The Emperor’s bedroom was dimly lit, even gloomier than before. Guards stood in strict formation outside, but no palace attendants could be seen keeping watch in the night, adding to the chill in the air.
“The Crown Prince has arrived?”
Upon hearing the report, the Empress, who was seated by the Emperor’s bedside, looked somewhat surprised. She turned to glance at the Emperor lying on the bed, her expression under the dim lamplight a mixture of complexity and quiet relief.
Footsteps echoed outside, and Fang Bocong strode in briskly, bringing a gust of cold air with him.
The Empress stepped out from behind the curtain.
“What happened to His Majesty?” Fang Bocong asked, forgoing formalities in his haste.
The Empress looked at him, hesitating as if unsure how to respond.
The palace attendants nearby immediately withdrew, leaving them in privacy.
“It’s been so long, yet you still act exactly as you did when Crown Prince Xuanwen was in danger,” the Empress said.
Fang Bocong was momentarily taken aback.
Did she mean his public interrogation of Prince Huaihui back when Liu Ge’er was harmed, or his refusal to leave the palace and let go of Liu Ge’er at the Empress’s urging?
The former implied he recklessly put himself at risk, acting without foresight, while the latter suggested he was driven by emotion, bringing hardship upon himself.
In any case, she was disapproving of his coming to the palace.
“Doesn’t Your Majesty also act the same?” he replied. “You still protect me.”
Just as when Liu Ge’er was in danger, she had rushed over at once to stop his words, shielding him from becoming the target of public criticism.
The Empress smiled faintly.
“However, I have always acted in accordance with my duty and conscience, with integrity and without fear,” Fang Bocong said, bowing once more.
Even if he hadn’t come to the palace, if the emperor were to pass away, would the rumors be any fewer?
Rumors never cease – why dwell on them?
The Empress looked at him.
“His Majesty has awakened,” she said.
Fang Bocong looked up in astonishment.
Not dead, but awakened?
This should be good news, yet…
He studied the Empress’s shadowed expression under the dim lamplight, and his own expression grew solemn.
How did the Emperor fall ill? With the Imperial Consort plotting against Consort An, Prince Huaihui struck by lightning while pleading under duress, and then all that followed – now the Imperial Consort was insane, Prince Huaihui dead, Gao Lingjun dead, Chen Shao dead, Liu Ge’er dead, the Empress Dowager imprisoned, the Empress in control of the inner palace, and the former Duke Jin’an now the Crown Prince – could the Emperor possibly accept such upheaval?
Moreover, he remained the Emperor, and the Empress as well as the Crown Prince were subject to his authority. An unconscious emperor might be overlooked by many, but an Emperor who had awakened was an entirely different matter.
“His Majesty just opened his eyes,” the Empress said softly, looking up at Fang Bocong. “Perhaps… I was mistaken.”
Fang Bocong gazed back at her.
The Empress was suggesting that it could indeed have been a misperception – that the emperor might not have awakened at all.
He glanced around the chamber. This was called the Emperor’s bedchamber, but in reality, it could just as well be considered the Empress’s bedchamber. And not only here – the entire inner palace had already fallen under her control.
Once the palace gates were shut, who lived and who died was entirely up to the Empress alone.
Truth be told, they no longer needed this emperor.
An unconscious emperor was unnecessary, but an awakened one was even more so -because that would be a conscious emperor who held the power of life and death.
Would an awakened emperor be able to accept reality with clarity? Would he refrain from blaming those who now appeared to have gained from the situation – like them? Could he endure having his authority divided between the Crown Prince and the Empress? Would he withstand the onslaught of endless gossip and slander?
There were far too many uncertainties.
And if any one of the above were to occur, the only fate awaiting them would be death.
“We cannot afford to lose,” the Empress whispered, turning to look behind her. Beyond the layers of curtains lay the Emperor’s bed.
Thus, the best outcome would be for the Emperor never to awaken again – that was the only truly fail-safe solution.
“The flicker of candlelight, the glint of an axe – what does it matter?” the Empress murmured, her gaze fixed on Fang Bocong. “Do you truly wish to be forced into the role of Prince Yanyi?”
The atmosphere in the chamber grew even heavier, and the already dim candlelight seemed to flicker more faintly.
The few remaining palace attendants pressed themselves deeper into the shadows, striving to vanish into the darkness.
“I wish to see His Majesty,” Fang Bocong said.
The Empress looked at him, and Fang Bocong met her gaze steadily.
“Are you certain?” the Empress asked, her voice low. “Some things are better left unseen.”
Fang Bocong nodded, then took a step forward. The Empress lowered her gaze and moved aside, allowing him to pass.
Behind the curtains, the light grew even dimmer. As Fang Bocong stepped inside, his figure cast a large shadow over the Emperor on the bed, making it impossible to discern his condition clearly.
