Wen Yanran smiled faintly, reached into the chess box, and picked up a piece. With a crisp “tang” she dropped it into the empty box beside her, then inclined her head slightly toward the person standing below the steps.
“Though my Seventh Brother was never much of a man,” she said softly, “he still managed, in the end, to cause me a little trouble.”
Before his death, Wen Jiangong had shouted an accusation – that Wen Yanran had killed her own brother in order to seize the throne. There had been many people present in the hall that day, and all of them had heard it clearly. Even if reason told them it wasn’t true, doubts were bound to linger.
And now, with the imperial kingsmen’s children all held within the palace, it inevitably gave others the impression that she feared for her own authority – that she meant to keep every possible rival close at hand, as hostages, to secure her throne.
Taking advantage of this moment when Wen Yanran’s credibility was shaken, Ji Yue planned to use the cover of night to slip into the imperial city, kill the new emperor and the young princes and princesses residing in Qiyan Palace, and then frame Wen Yanran for the crime herself.
At the front of the great hall, Wen Yanran sat wrapped in furs, gazing at Ji Yue. The corners of her lips curved slightly as she spoke, slow and unhurried. “…By dawn, word will spread that I suddenly went mad – that I resolved to slaughter all the imperial clan’s children. Fortunately, my Eleventh Sister and Thirteenth Brother still held some influence within the palace. In the ensuing struggle, both sides perished together. Though nearly all the close-kin princes and princesses were wiped out, this tyrant of an emperor also died amid the chaos. Not without its advantages, one might say.
When disorder swept through the imperial city, Commander Ji of the Imperial Guard -though not yet fully recovered from his wounds – was forced to rise from his sickbed to take command. Luckily, the Ji family has served in the Imperial Guard for generations, their name commands respect. With a single rallying cry, the Commander restored order to the palace. Truly, most commendable and praiseworthy.”
As she spoke, she reached again into the chess box, grabbed a handful of pieces, and tossed them one by one into the empty box beside her. Each sharp “tang, tang” sounded like a bronze hammer striking against Ji Yue’s heart. His body grew ever more rigid until, all at once, he raised his head and shouted hoarsely toward the young emperor seated above, “It is not I who have rebelled – it is the Wens that has betrayed me! Had I not misplayed a single move, the Wen clan would have paid blood for blood today!”
His voice was fierce, the rasp in his throat edged like a blade. Even Chi Yi and Zhang Luo, both known for their nerve, were startled – the words crashed upon their ears like a thunderclap.
Wen Yanran, however, remained utterly composed. She looked down at the traitorous commander before her, and after a long pause, burst out laughing.
“There are no outsiders here,” she said. “I’ve treated Commander Ji with nothing but sincerity – so why, then, does Commander Ji still refuse to speak plainly?”
Of the three who heard the exchange, Zhong Zhiwei looked utterly bewildered, as if he were a military man idly traveling outside the currents of court politics. Chi Yi and Zhang Luo – though both close attendants of the new emperor – had served too briefly to read Wen Yanran’s shifting intent; they only noticed that the furious Commander Ji had suddenly gone stiff. His eyes still stared fixedly at the throne, but he no longer spoke.
Wen Yanran’s next words cleared up their confusion for them. “You say you want the Wens to pay blood for blood – but what then, after blood for blood?” She shook her head slightly. “The Wen clan’s close branches are not limited to Jianping. If every eligible claimant in the capital were to die, then my dear Fourth Sister could calmly come to the capital – did Commander Ji struggle so hard merely to make Fourth Sister sit on the throne? Or has Commander Ji long since been won over by Wen Jinming’s royal aura, content to be her marching pawn?”
A flash of anger crossed Ji Yue’s face as he immediately denied it, “How could I ever be willing to take orders from Wen Si!”
Wen Yanran nodded slightly and smiled. “I thought as much. Rather than taking refuge with Fourth Sister, you would be far wiser to side with me. After all, I have only just ascended the throne, and those I can truly make use of are… not many.”
