Chapter 70

Let us turn back the clock to the day Xie Ci pledged his allegiance at Yuquan Palace.

That night, thick banks of cloud shrouded the entire sky, and the imperial city was steeped in the profound darkness of night. Where lantern light could not reach, the gloom was so complete that one could not see a hand before one’s face.

After the young eunuch who had guided him away departed, Zheng Shoufang reached out and pushed open his door, his face ashen. For days now, others had been successively taking over his duties in the inner guard.

The sudden command from Xie Ci and the Emperor to withdraw at court had been the final straw.

For the first time, Zheng Shoufang felt true fear. He had served as head of the inner guard for many years and knew the old emperor well. He now realized his end was drawing near.

Everything seemed to be proceeding at a measured, unhurried pace, as if all would come to a halt the moment he finished handing over his responsibilities.

No, he had to save himself.

Immediately, he found a way to send a message to his other master.

Zheng Shoufang was far from a loyal man. As the head of the inner guard, survival depended on the trust of the future sovereign. Knowing the Emperor’s intentions, he had long since aligned himself with the Crown Prince. He saw his own confinement as protection; he never severed communication with the Eastern Palace.

Even as he handed over his duties, Zheng Shoufang kept a card up his sleeve.

In the dead of night, a wadded note slipped through the window, dropped by the wall, and was quickly picked up.

But Zheng Shoufang did not expect that, upon receiving his message, someone would be overjoyed.

Thus, on the day after the Wan Shou Festival, Xie Ci encountered an unexpected person.

With the festival just ended, the memorial from the southern granary investigation arrived in the capital. At court that morning, a single stone stirred a thousand waves. Xie Ci and Li Yi, now center stage, immediately exposed myriad corruptions in the Secretariat, the Ministry of War, the Ministry of Rites, the Ministry of Works, and the Censorate. A chain of evidence inflamed the conflict between Grand Preceptor Lin and Feng Kun, inciting full attack on these two and their factions.

With thunderous force, they set off towering waves.

At that moment, no one knew that the final, white-hot struggle for the Wei dynasty had begun.

Unlike his father, Xie Xinchong, Xie Ci displayed astonishing political acuity and aggression, forming a pincer with Li Yi, pressing forward relentlessly. Their interrogation forced three censors and officials from both parties to speechless despair, and the old emperor ordered their execution at the Meridian Gate on the spot.

After a day of bloody, high-stakes struggle in court, Xie Ci was physically and mentally exhausted. Just as he returned to his hall in the Secretariat, he saw someone he never wished to see again.

Dusk cloaked the earth, a chill autumn wind swept through, and Xie Ci’s study was unlit. Upon entering, his keen senses told him at once someone was present.

The only ones left in the hall were Xie Ping and Xie Qi. Xie Ping stepped forward, leaned in to whisper, and Xie Ci’s gaze lifted sharply.

Night deepened; the sun sank beneath the horizon, and the last crimson embers cast their glow. The vermilion palace walls and upturned eaves of the Secretariat were mere dark silhouettes.

The Secretariat, now the highest center of government, stood behind the left corridor of the Golden Water Bridge. Its black-tiled roof and red walls surrounded the main hall for the ministers’ deliberations. Li Yi’s and Xie Ci’s offices were the largest in the first row to the left—Li Yi to the south, Xie Ci to the north.

After a moment’s pause in the courtyard, Xie Ci walked inside. Xie Ping and Xie Qi exchanged glances and silently stepped aside, one standing by the door, the other hurrying out to keep watch.

On the avenue, carriage wheels clattered as dusk deepened, crimson and darkness interlacing like the gaping maw of a beast.

Xie Qi guarded the doorway, flanked by two silent palace attendants from the Eastern Palace. He pressed his lips tight.

Step by step, Xie Ci advanced. The room was dark, the slate-blue cloak of an attendant cast aside, and by the window stood a young man in apricot-yellow princely robes.

Xie Ci bowed: “Your Highness.”

