Inside, the Meng family father and sons reacted no less strongly than the Crown Prince to Emperor Tianshou’s words.
Meng Xizhang, still young and new to office, had just heard this and lifted his head in disbelief. Meng Jiuyu, with far more experience, lowered his head even deeper, though his back stiffened and his expression twisted.
Honestly, the emperor’s initial reaction was typical; Meng Jiuyu was unsurprised.
After all, for over a decade he had watched Emperor Tianshou treat ministers like this. Whether ministers or commoners, all were mere ants in his eyes—so small, so insignificant—that their lives mattered little.
For over ten years, similar events occurred almost monthly—but never to the Meng family, nor to his own sons.
One does not feel the pain until the needle pierces oneself.
…
Meng Jiuyu fell to his knees with a thud. He knew that mere pleading would not work; he had to make Emperor Tianshou realize that Meng Xizhao’s influence was not as decisive as he imagined.
When Cui Ye entered, Meng Jiuyu was already sobbing uncontrollably, beseeching the emperor. The people of Nanzhao still didn’t know they had abducted the Prefect of Longxing Prefecture. If the emperor sent troops and used this as a rallying reason, his son would inevitably be dragged out by the Nanzhao forces as a fresh sacrifice.
As for the army left in Jizhou City, they didn’t even know Meng Xizhao personally. How could they become more spirited simply because Meng Xizhao had fallen into Nanzhao hands? Moreover, Your Majesty, have you forgotten that Ding Chun was the junior disciple of the late Zhan Shenyu? Many former commanders of the Zhan family army now served under him. They wouldn’t simply lend a hand to Nanzhao, much less willingly go to rescue Meng Xizhao.
Meng Jiuyu had gone all in. To dissuade Emperor Tianshou, he even brought up a matter he had never before mentioned, laying it out plainly. Meng Xiang’ang was startled upon hearing it; his mind went blank, unable to process quickly. So he simply went along with Meng Jiuyu’s words.
Soon, he too knelt, joining Meng Jiuyu in prostration to exert pressure on the emperor.
Emperor Tianshou, thinking his plan was clever, was not pleased to see it so quickly dashed. Considering these two were Meng Xizhao’s closest relatives and would naturally speak in his favor, the emperor’s displeasure only deepened.
He did feel that it would be a pity for Meng Xizhao to die, but hadn’t he already been taken by Nanzhao? Without subduing Nanzhao, their forces could not enter, and Meng Xizhao could not be rescued. The sequence was so obvious—what was wrong with his reasoning?
The emperor stiffened his face and said nothing, signaling his unwillingness to change his mind. Seeing that crying and pleading had no effect, Meng Jiuyu began despairingly to consider a third step: emulating predecessors by threatening the emperor with self-harm.
But Meng Jiuyu had no confidence. This emperor was far too unpredictable; he feared that even if he struck the pillars, Emperor Tianshou might still show no reaction.
At that moment, a low, hoarse voice spoke from behind him: “Father, sending troops at this moment would indeed be unwise.”
Meng Jiuyu, still collapsed in feigned grief, froze in surprise and turned around.
Looking at the Crown Prince’s pale and composed face, Meng Jiuyu felt immense gratitude.
Well done—truly worthy of being the one my son immediately chose as the new master!
Meng Xiang’ang felt moved as well.
True loyalty reveals itself in adversity. Once my younger brother returns, I will make sure he treats you well!
…
In his life, Emperor Tianshou had never seen the Crown Prince speak so much.
Like a minister, every point was laid out clearly, weighing pros and cons, his tone neither submissive nor overbearing, as if he were merely passing by, having happened upon the matter by chance, and incidentally displaying extraordinary insight.
Yet the emperor knew he was more than anxious—he was nearly beside himself.
The Crown Prince spoke methodically below, and the emperor’s gaze was peculiar.
He suddenly realized that, in theory, he should know nothing of this son, yet a single glance revealed exactly what he was thinking.
He was tired of the court, tired of me, and even more tired of living day and night like a puppet. Yet equally, he was weary of power struggles and deceit, preferring to remain silent and detached rather than be dragged into these filthy whirlpools.
This had been his subconscious image of his eldest son.
But now, the Crown Prince was no longer that way—he no longer concealed his ambition; he intended to contend.
In this world, both the Crown Prince Cui Ye and Meng Xizhao, with their future-seeing talents, believed that if Emperor Tianshou realized the Crown Prince was acting against his expectations, he would fly into a rage. Yet, in reality, the emperor did not grow angry. Instead, he experienced a strange, inexplicable feeling.
