Thinking of this, Chu Linlang knew she had to find a way quickly to learn of Situ Sheng’s current situation.

In that moment she had no concern whatsoever for her own safety. She made up her mind on the spot to make a trip to the Prince’s residence.

Guanqi grew somewhat anxious and hurriedly said: “But the Third Prince specifically told me to remind you not to enter the city!”

Chu Linlang reached up and deliberately disheveled her own hair, then instructed Dongxue, who was standing nearby, to go to the neighboring village and buy some worn and tattered rough cloth clothing. She then crouched down, scooped up a handful of sandy dirt, and rubbed it all over her face and neck.

Guanqi was startled and asked what on earth she was doing. Chu Linlang said briskly: “If I enter the city in a carriage, I will certainly be recognized. Disguising myself as a peasant woman going into the city to sell goods will throw people off.”

Once Dongxue returned with the clothing, Chu Linlang imitated the appearance of the country farmwomen she had observed, wrapping her hair in a rough tangle under a strip of dark blue cloth, then pulling on a dress with patches in it. Her cheeks and neck, coated with sandy grime, looked considerably less pale than usual.

She also trimmed the hair at her forehead, leaving it half-length to hang down and obscure her bright eyes. At first glance, she truly looked like a peasant woman.

Dongxue and Guanqi dressed themselves in the same manner, then drove a manure-collection donkey cart borrowed from the farm, hauling a cartload of empty waste buckets into the city.

Just as Chu Linlang had predicted, the capital’s guards were lenient about entry and strict about exit.

The main focus of inspection was on those leaving the city, and among those entering, it was carriages that received the greatest scrutiny.

As for the three of them — filthy and grimy as dung balls — combined with the distinctly unpleasant smell of the manure cart, the city guards wrinkled their noses and waved them through the gates with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Once inside the city, Chu Linlang carried on convincingly enough — going from house to house with Guanqi in tow, collecting chamber pots.

Since becoming pregnant, her sense of smell had grown especially acute, so sitting on that donkey cart had her on the verge of retching the entire time.

But thinking of Situ Sheng now locked behind bars, Chu Linlang could only dig her nails hard into her own palm and force down the nausea through sheer will.

She gently touched her abdomen and whispered: “Be good, little one. We are going together to bring your father home. Don’t make a fuss — when we get back I’ll give you honey-preserved sour plums.”

By the time they made their way to the back gate of the Prince’s residence, the young gatekeeper who opened the door did not recognize Chu Linlang and merely waved them away impatiently. But Chu Linlang said in a quiet voice: “Go and tell your master that an old acquaintance from the academy has come to call.”

The perfectly enunciated, well-rounded tones of her speech were nothing like those of an ordinary peasant woman.

The gatekeeper looked up — and at that very moment Chu Linlang lifted the fringe hanging over her forehead and let him see her eyes.

Only then did he recognize that the visitor was Madam Chu, who had come frequently in the past.

Those selected to serve as gatekeepers had to be quick-witted and perceptive, able to receive or turn away guests at any moment without causing their master difficulty.

One look at Chu Linlang’s disguise told him that something was not right — Madam Chu had come in secret. So he raised his voice and said: “There are some chamber pots in the outer courtyard that are too heavy. Just come in and carry them yourselves.”

With that he let the three of them enter the outer courtyard, then said: “Please wait, Madam Chu — I will go inform the Prince at once.”

Before long, the gatekeeper returned to escort Madam Chu to the inner courtyard. Chu Linlang told Guanqi and the others to take the manure cart away first, so as not to attract attention in the back courtyard of the Prince’s residence. She then followed the gatekeeper along a quiet back path to the Prince’s study.

At that moment, Prince Liu Yi was pacing in circles inside his study. When Chu Linlang entered and he took in her attire, he could only shake his head helplessly: “Your nerve is something else entirely. Situ Sheng told me not to let you enter the city, and yet here you are. If something had gone wrong, what then?”

Chu Linlang first performed a proper bow, congratulating the Prince on being installed as the Crown Prince.

But Liu Yi heard this and rubbed his own face with a weary, self-reproaching expression: “What use is becoming Crown Prince? His Majesty refuses to see me at all right now. I want to plead on Situ Sheng’s behalf and I cannot even do that.”

