Although the palace was under lockdown, the news managed to leak out.
Typically, the miscarriage of a palace consort’s child held little appeal for the common people. Even if the loss resulted from rivalry among the consorts, it was hardly surprising.
Such incidents were not uncommon, not just in the imperial court but also in many noble households, where they might occur once or twice without causing much stir.
But when this news became linked with celestial omens and prophecies, things grew far more sensational.
Tales of gods, spirits, and the supernatural never failed to captivate the public, holding their interest for a long time.
Especially with the prophecy: “When the Taibai Star crosses the sky and a guest star appears near the Northern Dipper, it foretells a change of rulership in the land.”
“That means the prince in the palace is destined to rule the kingdom. But there are two princes in the palace – who will it be?”
“If asked before, it might have been unclear, but now it’s definitely Prince Ping.”
No matter which prince last year’s celestial signs pointed to, now there is only one left.
“That’s right, that’s exactly what matches the prophecy: ‘When the Taibai Star appears and coincides with a lunar eclipse, the crown prince is in danger.’”
“Then which one is the crown prince?”
“How foolish! Whoever is in danger is the crown prince.”
“Ah, so you mean the young prince lost by Consort An was the true heir to the throne?”
“Of course! Otherwise, why would Imperial Consort be so anxious? If Consort An’s son was the true heir, what would Prince Ping’s future be…”
The clamorous chatter drifted up from the teahouses and taverns below. For those seated in the private rooms, the talk of celestial omens and supernatural tales was of little importance.
“So it seems the Gao family is about to fall out of the Emperor’s favor.”
“It’s about time they did.”
Some took gleeful pleasure in the thought, while others snorted in disdain.
“So what?” an elderly man sneered, raising a wine bowl to his lips. “Only the dead are truly finished. As long as one lives, as long as there are roots left, there’s always a chance for revival. Don’t forget, the Emperor now has only Prince Ping left.”
Yes, the Emperor now had only Prince Ping left.
In the study of the Gao family residence, someone ground out these same words through clenched teeth, the atmosphere heavy and tense.
“Exactly! Our family truly has nothing to fear!” declared Young Master Gao, his already plump neck appearing even thicker, making it seem as if he were struggling to breathe. His face flushed red, and his eyes widened in agitation. “If His Majesty is so furious, he can just kill Prince Ping as retribution for that little prince’s death. Our family won’t stand in his way!”
Gao Lingjun shot him a sharp glance.
“What’s the point of such useless talk?” he said curtly.
“I’m venting my anger, saying harsh things to let off steam. I’m suffocating with frustration – what kind of mess is this? To suffer such unjust blame!” Young Master Gao fumed, breathing heavily. “Father, has His Majesty lost his senses? What is he thinking?”
“Don’t blame His Majesty’s confusion. Credit goes to the one who orchestrated this chess game with such skill,” Gao Lingjun replied, his tone and demeanor calm as usual, as if nothing had happened. Yet, as he spoke, he kept rubbing his legs intermittently – the result of kneeling for half a day yesterday in the Hall of Diligent Governance.
Seeing his father rubbing his legs, Young Master Gao’s temper flared even hotter.
“Father, you shouldn’t have knelt back then. Why did you kneel? By kneeling, weren’t you admitting our guilt? Wasn’t it like saying that Imperial Consort was the one who did it?” he shouted, almost jumping in anger.
“Nonsense! Who says kneeling means admitting guilt? I was merely showing respect for His Majesty’s dignity,” Gao Lingjun replied calmly. “Besides, I knelt precisely because I refused to admit fault.”
If he truly were to admit guilt, kneeling would have been accompanied by a plea for punishment, resignation, or withdrawal from court. But back then, he had said nothing. When the Emperor questioned him, he simply lifted the hem of his robe, dropped to his knees with a heavy thud, and remained upright and silent, no matter what the Emperor said or asked afterward.
If you refuse to listen, then I refuse to speak.
To pin the blame on Imperial Consort with no evidence other than some celestial omen and cryptic prophecy – nothing in this world could be that easy!
“The Imperial City Guard is investigating Imperial Consort,” one of the advisers cautiously reported after a pause. “But no one is beyond scrutiny – especially when the investigation is purposeful.”
