Wu Dingyuan heard these words and sternly shouted, “Silence! I haven’t even started questioning you!”
At this point, this woman was still trying to control the conversation. Any experienced investigator knew that for an interrogation to proceed smoothly, the priority was to not let the suspect lead you by the nose. But before Wu Dingyuan could figure out how to dampen her spirit, Su Jingxi spoke again:
“I heard everything. You’re investigating the explosion of the Crown Prince’s treasure ship for him, aren’t you?”
Her tone was composed. Wu Dingyuan pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling mentally exhausted. It was all Yu Qian’s fault with his loud voice, letting the suspect know some of the interrogator’s cards. He slapped the table, “Impudent! Just answer honestly!”
Su Jingxi said, “As long as you’re not Zhu Buhua’s people, that’s fine. Officer, I can answer truthfully without any deception, but please untie my hands first and let me fix my appearance.” She had pulled out her hairpin earlier while trying to escape, causing her black hair to cascade down, covering half of her face, looking quite disheveled.
Wu Dingyuan considered it briefly, thinking it would be better to get this over with quickly. So he untied Su Jingxi’s arms, but unexpectedly, she then instructed, “There’s a buffalo horn comb under the mirror box over there, bring it to me.” Her tone was like ordering a servant. Wu Dingyuan frowned but still opened the mirror box and handed over the comb. However, his eyes remained fixed on her – if she made any suspicious moves, the iron ruler would strike instantly.
Su Jingxi took the comb and methodically arranged her hair, tucking each strand behind her ears. Her composure was unlike that of a prisoner, more resembling a noble lady preparing to go lantern viewing during the Lantern Festival. Only then did Wu Dingyuan see her features.
It was a refined face of twenty-four or twenty-five years, with straight, firm features. Compared to the famous courtesans of Qinhuai River, she had less coquettish delicacy but more capability and determination. After her long hair was combed back, it revealed a smooth, full forehead. According to physiognomy texts, this was called “the first of nine virtues,” a sign of intelligence and wisdom. No wonder she could disguise herself as a man and become a resident physician at such a young age.
After Su Jingxi finished combing her hair, Wu Dingyuan got up to take away the comb and retied her arms before asking, “What’s your name and where are you from?”
Su Jingxi answered honestly as promised: “I’m from Kunshan, Suzhou, from the third branch of the Su family of Chuan Village, named Su Jingxi.” She noticed Wu Dingyuan’s awkward grip on the brush and added with a hint of a smile: “Like in the poem ‘White stones emerge from Jingxi stream, red leaves grow sparse in winter’s gleam.'”
Wu Dingyuan’s head ached at the literary reference, and he coughed uncomfortably: “Were you involved in the Crown Prince’s treasure ship explosion?”
“I had nothing to do with that incident. You’ve misunderstood.”
“Oh.” Wu Dingyuan wasn’t surprised – nobody would confess readily, they always had to cry injustice first. He tapped his brush handle: “Why did you go to the East Water Gate dock? And why did you leave just before the treasure ship exploded?”
“I went there looking for my fiancé.”
“Your fiancé?”
“Yes, he works as a Censor in Nanjing and should have been at the dock. But I couldn’t find him. Since Eunuch Zhu had arranged for me to see patients that afternoon, I hurried back home. When the treasure ship exploded, I had indeed just left, but that was merely a coincidence.”
“Coincidence? If so, why did you flee without even asking questions when we knocked?”
“All the Eastern Palace people were on the treasure ship. That Yu official outside claimed to be from the Crown Prince’s household – he was either a ghost or an impostor.” Su Jingxi tilted her head, “If I had known the ship would have problems, why would I specifically go to the dock? To die?”
Su Jingxi’s counter-question left Wu Dingyuan speechless. He narrowed his eyes and changed the subject: “Tell me about Zhu Buhua.”
“I was just his treating physician, not a servant in his household. I don’t know about his affairs.”
“So you were simply treating his illness?”
“Of course not.” Su Jingxi’s eyes suddenly flashed with intensity: “I treated him to kill him.”
The writing brush suddenly trembled, leaving a large ink blot on the paper. This was an unexpected twist, and Wu Dingyuan awkwardly lifted his wrist, full of suspicion: “Don’t you think this statement contradicts itself?”
“Saving lives and taking them are but a thought apart for a physician. What’s the difference?” Su Jingxi replied. Wu Dingyuan made an “uh” sound – this woman always tried to take control of the conversation. He dipped his brush in ink again: “Fine, then why did you want to kill Zhu Buhua?”
“He once killed a close friend of mine. I want revenge.”
Wu Dingyuan found it strange that a eunuch superintendent from the Imperial Stables in the capital would have a grudge against a woman from Suzhou. However, this wasn’t related to what Yu Qian needed to know, so he decided to set aside the motive and get straight to the point: “So how did you plan to kill Eunuch Zhu? Poison in his medicine?”
