At the end of January, the winter night grew tense with the sound of hurried carriages rushing down the Imperial Avenue.
“…Who is it this time?”
Several pairs of eyes near the palace gate peered toward the passing carriage and whispered among themselves.
“…It’s Prince Ping’s carriage…”
“…Minister Chen’s carriage already went by just now…”
While they were murmuring in low voices, another carriage came speeding over – but this time, it was stopped outside the palace gate.
“Your Highness, without an imperial decree, no one may enter the palace at night,” the imperial guards said woodenly.
All around, eyes turned toward the young duke whose face was illuminated by the torches as he lifted the carriage curtain.
“Prince Qing should be allowed, at least?” said Duke Jin’an, pointing toward Prince Qing behind him.
Prince Qing had clearly been dragged out of bed; at this moment, he had already fallen back asleep inside the carriage.
The imperial guards still shook their heads, showing not the slightest hesitation.
“How dare you! Why can’t Prince Qing enter the palace?” Duke Jin’an said sharply, his brows raised.
“Your Highness, Prince Qing may enter the palace – but you may not,” one of the guard captains said slowly. “If Prince Qing insists on entering, then Your Highness must step down and wait outside.”
“How could Prince Qing go in alone?” the attendant by Duke Jin’an’s carriage cried in a shrill voice.
His only answer was the sight of even more imperial guards assembling in strict formation.
When something happens to the Emperor, the palace gates are guarded more tightly than ever.
Duke Jin’an looked at the layers of palace gates ahead – beyond them, the winter night was shrouded in oppressive darkness. At last, he sighed and lowered the carriage curtain.
The carriage turned around and sped off.
“I feel like going out for a walk,” Duke Jin’an suddenly said inside, breaking the suffocating silence.
“Your Highness, that’s not possible right now,” the attendant whispered, watching as the prince lifted the curtain again to glance outside.
“Mhm, I know it’s not possible. I’m just saying,” Duke Jin’an replied.
Everything had happened so suddenly!
How could His Majesty have fallen ill all of a sudden?
From behind came the sound of galloping hooves, and the hand with which Duke Jin’an held the curtain froze in midair.
“Everything’s fine.”
That quiet phrase drifted in from outside the window, and Duke Jin’an closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath.
“Actually, I knew it would be fine,” he suddenly said.
The attendant looked at him in puzzlement.
“Because the palace didn’t summon Lady Cheng,” Duke Jin’an said.
So it wasn’t something fatal…
The attendant twitched the corner of his mouth.
“Your Highness, this really isn’t the time for jokes,” he said with a bitter expression.
Duke Jin’an smiled faintly, then straightened his face again.
“This time, though the news came late, at least it came through. But next time?” he said slowly.
“There will be a next time – we have enough people inside,” the attendant murmured.
“But even if we get word, we still can’t get in,” Duke Jin’an said quietly.
Yes… that was the consequence of moving out.
That old, stifling palace had always felt suffocating when he lived there – but once he left, getting back in was harder than reaching the heavens.
He exhaled softly and turned to look at Prince Qing, still fast asleep in the carriage.
“Your Highness, don’t be afraid,” the attendant whispered again. “It’s all right now.”
Don’t be afraid…
Duke Jin’an couldn’t help but smile faintly – so he had been afraid.
Yes, the moment he heard the news, he truly was afraid.
Especially when he was stopped outside the palace gates.
This time, nothing had happened – but what about the next time?
Who could possibly guarantee that?
The carriage swayed and rattled off into the night.
News of the Emperor’s collapse spread through the capital before midnight. One household after another lit their lamps, and countless eyes turned toward the palace walls.
Fortunately, by dawn, good news arrived: the Emperor was unharmed, and the morning court session would proceed as usual – presided over by Prince Ping.
The court assembly that day was dull and perfunctory; no one cared about state affairs – everyone only wanted to know how the Emperor was. At last, Chen Shao and several other senior officials who had stayed in the palace through the night emerged slowly.
