On the tenth day of August in the fourth year of the Yonghe era, the Crown Prince was posthumously granted the title of Xuanwen, and arrangements were made for the funeral on an auspicious date.
However, unlike previous occasions, no decree of general amnesty was issued this time, underscoring the court’s indignation over the Crown Prince’s wrongful and untimely death.
On the eleventh day of August, the court further announced the adoption of Duke Jin’an, Fang Wei, as the Emperor’s son and his appointment as Crown Prince. As both the Emperor and the Empress Dowager were in poor health, and a nation could not remain without a ruler, in addition to the adoption and appointment decrees, an edict was also issued designating the Crown Prince as regent.
Carriages bound for the capital gradually grew in number, and the post stations and guesthouses along the way bustled with activity, welcoming princes, dukes, and nobles arriving from across the land.
“… I truly never expected we’d come for His Highness the Crown Prince’s wedding, only for a joyous occasion to turn into a funeral.”
“… The royal family from the Wu-Yue region arrived in the capital much earlier than us. Have you seen Duke Yanping?”
“… He came early and left early. They say he fell ill and couldn’t get out of bed. He already left the capital yesterday and headed back to Wu-Yue.”
In the corridor, two nobles chuckled as they spoke in hushed tones. At this point, one of them smiled meaningfully.
“… It isn’t all mourning – there is still cause for celebration,” he said. “We happened to catch the grand funeral of the crown prince and then the investiture of the new crown prince as well. It’s really killing two birds with one stone – saves us from having to make two trips. Who knows…”
Here, he glanced around and lowered his voice.
“… who knows, we might even make it in time for the new emperor’s enthronement ceremony.”
Hearing this, the other man quickly reached out, patted him, and hushed him.
“Such words shouldn’t be spoken,” he whispered, looking around cautiously.
“And why shouldn’t they?” the first noble replied with a low chuckle. “If they dare to do it, why shouldn’t others dare to speak of it?”
Although several days had passed since the palace incident and the curfew in the capital had been lifted, news of Crown Prince Xuanwen’s death and the rebellion of Gao Lingjun and Chen Shao had only just begun to circulate throughout the city. That night – with its fireworks, cannon fire, and clashes between the Garrison Army and regional troops in the streets – had added an air of mystery to the whole affair, making it almost as legendary as the stories of candles and axes from the reigns of the Great Emperor and Emperor Taizong.
“… But putting it that way, the throne has still returned to the line of the Great Emperor.”
As they spoke, someone nearby squeezed closer.
“Watch your words,” the newcomer cautioned. “I’ve heard it’s not only a matter of lineage – his conduct also seems to carry the style of the Great Emperor.”
He gestured outward with his chin.
“Do you know how Duke Yanping left? He was escorted away by soldiers – not a shred of face was spared.”
This was the first anyone had heard of it. They had thought Duke Yanping had left voluntarily to avoid trouble, but it turned out it was actually Duke Jin’an – no, Crown Prince Wei – who had shown no mercy.
The two men looked shocked.
“He’s begun acting as regent, and his attitude has been very firm,” the man continued, lowering his voice. “Yesterday, he even publicly reprimanded a senior minister – right in front of the entire court – and threw a memorial at the man’s head.”
Hearing this, the two looked even more astonished.
“This… this… after following the Emperor for so long, how did his temperament become like this?” they exclaimed in surprise. “Where is the slightest trace of His Majesty’s tolerance and benevolence?”
The man nodded at them meaningfully.
“So, everyone better be careful,” he whispered. “Let’s not end up being made an example of.”
As they spoke, a sudden commotion rose from outside the door.
“Princess Consort Xiu has arrived.”
Princess Consort Xiu – the birth mother of the Crown Prince!
“Has Princess Consort Xiu come to the post station as well?” people in the hall asked one after another.
“No,” someone who had just come in from outside replied. “She naturally went to the Crown Prince’s residence.”
“Can she enter the Eastern Palace? Although the Empress no longer handles state affairs, she still holds the imperial seal. Wouldn’t this be a direct affront to the Empress?”
