Outside, wind and rain lashed the night. Lightning tore bright wounds across the sky, and after each blinding flash came a deafening peal of thunder, then silence, and darkness once more.
Su Yan was trapped by the heavy rain inside the tomb lodge on the southeastern slope of Zhong Mountain. The thunder was deafening, making it impossible to sleep, so he threw on an outer robe and began playing Thirteen Cards with the Crown Prince, using a deck he had personally modified.
The cat Lihua woke up, frightened by the thunder, and kept rubbing against Su Yan’s leg. Su Yan chuckled, set down his cards, and scooped the cat into his arms to pet them.
The Crown Prince glared at the cat in mock anger. “Traitor! Who feeds you dried fish every day? Who brushes your fur? And yet the moment he shows up, you defect to him!”
“Who are you calling the enemy?” Su Yan countered.
The Crown Prince said righteously, “At the card table, there are no fathers and sons, nor lovers.”
Feeling he was being teased, Su Yan’s face darkened. He plopped the cat down on the table and retorted, “How can you say that? Your lover’s right here!”
The two were still bickering when suddenly there came a rapid pounding on the door, mixed with rain and thunder, barely audible through the storm.
“Your Highness… Your Highness!”
The Crown Prince recognized the voice, it was Wei Liangzi, the commander of the Eastern Palace guards. He got up, slipped on his shoes, and went to open the door.
Commander Wei stood there, drenched from head to toe. Wiping rain from his face, he said, “Your Highness, a messenger has arrived, from the palace!”
“What palace? The Nanjing palace has been empty for years, ah!” The Crown Prince suddenly realized, his face lighting up with joy. “You mean the imperial palace in the capital! It must be a messenger from my Royal Father! Where’s the letter?”
Wei Liangzi gestured toward the corridor outside.
The Crown Prince stepped out of the room and turned, there in the corridor stood a detachment of imperial guards, thirty or forty in total. Their leader held in both hands a sealed, waterproof box inlaid with gold and painted with dragons, the kind used to carry imperial edicts.
“His Highness the Crown Prince is to receive the decree,” the lead guard announced.
At last… Royal Father is summoning me back to the capital! The Crown Prince suppressed his excitement, drew a deep breath, and carefully accepted the box. He opened it with his own hands.
Inside lay a roll of yellow silk. Tears welled up as he smiled and unfolded it to read.
Su Yan came out lazily from the inner room, robe draped over his shoulders, cat still in his arms. What he saw was the Crown Prince’s profile, and his trembling hands.
That trembling spread from his fingers to his arms, then through his entire body. Suddenly, Zhu Helin crumpled the edict into a ball and hurled it to the ground, roaring like a trapped beast on the verge of death: “No! I don’t believe it!”
Su Yan and the cat both startled. Lihua leapt from his arms and bolted back inside. Su Yan quickly stepped forward, picked up the silk scroll, and scanned it at a glance, his face turned pale.
—-It was an edict of deposition.
The Crown Prince was stripped of title, demoted to commoner status, exiled to Lingnan, and granted a “farewell cup” of imperial wine.
Anyone who had ever watched a few historical dramas knew that this “imperial wine” was almost never wine, it was poison. Su Yan’s first reaction was to snatch the small gold bottle from the bottom of the box, yank off the lid without hesitation, and pour the contents out into the rain outside.
The movements were so swift they almost blurred. But the guard holding the box was equally alert, his reflexes quick as lightning. He seized Su Yan’s wrist in an iron grip and barked, “Insolence! How dare you defile an imperial gift?!”
Pain shot up Su Yan’s arm as his wrist was nearly crushed. Gritting his teeth, he used his other hand to grab the bottle and fling it hard into the muddy courtyard. He shouted in a ringing voice, “Who are you people, daring to impersonate the imperial guards and deliver a false edict to murder the heir apparent?!”
A thunderclap split the sky overhead, as if heaven itself roared in outrage. Su Yan’s furious cry rose even louder than the storm: “Eastern Palace guards, arrest them! Any who resist, kill without mercy!”
Were they truly false messengers? Could they act on Su Yan’s word alone? The palace guards hesitated, glancing toward the Crown Prince in shock.
The Crown Prince stared at Su Yan, his facial muscles twitching with uncontrollable emotion, the light in his eyes blazing like a red-hot blade on a forge.
He clenched his fist hard and rasped, “Do as Minister Su says! If there’s any mistake… I’ll take full responsibility!”
With those words, the Eastern Palace guards finally dared to act.
Though their number had been reduced to only twenty or thirty after the Crown Prince’s banishment, every one of them was elite. At his command, they drew their weapons without hesitation and charged forward.
The lead “imperial guard” threw off Su Yan’s hand and drew his embroidered-spring blade. “Defying an imperial edict, attacking the envoy, you all have a death wish!”
Su Yan clutched his wrist, retreating several steps until he stumbled back into Zhu Helin’s arms.