With that, he gave a brief account of Situ Sheng’s current situation.

It turned out that while the Crown Prince had been working his upheavals, the nun Tao Huiru, enduring her austere life in the convent, had somehow received word of events, and had gone to every conceivable length to write a letter to the Crown Prince.

Most likely she had grown unable to bear the hardships of a true monastic life. Unable to endure any longer, she had divulged the secret she had kept hidden in her heart to the Crown Prince, hoping that this might make the Crown Prince remember her — his ill-fated aunt — and rescue her.

When the Crown Prince heard this news, he was so elated he spun on the spot, overtaken by a sensation of sudden revelation combined with the deep gratification of a long-awaited revenge finally within reach.

And so the Crown Prince had fetched Tao Huiru out of the convent and brought her into the palace, where, at the Emperor’s sickbed, she spoke aloud the secret of Situ Sheng’s true origins.

At that moment the Crown Prince had felt certain his accession to the throne was already secured, and his decision to reveal everything before his imperial father was entirely driven by his own bitter desire for retribution.

He wanted his imperial father to know exactly what manner of sinister creature this minister he had loved, favored, and trusted truly was — none other than a wolf harboring a sea of blood-deep hatred, who had been lurking at his father’s side all along, waiting to exact revenge.

Because he wanted to see his imperial father’s expression of regret and remorse, the Crown Prince could not wait to expose the fact that Situ Sheng was Yang Yi’s son.

But what he had never anticipated was that Situ Sheng’s counterattack would come so swiftly. The moment the Crown Prince led his men into the palace, Situ Sheng had already coerced Chen Fang’s family, persuaded the Empress Dowager to assist him, and launched a single decisive counterattack into the imperial city.

Yet he had still managed to prepare a grand parting gift for Situ Sheng.

And so His Majesty gave no outward sign of his intentions. He waited until after Situ Sheng had suppressed the Crown Prince’s coup before suddenly striking — luring Situ Sheng into the palace and detaining him there.

Now His Majesty refused to see even his most beloved son. All appearances suggested he had resolved to quietly and secretly dispose of Situ Sheng.

What Chu Linlang had feared had come to pass after all. She sat down slowly and worked to steady herself.

Based on her understanding of the Emperor, His Majesty had long since begun to feel regret over his hasty decision to deal with the Yang Family all those years ago.

But an error committed by the Son of Heaven — why would he need to confess it to anyone?

The more the Emperor felt he had been in the wrong, the more he was likely to fear others knowing it.

And now Situ Sheng had concealed his true identity and appeared at the Emperor’s side, only to have that secret exposed under circumstances so thoroughly unfavorable to His Majesty — this was bound to arouse every last ounce of the Emperor’s vigilance.

Although the Prince had already reached out to the senior ministers to plead on Situ Sheng’s behalf, the harder the Prince pleaded, the stronger His Majesty’s desire to kill would likely grow. Because His Majesty would absolutely not allow the future Crown Prince to have such a dangerous complication lurking nearby.

Thinking of this, Chu Linlang’s head had begun to throb.

Yet the Prince felt that the suffering of this pair of lovers had only just begun. He said quietly: “Do you know — His Majesty has actually had the court officials continue what my elder brother started, intending to grant you a title and still send you as a bride to the Kingdom of Jing. You should leave. I will make sure you get away safely, and I will deal with what remains.”

Indeed — the close relationship between her and Situ Sheng was surely known to His Majesty as well.

The more warmly she had been treated by the Empress Dowager before, the more suspicion it would now arouse in His Majesty’s mind when he thought back on it. Sending her away like this served as punishment for Situ Sheng’s deception of the throne, and at the same time rid His Majesty of this source of concern.

Thinking of this, Chu Linlang knew she could not afford to hesitate any longer. She had to do something — something that would give the Emperor pause when he was on the verge of striking with fatal force.

With this in mind, she raised her head and looked at the Prince, and spoke: “I heard from Yashu that your calligraphy is accomplished and your skill at imitating another’s brushwork is quite formidable. I want to write a letter — I wonder if you would be willing to serve as the brush for me. There is also another matter I wish to do, which will require your full cooperation. These things are somewhat… treasonous in nature. I do not know whether you are willing.”

