The warm tea slid down his throat as Zhu Zhanji set down the white porcelain teacup, exhaling a long breath from deep within his chest. Everything around him was quiet, with barely a sound penetrating from outside. A wisp of ethereal fragrance drifted from the gilt-bronze Boshan incense burner, tracing a dragon-like path of smoke through the spacious hall. It first coiled between the bronze cranes and the mother-of-pearl inlaid screen, then lingered among the layers of gauze curtains, creating an almost celestial scene. Anyone in such surroundings might easily forget all worldly troubles.
Yet Zhu Zhanji’s mood showed no signs of improvement.
The Nanjing Imperial City comprised two layers: the outer Imperial City housed government offices, while the inner Purple Forbidden City served as the Emperor’s residence and living quarters. The Crown Prince now sat in the Hall of Eternal Joy within the inner palace, surrounded by imperial guards—seemingly as secure as a fortress. However, the gnawing fear still clung to his heart like a stubborn tick, impossible to shake off.
Zhu Buhua wasn’t present. After settling the Crown Prince in the Hall of Eternal Joy, he hurriedly departed. With the Marquis of Xiangcheng and the Third Eunuch temporarily unconscious, and the fate of the six ministries’ high officials unknown, he had mountains of work to handle as the deputy supervising eunuch, making it impossible to stay by the Crown Prince’s side.
Before leaving, Zhu Buhua had asked the Crown Prince to rest easy in the hall. But Zhu Zhanji knew well that his urgent priority wasn’t to sit idly in the Hall of Eternal Joy calming his nerves, but rather to quickly summon the surviving officials and stabilize the situation. Zhu Buhua, as a Mongolian-descended court eunuch, couldn’t handle many matters—they required the Crown Prince’s attention.
But doing this proved far more difficult than saying it.
Previously, Zhu Zhanji had observed his grandfather and father handling state affairs and had imagined how he would rule when his time came. But now that he held power, he found the reality overwhelmingly complex and multifaceted.
Should rescue efforts take precedence or the capture of criminals? Which Nanjing office should be put in charge? To restore these offices to function, should deputy officials be promoted or should they recruit from the waiting list? Should temporary seals be issued or formal ones?
Not to mention the array of complex matters like military deployment, civilian pacification, treasury management, and city defense arrangements—just thinking about them made Zhu Zhanji’s head nearly explode. Most troublesome was that all expenses in the capital relied on the Jiangnan Canal Transport. Any disruption in Nanjing would inevitably affect the entire Southern Metropolitan Area and Zhejiang Provincial Administration. If the north-south canal transport was interrupted, it would spell disaster for the entire Ming Empire.
Even Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan, whom he had sent to investigate the culprits, didn’t inspire complete confidence. Though their loyalties were beyond suspicion, their capabilities remained unproven, and it was hard to predict how far their investigation might progress.
Zhu Zhanji rubbed his aching temples and took another sip of tea, finding it unbearably bitter. His Imperial Academy teachers constantly lectured about the principles of the ruling, but now that he began his regency duties, he found none of these lofty theories applicable. The real concerns were the most minute administrative details. Being Emperor was truly no easy task.
The more he thought, the more stifling his chest felt. Everything in the hall began to irritate him—the golden pillars, the carved ceiling, the architraves—all seemed like prison bars trapping him within this magnificent hall, making it hard to breathe. Zhu Zhanji deeply disliked these seemingly grand and profound palace halls; he would rather accompany his grandfather to the vast northern grasslands or travel to observe the endless changes in the world. When his Eastern Palace tutors read history to him, what Zhu Zhanji found most incomprehensible were those previous dynasty emperors who spent their entire lives in the imperial city—didn’t they ever grow weary of it?
“Father, what should I do…” Zhu Zhanji murmured on his couch.
Emperor Hongxi’s lifelong wish was to move back to Nanjing from the harsh north, a task he had entrusted to his son—such great faith he had shown. Yet before even entering Nanjing City, Zhu Zhanji had fallen into such a mess. What would his father think?
Feeling suffocated, he decided to take a walk. After all, the entire imperial city was under guard control; there shouldn’t be any security concerns.
The eunuchs and palace maids remained under the outer hall’s eaves. Knowing what the Crown Prince had just experienced, they held their breath, fearing that even the slightest wrong sound might bring disaster. As soon as Zhu Zhanji reached the hall entrance, two young eunuchs rushed over in panic, begging the Crown Prince to return to his couch and rest. They tried to grasp his robe’s hem but only managed to create more wrinkles.
Zhu Zhanji glared at them. Nanjing’s eunuchs were indeed clumsy, unable even to properly attend to clothing.
Of course, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Since the Yongle Emperor’s northern migration, the palace had been uninhabited, with only the Hall Monitoring Office maintaining regular cleaning. These two were mere junior attendants from that office, having never served nobility—how could they compare to Senior Companion?
Thinking of his now-deceased Senior Companion, Zhu Zhanji’s heart sank again. From his earliest memories, Senior Companion had been by his side, even closer than his father and mother. Sadly, their final conversation had been an argument. Regret and grief silently welled up. Suddenly aware of others watching, and not wanting them to see his weakness, the Crown Prince took a deep breath and held back his tears.
“Where is the Fuel Conservation Office? Take me there,” he suddenly commanded.
The two junior attendants were stunned, not understanding why the Crown Prince would make such an abrupt request. Zhu Zhanji didn’t explain, merely repeating his demand expressionlessly. Not daring to disobey, they led the way.
The Fuel Conservation Office was one of the twenty-four internal affairs departments, responsible for purchasing and storing palace firewood and coal. However, for palace servants, it served another purpose: The Hongwu Emperor had decreed that palace servants were strictly forbidden from burning incense for prayers within the palace. When eunuchs or palace maids lost family members, bound by these rules, they could only secretly place memorial tablets near the Fuel Conservation Office.
