“Yu Qian?”
The voice was unmistakable. Even in his hazy state, Zhu Zhanji could recognize it. That voice always carried a sense of steadfast reliability. A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he let his body go limp and collapse.
Yu Qian panicked momentarily, quickly supporting the Crown Prince and helping him onto a smooth stone platform before bringing over a clay candleholder. The Prince’s condition left him alarmed—not only was his ceremonial court robe soaking wet, but there was an arrow lodged in his shoulder! What in heaven’s name had happened over the past half day? Wasn’t His Highness supposed to be safely protected within the imperial city?
Before Yu Qian could think further, a sudden commotion erupted outside—a cacophony of footsteps, shouts, women’s cries, and infant wails all mixed. Yu Qian glanced back at the Crown Prince, wondering if rebels were in pursuit. But what rebels would be so bold as to conduct house-to-house searches?
Suddenly, there was a violent knocking at the door. Yu Qian went to open it, and both parties were startled for a moment. The person knocking was a junior officer from the Warrior Guard whom Yu Qian had met before—the same one who had given up his mount to Yu Qian at Xuanjin Bridge.
The officer recognized Yu Qian and softened his tone: “We’re searching for a court official who escaped from the imperial city. Have you seen anyone?” Yu Qian shook his head, indicating he had been busy in the inner room. The officer frowned and peered into the charity house, asking if there was anyone else inside. Yu Qian replied, “What else would there be? The White Lotus cultist who was killed at Xuanjin Bridge today is lying here—I’m examining the corpse.”
As he spoke, he moved aside slightly, allowing the officer to see the body lying on the stone platform. Yu Qian’s honest and proper countenance made him easy to trust. The officer merely glanced at the body, harbored no suspicions, made a gesture of apology, and left.
Yu Qian waited until he was certain there was no more activity outside before returning to the stone platform and turning over the body to reveal Zhu Zhanji, who had been hidden on the other side.
What he had told the officer wasn’t entirely a lie. After leaving Su Jingxi’s home, Yu Qian rushed anxiously toward the imperial city but was stopped at the West Peace Gate. The Warrior Guard refused entry to anyone, even those with city passes. At a loss, Yu Qian had decided to first come to this nearby charity house to examine the White Lotus cultist’s body, hoping to find compelling evidence that might convince the guards to let him see the Crown Prince.
He never imagined the Crown Prince would burst into the charity house himself, with the Warrior Guard in pursuit. Try as he might, Yu Qian couldn’t make sense of the situation.
Unfortunately, Zhu Zhanji was in terrible condition and couldn’t explain. Yu Qian knew he couldn’t remove the arrow now, so he first sawed off the exposed shaft, then went to the neighboring watchman’s shelter to fetch a bowl of hot water sprinkled with fresh ginger, which he forced the Prince to drink. A groan escaped the Prince’s throat as he finally managed to cling to life.
When Yu Qian asked what had happened, Zhu Zhanji briefly recounted the upheaval in the imperial city. Yu Qian’s eyes widened: “So the treasure ship case truly is connected to Zhu Buhua—what audacity from this Tartar! Your Highness, fear not. I shall immediately notify the various Nanjing offices to unite and slay this scoundrel!”
Zhu Zhanji weakly shook his head. Remembering the Crown Prince’s lack of trust in Nanjing’s officials, Yu Qian slapped the platform: “Then I shall escort you out of the city—to the Xiaolin Guard, to the Longjiang Navy, or the middle capital Fengyang. I refuse to believe he could buy off the entire Southern Metropolitan Area. Once we raise the banner, loyal forces will converge from all directions. How could a single Tartar hope to resist the mighty imperial army?”
Yu Qian’s voice rang with passionate intensity, making the charity house’s main beam tremble slightly. But Zhu Zhanji only managed a bitter smile: “It won’t work—there’s no time. I… I must return to the capital.” Yu Qian didn’t understand; why rush back to the capital when a single proclamation could resolve everything? He was about to argue further when he saw tears streaming from Zhu Zhanji’s eyes.
At first, the tears were mere trickles, but they soon became torrents. The Crown Prince lay there on the stone platform, crying silently, as if the grief in his heart had been suppressed to its limit and finally burst through its banks in a flood.
Yu Qian panicked, wondering which of his words had been wrong. After crying for a while, Zhu Zhanji turned his head and pointed to his chest, revealing a document cylinder. Yu Qian recognized it as a royal document but hesitated to touch it. Only after the Crown Prince gestured for him to open it did he respectfully take out the cylinder and extract a letter from within.
Yu Qian’s shoulders began trembling uncontrollably after reading just one line.
The content was simple: “On May 11th, Gengchen day, His Majesty is unwell. The Crown Prince is summoned to return to the capital immediately.” The date of the letter was May 12th, Xinsi day.
Yu Qian knew that while the Emperor was corpulent and indeed in poor health, summoning the Crown Prince back so urgently just after his arrival in Nanjing suggested this “unwellness” was no small matter—it likely presaged the Emperor’s imminent passing… And he had been on the throne for less than a year.
No wonder the Crown Prince wept so bitterly. Having just faced a rebellion in Nanjing, he suddenly received news of his father’s grave illness—truly when it rains, it pours. Yu Qian looked anxiously at the Crown Prince, who wiped his tears and said in a hoarse voice: “Look carefully at the signature.”
Yu Qian hurriedly looked down again and indeed discovered something peculiar about the letter.
Such an edict concerning imperial succession required countersignatures from grand secretaries designated by the Emperor. However, this letter lacked the names of Yang Shiqi and other grand secretaries, and instead bore Empress Zhang’s phoenix seal—this was extremely irregular. Though Empress Zhang was Zhu Zhanji’s birth mother, the Crown Prince was already of age and didn’t need his mother’s regency. Empress Zhang had always been known for her wisdom; how could she act so improperly in such a major matter?
Everything about this letter—the writing, phrasing, formatting, and signature—betrayed anxiety and haste. This didn’t resemble an official document jointly deliberated by the cabinet and drafted by the Hanlin Academy, but rather something hastily issued by someone in desperate circumstances.
An absurd thought flashed through Yu Qian’s mind, and when he looked at Zhu Zhanji, he saw the same speculation in his eyes.
Could it be that something had happened in the palace, and Empress Zhang, unable to speak freely for some reason, had hurriedly issued this error-ridden letter, using the signature to warn the Crown Prince?
What kind of dangerous situation in the capital would force a mighty empress to such measures? A terrifying thought suddenly occurred to Yu Qian: perhaps the Emperor’s illness, like the treasure ship explosion, was no accident but deliberately orchestrated?
He couldn’t help but start counting the days. The Crown Prince left the capital on May 3rd; eight days later, on May 11th, the Emperor suddenly fell ill; seven days after that, on May 18th, the dragon boat in the secondary capital was bombed. The Emperor and Crown Prince could be said to have faced danger almost simultaneously—this probably wasn’t simply a case of misfortunes never coming singly, but rather two key points in a grand conspiracy.
