From the time Su Ruocun entered the palace until now, it had been only four months at most.
Although she started at a high rank as soon as she entered the palace, and later benefited from the legacy of Su Zhifu to become Shuyi, this promotion to Xianfei had nothing to do with anyone else. It was entirely the result of her own efforts.
Jin Zhu carefully wiped his face as if he were a child. Meng Xizhao finally closed his gaping mouth after a moment of recovery.
Then he frowned.
Based on his understanding of Emperor Tianshou, and all the information the crown prince had supplemented him with, the emperor was currently like a cannon packed with ten thousand charges—anyone who touched him would be unlucky. At this time, he could be used to harm others, but not to reward them.
Of course, people can change—but Meng Xizhao did not believe Emperor Tianshou still counted as a person in that sense.
So what exactly had Su Ruocun done to earn such favor from the emperor, enough to be promoted to Xianfei at such a critical moment?
＊
Since Meng Xizhao had a question, he naturally went to seek out his informant in the palace.
The informant, Qin Feimang: “…………”
He truly had boarded Meng Xizhao’s pirate ship without noticing.
And now, seeing the ship rocking back and forth as if it might sink at any moment and drag him down with it, he still had to grip the sails tightly and keep it moving forward.
Regret filled him. He had simply taken bribes too smoothly back then—and now there was no turning back at all.
But if one were to ask whether he truly wanted to turn back, even he could not give a definite answer.
Looking at the Emperor of Tianshou in his current wretched, mournful state, deep inside, only Qin Feinang himself knew how satisfying it felt.
After ascending the throne, instead of granting a general amnesty or reducing taxes, the very first thing he wanted to do was stabilize the Xia Kingdom, marry off his own younger sister, and use that to secure a favorable situation for threatening the Xiongnu and launching an attack against them…
Qin Feinang was powerless to stop any of this. He was nothing more than a worthless eunuch—but even eunuchs were still human beings, with their own joys, hatreds, and emotions.
……
There was one thing about Meng Xizhao that was quite good: he never demanded Qin Feinang pledge loyalty, nor did he force him to hand over leverage for control. Their relationship seemed unchanged from before—one providing benefits, the other handling tasks. Only now, those “benefits” had become increasingly intangible, while the tasks themselves had grown more and more dangerous.
Taking advantage of the Emperor of Tianshou being asleep, Qin Feinang met briefly with Meng Xizhao inside the palace. After a polite exchange, Meng Xizhao asked about Su Rucun. Qin Feinang did not hide anything and directly recounted the previous night’s talk of burial as a living sacrifice.
Seeing Meng Xizhao also widen his eyes, Qin Feinang finally felt a sense of relief, as if to say: See? It’s them who are not normal, not me.
Qin Feinang left soon after, while Meng Xizhao remained standing there in thought.
Su Rucun’s actions were certainly not a death wish. She wanted to live more than anyone. From the moment she changed her name and identity, what she sought was never fleeting glory, but a lifetime of upheaval and ambition.
But…
Meng Xizhao showed a trace of hesitation. He did not know how to describe his feelings. It was like picking up an injured bird and raising it until it could fly again. On the day of release, he stood below watching it rise higher and higher—far beyond what he had expected. Only then did he realize it was not an ordinary bird at all, but an eagle.
For a brief moment, Meng Xizhao felt regret.
It was the unease of something slipping beyond his control.
But that feeling quickly disappeared. He realized that the one who had gone beyond control was Su Rucun—not his family, nor the Crown Prince. From the very beginning, his relationship with Su Rucun had been mutually beneficial. His need for control was not so great that he had to dominate every person he knew.
Moreover, precisely because Su Rucun was so independent and perceptive, able to seize every opportunity placed before her, Meng Xizhao felt even more at ease. Independence was always better than dependence on others. If she rose higher, it would only benefit him.