At those words, Zhong Zhiwei – who had managed to maintain her composure throughout the night – along with Chi Yi and Zhang Luo, all went visibly pale.
The Wen clan had held the Mandate for many years; for most people of Great Zhou, the idea of the emperor’s absolute supremacy was deeply ingrained. Even after witnessing a rebellion firsthand, the three were reluctant to dwell on what “not many usable people” might truly imply. Yet each of them possessed a basic grasp of politics – enough to sense, beneath the calm surface of the court, the hidden turbulence that lurked below.
Wen Yanran looked at Ji Yue and said slowly, “Even without my Fourth Sister, there are other princes and lords. Unless you can be sure of wiping out every single close branch of the imperial clan at once, ‘blood for blood’ in the end will only be sewing a wedding robe for someone else.”
A smile still played at her lips, but Ji Yue read a blade-cold chill beneath the Emperor’s smile. His expression flickered several times before he finally heaved a long sigh. “Your Majesty… so wise.”
Leaning back against the cushion of her chair, Wen Yanran counted out five chess pieces, tossed them one by one into the other box, then said with composed leisure, “Commander Ji, your patience is lacking – but with such an opportunity set before you, it’s no wonder you can’t help yourself. After all, if you don’t move to depose me while my foundations are still shaky, once my power grows and my wings spread, the commander of the Central Guard will find it very difficult to stage a rebellion.”
As the attendant closest to Wen Yanran, Chi Yi now fully grasped the meaning behind the Emperor’s words – Ji Yue’s plan was not to exterminate all the close branches of the Wen clan, but to kill most of them, pin the blame on Wen Yanran, who already carried a tainted reputation, and then support one of the survivors to ascend the throne.
The dead held no value, and even a newly enthroned dead emperor was worth very little. Once the loyal ministers devoted to imperial authority learned of Wen Yanran’s sudden death, they would, for the sake of stabilizing the situation, likely have no choice but to make certain concessions to Ji Yue, who had taken control of the palace gates.
Thus, in the version of events presented to the outside world, Ji Yue would not be a traitor at all, but rather the hero who had quelled the palace unrest – a man credited both with saving the throne and enthroning a new ruler. At the very least, he would end up like Grand Tutor Yuan, serving as a regent minister beside the new sovereign.
Although the matter had already been settled, when Chi Yi thought back on the events of the past few days, a trace of astonishment still lingered. In truth, Her Majesty did not command many troops; had she faced Ji Yue in open battle, her chances of victory would have been slim. After all, the commander of the Central Guard had long served in defense of the dynasty – his roots ran deep, and he knew every path within the palace. Had any word leaked out while the guards of Qiyan Palace and Western Yong Palace were being redeployed, Ji Yue would never have rushed down that palace alley so hastily – only to walk straight into an ambush.
As for why Her Majesty had not revealed Ji Yue’s intent to rebel in advance or consulted with her ministers to plan a response, it was likely because there was no solid proof. Thus, she had chosen to set herself as bait – to lure the traitor into revealing himself.
From this perspective, though the new emperor was young, to dare such perilous stratagems showed her to be a ruler brimming with sharp and formidable resolve.
Yet, Chi Yi’s understanding of Wen Yanran’s intentions was not entirely correct.
Wen Yanran thought that within the entire court, it was unlikely that no one had noticed Ji Yue’s intentions – yet not a single person had come forward to warn her. These people probably did not wish for her to die at Ji Yue’s hands; rather, they were waiting for him to make his move so that they could appear at the crucial moment to “save” the emperor, thereby earning her gratitude and displaying their own strength. It would serve as a reminder to the young sovereign that, if she wished to reign in peace, she could not do so without their protection.
If Wen Yanran had exposed Ji Yue’s plot in advance and ordered the arrest of the Central Guard Commander – a man with an unblemished record – she would surely have faced a wave of ministerial remonstrance. Such an action would not only alert Ji Yue and his allies, forcing them to go into hiding and bide their time, but would also further erode her already fragile authority.