Realizing this, Yu Qian felt an icy chill creep from the letter into his fingertips. If the Emperor died in the capital and the Crown Prince perished in Nanjing, the ultimate goal of the shadowy mastermind became clear:
The throne would be vacant.
Amid thunder and lightning, a horrific dragon spanning both capitals revealed its true form.
Zhu Zhanji gave a bitter laugh. The imperial family’s innate sensitivity to power dynamics had allowed him to sense the extreme danger as soon as he received this letter in Changle Palace. But he hadn’t dared show any reaction, only cautiously probing Zhu Buhua before making the decisive choice to flee upon confirming the other’s stance.
Events proved this decision correct and timely—otherwise, Zhu Zhanji would now be just another royal corpse buried beneath the palace grounds. Ironically, understanding all this finally explained why Zhu Buhua had betrayed them. Only the struggle for the throne could provide enough temptation to shake such a veteran palace official’s loyalty.
“Yu Qian, what are you thinking about?” Zhu Zhanji suddenly asked. Yu Qian snapped back to attention and, after some hesitation, replied: “Your servant… was examining the imperial seal.”
“The imperial seal?”
Zhu Zhanji started. He hurriedly reexamined the letter and noticed a detail he had missed before. The seal at the end of the letter was the “Imperial Seal of Familial Affection,” and the same seal had been used on the document cylinder’s seam.
As a messenger in the Court of State Ceremonial, delivering edicts was Yu Qian’s primary duty, making him particularly sensitive to such matters. The Great Ming had seventeen imperial seals, each with different uses. For example, the “Imperial Seal of Heaven’s Mandate” was used for suburban sacrifices and rituals; the “Imperial Seal of Filial Respect” was used for conferring honorific titles on empress dowagers and grand empress dowagers; the “Imperial Seal of Proclamations” was used for issuing patents of nobility and ceremonial documents. This “Imperial Seal of Familial Affection” was specifically used for imperial edicts to vassal princes in various regions.
An edict summoning the Crown Prince back to the capital should have used either the “Imperial Seal of Implementation” or the “Imperial Seal of Trust,” with an additional “Seal of Four Directions’ Validation” on the document cylinder’s seam. Using the “Seal of Familial Affection” in this context was completely inappropriate.
“What does this mean?”
Yu Qian kept his head lowered, choosing his words carefully: “As I observe the imperial seal, my thoughts turn to the imperial genealogy.”
Though he spoke obliquely, Zhu Zhanji understood. The imperial genealogy recorded the royal family tree, and Empress Zhang’s use of the seal specifically meant for vassal princes likely wasn’t a mistake but rather a hint that this palace coup originated from one of the princes.
A prince? Zhu Zhanji’s eyelid twitched at this.
Emperor Hongxi had nine sons besides the Crown Prince: two died young, four were still children, and three were adults: the second son Prince of Zheng, the third son Prince of Yue, and the fifth son Prince of Xiang, they hadn’t yet been dispatched to their fiefs and remained in the capital. The third son Zhu Zhenrong and the fifth son Zhu Zhenmu were born to the same mother as Zhu Zhanji—all were Empress Zhang’s legitimate sons. If both Emperor Hongxi and the Crown Prince died, by succession rules, one of these two would inherit the throne.
Whoever benefited most from this upheaval spanning both capitals would be the mastermind. But as an outside official, how could Yu Qian dare speak openly about brothers turning against each other? He could only hint at it obliquely.
Zhu Zhanji became extremely agitated: “How old are the Third Brother and Fifth Brother? Besides, given their temperaments, they could never do such things…” He jerked upright, inadvertently pulling at his arrow wound, and nearly blacked out from the pain. Yu Qian hurried to support him, but Zhu Zhanji grew even more emotional: “Where is Yang Shiqi? What about Yang Rong? And what are the other silver-badge ministers like Huang Youzi and Jian Yi doing?”
These men he named were all grand secretaries who normally participated in state affairs and assisted in governance, wielding more influence than the Six Ministers. Emperor Hongxi had awarded them silver badges inscribed with “Correct Errors and Reform Faults,” leading to their collective nickname as the silver-badge ministers.
No changes in the capital could bypass them. Yet now the Emperor was ill, the Empress was forced to send secret edicts, two princes’ behavior was suspicious, and these trusted ministers were silent—were they controlled by usurpers? Killed? Or were they involved… Zhu Zhanji dared not think further.
Yu Qian urged: “Your Highness, these are mere speculations—let’s not worry needlessly. The urgent matter at hand is to find a skilled physician to remove this arrow, then hurry back to the capital!”
The real danger wasn’t in Nanjing but in the distant capital. If the Crown Prince didn’t return in time, all would be lost.
“Forget it… A thousand li separate the two capitals—we won’t make it in time, won’t make it…” Zhu Zhanji closed his eyes in despair. The last ember of survival instinct in his chest was gradually extinguishing.
The shock of the treasure ship explosion, the terror of the imperial guard’s rebellion, the exhaustion from the cold Qinhuai waters, the agony of the arrow wound, the grief of his father’s ill news—this series of blows had left him teetering on the edge, physically and mentally exhausted, held together only by his identity as Crown Prince. But now, discovering that it all stemmed from fraternal strife, the final straw floated down onto the camel’s back, crushing all his anger, dignity, and confidence.
He realized his earlier desperate struggle for survival had been a joke—the changes in the capital had already sealed his fate. This was an unsolvable situation; no amount of effort would help now.
Yu Qian urged anxiously: “We haven’t reached the end of our resources—how can Your Highness give up so easily!”
Not reached the end? Zhu Zhanji’s lips twitched slightly. Murderous rebels surrounded them, while he had only a minor court messenger by his side and had even lost his jade token of authority. If this wasn’t rock bottom, what was it?
“You should go—let me be alone for a while.” The Crown Prince waved his hand weakly and turned his head away, curling up. At that moment, all the world’s sorrows descended at once, and boundless despair flooded over the stone slabs, over consciousness, seemingly without a solution.
Better to have stayed seated in Changle Palace and died with dignity, Zhu Zhanji thought hazily. His mind wandered to Emperor Jianwen, wondering if his predecessor had felt the same way when he frantically fled Jinling. Gradually, the Crown Prince began to feel his limbs growing cold, as scenes from his twenty-seven years flashed before his eyes, fading and disappearing into white light. He seemed to hear ethereal bell tones, though he couldn’t tell if they heralded the Buddhist Pure Land or the Daoist Ten Directions…
…Wu Dingyuan stood before his house door, his face darker than the evening sky.