It was like thinking, “Ah, so this one truly is my son,” or, “I thought he had no temper in his life, but apparently not,” or, “Interesting—much more entertaining than watching amusements.”
…
No, it had nothing to do with suddenly awakening paternal affection. He simply found the Crown Prince’s actions amusing, because no matter what, he could not be turned.
Sometimes, caprice and selfishness are not entirely negative. For instance, now, because of his willfulness and selfishness, the emperor quickly shifted his attention from Nanzhao to the Crown Prince. After all, the war with Nanzhao had dragged on for years; recovering Jizhou already brought boundless joy. As for Ganzhou and Ningren Prefecture, he held no unrealistic expectations.
After all, Ningren Prefecture had been governed by the Nanzhao emperor Zhen Anluo for eleven years. Its defenses were constantly reinforced, and since his move there, the center of gravity of Nanzhao had shifted almost entirely. Though Ningren Prefecture was not as prosperous as Yingtian Prefecture, in terms of fortification, they were comparable.
Such a tough nut could not be cracked without the full strength of the empire; even with three to five years of war, it would remain unconquered.
As for Ganzhou, being the gateway to Ningren Prefecture, it was heavily guarded. The Nanzhao emperor, being smarter than Tianshou, knew that he could not merely defend the capital. He divided a third of the Yu Yi Army, originally assigned to guard the emperor, to station in Ganzhou.
Previously, Ding Chun had led 100,000 troops to attack Longxing Prefecture, but now only 80,000 remained. This was enough to take Ganzhou, but should they succeed, those 80,000 might dwindle to fewer than 10,000.
Given such harsh objective conditions, and with Meng Jiuyu’s tears giving him a headache, it would indeed be inhumane to send Ding Chun out, disregarding Meng Xizhao’s life.
Impatiently, Emperor Tianshou waved his hand: “Enough, stop crying. We shall consider this matter carefully in time.”
Hearing this, Meng Jiuyu and Meng Xiang’ang finally felt partially reassured. They hurriedly kowtowed to thank the emperor, who, however, did not wish to see them any longer: “All of you leave; I need to rest for a while.”
The Meng father and son rose and took their leave. Seeing this, the Crown Prince was about to follow, but as he turned, he heard Emperor Tianshou call out: “Cui Ye, you stay.”
Meng Xiang’ang glanced back with concern, only to be quickly pulled aside by Meng Jiuyu, who then hurriedly exited with him.
Once they were gone, the Crown Prince turned back and bowed before his towering father. “Father,” he addressed him respectfully.
Emperor Tianshou studied his humble demeanor for a long moment before asking, “You were close to Meng Xizhao, weren’t you?”
Qin Feimang, holding his duster, couldn’t help but look up, glancing at the Crown Prince below. He felt anxious on the Crown Prince’s behalf. Yet the prince appeared calm, lifting his eyes to meet the emperor’s. Though they were father and son, at that moment, each felt the other was almost a stranger.
Slowly, the Crown Prince shook his head. “Father, everyone is focused on Meng Xizhao, but no one notices that Xie Yuan was with him as well.”
Emperor Tianshou was taken aback.
Xie Yuan was already twenty-four this year, and the current reign year was the sixteenth year of Tianshou. This meant that before Xie Yuan turned eight, the emperor had been the Crown Prince. At that time, he hadn’t yet met Consort Gan, and although he didn’t favor his own crown princess, they had maintained proper etiquette and marital duties.
As the nephew of the Crown Princess, Xie Yuan had naturally been seen by the emperor, and often so. Years had passed—sixteen in total—and everything had changed. The emperor had once reviewed Xie Yuan’s studies and praised him as a rare prodigy. Now, with Xie Yuan himself in danger, the emperor had failed to notice.
A person’s danger is not from lack of conscience, nor from having too much, but from having neither; such people often lead harder lives than others.
Emperor Tianshou, despite his lack of virtue and ruthlessness, occasionally allowed a flicker of normal emotion. The emperor’s vices were a nightmare for the realm, but his moments of compassion were a ladder to greatness for certain people.
In a single sentence, the Crown Prince dispelled the emperor’s doubts. The emperor asked no more questions and waved him away.
The Crown Prince obeyed, bowing and taking his leave. Before exiting, he glanced once more at the emperor seated on the dragon throne.
It was but a fleeting moment; no one could read his thoughts. By the time Qin Feimang looked, the prince had lowered his eyes, appearing as gentle and courteous as ever.
Outside the hall, Yu Fulan quickly summoned attendants to hold an umbrella over the Crown Prince. He hurried over and whispered, “Your Highness, how did it go?”
The Crown Prince did not answer, instead pausing on the corridor in thought. Then he looked up and instructed Yu Fulan, “Prepare the carriage. I am leaving the palace.”