Su Jingxi scoffed: “Such crude methods of common folk are beneath a professional. The ways of medicine are far more sophisticated than you imagine.”
“Hmm, continue.”
“At the beginning of this year, when I heard in Suzhou that Zhu Buhua had gone south to Nanjing, I immediately came to the temporary capital. I obtained a position at Puji Clinic while secretly investigating his whereabouts. Zhu Buhua’s favorite food in Nanjing was the roast goose from Fan’s shop outside Xuanjin Bridge. Every day, Fan’s owner would specially prepare a small pot of fresh marinade just for his goose. I bribed the shop assistant to mix in some Chatou bream liver into the marinade.”
“The character for ‘bream’… how do you write it?” Wu Dingyuan scratched his head with the brush handle in frustration. He was somewhat literate, but only somewhat.
Su Jingxi let out a sympathetic laugh: “It’s the fish radical with ‘bian.’ It’s a river fish from the Han River, with tender meat and good taste, except its liver is inflammatory. A poet named Meng Haoran died from carbuncles after eating Chatou bream – you do know who Meng Haoran is, right?”
“Yes, yes. After questioning you, I’ll go verify with Meng Haoran’s relatives. Continue.” Wu Dingyuan answered perfunctorily, not wanting to dwell on this.
“Goose meat itself is inflammatory, and roast goose marinade especially tends to be toxic and inflammatory. I added broth made from Chatou bream liver, making it a three-pronged attack. Within ten days, carbuncles started appearing on Zhu Buhua’s face, causing unbearable pain and itching. Those quack doctors he found didn’t know the cause and uselessly prescribed angelica, platycodon, and Gleditsia to reduce toxicity and heat. I seized the opportunity and volunteered, offering him a potent medicinal paste that showed remarkable effects. However, only I knew how to prepare this paste, which needed daily application to temporarily relieve the pain and itching. So Zhu Buhua used his influence to have me leave the clinic and stay in his residence as his physician, unable to do without me for a day.”
“But he’s not dead yet.”
Su Jingxi smiled slightly: “If he had died immediately from poison, how could I avoid suspicion? I needed a strategy of misdirection. Officer, you may not know that carbuncles come in two types: external and internal. External carbuncles have heads and appear on the skin – they cause pain and itching but aren’t fatal. Internal carbuncles have no heads and develop between the flesh layers – once they manifest, no medicine can help.”
As Su Jingxi started explaining medical principles, she became quite verbose. Wu Dingyuan impatiently tapped the table: “Get to the point.”
“The Chatou bream liver only caused Zhu Buhua to develop external carbuncles. The potent paste I applied daily, made primarily from veratrum, raw turtle shell, and whole insects, appeared miraculous but forced the toxic carbuncles inward into his tendons and bones, gradually suppressing the yang and converting to yin, ultimately transforming into headless internal carbuncles. Zhu Buhua isn’t dead yet, but his carbuncle condition has reached its limit these past few days. With just a slight trigger, he could die from carbuncle eruption at any time, beyond even divine intervention.”
Wu Dingyuan drew in a sharp breath. This woman’s method was extremely ruthless, not only killing Zhu Buhua invisibly but also keeping herself completely clean. He had heard rumors in Nanjing that Duke Wei Xu Da had died from carbuncles after eating too much roast goose. If something happened to Zhu Buhua, everyone would think he simply couldn’t control his appetite and met the same fate as Xu Da – no one would suspect anything suspicious in his medical treatment.
Who would have thought that within this treasure ship case lay such an intricate poisoning plot?
“So I couldn’t possibly be in league with Zhu Buhua, much less be connected to the treasure ship case,” Su Jingxi emphasized.
“Fine, fine, shall I apply for a merit citation for your righteous deed?”
Wu Dingyuan sneered coldly. She had calculated well – the treasure ship case was extremely serious, with lingering death by a thousand cuts being considered lenient for those involved. Between two evils, she might as well confess to poisoning Zhu Buhua, which would at most result in hanging. Moreover, it might not even be considered a crime.
This woman had overheard his conversation with Yu Qian and knew they were suspicious of Zhu Buhua. Her confession was a gamble – if Zhu Buhua truly was involved in wrongdoing, she might not even have to bear the charge of poisoning, but instead become a righteous hero who eliminated a traitor. This woman’s confession was full of calculation… but it didn’t matter.
These things weren’t his concern, so Wu Dingyuan didn’t ask further. He simply recorded all these statements, then folded together the gold-flecked papers filled with characters and went behind Su Jingxi to have her right thumb pressed as a fingerprint.
“That’s it?” Su Jingxi was stunned.
Wu Dingyuan said lazily: “I’m only responsible for recording the confession. Whether it’s believed or not will be up to the proper authorities to investigate. Just don’t recant when the time comes.”