The youth before him had a broad brow and sharp, handsome features, strikingly reminiscent of Xie Xinchong and Xie Hua in their prime. Crown Prince Li Min, overjoyed, strode forward and lifted him up.

“Come, rise, rise.”

The Crown Prince’s face was full of remorse and guilt. He sighed, “In years past, Lord Xie guided the Eastern Palace with tireless counsel. I knelt in the Golden Throne Hall and would not rise. But then…” His face contorted with bitter regret, tears even falling. “I was forced by that villain Grand Preceptor Lin—there was no other way…”

“I spurred messengers to ride tirelessly north to Suzhou, but it was already too late! The Eastern Palace was confined, and who would have thought the title and estate of the Loyal and Courageous Duke would be stripped and the family imprisoned! All these years, whenever I think of it, my heart aches! I sent men north many times to find you, but there was never any word…”

Xie Ci stood silent for a moment. He played along, stepping forward to offer support, his voice hoarse with feigned tears: “Your Highness did what you could; you need not blame yourself.”

With Xie Ci’s words, Crown Prince Li Min soon composed himself, his pale face full of relief. He placed a hand on Xie Ci’s shoulder. “Now that you have achieved so much, your late father must be comforted in spirit.”

“Yes.”

Xie Ci smiled faintly in the dim light, his heart icy and clear. This Crown Prince had come to win him over.

So direct, so confident.

Of course, if this were the Xie Xinchong or Xie Hua of old, or even the Xie Ci of three years ago, he might, after his grief, have thrown himself wholeheartedly into the Crown Prince’s cause again.

The men of the Xie family had always been men of iron, their loyalty and righteousness as bright as the sun and moon.

The Crown Prince was the legitimate heir, the rightful successor. The Xie family had aided the Eastern Palace and would not turn back.

It seemed Li Min understood the Xie clan well.

But, alas, he faced a Xie Ci transformed by suffering and darkness.

Li Min, still speaking with warmth and admiration, soon shifted to the matter of winning Xie Ci back. Xie Ci sneered inwardly, his features dark and cold in the shadows. If Zheng Shoufang was an indirect executioner, then this Crown Prince was one of the most direct culprits behind the Xie family’s ruin. What did he mean by “no other way”?

He meant sacrificing the knight to save the king.

He had pushed Xie Ci’s father forward to save himself, leading to the annihilation of the Xie clan, stripping generations’ worth of hard-won honors, executing every male sixteen and older, and exiling the women and children a thousand miles away.

His father had died, separated from his son, to protect him.

And now Li Min hoped to reclaim his allegiance? Utterly delusional.

Yet Xie Ci said nothing. After the prince’s impassioned speech, he merely curled his lips in a cold, silent smile, bowed, and knelt on one knee.

His own voice rang out, clear as steel: “I, Xie Ci, will follow the path of my forebears and, from this day forward, obey Your Highness’s commands.”

The dusk concealed his grim expression.

The Crown Prince laughed heartily, lifting Xie Ci to his feet. “Good, good! Excellent!”

After the prince’s departure, Xie Ci worked late into the night. Before leaving, he stood outside the hall’s doors and let out a cold laugh.

Autumn had deepened. The window drapes had been changed for thicker ones, less transparent but warmly enclosing the room.

Gu Wan found this quite satisfactory.

With Xie Ci overwhelmed by affairs, she managed the household matters. Messages from Qin Xian in the north arrived daily; those she could handle, she answered, and the rest she set aside to consult Xie Ci upon his return.

She worked in Xie Ci’s grand study.

It is worth noting that after Chen Yan arrived, his first act was to kneel and beg Xie Ci to move into the central study—the very heart of the former Loyal and Courageous Duke’s residence, once belonging to Xie Ci’s father. Now that Xie Ci had inherited his father’s mantle and become the soul and leader of the Xie clan, it was only fitting.

Chen Yan wept as he spoke, but it was true: the three Xie men of the last generation were now past, and Xie Ci held all authority. He agreed in a hoarse voice and soon moved in.

Gu Wan also benefited, working in that solemn and imposing study.