Since the office burned wood and coal daily, placing tablets nearby served as an unofficial form of incense offering.
Over time, this became an unofficial memorial site for palace servants, who privately called it the “Temple of Loyal Service,” acknowledging the difficulty of serving both loyalty and filial piety.
Zhu Zhanji had learned of this custom during a conversation with Senior Companion, who had sighed: “We internal servants have no children, becoming mere dust after death. I have no other wishes—if only a few young eunuchs remember me and place a tablet for me in the Temple of Loyal Service, enjoying a few wisps of smoke, I would consider myself greatly blessed.”
Zhu Zhanji’s sudden decision to visit Nanjing’s Fuel Conservation Office was to fulfill this wish for Senior Companion, honoring their time together.
This was a trick his grandfather, the Yongle Emperor, had taught him: when facing chaotic situations and feeling overwhelmed, start by completing one small task. Tackle problems from small to large, one by one, and you’ll naturally find your rhythm. The ancients’ practices of fishing before important matters or playing chess before battle followed the same principle.
The palace’s Fuel Conservation Office was located inside the Western Glory Gate, adjacent to the inner canal, where bulk goods like firewood and refined coal could be transported directly into the imperial storehouse. Zhu Zhanji left the Hall of Eternal Joy, striding westward, with the two nervous junior attendants leading the way and a string of palace maids and guards following behind. This strange procession moving through the empty palaces added an eerie vitality to the imperial city.
Soon they reached the Western Glory Gate. Against the left side of the high wall inside the gate stood several straight-roofed buildings without corridors. Their thresholds and window frames were covered in dust, and rain had severely eroded the vermillion walls, leaving them mottled. With the palace long uninhabited and little need for fuel, the Fuel Conservation Office had fallen into neglect.
Zhu Zhanji suddenly realized he had come empty-handed, without preparing a memorial tablet for Senior Companion. He ordered the young eunuchs to bring a blank wooden tablet, but they exchanged glances and smiled awkwardly, explaining that the palace storehouse didn’t stock such items—they would need to order one from the Imperial Servants Office.
Zhu Zhanji was about to lose his temper when he turned his head and caught sight of a pile of split firewood by the Western Glory Gate, topped with a large black pot, presumably used by the gate guards for cooking. In Beijing’s Forbidden City, no one would dare light unauthorized fires, but Nanjing’s long-neglected management had led to such laxity.
For Zhu Zhanji, this proved convenient. He could take a wide piece of firewood and fashion it into a simple memorial tablet. Though somewhat disrespectful to Senior Companion, necessity demanded expedience—they could arrange a proper memorial once the capital settled down.
Not trusting the two junior attendants, Zhu Zhanji decided to select the wood himself. But as he approached the Western Glory Gate, he heard a commotion outside. From the arguing voices, it seemed someone was trying to enter but had been stopped by the guards.
Who would be so bold as to attempt to enter the palace? Could it be White Lotus bandits? Zhu Zhanji walked over and saw a clerk in the Office of Transmission uniform, carrying a yellow document cylinder across his shoulder, trying to push through but being firmly blocked by spear-wielding imperial guards. The two sides seemed about to come to blows.
The Office of Transmission handled internal and external document transfers, with offices in both north and south. This clerk was clearly from the Nanjing office. The imperial guards, brought from Beijing by Zhu Buhua, had only been stationed here for a few months. With no shared chain of command, both sides maintained hostile attitudes.
“What’s all this commotion about?” Zhu Zhanji called out. Hearing the Crown Prince’s arrival, the imperial guards all dropped to one knee, and the clerk also quickly knelt. Zhu Zhanji asked what was happening. The clerk replied, “A moment ago, an urgent document from within eight hundred li of the capital was delivered to the Office of Transmission, requiring immediate delivery to the Eastern Palace. Your servant dared not delay and rushed to the palace, but they blocked me, saying that without Eunuch Zhu’s permission, no one could enter!”
The gate commander hurriedly explained, “Eunuch Zhu said the situation outside remains unstable, and the imperial city lacks proper defenses. To prevent bandits from disturbing Your Highness, he strictly ordered all four gates sealed.”
Zhu Zhanji nodded slightly: “The Office of Transmission shows no intent to obstruct, and the gate guards demonstrate proper vigilance. You both serve loyally and without fault—well done.” Everyone breathed sighs of relief, collectively thanking him for his grace. Zhu Zhanji felt somewhat proud, thinking this handling showed the manner of a benevolent ruler and might be worth recording in historical anecdotes. He extended his hand: “We shouldn’t violate Lord Zhu’s orders—just pass it to me through the gate.”
The clerk quickly unfastened the document cylinder and handed it to the gate commander, who respectfully passed it to Zhu Zhanji with both hands. Zhu Zhanji first weighed it—it was light, suggesting the document inside couldn’t be too thick. He then examined the cylinder’s mouth, finding the beeswax between the interlocking teeth intact without cracks, and the seam bore the imperial seal reading “Emperor’s Kindred Treasure.”
“I’ve only been away from the capital for about ten days—what urgent matter could Father Emperor have to tell me?” Zhu Zhanji wondered curiously. However, with many eyes around, he attached the cylinder to his waist, deciding to return to the Hall of Eternal Joy before opening it. For now, he still needed to find a piece of firewood for Senior Companion’s memorial tablet—starting with small matters first.
The Crown Prince didn’t know that at that moment, his two subordinates at the East Water Gate dock were struggling with a major issue.
“What did you say? The White Lotus was bought by a high-ranking court official?” Yu Qian’s voice couldn’t hide his shock.
