At the edge of the sky, a sliver of fish-belly white appeared. In the Hall of Mental Cultivation, the candle flames that had burned through the night finally guttered out. With a sharp crack, a charred wick fell to the floor, crumbling into ash.
Emperor Shunyuan forced himself to hold on to the last threads of his strength as he sat rigidly upon the throne, waiting in silence for news from the other end of the palace.
Now that matters had come to this, his heart was broken, yet there was nothing he could do.
The Crown Prince was so consumed by his love for a man that he would cast aside the Great Qian Empire itself. He was unworthy to inherit the throne and could only lead the dynasty toward ruin.
Liu Quan was still kneeling on the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold tiles, tears streaming without end.
Emperor Shunyuan did not look at him. He neither told him to rise nor scolded him or ordered him away.
After several decades at his side, Liu Quan was no longer merely a servant. He was the sole witness to all the emperor’s loneliness, all his hidden affairs, and all the grief he could never speak of to anyone else.
A moment ago, Consort Zhen had said she was going to check on Zhaoyue. She had left and never returned.
The hall grew even more desolate. At the moment when this solitary ruler had resolved to cast aside his own son, he found himself craving even the slightest trace of another person’s warmth, just enough to keep him standing.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside the hall. The young eunuch had forgotten every rule of propriety. He came tumbling into the room on hands and knees, weeping as though his heart were being torn apart.
“Your Majesty! Something terrible has happened! His Highness the Sixth Prince… His Highness the Sixth Prince was pierced through the heart by a hundred arrows and died atop the Meridian Gate tower! His Highness the Crown Prince has already led his men into the Forbidden City!”
“What?!”
Emperor Shunyuan felt the world go black. His head spun, and his frail body swayed atop the throne, nearly pitching over the side. A surge of acrid sweetness rushed up his throat, filling his mouth with the taste of blood.
“Your Majesty!”
“Your Majesty!”
He could not believe it. Shen Zheng had truly staged a palace coup. Were the five thousand imperial guards merely for show? How had they been defeated so quickly? Could it be that every one of his subjects had truly given their allegiance to Shen Zheng?
It was the first time in his life that Wen Zhuo had ridden a horse within the palace walls. His view was higher than usual, and the soles of his boots could not reach the green bricks of the long imperial avenue.
On either side, eunuchs and palace guards bowed and knelt. Their greetings drifted over from a distance, ethereal and unfamiliar.
This was an imperial majesty that belonged solely to the emperor. For some inexplicable reason, Wen Zhuo felt a sudden panic and instinctively turned to look at Shen Zheng behind him.
Shen Zheng lowered his head with a smile and reached out to brush away the loose strands of hair at Wen Zhuo’s cheek. Only then did Wen Zhuo relax.
He tried to look down the long imperial avenue through Shen Zheng’s eyes.
And he seemed to see himself from his previous life: drenched in blood, meeting his tragic end.
The horse’s hooves trampled over the final green brick, shattering the nightmare that had entangled him for an entire lifetime. At last, he could walk this path openly and with dignity. He no longer needed to look back. He no longer needed to be afraid.
Shen Zheng drew rein and stopped before the Hall of Mental Cultivation.
The vast palace grounds were so silent that one could hear a pin drop. The morning breeze carried the damp chill of dawn. Fallen leaves lay wet with dew upon the ground, as if they still held tears that had not yet dried.
He dismounted, then carefully lifted Wen Zhuo down from the horse. The doors of the Hall of Mental Cultivation stood wide open. The candles had gone out, leaving the interior shrouded in darkness, silent as death.
The two of them stepped side by side onto the raised stone terrace and entered the hall one step at a time.
Though only half a day had passed, everything felt completely different.
In the darkness, Wen Zhuo gazed at Emperor Shunyuan, seated in silence. All he could see was a withered skeleton, trapped for an entire lifetime by imperial power and obsession, now on the verge of death.
Shen Zheng stood motionless, staring deeply at the utterly defeated Emperor Shunyuan. His voice held not a trace of warmth.