She was so awed she dared not slack off, sitting up straight and handling all matters with care.

Beyond this, preparations to enter the palace occupied her. Others might enter the palace as if starting a court drama, ready to fight for supremacy, but she was prepared to flee at any time.

She found it amusing, humming as she readied her things. The fine, strong silver needle for threading earrings, unexpectedly useful again, she tucked carefully into the sole of her embroidered shoe.

“Pour the powder from that white bottle into the earring. Be careful not to inhale—it’s poisonous.”

Xie Ci, seated at her round table, opened a hollowed pearl and, using a pharmacist’s scoop, packed it with yellowish powder.

The powder had been prepared by their physician at Gu Wan’s request—a mix of datura and other toxins, with several alternatives as well.

Gu Wan hid silver needles and copper wires in her shoes, belt, and hairpin, just in case she needed to change clothes and still have something useful.

“Feng Kun is truly skilled,” she remarked.

Now, as all sides’ tactics became clear, it was evident that Feng Kun wielded both kindness and severity.

Gu Wan already knew about the events with the Crown Prince the previous night. She quipped, “Why didn’t he give the Crown Prince a heads-up?”—referring to the old emperor.

Xie Ci replied coolly, “Not yet necessary.” The prince was no more important than the throne itself.

The old emperor favored the prince only because he disliked the third and fourth sons. But even the prince could be replaced; once the younger sons matured, things might change. The emperor, even on his deathbed, would let no one touch the throne.

“So, Crown Prince Li Min’s rebellious thoughts aren’t entirely unfounded,” Gu Wan mused, “It’s just, this crop of princes is mediocre at best.” Compared to the old emperor, they fell far short. The old emperor, for all his faults, had truly fought his way to the top.

Li Min had once seemed promising, but after his disgrace and confinement, even his veneer of benevolence had cracked. As for the third prince, she dismissed him outright, and the fourth? Perhaps, she thought, he seemed slightly better—at least naive and honest.

Chatting as she worked, Gu Wan quickly finished concealing her items. Xie Ci had been silent throughout. She stood, fetched two bodices—made overnight by Madam Xu and Qin Ying, who were still working as she spoke—lined and inset with normal, unobtrusive silver chains and beads, all hollowed and able to hold things, like the earrings.

Ordinarily, Xie Ci would have blushed to see her handling such undergarments, but today, as Gu Wan filled and fastened the beads, Xie Ci merely helped with the earrings and powder, his mind elsewhere.

Gu Wan tossed the pieces aside, took his face in her hands, and pulled him close. He managed a wan smile. She shook his face gently. “Xie Ci, don’t be like this. Didn’t we agree? I’ll just go in, make a round, and come right back. Feng Kun never fights a battle he isn’t sure to win!”

The logic was sound. Gu Wan had spent time reassuring him the day before and he’d agreed, but now, faced with the moment, it was different.

“Xie Ci, you promised me—don’t let your emotions cloud your mind.”

She pinched his cheeks playfully. “One day apart feels like three autumns. Who knows? Maybe this will be a good thing—perhaps we’ll rediscover our feelings.”

Up close, she noticed how much firmer his muscles had grown—his potent masculinity unmistakable, even beneath his thin autumn shirt.

She blinked, looked away, and smiled.

He managed another faint smile, then wrapped her in his arms—not tightly, but with a force that brooked no refusal. His voice was hoarse: “Wait for me. I’ll come for you soon!”

The sky was overcast, black clouds gathering, and a cold wind swept across the vast palace square, numbing faces and whipping robes. Xie Ci personally escorted Gu Wan into the palace.

Li Yi did the same.

He went in person to fetch his barely one-year-old daughter from the northern estate at Anping, and two days later, was forced to send both princess and consort Yu Manzhen into the palace with his own hands.

Lu Haide came in person for the escort. When Xie Ci and Gu Wan arrived, Yu Manzhen and her daughter had just entered. Gu Wan disembarked, waved back at him, and followed the rest inside, disappearing at last beyond the vermilion walls and white marble pavement.

