That day, Emperor Hongyou fainted, Empress Jiang was punished and sent to the Cold Palace, and Zhao Jin, on the other hand, left the palace unscathed.

What awaited him in the palace that day had originally been a dead end. Fortunately, he had acted on impulse at the critical moment and had boldly carved out a path of survival for himself.

Now, all of Shangjing City—high and low—knew the secret scandal between the Empress and the fake imperial son. Everyone also knew that he had hastily led his troops back to the capital to escort his father’s long-lost princess back to the palace.

Treason? Defying imperial decree? For him, there were now clearer explanations than ever.

Minister Su of the Ministry of Personnel couldn’t help but feel lingering fear.

"Fortunately, that child is real!" Taking advantage that the emperor lay sick in bed, he specially sought out Zhao Jin in private.

"But Your Highness, your move was too risky. When I heard of it, I broke out in cold sweat for you. How did you know for certain the child was His Majesty’s blood? If you had made a mistake—Your Highness, history holds precedent of imperial princes committing treason and being demoted to commoner status!"

Zhao Jin didn’t care and casually replied, “That’s thanks to the capable man Grandfather sent.”

Hearing this, Minister Su was slightly stunned. “The man I sent? Which one?”

He didn’t recall giving such instructions. He had explicitly told his men to follow the Third Prince and assist him in safely completing his duties in Jiangnan, warning them not to stir up any unnecessary trouble.

“That one…”

Zhao Jin furrowed his brows and only then realized that he hadn’t even asked the official’s name after entering the capital.

He paused, then thought, forget it, it’s not that important.

That man was extremely competent and always eager to step into the spotlight. Having now rendered such a great service, he’d likely come asking for credit and reward in the next couple of days.

There’d be time to ask then.

“Not important,” Zhao Jin brushed it off lightly, then changed the subject. “I heard the Empress’s family is to be executed in the next day or two?”

“The envoy from the Turks will arrive in the capital to offer tribute by the end of the year. Naturally, it’s best to deal with this matter as soon as possible.” Hearing Zhao Jin bring this up, Minister Su’s attention shifted to more pressing concerns.

“Your Highness, you must also restrain your brilliance during this time,” Minister Su advised earnestly.

Zhao Jin gave a casual “mm” in response.

Minister Su continued, speaking from the heart: “Now that the Empress and Ninth Prince have been dealt with, everyone knows who His Majesty’s only remaining reliance is. The arrival of the tribute envoy is a major year-end event. His Majesty needs to rest and recuperate—many matters will likely fall to Your Highness to handle.”

At this point, Minister Su lowered his voice and warned Zhao Jin: “These next few days, Your Highness must refrain from provoking His Majesty.”

*

Naturally, Zhao Jin took Minister Su’s words to heart.

But what he remembered wasn’t the warning Minister Su had repeated.

The emperor’s only remaining reliance... was indeed him.

Everyone knew how difficult it was for the emperor to produce heirs. Even after all the imperial sons and daughters had reached adulthood, he had only ever had one Ninth Prince. Now the prince was gone, and only a princess remained.

His father was already fifty years old.

To expect him to sire another son—it was like reaching for the stars.

And after this latest incident, it had taken a toll on his health… As for Zhao Jin, what stood between him and the title of Crown Prince—was it not just a name?

Zhao Jin didn’t think he had any need to be cautious.

So, in just two days, he swaggered into the palace, under the pretense of attending to the emperor’s illness.

The head eunuch waiting at the palace gates didn’t dare lift his head, bowing deeply the whole way.

Zhao Jin, however, strolled in like a victor, his tone leisurely as he asked, “How has Father’s health been these past two days?”

“The Cold Palace is damp and chill. After such an ordeal, His Majesty naturally fell gravely ill,” the eunuch cautiously replied. “But with the Imperial Medical Bureau’s dedicated treatment these past two days, and His Majesty resting without attending to state affairs, he has recovered somewhat.”

Zhao Jin nodded absentmindedly.

Just then, a young man in a black flying fish robe passed by not far off. He lowered his head and bowed deeply.

(NT: flying fish robe: specific type of ceremonial or semi-military robe worn by imperial guards or elite officials. They were decorated with "flying fish", a mythical creature, symbol of power)

Zhao Jin looked at him twice.

“The commander of the Embroidered Guard?” Zhao Jin said coolly, smiling faintly. “Haven’t seen him around the palace lately. I hear Father has been favoring the Eastern Depot lapdogs lately?”

His tone was haughty, as if he stood high above the crowd, judging everyone beneath him.

The eunuch dared not refute a word.

