Within a few days, all the court officials knew that after court sessions, the emperor frequently summoned Pei You'an to the Imperial Study for discussions. During meals, they even shared soup from the same bowl and ate from the same dish. Although the Ministry of Personnel had yet to issue an official decree, it was clearly a prelude to recalling him to service before his mourning period—less than half a year—had concluded.
Such extraordinary favor only reaffirmed what had long been evident: the harmony between ruler and subject, and the emperor's exceptional reliance and trust in Pei You'an.
Since returning to the capital, Pei You'an had remained low-key in his conduct. Apart from responding to imperial summons, he seldom interacted with colleagues and mostly stayed secluded in his residence. However, persistent rumors suggested he had long-standing ties with the Han Zhen female Taoist at White Crane Temple. Beyond treating her younger brother's illness, he was said to have exchanged poetry and compositions with her—an elegant pastime. Upon his return to the capital, he had also been spotted visiting the temple.
One was a legendary woman of jade-like purity and ethereal grace, untouched by worldly vulgarity; the other, a dashing gentleman of extraordinary talent and towering prestige. Such mutual admiration between refined souls was, as the saying went, inevitable since ancient times—even Pei You'an, it seemed, was not immune. When mentioned, it only stirred envy among onlookers.
At White Crane Temple, Pei You'an finished examining Chi Hanzhen's pulse and turned to the writing desk, dipping his brush in ink.
Having not seen her for some time, Chi Hanzhen appeared as frail as a withered flower, her illness leaving her too weak to bear the weight of her robes. Earlier, a violent coughing fit had left her cheeks flushed, the color yet to fade. Supported by a young Taoist nun, she approached him with an apologetic expression. "I've been ill for some time now. Several physicians have examined me, but none could cure me—instead, the illness has grown more persistent. Imperial physicians came before, but only by decree to treat my brother. I dare not trouble them again. This broken body of mine is hardly worth sparing, but if anything were to happen to me, my young brother would have no one left to care for him. So I must swallow my shame and trouble you once more, my lord."
Pei You'an finished writing the prescription and waited for the ink to dry before handing it to another young Taoist nun standing nearby. Turning to Chi Hanzhen, he spoke gently, "Why such words? I’ve told you before—whatever difficulty arises, you need only seek me out, especially when it concerns your health. This illness is severe, stemming not just from physical frailty but also, I suspect, excessive worry. The combination has left you bedridden. Follow this prescription, but more importantly, ease your mind and avoid needless brooding."
Tears shimmered in Chi Hanzhen's eyes as she nodded in agreement.
Pei You'an glanced around the room, noting its starkness—the furnishings far sparser than before.
"Upon entering earlier, I heard from Qing Xin Taoist that you’ve recently pawned many belongings?"
Chi Hanzhen replied, "This is a women's temple. Since my brother’s health has improved, and given the proprieties between men and women—not to mention my own status as a dependent here—I arranged for him to move out. A trustworthy fellow townsman has taken him in, though his daily expenses require funds. With little savings of my own, I gathered some dispensable items to pawn or sell. Forgive my impropriety, my lord."
Pei You'an asked, "Would you allow me to assist you?"
Chi Hanzhen shook her head hastily. "Absolutely not, my lord. It’s precisely to avoid further reliance on others’ charity that I resorted to pawning my belongings. You’ve already helped me immensely—I’ve no way to repay you as it is. How could I possibly accept more?"
Pei You'an gave a slight nod. "Your integrity is admirable. Very well, I won’t insult you by imposing material aid. But should you ever face true hardship in the future, set aside pride and let me know."Chi Hanzhen lowered her gaze and bowed deeply to him in gratitude.
Pei You'an packed up the medical kit he had brought and took his leave. Despite her frail condition, Chi Hanzhen personally escorted him to the courtyard.
Pei You'an urged her to stay, but after taking a few steps, he seemed to remember something. Hesitating slightly, he turned back and said softly, "Your grandfather was a master of both calligraphy and painting in his time. I recall Emperor Tianxi once inscribed colophons on his works and even stamped them with his private seal. I wonder if those pieces are still in your possession?"
Chi Hanzhen's eyes clouded with sorrow as she recalled the past. "It touches me that you still remember my grandfather's works. When misfortune befell our family, survival was our only concern—how could we think of material possessions? Fortunately, my grandfather, grateful for the late emperor's kindness, had secretly entrusted those pieces bearing the imperial inscriptions to a close friend. They have since been returned to me. These few works are all I have left as mementos. May I ask why you inquire about them? If you have need of them, please wait a moment—I shall fetch them for you to take."