This was the middle section of Sugar Workshop Lane at the northwest corner of Zhenghuai Bridge. The area was mostly residential, with uniform short-eaved houses and small ten-pace courtyards. During the Hongwu era, the court relocated over forty thousand households from Suzhou and Zhejiang to populate the capital, building dozens of official residential quarters in Nanjing. Zhenghuai Bridge was one such area, so the buildings appeared orderly and uniform, unlike the chaos of older neighborhoods.
As the Chief Constable of Yingtian Prefecture, Wu Buping naturally occupied the best plot in Sugar Workshop Lane. The Wu residence had a freshwater well just steps from its entrance and a small canal behind it. Now, however, the house was tightly shuttered, its interior pitch black without a single candlelight visible.
Wu Dingyuan found it strange. His sister Wu Yulu had been home this morning, and though she was still at a playful age, she never came home late. The evening drum had already sounded—where was she?
Wu Dingyuan pushed open the door. The house was clean and tidy, clearly well-swept. An embroidery frame sat on the square wooden table, bearing a half-finished handkerchief with koi and lotus designs, while an open fine copper incense burner stood beside it, still cold and unused. He walked to a corner chest, turned its brass lock, and found several silver ingots and a stack of paper currency inside.
The amount was wrong. The Imperial Guard should have delivered one hundred and fifty taels of silver today, and even if his sister had left on an errand, she would certainly have carefully placed it in this chest first, not somewhere else. Had someone coveted this fortune and broken in? Wu Dingyuan’s heart tightened, but he quickly realized that didn’t make sense either. If there had been a thief, why would they only take the Imperial Guard’s hundred and fifty taels while leaving these silver ingots and banknotes?
Su Jingxi stood beside him, hands bound, silently watching. Her eyes remained fixed on Wu Dingyuan, hoping to glean more information from subtle clues. Judging by how he had entered, this must be his residence, and he seemed to be looking for someone—a wife? Sister? Mother?
Seeing Wu Dingyuan anxiously pacing around the room, she couldn’t help saying: “Look at that embroidery—the golden needle is still stuck in the lotus leaf’s edge.” Wu Dingyuan looked confused: “What do you mean?” Su Jingxi explained: “Three years for peonies, five for plum blossoms, but lotus leaves take a lifetime to master. They’re among the most difficult flowers to embroider and must be completed in one sitting. See how the golden needle remains in the frame? Whoever was embroidering only set it down briefly, not planning to be gone long.”
Hearing Su Jingxi’s analysis, Wu Dingyuan’s face darkened further. If Wu Yulu hadn’t planned to be gone long but still hadn’t returned by now, something was wrong.
He grimly dragged Su Jingxi inside, tied her to a corner pillar, then went straight to the neighbor’s door. The neighbor was a cooper relocated from Taiping Prefecture, with a gossipy wife who missed nothing of the neighborhood’s comings and goings. Wu Dingyuan knocked, and the cooper and his wife, thinking this ruffian had come to borrow money, were immediately on guard. Only when Wu Dingyuan asked about Wu Yulu did the cooper relax.
The wife said she’d seen Wu Yulu feeding chickens that morning, they’d chatted briefly before each returning home. Around the hour of Si (9-11 AM), a clerk from the Military Affairs Commission came to collect housing tax, and Wu Yulu had left with him.
Residents of official quarters in Nanjing had to pay housing tax to the Five Cities Military Affairs Commission. However, collection day was usually the sixteenth of each month. Besides, Chief Constable Wu Buping’s family should have been exempt from such fees. Upon hearing this, Wu Dingyuan knew something was wrong.
His mind flashed through Nanjing’s notorious troublemakers, but while they might bully outsiders, who would dare touch Iron Lion’s family? Wu Dingyuan pulled out some banknotes from his waist, asking the wife if she’d seen anything else today. She counted the money, tucked it into her clothes, and said with a broad smile that Old Man Wu had also come home, and in the afternoon two men had carried a heavy silver case to the door, called Wu Yulu’s name for a while, but getting no response, had carried it away again.
The wife smacked her lips, saying the case must have contained dozens of taels of silver. Unexpectedly, Wu Dingyuan suddenly grabbed her shoulders, his face terrifyingly distorted: “You say my father came back?”
“Yes, yes, shortly after noon, though he didn’t stay long before leaving.”
Wu Dingyuan released the woman, his mind in turmoil. The afternoon was the most chaotic time after the treasure ship explosion—how could Chief Constable Wu have had time to come home? Why did he come? Was it related to his sister’s disappearance?
The wife tried to inquire about the day’s events at East Water Gate, but Wu Dingyuan ignored her, returning to his house with a mind full of questions.
Su Jingxi sat obediently in the corner, and seeing him return dejected, asked if he’d learned anything. Wu Dingyuan snapped at her to be quiet, then grabbed a half-full wine jug from the kitchen and poured it directly into his mouth. Su Jingxi said: “Cold wine hurts the spleen—you’d better heat it first.” Wu Dingyuan glared at her, cursed her chatter, and took another huge gulp. The burning liquid entering his stomach not only failed to calm his unease but stirred up more agitation.
His father missing, and his sister vanished—in Nanjing’s current chaos, he had no idea where to start. And now he had a prisoner weighing him down at home, waiting for Yu Qian to collect her. The various troubles couldn’t be numbed even with alcohol. Wu Dingyuan couldn’t help but curse himself—ever since the treasure ship exploded before his eyes, problems had kept piling up endlessly. The more he struggled, the faster the whirlpool seemed to swallow him.
“I know you’re anxious, but drowning sorrows in wine only breeds more sorrow. Rather than drinking alone in silence, why not share your thoughts?” Su Jingxi’s voice rang out again in the darkness. Her composed tone made her sound more like she was comforting a patient than speaking as a prisoner.
Wu Dingyuan snorted and turned away. But Su Jingxi persisted: “Your yellow complexion shows in the courtly area, red appears in the private sector—classic signs of alcoholism. And the extreme blue-black below, with furrowed brows, indicates deep emotional repression.”
“What gibberish! I can’t understand a word!”
Su Jingxi sighed: “It means your face shows someone hiding heavy burdens with nowhere to release them, forced to suppress them with alcohol year after year. For someone your age to have accumulated such deep melancholy is quite unusual.”
“Stop nagging—I’m not paying you for a diagnosis!” Wu Dingyuan impatiently hiccupped, slouching lazily against the doorframe.
“When you found your relative missing, your first reaction was to seek wine from the kitchen, showing that drowning problems in alcohol have become habitual. This burden you carry—you’ve held it for many years, haven’t you?” Su Jingxi analyzed with interest. Her enthusiasm stemmed partly from professional habit and partly from knowing that the more information she gathered, the better she could assess the situation and find a way to escape.
Wu Dingyuan seemed stung by her analysis. He stared at her: “A doctor may have a parent’s heart, but that doesn’t make them a parent’s mouth.” Su Jingxi pleased he’d started talking, knew that once communication began, she could always learn more.
