Chen Shao alighted from his carriage before the palace gates.
Shrouded in night, the imperial city appeared even darker and more obscure. The scattered lights flickered eerily, casting a strange, uncertain glow. Chen Shao’s gaze swept over the scene, noting that the guards before the palace had multiplied significantly. Under the lantern light, their swords, axes, and halberds gleamed coldly and sharply.
Lowering his gaze, Chen Shao followed the eunuch guiding him and stepped into the palace. Behind him, the heavy gates closed slowly, like the jaws of a tiger.
In the Empress Dowager’s chambers, Gao Lingjun was already waiting. His expression turned somber as he saw Chen Shao enter.
“What exactly has happened?” Chen Shao asked.
“The Crown Prince is critically ill,” Gao Lingjun replied.
Without waiting for another word, Chen Shao strode toward the inner chamber. There, he saw the Crown Prince lying on the bed, breathing faintly – each exhale seemed longer than each inhale. A pang of sorrow struck Chen Shao’s heart.
That once-bright and intelligent child had finally reached this day.
“How did he become so critically ill, and so suddenly?” Chen Shao pressed, his eyes shifting from Gao Lingjun to the Empress Dowager, who sat nearby wiping her tears.
Gao Lingjun let out a scornful laugh.
“Minister Chen, there’s no need to look at me like that,” he said. “Of all people under heaven, I am the last one who would wish harm upon the Crown Prince.”
Chen Shao fell silent.
An imperial doctor knelt on the floor.
“The weather has been erratic lately, shifting between cold and heat, dry and oppressive. His Highness, being overweight and constitutionally weak, suffers from congested blood and qi that cannot disperse. Before retiring last night, he took a calming decoction, which ended up stagnating his vital essence and blood, failing to provide relief. This led to a violent surge that disrupted his meridians…” he explained with his head bowed.
“Hasn’t his health been under your constant care?” Chen Shao rebuked sharply. “How could such a critical condition escape your notice? The dry weather has persisted for days, not just overnight, and His Highness’s frailty and weight are not recent developments either!”
“Your Excellency, such ailments can strike with sudden ferocity,” the doctor pleaded urgently. “The prescriptions we administered were carefully formulated. But sometimes, even good remedies, when combined, may inadvertently lead to harm. In the end, it comes down to the patient’s own constitution – factors beyond our control.”
In short, it was an accident.
A damned accident – one that rendered all explanations now too late.
Silence fell over the chamber.
“Is there still any hope?” Chen Shao asked.
The doctors hung their heads.
“We are powerless to reverse fate,” they said. “His Highness is afflicted with a terminal illness.”
Terminal illness?
Chen Shao was stunned.
“Summon Lady Cheng – immediately,” he ordered.
“Have you gone mad?” the Empress Dowager stopped weeping and shouted. “Why summon her?”
“She can save lives,” Chen Shao insisted. “Your Majesty, please issue the decree at once.”
“I already sent decrees for an entire day before yesterday, but those two treacherous subjects dared to defy the imperial order!” the Empress Dowager snapped, her eyebrows raised in anger. “She can save lives? If she could save lives, His Majesty would have awakened long ago. If she could save lives, how could we have reached this point today?”
She broke into heavy sobs.
“Your Majesty, we must still try,” Chen Shao urged. “We cannot simply watch His Highness like this…”
He turned to look at the bed.
The young man lay there like a fish tossed ashore, struggling for breath until the very end.
This poor child – it would have been better if he had died from the fall at the hill back then, rather than suffer such torment now.
“Issue the decree,” Gao Lingjun suddenly said.
The Empress Dowager froze in surprise.
“We cannot just stand by and watch His Highness suffer like this,” Gao Lingjun continued. “Whether she can cure him this time or not, we must try.”
As he spoke, he looked directly at the Empress Dowager.
“Your Majesty, summon Princess Consort Jin’an to the palace.”
He emphasized the title Princess Consort Jin’an.
If she could heal him, all would be well.
If she could not, and if she could not be made to accompany the Emperor in death when his time came, then she would accompany the Crown Prince in his.
The Empress Dowager waved her hand weakly, and a eunuch nearby hurried off to draft the decree.
“It will take a day for her to arrive and return,” she said, wiping her tears. “Who knows if His Highness can last that long.”
Chen Shao turned to the physicians.
They exchanged glances.
“We dare not administer any more medicine,” one said. “His Highness’s body can no longer endure it.”
In other words, the Crown Prince could only rely on his own will to hold on – but for how long…
The Empress Dowager’s weeping grew louder.
“Open the palace gates and summon the officials into the palace,” Chen Shao said.
Gao Lingjun stretched out his arm to stop him.
“That won’t do,” he stated.