Liu Yi answered without a moment’s hesitation: “Even though I have now formally rejoined my own family, in my heart I will always be Situ Sheng’s closest friend Jingxuan. Speak freely — you need not hold anything back.”

Chu Linlang gave a nod. She was now burning her boats — since the Emperor cared about his face, she was going to stake everything and see whether the Emperor still wanted that face-saving pretense of his.

When Chu Linlang finished speaking, Liu Yi was left staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

He had heard Situ Sheng speak of this woman’s extraordinary daring before. But without having experienced things alongside her, Liu Yi had still underestimated just how far that daring extended.

What she was proposing… was it actually feasible?

Chu Linlang said composedly: “When Situ Sheng and I visited the imperial temple together, I saw the memorial inscription for General Yang there. I have already had Guanqi go to the imperial temple and make a rubbing of the old general’s inscription. As for the refined phrasing and wording for the rest — that all depends on Your Highness.”

Attack the heart through the heart! To make a ruler of his generation stay his hand, one had first to break through the defenses of his heart.

It all came down to whether Liu Yi’s literary skill was equal to the task — whether he could produce the effect she needed to achieve. Whatever the case, this was a battle with their backs to the water, with no retreat possible.

……

As for the Emperor within the palace — after the imperial physicians administered acupuncture, his condition had eased somewhat, though he still moved with difficulty.

Supported by Sheng Hai, he sat up to drink his medicine, and in passing inquired about how Situ Sheng was faring in the imperial prison.

Sheng Hai answered truthfully: “Daily routine as usual. Eating and sleeping each day, not making any commotion.”

The Emperor heard this and gave a cold laugh, his voice indistinct: “Truly composed. Such deep scheming — and all this time, your subject never perceived it… Small wonder he was able to stay hidden at your subject’s side for so long.”

With a mind as profoundly calculating as that, how could he be allowed to remain? And moreover, this person had not merely insinuated himself into the Emperor’s affections — he had also become sworn brothers with the boy Liu Yi, as close as family.

If it could be said that the old Emperor had always harbored a lingering guilt toward Yang Xun, then upon learning that Situ Sheng was actually Yang Xun’s eldest grandson, the emotion that surged through him was nothing but fear.

He feared that lurking at his side was a wronged soul determined to collect a blood debt.

And now, in his current condition, he absolutely could not leave this lurking danger behind for that boy Liu Yi.

This role of villain — he would take it upon himself.

His Majesty closed his eyes and worked to settle his emotions. He was just about to have Sheng Hai prepare a jug of poisoned wine to be sent as a gift to the man in the prison.

But at that very moment, someone came from outside the palace to report that Qi Gong had arrived along with two senior ministers, requesting an audience.

With the palace coup only just quelled, Qi Gong’s arrival at this hour was far from ordinary. His Majesty gave a nod and had the palace attendants show the senior ministers into the inner hall.

Qi Gong’s expression was grave. Upon entering the sleeping chambers, he knelt on the ground and said: “Your Majesty, your subject has a matter to report.”

The old Emperor, draped in his outer robe, asked with a face full of fatigue: “Give Qi Gong a seat.”

The Director of the Imperial Academy was an elder statesman of the court, a man of towering prestige and virtue. His Majesty had long since granted him exemption from the cumbersome formality of full ceremony. So the sight of the Director of the Imperial Academy performing so formal a prostration as he did today was in itself uncommon.

Yet even after being invited to take a seat, Qi Gong refused to rise, and said with an expression of deep gravity: “Your subject has heard that Your Majesty intends to grant the title of Xinmei Yiren and send her as a bride in a marriage alliance, and finds this deeply improper. Your subject earnestly begs Your Majesty to withdraw this command.”

The Emperor heard these words and furrowed his brows slightly, saying coldly: “Is it that Xinmei Yiren was unwilling, and so she asked the Senior Minister to come and plead her case?”

He had long heard of this Madam Chu’s versatility and wide-ranging connections — and truly, she had such extensive reach that she had even managed to move Qi Gong to come and intercede on her behalf.