“Drowning sorrows in wine only breeds more sorrow. If you truly want to rid yourself of troubles, try being more honest. Speaking candidly leaves the heart unburdened, making you feel better…”
She was about to continue guiding him, but Wu Dingyuan unexpectedly pulled out one of his sister’s fine gauze belts and unceremoniously stuffed it into Su Jingxi’s mouth, then sat back against the doorframe to continue drinking.
After some time, sudden dog barks came from outside. Wu Dingyuan rose to look out, seeing a group of constables running quickly past the courtyard. Shortly after, two mounted teams galloped by in succession.
Had something else happened in the city? Wu Dingyuan carefully recalled that the passing units wore uniforms from different offices, suggesting this was no small matter. He picked up the wine jug and took another heavy drink, using the burning sensation to remind himself not to meddle in affairs again. Better to stay uninvolved, like the immortal grass growing before the ancestral shrine. He only hoped Yu Qian would quickly take Su Jingxi away so he could search for his sister.
After another while, Wu Dingyuan suddenly smelled a foul stench, like sewage. The smell grew stronger, accompanied by a creaking sound. He peered out at the courtyard and saw a mule-drawn cart slowly approaching.
The cart pulled a wide wooden trough with a lid, shaped like a coffin but deeper and wider, with the stench seeping through the wooden cover’s gaps. This was a nightsoil cart, which collected human waste from Nanjing’s streets to sell to farmers outside the city. Due to the offensive smell, they usually only operated after nightfall.
Sugar Workshop Lane had been collected from just two days ago—why were they back? Wu Dingyuan suspiciously watched the cart as it stopped in front of his courtyard. A night soil worker wearing tattered short robes and a white headcloth got down, pushed open the gate, and called out in a low voice: “Wu Dingyuan?”
“Little Apricot?” Wu Dingyuan started, suddenly standing up.
Yu Qian rushed over in a few steps, not letting him ask questions, urgently saying: “Quick, help me carry the Crown Prince inside.” Wu Dingyuan was startled—the Crown Prince was here too? But there was no one else by the cart. Yu Qian didn’t explain, just pulled Wu Dingyuan outside. They hurried to the cart, where Yu Qian jumped onto the bed and used a foul-smelling hook to move the wooden cover.
Wu Dingyuan thought he’d seen enough strange sights today, but he’d underestimated reality’s absurdity. In the indescribably filthy waste trough lay a person, straight as a board amidst the filth, showing no signs of life or death. He knew it must be the Crown Prince because his head started inexplicably aching again.
“Hurry!” Yu Qian urged. Wu Dingyuan wrinkled his nose—thankfully the wine had dulled his sense of smell, or he might have fainted from the stench. He lifted the Crown Prince’s feet while Yu Qian took the head, and together they carried Zhu Zhanji out of the trough and into the house. From the response of his joints, Wu Dingyuan could tell the Crown Prince was still alive, though for some reason he remained silent, letting them manhandle him.
Su Jingxi, still in the house, noticed the commotion and looked up, her expression suddenly changing before she quickly turned away. She could face death without fear and authority without trembling, but she couldn’t bear sharing space under one roof with someone covered in excrement.
“What’s going on?” Wu Dingyuan asked, panting. Yu Qian urgently interrupted: “Never mind that! Are there any familiar physicians nearby?”
After being shot, the Crown Prince had swum several hundred paces in the cold Qinhuai River waters, then spent time in a waste-filled nightsoil cart. Now an arrow shaft and head remained in his shoulder—if not treated quickly, he might ascend to heaven before Zhu Buhua could even find him.
Wu Dingyuan shook his head: “There are familiar ones, but none reliable.” Who knew if a doctor might report to some office after leaving here?
“Then do you know how to treat arrow wounds?” Yu Qian asked. Wu Dingyuan spread his hands: “I’m just a lowly constable, not a military man.” Yu Qian’s brows shot up as he rolled up his sleeves: “Your family’s in law enforcement—you must at least have scissors, cotton cloth, and wound medicine. I’ll do it!” Wu Dingyuan glanced at him: “We do, but… you?”
“A scholar who isn’t a great minister becomes a great physician. The principles of all things are similar, more or less the same.” Yu Qian was eager to try, but Wu Dingyuan found this reasoning dubious, though he didn’t want to get involved. He was about to say “Do as you please” when violent coughing came from a corner of the room.
Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan looked over to see Su Jingxi curled up, their face showing pain, with a faint flush on her cheeks. With the belt gagging her mouth, she couldn’t breathe properly, yet she refused to smell the room’s foul odor, nearly choking herself in the process.
The two men’s eyes met in sudden realization. Of course—how could they have forgotten about her? Su Jingxi’s medical skills must be excellent to have made it onto the Imperial Medical Bureau’s roster, and as a prisoner, there was no worry about her escaping to report them. She was the perfect choice.
Yu Qian pulled Wu Dingyuan aside and whispered: “Did you get anything from questioning her? Is she one of Zhu Buhua’s people?” Wu Dingyuan took out the stack of confession papers and briefly summarized: “She wanted to poison Zhu Buhua, so probably not on his side. At least I couldn’t detect any flaws in her story.”
“That’s good enough!”
Even if she were completely innocent, they couldn’t let her go now. Yu Qian went to Su Jingxi, removed the belt from her mouth, and spoke half-pleadingly, half-threateningly: “If you can wholeheartedly save the noble person lying there, I can personally ensure all past matters will be forgiven.” Su Jingxi forced herself to control her breathing: “Isn’t it just the Crown Prince? Why put on airs? My mouth was gagged, not my ears.” Yu Qian choked, his expression suddenly embarrassed.
Wu Dingyuan gave a mocking laugh—this woman liked to turn tables on people, and now Little Apricot would have a taste of his own medicine.
After Yu Qian untied Su Jingxi, she didn’t even pause to rub her sore wrists, instead covering her nose and mouth, her fine brows furrowed: “How can we treat him covered in filth? You two should at least clean the Crown Prince first.” Wu Dingyuan’s smile froze on his face. He wanted to say it wasn’t his concern, but considering this was his house, he swallowed his pride and started helping Yu Qian.
One stripped off the Crown Prince’s soiled clothes while the other brought well water to clean him, both bustling about. Su Jingxi was particularly demanding, now asking Yu Qian to steam the clean cotton cloth several times, directing Wu Dingyuan to light the small copper incense burner to mask the stench. Her commanding presence hardly seemed that of a prisoner, making the other two look like clumsy apprentices in comparison.
The two men labored for a long while before finally getting the Crown Prince clean. Su Jingxi sniffed the air and asked Yu Qian to move the incense burner closer before approaching the Crown Prince’s bedside.
She first studied his face for a moment, then placed two slender white fingers on his pulse. In that instant, Su Jingxi’s demeanor transformed completely—focused and precise, oblivious to all else, as if nothing existed in heaven and earth except her and her patient.