The massive square before the Golden Water Bridge was empty. The vermilion gates of the Vermilion Bird Palace closed slowly before them. Black clouds pressed lower and lower, as if at any moment they would engulf the golden-roofed, red-walled palace.

Xie Ci and Li Yi stood by the gate, fists clenched tight.

As they turned away, the cold wind screamed past. For the first time, Li Yi lost his composure and grace, his voice cold and grim: “If we follow him, there will be no good end for us!”

Never before had this truth been so clear.

Fury surged in their veins. Xie Ci’s face was as dark as the clouds behind him; in those few moments, his eyes reddened with bloodshot veins as he swung into the saddle.

The clink of silvered reins was sharper than he’d ever known.

But it was not yet over.

The struggle for power at court, the hatred, the slaughter—swords flashing, blood flowing, danger and intrigue everywhere—was no less fierce than a real battlefield. Xie Xinchong and his sons had been defeated not just by the bloody machinations of court, but also by their own principles.

Xie Ci could not fail again.

He and Li Yi were formidable, but all the imperial guards under their command belonged either to Grand Preceptor Lin or had already thrown in with Feng Kun.

Through careful maneuvering, Xie Ci managed to insert Qin Guan, Chen Luo, Chen Lang, Su Wei, and others into key positions. Now, with Qin Guan’s people united and seizing every opportunity Xie Ci created, they had carved out a foothold at last.

Having reclaimed Xie Ci, Crown Prince Li Min’s confidence soared. With danger pressing upon him, a certain idea became irresistible. Late at night, as Xie Ci returned home, Feng Kun was already waiting.

Clad in a crimson brocade robe embroidered with golden qilin and draped in a black cloak, the powerful eunuch’s phoenix eyes blazed beneath his golden winged cap. The wind howled through the corridor; both men stood in darkness. Feng Kun leaned in, the heady scent of sandalwood and musk saturating the air. He smiled: “Not only can I help you take your revenge, I can help you recover your father and brother’s remains!”

Xie Ci spun around, his dark eyes suddenly stormy.

The two were very close. Feng Kun nodded slightly. “Your wife, your father, your brother—if you wish it, I can help you with them all.” Each word dripped with the seductive allure of a deadly flower.

Leaving the Loyal and Courageous Duke’s residence, a biting autumn wind lashed them as cold rain finally began to pour.

But Feng Kun’s expression was more imperious and at ease than ever. He rasped: “Pass the order. Act according to the original plan. Send word to Kou Chong—it’s time to start goading the Crown Prince.”

Huang Xin answered at once: “Yes!”

His voice, brimming with excitement, split off in several directions as Feng Kun strode into the rain, water splashing at his black boots. In this drenching autumn storm, the capital’s vortex grew more tumultuous than ever.

Amid the relentless downpour and plunging temperatures, deep in the night, hurried footsteps shattered the calm of the Lin residence.

Lights quickly flared. The ailing Grand Preceptor Lin, startled from his sickbed, sat up, his beady eyes suddenly bright. “Quick! Summon everyone. Pass my order—cooperate fully with Feng Kun!”

These two party chiefs—bitter enemies eager to kill each other—were, at that moment, in perfect accord.

No prior notice, no agreement, and yet, on the same day, they pulled every string and set every plot in motion, fanning the flames for Crown Prince Li Min’s coup.

Soon, Xie Ci received his assigned task. Furious and incredulous, he laughed aloud. This Crown Prince was utterly ridiculous! But soon, he would have little cause to laugh.

The torrential rains continued for half a month. On the night of September twenty-second, the deluge returned with full force.

With the rain pounding, Xie Ci boarded his carriage for the palace, bearing the latest updates on the Crown Prince’s conspiracy.

From the first day the prince approached him, after much deliberation and consultation with Gu Wan and their advisers, Xie Ci had reported to the emperor. For ten days, there had been new developments daily.

But the old emperor surely had his own sources and was just as well informed.

In the vast Yuquan Palace, most of the branch lamps were out, the jade steps dark on both sides, the hall half in shadow.

