At this moment, the Duke of Lu also wore a complicated expression as he regarded the father and son across from him. Like the Duke of Jun, he had only learned more of the details after entering the city.

From every indication, one could not help but harbor suspicions.

Yet he made an effort to remain composed and said, “You and I are already standing in this court. Let us observe how things unfold — there is no need to lose our footing just yet.”

The princes had entered the capital, and while those vassal lords who arrived first had seemed to seize every advantage, they had all lost their heads in the end.

These two, father and son, who arrived fashionably late, now seemed to have the air of the mantis stalking the cicada while the sparrow waits behind. No one had even seen them exert much effort, yet somehow they had emerged as heroes who had rendered distinguished service in protecting the Emperor.

Now that His Majesty had opened court and ascended to the hall, if he was able to come out in person to receive his ministers, then surely he had not been coerced by this father and son. Moreover, General Zhao Dong stood present in the court — though his complexion looked haggard and his gaze somewhat dark, he held command of the great northern expedition army.

Zhao Dong was a man of upright character, not the sort to harbor ambitions of his own. If the Prince Beizhen and his son harbored treacherous intentions, General Zhao would absolutely not tolerate them.

With that thought, the Duke of Lu steadied himself: so long as His Majesty issued a decree formally enfeoffing the late Ninth Prince’s orphan, then even if his eldest daughter had been implicated through her connection to the Sixth Prince, the Fang family could still maintain their position and standing.

And yet… he raised his eyes once more to study Han Linfeng across from him — this tall man in full military attire, a broad sash cinching his waist, who appeared both shrewd and composed. The man bore absolutely no resemblance to the dissolute young scion he remembered from banquets past: that powder-painted face, the gorgeous robes, the elevated wooden clogs.

Had Han Linfeng not opened the conversation with a few pleasantries that let him recognize something of a familiar voice, he would almost have suspected that Prince Beizhen had swapped out his legitimate son entirely.

How could a debauched rake change so completely in just over a year?

Just then, a eunuch’s announcement cut through the Duke of Lu’s thoughts — “His Majesty arrives!”

Everyone promptly assumed their positions, bowing respectfully as they awaited the Emperor’s morning audience.

When two eunuchs supported a gaunt and withered old man, who shuffled forward in tiny steps to ascend the dragon throne, every minister’s heart gave a start: in just over a month’s absence, His Majesty had aged so drastically that he was hardly recognizable.

Emperor Weihui was helped to his seat upon the dragon throne, cushions pressed around him on all sides by the palace attendants to keep him stable. Only then did he manage to hold himself upright. He lifted his clouded, aged eyes and looked down upon the assembly below, speaking with effort, “My beloved ministers — I had not dared to hope that I might see you all again…”

These words immediately struck at the grief that all the ministers had been carrying through these turbulent days. Thinking of the upheaval they had endured, ministers one after another fell to their knees, choking back tears as they called out to His Majesty.

By reckoning, this was the most genuinely heartfelt weeping the court of Wei had seen in several decades.

Emperor Weihui, however, had plainly not come to reminisce over shared hardships with his ministers. He raised his hand slightly, gesturing for the ministers to compose themselves.

Only once they had fallen silent did he speak again: “This is not yet the time for your weeping. When the last breath I am clinging to has finally departed, weep for me like this then — and I shall have no more regrets…”

At these words, another minister rushed forward with an eager interjection: “Your Majesty is vigorous and spirited, the imperial dragon-body strong and hale — surely Your Majesty shall live a hundred years and stand guardian over ten thousand li of our great Wei’s mountains and rivers!”

Emperor Weihui had been seated only a short while and already felt bone-deep exhaustion. When he heard these fulsome words that could have echoed in the rafters for three days, he received them as one receives a loud but useless gust of wind — pointless, and frankly irritating.