He cautiously looked toward the man in the distance, and saw it was Lord Lin Zizhuo—no longer the spirited and upright figure he once was, now looking thinner and worn.

“Lord Lin… had a mishap recently while carrying out a mission,” the eunuch said vaguely. “His Majesty also wants to teach him a lesson.”

Zhao Jin smiled as he gave Lin Zizhuo a once-over, then paid him no further attention.

Back when the Embroidered Guard was favored by his father, they had been insufferably arrogant. Many of his own men had been harshly investigated by Lin Zizhuo’s merciless hand.

And now? He thought himself close to the emperor, but in the end, wasn’t he no different from one of those fallen, disfavored women of the harem?

Zhao Jin moved his gaze away in disdain.

People—no matter how hard they try—can’t fight fate. Rank and status are carved into one’s very bones and blood. No matter how high they try to climb, how far can they go?

But he was different.

His destiny was one even his father couldn’t deny or change. It was the most noble, and the most uniquely his.

In the face of this bloodline, even his father’s preferences were meaningless. What good was it that he loved Zhao Jue?

That wasn’t his child.

His only child was the one left behind by the woman he had killed out of fear. His mother’s bloodline was fated to ascend that lofty, unattainable throne.

Zhao Jin smiled coldly, lifted his head, and walked proudly into Emperor Hongyou’s bedchamber—just like he was its true master.

*

When Emperor Hongyou had drunk half his medicine, a eunuch reported from outside that the Third Prince was waiting to attend to His Majesty’s illness.

The emperor’s expression didn’t change—no joy or anger could be read on his face.

He sat up on the dragon bed and pushed away the golden spoon offered by the palace maid.

Your Majesty…” The palace maid hesitated for a moment, then saw the Hongyou Emperor wave his hand.

That was a sign—he would not drink the medicine.

She dared not speak further, and simply placed the bowl at his side with both hands, then lowered her head and retreated from the dragon bed.

After a moment of silence, the Hongyou Emperor slowly spoke: “Summon him.”

Before long, the eunuch messenger withdrew. The sound of deerskin boots on golden bricks echoed softly as someone approached.

“Your son respectfully greets the Emperor and wishes Your Majesty good health.”

His son stopped a few feet away, bowing respectfully.

The Hongyou Emperor gestured slightly and said indifferently, “Rise. Huang Wei, bring a seat.”

Zhao Jin sat down without the slightest hesitation right before his father’s dragon bed.

“The servant who led me here said that Father’s condition has improved these past two days,” he said with a smile to the Hongyou Emperor. “But it’s rare for Father to fall ill. I’ve been deeply worried—unless I saw Your Majesty with my own eyes, I could not be at ease.”

“My health is not a serious concern,” the Emperor replied calmly from his bed, though he did not look at him. “But you, Jin’er… You’re over twenty now. You should be showing some maturity.”

Zhao Jin sighed, clearly insincere. “I know Father still blames me for what happened that day,” he said. “But… that day, I was overwhelmed with grief, all because… I never expected that Father would suspect me.”

The Emperor said nothing.

Zhao Jin went on, “Father, I am not only Your Majesty’s subject, but your own son. Everything I have done has been for the sake of the court and Your Majesty—how could I possibly commit treason?”

He appeared composed, not the least bit grief-stricken as his words implied. In fact, he leisurely studied the Emperor’s face, waiting to observe his reaction.

But the Hongyou Emperor simply sat there, hands resting on his knees, slightly hunched, his head lowered—nothing like the imposing figure who once ruled from the dragon throne.

That slight hunch made him look more like a father.

Zhao Jin gazed at him and, involuntarily, a softness rose in his heart.

His father truly had aged.

In Zhao Jin’s memory, his father had always stood tall. He used to lift Zhao Jin effortlessly onto his shoulders, raising him high to pluck the most beautiful magnolia blossom from the tree.

He… was indeed his father.

For a moment, distant memories surged unexpectedly, tugging at Zhao Jin’s thoughts.

The two of them sat silently, facing each other. In that silence, the feeling of time’s passing—the sense that things had changed—settled over them.

Yes… Blood ties truly were something mysterious and unbreakable.

Zhao Jin’s lips parted slightly. He couldn’t help but want to speak, to ask his father—

He wanted to ask whether there was truly only suspicion, and no affection, toward his mother. He wanted to know whether, in his father’s eyes, he was merely the last resort or truly a son once loved and still connected by blood.

But before he could say anything, the Hongyou Emperor raised his head.

He looked straight at Zhao Jin.

Zhao Jin froze.

It was not the frail, ailing, aged father he met—it was the cold, scrutinizing, superior gaze of an emperor.