“His Majesty’s illness was caused by a surge of conflicting emotions that upset his vital energy. It’s nothing serious,” Chen Shao said.
Then the doctors from the Imperial Medical Institute stepped forward to elaborate. By the afternoon, several ministers were permitted to enter the inner palace. Seeing the Emperor sitting upright on the dragon throne, attended by eunuchs feeding him his medicine, their hearts finally began to settle.
“Take a look – this is the urgent report that arrived last night,” said the Emperor.
His voice was clear, his thoughts coherent, and the gathered ministers finally felt their hearts settle.
All eyes turned toward the table, where lay the very dispatch that had angered the Emperor so greatly he had spat blood and fainted.
“On Maoping Road, three bands of commoners have risen in rebellion. They have joined forces, proclaimed themselves kings, and seized Lujiang. The county magistrate of Lujiang refused to retreat, defended his post to the end, and perished with his entire household – eighteen souls in all – burning his residence while clutching the official seal.”
“So that’s how it was,” said Attendant Scholar Gao, who at that very moment was reading a copied version of the same dispatch in a post station. He shook his head.
“His Majesty truly is all right, then?” he asked.
“Yes,” the attendant replied. “His Majesty even repeated the entire report aloud himself.”
Attendant Scholar Gao laughed when he heard that.
Naturally, this was the Emperor’s way of showing his ministers that he was perfectly fine.
“What a ridiculous business!” he said, tossing the urgent report onto the table. “Go back and tell those people – next time, they’d better be more careful. When others send an urgent dispatch, they get praised for rendering service to the nation and even manage to drive me out of the capital. But when they send one, they nearly scare the Emperor to death – that’s a crime of the highest order!”
His attendant answered with a quick “Yes, sir.”
“Still, who could’ve expected things to turn out like that…” he murmured, lowering his head. The thought made him want to laugh and shudder at the same time.
Who could have guessed the Emperor would be so easily frightened?
So easily frightened? Attendant Scholar Gao’s expression froze.
“What did the imperial doctors say?” he asked suddenly.
“They said His Majesty’s condition was caused by a surge of conflicting emotions disrupting his vital energy. Coughing up that mouthful of blood actually did him good – had he not, it might’ve been much worse,” the attendant replied, then nodded again. “It’s been confirmed.”
Attendant Scholar Gao gave a quiet “Mm,” twirling his beard as he pondered for a moment.
“My lord, will you be returning to the capital now?” the attendant asked.
“No.” Attendant Scholar Gao raised his hand. “Not only will I not return, I need to hurry on to Wang-zhou as quickly as possible.”
The attendant acknowledged the order and turned to leave.
“And one more thing,” Attendant Scholar Gao added. “Tell them that, using the pretext of this recent disaster, once Duke Jin’an has been driven out of the capital, they are to set everything else aside – the most important task now is to petition for the establishment of a crown prince.”
The attendant answered, “Yes, my lord.”
After January passed, the Emperor had already resumed holding court as usual, and before long everyone had nearly forgotten that terrifying night. A fit of rage causing one to spit blood was, after all, not unheard of.
But the matter of the uprisings among the people did not fade away with time – on the contrary, it grew ever more intense.
“…It’s all because the disaster relief was mishandled, giving the rebels their chance to rise up…”
The arguments in court became fiercer by the day.
The Emperor pressed a hand to his forehead.
He understood everything they were saying – everyone did. Yes, the relief efforts had been ineffective, and yes, the rebellions were being stirred up. But now was not the time for blame.
What should he do?
“…Investigate the crime of negligence in disaster relief along Maoping Road.”
“…Suppress the rebellion…”
“…Who will go?”
The court was in heated debate when suddenly a clear young voice rang out.
“Your Majesty, I am willing to go.”
The voice was youthful; everyone turned toward it and saw a young man step forward, bowing respectfully to the Emperor.
“Jin’an?” The Emperor looked surprised and frowned. “Why are you adding to the confusion?”