“Bring the lamps closer,” he ordered.
A lamp was lifted forward.
“More,” Fang Bocong said.
Two lamps, then three were brought over, brightening the area around the bed.
Fang Bocong knelt by the bedside, leaning in to look at the Emperor.
The Emperor’s eyes were closed, his face a sickly waxen hue – no different from before.
“Your Majesty,” Fang Bocong called softly.
The Emperor’s eyelids twitched, then slowly opened.
“Your Majesty!” Fang Bocong exclaimed, his voice rising as he leaned closer.
But the Emperor’s eyes closed again.
“Move the lamps back a little,” Fang Bocong said immediately.
Two attendants quickly stepped away from the bed, and the light at the headboard dimmed slightly.
Slowly, the Emperor opened his eyes again and looked toward Fang Bocong.
“Your Majesty,” Fang Bocong called again, a hint of hope in his voice. “Do you recognize who I am?”
The Emperor’s gaze seemed confused. His lips moved slightly, letting out a dry, raspy sound.
“Your Majesty, I am Wei-lang,” Fang Bocong said, looking at him intently. He reached out and gently grasped the Emperor’s arm. “Your Majesty, it’s Wei-lang.”
The Emperor’s bewildered expression gradually focused as he stared at Fang Bocong. He opened his mouth again, but all that emerged was another meaningless, hoarse rasp.
“Your Majesty!”
Fang Bocong’s voice suddenly rose, and he lowered his head, watching as the Emperor’s arm slowly lifted and reached toward him. Instinctively, he grasped the Emperor’s hand.
It was a withered hand, far more aged than his actual years would suggest.
This aged, trembling hand slowly took hold of the young, slender, and smooth hand before it.
“Ah!” the Emperor managed to utter.
Finally, a sound had emerged. Fang Bocong reached out with his other hand, clasping the emperor’s hand firmly as a choked sob escaped him.
“Someone!” he called out, turning his head sharply. “Summon the imperial doctor!”
Outside the curtains, the Empress whipped her head around abruptly.
Fang Bocong rose to his feet.
“Summon the imperial doctors,” he repeated, his voice clear and resounding. “Also summon the Imperial Archives – Zhang Chun, Yan Zhao, and Lin Ze. And call the Hanlin academicians on duty.”
As he spoke, the lamplight in the chamber seemed to grow even brighter. The curtains by the bed had been drawn aside, and Fang Bocong stood there, the candlelight casting his figure into an even taller, more imposing shadow.
The Empress let out a soft sigh before hurrying toward the bed.
“Your Majesty,” she said, raising her sleeve to cover her face, her voice choked with emotion as she knelt by the bedside.
…
The lamps in Old Master Zhang’s chamber were lit.
“Old Master,” the elderly servant hurried in, seeing Old Master Zhang rising and draping a robe over himself, his voice low.
“Someone from the palace.”
Only someone from the palace could knock on the Zhang family’s gate in the middle of the night.
Old Master Zhang nodded.
“It’s fine,” he said. “It’s been long enough.”
As soon as he finished speaking, hurried footsteps echoed from outside. Both Old Master Zhang and his servant looked up in surprise to see a maid standing outside the door, her hair loose and a robe hastily thrown over her shoulders. Under the lantern’s glow, her face was deathly pale.
“Old Master,” she said, her voice trembling.
“Ban Qin, it’s not about your mistress,” the servant quickly reassured her. “Don’t worry.”
Only then did the maid lean against the doorframe, as if drained of strength, and sink to her knees.
But Old Master Zhang’s expression remained heavy.
“If something has happened to the Emperor, it won’t be good news for her either,” he said.
The maid, who had just begun to relax, suddenly looked up, her face filled with panic as she scrambled forward on her knees.
“No, no,” the servant quickly clarified. “Old Master, it’s not that something has happened to the Emperor – it’s that the Emperor has awakened.”
The Emperor has awakened?
Old Master Zhang looked at his servant in shock.
“Yes, the Emperor has awakened,” the servant whispered once more.
Old Master Zhang’s expression settled, and he turned to look at the maid.
“In that case, your mistress will be safe for now,” he said, then shifted his gaze outside, frowning slightly. “But for them, this is not good news.”
Who was the “them” in the second sentence?
As the maid wiped her tears in a daze, a flicker of confusion crossed her mind.
…
The sky gradually brightened. The imperial guards on duty outside the palace noticed that today, officials seemed to arrive at the palace gates much earlier than usual. Yet this was easy to understand – the palace gates had opened the previous night, with palace attendants coming and going, and several high-ranking ministers had been summoned into the palace in the middle of the night. Such events were impossible to conceal.
“How is His Majesty the Emperor?” one official whispered.
“Has he passed away?” another replied softly.
“If he had passed, wouldn’t it be too quiet? The bells and drums should have sounded from the Bell and Drum Towers,” a third official added in a low voice.