We are all adults, not innocent infants.
Moreover, Imperial Consort’s hands are not exactly… clean.
“Investigate?” Gao Lingjun let out a cold sneer. “If they’ve already pinned something like framing Consort An on her, what other charges couldn’t they fabricate? Whatever they dig up, does that mean she must admit to it?”
“Then, should we have Imperial Consort take some action?” the adviser asked.
Actions such as those women often use to express grievances – displaying anger, sorrow, or even self-harm…
“Do nothing. With a clear conscience, there’s no fear of ghosts knocking at the door,” Gao Lingjun stated flatly.
Upon hearing this, everyone present exchanged odd, uneasy looks.
That phrase… didn’t quite seem appropriate here…
Gao Lingjun shot everyone an exasperated glare.
“Prince Ping! Prince Ping!” he reminded them sharply. “With Prince Ping by her side, she has her confidence!”
With that, he slapped the table.
“Go! Tell Imperial Consort that the Gao family will not be so easily intimidated. Now is not the time to bow our heads – she must not lose her dignity!”
A young servant acknowledged the order with a bow and hurried out of the room.
“What should Prince Ping do then?” Young Master Gao asked anxiously, an idea suddenly occurring to him. “What if Prince Ping pleads Imperial Consort’s innocence?”
Gao Lingjun shook his head immediately.
“No, he mustn’t. This matter has nothing to do with him, and he should not plead innocence,” he said firmly. “The Emperor is his father, and Imperial Consort is his birth mother. How can a child accuse his parents of wrongdoing? In matters of filial piety, all he needs to do now is show respect and devotion.”
The adviser nodded in agreement.
“Imperial Consort must not admit fault, and we must not accept punishment. But as their child, Prince Ping can do so,” he added thoughtfully. “When parents fall into discord, it is the duty of their child to feel remorse and sorrow.”
Young Master Gao grew impatient.
“So what exactly is he supposed to do?” he demanded.
“Submit a memorial expressing his grief and willingness to take responsibility for his mother,” Gao Lingjun replied.
The young master’s face darkened with displeasure.
“Why should he?” he muttered under his breath.
“Because he is her son! As a son, there are no ‘whys’ to be asked!” Gao Lingjun snapped, glaring at him. “What do you mean by your defiance? Would you refuse to kneel for me if something happened to me in the future? Would my affairs be none of your concern?”
The young master looked embarrassed.
“Father, why speak like this? What does this have to do with that?” he mumbled. “No need to curse yourself.”
Gao Lingjun shot him another glare.
“With you causing trouble for me, I don’t need to curse myself – misfortune will find me anyway,” he retorted irritably.
How is it my fault? That matter was clearly because of that wretched girl.
I should have killed her right there in the hall – that would have saved me from being dragged into this again and again.
The young master couldn’t help but regret the thought once more.
“Ultimately, this is all the Emperor’s fault. If he had named Prince Ping as crown prince earlier, others wouldn’t have gotten ideas…” he quickly shifted the topic, then nodded as if struck by a realization. “Father, I think His Majesty truly has begun to entertain other intentions.”
Gao Lingjun snorted dismissively.
“What’s done is done, and no longer matters,” he said, gently patting his knee. “Now, His Majesty has no other choice.”
With only Prince Ping left, what else could the Emperor possibly do?
“So this whole affair isn’t that big of a deal after all,” Young Master Gao remarked with a grin.
“For Prince Ping, it’s indeed no trouble. But for our family, this situation is far from favorable,” the adviser interjected from the side. “First of all, it’s only a matter of time before many officials have drafted memorials denouncing you, sir. And with the current stalemate between you and His Majesty, the Emperor is certain to seize this opportunity to suppress you. I fear our family may suffer losses this time.”
Yes, this was indeed the problem. The Emperor urgently needed to vent his grief and rage over the loss of his son…
The atmosphere in the room grew heavy once more.
“Just who is scheming against us from the shadows?!” Young Master Gao roared, slamming his hand hard on the table.
“It’s simple,” Gao Lingjun said calmly. “Whoever benefits from the Gao family’s losses is the one behind it.”