“Could it be that even before the coronation, disputes over succession are already beginning?”
The hall immediately erupted into a clamor of chatter.
“If this truly reflects the legacy of the Great Emperor, with such a strong-willed temperament, it’s hard to say what might happen,” one person in the corridor on the second floor remarked, shaking his head in contemplation.
Amid the confusion, another wave of commotion came from outside.
“No, no,” someone rushed in and announced. “Princess Consort Xiu has been turned away.”
Upon hearing this, the entire hall erupted in uproar.
“… She was stopped right outside the main gate…”
“… Not even allowed through the door…”
“… They said if she wishes for an audience, she must formally request it from the palace… that there was no justification for a private meeting, much less staying at the Duke’s residence…”
“… Princess Consort Xiu left in tears…”
More details spread throughout the hall.
The two who had spoken earlier exchanged a knowing glance.
“Who would have thought the first one to be made an example of would be Princess Consort Xiu,” one of them murmured under his breath.
As discussions about the incident swirled in the hall, voices rose in a clamor of opinions.
“This is truly going too far – treating one’s birth mother this way. He’s just chasing fame and reputation, abandoning even the most basic principles of human decency.”
“Yes, indeed. This is truly excessive.”
Up on the second floor, someone chuckled and pointed downstairs.
“See that? The same event, but two completely different takes,” he remarked. “No matter what you do, someone will say it’s wrong. Meeting her is unfilial; not meeting her is also unfilial. It’s tough navigating life and handling affairs.”
“From this perspective, perhaps it’s better for the Crown Prince to maintain a firm temperament,” the person beside him added with a smile. “After all, given his adoptive status and the turbulent circumstances of his rise, if he were too gentle or indecisive, he’d be constantly constrained – likely drowned in criticism before he could accomplish anything.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” the first speaker said, as if recalling something, and glanced outside. “The Crown Prince hasn’t moved into the Eastern Palace yet? He’s still residing in his residence?”
“That’s right,” the other nodded. “They say the Crown Princess is in poor health, and it isn’t advisable to relocate or make major changes for now.”
“But isn’t the Crown Princess a renowned doctor herself? How could she be unwell?” the first speaker asked with a light laugh. “Could it be that even a healer cannot cure herself?”
“That’s unclear,” the other replied, shaking his head. “The Crown Prince travels between the palace and his mansion daily, handling all state affairs in the Emperor’s bedchamber. No outside guests are received at his residence, nor is court business discussed there. Even ladies-in-waiting haven’t been granted permission to visit.”
“That is rather peculiar,” the first speaker mused, smiling as he looked toward the door. “In that case, it seems we won’t see the Crown Princess at Crown Prince Xuanwen’s funeral or the Crown Prince’s investiture ceremony.”
What a pity indeed.
…
“What’s all the commotion outside?” Ban Qin asked, glancing outward while holding a bowl of medicinal broth in her hands.
“It’s nothing,” Su Xin replied. “Nothing that concerns us.”
Their focus now was solely on guarding and attending to their lady. Whatever happened outside was of no concern to them.
“How is the Crown Princess today?” Su Xin asked.
Ban Qin’s expression darkened as she lowered her head.
Sighing, Su Xin didn’t press further. The two of them turned and stepped into the hall, immediately noticing Zhou Fu sitting inside the room.
Zhou Fu was leaning against an armrest, his eyes closed as if asleep. But as Ban Qin and Su Xin approached the inner chamber, his eyes snapped open. Seeing it was them, the alertness in his gaze faded, and he closed his eyes again.
“Sixth Young Master,” Su Xin stepped forward and said softly. “Please go and rest for a while. We’ll look after things here.”
Zhou Fu gave no response.
Ban Qin shook her head at Su Xin, and Su Xin fell silent. Together, they helped Cheng Jiao-niang take her medicine and gently wiped her hands and face.
“… Miss’s wounds are healing quickly.”
“Yes, it’s almost time to change the dressing again tomorrow, isn’t it?”
They continued speaking in low voices as they worked.
“I was reminded of the past,” Ban Qin murmured. “That time, Miss also suddenly fell into a deep, unresponsive sleep.”