Zhu Helin pulled him out of the melee and asked, “Your hand, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” Su Yan bent down to pick up the yellow silk and examined it carefully under the lamplight. “This isn’t His Majesty’s handwriting! But the ‘Seal of the Son of Heaven’… looks genuine.”
Zhu Helin forced down his agitation and took a closer look. “Royal Father sometimes has the eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonies draft edicts, it’s not always in his own hand. That proves nothing.”
Su Yan gritted his teeth. “This isn’t His Majesty’s will! I say it’s not, so it’s not!”
“…Fine. I believe you.” Zhu Helin tore a strip from his sleeve and wrapped it around Su Yan’s bruised wrist. “Then whose handiwork is this false decree? Mister He? The Player?”
Su Yan shook his head. “If the jade seal is genuine, it must have come from someone within the palace, someone of the highest rank.”
—-The Empress Dowager!
Their eyes met, the same realization dawning between them.
If someone as shrewd and controlling as the Emperor had allowed the Empress Dowager to get hold of the imperial seal and forge an edict, what could that mean?
Su Yan gripped Zhu Helin’s sleeve and said in a low voice, “Your Highness, something is wrong. There must be upheaval in the palace. For safety’s sake, you should leave this place at once.”
“I have nowhere to go.” Zhu Helin looked toward the closed doors, where the clash of weapons, shouts, and rolling thunder mingled into chaos, no telling who held the upper hand. “Leaving the tomb lodge would mean defying the edict, that’s treason, punishable by death. Staying here means danger to my life. Even if we kill this group, another will come. Either way, it’s death.”
He muttered hoarsely, almost to himself, “Am I truly… out of all roads to take?”
Suddenly, a thought flashed through Su Yan’s mind. He reached into his robe, searching frantically. Not finding it, his expression changed, he patted himself up and down, anxious. “Your Highness, have you seen a brocade pouch I always keep on me?”
“A brocade pouch?” Zhu Helin frowned. “No. You keep it on you, don’t you? I’ve never gone through your clothes.”
Su Yan had shot him a glare, suspecting that during their card game earlier, he might have moved too much and dropped it on the bed.
He hurried back to the inner chamber and looked, ah, there it was, being toyed with by the cat. The big tabby was curiously pawing and sniffing at the brocade pouch, clearly fascinated by it.
“Lihua, Grandma!” Su Yan cried out in alarm. “Don’t bite it, absolutely don’t bite! Let go, be good, give it to Daddy, come on, let go…”
It took considerable effort before he managed to wrestle the pouch from Lihua’s mouth. Carefully, Su Yan undid the seal. Zhu Helin leaned over to take a look.
Inside the pouch was a folded piece of yellow silk, on the back of which were written characters: “For the Crown Prince only.”
There was also a strange little metal object shaped like a running tiger, lifelike from whiskers to tail. It was covered in intricate inlaid gold script, hollow within, and only half a piece, its right side.
Su Yan studied the half tiger token, wondering if it could be the legendary tiger tally used to command troops. Meanwhile, Zhu Helin had already scanned the contents of the silk in one quick glance.
“…What’s wrong?” Su Yan asked, noticing the prince’s strange expression, he couldn’t tell if it was sorrow or joy. “Is that silk an edict from His Majesty to you, my lord? What does it say?”
Zhu Helin slowly shook his head. “Not an edict. It’s—”
He bit his lip, refolded the silk, and placed it back into the pouch along with Su Yan’s half of the tiger tally. Then he tucked the pouch securely into his own robe.
“Qinghe,” Zhu Helin said, gripping Su Yan’s shoulders with a look of unprecedented gravity, “come back to the capital with me.”
“Back to the capital? You’re not afraid of defying the decree anymore?” Su Yan blinked at him, puzzled.
“Though I don’t yet know what has happened in the Imperial Palace,” Zhu Helin said, pressing a hand over the pouch through his robe, “the fact that my Royal Father would entrust this to me means something tremendous is about to happen.”
He didn’t elaborate, and Su Yan was left in the fog.
Outside, the sounds of fighting had ceased. A knock came at the door, followed by Commander Wei’s breathless voice: “My lord, the outside is secure!”
Zhu Helin opened the door. Rainwater had washed over the courtyard, where corpses of Embroidered Uniform Guard lay scattered, turning the paving stones crimson.
Roughly a third of the Eastern Palace guards had fallen, and many were wounded. Commander Wei, splattered with blood, leaned on his sword. “They refused to surrender, we slew over thirty, but seven or eight escaped.”
Zhu Helin helped him up. “You’ve all done well. But we can’t rest yet, the enemy’s reinforcements could arrive at any time. Dress your wounds, ready the horses, and prepare to depart at once!”
“Where to, my lord? Nanjing… or back to the capital?” Wei asked.
“To the Xiaoling Mausoleum,” Zhu Helin replied.
The Xiaoling Mausoleum lay on the southern slope of Mount Zhong, not far from the tomb residence where they were staying. But the night was dark, the rain heavy, the mountain paths slippery and treacherous.