“Jin’er, do you resent us?” (NT: the emperor uses ‘zhen’) His father asked, voice ice-cold.

Zhao Jin’s mouth opened, his eyes widening in shock—he was speechless for a long moment.

Then he saw his father smile—a smile devoid of warmth, the kind one gives to lifeless things.

“So you do resent us,” he said with certainty, leaving no room for denial. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t have waited for seeing you swagger into the palace today, flaunting your strength.”

…Waited?

His ailing father had been waiting?

Zhao Jin stood there, dumbstruck. After a long moment, his voice trembled as he said, “Father…”

“You think I can do nothing to you.” Emperor Hongyou's smile faded into coldness.

Under his father’s unrelenting stare, Zhao Jin’s shoulders gave the slightest tremble.

“No, Your Son…”

“You resent us,” the Emperor said coolly, gaze still locked on him. “You blame us for your mother’s fate. But you forget—We told you, as a ruler, how many things are beyond our control.”

Under the weight of that icy gaze, Zhao Jin could only shake his head.

He had forgotten… His father was not only a father, but a ruler who had gripped the court for decades.

Before the majesty of a Son of Heaven, he was still far too naive.

“You only know how to resent us. No one ever considers our burden. Jin’er, We loved your mother in vain—and you, too, we cared for in vain.”

Though seated with hunched shoulders on the bed, the Hongyou Emperor’s gaze now carried the weight of life and death—cold and commanding as he looked down on Zhao Jin.

“For over twenty years, we have been too lax in disciplining you,” he said coolly. “Guards.”

A group of Jinyiwei eunuchs appeared silently, emerging from who-knew-where, quickly surrounding Zhao Jin.

“Father!” Zhao Jin panicked. “No—you can’t kill me!”

“Silly child, what are you saying?” the Emperor said expressionlessly, looking away.

“Weren’t you here to tend to our illness? Then, for now, remain in the palace—and attend to us.”

His father… his father meant to imprison him!

The eunuchs stepped forward. Zhao Jin struggled in their hands, crying out in desperation:

“Father! I’m your only son! Your only one!”

But his father had already lowered his head, picked up the medicine bowl at his bedside, and began to drink from it calmly.

“No matter,” he said softly. “We will teach you properly. If we succeed, it will be worthy of your mother’s labor in bearing you.”

He lifted the golden spoon and looked at Zhao Jin. “If we fail, then your mother and that unborn brother of yours—may they bless us with another heir.”

Zhao Jin was dragged all the way and locked into a dark chamber in a side hall of the Hongyou Emperor’s sleeping palace.

He had played many times in his father’s palace since childhood… but had never noticed such a place existed.

The room wasn’t cramped, but walls surrounded it on all sides. Only a small window, nailed shut, faintly let some light through.

The eunuchs threw him inside and said, “Your Highness, rest assured to tend to the Emperor’s illness. Meals will be delivered to you by the palace maids daily.”

Zhao Jin struggled to rush out, but the heavy door had already been slammed shut before him.

The entire chamber was left with only the faint light filtering in from that small window.

He dashed to the window and saw outside—the wide, flat plaza in front of his father’s palace. Eunuchs in brocade stood under the colonnades, backs turned to him, as if completely unaware of any sound from within this secret chamber.

…He was under house arrest inside the palace.

His father had spoken of teaching him, but imprisoning him for five or ten years was certainly possible.

If his father… if he really did have another child as he claimed, then this son, already disobedient and even daring to defy him, could easily die suddenly in the palace by countless means.

He was completely finished.

Realizing this, Zhao Jin trembled uncontrollably, his eyes frantically searching all around—like a fly caught in a spider’s web making its last struggle.

At that moment, a pair of clear, moist black eyes caught his gaze.

The Ninth Princess!

Zhao Jin suddenly followed the eyes and saw the small, gaunt girl standing beneath his window.

She lifted her head, her large black eyes seeming oddly out of place on her too-thin face.

But those eyes were as clear as two mirrors, reflecting Zhao Jin’s frantic, disoriented expression.

“Ninth Princess!” He quickly pounded on the window, speaking to the girl. “It’s me, your third elder brother! Remember? I brought you back to the palace—if I hadn’t found you, you’d still be trapped in the Jiang family!”

As he spoke, he banged on the window loudly.

“Help me, help me go to the Ministry of Personnel and the Shangshu Mansion, tell them I’m locked in the palace—have them rescue me! My maternal grandfather will definitely—”

But before he could finish, two eunuchs hurried over.

“Ninth Princess! Ninth Princess, the Emperor doesn’t like you running around—”

One eunuch hastily pulled her away, and when he glanced at the window, his face turned pale with nervousness.