Before Su Xin could reply, someone else spoke up.
“It’s not the same.”
Su Xin and Ban Qin turned to look at Zhou Fu.
“It’s not the same,” he repeated.
Back then, it had been a coma. This time, it was an injury. That time, it was because of herself. This time, it was because of him.
Zhou Fu clenched his eyes shut.
“But that time was also very dangerous,” Su Xin continued, picking up the thread with a gentle smile. “Even the imperial doctors and other doctors were at a loss. It was only after His Highness the Duke called out to her that Miss finally awoke.”
Ban Qin nodded, her gaze shifting to Cheng Jiao-niang lying on the bed.
Though her face was still pale, it no longer looked as frightening as it had a few days ago.
Yet…
Her eyes slowly traveled over the still form.
It was different. Back then, she had appeared to be merely sleeping. But this time… no one who saw her could possibly mistake it for sleep.
There was no rise and fall in her chest, her body lay rigid and straight…
No heartbeat, no pulse. It wasn’t a state where one could simply attend to her – even hearing about it would be enough to terrify anyone.
Ban Qin lowered her head, tears falling silently, one after another.
“Don’t worry,” Su Xin’s voice spoke up urgently beside her. “Last time, it was His Highness the Duke who called Miss back to consciousness. This time will be no different. His Highness the Crown Prince has been with Miss all along, talking to her.”
Ban Qin wiped away her tears and nodded.
“Yes, you’re right,” she quickly agreed, as if any hesitation might deny the possibility. Her gaze drifted to the window, where daylight was beginning to fade. “Will His Highness return very late again tonight?”
With Crown Prince Xuanwen’s funeral approaching and the accumulation of court affairs since the Emperor fell ill, the Crown Prince had been leaving before dawn and often not returning until sunset – and lately, he had been coming back later and later.
Yet no matter how late it was, he would always come here to rest.
Only…
Su Xin’s eyes shifted to Zhou Fu.
“Sixth Young Master,” she walked over, knelt, and said softly. “You’ve been keeping vigil for days now. Please, go and rest properly. Don’t stay here all the time. This way… none of us can rest well.”
Zhou Fu seemed to be asleep and did not respond.
“Sixth Young Master,” Su Xin pressed anxiously. “This is going too far. His Highness and the Crown Princess are husband and wife. You… you, an outsider, crowding in here – what kind of situation is this?”
“What about being husband and wife?” Zhou Fu said slowly, barely lifting his eyelids. “Haven’t you heard the saying? ‘Most intimate, yet most distant – such is marriage.'”
Su Xin stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Sixth Young Master,” she suddenly asked, “why do you distrust His Highness?”
Distrust His Highness?
Ban Qin’s head snapped up, her gaze fixed on them.
Why?
The Crown Prince had been so good to their mistress. How could there be any reason to distrust him?
Zhou Fu said nothing, lowering his gaze.
Silence fell over the room, making the sound of footsteps approaching from outside the door all the clearer.
“Eunuch Jing.”
Su Xin quickly stepped forward upon seeing the newcomer and offered a respectful bow.
“At ease, at ease,” the eunuch said with a smile. “His Highness will return a bit later today. He asked me to come ahead and inform the Crown Princess.”
Both Su Xin and Ban Qin hurriedly bowed in acknowledgment.
Eunuch Jing then entered the inner chamber, paying his respects toward Cheng Jiao-niang on the bed and inquiring with concern about how she was doing today.
Su Xin and Ban Qin answered his questions one by one.
Eunuch Jing then turned his gaze to Zhou Fu.
“Sixth Young Master, how is your injury?” he asked.
“Just as you might have expected, my injury has already healed,” Zhou Fu replied, lifting his eyes to meet his gaze.
There was something slightly off about the way he said it, and Eunuch Jing offered an awkward smile.
“That’s good, that’s good,” he said, and then seemed to recall something. “Oh, that reminds me, Sixth Young Master, General Zhong’s people have arrived in the capital. Would you like to meet with them?”