All these thoughts flashed through his mind in just a few seconds. The hesitation vanished from his expression. With a small shrug, Meng Xizhao turned to head toward the Hua Ning Hall to visit the Emperor of Tianshou, already considering how to phrase his words upon entering.
But just as he approached, he saw someone kneeling at the entrance.
In the freezing snow, the person knelt upright at the palace gate, guarded by imperial soldiers. It was obvious he was being punished.
Meng Xizhao paused. Recognizing the familiar figure, and not knowing the full situation, he quietly stepped aside and bought information from a palace attendant.
“What happened?” he asked.
The attendant wore a bitter expression. “Shé Shěren offended His Majesty. The Emperor has ordered him to kneel outside Hua Ning Hall until sunset. Lord Meng, you should not go in either. His Majesty is displeased with everyone right now. We should all be careful.”
Until sunset?!
In this deep winter, though the capital did not freeze solid, the temperature was only around two or three degrees. If he truly knelt until sunset, would Shé Yuan’s knees even survive that?
The Shé family had no strong backing in court. And with everything that had just happened to the Emperor of Tianshou, no one would rush to curry favor with the Crown Prince at such a time. Moreover, the Emperor’s condition was clearly unstable. Aside from Shé Yuan, many others had been punished as well—only Shé Yuan’s punishment was especially severe.
No one wanted to step forward and risk being the next target.
Meng Xizhao considered going to the newly appointed Noble Consort, but for her to suddenly plead for a court official would not fit her usual character. Frowning, he looked at Shé Yuan’s back for a moment, then turned and went to the Eastern Palace instead.
About the time it took to burn an incense stick later, Shé Yuan was finally released from his punishment. With heavy, unsteady steps, he left the palace.
The Emperor had ordered him to kneel in thin clothing, without proper winter garments. He had been freezing so badly that even his mind felt numb. His face showed no expression as he was supported by palace attendants, walking unevenly toward the exit. He had expected his own servant to be waiting outside—but instead, the only person he saw was Meng Xizhao, brows tightly furrowed.
His servant stood to the side, eyes red and swollen. Seeing their expressions, Shé Yuan moved his lips but said nothing. Together, they helped him into the carriage, and Meng Xizhao followed inside as well.
Two refined young men sat facing each other in silence. Neither spoke first. Only when the carriage began moving and the palace was far behind did Shé Yuan finally say, “Thank you.”
Meng Xizhao replied, “Don’t thank me. Thank the Crown Prince. He’s the one who saved you.”
Shé Yuan hesitated. “Will the Crown Prince be punished because of me?”
Meng Xizhao answered without hesitation. “No.”
Shé Yuan looked at him in confusion, not understanding how he could be so certain.
Meng Xizhao glanced at him and said matter-of-factly, “I told the Crown Prince to pretend he had a severe cold—coughing like an old man on his deathbed. I imagine when His Majesty sees him, he’ll feel quite pleased. He might even reward him with some tonic medicine.”
“……”
Though it sounded absurd, thinking of the Emperor of Tianshou’s earlier expression, Shé Yuan slowly nodded. “His Majesty is recovering from a serious illness. His temperament is unstable right now. For the Crown Prince to show weakness… is indeed correct.”
Meng Xizhao asked, “Why exactly were you punished?”
After a pause, Shé Yuan replied, “His Majesty called me forward, looked me over, then suddenly flew into a rage and ordered me to kneel outside to reflect.”
“……”
In other words—no reason at all.
Meng Xizhao had originally thought Shé Yuan had been caught in collateral damage because he looked too healthy, too young, and too proper—wandering in front of the Emperor and thus offending his mood, resulting in punishment for no reason whatsoever.
But based on Shé Yuan’s description, it should not have been enough to make Emperor Tianshou so furious just because he looked healthy.
Could it be… emotional triggers?
Seeing him, remembering Empress Shé, and then recalling Noble Consort Gan—after that, the descent into madness began.
