“What did you say?”
The Emperor, who had been seated upon the dragon throne with a face full of pleasant smiles, changed his expression abruptly. His imperial eyes filled with disbelief, and his voice rose without his intending it to: “How can you say such a thing so carelessly?”
The civil and military officials assembled in court were equally stunned, their heads swiveling in unison toward the Crown Grandson—who stood with back straight and expression grave—and toward Prince Yan, whose face showed nothing but astonishment and apparent innocence.
With all eyes upon him, the Crown Grandson was composed and unhurried. He cupped his hands in salute and spoke: “Imperial Grandfather did not mishear. Every word I spoke just now came directly from Prince An himself, delivered after his surrender.”
“From two years ago, Prince Yan has been secretly in contact with Prince An, inciting him to contest the position of Crown Prince.”
“Prince An, unwilling to be confined to a distant territory forever, was persuaded by Prince Yan’s words. Together with Noble Consort Li, they devised the plot to commit assassination. Prince Yan’s part in this was to bring Imperial Grandfather to the traveling palace.”
“The ones who carried out the assassination attempt against Imperial Grandfather and Father were indeed Noble Consort Li’s and Prince An’s people. But the true mastermind behind the entire scheme—the one who plotted it all in secret—was Prince Yan.”
Each statement was sharper than the last. The final one fell like a stone.
The officials could no longer contain themselves. A wave of uproar swept through the hall.
Could the assassination at the traveling palace truly have been as the Crown Grandson claimed—with Prince Yan as the real mastermind?
Prince Yan had gone pale with shock. Upon hearing this, he gave a bleak, bitter smile, stepped forward, and knelt: “Right and wrong, truth and falsehood—the hearts of men will judge. I have nothing to plead in my defense. I trust that Father Emperor will see that justice is done for me.”
The Emperor’s face flushed with indignant color. He spoke in a low, controlled voice: “I will not be swayed by one side of a story. You may rest assured—I will not permit anyone to wrong you unjustly.”
The Crown Prince was clearly shaken by the Crown Grandson’s staggering declaration as well, and turned to rebuke him in anger: “A matter of this magnitude cannot rest on Prince An’s word alone. How do we know this is not Prince An simply evading responsibility? How could Prince Yan possibly be the mastermind? On that day, had Prince Yan not stepped forward and taken that sword thrust, your Imperial Grandfather would likely have been run through.”
“If Prince Yan truly intended assassination, he had every opportunity to stand by and do nothing. Why would he risk his life to block that sword?”
The Emperor nodded almost without thinking.
The Crown Prince had said exactly what he himself had been thinking.
In his heart, no matter how he looked at it, he could not bring himself to believe that his devoted and filial Prince Yan would do something so monstrous and treasonous.
The Crown Grandson stepped forward as well, and also knelt. His voice remained unhurried, steady, and measured: “When Prince An first said these things, I did not believe a single word of it. Prince Yan’s devotion to Imperial Grandfather has been witnessed by all. I know I fall short of him in that regard—and I was equally unwilling to believe that Prince Yan could be so ruthless and calculating.”
“However, Prince An then produced a collection of letters. The handwriting in these letters is unmistakably Prince Yan’s. After reading them one by one, I found myself, against my will, beginning to have doubts.”
Letters?
Kneeling to one side, Prince Yan’s gaze flickered briefly. A cold, contemptuous laugh rose within him.
During his secret communications with Prince An, he had never once written a letter. Every exchange had been conducted through covert agents sent in secret to Prince An’s territory, carrying only spoken messages. After everything was done, he had silenced the handful of agents who had carried those messages.
There was nothing left in this world that could prove he had ever had any contact with Prince An.
The Crown Grandson was inventing this story of letters entirely out of thin air.
“Father Emperor, I ask you to discern the truth—I have never exchanged written correspondence with Prince An.” Prince Yan raised his head, his face a portrait of grievance and indignation. “These letters must certainly be forgeries, made by someone Prince An hired to imitate my handwriting—fabricated specifically to frame me.”