As soon as he finished speaking, Zhou Fu’s gaze fixed directly on him.
“I don’t see why I should meet with them,” Zhou Fu stated. “I was once one of his former subordinates, but now I serve in the Garrison Army.”
Eunuch Jing smiled.
“Having served under him in the past makes for closer ties, after all,” he remarked.
“If you have something to ask, ask it directly. I’m tired and need to rest,” Zhou Fu cut him off.
Su Xin and Ban Qin’s eyes shifted back and forth between the two men, a flicker of doubt surfacing in their gazes.
Upon hearing this, Eunuch Jing smiled once more.
“Very well, here’s the matter: His Highness intends to reward merit accordingly,” he explained. “We were wondering whether General Zhong should also receive credit for the Garrison Army’s suppression of the rebel forces? What agreement did you have with General Zhong at the time? Did Her Highness the Crown Princess perhaps–”
Before he could finish, Zhou Fu stood up.
“If I were to say this matter wasn’t pre-arranged by me, nor was it due to her meeting anyone or discussing anything with anyone, would you believe it?” he stated. “I know what I’ve done. As for what others have done or what they might have intended – that has nothing to do with me. Don’t ask me, because I don’t know.”
Eunuch Jing paused briefly, then smiled.
“Of course, of course,” he said, bowing respectfully. “I obviously believe what you say. Then, if you will excuse me.”
Eunuch Jing withdrew, and the room returned to silence.
Ban Qin and Su Xin fell silent as well, staring blankly at Zhou Fu.
Yet Zhou Fu didn’t look at anyone, his face expressionless. He lifted the hem of his robe, sat back down, and leaned against the armrest again, closing his eyes. Though he appeared to be sleeping, his body remained tense and rigid, as if he could spring up at any moment.
Seeing Eunuch Jing step out, Master Gu hurried over.
“Well? What did he say?” he whispered.
Eunuch Jing shook his head.
“It’s the same as what Fan Jianglin and Li Mao said,” he replied.
Master Gu frowned.
“… Her Highness never instructed me to do anything… She only asked me to prepare a few things, saying they were for self-protection on the road. There were no other orders… Isn’t it normal to prepare weapons for a long journey? Besides, my sister has always been cautious in her actions.”
“… Those fireworks? I made them after consulting my master. My master said to seize any chance to verify their effect, so I did, and she took them all. She never mentioned what they were for… Specifically for the Empress? I didn’t know. I truly didn’t… My master never asked me to do anything, nor did she say anything… You all know how my master rarely speaks. I became her disciple and learned from her simply because I was inspired by watching her fireworks…”
“… My master often says that the doer may have no intent, but the observer may find meaning. Aren’t you overthinking this?”
The doer may have no intent, but the observer may find meaning. The speaker may have no intent, but the listener may take it to heart.
Could such meticulously arranged plans across so many fronts have been coordinated simply through observation?
“Why the secrecy?” Master Gu said with annoyance. “Serving the rightful ruler and protecting one’s master are great merits. Even if the methods were not entirely aboveboard, the details would only need to be kept between a few trusted people – not announced to the world. What game are these people playing?”
Eunuch Jing fell silent for a moment.
“Perhaps… there were no deliberate arrangements made specifically for His Highness’s current situation?” he suggested. “Just as Fan Jianglin said – preparing weapons for a journey, or as Li Mao mentioned – researching and experimenting with improved fireworks and explosives. And as Young Master Zhou said, he had no idea Gao and Chen intended to harm the Crown Prince at that time. The Garrison Army only mobilized because they detected unusual movements in the city and had no knowledge of Gao and Chen’s treasonous plans…”
Before he could finish, Master Gu interrupted.
“Not deliberate arrangements? Do you mean these were all just ordinary actions? The ‘ordinary action’ of preparing weapons for a journey? The ‘ordinary action’ of guiding a disciple? The ‘ordinary action’ of caring about Her Majesty the Empress? The ‘ordinary action’ of foreseeing chaos because a weak Crown Prince would ascend the throne?” he retorted, eyes wide. “Would ordinary actions achieve so much? So many people just happening to understand and respond this way? Do you believe that?”