Pei You'an smiled faintly. "You misunderstand. Seeing you, a delicate woman, struggling alone to care for your young brother, I thought to remind you that those pieces with the late emperor's inscriptions are invaluable. Keep them safe—they will be worth a fortune in the future."
Chi Hanzhen looked puzzled. "I don’t quite understand, my lord. Why would they become so precious in the future?"
Pei You'an gave a slight smile. "Just remember my words. I must take my leave now. If your condition worsens after taking the medicine, do not hesitate to send for me."
He nodded to Chi Hanzhen, then turned and walked away, his robes swaying slightly with his steady steps.
Chi Hanzhen stood motionless, staring at the receding figure until it disappeared into the distance. Gradually, a pained expression filled her eyes, and she seemed lost in thought.
...
In the sixth month, the Director of Shanglin Garden submitted a memorial announcing the completion of the garden's expansion. Four new gates had been added, and the grounds now spanned hundreds of li, encircled by the Mountain Wall, with lakes and springs mirroring each other. Countless deer, pheasants, and hares roamed freely within. Everything was ready, awaiting only the emperor's personal inspection to witness the achievement.
Shanglin Garden lay west of the capital, dozens of li from the city. Its management was exceedingly strict—no one was permitted to hunt within its bounds without authorization, and violators, even princes or nobles, would face punishment. Xiao Lie had loved hunting since his youth. He vividly remembered sneaking into the garden with a few attendants at sixteen for a day of sport. Though he enjoyed himself immensely, the next day, someone reported him to the emperor. Despite his father's fondness for him, the emperor had no choice but to punish him as a warning to others. The humiliation of that incident became a joke among his brothers. After being sent to Yunnan at twenty, hunting had often been his solace during moments of frustration. Now, as emperor, he had devoted himself to governance, appointing capable officials and enacting reforms. Nearly two years had passed in a blur of ceaseless activity. Upon reading the memorial, he felt a sudden urge to hunt. Coinciding with the military examinations, candidates from across the realm had gathered in the capital. Seizing the opportunity, he chose a day to suspend court and moved the final stage of the military exams to Shanglin Garden. All officials of the fourth rank and above in the capital would accompany him—combining leisure with the selection of talent, a stroke of efficiency.After Xiao Lie ascended the throne, he devoted himself diligently to governance without respite, regardless of the season. He held court almost daily at dawn, exhausting his civil and military officials who spun like tops in his wake. Rising at the fourth watch to prepare for the fifth-watch morning court became routine, and even rest days offered no reprieve—summoned by the emperor at any moment, none dared slacken. Thus, when news came of a rare day’s reprieve from court for a hunt in Shanglin Garden, all rejoiced. On the eve of departure, ministers relaxed and prepared to accompany the emperor the next day, while the Imperial Guards had already begun stationing in Shanglin Garden days prior. The Great Han General, the Commander of the Vanguard Army with Swords, the Divine Pivot Camp, and their respective officers led their troops in clearing the hunting grounds and parade fields, readying for the imperial arrival.
The moon that night was eerily strange, as if a summer night had suddenly been dusted with snow. Its pale, hazy light spilled over the glazed palace tiles of the Eastern Palace, casting a cold, resentful glow.
That night, the heart of Crown Prince Xiao Yintang felt as though cleaved in two by a sharp blade. One half burned like fire—agitated, leaping, aflame—casting a red glint in his eyes and sending his blood surging violently through his veins. The other half mirrored the moonlight on those tiles, seeping a deep, icy resentment into his soul.
His father, Xiao Lie, the supreme emperor of this empire, had finally shattered his hopes completely.
That night, he had approached his father with eager goodwill, bearing news. Yet the emperor’s reaction left him disillusioned, even furious.
Before this, it had never crossed his mind that his father had truly entertained the idea of abdicating the throne to another. Even after that night, he struggled to believe it. Upon reflection, he wondered if it had merely been a test.
Until the day the Crown Princess relayed to him the details of the Taoist nun’s meeting with Pei You’an—and every word he had spoken.
Why had Pei You’an warned the nun to safeguard the paintings inscribed by the Tianxi Emperor? He claimed these artworks would become priceless in the future. What did that imply?
Once he pieced it together, everything became clear.
Xiao Yu was still alive. As a former minister of the Tianxi court, Pei You’an not only shared a close bond with him but also harbored an unfathomable loyalty to that bygone era.
It was highly likely that Pei You’an had been persuading Xiao Lie to honor his old promise and restore the Young Emperor to the throne.
Xiao Yintang couldn’t be certain whether his father had truly been swayed, but he believed—just as his dreams had foretold—that the emperor’s affection for Pei You’an, this son who must never be acknowledged, far surpassed what he felt for himself. The emperor’s trust and reliance on this son were beyond ordinary comprehension.