“Shen Chen, the emperor’s sixth son, harbors treasonous designs. He has secretly plotted rebellion, gathered a cabal of traitors, conspired within the palace, deceived his sovereign, and murdered loyal subjects. I personally led the armies to quell this national calamity, proclaimed his crimes, and brought him to justice. I seized and executed the wretch before the palace gates, piercing his heart with a volley of arrows, to purge the treachery at Your Majesty’s side, restore order within the palace, and secure the Great Qian realm. Father, after so many years on the throne, you are advanced in age and weary of state affairs, no longer able to bear their burden. From this day forward, you shall abdicate. I will take charge of all military and state matters. Are you satisfied with how things stand today?”
Emperor Shunyuan raised his eyes and glared at the son who now stood before him, so formidable and imposing. He trembled with rage, and blood frothed from his mouth as soon as he tried to speak.
“You would follow Li Chengqian’s example, defy the natural order, and commit treason by forcing your way into the palace!”
Shen Zheng looked down at the old man, stubbornly blind to the truth, bound by the chains of his own making for a lifetime.
“I am no Li Chengqian. And you, Father, are no Emperor Taizong of Tang. Director Wen is no court musician to be slaughtered at will, either.”
“You… you…” Emperor Shunyuan was so enraged he could not find the words.
Wen Zhuo had watched in silence for some time. At last, he could hold back no longer. His voice was weak, yet unnervingly calm. “After more than twenty years of torment, the only solution Your Majesty can conceive is to kill Consort Chen a second time?”
“What did you say?!”
Emperor Shunyuan stiffened. Then every muscle and bone in his body began to tremble violently. At last, he understood who had written those two books of palace secrets—and who had used his suspicions to help him purge his enemies!
Wen Zhuo straightened his clothes, suppressing a cough, and stepped forward. His eyes, so like Consort Chen’s, lowered as he regarded the emperor calmly. “I never imagined that, twenty years later, what Your Majesty would want to do is personally kill Consort Chen once more.”
Emperor Shunyuan suddenly could not bear to meet Wen Zhuo’s gaze. The blood that had been lodged in his throat for so long surged up at last, and he spat it across the table.
A wet, rasping wheeze came from his throat. Through his blurring vision, he mistook Wen Zhuo for Ying Xingluo.
That man stood not far away, gazing at him in silence, asking again and again: Why must you kill me a second time?
“Xingluo! Xingluo! I didn’t…” He slid from the dragon throne and fell. His withered fingers clawed wildly at the air, but closed on nothing.
Only now did he finally understand how the deadlock from all those years ago could have been broken. It was something he had not dared to imagine, had not dared to do—and yet it was the only way.
Seize the throne by force.
The one who had wanted Ying Xingluo dead back then was not ancestral law, nor propriety, nor the pressure of the court officials. It was the emperor on the throne.
First his father. Then himself.
He crashed heavily to the ground, his crown askew, his white hair disheveled and falling across his bloodshot eyes.
“Your Majesty! Send for the imperial physician!”
Liu Quan dropped to his knees and rushed forward to support Emperor Shunyuan. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed uncontrollably.
Emperor Shunyuan clutched his arm tightly. But when he came to his senses and realized Liu Quan had secretly aided Shen Zheng and told Wen Zhuo the truth about Consort Chen, fury surged through him. He shoved Liu Quan away.
“Get out… You betrayed me and pledged yourself to a new master… I will never, ever forgive you!”
Liu Quan struck his forehead heavily against the floor, his voice desolate and grief-stricken. “This servant has never betrayed Your Majesty! At Qingping Mountain, even if the Crown Prince had not gone, Director Wen would still have died! This servant… merely gave him the same chance Your Majesty was given all those years ago!”
Emperor Shunyuan collapsed to the ground, no longer able to support himself. At those words, he suddenly raised his head, his eyes filled with nothing but bewilderment.
Liu Quan closed his eyes and spoke bitterly. “This servant entered the palace at the age of nine. My adoptive father taught me that, in these deep palace walls, the only way to survive is to choose one master and serve him, remaining steadfast unto death. Yet my adoptive father also said that mere survival was not enough. If people of our lowly station wished to leave even the slightest trace of a good name in the annals of history, and avoid becoming the ones who brought ruin upon the realm, then amid times of turmoil, we must preserve a heart of benevolence and compassion. We must pity the loneliness and hardship of our fellow eunuchs, the sorrow and suffering of the women within the palace, and the helpless isolation of young sovereigns.”