Yu Fulan froze. “…Leaving the palace? For what purpose?”
“To visit the government offices,” the Crown Prince replied.
Yu Fulan was shocked. At this moment? So openly?
Cui Ye, naturally unwilling to waste time on explanations at such a critical juncture, began to leave. But before departing, he paused to give Yu Fulan one last instruction: “Find someone trustworthy and send them to the office of the Minister of Works. Tell him everything that happened today, in full detail.”
“Consider carefully” meant no later than tomorrow.
Tomorrow, it wouldn’t be only the Meng father and son standing in the hall; other high officials would be called. Cui Ye could not bear the thought of them bickering while Meng Xizhao suffered in Nanzhao—it burned through him like fire in his very insides.
Thus, he needed many to aid him, to decisively settle matters tomorrow.
＊
Little did Meng Xizhao know that Yingtian Prefecture, because of him, was about to be swept by a level-three typhoon. He had stayed up half the night, pondering his next move, but exhaustion finally overtook him, and he drifted into unconscious sleep. When he awoke, the Nanzhao men were opening the cellar doors, pulling them out one by one.
Out of the cellar, they were loaded into the prison carts.
…
Move too slowly, and the Nanzhao soldiers would grow violent; the four of them were not fools, and so quickened their pace.
Meng Xizhao was at the rear. Before obediently climbing into the cart, he lifted his head and smiled at the supervising official watching them.
The smile was full of gratitude.
The candle from yesterday had clearly not been standard issue; it was a courtesy from the official, recognizing Meng Xizhao’s wealth. His tactful acknowledgment lifted the official’s mood considerably.
Once mounted, he gave the command, and the convoy resumed at high speed.
The road was dry, but the prisoners inside the cart still felt unwell from the jostling. Like motion sickness, frequent exposure would dull the effect. Compared to first entering the cart, they felt somewhat better.
Director Wang, watching the rapidly receding road, could not help but say to Meng Xizhao, “Nephew, are we really going to Ningren Prefecture…?”
Meng Xizhao responded with a soft hum.
Wang paused. “Hum? You seem oddly at ease!”
Meng Xizhao turned his head unexpectedly and asked, “Second Uncle, you once spoke of auspicious omens—were they real?”
Wang Wang: “…”
At this moment, what did it matter?
Meng Xizhao’s thoughts mirrored Wang’s. “Never mind, no need to answer. True or not, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
He smiled faintly at Wang: “Success comes from you, failure comes from you. We have already experienced the failure. I hope that in the future, any success will shine as brilliantly as today, leaving others amazed and applauding.”
Wang Wang: “…………”
This was bad.
He suspected that Meng Xizhao had been pretending all along—that in truth, he had been terrified beyond reason, his mind on the brink of collapse.
…
On this journey, the Nanzhao troops did not stop once. It wasn’t until past noon, when the gates of Ningren Prefecture came into view, that Meng Xizhao finally confronted the city in reality.
Ningren Prefecture had only received this name after coming under Nanzhao control; previously, it had been called Shaozhou. Among the cities seized by Nanzhao, Ningren Prefecture had once been unremarkable. It was only after the arrival of the Nanzhao emperor that it was developed into what it was now.
Meng Xizhao stared at the copper-and-iron walls and gates, mentally calculating how much black powder would be required to breach them.
But as he approached, he realized his estimations were useless. With the power of black powder, no amount could blow open the gate.
These gates rivaled those of Yingtian Prefecture’s inner city!
The Nanzhao emperor had truly spared no expense… Yingtian Prefecture had taken fifty years to reach its current form; Ningren Prefecture, in just ten, had built defenses of such strength. It was clear all resources had been poured into this endeavor.
From this, one could see that the Nanzhao emperor was a ruler who did not indulge in pleasure…
Tears streamed down Meng Xizhao’s face. Compared to Emperor Tianshou, anyone would seem a better ruler.
Passing through the gates, he observed the buildings lining the roads. Some were modeled exactly after Daqi architecture, while others bore Nanzhao characteristics: two-story houses with open ground floors and living spaces above.
Meng Xizhao was fully absorbed in observing Ningren Prefecture, unaware that they had already reached their destination.
Entering a nondescript black gate, the prison cart was opened. Meng Xizhao thought they would be moved to another holding area, but as soon as he stepped out, a Nanzhao soldier grabbed him by the collar, shouting for him to stand properly. Another soldier immediately came over to search him.
The others received the same treatment. Surprised by the sudden action, everyone complied. All scattered silver, pouches, and jade trinkets were confiscated. Meng Xizhao did not resist, but he was perhaps the most anxious of them all.