The Director of the Imperial Academy heard the Emperor’s skepticism and remained entirely composed: “Xinmei Yiren has not come to seek your subject’s help at all. It is simply that… your subject once served as witness and guarantor at her betrothal. Since she has already entered into a marriage contract with someone, how can she then be sent as a bride to the Kingdom of Jing? As the one who stood witness, your subject must inform Your Majesty of this, lest it bring dishonor upon Your Majesty’s reputation.”

The old Emperor said in a low, measured voice: “Since it was only a betrothal and not yet a marriage, she is the most suitable candidate for this alliance. Given that, the prior marriage contract may be declared void.”

Qi Gong heard this and suddenly raised his head, finding it almost impossible to believe that after one bout of illness, His Majesty could be so utterly unreasonable.

The stubbornness of a veteran minister was thus roused. He raised his head and declared in a strong voice: “The one who entered into this marriage contract with Madam Chu is none other than Lord Situ himself. Though she has not yet formally exchanged bows with Lord Situ at the wedding altar, both the written contract and the witnesses exist — there is no falsifying it. She is an official of the court’s intended wife, yet Your Majesty intends to betroth her to a foreign barbarian. Your subject dares to ask: this kind of outrageous affair — in which dynasty, in which era, has such a thing ever occurred?”

His Majesty was provoked to fury by Qi Gong’s words. The Empress Dowager had once complained to him that Qi Gong was difficult to deal with, and now he was experiencing it firsthand.

The old fellow was truly insufferable — the moment he opened his mouth, he was pinning the label of a muddleheaded tyrant who dishonored his ministers and their wives on him.

This old wretch who refused to die — perhaps a jug of poisoned wine ought to be gifted to him too, to share a drink with Situ Sheng in the prison cell.

As for Madam Chu — if she became a widow, remarrying someone else would carry no taint of dishonor.

Qi Gong had also detected the fury on His Majesty’s face, yet felt not an ounce of fear.

He had already heard from Chu Linlang’s own lips of the ordeal Situ Sheng had faced, and had been further astounded to learn the secret of Situ Sheng’s origins.

This child — he had turned out to be the beloved grandson of his old friend Yang Xun, a child who had survived the battlefield and returned against all odds.

Back in the year Yang Xun died fighting on the frontier, Qi Gong had wept bitterly at home for his country and for his friend, weeping until he fell gravely ill and lay unconscious for days.

By the time he had recovered enough to be about, it was only from his son’s lips that he heard the shocking news of the Yang Family’s arrest and execution. He had been so enraged that he fell ill again, bitter with regret that his illness had come at such an ill-timed moment, leaving him unable to stop His Majesty’s impulsive act in time.

And yet the Yang Family still had a surviving descendant — a grandson personally raised by Yang Xun himself.

Before entering the palace today, Qi Gong had already drawn up his final testament for his son. He had come prepared to give his life, determined to use every ounce of his strength to protect this sole remaining seedling of the Yang lineage.

With this resolve, he spoke again: “Furthermore, entrusted by a departed friend, your subject presents for Your Majesty’s eyes a letter in the hand of Duke Yang.”

So saying, he drew from within his robe a yellowed and aged envelope, which he had Sheng Hai present to His Majesty.

As the old Emperor looked at the letter paper Sheng Hai unfolded before him, a handwriting once deeply familiar came into view.

This letter — it was written by Yang Xun to him.

Between ruler and minister who had once been as close as family, it was natural to know each other’s handwriting, even the characteristic turns of phrase and tone.

When Yang Xun’s familiar bold and vigorous brushstrokes came into view, even a sovereign whose heart was as hard as iron felt his nose, for reasons he could not quite name, begin to sting with a faint, rising soreness.

This letter must have been Yang Xun’s final writing, composed before he left for the last battle.

In the letter, this old minister of brilliant military genius appeared to have long since foreseen the outcome of that campaign’s defeat. He not only analyzed in meticulous detail the reasons why his defeat was likely, but even set out, point by point, the strategies His Majesty should adopt to defend the territory after the defeat.

In the letter, Yang Xun expressed that at this time, the Great Jin was beset by troubles from within and threats from without, and it was far from an opportune moment to take up arms against the Kingdom of Jing — yet with the Emperor’s command upon him, he could only do his utmost.