Amid the thunder of rain, the old emperor’s killing intent exploded. “That damned traitor!”

After his rage passed, Yuquan Palace fell silent again. The emperor raised his eyes, sharp as a hawk, fixing Xie Ci with his gaze.

Tall and imposing in black armor, the youngest and most capable of the new power-holders, Xie Ci showed no less skill than Feng Kun or the Grand Preceptor. The emperor spoke coolly: “Leave the attacks to Li Yi. The Crown Prince’s rebellion is yours to resolve! The chief culprit must die; all conspirators must be captured! As for the lesser followers, I’ll have Xue Rong’an and Liao Kai assist you in gathering them up.”

The emperor’s aged voice, heavy and somber, fell on Xie Ci’s ears like a venomous snake.

A chill shot up Xie Ci’s spine, freezing him to the marrow. The old emperor meant to cut off Xie Ci’s roots.

Why had Chen Yan risked everything to come to the capital? For the sake of the Xie clan’s old followers.

Through tireless effort, he had brought back sixty or seventy percent.

These men never believed Xie Xinchong a traitor. A man like him, unless in extraordinary circumstances like those in the north, commanded profound loyalty. Even in the north, men like Qin Xian and Zhao Heng had stood firm.

Xie Ci’s starting point was higher than Li Yi’s—indeed, even ordinary officials, compelled to join factions, had more innate regard for Xie Ci.

Even among the emperor’s own trusted circle, many felt the same; men like the old Grand Tutor Wen Zhongqing, Councilors Wu Boyi and Zhang Yuanrang, Ministers Shang Rong and Du Jingzong—all recalled Xie Ci with admiration, since he had been raised up by the emperor himself.

As Xie Xinchong’s son, inheriting his father’s cause, Xie Ci naturally stood at the peak, young as he was.

Did the old emperor know this? Of course he did.

Hence the need to sever Xie Ci’s wings and keep him tightly in check.

The Crown Prince’s affair had driven the emperor to rage, but it had come at just the right time; otherwise, once Xie Ci had established himself, the emperor would have found other ways to limit him.

The Eastern Palace and the heir to the throne, just like Xie Xinchong before, formed the core of the loyalist faith.

Xie Ci’s feigned allegiance to the Eastern Palace, luring the prince into rebellion, then turning on him by reporting to the emperor and crushing the prince’s supporters, would make him a universal target.

The old emperor meant to cut off Xie Ci’s roots, to turn him into a blade held in his own hand.

In that instant, Xie Ci’s anger reached its peak; his fists clenched beneath his black sleeves, veins bulging.

“Your servant obeys.”

The emperor’s hawk-like gaze fixed on him; without hesitation, Xie Ci knelt on one knee and accepted the order.

Once outside Yuquan Palace, standing atop the high marble terrace, the rain fell in white sheets. In the cold autumn night, drenched by the downpour, Xie Ci’s hatred of the emperor and imperial clan reached its zenith. He looked up, his dark eyes reflecting the storm, yet his mind remained ice-clear.

Riding hard through the rain, he returned home, stripped off his soaked black armor, dried his hands, and without pause, took up his brush.

“Through the secret passage—to Feng Kun!”

On this cold autumn night, Xie Ci, with no turning back, cast his lot with Feng Kun.

Within half an hour, the letter was in Feng Kun’s hands.

Amid the sound of rain in the grand study, Feng Kun read the letter and burst into triumphant laughter. “Good! Excellent! I have waited twenty years for this day!”

After clawing his way up from the depths of the palace for over a decade, he had finally reached his moment of vengeance.

Let us begin with the Eastern Palace. Soon, he would drag that most exalted man, who saw all others as ants, down and kill him—make him die in utter disgrace.

Feng Kun’s eyes were sharp as blades.

His laughter faded. “Send word to Xie Ci—tell him to prepare. I’ll help him get his wife out at once.”

The letter lay on the desk. Feng Kun’s gaze fell upon it.

“All the threats and enticements in the world are nothing compared to the lure of one’s true desire. Pity—the old emperor will never understand this.”