Wu Dingyuan shrugged: “I didn’t say that for certain. It’s just common sense—dogs bark at thieves, chickens crow at ghosts—just logical deduction.” Yu Qian, being sharp-minded, immediately caught a deeper implication.
What kind of noble would benefit from the Crown Prince’s death? How immense would the gains be from the decimation of Nanjing’s officials? Yu Qian suddenly realized he had waded into waters far deeper than expected, the surface rising past his lips, while a shadow far larger than he had imagined moved slowly in the depths below.
“Well? Shall we continue investigating?” Wu Dingyuan raised his eyebrows.
“We must!” Yu Qian set his jaw firmly. “No matter who it is, anyone who commits such madness deserves universal condemnation!”
Seeing this minor official talking tough despite his obvious fear, Wu Dingyuan secretly smiled—if all officials were this foolhardy, government offices would have died out long ago. He picked at his ear, saying carelessly, “Let’s be clear—those three hundred taels of silver only buy you the truth. For a deeper investigation, I’m just a lowly constable without such capability.”
“We’ll discuss that after we investigate. No matter how powerful the mastermind is, can they be greater than the Crown Prince? Behind the Crown Prince stands the Emperor himself!” Yu Qian’s courage returned as he spoke: “As for you, without your father’s help, are you saying you can’t find any leads?”
Yu Qian was deliberately provoking him. Wu Dingyuan stroked his chin and smiled: “Well… there might be a way.” His gaze swept across the devastation at the dock as he continued slowly: “No matter how capable the White Lotus or that noble might be, there’s one thing they couldn’t have anticipated.”
“What’s that?”
“Last night’s earthquake.”
Wu Dingyuan’s gaze stopped, and Yu Qian followed his line of sight to a wide road extending along the city wall on the dock’s east side. The road was broad enough for two carts to pass side by side, but less than a hundred paces ahead, it was bisected by a massive bulge rising from the ground. The bulge was covered with various-sized pieces of coarse cloth in mixed colors, looking like a patchwork garment, with gray-blue broken bricks and stones visible through the gaps.
“This is the main road from East Water Gate dock into the city. Last night’s earthquake collapsed part of the wall, breaking the road. With the Crown Prince’s imminent arrival, there was no time to clear the ruins. Some clever person’s idea was to buy dozens of cloth pieces to cover it up—hah, just like all other problems in Jinling city, solved just like that.” Wu Dingyuan’s words dripped with sarcasm.
“So the road we came in on wasn’t the main one?”
“That’s a donkey path, normally used only by porters and street sweepers. The earthquake was unexpected, and with the main road destroyed, officials had to use it as a temporary route.”
Yu Qian still didn’t understand how this related to their case.
“The original main road follows the city wall, leading directly to Tongji Gate, with no civilian residences allowed nearby. But this donkey path has many small stalls and shops along both sides, catering to dock workers—all sorts of eyes watching.”
“You mean they might have witnessed the White Lotus’s movements?”
“Exactly.”
“But with so many people coming and going at the dock, how would they know who was who?”
“We just need to ask these shopkeepers who left the dock right before the explosion—they’d be the most suspicious!” Wu Dingyuan spread his arms and brought them down forcefully. The White Lotus’s actions had been perfectly concealed, but last night’s earthquake forced a change in the dock’s access route, creating an unexpected flaw in their meticulous plan.
Yu Qian noticed that although this lazy fellow kept making excuses when analyzing the situation, his eyes became particularly bright as if he naturally enjoyed this kind of work but was forcibly suppressing it.
What had this guy experienced? Despite possessing extraordinary skills, he deliberately degraded himself—even Yu Qian couldn’t help but feel curious. Of course, that matter could wait.
The two returned to the donkey path. Most shops along the road were single-room mud brick buildings with thatched roofs, with bamboo poles supporting grass awnings. Though shabby and dirty, they did good business. There were tea stalls with large copper kettles brewing tea, shops selling various pastries and soups, stalls with large pots cooking meat and noodles, and more… The porters would usually eat, drink, and rest in the shade under these awnings, and there were even two or three open-air gambling spots for entertainment.
Due to the explosion and subsequent lockdown, all these shops were now tightly closed, with blue cloth curtains drawn down. However, shadows occasionally flickered behind the paper windows—whether White Lotus remnants watching or simply curious shop workers, no one could tell.
Wu Dingyuan gestured for Yu Qian to split up, each taking one side of the road to knock and inquire.
As a constable and an official respectively, they didn’t need to be careful about protocol—they simply knocked directly. Most shop owners were common folk who could only obediently open their doors and answer questions. Unfortunately, there had been too many people at the dock today, and officials had ordered them to close up early and not peek outside, so most knew nothing about the situation on the road.
After questioning about twenty shops, Yu Qian finally got something from a fortune-telling stall.
The stall owner was a tribute student from the Imperial Academy, wearing a dirty blue robe with hanging sashes. Already in his fifties and with no hope of passing the provincial examinations, he had set up this fortune-telling stall to supplement his income. After the treasure ship explosion, the entire dock area was completely sealed off, and unable to leave, he could only huddle trembling behind his stall.
Scholars naturally gravitate towards each other. Seeing Yu Qian so young yet already an official, the old tribute student kept bowing, full of admiration. Yu Qian offered some words of comfort and took the opportunity to ask if he had seen anyone leave before the explosion. The old student thought for a moment and said he had seen just one person.
At the time, he had been sitting in front of his stall reading “The Book of Hundred Divinations.” Someone coming from the dock direction had accidentally knocked over his large character banner. The person had just propped up the banner pole without apologizing and hurried away.
As a fortune-teller, observing people was crucial, so the old student’s impression was quite detailed: The person wore a blue cotton robe with a black waistband, and a round cap, and carried a small medicine box across his left shoulder—dressed as a physician. However, he couldn’t see the face.