Chen Shao’s eyebrows shot up in anger.
“What are you trying to do?” he demanded.
Gao Lingjun looked at him steadily.
“Tomorrow is the Crown Prince’s wedding,” he said.
Chen Shao’s face paled with shock.
“You still intend to proceed with the wedding, even under these circumstances?”
To marry off one’s daughter to a Crown Prince with impaired faculties was one thing –but to wed her to a dying prince?
“Minister Chen,” Gao Lingjun gripped his arm, his expression grave and his voice lowered, “these past days, several attendants have shared the Crown Prince’s bed. There may already be a pregnancy.”
Chen Shao stiffened for a moment, then flared with rage. He seized Gao Lingjun in return.
“Gao Lingjun!” he roared. “What medicine did you give the Crown Prince?”
All that talk of dry weather and oppressive heat, of congested blood and qi that wouldn’t disperse, of violent surges disrupting the meridians, of well-intended prescriptions!
He had known it all along – this could not have happened without cause.
Gao Lingjun also grabbed hold of him in return.
“What medicine? The kind any Crown Prince would need sooner or later,” he retorted sharply. “What’s the use of such pointless talk now! Conceal His Highness’s condition, proceed with the wedding as planned. Once the Crown Princess enters the palace, and if the Crown Prince’s attendants are with child, even if the Crown Prince dies, there will still be a royal heir, and the Crown Princess will still become Empress!”
“And what if none of the attendants are pregnant?” Chen Shao demanded, his voice trembling with anger.
“If none?” Gao Lingjun hissed through clenched teeth. “Then we adopt one from the imperial family! She will still be Empress, and in time, Empress Dowager! That’s still better than all our efforts going to waste and paving the way for others! Chen Shao, there is no turning back now!”
Chen Shao’s expression shifted uncertainly, and his grip on Gao Lingjun gradually loosened.
…
With a jerk of her head, Consort An jolted awake. A flash of light seemed to dart before her eyes, and she couldn’t help but let out a gasp as she sprang to her feet.
“A saber, a saber!” she cried out.
“Raving about what?” the Empress said, watching her from the divan. “Raving nonsense, are you?”
Consort An patted her chest, then touched her own neck. Looking around, she saw lanterns still lit, eunuchs and palace maids standing attentively around them. There were no guards storming in, no sabers or swords lunging toward her.
“Thank goodness, I’m still alive,” she murmured, turning her gaze to the Empress.
“Your Majesty, is there any news?”
The Empress set down the scroll she had been holding.
“A false alarm. The Crown Prince merely caught a chill,” she said.
Consort An’s eyes widened – a chill!
“Oh, just a chill then! How terrifying it made everything seem,” she exclaimed.
The Empress glanced at her.
“Yes, it’s nothing now. You may return,” she said.
Consort An gave an awkward smile and acknowledged the order. True to form, she picked up her bundle, but after taking a few steps toward the door, she seemed to remember something and hurried back.
“Your Majesty, do you believe this news?” she asked.
“Who would believe such news?” the Empress countered.
Consort An immediately understood.
“Your Majesty,” she returned and knelt before the Empress, clutching her sleeve with an anxious expression. “Then what on earth should we do?”
“That depends on what they intend to do,” the Empress replied, sitting up straight and turning her gaze to the Empress’s jade seal resting on the desk.
…
The night deepened. In the capital, many households gradually lit their lamps, but beyond the towering city walls, all remained enveloped in darkness – the hour when sleep weighs heaviest, and the world was wrapped in utter stillness.
The steady clip-clop of hooves shattered the silence as a squad of imperial guards patrolling the city slowly approached, torches held high.
“Young Master Zhou, staying up night after night like this won’t do,” one guardsman remarked, looking at Zhou Fu who walked at the front. “If you truly can’t avoid it, ask for a few days’ leave and get some rest.”
“I’m not tired,” Zhou Fu replied. “This is nothing. Back in the northwest, going days and nights without sleep was common.”
Zhou Fu was a favored officer under Zhong Chengbu. It was said that when Zhou Fu insisted on staying behind, General Zhong was furious – even beating him once and calling him worthless, saying he ought to just guard the city gates. Yet before leaving, the general still arranged for Zhou Fu to serve in the Imperial Guard Battalion before the Emperor. Though not much different from guarding gates in practice, the position carried considerable prestige.
The soldiers were somewhat puzzled. If Zhou Fu were cowardly, he would hardly be so cherished by General Zhong. Yet if he feared nothing, why insist on remaining in the capital?
Though Zhou Fu spoke little, most of his daily conversations were about the northwest – a clear sign of where his heart truly lingered.
As the soldiers were silently wondering, they suddenly saw Zhou Fu rein in his horse and come to an abrupt stop.