Yu Qian only wanted a confession, and now he had one. As for whether Su Jingxi’s words were true or false, Wu Dingyuan had no obligation to verify. He put the bound confession into his robe and walked toward the outer room. Su Jingxi suddenly said: “Officer, staying here isn’t a problem, but if Zhu Buhua’s people come first, that won’t be good.” Wu Dingyuan’s footsteps stopped, and he turned back to look at her suspiciously.
“These past few days, his internal carbuncles have shown signs of external overflow, his face is deteriorating, and the pain and itching are unbearable. He might send someone to summon me for treatment at any time,” Su Jingxi said. Wu Dingyuan stared at her, his expression both annoyed and mocking: “You’re quite frank.”
“Didn’t we agree? You let me fix my hair, and I tell everything truthfully,” Su Jingxi answered.
“Hmph…” Wu Dingyuan exhaled an impatient breath through his nostrils.
He had planned to wait in this quiet, empty house for Yu Qian to return, hand over the confession, and go home early to drink. But Su Jingxi’s words added another complication. If Zhu Buhua happened to send someone to find her at this time, it would inevitably lead to conflict with him, dragging him into another trouble that had nothing to do with him.
Why wouldn’t anyone let him have a moment’s peace?
They definitely couldn’t stay in this house anymore, but if not here, where could they go? After thinking it through, Wu Dingyuan finally gritted his teeth, took a piece of paper, and stuck it on the door, writing four characters: “Meet at home.”
He decided to take Su Jingxi to his own home. First, his house was at Zhenhuan Bridge, not far from here; second, only his sister Wu Yulu was at home, with no other idle people around, making it quite convenient. The four characters on the paper would be incomprehensible to Zhu Buhua’s people, but Yu Qian had seen his address when he asked for three hundred taels of silver and would know where to find him.
If he hadn’t foolishly saved the Crown Prince in the first place, there wouldn’t be so many troublesome matters!
While regretting his actions, Wu Dingyuan got Su Jingxi down from the chair and had her put on a fitted emerald-colored embroidered robe with wide sleeves. This way, with Su Jingxi keeping her hands bound within her sleeves while sitting on the donkey, no one would notice the ropes around her wrists – they would just think she was some young wife visiting her maiden home.
“We’re going somewhere else. Don’t get any ideas, or you’ll be killed without question.” Wu Dingyuan waved the iron ruler in warning. Su Jingxi smiled and said, “Officer is being so considerate of me, I’m too happy to run away.”
Wu Dingyuan couldn’t see through her thoughts and didn’t bother trying to figure them out. He silently resolved that this would be the last time, he would absolutely not meddle in other people’s affairs again, then slapped the donkey’s rump and left the house with Su Jingxi, walking into the alley.
By now, Dashamo Lane was thoroughly steeped in twilight, with layers of dim curtains draping down from above. The two looked up to see the last trace of brightness still tangled between the wall-top vines like a thin rope desperately holding back the sinking daylight. But this effort ultimately failed – in just a moment, the entire alley fell completely into the well of darkness.
Not just Dashamo Lane, but the entire Inner Qinhuai region with its colorful towers and painted ridges, and the restless wards both inside and outside Nanjing city, all sank into the night together. Even the heavily guarded vast palace city couldn’t make time linger for half a moment longer, as the remaining twilight retreated rapidly.
A silk-covered boot stepped on the last retreating glimmer of dusk, then lifted. As the daylight completely vanished, it stepped gracefully across the threshold of Changle Palace. Zhu Zhanji’s mood had lightened somewhat from before.
Indeed, as Emperor Taizong had said, once you solve the first problem among tangled threads, the rest becomes easier. He had set up a memorial tablet for his attendant at Fengzhong Temple, made brief offerings, and on his way back to Changle Palace, he had sorted out the sequence for governing.
The top priority, naturally, was to first secure military power.
Before leaving the capital, Zhu Zhanji had done his homework. Currently within the imperial city were the Yongshi Camp guards; within the temporary capital were the Defense Office, the personal troops of the Eighteen Guards, and the patrol and defense camps of the Five Cities Military Affairs Department; outside the city were the Longjiang Shipyard navy, Xinjiangkou Camp, Pukou Camp, Chihe Camp, and Xiaoling Guard, among others. Once he controlled these forces, the order in Nanjing would be secure.
Next, he would review the official roster, prioritizing the restoration of operations in the Ministry of Revenue and Yingtian Prefecture. The Southern Ministry of Revenue managed the finances and grain transport of Jiangnan, while Yingtian Prefecture administered the Southern Metropolitan Region – neither could afford delays. Then he would rebuild the Ministry of Personnel, letting them fill out the Ministries of Works, War, and Justice. As for the Ministry of Rites and the Censorate, those weren’t urgent…
Years of observation at his grandfather’s side finally showed results. One by one, matters untangled themselves from the ball of thread, automatically categorizing themselves into the archival shelves of his mind. How to be an emperor was gradually becoming clearer before him.