Yu Qian frowned—this person was indeed suspicious. He quickly asked for more details, and after straining to remember, the old student recalled that the medicine box had the character “Universal Aid” carved on it—probably the name of a medical hall located at the intersection of Changfu Street north of the Confucian Temple. The physician they spotted was likely the resident doctor of Universal Aid Hall.
Yu Qian asked what style the characters were written in. The old student pulled out a hemp paper used for fortune-telling and wrote down the two characters. After thinking, he pulled out another hemp paper showing his coursework from the Imperial Academy. After years of failure in the examinations, it was rare to meet a jinshi graduate—perhaps he could get some guidance.
But Yu Qian had no time to review essays. He hurriedly thanked him, grabbed the paper, and left. The old student stood frozen, staring at his official robes for a long while without speaking.
Wu Dingyuan was questioning a soup and pastry shop when Yu Qian told him what he’d learned, and he immediately sensed something odd.
Nanjing’s physicians fell into three categories: master physicians, traveling doctors, and hall physicians. Master physicians were highly skilled imperial doctors who mainly treated noble officials and only received patients in their residences. Traveling doctors were medicine peddlers who rang bells and sold medicine, treating minor ailments and injuries for the poor, wandering the streets without fixed locations. As for hall physicians, they disdained mixing with medicine peddlers but hadn’t reached the status of master physicians, so they often jointly opened halls in prosperous areas, waiting for patients to come to them.
With the Crown Prince arriving in the capital and officials waiting to receive him, if medical staff were needed at East Water Gate dock, they would surely have invited master physicians—they would never have called for hall physicians. So the presence of a hall physician at East Water Gate was extremely unusual.
“Did the old student not see anyone else leave during that time?”
Yu Qian shook his head, saying he only saw this one person during that period.
“I’ve been to Universal Aid Medical Hall before—they have good relations with the government office. Guards go there for injury treatment and get free plasters,” Wu Dingyuan said, then mounted his horse and adjusted the reins, ready to depart.
“Hey, aren’t you going to question the other shops?” Yu Qian scrambled onto his donkey behind him. But Wu Dingyuan was already far ahead, raising his fist and making a reassuring gesture.
The two left East Water Gate dock, riding horse and donkey, hurrying north along the Inner Qinhuai River. By now, the ripples from the treasure ship explosion had spread far from East Water Gate into the city districts. Signs were everywhere: fruit vendors closing early, Qinhuai pleasure boats hastily rowing north, lost children crying in the streets, city patrol soldiers whispering among themselves, and silk shops secretly installing door panels.
Most common people didn’t know exactly what had happened, but they could keenly sense the ominous gathering of crows. This inexplicable panic often spread faster than facts, rising wave after wave through Nanjing city, each higher than the last.
Watching all this from his donkey, Yu Qian sighed inwardly. Before the accident, the Third Eunuch had only managed to arrange the aftermath at East Water Gate, without time to give instructions about city defense. With frequent earthquakes this year, the capital’s people were already anxious and unsettled. Now with such a heavy blow, the slightest misstep could throw the whole city into chaos. If Nanjing fell into chaos, the entire Southern Metropolitan Area couldn’t remain unaffected; if the Southern Metropolitan Area descended into chaos, the canal transport would surely be interrupted; if canal transport stopped, the capital would have nothing for winter; if the capital fell into chaos, the whole country… He dared not think further, only hoping they could quickly solve this case, and that the Crown Prince could swiftly take control of the capital’s power and restore order.
In contrast, Wu Dingyuan sat calmly on his horse, as if blind to the strange signs in the streets. Yu Qian wanted to remind him but then thought better of it—how could a greedy person who dared demand three hundred taels of silver from the Crown Prince’s commission care about others?
As they spoke, they reached Fucheng Bridge. After crossing the river to the west, they faced a five-colored memorial arch with “Loyal and Martial Kaiping” written in the center.
This street was originally the Kaiping Prince’s Mansion of Chang Yuchun, hence named “Chang Mansion Street.” The arch was built by imperial decree of the Hongwu Emperor—”Loyal and Martial” was Chang Yuchun’s posthumous title, and “Kaiping” was his princely title. Unfortunately, Chang Yuchun died early, and his son chose the wrong side during the Jingnan Campaign and was exiled to Yunnan, leading to the mansion’s decline. The enormous residence was divided and sold off in pieces, but the street became quite lively.
Universal Aid Medical Hall stood at the diagonal corner from the colored arch, a two-story building with a vertical banner hanging flat on the roof, decorated with an apricot-colored gourd. The character “Universal Aid” on the gourd matched exactly what the old student had described on the medicine box. It was afternoon when yang energy was strongest, the busiest time for seeing patients, and many people crowded the entrance.
As soon as they entered the hall, they faced a statue of the Medicine King riding a tiger, with five-colored fruits offered before it. The left wing was the medicine dispensary, the right-wing held private consultation rooms, and over a dozen assistants bustled about, directed by a hall manager in the center. The manager glimpsed Yu Qian’s official attire and immediately grew alert, personally coming over warmly to inquire which doctor the official wished to see.
The two exchanged glances, and Wu Dingyuan spoke first: “How many doctors do you have at Universal Aid Hall?” The manager sensed something amiss—who asks about the number of doctors without mentioning their ailment first? He answered that there were eight, though only five were in attendance today.
“Have those five been here the whole time?”
“Yes. After last night’s earthquake, there were many injured people nearby. The five have been busy since morning until now, and haven’t even had time for a cup of hot tea.”
“What about the other three?” Wu Dingyuan pressed.
The hall manager’s smile stiffened: “What exactly are you two here to see about?”