The young master paused, taken aback.
“But there are so many who stand to gain,” he said slowly.
Could it be that more than half the court officials had conspired against them? If it truly was such a massive, coordinated plot, how could the Gao family have remained completely unaware?
Indeed, that seemed impossible. One person might succeed in plotting alone, but three could hardly coordinate flawlessly. For an entire group to join forces to trap Gao Lingjun was even more improbable.
Gao Lingjun furrowed his brow.
What should have been a straightforward case of malicious framing had been made convincingly real to the Emperor because of one hidden factor – the concealed celestial omen of the Taibai Star crossing the sky.
The Emperor claimed that it was the Imperial Consort’s people who secretly accessed the Bureau of Astronomy, discovered this celestial record, and deliberately pretended to know nothing about it.
The Taibai Star crossing the sky…
The Bureau of Astronomy’s claims couldn’t be far off the mark. With their abilities, they truly might have been unable to detect the Taibai Star’s passage… And even if they did notice, they wouldn’t dare to report it lightly…
Those men might be foolish, but they were still cautious…
Otherwise, after all these years, there would only have been one like Guo Yuan, who risked his life betting on a lunar eclipse…
Lunar eclipse…
Lady Cheng…
Celestial omens…
“It’s been confirmed – it was the doing of that student… He caused quite a disturbance at the Bureau of Astronomy at the time, and word of it likely reached His Majesty’s ears…”
“…That’s why His Majesty summoned Lady Cheng to question her, but he was prevented from doing so and instead sent Duke Jin’an to inquire…”
“…Presumably, Lady Cheng also said there was an omen, which is why His Majesty granted the student Guo Yuan’s request in court…”
Voices drifted in and out, sometimes clear, sometimes faint, reaching his ears.
Gao Lingjun sat up straight, slowly nodding as understanding dawned on him.
“So that was why His Majesty summoned Lady Cheng that day.”
He slowly repeated the phrase he had once uttered.
Unexpectedly, the words spoken last year seemed fitting even now.
…
“Oh no.”
Qin Shi’san-lang suddenly sat up, startling the maids playing chess beside him.
“Young Master,” they hurriedly rose and called out.
Before they could finish, Qin Sh’isan-lang had already strode swiftly toward the door.
“Young Master, your robe!” the maids exclaimed, snatching the embroidered robe from the rack and rushing after him.
Qin Shi’san-lang’s unexpected arrival surprised the maid at the door.
“I thought you wouldn’t be coming,” the maid said with a smile.
Qin Shi’san-lang paused and looked at her.
“Is that what you thought, or what your mistress thought?” he asked.
“I did,” the maid replied, still grinning.
“That’s why you’ll never become your mistress,” Qin Shi’san-lang shook his head and quickened his pace as he walked inside.
The maid stuck out her tongue at his retreating figure.
“Do you know about the Taibai Star crossing the sky?”
Stepping into the courtyard, Qin Shi’san-lang didn’t bother to enter the hall or sit down. Instead, he asked his question right there under the corridor.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded.
“You saw it back then?” Qin Shi’san-lang pressed.
Cheng Jiao-niang nodded once more.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked again.
“No one asked me,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Qin Shi’san-lang’s expression grew complicated as he looked at the girl answering so earnestly. He felt like laughing, yet couldn’t quite bring himself to.
No one asked me…
“Something so significant – you really should have reported it to the court back then,” Qin Shi’san-lang remarked with a sigh.
Cheng Jiao-niang looked at him.
“Young Master Qin,” she said, “matters of celestial phenomena and predictions of fortune or misfortune are not spoken of unless asked. That is the duty of the Bureau of Astronomy and the Imperial Observatory – they are the ones whose positions require them to handle such affairs.”
Was she upset?
Qin Shi’san-lang was taken aback for a moment, then gave a bitter smile.
“I see. I wasn’t aware. Please don’t be angry,” he said.
“I’m not angry,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled as he looked at her.
“I’m not blaming you for not speaking up. I’m merely lamenting,” he said, his tone softening as his smile faded. “Lamenting that another unwarranted calamity has unjustly fallen upon you.”