He simply let his tired, lined eyelids fall shut, and continued speaking with closed eyes: “It must be said that since I inherited the imperial throne from my father’s hands, though I have labored diligently, I have accomplished little of note and proven unworthy of my ancestors. Fortunately, our Han imperial bloodline is robust, and from among the younger generation of the clan, talents have emerged in abundance. Though calamity struck, they were able to quell the chaos in time and preserve the foundation our ancestors bequeathed to us. Moreover, Prince Beizhen and the Shizi, bearing the welfare of Wei’s realm in their hearts, brought the Iron-Faced Righteous Army into submission in the northern territories and recovered eighteen of the twenty former states of our lost homeland, rendering illustrious and distinguished service on my behalf — and thus I find I have some small face left with which to meet my departed ancestors in the next world…”

Upon hearing these words, the expressions of every minister present shifted at once. Who did not know the formidable reputation of the Iron-Faced Army? They had plainly become yet another great threat to the realm, following the trail blazed by the rebel Qiu Zhen.

Yet what had His Majesty just been raving about?

The Iron-Faced Army had become a Righteous Army? And the Iron-Faced Army had been pacified and brought to submission by Prince Beizhen and his son? Since when had any of this happened?

Those standing in court today were all scions of the great noble families, accustomed as they were to wielding control over the government. Any significant policy of the Emperor had always required consultation with the great families first — then days of bickering and clamoring, like goods placed on a scale and weighed — before some balance of interests was reached and an announcement could be made.

Yet now, a matter as enormous as legitimizing the Iron-Faced rebel army — why had His Majesty announced it without discussing it with his senior ministers at all?

So the Prince Beizhen and his son actually commanded the Iron-Faced Army of the northern territories? No wonder even the battle-hardened Prince Dongping, leading his troops, had been defeated — allowing this father and son to rescue the Emperor.

While the ministers exchanged bewildered glances with one another, the old Emperor caught his breath and continued, his voice frail and listless: “The sons of my line have failed to prove worthy — that beast among men, my Sixth Son, turned brother against brother and brought disaster upon the common people, nearly toppling Wei’s hundred-year foundation. Now the Ninth Prince, whom I had intended to enfeoff, has unfortunately departed this world, and among the remaining princes there is none of outstanding ability. Therefore, I have decided…”

At this point Emperor Weihui paused once more, sweeping his gaze across the assembled ministers below, before letting it come to rest upon Han Linfeng and his father at the front of the ranks. He spoke slowly: “I have decided, following the example of the sagely late Emperor, to select a worthy and virtuous son from among the clan, and to pass the throne to the worthy — I name Prince Beizhen Han Yi as the next Emperor of the new generation. As for myself, I abdicate the throne this very day and return governance to the court. You are all to support and assist the new Emperor, and restore the brilliant light of our great Wei…”

When these weightless words had finished falling, every minister in the hall stood dumbstruck, each pair of eyes wide and staring as an egg.

What had His Majesty just said? He had not named an heir apparent — he had abdicated and ceded the throne?

And the new Emperor was not the one everyone had privately imagined — the orphan of the Ninth Prince, supported by the Fang family — but rather a father and son from a remote Wang estate in the far northern wilderness?

Several ministers of insufficient composure secretly pinched their own thighs, trying to determine whether they might be dreaming.

But the clean-current ministers led by Li Guitian were the first to recover their wits, and they opened their mouths in acclamation: “Long live His Majesty, ten thousand years, ten thousand upon ten thousand — we congratulate Your Majesty on transmitting the throne to the worthy, and pray that the mountains and rivers of great Wei shall endure for ten thousand generations…”

And Zhao Dong likewise followed their example. With a face dark as thunder, he opened his mouth in wooden congratulation to His Majesty for finding a worthy and virtuous man to ascend the throne — without a trace of shock or opposition.

At this moment, the Duke of Lu was the first to step forward: “Wait! Your Majesty — Prince Beizhen is not of Your Majesty’s direct bloodline. How can the throne be passed to him? If Your Majesty harbors some difficulty that is hard to speak of openly, please — while all the ministers are present — say it so that we may hear. If anyone has dared to coerce Your Majesty, then even if blood should splatter across the Hall of Supreme Ultimate, we shall not allow treacherous villains to prevail and overturn the order of our great Wei court!”

In speaking these words, the Duke of Lu had staked everything.

The Fang family was powerful, with countless sons and descendants spread throughout the land, having upheld half the sky of Wei. As for the other great noble families in court, they too were the pillars and backbone of Wei.

Did Prince Beizhen’s Shizi think that by coercing the Emperor, he could hold the Son of Heaven hostage to command the princes? That depended on whether the other great families agreed.