Even if he were to die on the battlefield, he would harbor not the slightest resentment toward His Majesty. His only concern was for His Majesty and for the great enterprise that would endure through a thousand ages.

He hoped His Majesty would endure humiliation and bear hardship, temper determination through adversity, and work with vigorous resolve to strengthen the nation’s power. In time there would naturally arise warriors more valiant even than himself to crush the enemy and recover the lost territories. And then — as he was still a man of ordinary feeling — there was one person he could not set his mind at ease about: his grandson Jiexing.

This child’s life had been one of hardship. His birth mother had lost her mind, and he was rejected by both his father and his stepmother. If he himself were gone, this child would surely be persecuted by others. And so he had made arrangements early on, intending to have the child adopted into the family of his friend Situ. If one day this child grew into a capable man and could serve Your Majesty with loyalty, then Yang Xun’s dying wish would be considered fulfilled. He asked only that Your Majesty treat this ill-fated child with kindness — and then Yang Xun, wrapped in his horse’s hide and fallen in battle, would have no remaining regrets.

Every word of the letter struck at the Emperor’s heart like a hammer blow.

It turned out that when Yang Xun had gone to war all those years ago, he had already known that Prince Tai and the Crown Prince had joined forces, intending to seize military authority together and expand their own respective power bases.

And yet with the border in crisis, Yang Xun had gone to the battlefield carrying that devoted, loyal, death-welcoming heart of his.

By the time he reached the final lines, the old Emperor’s hands had begun to tremble. The guilt toward Yang Xun that had accumulated over these decades, layer upon layer, was all at once brought flooding out by this letter.

He was moved to such agitation that moisture gathered in his eyes, and the tears of an old man ran along the creases of his face.

Qi Gong had also read the letter Madam Chu had brought him, and at the time he too had wept uncontrollably, beating his chest and lifting his face to the sky, wishing bitterly that he had been on the battlefield in those years to die for the nation alongside Yang Xun.

And so he understood well the depth of His Majesty’s emotion in this moment.

But today he had entered the palace not only to prevent His Majesty from sending away Situ Sheng’s intended wife — more importantly, he was here to save Situ Sheng’s life.

And so, seizing this opportunity, he once more knelt and made his appeal: “Your Majesty — Situ Sheng is the very child to whom General Yang entrusted his dying wishes. Though he does not bear the Yang surname, his conduct and his whole-hearted devotion to the nation are no different from that of the old General Yang. This child… does not deserve such cold treatment from Your Majesty.”

His Majesty continued looking at the letter in his hand, his emotions rising and falling in unsettled waves.

He was not well acquainted with Yang Yi’s domestic affairs, but if this letter was genuine, then this child had not grown up at the side of the traitor Yang Yi — rather, he had been far closer to his grandfather.

Moreover, the child had taken the surname Situ because it had been Yang Xun’s dying arrangement, to have him adopted by the Situ Family. If this letter were to become known to others, even if he were to charge Situ Sheng with the crime of deceiving the throne, he would likely find himself without a justifiable, publicly defensible basis for doing so.

After all, even among commoners, when a child was formally adopted, the convention was that the past was not to be questioned.

This child had been adopted into the Situ Family with his grandfather’s consent, and henceforth carried on the Situ Family line — naturally it would not be fitting for him to go about proclaiming himself a son of the Yang household.

For the Emperor to sentence Situ Sheng to death on these grounds — in terms of reason, principle, and law, it simply did not hold.

Not to mention that ever since Situ Sheng had entered official service, he had been diligent and conscientious, wholly devoted to the court, with never a trace of favoritism. The reform of the state farmlands had enriched the treasury and given the court the firm footing it needed to take on its enemies in battle without anxiety.

And then there was his decisive, tide-turning intervention during the Crown Prince’s palace coup, which had suppressed the rebellion outright.

If the truth of his origins had remained unknown to everyone, things might have been different. But now Qi Gong had brought forward Yang Xun’s letter of dying entrustment, appealing to His Majesty to treat with kindness the old general’s ill-fated grandson.

Little did anyone know that His Majesty had already given the order to prepare poisoned wine — and had been on the verge of sending the meritorious official’s surviving descendant on his way.

—