Even a foolish monarch must maintain a basic degree of control over the court; otherwise, one is not a “tyrant” at all, but merely a puppet.
Wen Yanran gazed down at Ji Yue. Her brows were as sharp as blades, her eyes deep as a dark pool – when she did not smile, there was a chill to her presence that cut like steel. The fingers holding the chess piece tightened for an instant, then relaxed again as she flicked it into the other chess box with a soft click.
After his capture, Ji Yue’s mind – once clouded by ambition – had begun to clear. He vaguely realized that he was nothing more than the sacrificial chicken used by the new emperor to warn the court’s monkeys. A faint, self-mocking smile tugged at his lips. Looking up at the throne, he suddenly spoke words that had nothing to do with the situation at hand. “Your Majesty has been holding that chess piece since just now.”
Wen Yanran’s lips curved slightly.
“Not a chess piece – a wager chip. There are seventy-three in total, representing the seventy-three heads of the Ji family. The chips in the left box belong to me; those in the right belong to you. The more you confess, the more heads you keep.”
Her gaze swept briefly over the boxes.
“Since I have already recounted your rebellion on your behalf, forty-one of those pieces have changed hands – from your pile to mine.”
Ji Yue stared blankly at the Emperor seated high upon the dais. Then, all at once, his eyes widened – he let out a furious roar and lunged forward. Zhong Zhiwei, who had been on alert all along, reacted instantly: with the scabbard still on her blade, she struck Ji Yue hard across the waist, knocking the commander of the Imperial Guard to the ground, blood spilling from his nose and mouth.
Still wary, Zhong Zhiwei pressed her knee against Ji Yue’s back, forcing him down with all her strength and pinning him in place.
Throughout Ji Yue’s desperate attempt and his swift subjugation, Wen Yanran remained seated, composed and unmoving, as though she had always known he could not possibly succeed.
Chi Yi and Zhang Luo stood on either side of the Emperor. As they grasped the true meaning behind Wen Yanran’s words, a cold sweat crept down their backs. Only now did they fully understand – though the Emperor had not ordered Ji Yue to be tortured, she had been tormenting him with words alone.
To Ji Yue, this was punishment that cut straight to the heart.
In Great Zhou, rebellion was a crime beyond pardon – one that doomed the traitor’s entire clan. Ji Yue had long known that his family would not escape death. Yet Wen Yanran’s method forced him to feel, with agonizing clarity, that it was his own hand upon the executioner’s blade – severing the heads of his kin one by one.
When Ji Yue looked again at the chess boxes by Wen Yanran’s side, his eyes had already turned bloodshot.
Wen Yanran smiled.
“Treason and rebellion – no matter the dynasty – are crimes that condemn an entire clan. Yet today, I intend to deal leniently with the Ji family, to leave behind a trace of its bloodline. Instead of thanking me, Commander Ji still finds fault with me.”
She picked up a few chess pieces and looked down at the man on the floor.
“Since that’s the case, this time I’ll keep silent – let Commander Ji speak first.”
The course of the rebellion had already been laid bare before Wen Yanran; as for the present matter, Ji Yue in truth had little left to confess…
Ji Yue lifted his head, and for an instant his gaze met Wen Yanran’s – only to drop again at once, as though scalded.
The Ninth Princess had never been favored by the late emperor, spending her years sequestered within the Taiqi Palace, without teachers or friends. Even if she were naturally gifted, how could she, when faced with crisis, possess such piercing insight, such mastery of the situation?
Could there truly exist someone born with knowledge?
Ji Yue did not believe that Yuan Yanshi or Wen Jingmei had coached the Emperor; if either of them had been directing affairs, they would never have allowed the Emperor to risk herself in such peril.
Sweat dripped from Ji Yue’s forehead onto the floor. His spirit and body both shattered, the fury within him slowly ebbed away – replaced by a terror that sprang not from Wen Yanran’s imperial status, but from Wen Yanran herself.