Otherwise, even if Prince Beizhen managed to usurp the throne and seat himself upon the imperial chair, without the support of the great families, he would end up just like the sagely late Emperor — disgraced and forced to relinquish the throne!

With the Duke of Lu taking the lead, the heads of the other great noble families stepped forward one by one to voice their objections, earnestly imploring His Majesty to reconsider and not shake the legitimate succession of the imperial bloodline.

Emperor Weihui was well accustomed to these ministers rebutting whatever he said — after all, this was how all the years of his reign had passed, amid constant bickering and arguing. Truly, the only time he could consult his own wishes without first asking these noble ministers was when he was designing his own imperial mausoleum and choosing the style of his coffin.

So he opened his mouth, calmly: “Prince Beizhen is the direct bloodline of the sagely late Emperor — I fail to see how passing the throne to him shakes the legitimate line of the imperial family. For the common people of Wei’s realm, it is surely better to establish a member of the imperial clan who has rendered meritorious service to Wei than to establish an infant still in swaddling clothes. I trust that Prince Beizhen will not repay kindness with ingratitude, and that he will certainly treat my sons and descendants well — ensuring their comfortable livelihood, generation upon generation of wealth and glory without end. Is that not so?”

At the last of these words, Emperor Weihui’s tone deepened, and his aged eyes — usually buried in wrinkled folds — could not help but turn brilliant and sharp, fixed intently on Prince Beizhen and his son.

Prince Beizhen had already knelt to receive the imperial decree a moment earlier. Now, hearing His Majesty’s words, he hastened to respond with respectful earnestness: “Your servant and Your Majesty are kinsmen of the same clan — your servant and his descendants and posterity shall certainly treat Your Majesty’s children and grandchildren with kindness and care. Should I violate this oath, may I be denied rebirth through all eternity.”

Emperor Weihui nodded, then turned his head to the court historian: “Did you record every word Prince Beizhen just said? Not a single word may be omitted!”

The historians who kept the daily records and the records of court proceedings each presented their handwritten accounts for the Emperor to inspect. Emperor Weihui nodded with satisfaction, then spoke: “The decree of succession I have already drafted; it will be proclaimed to all under heaven presently. The situation was too volatile before now — had I not shown my face, I feared rumors would spread and hearts grow uneasy. Now that my intentions have been made known to you all, what remains is the new Emperor’s affair. I am weary; I am going to leave court and rest…”

Having spoken these words, he slowly rose to his feet and allowed the young eunuchs to help him retire from the hall.

But the ministers below, whose minds had been scattered to the four winds by his announcement, still could not collect themselves. They continued in animated agitation, kneeling and crying out to His Majesty to reconsider his decree.

In all Emperor Weihui’s decades upon the throne, this was the first time he was able to turn his back and stride away without a backward glance — and for a moment he felt something almost like the mischievous delight of a child.

The great matter was already settled. Yet those ministers still could not see it clearly.

The great affairs of the realm were, at their core, a contest of arm-wrestling. It was simply a question of who had the greater strength — only that could decide the fate of the world in a single stroke.

The Prince Beizhen and his son, who had long concealed themselves and finally emerged, were now formidably armed and powerful. Was this the work of a single morning of biding one’s time? Even the fierce and battle-hardened Tiefu tribesmen had been driven back step after step by them — who in all the realm could oppose their iron cavalry?

Even if he refused to follow the current and abdicate — even if he stubbornly insisted on establishing the Ninth Prince’s orphan — what of it? He would only be raising up the Fang maternal relatives again, and extinguishing the very roots of the Han imperial house.

In truth, Emperor Weihui’s decision had been reached only after a long inner struggle, a protracted weighing of considerations.

Recall: Emperor Weihui had been coerced by that scheming mother and son and removed to the detached palace, where he was locked inside a single room.

Empress Wang had struck a deal with Prince Dongping, exchanging interests for interests — and then she had begun forcing him to write an abdication decree.

Emperor Weihui, hating that mother and son as he did, how could he comply? In the end, a dignified ruler of a generation had been seized by Empress Wang’s people and had his little finger snapped — the pain so acute that he blacked out on the spot.

Just as Emperor Weihui was on the verge of being unable to hold out any longer, a company of soldiers suddenly burst into the detached palace.