“In the final years of the Kangzhen era, Your Majesty had fallen deeply in love with Consort Chen and could never let her go. When the late emperor learned of it, he flew into a rage and immediately resolved to have her killed. I was ordered to deal with the matter, but I could not bear to inflict punishment with a thousand cuts and only add to her suffering. So I used a packet of sleeping powder to render Consort Chen unconscious, then set the residence ablaze. I only wished that, when Her Highness’s soul departed this world, she would be spared all pain.”
“Though that side residence was in a remote location, the flames rose fiercely, and black smoke blotted out the moon. The common people were startled awake, and the entire neighborhood fell into an uproar. That night, Your Majesty… you awoke as well, did you not? I was keeping watch outside the door and heard you knock over the candlestick.”
Emperor Shunyuan’s expression changed drastically. All color drained from his face, and his entire body stiffened like a withered tree. He ceased even to breathe.
That night, for some unknown reason, he had been drenched in sweat, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. In the middle of the night, he heard the commotion in the streets. When he rose, he knocked over a bronze basin and stumbled to the window—only to see flames soaring into the heavens in the distance.
Through a pane of translucent tile, the orange glow fell into his eyes, stabbing them with pain.
Terrified and helpless, he collapsed to the floor. He did not dare imagine that it was Consort Chen’s residence, and instead deceived himself into believing that some commoner’s home had caught fire.
He sat there in a stupor through the night, until dawn broke and the fire was finally extinguished.
In a panic, he rushed for the door. But just as one boot crossed the threshold, a servant hurriedly reported that the side residence had caught fire the previous night, and Consort Chen had been reduced to ashes.
Liu Quan reached out and, just as he had done countless times over the decades, gently straightened the emperor’s askew crown tassels. His movements were practiced, yet filled with sorrow.
“My adoptive father was always meticulous in his plans. The fire was started in the front courtyard; it would take half an hour to spread to the rear courtyard. In the dark alley, dozens of palace attendants were also stationed with buckets of water, ready for any eventuality. Had Your Majesty stepped through that door that night, and—as the Crown Prince had done—hurried headlong toward the residence, the late emperor had only one son. Would those attendants have dared not extinguish the flames at once?”
“This servant did not betray his master or repay kindness with treachery. I merely followed the method my adoptive father used all those years ago, offering Director Wen a sliver of compassion, and giving His Highness the Crown Prince a chance to push open that door!”
When Liu Quan finished speaking, he adjusted the crown tassels into perfect order. Then he bowed deeply and said no more.
Emperor Shunyuan could no longer see him.
A shaft of daylight flowed into the Hall of Mental Cultivation without warning—blinding and cruel, just like that dawn long ago, when he had pulled open the door and seen the scene before him.
How bitterly he had longed for this body not to be his own—his body trapped within a cage, his heart no longer his to command…
His body tilted sideways, and he collapsed completely to the floor, unconscious.
Layer upon layer of wax ran down the long candles as day and night gave way to one another, again and again.
The imperial physician gently lifted Emperor Shunyuan’s eyelid, felt for his pulse, and slowly shook his head. Turning to Shen Zheng, he bowed.
“Your Highness, His Majesty’s condition has taken a grave turn. His pulse is now but a thread. We are powerless to turn the tide. Your Highness, you should make preparations.”
Shen Zheng gave a slight nod and was about to speak when Emperor Shunyuan, on the bed, suddenly opened his eyes.
Everyone held their breath and turned to look.
The emperor paid no one any heed. He stared blankly up at the ornate ceiling, and a smile bloomed across his aged face—a bright, unguarded joy none of them had ever seen before.
His bony hand reached eagerly into the empty air. His voice was light and excited, like a boy’s.
“Xingluo, Xingluo! Come quickly. This is Pingliang Street, the place I told you about. The best food in the capital is all here—so colorful, so delicious. What would you like to try?”
Then he turned his head toward the pillow beside him, his gaze tender and lingering, as though someone there had answered him softly.
The imperial physicians and consorts stared in astonishment, not daring to breathe.
“Don’t be afraid. There are lots of people here, but they’re all kind. And I’ll protect you. I am Prince Jing, Shen Zhaoxi, after all.”
He thumped his chest, then abruptly threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. Barefoot and without even his socks, he rushed forward, seeming to clasp someone’s hand in his. His heart and eyes were full of joy.
The others hurriedly stepped aside, making way for him.