However, before all these matters, there was one highest priority task – the fish-shaped tube he now held in his hands. Inside was an urgent secret edict sent by his father via express courier over eight hundred li.
Zhu Zhanji dismissed his attendants and sat alone on the couch, tore off the seal from the tube, then twisted it open with both hands, breaking the beeswax seal on the serrated opening to reveal the black lacquered interior. Inside was just a single scroll with an imperial yellow backing.
Zhu Zhanji carefully pulled out the scroll and slowly unrolled it to reveal the main text. The scroll wasn’t long, nor were there many characters written on it, but Zhu Zhanji maintained the same posture, his eyes fixed on the paper as if he could never finish reading these few dozen characters. The entire Changle Palace was as quiet as the Xiaoling Mausoleum, even when the temperature seemed to drop.
A young palace servant timidly walked to the palace entrance and called out across the threshold: “Your Highness the Crown Prince, Eunuch Zhu Buhua seeks an audience.” Zhu Zhanji slowly raised his head: “Your voice is too soft, I can’t hear you. Come closer.”
The young servant hurriedly stepped forward and knelt before the royal couch: “Eunuch Zhu seeks an audience.” Zhu Zhanji made a sound of acknowledgment but didn’t move, just staring at him blankly. The young servant didn’t know what might be on his face but dared not wipe it with his sleeve, so he could only kneel there in confusion.
Soon after, heavy footsteps sounded outside Changle Palace, mixed with the clanking of armor. Zhu Buhua, fully armed, hurriedly walked toward Changle Palace, the white cloth covering his face occasionally fluttering to reveal patches of horrifying pustules, each one swollen and ready to burst.
He walked straight to the palace entrance before stopping: “Your Highness, this servant Zhu Buhua specially requests to report.” From inside came the Crown Prince’s faint voice: “The eunuch’s tireless efforts are truly commendable.”
“With the temporary capital unsettled, how dare I speak of effort?”
After this standard exchange of courtesies between ruler and subject, Zhu Buhua looked up to see that the Crown Prince appeared to have retired to his couch. Through gaps in the screen, candlelight flickered, vaguely showing a figure lying on its side, though several layers of gauze curtains made it unclear.
“Is the city stable? Any leads on the criminals? Have the officials, military, and civilians been rescued?”
The Crown Prince asked three questions in succession. Zhu Buhua was prepared: “Military posts have been arranged throughout the city to maintain order; though the people are anxious, there’s no unrest. I’ve selected elite personnel from various offices who are conducting a city-wide search for White Lotus cult members. Additionally, we’ve done an initial count at the East Water Gate dock, for Your Highness to review.” He pulled a folded paper from his boot and respectfully held it out. The paper was covered densely with names, each representing a deceased official.
A sigh came from within the palace: “Since the founding of our great Ming, when have we ever suffered such losses among our officials? Truly an unprecedented disaster.” The voice paused briefly, then continued: “Go notify the Xiaoling Guard, this prince wants to go to Xiaoling now to seek forgiveness from our Imperial Ancestor.”
“Ah?”
Zhu Buhua was startled. Xiaoling was Emperor Hongwu’s mausoleum, located on the southern slope of Bell Mountain, guarded by 5,600 troops organized into one guard and five battalions. It was understandable that the Crown Prince, overwhelmed with grief, would want to pay respects at the ancestral tomb, but at this hour… He hurriedly advised: “The night is deep now, the situation unclear, and the road from the imperial city to Xiaoling Mausoleum passes near mountain slopes. Your Highness’s precious person cannot risk such danger.”
“But this prince cannot rest easy staying within this palace. Then arrange for me to visit the Duke of Xiangcheng and Eunuch Zheng at the Defense Office.”
“They are both under the care of famous physicians now, their injuries are not serious, just temporarily unconscious. If you were to visit in person, your dragon presence might be too overwhelming for their weakened states, potentially hindering their recovery.”
Zhu Buhua spoke diplomatically. After a moment of silence from within: “Very well, then leave the list here, this prince will look at it first. We’ll discuss other matters tomorrow.” Zhu Buhua secretly breathed a sigh of relief, placed the folded paper on the threshold, and then backed away with a bow.
After walking several dozen steps from Changle Palace, he suddenly heard a crunching sound from beside a corridor pillar. Zhu Buhua frowned and walked two more steps forward when a figure emerged: “Well, Eunuch Zhu, leaving already?”
The person wore a fine hemp Daoist robe and a Jiuhua cap, appearing to be a young scholar, but on closer inspection was a young woman in men’s clothing.
“Zuo Yehe? What are you doing here?” Zhu Buhua seemed to know her already.