“Then what was the commotion last night? Seven or eight ministers were summoned inside.”
“Could it be the Empress? Or the Crown Prince?”
“Don’t jest, that’s impossible.”
“I think something must have happened to His Majesty. Perhaps his condition worsened. It wasn’t appropriate to announce it at night, so they’re waiting until daytime.”
Or perhaps, even if he had passed away during the night, they would delay the announcement until daylight, before the eyes of the people.
The court officials whispered and speculated among themselves. When the morning bell finally rang and the palace gates opened, today’s grand court assembly began. Hundreds of officials gathered in the main hall. Despite the censors patrolling back and forth, a low hum of conversation persisted. As the Crown Prince’s arrival was delayed, the murmuring only grew louder.
Meanwhile, in the Emperor’s bedchamber, Zhang Chun and several other high-ranking ministers were present, watching Fang Bocong with a weary air.
“Your Highness, are you truly determined to proceed with this?” one minister stepped closer, lowering his voice.
Fang Bocong nodded.
“I have been waiting for this day, and it has finally arrived,” he said, glancing back.
Behind him, on a soft sedan chair, the Emperor lay reclined, his eyes half-open but seemingly vacant.
“Your Majesty, it is time for the court assembly,” Fang Bocong said with a bow, his voice clear and resonant.
Seeing his gesture, the other courtiers quickly followed suit, bowing as well.
“Your Majesty, it is time for the court assembly.”
When they saw the Emperor being carried into the hall on a soft sedan chair accompanied by ceremonial music, the courtiers were somewhat surprised, but more than that, they felt a sense of relief.
It seemed the Emperor was not in the condition they had imagined, yet no one thought much of it. They assumed this was merely a gesture to reassure the court, having the Emperor attend the grand assembly for the sake of appearances.
However, when they noticed that the Crown Prince was not standing on the dais as usual but instead positioned himself at the head of the courtiers’ ranks, they were slightly taken aback. Still, they did not dwell on it, assuming it was simply an act of respect the Crown Prince was showing the Emperor – much like how he would read memorials aloud to the Emperor. Showing respect to an unconscious emperor was hardly a difficult matter.
It was only when the Crown Prince led the courtiers in a bow to the Emperor, the music ceased, and the voices wishing His Majesty peace faded, that a frail, trembling voice echoed through the hall.
“Rise.”
The hoarse, dry, and slightly slurred voice cut through the silence like thunderclap in the ears of the courtiers.
Some gasped, others were visibly shaken – all eyes turned toward the high platform at the front of the hall, where the Emperor lay on the soft sedan chair, his eyes open.
The Emperor had awakened! The Emperor had awakened!
The court erupted into chaos. The censors’ rebukes proved futile – some wept, others cheered – until, finally, the ministers bowed and knelt, shouting in unison, “Long live the Emperor!”
Wave after wave of “long live” washed over them, sending shivers down their spines.
This was the intoxicating, dizzying power of the Son of Heaven. Once seated upon that throne, basking in the worship and reverence of all, could anyone ever willingly give it up?
As the kneeling ministers’ initial fervor subsided, their gazes drifted upward, half-illuminated, half-shadowed. Amid the bowed heads of the entire court, the Crown Prince, who remained standing, stood out starkly – a vivid contrast to the seated emperor upon the dais, one above, the other below.
On the soft sedan chair, the Emperor slowly raised his hand. A palace attendant hurried forward, bowing low.
“Speak,” the Emperor uttered a single word.
The courtiers had risen to their feet and steadied themselves. They could now see clearly that although the Emperor had awakened, his body remained rigid. He could only lift his hand slightly, blink, and seemed capable of uttering only one word at a time.
“His Majesty has words to convey,” the palace attendant announced loudly on the emperor’s behalf.
The courtiers bowed once more.
“I… am… ill.”
As they listened with heads bowed, the Emperor managed to produce three words. Though brief, these words allowed the courtiers to see that the Emperor’s mind was clear.
A drunken person does not know they are drunk; a mad or foolish person does not recognize their own condition.
To be aware of one’s illness, though still a patient, is to be a conscious patient.
Conscious – then did the Emperor understand the earth-shattering changes that had taken place?
The courtiers raised their heads, their expressions complex, and their gazes once again settled on the Crown Prince.
This was not a Crown Prince chosen by the Emperor. How would a now-conscious Emperor treat him?
The once chaotic court hall suddenly fell silent.
…
In the Emperor’s bedchamber, the Empress sat upright, her expression somewhat blank.
“Your Majesty, do not worry,” Consort An, who had been pacing back and forth, stopped and said softly. “Everything will be fine.”
“Fine or not, it all ends in death,” the Empress replied. “It is simply this feeling I dislike.”
“What feeling?” Consort An asked.
“The feeling of waiting,” the Empress said.