Blind to everyone in the hall, he imagined himself still on Pingliang Street, leading Ying Xingluo to a stall. His voice bubbled with delight.
“Smell how good it is? These are aiwowo—glutinous rice cakes filled with peach kernels, sesame seeds, melon seeds, preserved plums, hawthorn cake, and sugar. My mother used to buy them for me when I was little.”
It seemed someone took a small bite, then scrunched up his face. He kept the morsel in his mouth, unsure whether to spit it out, and made a few gestures, his eyes full of apology.
Shen Zhaoxi leaned forward and took the half he had left in his hand, eating it without the slightest hesitation.
“If you don’t like something, just give it to me.”
His cheeks puffed out as he chewed, and he led him onward.
“Let’s see what else there is.”
They came to a stall where a pot of spicy broth bubbled and steamed. The person at his side stopped, eyes bright with curiosity and eager anticipation.
Shen Zhaoxi saw at once what he wanted. He paid for a large bowl and handed it to him.
Ying Xingluo sat on a little stool, bowl in hand. Not knowing quite how to use the spoon, he tipped his head back and gulped the broth down.
In the palace, such manners would have been condemned as a breach of decorum before the throne.
But Shen Zhaoxi simply propped his cheek on one hand, watching him with tender affection.
He had always despised the palace’s endless rules and rituals. He loved Ying Xingluo just as he was: unrestrained, innocent, and openhearted.
“So Xingluo likes spicy food. You spent more than ten years on Zhe Mountain, growing up among the beasts. Was the food the abbot of Wangxiang Temple gave you utterly tasteless? Stay in the capital. Stay by my side, and I’ll make sure you eat delicious things every day!”
Ying Xingluo finished the bowl in no time. Sated, he licked his lips and smiled at Shen Zhaoxi, then gave a gentle nod.
His heart softened at the sight. Suddenly, Shen Zhaoxi drew a jade pendant from his robes and dangled it by its cord before Ying Xingluo’s eyes.
Two characters were carved into the jade: “Zhao” on the front and “Xing” on the back. The knife marks were shallow and clumsy, yet they concealed the fullness of his heart.
“This side bears my name, and the other yours. I carved it myself. It isn’t very well done, but… do you like it?”
Ying Xingluo hurriedly took it from him and held it in his palm, his fingertips slowly tracing the crooked characters.
They were the first two characters he had ever learned. Shen Zhaoxi had held his hand and taught him to write them, stroke by stroke.
Naturally, he loved them.
For the sake of carving them, Shen Zhaoxi’s hands had acquired countless tiny wounds—more than the injuries Ying Xingluo had suffered fighting mountain golden jackals over food.
He closed his fingers tightly around the jade pendant, then gently pressed his cheek against Shen Zhaoxi’s palm and slowly shut his eyes.
Shen Zhaoxi held him with the utmost care, his other hand tenderly stroking Ying Xingluo’s hair.
Later, Shen Zhaoxi invited the old gentleman who sold spicy tofu soup to Prince Jing’s residence, so that Ying Xingluo could enjoy his favorite dish whenever he wished.
Later still, the spicy tofu soup vanished from Pingliang Street—and so did the person who loved it.
Emperor Shunyuan suddenly dashed from the desk back to the bed. Like a madman, he rummaged through the bedding, sending pillows flying and leaving the bedchamber in disarray.
At last, in a hidden corner beneath the pillow, his fingers found the jade pendant.
Faint scorch marks marred the jade, but the characters “Zhao” and “Xing” remained clear.
As though he had found a priceless treasure, he pressed the pendant tightly to his heart. After letting out a long breath, he turned toward the empty air beside him and smiled in relief.
“Xingluo, do you know? I had such a long, terrible nightmare. In the dream, I woke up one day and you were gone. I became a cold and heartless person, just like my father… I never want to become someone like him.”
It was as though gentle fingers brushed across his cheek. Emperor Shunyuan leaned toward them with yearning, his stubborn gaze fixed beyond the palace hall, desperately trying to see through the layers of towering walls to the distant world beyond.
“So what if you’re a man? The capital is so vast, and so beautiful. I’ll take you down every street, let you taste every delicacy, and give you the finest things in the world. I’ll make up for all the suffering you endured before.”