Wu Dingyuan’s face darkened: “Did you hear that explosion from the south at noon?” The manager quickly nodded: “Yes, yes, it shook our building. We don’t know what happened.”
“The Crown Prince’s treasure ship was bombed, and there are many wounded at East Water Gate dock. The Defense Office has urgently summoned all city doctors for treatment. We’re here to recruit help.” Wu Dingyuan’s words were half-true. Hearing this, the manager nearly collapsed in fear. He had heard rumors but hadn’t imagined it was so horrifying.
Wu Dingyuan nudged Yu Qian, who finally displayed his city pass token: “I am the Right Assistant Director of the Crown Prince’s Household Department. By the Crown Prince’s order, all registered physicians must accept deployment. Those three who aren’t in the hall—if they’re in the city, they must be summoned, regardless of reason!”
The manager didn’t know the rank of Right Assistant Director, but with the Crown Prince’s authority invoked, he could only promise Universal Aid’s full cooperation, then hurriedly turned to notify others.
“Little Apricot Kernel, be sharper next time—when you need to show official authority, show it,” Wu Dingyuan lazily leaned against the medicine counter, offering casual instruction. Yu Qian turned away expressionlessly: “Urgency requires expedient measures, and the greater good takes priority—I understand that. But bullying others with power is not what a gentleman does.”
Wu Dingyuan shrugged, indifferent—with his heavy-handed approach, the manager had no choice but to cooperate. Such deception wasn’t necessarily bad; sending more physicians to the dock might save more lives.
Soon the manager returned. The five resident physicians had stopped seeing patients and were preparing to rush to the dock for rescue work. As for the three absent ones, one had gone to Songjiang Prefecture to treat patients and hadn’t returned, another had returned to his hometown in Huizhou two days ago for a funeral, and the third, over sixty years old, was bedridden with consumption in the city.
None of these three matched the description of the one the old student had seen. Wu Dingyuan asked if there were any other physicians in the hall, but the manager shook his head.
“Have any doctors recently left your hall?”
Medical halls and resident physicians had a cooperative rather than employment relationship, so turnover was high. If a physician had left Universal Aid, they might still be using their old medicine box. The manager thought and said since the beginning of the year, about ten doctors had come and gone—some left due to partnership disputes, others for better opportunities, some moved away, some were promoted and left the hall, for various reasons.
Yu Qian’s sword-like eyebrows furrowed—now he finally understood why Wu Dingyuan had mocked his investigative inexperience at the dock. Tracking down so many people’s whereabouts was impossible for just the two of them; they’d need at least a dozen people—this was why Wu Dingyuan had been looking for Wu Buping. As the capital’s Chief Constable, he could coordinate sufficient resources to advance the investigation.
Both the Crown Prince and he had oversimplified the investigation, thinking an imperial order would suffice. Who knew that the actual practical matters would be so complex and chaotic?
Wu Dingyuan suddenly pushed the self-reproaching Yu Qian, gesturing him to look behind the hall manager. Behind him was a wooden wall with eight nails in a row, five holding gold-lacquered plaques with physicians’ names, three empty. The resident physicians’ attendance status was clear at a glance.
Above this row hung four wooden plaques, but their names were wrapped in yellow paper, showing only surnames.
Yu Qian knew this was called “promotion posting.” When hall physicians gained enough reputation or found noble patronage, they often left to become master physicians. The original hall would keep their nameplates, moving them up a level to show these famous physicians had originated from their hall, thus gaining prestige. However, out of respect, the hall would cover their names with yellow paper, leaving only surnames visible. The paper’s color resembled that of examination announcement papers, hence the term “promotion posting.”
Today at East Water Gate dock, nobles and officials had gathered—hall physicians weren’t qualified to enter, but master physicians could attend the ceremony. If someone had been a Universal Aid hall physician who was later promoted to master physician, it wasn’t impossible they might have gone to the dock carrying their old employer’s medicine box.
Yu Qian’s spirits lifted slightly—this was indeed a good investigative lead. But seeing four promotion plaques hanging there, his head began to ache again. Even with just four people, the investigation would be troublesome. He looked toward Wu Dingyuan, who had already started speaking:
“You must know all these promoted doctors?”
The manager said proudly: “I’ve managed Universal Aid for over ten years—I’m familiar with every physician who’s practiced here.” Wu Dingyuan stroked his chin: “Then please tell me, which of these promoted physicians was recognized by Eunuch Zhu Buhua?”
This question startled both the manager and Yu Qian. The manager was surprised how this person could be so prescient, immediately guessing their hall’s most recent proud medical case; Yu Qian was shocked at how this person’s thoughts could jump so unexpectedly to the seemingly unrelated Zhu Buhua.
The manager smiled: “You’ve hit the mark. Eunuch Zhu from the imperial city came from the north to Jinling early this year and developed a facial abscess due to climate change. Many famous physicians couldn’t cure it, but our Universal Aid’s Doctor Su Jingxi displayed remarkable skill and achieved improvement. Doctor Su gained noble patronage and was recently promoted to private practice. Our entire hall shares in this glory, bringing spring to the capital’s medical community.”
Though the Ming Dynasty had only moved its capital a few years ago, residents of the old capital still spoke with metropolitan pride, showing subtle disdain for the northern capital. Hearing this, Yu Qian’s mind churned—Wu Dingyuan had guessed correctly.
But didn’t he know what this meant? He was accusing an Imperial Guard official of participating in rebellion!
Wu Dingyuan ignored him, carefully questioning the manager about Doctor Su Jingxi. It turned out he was from Suzhou, from a family of renowned physicians with deep medical traditions. Doctor Su was young, only in his early twenties, and had joined Universal Aid just months ago. Though he rarely socialized, his medical skills were exceptional.