Given Pei You’an’s cunning, he wouldn’t outright urge the emperor to abdicate. But if he persistently advised Xiao Lie to designate the Young Emperor as his successor, thereby securing a legacy of virtue in the annals of history, such an idea might not be entirely unappealing to the emperor.
Xiao Yintang knew Pei You’an could never tolerate him—just as he could never tolerate Pei You’an. Between them, it was a fight to the death. Both understood this well.
Once, Xiao Yintang had believed himself the emperor’s only son. Now he knew it was nothing but a cruel jest.
For over twenty years, the emperor had not only another son—one he truly cherished—but might soon have even more.Even if Pei You'an ultimately failed to achieve his wish, once the emperor had those sons, given the current estrangement between himself and his father, how much longer could he securely maintain his position as Crown Prince?
Xiao Yintang broke into a cold sweat.
Everything today was completely different from the scenes in his dream.
Yet he stubbornly believed that everything he had seen in his dream was how his life should have originally been.
Zhen had indeed been his woman, and he had indeed been the emperor of this realm.
The only variable that made reality different was Pei You'an alone.
It was he who had taken his woman, and now sought to take his throne as well.
In this world, the only person who could enable Pei You'an to contend against him was the emperor.
As long as the emperor was gone, Pei You'an in this lifetime would meet his end alone, poisoned to death beyond the frontier.
Even now, the emperor and that son of his were sharpening their knives and advancing step by step toward him.
Time was running out. He had to fight with all his might for himself.
In the deadly struggle between the emperor, Pei You'an, and himself, just as his dream had foretold, he would be the one laughing last.
...
The next morning, the capital's streets were cleared as the Imperial Guards, under the command of the Marquis of Anyuan and Central Army Commander Liu Jiushao, escorted the emperor. Officials followed behind amidst the kneeling commoners lining the roads, forming a grand procession heading out of the city toward Shanglin Garden.
Pei You'an was originally part of the imperial entourage, but Chi Hanzhen's illness had worsened again several days prior. The previous night, she had developed a high fever that led to unconsciousness, putting her in critical condition. Upon hearing the news, Pei You'an requested leave from the emperor, urgently summoned a royal physician, and rushed over himself. He stayed awake all night until this morning when Chi Hanzhen's fever finally broke, though she remained unconscious.
The elderly physician, exhausted after staying up all night, was asked by Pei You'an to rest. Pei You'an then strolled to a stone pavilion in the courtyard.
The pavilion was neat, with a stone table and stool. On the table lay several volumes of the Yellow Sutra alongside writing implements—likely Chi Hanzhen's usual spot for reading and writing in her leisure time.
Pei You'an entered the pavilion, casually picked up a volume of Daoist scriptures, flipped through it briefly, then set it down. Seemingly inspired, he slowly spread out paper, ground ink, took up a Silver Brush from the stand, dipped it fully, and began writing with his wrist poised.
Though he hadn't slept all night and faint bloodshot lines marked his eyes, his posture remained as upright and graceful as bamboo in snow, showing no trace of fatigue. Standing by the stone table, he lowered his head slightly, wielding the brush with focused precision as ink flowed.
The morning sun rose slowly, its golden rays suddenly piercing through the oleander branches by the pavilion to illuminate him. A sleeve fluttered slightly in the cool dawn breeze with each stroke of his brush.
From behind a window, Chi Hanzhen watched silently, her gaze fixed obsessively on the man enveloped in the morning wind. Unable to restrain herself any longer, she tore off the cold cloth the young nun had placed on her forehead and pushed the door open with a clatter. Ignoring the nun's startled look, she hurried toward the stone pavilion.
Genuinely ill, her face sallow, she broke into a cold sweat after just these dozen steps. Leaning against a pavilion pillar to catch her breath, she gasped, "Lord Pei, don't mind me! Go wherever you need to be today! Don't let me delay important matters!"Pei You'an glanced at her without pausing his brushwork: "You're awake? Go rest in your room."
"Lord Pei!"
Chi Hanzhen's face was pale with anxiety. As she stepped forward, her legs gave way and she collapsed onto the pavilion steps. Struggling to sit up, she pleaded: "Lord Pei, you must leave! Don't concern yourself with me anymore!"
Pei You'an remained expressionless, finishing the final character. After reviewing his writing, he slowly placed the brush back on its stand before turning to look at Chi Hanzhen kneeling on the stone steps. His gaze was calm, silent.
"Lord Pei, I can't deceive you any longer. Some time ago, my younger brother was taken away. Someone used him to threaten me into spying on you. I didn't dare refuse, so I deceived you against my conscience. To feign illness, I soaked myself in ice water and later didn't take the medicine you prescribed. Then a few days ago, I was ordered to keep you confined in the temple today—not allowing you to leave even half a step—or my brother would die..."
