In the imperial palace, Emperor Taikang was punishing Xing Muzheng by having him fan the alchemy furnace’s flames. Xing Muzheng had been shut away alone for several days and still refused to yield. Taikang Emperor, angered by his obstinacy, would not see him—making him fan the furnace by day and reflect on his faults at night.
From behind the curtain, the Emperor peeked at Xing Muzheng, who sat on a small stool with the fan in hand, performing the errand like a servant boy without complaint, the snake fang pendant on his chest swaying back and forth. All this for a woman—he fears nothing, not even my punishment. The Emperor’s anger rose, and he let the curtain fall with a thump.
Xing Muzheng slanted a glance toward the green curtain, then calmly withdrew his gaze and kept fanning, unhurried.
Mao Qi followed behind the Emperor, cautiously asking, “Your Majesty, with the Marquis holding so firm, what should we do?”
“If that brat still won’t take the hint,” Taikang Emperor said fiercely, “I’ll first send an edict to have his wife put to death—let’s see if he still keeps that mouth stiff!”
With a sharp flick of his sleeve, the Emperor stormed off to the imperial study. On the golden-thread nanmu desk carved with dragon patterns lay several memorials from Hang Zhi, awaiting the Emperor’s decision. Occasionally, he would annotate them himself, but more often sent them back for the regent ministers to decide.
Slumping into the dragon chair, he irritably snatched up the top memorial and began fanning his own face with it. After a while, he opened it at random and glanced over it—his face darkened.
At that moment, a young eunuch entered quickly, head lowered. “Reporting to Your Majesty: His Highness the Crown Prince requests an audience outside.”
“Let him in,” the Emperor said in a deep voice, tossing the memorial back onto the desk.
Moments later, Wu Hong entered with bowed head and made a respectful salute. “Your son Wu Hong greets Royal Father. May Royal Father live ten thousand years.”
“Rise,” the Emperor said lazily.
Wu Hong stood and made small talk for a while. The Emperor, picking up another memorial, asked, “So—why have you come to see me today?”
Glancing cautiously at his father’s expression, Wu Hong tested the waters. “Your son has heard that Royal Father has kept Marquis Dingxi in the palace for several days… May I ask the reason?”
“This matter need not concern you,” said the Emperor, calling Wu Hong forward to grind his ink. “What—are you here to plead for him too?”
“No, no,” Wu Hong hurried forward, bowing over the inkstone. “Your son knows Royal Father has his reasons.”
“Good that you know.”
Father and son fell silent for a time—one grinding ink, the other reading memorials. Wu Hong stole a few glances: nothing more than the usual reports of natural disasters and misfortunes. When the Emperor finished reading, Wu Hong stacked the memorials neatly, noticing one still set aside. He thoughtfully reminded the Emperor, but the Emperor merely glanced at it and said it could wait.
Wu Hong then seized the moment. “May I ask—how does Royal Father intend to deal with Marquis Dingxi?”
Setting down the purple sandalwood brush, the Emperor asked, “And how does the Crown Prince think I should deal with him?”
Wu Hong’s eyes shifted. After a moment’s hesitation, as if steeling himself, he said, “Your son believes… Marquis Dingxi should be… executed.” As he spoke, he chopped downward with his hand like a blade.
The Emperor’s gaze suddenly changed; he raised his head to look at Wu Hong intently. “And why does the Crown Prince say so? Has Marquis Dingxi, in your eyes, committed crimes worthy of death?”
Wu Hong thought the Emperor was testing his stance, so he said carefully, “While perhaps not ten crimes deserving death, he certainly should be executed. He already holds merit greater than his ruler; though he claimed to retire willingly, he dared to kill my concubine in the Crown Prince’s residence without restraint—clearly he has no regard for the royal family. In my opinion, his retirement is a sham; rebellion is his true aim.”
“Xing Muzheng killed your concubine in your own residence? And this happened?” The Emperor frowned. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
Wu Hong froze, uncertain whether his father truly didn’t know or was feigning ignorance. Swallowing, he began slowly: “Royal Father, in the end, it was merely a misunderstanding. On the Crown Princess’s birthday, your son was happy and drank a few extra cups. Somehow, drunk and dazed, I ended up in my concubine’s courtyard. As it happened, Marquis Dingxi’s wife, Madam Qian, had her clothes soiled during the banquet, and she was in my concubine’s rooms changing clothes. I accidentally walked in, saw nothing, and passed out. Yet Marquis Dingxi barged into my inner quarters over this, and without a word killed my concubine, saying she was guilty of negligence! Even if she truly was guilty, he should have waited for me to awaken and deal with her personally—but instead he killed her in my own rear court with a single sword! I say he’s utterly arrogant, beyond all bounds!”
“Oh? He’s arrogant beyond all bounds?” The Emperor propped his hands on the table and stood. “I think you’re the arrogant one!”
With a thunderous roar, the Emperor slapped the Crown Prince hard across the face. Wu Hong staggered back two or three steps, clutching his cheek and staring blankly at his father. But the Emperor wasn’t done—he stepped forward, grabbed him, and slapped him left and right in quick succession. Wu Hong, who had been Crown Prince since birth and never once struck, was stunned senseless. His fair, tender face swelled red and puffy like a pig’s head; even his nose began to bleed.
Panting heavily, the Emperor found him all the more detestable. He had long known of the Crown Prince’s liaisons with other men’s concubines and had turned a blind eye, thinking him merely young and headstrong. But who could have guessed he would set his sights on a minister’s legitimate wife—and that wife was none other than Xing Muzheng’s!