“Your Majesty, I’m not adding to the confusion – I truly wish to go,” said Duke Jin’an loudly. “I know I’m young and unfit for great responsibility, nor do I dare to seize it for myself. I only wish that, once Your Majesty appoints the civil official to oversee disaster relief and the general to pacify the rebels, I may accompany them – to comfort the people and to awe the insurgents on Your Majesty’s behalf.”
Ah – so that was his meaning.
Throughout history, there had been emperors or crown princes who personally led expeditions. If a member of the imperial family were to go to Maoping Road now, it would indeed bring comfort to the suffering people, and serve as a true deterrent to the rebels.
For a moment, the court fell into silence.
“Nonsense!” the Emperor said sharply. “Chen Shao – see to it that you and your colleagues select the officials to handle disaster relief and suppress the rebellion. Report back to me within three days. Court is dismissed!”
As the Emperor withdrew, the ministers also dispersed to busy themselves with the selection of candidates. Two senior officials, walking out together, couldn’t help but exchange a glance.
Something didn’t feel right.
They looked ahead and saw the young Duke Jin’an preparing to leave with the rest, when an attendant suddenly stopped him – it was clearly a summons from the Emperor.
“Could this be a move of retreat in order to advance?” one minister murmured.
The other shook his head, looking puzzled.
“Playing that sort of trick at a time like this is hardly wise,” he said.
“Then does he really mean to go?” the first minister asked in surprise.
Impossible, surely?
Yet three days later, the Emperor’s official decree confirmed the unthinkable – Duke Jin’an was appointed as Commissioner for Pacification and Relief, to depart for Maoping Road.
“Thank heavens, that jinx is finally leaving.”
In the inner palace, the Imperial Consort beamed with delight upon hearing the news.
“As expected, the palace attendants handled it well – he leaves through the front door, and right after that, he’s sent away entirely.”
She glanced toward her maid.
“Of course, regardless of who arranged it, proper gratitude must still be shown. Go and tell them that.”
The maid hesitated.
“Your Ladyship… those two officials said this matter wasn’t actually their doing,” she said.
The Consort froze for a moment.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I didn’t quite understand either,” the maid replied, “but those two officials said their original plan was to make use of the words the Duke spoke before His Majesty last time – about giving priority to disaster relief – and build on that. But before they even had the chance to bring it up, the Duke himself volunteered to go as the Commissioner for Pacification.”
He volunteered to go himself?
The Imperial Consort frowned.
What is he thinking this time? Has he gone mad chasing fame and merit?
That means leaving the capital! That means going to suppress a rebellion! If something were to happen to him out there, then no matter what honors or achievements he might gain – it would all be meaningless.
“Your Highness, do you know what you’re doing? Is this truly your own decision?”
In Prince Qing’s residence, Imperial Doctor Li – who had come under the pretext of treating Prince Qing – asked with a grave expression.
“Of course it is. I had quite a time convincing His Majesty,” said Duke Jin’an with a smile.
“I told His Majesty that I was wrong. I thought that as long as disaster relief came first, the people would be at peace. But I hadn’t expected that once unrest was stirred in some hearts, it wouldn’t be so easily calmed. So even though more and more money and grain are being spent, the number of rebels keeps growing. I was wrong – so I wish to see it for myself.”
Doctor Li let out a cold snort.
“Well? Not bad, right?” Duke Jin’an said with a grin. “His Majesty agreed on the spot.”
“Your Highness’s tongue blooms with flowers and drips with honey – who could possibly resist?” said Doctor Li with a sigh.
Duke Jin’an laughed heartily and lifted his teacup.
“But, Your Highness,” Li said, his face turning stern, “have you forgotten what happened four years ago – when you met the wolves on the mountain road at night?”
“Four years ago?”
Duke Jin’an, who had been sitting idly with his teacup in hand, straightened at once.
Seeing that the prince had finally grown serious, Doctor Li also nodded gravely.
“So it’s been… over four years since I met her,” Duke Jin’an said with a faint smile.
Doctor Li froze for a moment, then furrowed his brows in anger.
“Your Highness!” he raised his voice sharply. “I’m talking to you about serious matters!”