Tears streamed down Chi Hanzhen's face.
"Was it the Crown Princess?" Pei You'an asked coolly.
Chi Hanzhen closed her eyes: "Yes!"
"People praise my moral integrity, but none know the filth hidden in my heart. I never truly wished to spend my life in this Taoist temple. When the Crown Princess first approached me, though hesitant, I couldn't resist the temptation to raise my status and maintain worldly connections. Never did I imagine I'd become trapped by my own scheming, reduced to this state!"
Her tears fell unceasingly.
"...Lord Pei, how could I possibly deserve your praise that day when you called me pure in spirit and noble in aspiration? You treated me with utmost sincerity out of respect for my grandfather's brief mentorship of you, yet I repaid you with such deception! Please leave now—go wherever you need to be today! If you don't go soon, something terrible will happen!"
She collapsed onto the steps, weeping bitterly.
Pei You'an looked down at her for a long moment before descending the pavilion steps and walking away.
Much later, a young novice nun finally gathered courage to approach and help Chi Hanzhen up, seating her on a nearby stone drum.
Chi Hanzhen's gaze fell upon the still-wet ink on the paper spread across the stone table:
"Ten thousand scrolls of verse, a thousand cups of wine,
Never once did I deign to glance at nobles fine.
Too lazy to return to jade towers golden bright,
I'd rather drink beneath Luoyang's plum blossoms white."
"Marquises with thousand chariots, kings with ten thousand more,
Jade flutes sound as plum blossoms begin to fall.
Golden cups overflow while the moon still hangs high,
All graves in Jiuyuan hold nobles who had to die."
The first half borrowed from Zhu Yanhe's "Partridge in the Sky," the latter from Liu Chang'an of Late Tang's "Spring Night Reminiscence."
Morning sunlight fell upon the freshly inked calligraphy—each character vigorous and bold, the strokes steady with unshakable resolve.
Through tear-blurred eyes, Chi Hanzhen murmured the verses aloud. When she turned to look for that familiar figure, he had long since disappeared beyond the courtyard gate.
...
That very day, shocking news reverberated through the imperial court.
While the Emperor was hunting in Shanglin Garden and presiding over the military examinations, an assassination attempt occurred—an extremely perilous situation. Fortunately, Liu Jiushao's meticulousness allowed him to detect the plot beforehand. The assassins were captured by Liu Jiushao's men before they could approach. The shaken Emperor ordered an immediate preliminary interrogation, which revealed the perpetrators were remnants of Prince Shun'an's faction. Furious, the Emperor returned to the palace and suspended court for three days. Just as officials speculated anxiously, the Emperor unexpectedly issued an Edict of Self-Reproach three days later.The Edict of Self-Reproach stated: "We and Prince Shun'an are brothers, sharing the same ancestors and father, connected by blood. Yet unexpectedly, we once forced each other's hands, and We failed to uphold fraternal affection, leading to deep-seated grievances that brought shame upon our clan. Last night, We dreamed of our ancestors reprimanding Us. Upon waking, We were filled with dread, fearing We may one day face them in the afterlife with no honor. Though We ought to personally return to our ancestral lands in Geng Province to guard the tombs and reflect on Our faults, the burdens of the realm and its people weigh heavily upon Us. Fortunately, the Crown Prince, in his pure filial piety, willingly relinquished his position to return as a commoner to the ancestral lands in his father's stead, fulfilling his duty of filial devotion."
Upon the issuance of this edict, the entire court was thrown into an uproar. Old Zhang and Zhou Xing sought an audience with the emperor. When they emerged, their faces were ashen, and they could barely walk without the support of their attendants.
Two days later, Old Zhang, citing old age and failing health, submitted a memorial requesting retirement. The emperor granted his petition. The Zhou family, however, was not so fortunate. Zhou Jin was dismissed on charges of factionalism and later, in fear of punishment, took his own life in the prison of the Court of Judicial Review. This case implicated dozens of officials in its wake.
In just half a month, the court underwent such earth-shaking upheavals that an atmosphere of fear and suspicion prevailed. Civil and military officials alike, though outwardly submitting memorials in agreement with the Edict of Self-Reproach and praising the Crown Prince's filial piety, secretly exchanged alarming news in hushed tones.
It was said that the assassination attempt in Shanglin Garden had been traced back to a conspiracy between the Crown Prince and Zhou Jin. The emperor, furious beyond measure, executed Zhou Jin, deposed the Crown Prince, and ordered him imprisoned in the ancestral lands for life, never to step beyond their bounds on pain of death.
This was the emperor's irrevocable decree—absolute and unchangeable.
OpenNovel