Not a single servant followed him, not even one from the concubines’ quarters; he just barged straight into the room like that. Did he take everyone for fools? And claiming he was drunk and saw nothing—obviously he had been caught red-handed, then lay there pretending to be dead! That was the official wife of Dingxi Marquis in Great Xie, and what’s more, she was Xing Muzheng’s beloved wife. And he dared to act recklessly! The dignified crown prince, doing such filthy, vile things, and still having the face to come here to complain—wanting him to kill a meritorious subject over this one fool. Did this stupid pig want to drag him down into the mud too, so he could be accused of harming loyal officials and become the laughingstock of the world? Or did he want to chill the hearts of his ministers, so that the Wu family’s empire would be ruined in his hands?
“Royal Father! Royal Father, what did your son say wrong, that you would strike me?” Wu Hong dropped to his knees with a thud at Emperor Taikang’s feet, sobbing as he clutched the emperor’s thigh. “Has Xing Muzheng spoken ill of me? Could it be that you would believe an outsider and not believe your own flesh and blood? I am your biological son! That wretch Xing Muzheng must be deliberately sowing discord between father and son, so he can take advantage of the rift to raise the banner of rebellion!”
Hearing this, Emperor Taikang’s anger surged higher and higher. He gave him a fierce kick. “He hasn’t said a single word—yet all I hear is you sowing discord between ruler and subject! How could I have such a beast for a son, hmm? A gentleman can be killed but not humiliated—you defiled another man’s wife, and you still have the face to come here and turn truth into lies! You want me to kill Xing Muzheng so you can take his wife for yourself, is that it? I—I’ll kill you!” The more Emperor Taikang spoke, the angrier he became. He fetched the Seven-Star Treasure Sword, drew it, and swung it down toward Wu Hong. Terrified, Wu Hong scrambled and rolled out the door, grabbing Mao Qi—who had been eavesdropping outside—like clutching the last straw for survival. “Royal Father wants to kill me! Quick, call Royal Mother and the Empress Dowager!”
By the time the Empress and Empress Dowager hurried over, Wu Hong had already taken two sword cuts to his arm from Emperor Taikang, his clothes dyed red with blood as he lay on the ground wailing. Empress Zhang was so frightened that she wept and pleaded alongside the Empress Dowager, and only then did Emperor Taikang agree to let the Crown Prince go for medical treatment. Noble Consort Liang also rushed over upon hearing the news, busily soothing the emperor’s temper. Yet Emperor Taikang’s face remained grim; he ordered the Crown Prince to be sent back to his residence under confinement. Without his imperial decree, no one was to release him, and no one was allowed to plead for him.
This was house arrest.
Empress Zhang nearly fainted on the spot. For the Crown Prince to be put under house arrest meant the emperor no longer cared about preserving his heir’s dignity—the crown prince had lost the sovereign’s favor.
Noble Consort Liang mouthed words of “Your Majesty, calm yourself” and “Your Majesty, think twice,” but in secret she was delighted.
~
At the Hong Tai residence, Ma Dongchang came over after finishing an assignment to discuss countermeasures with Hong Tai, only to see Hong Tai with two great dark circles under his eyes, looking completely dejected. Ma Dongchang was startled. “Brother, what’s wrong with you? Even if you’re worried about Muzheng, you should take care of yourself!”
Hong Tai wiped his face. “It’s not that I’m worried about Muzheng so I can’t sleep—I truly haven’t been able to sleep at all.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Ah, brother… even in the military camp, I’ve never seen such frequent night raids!”
It turned out that, at Xing Muzheng’s request, Hong Tai had kept Qian Jiaoniang and the others in the Hong residence by force. But in the past few nights, black-clad men had broken into his estate night after night, sometimes even in two or three separate waves. From midnight onwards, there was no peace, and they all seemed to be after Muzheng’s wife. This was the first time Hong Tai had seen a woman who could attract so much trouble. Because of it, he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days.
“Have you managed to find out who these men are?”
Hong Tai shook his head. “They’re all like deathsworn assassins, but their martial arts styles aren’t all from the same school, and none carry anything that could identify them.”
Ma Dongchang stroked his chin. “And Muzheng’s wife—how has she been these days?”
“Her? She’s perfectly fine! Her husband’s been put under imperial house arrest, yet she’s not anxious in the least—spending her days reading, practicing the qin, embroidering, and singing songs, as free and easy as you please!” Hong Tai snorted through his nose. All this he had heard from his own wife, who had said she’d never seen a woman with a bigger heart than Qian Jiaoniang.
“I’d say she just doesn’t care about Muzheng,” Ma Dongchang said. “But then again, Muzheng came specially to your house that day—he must have already calculated that this disaster would befall him, right?”
Hong Tai nodded. “That day he told me: if he didn’t come back, I was to keep his wife and children here until his return.”
“But the imperial family listens to no one—they’ve kept Muzheng in the palace all this time. Who knows when he’ll return!” Ma Dongchang sighed. Though the imperial clan seemed half-detached from the world, the emperor was still the emperor. This confinement was essentially a final warning; if Muzheng remained obstinate, he likely would not meet a good end.
Hong Tai said, “I only know one situation in which Muzheng will come back.”
“What situation?”
Hong Tai glanced toward the rear courtyard, and the words Muzheng had spoken that day rang in his mind: “Brother Hong, if the imperial family sends someone to grant Jiaoniang death, you must hold them off for one or two hours. Two hours later, I will return.”
Could it be that only when things came to that point would Muzheng leave the palace?