The Emperor’s heart was clearly leaning toward Prince Yan. His expression hardened with cold intent: “Where are these letters now? Have them brought forward. I will examine them myself.”
The Crown Grandson replied in an even voice: “These letters concern a matter of great gravity. I divided them among several trusted guards of considerable skill, each carrying a portion. I will have them brought before you now, Imperial Grandfather, for your inspection.”
The Emperor, his anger reined in and his expression coldly composed, gave a single nod: “Very well. Today I will read these letters myself.”
Shortly after, a stack of letters was laid before the Emperor.
At a glance, there appeared to be more than ten.
The Emperor began with the first.
When the familiar handwriting met his eyes, his brow moved almost imperceptibly.
The handwriting in this letter was identical to Prince Yan’s script—down to the very angles and pressure of the brush strokes. Prince Yan also had a small habit that few knew of: when writing the stroke that sweeps to the left, he would pause for a fraction of a moment. Because of this, that particular stroke always carried slightly heavier ink.
In every letter in this collection, that leftward stroke was heavier. It matched Prince Yan’s habitual writing style without a single deviation.
If this had truly been forged at Prince An’s direction, it was almost impossibly convincing…
Hearing is believing, but seeing is truth. The Emperor’s unshakeable confidence in Prince Yan began, quietly and almost against his will, to waver.
As he read through the contents of the letters one by one, the Emperor’s expression grew darker and more troubled.
The letters implied, in carefully veiled language, Prince Yan’s dissatisfaction with the Crown Prince. They hinted subtly that Prince An was the more fitting candidate for succession. As the correspondence continued, the tone grew more overt, and the language of persuasion became increasingly unmistakable.
The final two letters laid out the plan for assassination itself.
Several passages were particularly striking.
“…Father Emperor grows old and foolish—the easiest of men to deceive. With only a small measure of effort on my part, I can make him trust me completely. On the day of the attack, the assassins will make a show of striking at Father Emperor first. I will step in and take the blow, securing Father Emperor’s trust. This will also lull the Crown Prince into lowering his guard—and in that window, we move against the Crown Prince. It will succeed beyond any doubt.”
“Once the Crown Prince is dead, Father Emperor will be compelled to name a new heir. There is no other candidate but Second Brother. On the day Second Brother becomes Crown Prince, I will devote myself entirely to following his lead.”
“I ask for nothing more than this: that when that day comes, Second Brother will treat my mother and elder sister with kindness. Allow my mother to leave the Cold Palace. Allow my elder sister to leave Ciyun Convent.”
The Emperor gripped the thin paper tightly, doubt and unease surging through him.
Every word, every line of this letter—it was unmistakably Prince Yan’s own voice and manner of speech.
When Prince An left the capital, Prince Yan had still been a small child. By any account, Prince An was not well acquainted with Prince Yan’s character and temperament. If he had tried to fabricate these letters himself, how could he possibly have imitated this so convincingly?
Was it possible that all of this had been within Prince Yan’s calculations from the start?
Had Prince Yan willingly risked his life to take that sword thrust—as nothing more than a ploy? A deliberate act of suffering to win the Emperor’s trust, so that no suspicion would ever fall on him?
The human heart is a strange thing. When you believe in a person completely, nothing they do can arouse suspicion.
But the moment that certainty begins to crack, doubt finds its way into everything.
Like a seed falling into soil—it takes root, and it grows.
The Emperor suddenly remembered Noble Consort Li’s frenzied cries in the final moments before her death.
“You have grown old and addled long ago! You could not see through Xu Wan for what she truly was, and you cannot see through her son. Laughable—you honor him at every turn, yet you do not know that the one who truly schemes for rebellion is the very son you cherish most—Prince Yan…”
The Emperor’s expression shifted between shadow and light. For a long while, he did not speak.