“I just came to see if things were going smoothly for Eunuch Zhu.” Zuo Yehe said with a smile while taking some osmanthus-roasted pine nuts from her waist pouch and putting them in her mouth to chew. Her raised sleeve revealed an embroidered white lotus in full bloom.
“Hmph, no need for your concern, everything is under control.”
Zuo Yehe smiled charmingly: “Did you stabilize the Crown Prince? Or did the Crown Prince stabilize you?” Zhu Buhua’s brows furrowed: “What do you mean?” Zuo Yehe tilted her head toward Changle Palace: “I heard just now, that the Crown Prince was testing you.”
The pustules on Zhu Buhua’s face seemed to swell slightly as he lowered his voice in anger: “Don’t talk nonsense! He hadn’t even seen whether Nanjing’s walls were black or white before I led him straight into the imperial city, how could he be suspicious?” Zuo Yehe said: “After experiencing such a major event, the Crown Prince is bound to be paranoid. I think the eunuch needn’t struggle – just charge in and finish him with one stroke, clean and simple!”
As she spoke, she continued chewing, quickly grinding the pine nuts to powder between her teeth.
Zhu Buhua sneered: “Your White Lotus cult bungled the job, letting the Crown Prince escape the ship explosion, and now you want me to take the blame!”
Zuo Yehe was unconcerned: “Blame? Back then, Jianwen disappeared within this very palace, and did your Emperor Yongle ever face any blame?” Before she finished speaking, Zhu Buhua’s large hand had already grabbed her shoulder fiercely: “Dare to mention Emperor Taizong’s name again!”
“So Eunuch, your refusal to act is because you still feel bound by your oath of loyalty to the Zhu family!” Zuo Yehe showed no fear.
Zhu Buhua snorted and released his hand, his expression becoming more complex: “The emperor’s grace runs deep, I dare not forget it for a moment, just not this emperor…”
Zuo Yehe’s eyes suddenly shot out two cold beams: “This great undertaking was agreed upon jointly by the White Lotus Holy Mother and your noble patron. Once the arrow is notched, there’s no turning back. If the eunuch wants to stand firm on this ship, you must personally sink the other one!”
Zhu Buhua stared at this White Lotus Left Guardian for a moment, perhaps because the pustules on his face were unbearably painful and itchy, he finally slumped his shoulders and shouted as if venting: “Fine! But you’re coming with me!” With that, he turned around, drew the long sword at his waist, and strode back toward Changle Palace.
By now the folded paper on the threshold of Changle Palace was gone, presumably taken away. Candlelight from within shone through the screen, casting the shadow of a figure reclining on the couch, seemingly reading the list. Zhu Buhua took a deep breath and called out loudly from the threshold: “Your servant Zhu Buhua has urgent matters to report to Your Highness.”
This time the Crown Prince didn’t respond. He shouted again, but still no response from the other side. Unease rose in Zhu Buhua’s heart – could Zuo Yehe be right, had the Crown Prince grown suspicious of him?
Suddenly Zuo Yehe said from behind: “Something’s wrong!”
Zhu Buhua rushed forward, knocked aside several layers of gauze curtains, kicked over the screen, and saw a young palace servant stripped naked, a glass ruyi stuffed in his mouth, several gold cord bands binding his arms, trembling as he lay on the couch with the folded paper covering his face.
Zhu Buhua roughly pulled the ruyi from the young servant’s mouth and grabbed his neck, shaking him violently: “Where is the Crown Prince?” The poor servant’s mouth was full of blood as he mumbled unclearly: “I… I came in to announce the eunuch’s request for an audience, and the Crown Prince told me to stay still, then knocked me out with an inkstone. When I woke up I was… was like this.”
Zhu Buhua’s face swelled, almost bursting with pus. It seemed the Crown Prince had planned his escape before their conversation. When exactly had he noticed something was wrong? With these questions burning in his mind, Zhu Buhua threw the young servant far away and began searching Changle Palace with his sword drawn. Changle Palace wasn’t very large; in such a short time, the Crown Prince couldn’t have hidden well.
But after several rounds of searching, even checking inside the privy’s chamber pot, Zhu Buhua found nothing. Could this cooked roast goose have flown away? Zuo Yehe’s mind was ultimately more meticulous; she looked around and suddenly said: “The robes!”
Zhu Buhua awoke as if from a dream. That young servant was naked – the Crown Prince must have changed into his gray robes, disguising himself as a minor eunuch to leave Changle Palace.
He cursed inwardly. The guards around Changle Palace had been instructed not to let the Crown Prince leave, but they wouldn’t be suspicious of servants from the palace administration. If so, the Crown Prince might have already broken through the blockade around Changle Palace and was now moving through the palace city.
“Come here! By my order, secure both the imperial city and palace city, arrest… arrest…” Zhu Buhua stopped halfway, unable to continue. Arrest whom? Could he say arrest the Crown Prince?