Indeed… it was simply too extraordinary, too hard to believe.
Eunuch Jing rubbed his hands together but said nothing more.
Master Gu looked toward the inner courtyard, his brow furrowed.
“Actually, people who practice these arcane arts are all like this,” he suddenly remarked. “They know their secret arts can’t be revealed openly, so they deliberately cloak their actions in mystery. When questioned, they spout phrases like ‘the Way that can be spoken is not the eternal Way’ or ‘the Way is beyond words.’”
He shook his head.
“Let it be. Now that the overall situation is settled, what’s done is done. It’s just that going forward, it would be better not to keep things hidden alone. Take that night at Qingyuan Station, for example – why didn’t she say anything before suddenly rushing back? If we had known, we could have brought more people and wouldn’t have been delayed so long at the city gate.”
“Perhaps Her Highness didn’t know exactly what was happening herself…” Eunuch Jing suggested with a faint smile.
Master Gu glared at him.
If she didn’t know, then why run? Eunuch Jing gave an awkward smile and raised his hands, conceding his mistake.
“Whatever the case, this habit isn’t good. In the future, we hope Her Highness the Crown Princess will speak up earlier if anything arises. We are all one family,” Advisor Gu continued.
In the future…
Eunuch Jing couldn’t help but glance back toward the inner residence.
“Perhaps… there will be no future,” he murmured under his breath.
If this truly was backlash from forbidden arts, then there was no remedy.
No future?
Master Gu’s heart skipped a beat, and he also found himself looking back, his expression shifting uncertainly.
…
The night was deep, and the Emperor’s bedchamber was still lit. Seated before a low table, Fang Bocong closed the last memorial and raised a hand to rub his tired eyes.
“Father,” he said softly toward the Emperor lying on the bed. “I have finished reviewing them. You heard how each matter was handled. What do you think?”
Silence filled the room. There was, of course, no response.
“If anything is improper, please guide your son, Imperial Father. Your son will now take his leave,” Fang Bocong said, bowing in respect.
Only then did the attendant nearby step forward respectfully to assist him in rising.
“Your Highness, perhaps it would be better to stay in the palace tonight,” the attendant suggested. “It’s already very late.”
Fang Bocong shook his head without speaking and began to walk.
Attendants quickly draped a cloak over his shoulders, pulling up the hood before escorting him out of the Emperor’s chambers.
Flickering lanterns dotted the palace corridors until, suddenly, they came to a halt in one particular spot.
Seeing Fang Bocong looking in one direction – toward a brightly lit palace as bright as day – the attendants felt uneasy. That was where Crown Prince Xuanwen’s remains lay in state.
“Your Highness has had a tiring day. Perhaps it would be better to…” the attendants whispered.
Before they could finish, Fang Bocong had already started walking toward it.
The attendants had no choice but to hurriedly signal for others to follow.
Attendants and palace maids dressed in mourning robes quietly stepped aside as Fang Bocong slowly approached the coffin. The large blocks of ice placed around it made the chamber as cold and forbidding as an ice cellar.
He lowered himself slowly to sit before the coffin, his gaze fixed upon it.
“Liu Ge’er,” he said softly. “Soon, we’ll be sending you off.”
At that, his voice grew hoarse, and he could speak no further.
He would never see him again. Never.
He lowered his head.
“Brother…”
Suddenly, a voice sounded by his ear.
“Brother, save me…”
Fang Bocong’s head snapped up, and he stared ahead. Inside the coffin, a small child reached out toward him.
“Brother… save me…”
Liu Ge’er? Liu Ge’er!
Overwhelmed with wild joy, Fang Bocong rose and stretched out a hand – but someone stopped him.
“Cheng Fang?” He looked at the girl beside him, both startled and overjoyed. “Quickly, quickly save Liu Ge’er…”
The girl before him wore an expressionless face and shook her head.
“I can’t,” she said. “I mustn’t save him. Let him die. Otherwise, how can we hold Gao Lingjun accountable?”
Fang Bocong stared at her, feeling as if his breath had stopped.
No… no.
