The State Preceptor held a position above all others – he could, in a sense, be regarded as the officially sanctioned mouthpiece of Heaven’s Mandate.
According to Ji Yue’s original plan, he had not intended to draw Wen Jingmei into this affair. But since the Emperor herself had chosen to evade the situation, the arrow was already nocked and could no longer be held back. Ji Yue immediately led his own troops, cutting through the imperial gardens like a flying arrow, heading straight for Tianfu Palace.
Speed is the essence of warfare; Ji Yue’s men took no detours, advancing westward along the palace road. Just as the walls of Tianfu Palace came faintly into view, massive boulders suddenly came crashing down before them, blocking the path. Almost at the same moment, a deafening boom resounded from behind. There was no need to send scouts – those at the front already knew that their retreat had been cut off in the same way.
A deep unease rose in Ji Yue’s heart. He lifted his head – and sure enough, the walls on both sides were now lined with hundreds of archers.
As soon as they saw him look up, someone shouted, “Loose!” About twenty archers drew their longbows in unison. The rebels below had nowhere to hide and could only raise their arms to shield their heads and faces. Ji Yue and the few beside him were guarded tightly by their personal soldiers, and for the moment, remained unhurt.
This was not, in truth, any particularly sophisticated tactic – Ji Yue had simply never imagined that the Emperor’s journey to Tianfu Palace was not an act of flight, but a carefully laid trap. To lure the enemy into the urn. The other side had completely exploited his greatest flaw – his tendency to lose control when agitated. For that alone, it could be said they knew both themselves and their enemy perfectly.
No wonder the late emperor had chosen Wen Yanran as successor!
When the twang of bowstrings finally ceased, the man who had first shouted “Loose!” barked another order:
“You are already at the end of the road – why not surrender at once? Her Majesty’s mercy is vast; she will surely show you clemency.”
The imperial guards trapped below were all Ji Yue’s personal men and would never yield so easily. Seeing their defiance, the herald gave the order again. This time, forty archers drew their bows. A second volley of arrows rained down – more than twenty rebels fell screaming to the ground. Even those who did not die outright had lost the strength to fight.
The herald shouted loudly, “Will you surrender or not?”
In truth, Ji Yue had more than five hundred imperial guards with him – numerically superior to the archers on the walls. Yet the enemy held an overwhelming advantage in terrain; even if they managed to break through the encirclement, who could say how many lives it would cost? Just as the rebels hesitated, a sudden flare of firelight blazed atop the front wall.
There stood a young lady in the imperial crown, surrounded by armored guards – Her Majesty herself – looking down from above at the rebels in the alley below.
Beside him, Zhang Luo, who was holding the torch for the Emperor, shouted, “Traitors! Her Majesty is here in person – lay down your arms and surrender at once!”
Zhang Luo, future power-eunuch as foretold by the spoilers, already showed remarkable bearing at such a young age. Though slight in build, his voice rang out bright and clear, carrying the weight and authority of command.
Momentum rises with the first drumbeat, wanes with the second, and is exhausted by the third.
When Ji Yue’s forces discovered that both Western Yong and Qiyan Palaces were empty, their morale had already begun to wane. Added to that was the ingrained belief – nurtured over generations – that the emperor’s position was sacred and unassailable. Thus, when the soldiers finally saw Wen Yanran’s figure appear, the courage that had once filled their chests melted away like snow under the sun.
In the hush that followed, Ji Yue distinctly heard the clatter of weapons hitting the ground, one after another.
The deputy general clenched his teeth and gripped his blade tightly, intending to hurl it toward the Emperor’s position. But the moment he raised his arm, an officer standing beside Her Majesty – dressed in the uniform of a captain – drew her bow and shot an arrow clean through the man’s throat.
Wen Yanran spoke slowly, “I know you have been deceived by traitors. Do not struggle in vain – lay down your arms and surrender. If you do so, I am willing to spare your families.”
Then she turned her gaze toward Ji Yue.
“Commander Ji, matters have come to this – will you not, at least, think of the bond you share with your fellow soldiers?”
When she first began to speak, there were still murmurs and shuffling all around. But by the time her final word fell, both the archers on the walls and the imperial guards below had fallen utterly silent. The palace alley was so still one could have heard the drop of a pin.