His core followers were after all a minority; the outer Yongshi Camp wouldn’t accept such an order. At this moment, Zuo Yehe bent down to pick something up from the ground and held it before Zhu Buhua with a slight smile: “Naturally, we’re going to arrest that young palace servant.”
Zhu Buhua looked – in her hand was a jade pendant inscribed with four characters: “Only Pure and Single.”
This was the pendant Emperor Yongle had bestowed upon his royal grandson. It must have fallen when Zhu Zhanji was changing clothes. Zuo Yehe’s meaning was clear – Zhu Zhanji had never been to Jiangnan before, and those who could recognize his face were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns. Now without this token, Zhu Buhua could claim he was a palace servant impersonating the Crown Prince, and freely mobilize forces to surround and capture him.
Though Zuo Yehe’s strategy wouldn’t stand up to scrutiny, Nanjing was now in chaos and no one could raise questions. As long as they got through tonight and settled matters, truth and falsehood would no longer matter.
Zhu Buhua immediately ordered all sentry posts to conduct a city-wide search. The imperial city’s four gates would be locked at night; even if the Crown Prince had left Changle Palace, he had only moved from a small cage into a larger one.
Commands were passed down one after another, torches were lit one by one, and hundreds of points of light appeared in the dark palace city. They quickly formed lines of varying lengths, combing through the darkness like a fine-toothed comb. From Fengting Palace to Wenhua Palace and Wuying Palace, from Huagai Palace to Jinshen Palace, these long-desolate and abandoned palace halls were filled with dazzling commotion.
But the search remained fruitless – the Crown Prince seemed to have dissolved into the darkness without a trace. Zhu Buhua furiously whipped several of his men in frustration and ordered the inner court and the eastern and western six palaces to be included in the search area.
With his keen sense as head of the imperial guards, Zhu Buhua quickly discovered something suspicious on the west side of Kunning Palace.
When Emperor Hongwu built the palace city, he filled in Yanwei Lake to construct the Qianqing, Kunning, and other palaces. As a result, the inner court area had low-lying terrain, prone to waterlogging and making it extremely uncomfortable to live in. To solve the drainage problem, several additional drainage tile channels had to be built, running from beneath the palace platforms directly to the Qinhuai River on the western side.
This year, with Nanjing’s frequent earthquakes, Kunning Palace’s foundation developed a large crack, coincidentally splitting right at the drainage channel’s entrance, forming a gap slightly larger than a dog hole. Since no one lived here regularly, the Ministry of Works wasn’t in a hurry to repair it, leaving it unattended. A Yongshi Camp soldier passing by tried crawling into the gap to explore, and what he found was astounding.
When Zhu Buhua and Zuo Yehe arrived at Kunning Palace, soldiers had already retrieved their discoveries from inside. It was a severely decayed crown, its ribbons, and straps turned to ash, but one could barely make out that the crown body was divided into twelve sections. Scattered beside it were dozens of five-colored jade beads, a jade hairpin, and a pair of sunflower-shaped gold hair clasps.
“This is a Pibian crown!” Zhu Buhua, having served long in the inner palace, recognized it immediately. To confirm, he felt along the seams – the deerskin had rotted away, revealing gold-wrapped bamboo strips underneath. There was no mistake; this was a twelve-ridged white deerskin Pibian crown that only the emperor could wear.
It was too severely decayed to have been recently dropped by the Crown Prince – it must have been in the drainage channel for at least a decade or more. But how many years had the Ming Dynasty existed? Who had the right to wear this Pibian crown? And why was it abandoned here?
Zhu Buhua and Zuo Yehe exchanged glances, both seeing shock in each other’s eyes. If their speculation was correct, a secret that had haunted the Ming palace for many years had suddenly emerged at this sensitive moment.
Twenty-six years ago, after Emperor Hongwu’s death, his grandson Zhu Yunwen ascended the throne as Emperor Jianwen. Zhu Di, then Prince of Yan, launched his “campaign to settle disorder,” lasting four years before finally reaching Nanjing. A mysterious fire suddenly broke out within the palace city. When the flames subsided, several charred bodies were found in Kunning Palace, including those identified as Empress Ma and Crown Prince Zhu Wenkui, but Emperor Jianwen Zhu Yunwen vanished.
How he escaped the surrounding palace city and where he went, no one knew. After the Prince of Yan ascended the throne, throughout his entire Yongle reign, he never stopped searching for Jianwen’s whereabouts but never found anything. It remained an unresolved anxiety that plagued Emperor Yongle until his death.
Judging from this crown, Emperor Jianwen must have escaped through this drainage channel beside Kunning Palace. The channel was narrow; to pass through successfully, Jianwen had to abandon the twelve-ridged Pibian crown that symbolized imperial authority at the entrance, never to return.