…The thought process of a madman really was impossible to predict.
Meng Xizhao pursed his lips. In the quiet carriage, because he had not spoken for a long time, Shé Yuan had already lowered his head on his own. He looked somewhat unwell.
“How long were you kneeling there?”
Shé Yuan lifted his head when he heard the question and smiled faintly. “Not long. About… one hour.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Kneeling for even a quarter of an hour was already enough to ruin someone’s legs. One hour—his knees were probably in critical condition.
“My family has a rather skilled physician. When we return, I’ll have him go over and examine you. Don’t dismiss injuries you get when you’re young. When you’re older, you’ll regret it.”
Meng Xizhao spoke earnestly, almost lecturing him. Shé Yuan was slightly taken aback—he had not intended to refuse in the first place.
He gave a small smile. “I understand. Then I’ll trouble Lord Meng.”
After a pause, he carefully added, “As for my punishment today… I ask Lord Meng not to tell anyone else.”
Meng Xizhao suddenly turned his head. “Why?”
Shé Yuan blinked, answering sincerely, “I do not wish for my grandfather to know. I must trouble Lord Meng to keep it confidential.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
You limp all the way home and expect your grandfather not to notice? Unless he’s suddenly developed cataracts, he’ll see it immediately.
Oh, Shé Yuan. So that’s what this is—nice-sounding words masking the real intent. Not wanting him to tell Meng Jiao Jiao, that’s it.
He had even felt a bit sympathetic a moment ago, but now, for some reason, he suddenly felt annoyed.
He blurted out, “You may not know this, but my younger sister’s network of handkerchief friends is wider than the number of officials I know. What happened today will absolutely not escape her ears.”
Although most of those so-called “friends” were not truly close in the first place.
Shé Yuan stared at him blankly. When he finally processed the meaning, his cheeks turned red in an instant.
Despite being in his twenties, he looked even more like a youth experiencing first love than someone who had not yet come of age.
Looking at him, Meng Xizhao let out a long, aged sigh, adopting an air of profound wisdom. “The Meng family has strict upbringing. Do you really think we know nothing?”
“Since it will soon be the twelfth lunar month, if you are sincere, send a matchmaker to our door. That way, my parents will not have to keep worrying.”
……
The carriage first dropped Shé Yuan off at his residence. Watching him limp—almost simultaneously left and right—out of the carriage, Meng Xizhao felt an inexplicable sense of superiority, as if he were someone experienced.
No wonder his eldest brother liked lecturing him so much. It really was quite satisfying.
Dropping the curtain, Meng Xizhao sat back alone in the carriage. Without Shé Yuan, the space suddenly felt much larger.
He sighed, sitting loosely, thinking about Shé Yuan’s ordeal today as well as the changes inside the palace.
After one minor flare-up, the medication would now be paused for the time being.
According to Teng Kangning, the process of medication was like a storm—gradually raising the water level until it became dangerous, then striking it with a final heavy dose so that it would overflow instantly. Once it overflowed, the dam would collapse. And once the dam collapsed during the flood, there would be no way to rebuild it again. The water would spread everywhere, drowning all life. Although the process still required time, by then, nothing could stop it anymore.
So once this stroke began, Emperor Tianshou was already beyond saving. If properly maintained, he might still live another three or four years.
But once Meng Xizhao chose to administer the drug again, it would not even take a month—perhaps only a few days, perhaps ten or so—for a severe relapse to take him away completely.
But that would not do.
There were still matters unfinished. Meng Xizhao could not let him die yet.
Grand Tutor Gan was still alive. The Gan family remained intact. The faction of corrupt officials still had remnants. More importantly, he had to clear Shang Shanyou’s name while Emperor Tianshou was still alive.
To exonerate someone only after the greatest perpetrator was dead would be meaningless—a hollow vindication. The world was already full of regrets; there was no need to add another.