Wrapped in straw rain cloaks and carrying torches that guttered in the wind, the party trudged onward, ankle-deep in mud. By the time they reached the Shen Gong Gate of Xiaoling, the sky had begun to pale with dawn.
The rain cleared; the first rays of sunlight broke through.
Zhu Helin led Su Yan to a tall tower beside the auxiliary hall of the mausoleum, a structure resembling a watchtower. He ordered his men to break open a thin layer of bricks, revealing several barrels filled with coarse, black clumped material. They heaped it atop the platform and set it alight.
Thick black smoke rose in a dense column. Though the wind blew, it did not scatter, straight as a pillar, it pierced the clouds, visible from dozens of miles away.
Su Yan looked up and murmured, “Beacon smoke…”
He had seen it once on the northwestern border of Shaanxi, signal fires lit to warn of enemy invasion, passed from beacon tower to beacon tower. What could the Crown Prince hope to summon by lighting such a signal here, at the imperial mausoleum?
—-
The night’s rain had flooded the irrigation channels. Farmers, in twos and threes, carried their hoes toward the fields. One of them looked back, and froze. On the distant Mount Zhong, a column of black smoke was rising.
Morning birds chirped. A teacher lectured in his courtyard, rows of children seated neatly on stone benches, chanting from The Rhyming Pairs of Liweng. “‘Smoke tower to snow cave, moon palace to sky hall…’ Look! Look there! Such a huge plume of black smoke rising into the heavens!” cried one child in astonishment.
The farmers dropped their hoes.
The teacher set down his book.
The traveling peddler laid aside his yoke.
The old fisherman beneath the tree flung his rod, kicking both fish and basket into the river.
…
It was as though a vast, silent command had been issued. Across the land surrounding Mount Zhong, men of all trades, farmers, fishers, craftsmen, merchants, abruptly set aside their work and hurried home.
Before crossing their thresholds, they were common folk. When they stepped out again, they were soldiers, helmets donned, armor strapped, blades and spears in hand, bows at their waists.
Each left behind only one line: “The ruler summons; I answer the call.”
Some departed with wives and children staring wide-eyed after them.
As they marched, bands of men merged into squads, squads into companies, and companies into a great dark torrent that surged toward the rising smoke, toward Mount Zhong, toward the resting place of the founding emperor.
The guards at the mausoleum gate and the eunuchs of the sacred hall were struck dumb, not even daring to move to stop the flood of armed men.
Zhu Helin, pulling Su Yan by the hand, descended from the watchtower and strode to meet the approaching army at the gate.
At the forefront rode a commander clad in silver armor over a teal battle robe and skirt, a blue-lotus cloak whipping behind him in the wind. He strode forward and spoke in a deep, steady voice: “May I ask, where is the token?”
Zhu Helin and Su Yan both froze when they saw his face. “—Meizi?”
The commander’s voice turned sharp. “Where is the token?!”
Zhu Helin drew out the brocade pouch and handed over the half tiger tally.
The commander retrieved the other half from his own breast and fit them together, perfectly seamless. The gold-inlaid characters on the tiger’s body circled to form five small seal-script words: “Great Ming Xiaoling Guard.”
The commander knelt on one knee, clasping his fist in salute. “Commander of the Great Ming Xiaoling Guard, seventh in succession, Mei Changxi, pays respect to His Highness!”
—
The rain had just stopped. By the canal, Jinghong Zhui was carrying a bucket to fetch water, when he caught sight of several corpses lying motionless along the riverbank.
Drowned in the river? He set down the bucket and went closer to turn the man over.
One of them was still faintly breathing. Pressing a fist against the man’s abdomen, he forced out several mouthfuls of muddy water. Then, channeling inner energy through his meridians, he revived him, coughing violently back to life.
The man’s clothing was of fine material and exquisite workmanship, certainly not something a commoner could afford. His palms were calloused at the tiger’s mouth; he was trained in martial arts and carried the air of an official. Jinghong Zhui quickly assessed the situation and asked, “Who are you people?”
“…We’re government couriers from the capital,” the man rasped between coughs. “Please, young sir, inform the local authorities, have the yamen send men to escort me.”
Jinghong Zhui hoisted him onto his back and started down the village path toward town.
The man, grateful, explained, “It’s been raining for days. The grain barge we were riding capsized. All my companions drowned, I’m the only one left.”
“I’ll take you to the county office,” Jinghong Zhui said. “You can tell the magistrate yourself. If he doesn’t believe you, you’ll be the one sitting in jail.”
The man replied, “Your magistrate had better believe me, and he’d best send an escort at once, otherwise he can’t afford the consequences of any delay.”
Jinghong Zhui found him amusing, down on his luck, yet proud, much like his own younger self. So he asked, half in jest, “What consequences? The sky gonna fall or something?”
The man touched the imperial edict hidden in his breast and murmured, “Even if it doesn’t all collapse… half of it already has.”
Twelve days later, when the man was still a short distance from Nanjing, a group of so-called Embroidered Uniform Guard, carrying a forged imperial decree, had already arrived first at the tomb residence on Mount Zhong.