The young eunuch bringing tea to Empress Wang also suddenly produced a dagger from beneath his tray, pressing it to the throats of both Empress Wang and the Sixth Prince.

In this way, the spies Han Linfeng had planted within successfully took control of the situation.

When Han Linfeng strode into the room in full military attire, Emperor Weihui forced his eyes open with great effort, and in his dazed state seemed to see before him the spirit of the sagely late Emperor.

When the sagely late Emperor had ascended the throne in those long-ago days, he had still been a child of six, and his father had not yet usurped the throne — he was only the sagely Emperor’s imperial uncle. Emperor Weihui had followed behind his father and performed obeisance before the Son of Heaven.

The sagely Wei ancestral Emperor at that time had been vigorous and full of spirit — how strikingly similar his bearing was to the man before him now.

Emperor Weihui had half-shut his eyes, imagining that his time had come to an end, and that the departed sagely late Emperor had come to reproach him for having lost the mountains and rivers of his ancestors…

For a moment, Emperor Weihui was overwhelmed by shame, and choked out a sob.

Only when the upright young man before him knelt and performed obeisance, calling out “Your Majesty,” did he come back to his senses.

When the young man identified himself as the great-grandson of the sagely late Emperor — Han Linfeng, Shizi of Beizhen — the ailing Emperor, ignoring the pain in his broken finger, actually struggled to half-sit upright, staring up and down at this utterly transformed young man before him in sheer disbelief.

Thinking of how Empress Wang had spent those two months coercing him to write a decree ceding the throne to Prince Dongping while simultaneously granting amnesty to all members of the Wang clan, Emperor Weihui fixed the man with a dark look and said, “Have you also come to coerce me?”

Han Linfeng knelt respectfully and replied, “Our ancestors enfeoffed princes of the same surname precisely to prevent the imperial house from finding itself isolated and without allies in times of danger, as occurred under the Qin Emperor and Cao Wei. My father and I entered the capital expressly to rescue Your Majesty from your peril. If Your Majesty’s health permits, we are willing to escort Your Majesty back to the palace.”

Emperor Weihui did not trust his words, and replied with deliberation, “Have you made no agreement with the Wang family?”

Han Linfeng replied in a measured voice, “My father and I have lived in the northern territories, and have no deep ties with any of the great families. We led troops into the capital to come to Your Majesty’s aid — we negotiated no terms with anyone, and had no need to do so…”

Emperor Weihui regarded the formidable young man before him, narrowing his eyes to ask, “I have heard that the Iron-Faced Army of the northern territories has already conquered the better part of our lost northern homeland. I have also heard that Prince Beizhen’s house and the Iron-Faced Army have been in close contact — is this true?”

Han Linfeng replied with equal composure, “Not the better part — they have already passed Mount Qiutai, with only the final two provinces remaining. Once your servant and my father have assisted Your Majesty in pacifying the rebellion in the capital, we may return to the north and recover the entirety of our lost homeland, as a comfort to the spirits of the Han ancestors in heaven.”

These words rang out with sonorous force. He openly acknowledged that he himself was the true commander of the Iron-Faced Army — the man who had directed tens of thousands of troops and been branded chief rebel in the recovery of the lost homeland.

Emperor Weihui’s eyes, hidden within their wrinkled folds, all but burst open — he stared at this former wastrel before him in absolute disbelief.

This Han Linfeng, who had seemed like mud that could not be plastered to a wall — he actually had such capabilities!

This man who had formerly wallowed in his wine cup, commanding troops and directing strategy with the calm gravity of a seasoned old general who had been steeped in military camps for years. The old Emperor was carried on a stretcher, yet his pair of aged eyes never left that tall young man.

He recalled how in times past, every time he had berated this young clansman in the imperial study for failing to better himself and causing trouble, the young man would always bow his head respectfully and listen — never once lifting his gaze.

Emperor Weihui suddenly felt a pang of regret: in those days, why had he never made the young man raise his head? Had he done so, might he have discovered in this young man’s eyes that untamed, fathomless depth?

He finally understood: this young man was an expert at concealing his brilliance, a master of enduring hardship and waiting for his moment. He himself had grown blind with age, mistaking an eagle for a caged domestic fowl…

Yet things being as they were — did Han Linfeng not want to force his way to the throne and seize power for himself? He thought it, and so he asked it.