The guards surrounding Ji Yue stared upward, their bodies rigid, eyes fixed on Wen Yanran standing upon the wall. Before storming the Inner Palace, they had each imagined what it would be like to seize the Emperor – but when faced with her in person, only one thought echoed endlessly in their minds:
That is the Son of Heaven – the Emperor of Great Zhou!
Ji Yue had served alongside these imperial guards for years – how could he not sense that the will to fight around him was gone? He gazed for a long moment at the young emperor standing atop the wall, then finally loosened his grip on his weapon and shouted harshly,
“If Your Majesty fails to keep your word, even as a ghost I will never let you sleep in peace!”
Wen Yanran smiled faintly.
“Commander Ji thinks too much. I have plotted no rebellion – why would I need to break my word or silence anyone?”
Since their leader had agreed to surrender, the accompanying guards naturally obeyed when the opposing soldiers shouted their orders. One after another they threw down their blades, removed their armor, and submitted to capture.
A captain in uniform leapt down from the wall and came forward personally to take Ji Yue into custody.
Ji Yue narrowed his eyes, and by the torchlight finally recognized the woman’s face. With a hint of realization, he said, “So – it was Captain Zhong.”
At last, he understood where the young emperor had found her men, and how she had managed to act right under his nose without his noticing.
The Ji family had served in the Imperial Guards for generations – a respectable lineage -but there had always been a divide between the people of the Central Plains and those of the borderlands. Ji Yue was close to the guards of Central Plains origin, but with those like Zhong Zhiwei, who carried borderlander blood, her relations were far more distant. Whatever movements they made in private, she naturally had no way of knowing.
The guards of mixed border blood had long regarded Zhong Zhiwei as their leader, so it was only natural that they obeyed her commands. Their numbers, however, were few, and Ji Yue had never considered them worth worrying about…
With that thought, Commander Ji lifted his head again, carefully examining the “archers” on the wall – and sure enough, he noticed something off. Roughly half of them were not Imperial Guards at all, but burly Taoist priests from Tianfu Palace disguised in armor.
That meant the earlier tactic of “gradually increasing the number of archers firing” had not merely been to intensify pressure or to give the rebels room to surrender – it was also a calculated move to conceal the fact that many among their ranks were impostors.
Ji Yue let out a long sigh.
Though he now understood the young emperor’s stratagem, the blade pressed against his neck by Zhong Zhiwei left him no room for resistance. Besides, even if Ji Yue were willing to risk his life in one last desperate fight, the disarmed soldiers behind him were in no condition to battle. It was better, as Wen Yanran had said, to think of the bond between comrades, surrender, and win his men a lighter punishment.
The rebel imperial guards, after being stripped of their armor and weapons, were temporarily confined in a side hall of Tianfu Palace. As for Ji Yue, he was taken out separately – to be questioned personally by Wen Yanran.
When the matter was concluded, Wen Jingmei had originally intended to remain silent, but now could not help advising, “Ji Yue is a man of courage and valor, Your Majesty. Your person is beyond price – why risk yourself by questioning him in person?”
Wen Yanran smiled faintly, then turned to the officer dressed as a captain and said, “Then I must trouble Captain Zhong to bring me a sharp blade once more.”
Hearing this, Zhong Zhiwei immediately unfastened the sword at her side, dropped to one knee, and presented it with both hands. Yet the young emperor did not reach out to take it – she merely looked at her with a gentle smile.
Zhong Zhiwei froze for a heartbeat, then, as if enlightenment struck her, rose with the sword in hand and stepped behind Wen Yanran, standing respectfully at attention.
Wen Yanran said, “With things arranged this way, will you be at ease?”
Wen Jingmei looked at the young emperor before him. Though she spoke with a calm smile, there was an unmistakable sharpness about her – something that made his heart tighten slightly. He bowed his head and replied, “Your Majesty had long since prepared for every contingency. It is I who have spoken out of turn.”
Wen Yanran’s tone softened even further. “Why would you say so? Were it not for your concern for my safety, the one bound at our feet today might not have been Commander Ji.”
Wen Jingmei had intended to take her leave, but the Emperor’s voice stopped him.
“I recall, in your study, there are two boxes of glass chess pieces.”