Seeing her professional manner, Yu Qian finally relaxed and stepped aside. Wu Dingyuan found two Dragon Boat Festival rice dumplings in the back kitchen and shared them with Yu Qian. They hadn’t had time to eat all day and were famished.
After wolfing down the food, Wu Dingyuan asked, “What exactly happened?”
Yu Qian removed his white headcloth and wiped the sweat from his brow before recounting the Crown Prince’s ordeal. Being poor at deception, he simply told everything, including the Emperor’s illness and the prince’s rebellion. Wu Dingyuan listened with widening eyes and cold sweat—even with mental preparation, he hadn’t imagined such deep layers of intrigue.
“…Now the Warrior Guard is searching the city thoroughly, checking everyone strictly. I had no choice. Fortunately, I met a night soil worker outside the charity house and traded the good horse for his cart and clothes, then transported the Crown Prince in the waste trough to Big Felt Hat Lane. After seeing your note, I drove the cart here. Luckily, the guards we encountered were put off by the stench and only made cursory checks before letting us pass.”
Wu Dingyuan gave him a sympathetic glance. This “Little Apricot,” who would rage if someone merely touched his official’s cap, must have found such work demeaning. But even worse was the pampered Crown Prince—Yu Qian had bounced him around in a foul-smelling waste trough, a fate worse than a common beggar’s.
Strange though, that while the Crown Prince was alive, he hadn’t made a sound from cart to house. Could he truly be a reincarnation of Sun Bin or Goujian, able to endure what others could not? With this thought, Wu Dingyuan looked toward the bed. Su Jingxi had propped the Crown Prince up and was trying to saw through the arrow. The Crown Prince let her move him about, his neck hanging limply, eyelids still moving, but his face covered with an ashen pallor.
For some unknown reason, whenever Wu Dingyuan looked at his face, his scalp tingled painfully, forcing him to look away. Yu Qian went to the window, peering through the willow-leaf lattice outside, saying worriedly: “Once His Highness’s wound is treated, we must quickly escort him from Jinling back to the capital!”
“Don’t say ‘we’…” Wu Dingyuan irritably blocked his loud voice: “You’re stirring up three-foot waves on flat ground, while I’m filling a nine-zhang pit by the river—not the same thing. Go wherever you want, just don’t drag me into it.”
Yu Qian’s eyes widened: “When the nest falls, can any egg remain whole? The entire city is hostile—how can you stay uninvolved?”
Wu Dingyuan laughed: “For a scholar, you sure talk a lot about eggs!”
“It’s ‘whole eggs’! From Kong Rong of the Eastern Han…”
“Alright, alright.” Wu Dingyuan looked exasperated. “Let me count this out for you. You gave three hundred taels of silver, I found Su Jingxi for you; you wagered a rhinoceros horn piece, and I got you a clear confession. The Crown Prince healing in my house is my own doing—I won’t charge for that, consider it a bonus. We’re even now, with no further connection.”
This accounting made Yu Qian’s face flush red as he repeatedly cursed: “Merchant! Utter merchant!”
Wu Dingyuan crossed his arms and sneered: “Don’t be quick to judge me—look at your Crown Prince’s expression. Does he even have the will himself?” He’d seen that look often in prison—someone with no attachment to life, just waiting to die. In such a withered state, forget about heading north to the capital—it was questionable if he could even get out of bed.
“He must, whether he can or not!”
Yu Qian’s voice suddenly rose half an octave, his emotions flaring, “His Majesty is ill, the palace is in danger, treacherous ministers covet the throne—only His Highness can set things right!” He turned to the Crown Prince, hoping for a response. But the Crown Prince showed no reaction, letting Su Jingxi handle him like a puppet.
Yu Qian turned back helplessly, continuing his forceful but internally uncertain argument: “Where there’s a will, there’s a way! If one retreats at every difficulty, how could Emperor Xuande have divided the realm into three? How could Duke Huan of Qi have convened the feudal lords?”
“Who are all these people you’re talking about?”
As the two were about to argue, Su Jingxi spoke softly: “Could you wait until after the Crown Prince dies to wail?” They both fell silent, chastened.
Su Jingxi returned her attention to her patient, applying slight pressure with her right hand as she used scissors to extract the arrow shaft remaining in the Crown Prince’s shoulder. Zhu Zhanji’s shoulder trembled violently as he let out a painful groan, fresh blood immediately flowing from the wound. Su Jingxi was prepared—she first cauterized the wound with a heated iron, then applied wound medicine and charcoal powder. Her technique was so skillful she only needed three or four pieces of cotton to staunch the bleeding.
Yu Qian asked hopefully: “Is it done?” Su Jingxi shook her head: “The shaft is removed, but the arrowhead remains. This type of barbed arrowhead catches in the muscle—we’d need to cut away all the flesh around the wound to remove it.”
“Is that difficult?”
“Hmm… not particularly complex.” Su Jingxi wiped the sweat from her brow. “But I can’t perform surgery here—I’d need to get my instruments from home.”
“After the surgery, could he immediately set out for the capital?”
Su Jingxi looked at him as if he were an idiot: “What are you thinking? The patient needs at least two months of bed rest, or he’ll end up dead or crippled.” Hearing this, Yu Qian’s frown deepened. The current situation wouldn’t allow the Crown Prince such a leisurely recovery. After much hesitation, he stammered: “Might there be… a more moderate approach? Something that… wouldn’t interfere too much with travel, even if recovery takes longer?”
Such a question in the Imperial Medical Bureau would likely have earned him a beating death.
Su Jingxi pondered for a moment before responding: “In the ‘Ghost Valley Medical Classics’, I read about an emergency method used by military physicians called the bone-releasing technique. When commanders or soldiers were shot with arrows and the situation was too urgent for surgical removal, they would saw off the shaft, leaving just the arrowhead in the flesh. Then they’d take half summer herb and Bai Lian with wine daily, wash the wound with rice water, and massage it. As the muscle regrew, it would gradually push out the barbed head.”
“How long does that take?”
“At least twenty days. During this time, the patient can move freely but must take internal medicine, external washes, and massages daily without fail. Otherwise, if the flesh grows wrong and encases the arrowhead, surgery becomes necessary again.” Su Jingxi added a warning: “This is a last resort method. If the arrowhead is rusty or poisoned, it could be life-threatening—the risk is significant.”
Hearing this, Yu Qian’s brow furrowed deeply—this was truly troublesome. Aside from the risks, with the arduous journey from Nanjing to the capital, even if the Crown Prince could endure it, where would they find reliable physicians to treat the wound daily?
As they discussed the condition, the Crown Prince gradually regained consciousness. Before opening his eyes, his nostrils caught a gentle fragrance. To someone physically and mentally exhausted, this scent was like spiritual herbs, penetrating every pore, relaxing his whole body—more soothing than any precious palace incense. His nerves, taut since noon, finally began to relax, and even his shoulder wound seemed less painful.