However, Zhu Buhua had no time to ponder these old matters now. Besides the Pibian crown, soldiers also found a white cloth shoulder sash of fine hemp in the channel, with yellow trim on the corner – the distinctive uniform of the palace administration. Clearly, Zhu Zhanji had somehow learned of this secret passage out of the palace city. To crawl through the channel, he had removed the white sash taken from the young servant and left it with the Pibian crown.
The grandsons of two Ming emperors – Hongwu and Yongle – had, after more than twenty years, entered the same secret passage under similar circumstances. The coincidence and irony of this made everyone marvel.
Zhu Buhua urgently ordered his men to enter the channel to pursue the Crown Prince. But shortly after, they were forced to retreat. The channel ahead had collapsed, presumably kicked in deliberately by the Crown Prince. Clearing it would require digging from above ground.
Zhu Buhua angrily tore off the cloth covering his face, his grotesque pustules nearly bursting: “Who knows? Where does this drainage channel lead? Who knows?” The surrounding Yongshi Camp soldiers looked at each other blankly. They had only been stationed in Nanjing since the beginning of the year and were completely unfamiliar with these things.
Zuo Yehe in the crowd closed her folding fan and ordered the young servant to be brought over. The poor servant, still naked, was pushed forward trembling like a sieve. Zhu Buhua merely brought his pus-oozing face close to him, and he was frightened into revealing everything.
It turned out that after Zhu Zhanji stripped and bound him, the first thing he asked was whether there was a secret passage to escape. The young servant had heard old palace administration staff mention this abandoned drainage channel in conversations, so he told the Crown Prince that this channel extended westward from Kunning Palace, passing through the western walls of both palace city and imperial city, entering the Qinhuai River area near Bamboo Bridge.
“You little wretch! Why didn’t you say this earlier!” Zhu Buhua furiously swung his long sword, slicing through the young servant’s throat with a “puff,” venting his anger.
The only option now was to block the other end before the Crown Prince could crawl out of the channel. So Zhu Buhua, Zuo Yehe, and others hurriedly left the palace city and climbed the western imperial city wall, where guards had already lit a row of large windproof lanterns, hanging down six feet to illuminate the Qinhuai River below. Several cavalry units also rushed out of the city gate, searching back and forth along the western imperial city base street.
Soon after, a sentry post on the city wall raised an alarm. Zhu Buhua’s spirits lifted as he quickly rushed over. This was the middle section of the western imperial city wall, and in the lantern light, one could faintly see a dark figure in the river. Ripples constantly surrounded the figure, showing it was desperately swimming away using both arms and legs.
Just as Zhu Buhua was about to order the cavalry below to search the river and capture the figure, Zuo Yehe coldly said beside him: “When it’s time to cut, cut.” Zhu Buhua’s mouth twitched, and he had to turn and shout: “Draw bows!”
The surrounding soldiers took out their bows and strung them. The Yongshi Camp, guarding the forbidden area, carried short recurve bows to avoid suspicion, with limited range. However, these bows had an advantage when shooting down from the city wall at targets thirty paces away. There were at least twenty bows on the wall now – firing together, even with reduced accuracy in the night, they could cover the entire river surface.
Zhu Buhua watched the small figure bobbing up and down in the river, first feeling a slight guilt which was quickly washed away by the pain and itching on his face. As if to dispel the pain, he forcefully swung his arm downward…
…Zhu Zhanji desperately paddled in the ice-cold river, his mind heavier than his limbs. In his early years following his grandfather on northern campaigns, he had learned some swimming skills in the army, never expecting to use them here today.
This was an absurd farce. First, he was blown up and covered in dirt, then forced to crawl through an extremely narrow drainage channel, and now he was struggling for survival at the edge of the palace city. How could the Crown Prince of the great Ming Dynasty end up in such a miserable situation in his capital?
Unfortunately, Zhu Zhanji had no time for deep reflection, as he heard the words “draw bows,” followed by intense bowstring vibrations. He took a deep breath and suddenly plunged underwater. Countless arrows pierced the water, heading toward him with fierce momentum. Fortunately, only one arrowhead grazed his face, leaving a faint trail of blood in the water, while the others were stuck in the riverbed mud.
Zhu Zhanji knew he absolutely couldn’t surface for air now, as it would only help the archers adjust their aim. But soon a second volley came – the enemy wasn’t trying to aim, but using arrow rain to suppress him, forcing him to either surface and be shot or drown. Zhu Zhanji held on a while longer, his lungs burning, but he couldn’t persist and had to reluctantly tilt his head up, exposing his nostrils.
By then the third volley had arrived, and Zhu Zhanji had only inhaled half a breath before anxiously sinking again. Suddenly his right shoulder jolted, and searing pain rapidly spread from his back shoulder blade, causing his limbs to convulse.
Bad, I’ve been hit… Zhu Zhanji thought. The intense pain brought dizziness but also dispelled his panic. The desperate situation made Zhu Zhanji unprecedentedly clear-headed. He bit his tongue hard, forcing himself to observe the situation from a calm perspective, searching for a glimmer of hope.