“Let’s rest here,” he said.
It was the North Gate again. Every time they patrolled at night, Zhou Fu would eventually halt at the North Gate. The soldiers were now familiar with his habit and didn’t question it, dismounting one after another.
No sooner had the sound of their horses’ hooves faded than distant hoofbeats began to approach.
The soldiers froze, not yet fully processing what they heard, when they felt Zhou Fu beside them tense up instantly, his gaze fixed in the direction of the sound.
A rider and a horse-drawn carriage drew closer and closer.
Who would be traveling on the road so late at night?
Zhou Fu frowned as he looked. The figure on horseback was draped in a large cloak, appearing as little more than a dark silhouette. Upon spotting Zhou Fu and the others standing by the city gate, the newcomer clearly hesitated, reining in the horse.
“Zhou Liu.”
The speaker called out, lifting his hood as he did so. In the torchlight, Qin Hu’s face was revealed.
“You?” Zhou Fu was clearly taken aback.
Qin Hu gave him a faint smile, then frowned.
“You’re on patrol?” he asked.
Zhou Fu looked at him without answering, his gaze shifting to the carriage behind him.
“Fetching a relative,” Qin Hu said, then turned away and called out loudly toward the gate.
Someone peered down from atop the gate tower. Qin Hu waved a stamped permit high in the air.
The city gate creaked open.
“The gates of the capital truly open easily,” Zhou Fu remarked. “In the few days I’ve been here, I’ve almost seen more activity at the gates in the dead of night than during the day.”
Qin Hu smiled at him again.
“Are you actually initiating conversation with me?” he asked.
Zhou Fu’s expression remained stern.
“Fetching a relative? In the middle of the night like this – it must be someone quite close, I imagine?” he said, his eyes still fixed on the carriage behind Qin Hu.
The carriage was simple, even somewhat inconspicuous, with only a coachman seated at the front. Its curtains hung tightly closed, not even a gust of night wind could lift them the slightest bit.
Qin Hu chuckled softly.
“Would you like to inspect?” he said, and without waiting for Zhou Fu’s reply, he raised his hand in a gesture.
The coachman understood and turned to lift the carriage curtain.
Zhou Fu did not hesitate, urging his horse forward.
Inside sat a woman, holding in her arms a boy of six or seven who was dozing off. Startled by the sudden opening of the curtain, she looked up. As Zhou Fu lifted his torch to peer in, the woman lowered her head somewhat shyly.
“Would you like them to step down as well?” Qin Hu asked.
Zhou Fu sneered and withdrew his gaze, looking back at Qin Hu.
“I know you too well,” he said.
He knew Qin Hu never acted without thorough arrangements. If he allowed an inspection, it was certain to withstand scrutiny.
Qin Hu smiled.
“So you still remember me,” he remarked, and without giving Zhou Fu a chance to respond, he urged his horse forward. “It’s the middle of the night – no time to delay. I’ll come find you to talk another time. For now, I must go.”
Zhou Fu moved aside, watching as Qin Hu rode past.
The carriage followed closely behind. The guards at the gate showed no intention of inspecting it and simply watched as they passed through. The gate slowly closed behind them.
As Qin Hu rode through the gate, a faint smile still lingered on his face.
What a coincidence – to have run into him, of all people.
He had heard that the young man was being sidelined in the Imperial Guard, assigned to night patrols every single day.
And yet, with that temper of his, he was actually enduring it…
Enduring it…
The smile on Qin Hu’s face suddenly stiffened. He yanked sharply on the reins, bringing his horse to an abrupt halt.
The carriage behind nearly collided with him in surprise.
“Young Master?” the coachman asked in a hushed voice.
Qin Hu turned to look back. The city gate had already closed, sealing off the inside from the outside. In the flickering light of the carriage lanterns and the torches atop the gate, his eyes gradually darkened.
A coincidence?
There are no such things as coincidences in this world.
Outside the city gate, the soldiers were beginning to remount when someone suddenly exclaimed, pointing toward the main road.
“What a coincidence,” he said. “It seems another group is approaching.”
Zhou Fu narrowed his eyes and looked into the distance. The sound of hoofbeats grew louder.
“Quite a few of them, it seems,” a soldier remarked.
Almost in the blink of an eye, scattered torchlights brightened within their line of sight, revealing seven riders approaching. The one at the front was a considerable distance ahead of the others, a large cloak billowing behind. The hood was blown back by the night wind, revealing the rider’s face.
“Ah, it’s a woman!”
Exclamations of surprise rose from the soldiers around him.
At that moment, Zhou Fu’s eyes widened, and his hand gripping the reins tightened instantly.
She’s here!