He couldn’t help but take a deep breath, his body leaning toward the source of the fragrance, suddenly tilting and nearly falling from the bed. Su Jingxi avoided his lean while steadying his shoulder. Zhu Zhanji opened his eyes to see a young woman in an emerald-embroidered robe by the bed, the fragrance coming from the incense burner beside her.
For some reason, though common, this scent felt more refreshing than the finest palace incense, and even the copper burner’s flat, rounded belly looked pleasing to the eye. Zhu Zhanji wanted to look longer, but Yu Qian stepped forward, boldly blocking his view: “Your Highness, ten thousand blessings.”
Zhu Zhanji was yanked back to harsh reality by this call, previous unbearable memories resurging, anger rising: “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone? Why are you still here?”
Yu Qian took it as praise: “Your servant eats the ruler’s grain, so must serve loyally to the end.” After a pause, he continued: “Your Highness is temporarily safe now. Let your servant devise a foolproof plan to escort you back to the capital quickly.”
“I’m not going back, it’s useless…” Zhu Zhanji weakly patted the bed. “All of Nanjing has betrayed us—how can you, a mere messenger, get me out? The situation has deteriorated beyond recovery. Forget it, if death comes, let it come.”
Yu Qian was somewhat shocked and earnestly advised: “As long as one maintains determination, anything is possible.”
To the Crown Prince’s ears, these words merely admitted there was no real plan—just blind luck. Zhu Zhanji waved his hand dejectedly: “Even if I return to the capital, what then? Perhaps they’re already preparing for the coronation ceremony. Would I be traveling a thousand li just to become a sacrifice for the new emperor?”
“That Her Majesty could send a secret edict shows there are still loyal subjects desperately maintaining order, awaiting Your Highness’s return. The situation in the capital remains uncertain.”
Hearing these words, the Crown Prince’s fatigue bred irritation, and irritation accumulated into anger. His emotions shifted rapidly while Yu Qian continued rambling: “Your Highness, in times of crisis, one must maintain calm—”
“What uncertainty? What calm? All useless drivel, not worth a badger’s glance! What use is hiding me in a cesspool? Dying in the palace would at least have dignity! This prince just wants to die in peace—is even that not allowed?”
A tremendous wave suddenly surged up, rolling toward this humble minor official. But rather than retreating, that figure advanced, like a dazzling sword-light piercing forward.
“Silence! How dare a Crown Prince speak such frivolous words!”
This thunderous rebuke scattered the surging waves. Usually, when Zhu Zhanji lost his temper, even his attendants had to kneel to placate him. He never imagined someone would dare to counter him, leaving him frozen in shock, unsure how to respond.
Yu Qian’s sword light struck again: “May I ask, with your death, what becomes of the state? How do you regard the Emperor? Why abandon the common people?”
These three questions landed like three slaps across the Crown Prince’s face. Everyone in the room was stunned, never expecting this proper official to suddenly become so outrageously disrespectful.
Yu Qian’s jaw was taut as a bow, his cheeks slightly puffed, emanating an air of unwavering determination: “To abandon the state for personal safety is disloyalty! To disregard the Emperor is unfilial! To leave the people in chaos is inhumane! Disloyal, unfilial, inhumane—is this your way of rulership?”
“I…” Zhu Zhanji discovered he had little experience being scolded and didn’t know how to respond.
“Duke Wen of Jin wandered in exile for nineteen years before achieving hegemony; Emperor Gaozu of Han lost a hundred battles before establishing the great Han dynasty. Had they surrendered at first defeat, yielded at the first setback, faltered at the first obstacle, or collapsed at first injury, where would be the mighty Jin and Han? You’ve been Crown Prince for so many years—how can you be so ignorant! Do you understand what it means to be heir to the nation? Your every move affects the realm; life and death are no longer personal matters! How dare you act like a dead crab!”
When agitated, Yu Qian mixed formal and colloquial speech, jabbing his finger forward until it nearly touched Zhu Zhanji’s forehead. His scolding far surpassed the Crown Prince’s, with perfect rhythm and tone, throwing out parallel phrases that left one struggling to respond. Zhu Zhanji briefly wondered if he might be scolded to death by this minor official.
Seeing Zhu Zhanji cowed somewhat, Yu Qian lowered his volume: “Your Highness truly doesn’t understand why your servant, despite his lowly status, has gone to such lengths?”
Zhu Zhanji’s lips moved but made no sound, fearing another scolding if he answered wrong.
“Your servant doesn’t know who plotted today’s chaos, but for this scoundrel to use such base, cruel methods for power truly violates heaven’s harmony! Such an evil-hearted person becoming emperor would be a disaster for the Ming people.” Yu Qian moved closer to Zhu Zhanji, eyes fixed on him:
“To be honest with you. Your servant’s efforts were not for His Majesty, nor for Your Highness, but to prevent that traitor from ascending the throne and harming the realm!”
Zhu Zhanji felt dejected: “So you weren’t acting out of loyalty to me?”
“The people are most important, the state second, and the ruler least!”
These words greatly shocked Zhu Zhanji.
This quote came from Mencius’s “Exhausting the Heart.” At the dynasty’s founding, the Hongwu Emperor disliked Mencius’s various statements questioning rulers, so he ordered the scholar Liu Sanwu to remove eighty-five passages, including “people-state-ruler,” creating the “Selected Passages from Mencius.” Since then, only these selections could be taught in official and private schools.
Yu Qian’s utterance of this quote was quite risky. Yet he showed no fear, pressing further:
“As one destined to be emperor, don’t you understand this is the true way of rulership?”
Zhu Zhanji’s lips trembled unnaturally, the phrase “way of rulership” driving like a wooden wedge into his heart, more painful than Yu Qian’s earlier scolding. Since becoming Crown Prince, similar voices had whispered from dark corners, saying his nature was impure, his temperament unstable, his behavior frivolous—in short, unsuited to be the heir. Zhu Zhanji couldn’t refute them or argue seriously, lest he be called “narrow-minded,” so he could only try not to think about these things, burying them deep in his consciousness.
Unexpectedly, these years of buried sediment were blasted loose by Yu Qian’s thunderous shouts, now floating through Zhu Zhanji’s withered heart. Among them were resentment and confusion, humiliation and anger, weaving together into an extremely complex emotion that injected a strange vitality into his body.
Yu Qian then shook his robe and knelt, saying, “If Your Highness understands the way of rulership, your servant will face fire and water, not fearing death; if Your Highness doesn’t understand and only seeks death, your servant will cease advising and let you return to the palace. But when future historians investigate, they may write directly in the annals: ‘The deposed prince was weak, preferring to follow Liu Shan’s example of submitting bound in a carriage rather than Cao Mao’s of driving south to the palace.'”
The “Romance of the Three Kingdoms” had long been popular, even having readers in the palace. These two historical references struck Zhu Zhanji’s sorest spot.