“You’ve forgotten,” the girl said, looking at him with a hollow smile. “If you don’t leave the capital, why would Gao Lingjun come to kill you? If Liu Ge’er doesn’t die, how can Gao Lingjun be brought to justice? Fang Bocong, have you forgotten? You were all bait.”
Bait…
All of them were bait…
“Brother! Brother, save me!”
Fang Bocong jolted upright, gasping for breath. His vision was hazy, and the sight of blue bed curtains filled his view.
He sensed a gaze upon him and turned sharply.
Zhou Fu, sitting up on a low couch by the window, was looking at him.
Footsteps approached from beyond the inner chamber’s curtain.
“Your Highness?” a maid’s voice called out, tinged with concern.
It was a dream.
Fang Bocong straightened himself.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“A quarter past Mao hour (5-7AM),” Su Xin replied. “It’s still early, Your Highness. Please rest a little longer.”
Fang Bocong looked toward the inner bed where Cheng Jiao-niang lay peacefully. As he sat up, his figure cast a shadow over her, making her already thinner body appear even more delicate.
He reached out, gently lifted her to help her turn over, then carefully adjusted the quilt before rising and walking straight out.
Watching as Fang Bocong finished washing and changing, then left surrounded by attendants, Su Xin and Ban Qin turned back inside. In the inner chamber, Zhou Fu had already lain back down, facing the window as if asleep, seemingly indifferent to whether there was one more or one less person in the room.
“What kind of situation is this?” Ban Qin couldn’t help but murmur softly. “It’s simply too absurd. How can His Highness tolerate this?”
“Because His Highness tolerates our lady,” Su Xin whispered in reply. “Whatever our lady values, whatever she cares for – His Highness naturally values, cares for, and accepts as well.”
Ban Qin fell silent for a moment.
“I only hope our lady wakes soon,” she murmured, lowering her head.
…
The sky was just beginning to lighten, but the city gates had already opened. A group of riders galloped out, their figures standing out distinctly in the pale dawn light.
“Your Highness, where are you going?” Eunuch Jing caught up to Fang Bocong, his voice low and urgent. “This is truly too dangerous.”
“It’s not dangerous. The dangerous times are already over,” Fang Bocong replied, his face flickering in and out of view beneath his wind-blown hood. “The Crown Prince’s funeral is approaching, court affairs are suspended. I can afford to ride for a while.”
Eunuch Jing could only follow closely, though not without reluctance.
Suddenly, Fang Bocong’s horse came to an abrupt halt as he turned his gaze toward one direction.
“Ah, Your Highness, over there are the graves that Her Highness had erected for the brothers of Maoyuan Mountain and for Cheng Si-lang,” Eunuch Jing said softly.
Cheng Si-lang…
Fang Bocong let out a quiet sigh.
“I’ve never gone to see him,” he said. “After all, he died because of me.”
“Your Highness, how can you say that!” Eunuch Jing shook his head firmly.
Fang Bocong didn’t reply, urging his horse forward instead.
A fence surrounded the grave site, which was kept clean and well-maintained.
Fang Bocong dismounted and walked over.
“… Your Highness has also never seen the inscription for Maoyuan Mountain, I suppose,” Eunuch Jing remarked. “It is indeed beautifully written.”
Of course it is.
A faint smile appeared on Fang Bocong’s lips as his gaze swept over the tombstones, but suddenly, his smile froze.
What… was that?
He took a sudden step forward.
What is this?
“What is this?” he asked.
Eunuch Jing, startled by his abrupt movement, quickly looked over.
“This is… the character Cheng,” he leaned closer and read aloud. “Ah, why is only one character carved? Did Her Highness have this done as well? Perhaps it wasn’t finished?”
Before he finished speaking, Fang Bocong suddenly burst into laughter.
Eunuch Jing shuddered in surprise, staring at Fang Bocong in astonishment.
The young man laughed heartily, tilting his head back until his hood fell away, revealing his face.
“Now… it can be completed.”
He declared with a loud laugh.
“Now, it can be completed!”
Now, it can be completed! Now, it can be completed!