During the march, Han Linfeng — in the very act of personally tipping a water flask to help the old Emperor drink — replied evenly: “Your Majesty need not exhaust yourself with such thoughts while your health is ailing. As the saying goes, it is cold and lonely at great heights — what everyone desires is not necessarily what your servant desires. Although the Ninth Prince suffered misfortune, I have already learned the whereabouts of the Prince Rui’s consort and the young Shizi. I have already dispatched men to escort the consort and her child back to the capital. Your Majesty’s line is populous and flourishing — whoever Your Majesty enfeoffs as heir, so long as he proves himself a wise ruler, your servant and my father will devote ourselves in full support and pledge our loyalty unto death.”

Not a single word in these remarks carried even the slightest hint of menace — yet to the Emperor, every sentence rang as a threat.

The Beizhen father and son now commanded formidable armies with distinguished merit in protecting the Emperor to their name, and moreover held the entire capital firmly in hand. Who in the realm could contend against those iron cavalry forces that had sent the Tiefu tribesmen fleeing in utter disarray?

Such a vassal lord — holding both military authority and the hearts of the people — would he truly trouble himself over what a lingering, half-dead old man wished for in a new Emperor?

No matter which man was made Emperor, even with this father and son’s support behind him, he would ultimately be nothing more than a puppet with its strings cut, to be manipulated at will.

Recalling how his own father, after usurping the sagely late Emperor’s position, had suppressed and persecuted the crown prince’s line — the old Emperor felt a shudder run down his spine. Not for himself, but out of worry for his own sons and descendants.

Because the Empress had been jealous and ruthless, and in his inner palace the sons of the great families’ consorts had been almost entirely unable to survive, while those sons born of lowly palace servants — even if elevated — could never truly establish themselves.

As for the little blood the Ninth Prince had left behind, there was the Fang family’s support, it was true. But he himself was clinging to his last breaths, with days to live. An infant in swaddling as Emperor?

The Fang family would sooner or later become the next Wang family of Changxi. And that unfilial wretch, his Sixth Son — if he ascended the throne, not one of his brothers would be left alive.

All the way from the detached palace back to the imperial palace, the old Emperor had held the Beizhen Shizi in wariness and suspicion — yet throughout that journey, Han Linfeng observed every proper protocol toward His Majesty on his stretcher, and by every measure gave the Emperor his full dignity.

The army under Han Linfeng’s command was well-trained and disciplined. Though they encountered several ambushes along the way, each was met under Han Linfeng’s command with calm self-possession and resolved without incident.

Every person is drawn toward strength, and the wind-candle aged Emperor Weihui could not but acknowledge that this descendant of the sagely late Emperor carried within him an undeniable imperial bearing that was beyond description — while his own children had been utterly spoiled by the extravagance of the capital. To pit them against such a fierce beast that had galloped across battlefields, was no different than offering a flock of sheep to a wolf.

When the carriage finally entered the capital, the old Emperor trembled as he lifted the curtain to gaze outside. The long familiar streets of the capital he had known all his life now lay devastated before him. He looked for a while, then tremblingly let the curtain fall. To be an Emperor, and yet to see the once-flourishing capital of one’s realm reduced to such ruin — the shame of it was enough to break a man in his twilight years.

Then came the return to the palace, and with it the sentencing and execution of Prince Dongping and the other vassal lords.

Though the imperial edicts ordering their deaths were issued under Emperor Weihui’s hand, it was Han Linfeng’s men who removed their heads.

The old Emperor was also carried out to witness the executions, together with the princes and princesses of the palace. When the fifth head fell, some of the more timid princes among the group burst into wailing sobs — so terrified they wet themselves on the spot…

The Emperor also closed his eyes and waved a limp hand — enough, enough. He had not been a good Emperor. He had not been a good husband. But from beginning to end, he had wanted only to protect his sons and daughters, and to be a worthy father to his children…

Upon returning to the palace that day, Emperor Weihui finally made up his mind. He took the initiative to summon Prince Beizhen for a game of chess together.

That game was, at every move, a negotiation; at every word, a test of the other man’s heart.

In the end, Emperor Weihui decided to be a man who knew how to read the times. For the sake of what was left of his descendants, he would attempt to secure for them a way forward — so that their heads too would not fall in pools of blood at the Meridian Gate — and in doing so, find for the broken and ruined Han dynastic realm an Emperor of iron will and capable hands.