“This prince isn’t that worthless!” He clenched his fists, roaring in anger.
“Then prove it to me!” Yu Qian matched his intensity, challenging the Crown Prince with his gaze.
Both being young men, they nearly forgot their positions as ruler and subject in their argument, glaring at each other. Blood rushing to his head, Zhu Zhanji struggled to his feet, pulled an incense stick from Su Jingxi’s small burner, and angrily made a vow: “I, Zhu Zhanji, swear by this burner that no matter how many tribulations I face, this prince will never give up. I swear to return to the capital and capture the traitors, witnessed by gods and men!”
He violently broke the incense stick in two and stuck it back in the burner. The movement was too forceful, pulling at his shoulder wound, and making him hiss in pain as he fell back onto the bed. Su Jingxi quickly came forward, holding his shoulder to check for bleeding.
Wu Dingyuan watched from the side, muttering, “What a big radish…”—in Nanjing dialect, “big radish” meant foolishly straightforward.
Yu Qian secretly sighed in relief, his back slightly damp with sweat. Not just in the Ming dynasty, but going back through Song, Tang, and Han, how many minor officials had dared to scold an heir apparent so thoroughly? He was truly without precedent. At least his words hadn’t been wasted, having stirred the Crown Prince’s fighting spirit. As for whether the prince harbored resentment or would seek revenge later, Yu Qian couldn’t worry about that now.
Now that the Crown Prince had regained his spirit, they faced a practical problem—what about the arrow wound? Even if they used the bone-releasing method to travel, they’d need a physician’s care along the way, without missing a single day.
“If we must, I could learn the prescription and massage technique from Doctor Su. If one can’t be a great minister, then be a great physician—the scholarly way encompasses all things, surely it wouldn’t be too…” Yu Qian’s planning was suddenly interrupted by Su Jingxi’s voice: “If you trust me, this humble woman is willing to accompany and care for the Crown Prince back to the capital.”
Zhu Zhanji’s eyes lit up, looking at Yu Qian: “Who exactly is this physician?” Yu Qian hadn’t expected Su Jingxi to volunteer from the sidelines and felt somewhat awkward. He took out her confession, and briefly introduced her to the Crown Prince, emphasizing that this all came from her statement and wasn’t yet verified.
Zhu Zhanji ignored the last part, slapping the bed in approval: “So that’s why that traitor Zhu Buhua had such a pus-filled face—it was your doing!” Su Jingxi bowed her head in acknowledgment.
Zhu Zhanji asked curiously: “Since you’d already administered the poison, why not simply await the news? Why involve yourself in this life-or-death matter of mine?” A flash of hatred crossed Su Jingxi’s eyes: “Zhu Buhua now carries deep-rooted toxins, needing only a final stimulus. If I can help Your Highness return to the capital, he will surely die of rage—it would be as if I killed my enemy with my own hands.”
Zhu Zhanji burst out laughing. He deeply hated Zhu Buhua, and now hearing that the man could die from anger at his return, his day-long depression lifted considerably: “Excellent! Excellent! You’re a righteous person worthy of Xie Xiao’e and Hong Funil—deserving official honors!”
“Your Highness overstates it. This humble woman is shallow and weak, forced to use such methods, hardly comparable to those two heroines,” Su Jingxi said with a slight smile while tending to his wound.
Yu Qian moved his lips but swallowed his words. He had planned to use pardoning her crime of poisoning a high official as leverage to secure her medical care for the Crown Prince during their journey. Unexpectedly, the Crown Prince’s single statement had defined it as a “righteous act”—how could he pressure her now?
Yu Qian dared not underestimate this woman at all. She could poison Zhu Buhua without showing any sign—what if she decided to harm the Crown Prince? Yet now Su Jingxi was their only option. At a loss, Yu Qian cast an inquiring look at Wu Dingyuan. Wu Dingyuan remained unmoved, drinking his wine expressionlessly.
Wu Dingyuan had also heard Su Jingxi’s words. Her volunteering now, with such sufficient reasons and perfect timing, was calculated… But what did that matter to him? Wu Dingyuan reminded himself not to meddle further—it would be best if these people left quickly, avoiding any further entanglement.
So he deliberately ignored Yu Qian, keeping his head down and continuing to drink.
Suddenly Wu Dingyuan’s ear twitched, hearing cooing sounds from outside the window, like the local chickens Wu Yulu raised. But they usually nestled in their coop after sunset. His pupils suddenly contracted as he threw down the wine jug and bolted out the door, quickly leaping over the fence behind the chicken coop.
On the other side of the fence, a dark figure was crouched, eavesdropping—it was the cooper’s wife from next door. Yu Qian’s voice had probably been too loud, attracting this gossip to listen at the wall.
Before Wu Dingyuan could speak, the woman jumped up, claiming she was just relieving herself by her wall, and what was this degenerate pervert doing jumping over? She raised her voice, calling her cooper husband to catch the lecher. Wu Dingyuan’s face turned ashen—if the nearby patrol was alerted, not only would the Crown Prince be captured, but he would certainly be implicated. With no choice, he delivered a chop to the woman’s neck, instantly knocking her unconscious.
By then the cooper had emerged from the house, cursing and brandishing an iron hammer. Knowing he couldn’t explain quickly enough, Wu Dingyuan had no choice but to knock him out too, then tied the couple together and stuffed them back in their house. He now truly hated Yu Qian—what a troublemaker! Just when he was about to wash his hands of everything, new complications arose. This would be difficult to resolve.
Wu Dingyuan returned to his house with a dark face. Yu Qian came forward, anxiously inquiring about the situation. Wu Dingyuan responded irritably: “I just saw several newly bound barrels in their house. Since the cooper is working at night, someone will likely come to collect them early tomorrow morning. It won’t be possible to keep things hidden then. You need to leave now!”
Yu Qian sighed in relief: “I’ve made arrangements with Doctor Su—she’ll accompany us to the capital. We’ll prepare and leave immediately.”
Wu Dingyuan’s mood improved slightly, but seeing Yu Qian’s expression, he suddenly felt uneasy. Sure enough, Yu Qian held up five fingers, waving them like a street vendor: “Shall we discuss one more deal? The last one. Help me get the Crown Prince safely out of Nanjing, and I’ll give you another five hundred taels of silver.”
A gentleman responds to righteousness, a petty man to profit. Facing this mercenary ruffian, Yu Qian had given up appealing to virtue and went straight to money. He didn’t want this fellow’s help at all, but with Zhu Buhua’s agents throughout the city, Wu Dingyuan was the only local operator they could rely on.
“Not interested. What’s the Crown Prince’s fate to me?” Wu Dingyuan rejected it without hesitation. “I need to find my father and sister—find someone else.”
“It won’t take long. Your task ends as soon as the Crown Prince leaves Jinling.”
Wu Dingyuan sneered: “The Crown Prince’s life is one thing, my family’s is another.”