“What kind of business are you conducting? If the Emperor sees this, what will happen?”

Another eunuch quickly stepped forward and slammed shut the nailed window from outside.

“Ninth Princess, Ninth Princess!!”

This time, no matter how much Zhao Jin shook the window, it was useless.

The heavy window panel, inset with decorative pieces, mercilessly closed before him.

Beyond the window lay the snow-covered, continuous pavilions and glittering golden tiles, the blue sky contained within, the polished white marble, the thin girl who looked back at him… and not far off, eunuchs rushing hurriedly back into the palace.

*

“Urgent frontier report! The Turk envoy has used entering the territory to invade the border—report to His Majesty immediately—”

Bang!

The last thread of light and sound was completely cut off outside the heavy window panel.

—

The Turks invaded.

This news reached the Anping Marquis’s residence earlier than the news of the Third Prince being placed under house arrest.

Zhao Chu’s brow was tightly furrowed, while beside him, Fang Linyuan took the urgent report handed to him immediately.

Five hundred Turk soldiers, disguised as a tribute envoy entering the capital, deceived the commander guarding Yumen Pass into opening the city gate.

When the commander inspected the carts and cages as usual, the Turk soldiers hidden inside suddenly charged out, swiftly seizing control of the gate.

The military report arrived immediately; Yumen Pass was thousands of miles away, and the current border situation was still unknown.

Fang Linyuan’s grip on the report suddenly tightened.

“They signed a treaty and sent a princess for marriage, but less than a year later, they tore up the treaty!”

“The messenger said it was probably due to the annual tribute amount,” Zhao Chu said from the side.

“That Naren Temüjin set the tribute amount very high to seek trade. The Turks spent much in the trade towns that year, but few bought their cattle and sheep, so they felt at a loss and refused to pay tribute to Daxuan.”

“That’s just an excuse!” Fang Linyuan slammed the military report onto the nearby desk.

“If they think it’s a loss, they can refuse to buy official salt or grain. Has anyone forced them?”

He knew those Turks too well.

“It’s certainly because of the winter cold—they don’t farm, have no stored grain, and have turned their eyes on Daxuan’s people. The richest time before year’s end in Daxuan—compared to farming and trade, they prefer looting for quick gain.”

He took a deep breath as he spoke.

“The Turks can only enter through the north city gate of Yumen Pass. Zhuofang You is currently stationed there. If the forces are deployed as I ordered, five thousand troops can be gathered within half a day. Turk invasions usually rely on cavalry guerrilla tactics with not many troops. If we encircle them quickly, we can retake the north gate by the next day.”

At this, Fang Linyuan tapped the desk anxiously; the report in his hand was being crushed tighter.

“But… if the Turks truly planned this long ago and intend to take the city, they will gather a large force. Yumen Pass…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

The city had only just recovered from the Turk cavalry’s invasion a year ago—how could it withstand sudden warfare again?

The city could be retaken, but those who died in the war… would only be a handful of yellow soil.

Just then, his hand clenched on the desk was caught by another hand.

Fang Linyuan looked up to see Zhao Chu beside him, calmly meeting his gaze.

“Don’t worry,” Zhao Chu said. “The troops at Yumen Pass were all raised under your command. Your confidence in them is confidence in yourself.”

Confidence…

But Fang Linyuan had never experienced such a sudden border emergency while stationed in the capital.

“Besides, you have your border stabilization plan,” Zhao Chu added.

“I’ve seen your strategy. It’s meticulous and thorough. Your subordinates executed it well; even the visiting envoys praised it. There’s no need to worry too much.”

He gently squeezed Fang Linyuan’s hand.

Fang Linyuan then looked up at Zhao Chu.

What Zhao Chu said was true, but he knew that no matter how foolproof the defense, the possibility of war breaking out again could never be ruled out.

If that happened…

Meeting Zhao Chu’s eyes, Fang Linyuan turned his hand over and clasped his.

He was still a general of Daxuan. When war came, he would stand at the front, guarding the border walls.

At that moment, a maid hurried into the chamber, ignoring formalities, and knelt before them both.

“My Lord!” she said. “Someone from the palace has arrived!”

Fang Linyuan was startled. “Who?”

“The eunuch beside His Majesty,” the maid said, trembling. “He says… he’s come to deliver the tiger tally to the general.”

(NT: The tiger tally (虎符, hǔfú) was an ancient Chinese military token used to authorize and regulate troop movements. It served as an official verification from the emperor, confirming the legitimacy of military commands.)

 

--

Author’s note:

Zhao Chu: When employees work overtime, usually it’s because the boss is incompetent (sharpening the knife).

 

Translator : DarNan