As her words fell, hurried footsteps echoed from outside.
“Your Majesty,” a group of palace attendants entered and bowed to the Empress. “His Majesty has sent us to retrieve the Imperial Seal.”
During the Emperor’s unconsciousness, the Crown Prince had acted as regent, but the Imperial Seal had remained in the Empress’s hands.
Now that the Emperor was conscious again, the Seal was to be returned to its rightful master.
The Empress closed her eyes briefly, then opened them and raised her hand slightly.
An attendant nearby promptly turned and entered the inner chamber, emerging moments later holding the Imperial Seal.
The arriving attendant stepped forward to receive it, bowed once more, and withdrew.
Unable to contain herself, Consort An hurried to the door, leaning against the frame as she watched the attendants gradually disappear into the distance.
…
The Imperial Seal was raised high and, under the gaze of the courtiers, presented before the Emperor.
The Emperor’s eyes rested upon the Seal.
“I…”
He uttered two words word.
“…am ill.”
“Your Majesty’s dragon-like health will surely recover,” a courtier called out loudly, bowing as he spoke.
The quiet court hall was immediately filled once more with wishes and blessings.
When these sounds gradually subsided, the emperor slowly raised his hand.
The palace attendant promptly stepped forward, offering the Imperial Seal. The Emperor’s hand came to rest upon it.
The Son of Heaven had finally reclaimed his power.
The great hall fell silent.
Now that the Emperor had regained his authority, what would his first act be?
All eyes were fixed upon the Emperor’s hand.
In what seemed like a blink, yet also like an eternity, the Emperor slowly raised his hand and pointed in a certain direction.
Everyone’s gaze followed.
The Crown Prince.
The Emperor was pointing at the Crown Prince.
“Come,” the Emperor said.
Fang Bocong looked toward the Emperor, his expression calm as he bowed and then stepped forward a few paces before bowing once more.
“Come,” the Emperor repeated.
Fang Bocong paused briefly, then took another step forward, stopping three or four paces from the Emperor and bowing again.
“Come,” the Emperor said once more.
Fang Bocong stepped forward again, this time directly before the Emperor. He lifted the hem of his robe and knelt.
“Take,” the Emperor said, pushing the Imperial Seal toward him.
Take!
A collective gasp swept through the hall.
Abdication – it was an abdication! The Emperor was abdicating!
Fang Bocong looked at the Emperor, his expression a mix of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming emotion.
The Emperor met his gaze, his stiff hand pushing the Imperial Seal forward once more.
“Wei… lang…” he uttered slowly. “Take… it.”
Fang Bocong raised his hands high, then bowed deeply, his forehead touching the floor.
“Your servant obeys the decree.”
“The Supreme Emperor is wise!” Zhang Chun called out loudly, bowing as he knelt.
Following his lead, the courtiers knelt one after another.
“The Supreme Emperor is wise!”
“The Supreme Emperor is wise!”
When they looked up again, they saw Fang Bocong accepting the Imperial Seal.
“Long live the Emperor!”
“Long live the Emperor!”
…
“Abdication?”
This news spread through the capital like the wind, then raced outward by express courier to every corner of the land.
“I truly never expected His Majesty to abdicate.”
In teahouses and wine shops across the capital, chatter buzzed endlessly, everyone talking of nothing else.
“That Crown Prince is truly fortunate. Now his reputation is pure and untarnished.”
“Who would have thought Crown Prince Wei would dare to request His Majesty to attend court? Last night, we thought…”
If the Emperor had passed away, the events of the previous night could have been spoken of freely. But now, and in the future, there was nothing left to say.
Someone chuckled softly.
“What is there to fear in that?”
A few people seated nearby turned to look. They saw a young man wrapped in a cloak stand up, his hood pulled low, obscuring his face. But their attention wasn’t on his face – it was on the two crutches tucked beneath his arms.
Yet after saying those words, he simply turned and slowly made his way out, leaning on the crutches, without adding anything further.
The people at the nearby table paid him no further mind and continued their casual conversation and laughter.
“…So when will the enthronement be scheduled?”
“…It shouldn’t be long, right? Definitely before the new year.”
The intermittent thud of crutches punctuated their conversation and laughter.
The sound of the crutches paused briefly at the doorway.
“Of course he dares – he’s already built up enough momentum,” the cloaked figure said slowly, glancing back into the room. “What other choice does the emperor have now? The Emperor isn’t a fool. Rather than risk mutual destruction, why not secure a peaceful rest of his life?”
He then turned to look outside, where the street bustled with people coming and going.
“Daring to become Emperor is nothing special. If he dares to appoint an Empress – now that would truly take courage.”
Daring to bring a seriously ill, barely conscious emperor to court – would you dare to appoint a living corpse as Empress?
Would you dare?
His hands tightened around the crutches, veins bulging.
Would you dare!