After curing Eunuch Zhu’s facial abscess, he left Universal Aid and took residence in an alley off Chengxian Street. The location was close to the imperial city, convenient for treating Eunuch Zhu at any time.
Leaving Universal Aid Hall, Yu Qian grabbed Wu Dingyuan’s sleeve, demanding harshly why he suddenly suspected Eunuch Zhu. Did he have any evidence? Wu Dingyuan shrugged: “No evidence. But any official still alive in Nanjing is suspicious.”
“Eunuch Zhu commands the imperial guards—he should have been waiting in the imperial city anyway, nothing suspicious about that,” Yu Qian paused then continued, “Besides, his facial abscess has been acting up recently, making it inconvenient to go to East Gate—I’ve seen this myself.”
“Oh, so you’re saying it’s just coincidence that a physician who treats Eunuch Zhu left East Water Gate dock moments before the explosion?”
“Uh…”
“Little Apricot Kernel, you can’t investigate cases like this.” Wu Dingyuan looked sympathetically at this amateur. “Don’t make any preconceptions, don’t easily dismiss any facts you’re unwilling to accept—in the end, that only harms everyone.”
“But to assume they’re connected based just on this seems too far-fetched…”
“Whether it’s far-fetched or not, why don’t we just find Doctor Su and ask him? Come on, be good.” Wu Dingyuan walked past Yu Qian, casually patting his head.
Wu Dingyuan was tall, a full head taller than Yu Qian, and his palm landed squarely on Yu Qian’s official hat. Yu Qian froze as if scorched, then jumped back a step in fury, eyes wide like an angry cat with bristling fur.
The official hat symbolized court dignity—a commoner daring to touch an official so casually would normally earn a beating. Yu Qian couldn’t understand why this person suddenly acted so presumptuously, showing such disregard for hierarchy! Wu Dingyuan laughed heartily, feeling quite satisfied. While the food from government kitchens was good, official duties were difficult—the chance to tug a tiger’s whiskers only came at times like these.
Under Yu Qian’s glaring eyes, Wu Dingyuan mounted his horse and rode off.
Yu Qian stood dumbfounded for a moment before scrambling onto his donkey to follow quickly, not even stopping to pick up the saddle blanket that had fallen. The donkey’s back was pointed, and sitting without the blanket was very uncomfortable. Along the way, Yu Qian sat as if on pins and needles, neurotically touching his official hat, constantly feeling it might be askew.
Chengxian Street lay northwest of Fucheng Bridge, almost at the end of the Inner Qinhuai River, not far from the rear lake outside the north city wall. This area housed many military officers, eunuchs, and imperial students, and was quite particular about appearances. Street corners were planted with Yangzhou peach trees and osmanthus, with flowers like jade peaches and fragrant abundant leaves, filling the entire area with a rich, sweet aroma.
Su Jingxi’s residence was in Big Silk Hat Alley, midway along Chengxian Street. This area housed many wealthy families, with spacious facades and deep courtyards. Walking through the alley, both sides’ black-tiled walls were covered with morning glories, jasmines, and azaleas, showing patches of emerald green and crimson red. If tall enough, one could see ginkgo trees and pagoda trees inside the courtyards.
They quickly found a residence wedged between two gardens. This type of house borrowed its neighbors’ gable walls, with its room and courtyard. Though not spacious, it achieved “tranquility,” making it popular among out-of-town scholars studying in Nanjing.
Wu Dingyuan dismounted and knocked on the door. Soon, a woman’s voice came from inside: “Who is it?” They exchanged glances—there was someone else in the house, either his wife or a maid.
Yu Qian spoke up: “I am Yu Qian, Direct Official of the Household Department. A relative has fallen ill, and I seek Doctor Su Jingxi.” His voice was loud and clear, easily heard inside the courtyard. The woman’s voice replied: “The doctor isn’t taking outside calls recently, please leave.”
“This is a matter of life and death. If Doctor Su could just hear the symptoms and offer some advice, that would be helpful.” Yu Qian’s voice carried a hint of anxiety, which wasn’t acting. Only by opening this door could today’s disaster in Nanjing find resolution.
After a long silence inside, the voice spoke again: “Write the patient’s symptoms on paper and slip it through the door. The doctor will look when he has time.” Yu Qian insisted on meeting in person, but there was no further response.
Wu Dingyuan, standing nearby, suddenly changed expression: “Something’s wrong.”
Yu Qian asked what was wrong. He lowered his voice: “If this physician were connected to the treasure ship explosion, he’d know all Eastern Palace officials had been reduced to ashes. You just claimed to be a Household Department Direct Official—why wouldn’t that raise suspicion?”
Yu Qian suddenly realized—he had recently transferred from the Messenger’s Office to the Household Department but had overlooked this detail.
Wu Dingyuan slammed his palm against the door, finding it barred from inside. He immediately mounted his horse, then using the horse’s height, leaped to the wall top and jumped into the courtyard, then lifted the bar to let Yu Qian in.
The courtyard was only about a dozen paces square, swept spotlessly clean without a speck of dust or fallen leaves. It contained a single-room dwelling, with clusters of cymbidium orchids and double-flowered loropetalum in the corners, and a pot of celosia by the window. Water vats, clay stoves, iron cauldrons, and grindstones were arranged orderly in the courtyard, with a faint bitter smell of decocted medicine lingering—indeed a physician’s residence.
The door of the building creaked, and a woman peered out, her hair disheveled and clothes askew as if interrupted during something private. Wu Dingyuan stepped forward, grabbed the door edge, and barked fiercely for her to move aside. The woman screamed and collapsed to the ground.