Understanding her meaning at once, Wen Jingmei replied, “I will bring them to Your Majesty at once.”
Wen Yanran continued, “One box should be left empty. In the other…” she paused, then asked casually, “How many people are there in the Ji household?”
At the question, the sense of dread in Wen Jingmei’s heart deepened. He answered, “In total… seventy-three souls.”
Wen Yanran nodded absently. “Then place seventy-three pieces into the other box.”
Tianfu Palace had long been under Wen Jingmei’s management. Though it housed many attendants, its operations were orderly and precise, never chaotic. Thus, even when faced with the grave crisis of Ji Yue’s rebellion and the Emperor’s personal arrival to suppress it, the palace did not fall into panic. Instead, an empty hall was promptly cleared so that the Emperor could speak privately with the traitorous commander.
Once Ji Yue had been securely bound and brought inside, the imperial guards who escorted him withdrew, leaving only Zhong Zhiwei at Wen Yanran’s side. Two others also remained: Chi Yi and Zhang Luo.
Zhang Luo was plain in appearance and easy to overlook, yet ever since Wen Yanran had begun forming her plan, it was he who had been responsible for coordinating between all sides. Truly living up to his future reputation as a powerful court minister, he had carried out every matter with flawless precision. The other, Chi Yi – destined to be a future inner chancellor – was cautious by nature, and so Wen Yanran had entrusted her with numerous logistical details.
It was thanks to Chi Yi’s careful planning that the evacuation of personnel from Qiyan and Western Yong Palaces had been carried out so quietly and completely, without arousing the slightest suspicion. She had arranged for every attendant to move at precisely the right moment and to precisely the right place, gradually clearing each hall; most of them, even after being relocated, never realized the true purpose of these movements.
Wen Yanran’s reason for continually assigning new tasks to Chi Yi and Zhang Luo was twofold. On one hand, she lacked trustworthy subordinates. On the other, she wished to test their abilities – to see whether these two were yet capable of bearing the temperament and responsibilities of future power ministers. At the same time, it allowed them to accumulate tangible merit, giving her every justification to delegate real authority to them in due course.
After confirming that both of them could handle their tasks competently, Wen Yanran began sending imperial physicians to Ji Yue’s quarters under various pretexts – to test the waters and unsettle him, subtly suggesting that she had begun to suspect his loyalty. The aim was to further agitate the already frayed nerves of the Central Guard commander.
Ji Yue, stripped of his armor and weapons, was dragged into the hall by Zhong Zhiwei’s men like a dead dog.
He did not need to look up to know that the new emperor’s eyes were upon him.
Indeed, Wen Yanran was watching him. Seated in her robes of state, chin resting lightly on one hand, she gazed down at the captive before her. On the desk in front of her stood two small wooden boxes for holding chess pieces.
The hall was bright with candlelight – and in her eyes, too, there seemed to flicker two tiny flames.
Wen Yanran cast a brief glance at Zhang Luo, and the young eunuch immediately raised his voice and barked, “Commander Ji! You’ve already been defeated and captured – why don’t you confess everything honestly at once?”
Lying on the ground, Ji Yue kept his eyes half-closed, utterly unmoved by Zhang Luo’s shout.
Zhang Luo fell silent. He knew there was a special prison in the palace – the Oblique Dungeon – where the jailers were well versed in the art of interrogation. Whatever Her Majesty wished to know, once Ji Yue was sent there, the answers would surely follow. Yet he dared not offer this suggestion aloud.
Though his time serving the young emperor had been short, Zhang Luo had already come to sense how strong-willed she was. Her words were always gentle, but none could mistake her resolve – and the last thing he wanted was for Wen Yanran to think he was overstepping or offending imperial authority.
He stole a glance at Chi Yi, who stood silently with her head bowed, and likewise chose to remain silent.
The Oblique Dungeon had originally been a palace compound within Taiqi Palace – its construction slightly misaligned due to an early measurement error. Because of this geographical flaw, it was scorned by the nobility and eventually repurposed as a place to interrogate low-ranking palace servants and eunuchs.
Seated above, Wen Yanran looked down at the prisoner kneeling before her and said slowly, “It matters little if Commander Ji refuses to speak. I can speak in your place.”
