stirred the Prince of Han’s ambitions had traveled from Su to Guo, from Guo to Zhang—it was his maternal uncle who had given it to the Marquis of Fuyang!
Realizing this, Zhu Zhanji’s expression became extremely unnatural. His uncle probably hadn’t realized that the “Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction” he spoke of was the miraculous life-extending prescription that had harmed Emperor Hongxi, which was why he mentioned it so candidly.
Though Zhang Quan wasn’t part of the Prince of Han’s faction, the cruel fact remained: someone who had worked so hard to save everything had unknowingly helped spark this conspiracy. Zhu Zhanji found himself in a quandary—what should he do now? Should he destroy a meritorious official and close relative over an unintentional mistake? Or simply pretend ignorance and let it pass?
“Your Majesty? Your Majesty?”
Zhu Zhanji heard Zhang Quan’s call and snapped back to awareness. Struggling to control his facial muscles, he asked with difficulty: “What was the name of the Marquis of Fuyang’s daughter-in-law who died?”
“Wang Jinhu. She somehow contracted wooden rigidity disease and died tragically young.”
Hearing this, Zhu Zhanji’s mood darkened further. This wooden rigidity disease bore a striking similarity to the effects of the “Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction,” suggesting the woman’s death wasn’t as simple as Zhang Quan described—there must be more to it. No wonder Doctor Su was so determined to avenge her close friend.
The emperor found himself caught in a dilemma.
He had promised Su Jingxi to help with her revenge. But once an investigation into Wang Jinhu’s death began, Zhang Quan’s role in providing the “Four-Contrary Returning Yang Decoction” would come to light, creating an extremely awkward situation for both emperor and Empress Zhang. Yet if he abandoned the investigation, the truth behind Wang Jinhu’s death would never be revealed, the Marquis of Fuyang would go unpunished, and his promise to Su Jingxi would be meaningless.
Zhu Zhanji’s inner struggle felt like being caught between two burning iron plates, searing him from both sides, making him restless with discomfort.
Empress Zhang noticed her son’s unusual behavior and asked concernedly if he was exhausted from handling state affairs. Zhu Zhanji nodded slightly, and Empress Zhang said sympathetically, “You haven’t even ascended the throne yet—don’t work yourself as hard as your late father did.”
This comment suddenly reminded Zhu Zhanji. He turned to Zhang Quan with a forced smile: “Uncle, I called you here to ask you to make a trip to Mount Tianshou. Don’t you know geomancy? Please examine the auspicious grounds for the late emperor’s temporary tomb.”
Zhang Quan was slightly stunned—the emperor’s questioning had been all about the Marquis of Fuyang’s family matters, why this sudden shift to the late emperor’s mausoleum?
Typically, emperors begin building their mausoleums after ascending the throne. But Emperor Hongxi’s reign had been so brief that construction hadn’t even begun on his tomb. His coffin remained in a temporary vault with no proper burial place—an embarrassing situation for the court.
But geomancers had already selected the site, two li northwest of Emperor Yongle’s Changling Tomb—what need was there for an amateur relative to make another selection?
“The late emperor met with disaster—perhaps there’s a problem with the feng shui. I trust no one but you, uncle, to take a look.”
Though Zhu Zhanji’s reasoning seemed forced, his attitude was remarkably firm. When Empress Zhang tried to inquire further, he cut her off firmly: “Mother, for Father’s final resting place, I trust no one but uncle.”
With the emperor’s clear stance, Zhang Quan had no choice but to agree and prepare for immediate departure.
Watching Zhang Quan’s departing figure, Zhu Zhanji let out a slight sigh of relief.
The journey to Mount Tianshou was 120 li—Zhang Quan wouldn’t return until after the tenth of June. During this time, Zhu Zhanji could quietly investigate the Marquis of Fuyang’s affair. Zhang Quan’s absence would avoid any awkwardness or collusion. Zhu Zhanji didn’t know what he might discover, nor what he would do with the findings, but at least he had bought some time.
His thoughts turned to Wu Dingyuan, and his troubles surged again—another unsolvable problem that could only be delayed by keeping him in the imperial prison. Why did becoming emperor bring more worries rather than the freedom many imagined? He even missed their days on the canal, when despite the danger, there had been no barriers between them, all working toward the same goal.
Empress Zhang spoke softly beside him: “Your Majesty, what’s wrong today? You seem distracted.”
Zhu Zhanji forced a smile: “Perhaps I’m just not used to being emperor yet.”
Empress Zhang gave him a puzzled look and lovingly adjusted his crown: “Don’t pressure yourself too much. Your father was even more flustered when he first ascended the throne—he couldn’t sleep at night and kept talking to me. He ruled by following just one principle. Since we have this rare moment to talk heart-to-heart, let me share it with you.”
Zhu Zhanji made an acknowledging sound, listening attentively.
“The people support a ruler who can provide them security. The common folk support whichever sovereign can help them survive. Just remember this, Your Majesty.”
In the past, such advice would have bored Zhu Zhanji, but today it struck a chord. Kong Eighteen’s aged, suffering face and a copper lotus suddenly appeared in his mind, along with all his experiences along the canal.
“Thank you for your guidance, Mother…”
Empress Zhang smiled: “Come to think of it, both father and son are troublesome—neither could ascend the throne without stirring up a mess of problems.”
Zhu Zhanji patted his mother’s hand with a helpless smile. When Emperor Yongle died during his northern campaign, Duke Ying Zhang Fu kept the news secret to prevent the Prince of Han from causing trouble, first sending Haisu back to inform then-Crown Prince Zhu Gaochi. Zhu Gaochi and Zhu Zhanji had secretly left the city to receive the imperial coffin, escorting it back to Beijing before making the announcement.
Looking back now, Emperor Hongxi’s ascension seemed like a rehearsal for the plot between the two capitals.
“That night when you and your father left the city to receive the coffin, I stayed home terribly worried. If news of Emperor Yongle’s death had leaked early, with you both outside the city, the Prince of Han might have taken advantage of the capital’s emptiness to attempt something desperate. I had prepared a dagger—if things went wrong, I would take my own life. I gripped that dagger all night until I heard you had brought the coffin into the city. I thought I would never have to worry like that again, but never imagined that less than a year later, my son’s ascension would be even more tumultuous.”
Zhu Zhanji held his mother’s hand tenderly. During this recent crisis between the capitals, if not for her standing alone against the Prince of Han, the Crown Prince’s swift return would have been futile. In terms of merit, she deserved the highest honor.
“Mother, what reward would you like?”
Empress Zhang smiled and patted the back of his hand: “Silly child, I’m already Empress Dowager—what more could I want? Just take care of your health, don’t get as fat as your father, and I’ll be content…”
“By the way, Mother, why did you call me to Xianxi Hall?” Zhu Zhanji asked.
Seeing Zhu Zhanji still distracted, Empress Zhang sighed and said it wasn’t urgent—they could discuss it in a few days. Zhu Zhanji nodded; he had too many concerns weighing on his mind lately.
The emperor bid farewell to his mother and left Xianxi Hall. As the watch drums sounded, moonlight fell on the palace corners, and night enveloped the imperial city. Standing in the vast, deep Forbidden City, he suddenly felt an unprecedented loneliness.
Under the bright moonlight, the Xizhi Gate creaked open slightly. A dark rider left the capital, speeding northwest toward Mount Tianshou. The gate closed immediately. The gate guards yawned, preparing to return to their quarters to continue sleeping. None of them noticed a dark figure standing atop the city wall, gazing toward the northwest road.