Wu Dingyuan ignored her, rushing into the room only to find the inner chamber empty. A blue cotton robe lay across a bamboo couch, with a long black sash on the clothes hook beside it, and the “Universal Aid” medicine box sat by a cabinet in the corner. These items proved that the mysterious physician spotted by the old student was indeed Su Jingxi.
Scanning the room, he saw the back window wide open. This Su Jingxi was truly alert—upon sensing something amiss, they had immediately fled through the window. Yu Qian burst in at this moment, but Wu Dingyuan had no time to explain, gesturing for him to search the room while quickly jumping out the window himself.
As soon as he landed, he felt something wrong beneath his feet. The house had no kitchen, with all cooking and boiling done below the back window. Wu Dingyuan had landed right on a black pot, which overturned with a clang, nearly tripping him.
Wu Dingyuan cursed his bad luck. Once he regained his balance and looked up, the delay meant his quarry had vanished, leaving only a rammed earth wall about ten feet high visible in the back courtyard. Su Jingxi must have scaled this wall and jumped into the neighbor’s courtyard.
Once they reached the street, the matter would become doubly thorny. Wu Dingyuan gritted his teeth and struggled to give chase. He wasn’t used to this kind of pursuit—usually, he worked behind the scenes advising while his father Wu Buping and the fierce constables charged ahead. But now, with that little Apricot Kernel unreliable, he had to take action himself for those three hundred taels of silver.
He rushed to the wall’s base and with a running start scaled the top, quickly jumping to the other side. His boots landed simultaneously in soft soil with a “thump.” This was a meticulously tended garden, with poppies, autumn peonies, crabapple trees, and over a dozen precious flowers arranged artfully between the beds, showing refined taste.
Wu Dingyuan had no time to appreciate the scenery. Before he could spot where the fugitive had gone, he heard Yu Qian’s loud voice from the house: “What are you doing? Stop!”
Could the maid be trying to escape? Wu Dingyuan thought. Fortunately, he’d left Yu Qian there—if Su Jingxi couldn’t be caught, they’d need the maid to find them. He steadied himself when suddenly he noticed a large cicada resting on a bright green banana leaf before him.
Strange—if someone had just rushed past, it would have been startled away.
A bizarre thought suddenly flashed through Wu Dingyuan’s mind, connecting to a detail he’d overlooked earlier.
The maid who had collapsed in fear, though her hair was disheveled and clothes askew, wore white leather musician’s boots under her horse-face skirt—the kind only physicians wore… Damn, Su Jingxi was the maid! She was a woman!
Wu Dingyuan had just laughed at Yu Qian’s preconceptions, yet he’d made the same mistake, automatically assuming the physician must be male. There were many female physicians in the Jiangnan region, though they rarely appeared in public. Considering Zhu Buhua’s status as a eunuch, wouldn’t a female physician be perfect for treating him in the imperial city?
Wu Dingyuan cursed his foolishness and quickly turned back. Just then, Yu Qian let out a scream of pain, followed by the rapid sound of hoofbeats growing distant.
Damn!
One step behind leads to falling further behind. Wu Dingyuan hurriedly leaped back over the low wall and rushed back to the house to find Yu Qian leaning against the doorframe, the right sleeve of his robe slashed open with the skin beneath bleeding profusely.
“She—she suddenly pulled out medical scissors and stabbed me! She was Su Jingxi!” Yu Qian clutched his wound, calling out somewhat pitifully.
“This woman is truly formidable,” Wu Dingyuan marveled.
From the moment Yu Qian announced his official position at the door, Su Jingxi had seen through their intentions. She quickly removed her robe, revealing her undergarments and loosening her hair to create the illusion of an intimate moment interrupted. Most men, even if unmoved, would lower their guard at such a scene. After luring Wu Dingyuan away with the deliberately opened back window, she stabbed Yu Qian with hidden medical scissors, stole the horse, and escaped through the front door.
This series of actions was purposeful and precisely misleading—her quick thinking was truly admirable.
While Wu Dingyuan pondered this, he rushed out the front door. By now Su Jingxi had ridden to the alley’s entrance and was about to reach the street. In desperation, he gave two sharp whistles.
The horse, trained by the Warrior Corps, immediately stopped at hearing the two whistles. Su Jingxi whipped it, constantly urging it on. Faced with contradictory commands, the mount hesitated, its four hooves turning in place. Seizing this opportunity, Wu Dingyuan took large strides and caught up in one breath, grabbing the reins.
Without a word, Su Jingxi stabbed Wu Dingyuan with her medical scissors. He laughed coldly, dodging the blow and striking her forearm with his fist. Su Jingxi cried out and dropped the scissors. Without hesitation, she pulled a silver hairpin from her head and thrust it at Wu Dingyuan’s throat.
Seeing the danger, Wu Dingyuan quickly raised his hand to protect his throat, feeling a sharp pain as the hairpin pierced clean through his palm. Cursing this mad woman internally while enduring the intense pain, he grabbed her shoulder and yanked her off the horse, then kicked her in the chest.
This was a standard move used by constables to subdue criminals, called the “Dragon Lock.” The chest is a vital point for breathing—a heavy kick there can instantly leave someone breathless and dizzy, unable to resist.
Su Jingxi was no martial artist. Hit by Wu Dingyuan’s kick, her limbs immediately went limp, leaving her helpless on the ground. Wu Dingyuan quickly bound her with rawhide rope, but having used his hemp gag earlier on Zhu Zhanji, he had to tear off a dirty, smelly piece of saddle padding and stuff it in her mouth. Searching her, he found a note in her pocket.
Some passersby at the alley entrance looked over, but Wu Dingyuan’s dark-faced shout “Capital Constabulary catching a criminal!” scared them away.