Soon enough, his fears materialized. The soldier searching him found the pendant around his neck.
The Nanzhao man first pulled open his collar, examining the strange shape and obviously valuable jade, and his eyes lit with excitement.
He turned to his companion, spoke a few words in the Ailao tongue, then yanked the pendant forcibly from Meng Xizhao’s neck.
The cord was strong, tied personally by Cui Ye with a precise knot; it could not have been broken easily. Yet this man’s strength tore it in half.
The jerk left a blood-red mark at the back of Meng Xizhao’s neck, though he did not feel pain. His gaze remained fixed on the pendant now gone from his possession.
Noticing his stare, the man jeered, speaking in broken Chinese: “What, you don’t want to give it to me? Try and take it back if you dare.”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together until they nearly bled. Yet in the next instant, a radiant smile spread across his face. “Not at all, sir, you misunderstand. This jade has always been close to me. I bought it at a Buddhist temple, had it consecrated, and cherished it dearly. Now that it is in your hands, perhaps it is fate. I hope you will wear it often, so it continues to protect you.”
The Nanzhao man: “…………”
Buddhism seeps into everything, apparently—even a sickle-shaped jade pendant.
His expression turned from excitement to disdain. Originally, he had considered giving it to his beloved, but now he thought better of it—better to sell it at a jewelry shop for cash.
Before long, the four of them were stripped bare, left only in their clothes. The supervising official watched closely, and when all was cleared, he ordered them confined once more.
This time, it was not the cellar but a warehouse. Inside, it resembled a prison: a row of small compartments, many storing “goods.”
Since the Daqi army’s advance had been swift, much of the warehouse was empty. Meng Xizhao and the others no longer had to crowd together; each had a small private compartment. Fortunately, the four compartments were close together.
Once secured, the Nanzhao men hurried away. Meng Xizhao had heard the supervising official say he would report to his superior, and that later, at night, he would go to the princess to offer apologies.
So Meng Xizhao remained calm, silently stepping inside and sitting down, emptying his mind to find a moment of peace.
Yet even in stillness, he could not shake the feeling that someone was watching him.
Unable to endure it, he turned to Xie Yuan, who sat in the compartment next to him. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
Xie Yuan hesitated. “…That pendant.”
Meng Xizhao’s heart skipped a beat.
He fell silent, meeting Xie Yuan’s sharp gaze. Xie Yuan, still staring blankly, continued: “It belonged to my aunt. When she was one month old, my grandparents had a jade craftsman fashion it for her, saying ‘profit in loss, advance in retreat,’ wishing her a lifetime of peace…”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He froze.
Cui Ye had never told him the pendant’s history, only that it was a talisman. Yet here was a relic of Empress Xie… back then, before he had discovered Cui Ye’s feelings, Cui Ye had already entrusted such a precious object to him.
Meng Xizhao should have felt a storm of emotions, but his mind focused on a single thought.
Yes, it seems Cui Ye truly cares for me.
…
After a moment of silence, Meng Xizhao lifted his hand. Instinctively reaching for the pendant, he realized it was gone. He paused, then said quietly, “I will get it back.”
These words were meant as much for himself as for Xie Yuan—but Xie Yuan, hearing them, wanted to shout: it’s not about whether you can get it back.
It’s about how my aunt’s heirloom ended up around your neck in the first place!
A few years ago, the Crown Prince had written clearly that he would wear it and keep it with him. How did it wind up on you?!
Xie Yuan nearly went mad. He was learned, but not foolish; such a precious item, once given away, was tantamount to offering up one’s own life and fortune… Who would be so generous as to give something like that to a trusted companion? Only to someone they loved!
His thoughts turned uncontrollably to that day when the Crown Prince had come to the Longxing Prefecture office and, without a word, gone straight to Meng Xizhao…
At that moment, Xie Yuan finally understood why the Crown Prince hadn’t spoken to him.
A brief separation makes the heart grow fonder—when the beloved is right there, who still has time for pleasantries with a cousin?
The blow was too great; Xie Yuan shut down entirely.
Meng Xizhao cast him a glance and, weighing between comforting him or playing dumb, happily chose the latter.
Hugging his knees, he sat on the straw, thinking of his stolen pendant and the uncertain path ahead. Slowly, his expression hardened with resolve.
In his life, he had endured everything—but he would not suffer loss without fight.
The country—he would reclaim it. The pendant—he would retrieve it. Glory—he would achieve it.
The Nanzhao had moved first against him; now he had no reason to hold back.
Taking a deep breath, he suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs: “Supervising Officer! I must see you immediately!”