But Emperor Tianshou’s current emotional state was far too unstable… Meng Xizhao felt somewhat stuck.
This was the first time he had encountered a situation where his own actions had backfired so thoroughly. The Emperor’s body had been ruined by his hand, his spirit had collapsed—but his temperament had also changed, and now he might… have developed a particular hatred for young men.
What now…
While he was still troubled, he heard footsteps outside. He already knew who it was and looked up. Moments later, a pair of long, elegant hands pushed open the door.
It was his dear Crown Prince.
Seeing him, Meng Xizhao could not help but curl his lips.
He walked over and helped remove the Crown Prince’s cloak, examining his expression. Though he already knew the answer, he still asked, “Did His Majesty make things difficult for you?”
The Crown Prince replied, “No. He even rewarded me with a great deal of medicinal tonics.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Although he had said it himself, at times he was still impressed by his own prophetic accuracy.
Since the Emperor had fallen ill until now, he had not seen him personally; everything he knew came from others.
“How does he look now?”
The Crown Prince thought for a moment before giving a very brief assessment.
“A pitiful wretch.”
When speaking with him, the Emperor’s attention drifted constantly. Even when silent, he would suddenly stare into space, lost in thought. When he came back to himself, he would erupt into anger and scold those around him.
Since concubines avoided the Emperor when he met officials, the Crown Prince had not seen Su Rucun. He did not know whether she could calm him.
Probably not. He trusted Su Rucun, but she was not his true love—she could not heal the hole in his heart.
Meng Xi Zhao listened and let out a cold laugh. “Serves them right.”
If he were an ordinary commoner, he probably wouldn’t have felt such hatred toward Emperor Tianshou. After all, the man was too distant. It was true that people knew corrupt rulers brought suffering upon the land, but when commoners had a hard life, did they truly direct their hatred at the emperor? Not really. They hated the brutal local officials, the tax collectors who stripped away their grain, and at most, the county magistrates.
But because Meng Xi Zhao had started from a much higher position, the people he first came into contact with were all victims of Emperor Tianshou’s direct cruelty—or the families of those victims. So he had no other target for his resentment. Only one: the emperor.
And he also possessed a modern soul. Acts like regicide, which in the eyes of ancient people were one of the most unforgivable sins, were in his mind reduced to just four words—acting on behalf of heaven.
It did not matter which country, or which dynasty’s emperor it was. If you were unworthy, then I would kill you.
……
These thoughts were probably unacceptable even to his father and elder brother. As for Cui Ye, after hearing them, he would most likely nod seriously and even praise him: “Second Young Master is truly bold.”
A crown prince like Cui Ye was likely one of a kind in all of heaven and earth.
He did not crave power, nor did he long for wealth. His upbringing made him entirely uninterested in the throne. He even felt that the throne was something cursed—whoever became emperor would be as if struck by some kind of spell, their actions becoming incomprehensible.
He did not want to be emperor, and he also looked down on Emperor Tianshou. At the same time, because he had always been born of noble status, the person others treated with awe and fear was, in his eyes, not even as significant as a small insect that quietly and diligently ate its leaves from birth. So for Meng Xi Zhao’s heretical and frankly terrifying ideas, he was actually the most accepting person.
Different starting points, yet still arriving at the same destination.
Meng Xi Zhao rested his head on his hand and listened as Cui Ye recounted what had happened in the imperial palace over the past day and night. Even though Emperor Tianshou had already descended into madness, people were still continuously entering the palace.
There was no helping it. If they hid away, and later Emperor Tianshou remembered them, they would not expect anything good to come from it.
Ordinary officials could avoid going for a day or two, but favored ministers could not. They had to show up early in the morning.
For example, his father had not even gone to the office that morning and had gone directly to visit Emperor Tianshou instead.
Although his father was still in good health, he was no longer young. After growing a full beard, his appearance had taken a serious hit; he no longer carried the same elegance he once had. So he managed to avoid disaster—Emperor Tianshou merely ignored him and did not do anything further.