Soon the Crown Prince noticed that arrows falling on the north side were sparser than the south, and these volleys’ coverage area showed a clear northward trend.
Before leaving the capital, Zhu Zhanji had carefully studied Nanjing’s maps. He was now in the middle section of the inner Qinhuai River, facing north with his back to the south, with Bamboo Bridge to the north and Xuanjin Bridge to the south. The archers on the wall probably thought he would flee north since Bamboo Bridge was closer and the water flow was favorable.
During military campaigns, his grandfather Zhu Di had taught him to never do what the enemy wanted you to do. Remembering this teaching, Zhu Zhanji unhesitatingly plunged underwater again, ignoring the piercing pain in his shoulder, and turned to swim south.
Though swimming south meant going against the current, ahead was Xuanjin Bridge. The White Lotus had blown up this bridge today. The cavalry on the east bank couldn’t cross the river and would have to detour, buying him more time. Zhu Zhanji didn’t know what to do next, but his strong survival instinct drove him to fight for every moment of life.
This judgment proved accurate. After swimming some distance, he looked back to see arrows falling “whoosh whoosh” on the river surface to the north. The night became Zhu Zhanji’s most loyal guard – each time he came up for air, he first let the back of his head break the surface, breathing sideways, always keeping his hair covering his face. With just the dim lantern light, the soldiers on the wall could hardly distinguish a head on the dark river surface.
Using these small tricks, Zhu Zhanji slowly moved southward. He had never felt time pass so slowly, nor a few hundred paces seem so long. Zhu Zhanji felt like a leaking pleasure boat, his energy and strength constantly draining away, his vision increasingly blurry. With each foot he moved, he felt his sinews and bones about to break, having to squeeze out the last bit of strength from between his bones.
Zhu Zhanji became disoriented at one point, thinking he might as well die. But just as he was about to give up, the outline of a half-broken bridge pier appeared on the water ahead. This was the second time he had seen this bridge today. Zhu Zhanji’s spirits lifted involuntarily, and he used his last strength to climb onto the bridge pier, cross the stone railing, and collapse in front of the stone lion’s base.
The stone lion blocked the view from the city wall. He leaned against the base, gasping heavily. The arrow shaft was still in his shoulder, but thankfully his muscles were highly tensed, preventing blood from flowing out.
Once his life was temporarily secure, another sense of crisis emerged: what next?
Not only was his entire entourage dead or wounded, but even his identity as Crown Prince couldn’t be maintained. With Zhu Zhanji’s intelligence, it wasn’t hard to imagine what Zhu Buhua would do with that jade pendant. As for the officials and nobles in Nanjing… when even the imperial guard commander sent from Beijing had betrayed him, how could anyone dare trust them? In the vast Jinling, there was not one person he could trust, not one person who could trust him!
Now he was truly alone.
No, there was one… well, one and a half people he could rely on. Yu Qian’s image floated in Zhu Zhanji’s mind, but he immediately shook his head with a bitter smile. After Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan went out, there had been no news. Now that he had escaped the palace city alone, unfamiliar with the area, he had no idea where to find those two.
Zhu Zhanji lifted his dripping head, looking at the pitch-black sky, seeing the same color of despair reflected in his eyes.
At this moment, the clamor from the city wall suddenly grew louder, and the sound of hoofbeats could be heard in the distance. Zhu Zhanji knew he couldn’t stay here – once they discovered no one near Bamboo Bridge, cavalry would immediately rush to Xuanjin Bridge.
But where should he go? There were blocks of civilian houses nearby, but the Yongshi Camp would surely search house by house, and he couldn’t count on common people to shelter a suspicious person – they might even tie him up and turn him in for a reward. Zhu Zhanji’s gaze swept the area continuously until suddenly fixing on a particular spot.
It was a low, humble house about two hundred paces away, with three crossed flagpoles on the roof and a white cloth hanging in the middle. Zhu Zhanji had seen similar structures in Beijing – this was a common charitable shelter in the city. When out-of-town merchants died suddenly or families were completely wiped out with no relatives to collect the bodies, they would be temporarily placed here. The flagpoles on the roof were erected by the government to pacify these lonely ghosts.
Few people approached this place normally, and even fewer at night, making it a good hiding place. He had no other choice but to drag his nearly useless body, stumbling step by step toward the shelter.
To avoid ill omens, the shelter was set several steps apart from surrounding houses, with a shallow auspicious ditch dug around it. Zhu Zhanji stumbled across the ditch, tripping and losing his balance. He used his last strength to stretch out his palm, letting his body fall forward.
With a “bang,” the wooden doors burst open, and he fell straight inside. Just as his forehead was about to hit the ground, a hand caught Zhu Zhanji’s chest.
“Your Highness?”
A resonant voice entered Zhu Zhanji’s ears.