Clutching the jade pendant tightly, he leaned against the bed and contentedly, wistfully closed his eyes, sinking into a beautiful dream in which he was once again only Shen Zhaoxi.
It was not until his body gradually stiffened and grew cold that the imperial physicians came to their senses. They all fell to their knees and wept bitterly.
“His Majesty has passed away! The Dragon has ascended to Heaven!”
The long autumn finally came to an end. The north wind swept in snow, and overnight the capital was draped in silver.
Imprisoned in the dungeons, Xie Langyang received, one after another, the news of Shen Chen’s execution, Emperor Shunyuan’s death, and Wen Zhuo’s appointment as Grand Secretary.
Overwhelmed by fear and shock, he lost his senses that very night and repeatedly smashed his head against the prison wall. By the time the palace attendants discovered him, his skull had caved in, and he had been dead for some time.
A month after Emperor Shunyuan’s death, the rites and arrangements for the imperial mourning were finally completed.
During that month, Wen Zhuo recovered from the illness caused by his fall into the water after receiving careful treatment, and the color gradually returned to his face.
Grand Secretary and Minister of Rites Liu Chenming was the first to submit the *Ritual Procedures for Urging the Crown Prince to Ascend the Throne*, respectfully entreating the Crown Prince to take the throne and inherit the great succession.
Using the recent death of the late emperor and his unbearable grief as his reason, Shen Zheng temporarily declined.
Yet only two days later, Chief Grand Secretary Wen Zhuo personally presented a Memorial Urging Accession, its wording earnest and heartfelt—
“Now, the late emperor’s coffin has not yet been laid to rest, the dust of war still hangs over the borders, and both court and country are steeped in grief while the common people tremble in fear. Your Highness has long cultivated virtue, is well versed in affairs of state, and your heroic bearing is renowned throughout the realm. I humbly beg that Your Highness heed the will of Heaven and answer the wishes of the people; for the sake of the state and its people, ascend the throne without delay and take your rightful place as Son of Heaven. Your servant and the others are overcome with anxious sincerity. We kowtow and submit this memorial for Your Highness’s consideration.”
Shen Zheng read the memorial several times. Paying no attention to its contents, he repeatedly traced the elegant lines of small calligraphy with his fingertips before, at last, granting his approval.
After the fresh snow fell, wild plum blossoms burst into bloom. Daylight poured in through the bright windows, bathing the palace halls within and without in shimmering radiance.
At the beginning of the new year, the Nine-Dragon Throne was set outside the Hall of Heavenly Mandate. Shen Zheng sat at its center, his gaze lowered over the four quarters. Clad in crimson ceremonial robes and crowned with a beaded imperial headdress, he stood tall, every inch the awe-inspiring sovereign.
He merely gave the slightest nod, and in that instant, every civil and military official in the hall—from the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers to the palace attendants and imperial guards—fell to their knees in wave upon wave.
“Long live His Majesty! Long live the Emperor! Long live, long live, ten thousand years!”
The cry surged like thunder. Countless heads bowed in a sea below him; the sound echoed through the realm and shot into the heavens.
Having received their acclamation, the young emperor did something unexpected: he lifted the hem of his robe and descended the vermilion steps.
He passed by the kneeling ministers, stopping only before Chief Grand Secretary Wen Zhuo. Slowly, he extended a hand.
Wen Zhuo abruptly raised his head and met Shen Zheng’s deep, tender gaze. His heart shook violently. His lips pressed together, and his mind went blank.
In a gentle voice, Shen Zheng called, “Teacher, rise.”
Wen Zhuo hurriedly shook his head.
Shen Zheng called to him again, this time with unmistakable firmness. “My beloved Wanshan, come to my side.”
The bonds of sovereign and minister, the strictures of worldly propriety—all dissolved into smoke in that moment.
Wen Zhuo’s heartbeat fell into disarray. At last, he cautiously reached out and lightly placed his hand in Shen Zheng’s palm.
Shen Zheng immediately closed his fingers around it, gripping tight. With one strong pull, he drew Wen Zhuo up from the ground and brought him to stand at his side.
Only then did Shen Zheng turn to face the gathered officials, his smile blooming.
“Rise, my ministers.”
The officials obeyed and stood. When they looked up, they were startled to see that the new emperor had not let go of the Chief Grand Secretary’s hand even once.