In this way, it was better to actively cede the imperial throne of one’s own volition than to wait for others to hollow it out in a contest of power — and in exchange, secure the Beizhen father and son’s favorable treatment of his remaining sons. Even if in future those sons were assigned to some remote frontier as Prince Beizhen’s household had once been, that was still far better than staining the long streets of the capital with their blood, their heads severed from their bodies.

This inward journey of Emperor Weihui was, however, plainly beyond the understanding of his ministers.

Having thrown the ruinous mess to the Beizhen father and son, he allowed himself to be supported by the eunuchs and departed without a care. Within the hall, the assembled ministers immediately erupted — by the look of it, the noise was set to shake the very rafters.

Prince Beizhen glanced at his son. Han Linfeng, however, stood at leisure, watching this crowd of ministers arguing themselves red in the face, then suddenly clapped his hands together. A company of armored soldiers bearing blades took up positions throughout the hall.

The Duke of Lu’s eyes went wide: “You — what do you mean to do? Do you intend to slaughter ministers here in the Hall of Supreme Ultimate?”

Han Linfeng said, “My father Prince Beizhen is a man of humble disposition, and was himself seized by awe and trepidation at His Majesty’s decision to abdicate and pass the throne. Yet how can one defy the command of one’s sovereign? Since His Majesty’s sacred will has been made and all of you have heard it plainly, my father can only accept this imperial grace and take up the ten thousand li of Wei’s mountains and rivers upon his shoulders. Yet I observe that several of you seem to harbor considerable reservations regarding His Majesty’s sacred intentions, and appear intent on overstepping your place and issuing edicts in the Emperor’s stead. How is this any different from Prince Dongping secretly having imperial robes made, openly overstepping and usurping imperial prerogative? Do you take His Majesty’s imperial decree for the words of a village headman — something for village men to squabble over and rebuke to his face? This is the Hall of Supreme Ultimate. Those who dare affront the sacred will and commit the crime of gross insubordination — their end shall be as follows!”

As he spoke, Han Linfeng reached out and drew the saber from the scabbard of a guard standing beside him, then hurled it at the hall’s grand pillar, which was carved with the image of a mythical beast.

With a sharp crack, the carved head of the beast topping the great ceremonial pillar was severed clean off, and it rolled to a stop at the feet of the Duke of Lu and the others.

In the moment when all present had been utterly silenced and cowed by this display of skill from the man they had all dismissed as a useless wastrel, Han Linfeng turned to the court historian at the side and said, “Should anyone again speak in opposition to His Majesty’s imperial decree, record their crime of defiance, their name, and their date of death.”

The historian was puzzled: “Date of death?”

Han Linfeng said coldly, “Naturally, this very moment — or does one keep a traitor and minister of rebellion overnight?”

The historian shrank his neck slightly, hastened to nod in acknowledgment, then turned his gaze to sweep across the assembled ministers within the hall.

A moment ago they had been calling out and crying up a storm. Now every one of them was like a quail with a hand clamped around its throat — not a sound from any of them.

After all, the Han father and son had not placed the Emperor under house arrest or committed any act of forcing the Emperor’s hand — it was the Emperor who had summoned his ministers and personally announced the abdication in open court.

Compared with the other vassal lords, this Beizhen line was the legitimate and direct descent of the sagely late Emperor. Had the events at Mount Qiutai never occurred — had they never been surrounded and besieged — these ten thousand li of rivers and mountains would all have been theirs to begin with.

Emperor Weihui saying he was restoring governance to the court — this was a tale as fine as Kong Rong yielding the pear, the kind that could be recorded in the annals of history and remembered for a thousand generations.

Here in the hall, they were fish on a chopping block. To continue making a clamor now would only ensure that, even if their heads rolled, they would leave behind nothing in the history books but the disgrace of having defied the sacred imperial will.

The earth-shaking transformation within the great hall spread quickly through every manor and residence of the capital, carried on the back of His Majesty’s personally penned decree.

Those ladies who had once gathered in the county town of Maolin and helped Fang Jinshu mock and ridicule Su Luoyun — every one of them was now like an ant on a hot griddle, turning in frantic circles, not knowing where to run.