After that, Yan Shunying, Situ Huan, Geng Wenjing, and Shang Xiguan all came. Grand Tutor Gan was pretending to be ill; he might only come tomorrow.
When he heard that this man still dared to fake illness and act pitiful, Meng Xi Zhao curled his lips but did not bother commenting. An autumn locust—how long could it possibly jump?
According to Cui Ye’s account, among all these people, the one Emperor Tianshou treated with the most courtesy was actually Situ Huan.
He held Situ Huan’s hand and even shed two tears, startling Situ Huan. When Situ Huan asked what was wrong, he refused to answer, only shaking his head solemnly and saying he had been too muddle-headed in the past.
When Meng Xi Zhao heard this, he suddenly sat upright. “He really said that?”
Cui Ye nodded.
Meng Xi Zhao froze for a moment, his expression turning thoughtful.
Situ Huan was neither a corrupt minister nor a pure and upright official. In court, he was the kind who maintained his own authority while maneuvering between Yan Shunying, Gan Rui, and others—never offending anyone to death, but also never letting them dominate completely.
When there was an opportunity to act behind the scenes, he would act. When Qiu Sumin was sending gifts everywhere, he would accept them without hesitation.
This was precisely why he had been able to stand firm in court for so long: he was intelligent, knew how to read the situation, had his own principles and opinions—but not too many of them. At critical moments, he was willing to take a step back and was not rigid.
It was just that starting two years ago, Situ Huan seemed to no longer want to exhaust himself so much. He submitted several memorials requesting retirement, but Yan Shunying, who was even older than him, was still holding on. Naturally, the emperor did not believe he was sincere and rejected them all.
Situ Huan was not a favored minister, nor did he have any special friendship with Emperor Tianshou. The reason he had risen to the position of Left Prime Minister was because of his capability—and because nearly everyone in court capable of holding the position had been driven out by Emperor Tianshou’s “half-wife.”
All of them were elders who had once opposed the emperor’s decision to depose the empress, and had been remembered with deep resentment. Even those who remained had no chance of promotion.
At the time, Situ Huan’s rank had not been high. In a sense, he had simply picked up a bargain.
So it was strange. A man with no personal relationship with him—just an ordinary court official—why would the emperor suddenly grasp his hand and shed tears?
And when combined with what happened last night—calling Su Ruocun into the palace and inexplicably asking a question that, in Meng Xi Zhao’s eyes, was basically equivalent to “How much do you love me?”—everything suddenly became clear.
A mist seemed to disperse in his mind.
So that was it… he had lost his sense of security. He had been struck hard by Gan Guifei’s poetry, and now he no longer trusted those he had once favored!
Oh heavens, he didn’t even trust his own judgment anymore. He was completely questioning his entire life!
Meng Xi Zhao abruptly stood up, his face unable to conceal his excitement.
Cui Ye: “……”
He stared blankly, not understanding why Meng Xi Zhao suddenly looked so ferocious.
“Second Young Master, what is it?”
Meng Xi Zhao did not seem to hear him. Instead, he stared into the air and murmured, “A heaven-sent opportunity… if I don’t use it, I’m not even Chinese anymore!”
Cui Ye: “……”
The concept of “China” had long existed, though it was rarely mentioned at this time. Cui Ye understood the words, but not their meaning.
In the next instant, Meng Xi Zhao suddenly sat back down, then grabbed Cui Ye’s hand with an affectionate expression. He stroked the back of Cui Ye’s hand like a shameless lecher.
“Your Highness, for our future, you can do anything… right?”
Cui Ye looked at his hand being lightly rubbed, then silently looked back at Meng Xi Zhao.
“…Mm.”
He actually sounded a bit uncertain.
Meng Xi Zhao let that detail slide and continued smiling brightly. “Then can you treat His Majesty as if he were me?”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Say that again?