In the year Zong Zhao turned twenty-five, the Crown Prince passed away.
The mourning bells of the imperial capital tolled, plunging all of Great Chu into grief. Every household hung white lanterns, canceled all celebratory events for a month, and the streets echoed with wails as the people mourned the loss of their beloved Crown Prince, who had treated them like his own children.
On the day the Crown Prince was laid to rest in the imperial mausoleum, Luo Jingfeng insisted on inspecting the Crown Prince’s belongings, even ordering his men to forcibly open the coffin. This provoked outrage among the court officials, and Zong Zhao, consumed by fury, engaged in a fierce brawl with him.
Luo Jingfeng, the Great General of Pacifying the West, was renowned for his martial prowess and strategic mind, yet Zong Zhao, driven by sheer hatred, managed to overpower him.
There’s nothing more fearsome than a man who fights without regard for his own life.
Zong Zhao was determined to kill Luo Jingfeng, to make him pay for the Crown Prince’s death with his own life.
No one dared to intervene.
Even a madman like Luo Jingfeng couldn’t help but wipe the blood from his lips and curse, “You lunatic.”
With bloodshot eyes, Zong Zhao spat, “Luo Jingfeng, heaven sees all. One day, you’ll kneel before justice and pay with your life for all the innocent souls you’ve slaughtered.”
Luo Jingfeng sneered, “Boy, who do you think you are? If heaven truly had eyes, my third sister wouldn’t have died. And as for paying with my life—ha! The Crown Prince is already dead. Do you really think you stand a chance against me? Don’t overestimate yourself. In my eyes, you’re nothing!”
The arrogant Great General of Pacifying the West threw down these harsh words and left. The Crown Prince’s loyalists quickly restrained Zong Zhao, fearing he might charge after Luo Jingfeng and get himself killed.
With military power in Luo Jingfeng’s hands and the Emperor powerless to intervene, the Crown Prince had been secretly poisoned by Luo Jingfeng for nearly a decade, dying without ever finding an antidote.
They had no means to oppose the Luo family.
“Young Marquis, stay calm. You must stay calm,” someone urged.
Amid the crowd, sobs could be heard. “We must avenge His Highness.”
Zong Zhao clenched his fists, his eyes bloodshot.
He would avenge the Crown Prince.
No matter what.
At the quiet bridgehead, Zong Zhao sat through the night. The early winter wind was biting, but he felt nothing, his turbulent heart refusing to settle as he stared at the still river.
Only when vendors began their morning routines did he hear a familiar voice amidst the bustling sounds of daily life: “Two rabbit-shaped buns, one pig-shaped bun—oh, and the cat-shaped ones are adorable too! Three of those, please! Boss, your craftsmanship is amazing. They look so lifelike!”
A maidservant beside her fretted, “Madam, how can you be so calm when that shameless woman showed up at our door, pregnant with the master’s child? And here you are, buying buns first thing in the morning. The young master doesn’t even like these.”
Xu Wan chuckled. “I like them. They cheer me up. Whether he likes them or not doesn’t matter.”
As she stepped onto the bridge, she held up a pig-shaped bun against the morning sun, smiling softly. “So pretty. I wish I could paint. This scenery would make a lovely picture.”
Zong Zhao watched the young woman, half her face bathed in sunlight, the other half in shadow. In the crisp winter air, her presence soothed his restless heart—and the little pig bun she held aloft paled in comparison to her radiance.
It had been nearly two years since he last saw her.
Her maiden’s hairstyle had been replaced by a married woman’s, her attire no longer as simple as before, now adorned with elegance. Even her maidservant had changed—no longer the stern one from before.
Married into Duke Jin's Manor, though she couldn’t avoid the intrigues of the inner household, her life seemed better than it had been in the Minister's Mansion.
“Madam…” The maidservant caught up, exasperated. “You must do something! It’s been almost two years, and you still haven’t conceived. The Duchess is already displeased. So many noble daughters in the capital are eyeing the young master!”
“Then let him divorce me. I’m not stopping him from taking a new wife.”
“Madam, please don’t say such things…”
As the mistress and servant walked away, Zong Zhao gathered from her indifferent tone that her husband treated her poorly.
Chen Yunyu had failed her.
Rage surged in Zong Zhao’s chest. He wanted to chase after her, to say:
Divorce him. Marry me instead. If he won’t treat you well, I will.
But after a few steps, he stopped.
In this era, even a divorced woman would face endless scorn.
Besides, she didn’t even know him.
His sudden appearance would only invite rumors of infidelity, of her seducing another man. Even if he were the one to urge her to leave, the world would still blame her.
Standing on the bridge, Zong Zhao clenched his fists.
Steward Liu’s voice called from below. “Young Marquis! Young Marquis, we’ve finally found you! Please return to the manor at once. The master and the old madam are beside themselves with worry.”
Zong Zhao followed him back.
On the way, he asked, “Steward Liu, how many noblewomen in the capital have been divorced?”
“Huh?” The steward was baffled but answered honestly, “None, I’d say. In Great Chu, divorce is a disgrace. Men never agree to it—most just cast out their wives. There are a few households where that’s happened, but the abandoned women end up miserable. Either they never remarry or they become nuns.”
Zong Zhao’s heart sank.
He didn’t know what to do.
In the days that followed, he locked himself in the grand study, searching for answers among the books. He felt utterly powerless—unable to save the Crown Prince, unable to save Xu Wan, unable to save the countless suffering people of this land.
In frustration, he slammed his fist on the desk, knocking over a jade pendant.
It was the one the Crown Prince had given him before dying.
Concubine Shu’s pendant.
Picking it up, Zong Zhao realized how to bring down Luo Jingfeng.
Luo Shu was his weakness.
Even in death.
At twenty-six, Zong Zhao succeeded. The once-untouchable Luo Jingfeng fell, captured alive by Zong Zhao and the city patrol. His military power, commanding tens of thousands of troops, was reclaimed by the throne.
Caged like a beast, Luo Jingfeng rammed against the bars, clutching Luo Shu’s pendant as he howled, “Zong Zhao! Zong Zhao! You lied to me! My third sister is dead—she never hid away! You lied!”
The cage, forged of black iron, was unbreakable.
No matter how Luo Jingfeng struggled, he couldn’t escape. Fearing his martial prowess, the Emperor ordered him starved to death.
Within seven days, he would perish.
Justice had finally come.
Zong Zhao visited the Crown Prince’s memorial tablet to deliver the news. “Your Highness, Luo Jingfeng has been captured. Your vengeance will soon be fulfilled.”
Beside him, the Crown Princess wept silently. The Crown Prince, who had devoted his life to the people, had been cut down in his prime by Luo Jingfeng’s treachery—leaving behind neither son nor daughter.