When Wu Dingyuan brought her back to the house, Yu Qian was bandaging his wound. As a physician’s residence, there was no shortage of medical supplies and tools, but… bandaging skills varied by person. Yu Qian, used to scholarly pursuits, was clumsy at such tasks, spilling wound powder everywhere and wrapping his arm until it resembled an overworked steamed bun.
Wu Dingyuan said nothing, taking Su Jingxi directly to the inner room and tying her to a chair before walking out. Seeing Wu Dingyuan’s bloody right palm, Yu Qian quickly offered a small white porcelain bottle. Wu Dingyuan bit open the stopper, poured all the powder onto his palm wound, then wrapped it with cotton strips.
“Little Apricot Kernel, we’re even now.” Wu Dingyuan sat on the doorstep, breathing heavily.
Yu Qian frowned, not understanding his meaning.
Wu Dingyuan pointed inside: “Like I said, three hundred taels of silver only buys you the truth. The truth is sitting right there—go ask her yourself. My work is done.” Yu Qian stood up abruptly: “A journey of a hundred li is half complete at ninety—how can you abandon it halfway? She hasn’t spoken yet, what if there are more twists ahead?”
Wu Dingyuan’s lips curved in mockery: “You officials always think others should risk their lives as a matter of course. As a mere constable, finding this physician for you is already heaven showing special favor. Deep waters have hard stones, long caves have snakes—probe deeper, and I fear ten lives wouldn’t be enough to keep me from sinking in the Qinhuai River.”
“With the Crown Prince backing us, what do you fear?!”
“But what if the Crown Prince isn’t here anymore?”
Wu Dingyuan’s casual words pierced Yu Qian’s crown acupoint like a silver needle, freezing his limbs’ blood flow. Yu Qian asked what he meant, face ashen. Wu Dingyuan casually tossed over the note found on Su Jingxi.
It was an elegant cloud-bordered visiting card with a line of tiny regular script, roughly stating that the eighteenth day’s treatment time had been changed to the eighth hour, the eunuch would come personally to Big Silk Hat Alley for treatment, and requesting Doctor Su to remain at the hall. Below is Zhu Buhua’s signature mark.
Yu Qian didn’t understand—this appointment card merely changed a treatment time, what was wrong with that? Wu Dingyuan said: “If the Crown Prince were still alive, would he have time to come today?”
Yu Qian’s pupils contracted. Indeed, this card was delivered yesterday, before the treasure ship incident. Zhu Buhua, as commander of the imperial city guards, should have been attending the Crown Prince’s reception all day according to plan—how could he have time for medical treatment? Unless… unless he knew in advance that something would happen to the Crown Prince.
Realizing this, Yu Qian couldn’t sit still. Whether this speculation was true or false, he had to rush to the imperial city immediately to warn the Crown Prince to be vigilant. Every moment’s delay multiplied the risk. If anything happened to the Crown Prince, all investigations would become meaningless.
Thinking of this, Yu Qian glanced regretfully at the sky. A strip of red clouds now touched the western courtyard wall’s edge—Nanjing’s chaotic day was ending. When he turned back, his eyes showed determination.
Yu Qian took a light yellow rhinoceros horn ruyi from his waist and handed it to Wu Dingyuan. The Ruyi’s surface had fine bamboo grain patterns, clearly a high-quality piece.
“This is my Yu family heirloom—any pawnshop would exchange it for three hundred strings of paper money. I’m leaving it here to buy one hour of your time! Get the truth out of this criminal!”
Wu Dingyuan hadn’t expected this person to spend his own money on national duty. After half a day together, he somewhat understood Yu Qian’s character—when his jaw set firm, he was most serious. Wu Dingyuan smiled reluctantly: “Why not question her yourself instead of wasting money?”
Yu Qian’s tone was extremely stern: “I must rush to the imperial city now. When I return, I hope you’ll have obtained the criminal’s signed confession—keep that ruyi safe, I’ll come back with paper money… no, with silver to redeem it!”
With that he pushed out the door, clumsily climbing onto horseback. Wu Dingyuan held the ruyi, calling helplessly: “Hey, I haven’t agreed yet!” But Yu Qian seemed not to hear, shaking the reins and swaying as he quickly rode away. In the distance, imitating Wu Dingyuan’s gesture, he extended his right arm and clenched his fist, disappearing at the end of the alley without looking back.
Wu Dingyuan was momentarily frustrated. Wasn’t this guy supposed to be a proper gentleman? How did he start playing tricks too? Seeing he couldn’t call him back, Wu Dingyuan tied the ruyi to his wrist and reluctantly walked back to the inner room.
Though bound to the wooden chair, Su Jingxi held her neck straight, apparently having strained to hear the conversation outside. Seeing Wu Dingyuan enter, her eyes showed no fear, instead fixing steadily on his movements. That sharp gaze reminded him of the wild kitten near Confucius Temple that could never be tamed.
Wu Dingyuan circled the room, finding a white paper on the sandalwood table, ink not yet dry—just set aside. It was Yan Jidao’s “Breaking Battle Array – Willows Below, Songs in the Courtyard.” The handwriting was thin and forceful, capturing the essence of Liu-style calligraphy. But Wu Dingyuan, familiar only with official documents, had no interest in such things. He roughly pulled away the paper and picked up the fine Hu brush.
As a resident physician, Su Jingxi used only the finest materials—Hu brushes, Hui ink, She inkstones, and even special gold-flecked Suzhou paper for prescriptions. Unfortunately, these refined items had now fallen into the hands of a harsh interrogator as tools of punishment.
Wu Dingyuan pulled over a low table, sat opposite Su Jingxi, first ground some ink, then turned over the paper full of elegant verse, smoothing the edges with his palm. Then he removed the dirty cloth from her mouth, but before he could question her, Su Jingxi burst out:
“You’re… not Zhu Buhua’s men?”