Yu Qian seemed to have anticipated this response: “I remember you saying earlier that every living official in Nanjing is suspect, right?”
“So what?”
“Then your father Wu Buping…” Before Yu Qian could finish, rage flashed in Wu Dingyuan’s eyes as he grabbed Yu Qian’s collar, ready to strike. Yu Qian didn’t flinch, stating firmly: “He’s the Chief Constable of Yingtian Prefecture—even without official rank, he’s a key figure. So where is he now?”
Wu Dingyuan’s fist stopped mid-air. He couldn’t refute Little Apricot’s words. During the Crown Prince’s reception, Wu Buping hadn’t been at Chang’an Street or East Water Gate but had instead abandoned his post to return home—completely unlike his usual behavior. Add to that Wu Yulu’s mysterious disappearance, and these two events seemed connected, inevitably raising suspicions.
Seeing Wu Dingyuan’s silence, Yu Qian knew he’d hit the mark: “Whether Constable Wu is alive or dead, you as his son must prepare accordingly.”
The implication was crystal clear. If Wu Buping had been attacked and killed, his son should seek revenge; if he was still alive, the suspicion of participating in rebellion was great and would require a tremendous merit of protecting the Crown Prince to offset such a crime. Someone of Wu Dingyuan’s intelligence could certainly calculate these pros and cons.
The veins on Wu Dingyuan’s forehead throbbed as he ground his teeth, but finally lowered his fist, saying bitterly: “Fine, one last time. But remember—once we’re out of Jinling, we part ways, north and south.”
“Once we’re out of Nanjing, we won’t need you anymore,” Yu Qian couldn’t resist the retort.
Lying on the bed, Zhu Zhanji heard Yu Qian’s words. Several times he wanted to speak up, to tell Yu Qian not to drag Wu Dingyuan in. Just seeing that sour face reminded him of the humiliation at the Beating-Bone Platform. In comparison, he preferred watching Su Jingxi’s expressions as she tended his wound—every movement was vibrant and touching, making him temporarily forget the pain.
Su Jingxi made some final adjustments, then stood up and dusted her hands: “It’s done. Your Highness should be able to move without major difficulty for the next six hours, but don’t strain the arm.” Zhu Zhanji tried moving and found it much easier, praising: “Even the Imperial Medical Bureau doesn’t have such miraculous skills. After returning to the capital, I’ll recommend you as an Inner Servant of the Medicine Bureau.”
“Your Highness jests. How could a mere woman enter the Imperial Medical Bureau?”
“The Medicine Bureau is under my Eastern Palace’s jurisdiction, not the Medical Bureau’s! I decide who to appoint.”
Su Jingxi pursed her lips: “Wouldn’t those old fogies eat me alive?”
“Then where would you prefer? The Hall of Comfort? The Good Physicians’ Office?”
Su Jingxi knew the Crown Prince was in high spirits and smiled: “Your Highness’s words carry imperial weight, naturally precious as jade. But this humble woman’s fortune is too slight to accept now. Perhaps after Your Highness returns to the capital and ascends the throne, I can think about what I want.”
“Good, I owe you one request!” Zhu Zhanji felt his clothes but had nothing to give, so he pointed at the copper burner he’d just sworn by as a token. Su Jingxi solemnly accepted his grace. Zhu Zhanji felt he truly knew how to manage subordinates—a small show of imperial favor had earned this female physician’s tearful gratitude and dedication.
Yu Qian and Wu Dingyuan returned to the inner room. Upon seeing Zhu Zhanji, Wu Dingyuan turned away, rubbing his temples. Zhu Zhanji was annoyed at this disrespect but ignored him. Yu Qian stepped forward: “Your Highness, we’ll make preparations and depart in half an hour.”
“Just a few of you?” Zhu Zhanji asked. A passionate minor messenger, a sour-faced constable, and a female physician didn’t seem like a particularly reassuring combination.
“This involves succession to the throne. In Nanjing, whether civil officials, military commanders, nobles, or palace servants—none can be trusted. Before leaving the city, Your Highness can only rely on us three,” Yu Qian said solemnly.
“Not a single one can be trusted? I don’t believe everyone’s been bought.”
“You’re right, but we don’t know who has been. Even if it’s just one in ten, Your Highness, would you risk it?”
“What about the Imperial Guard?” Zhu Zhanji suddenly thought. They should be reliable—another person meant another source of strength.
Wu Dingyuan sneered from afar: “How clever, Your Highness. Surely the rebels are too stupid to watch the Imperial Guard, who sheltered Your Highness in plain sight, waiting to catch their prey.”
Zhu Zhanji was greatly angered by this sarcasm but could only suppress his rage: “Then you tell me, how do we esc… how do we leave?”
Yu Qian nudged Wu Dingyuan, who reluctantly took out a silk map of Nanjing and spread it on the table. The map was uncolored, showing only outlines with densely written place names. It came from Wu Buping’s house—Yingtian Prefecture constables relied on this map for their duties.
Wu Dingyuan said: “Before you arrived here, four groups of forces passed outside—Military Affairs Commission patrolmen, Warrior Guard cavalry, Yingtian Prefecture runners, and Personal Guard troops. This shows Zhu Buhua can now command Nanjing’s forces. Main streets are out of the question—we can only gamble on moving through alleys and waterways.”
His finger landed on the map at Sugar Workshop Lane, then slowly traced along ink lines. As he pointed, he explained—that there was an abandoned temple they could climb over, and there was a shallow riverbank they could wade across. His casual descriptions showed an intimate knowledge of every inch of Nanjing.
Yu Qian nodded repeatedly as he listened. Though this fellow had a nasty character and venomous tongue, he was quite reliable in practical matters. Yu Qian wondered why he deliberately maintained his reputation as a “ruffian.”
“Even with the City God’s protection, if we manage to avoid all patrols, we still face one major obstacle.” Wu Dingyuan’s finger stopped at Nanjing’s prefecture wall. “The outer city has thirteen gates, opened at dawn and closed at dusk, guarding all passage. They absolutely won’t open at night. Especially after today’s events, the gates will surely be heavily guarded.”
“Then what can we do? Climb the walls?” Yu Qian asked.
“The walls are sixty-five feet high—you could try reincarnating.”
“…What about the water gates?”
Wu Dingyuan shook his head: “The water gates all have nets below, with brass bells every ten meshes. Guards shoot at any sound.”
Su Jingxi joined in: “I notice your finger keeps circling but generally moves southeast. Is there some weakness in the defenses there?”
Wu Dingyuan glanced at her—this woman was indeed sharp. He explained: “If we want to leave Jinling before dawn, this is our only option.” As he spoke, his finger moved slowly and finally stopped in the lower right corner of the map.
This was directly south of the imperial city. Eight pairs of eyes followed his finger to where it rested on a small square outlined in ink, beside which were written two characters:
“Zhengyang.”