The Heaven Worship ceremony proceeded as usual. The civil and military officials, having recovered from the earlier incident, began to feel that something about the situation was slightly off. But the Crown Prince was already leading them outward, and those with real authority had voiced no objections. As for the minor officials, they dared not say a word.
After all, submitting a memorial afterward was one thing—but stopping the Crown Prince on the spot was entirely different. Doing so would mean placing themselves squarely in opposition to him.
Who would be foolish enough to do that?
…
The ceremony was open to public viewing. No one knew which past emperor had established this custom, but the imperial guards surrounded the entire altar so tightly that not even a fly could slip through. The common people stood outside the cordon, craning their necks to watch this year’s rites.
When they noticed that the officiant had changed—from the face they had long grown tired of to a young, handsome nobleman also wearing the ceremonial crown—they widened their eyes and immediately began whispering among themselves.
“Who’s that? So handsome!”
“You fool—that’s the Crown Prince! Didn’t you see he’s wearing the Crown Prince’s robes?”
“How would I know what those look like? But hey, I heard the Emperor’s been ill… If the Crown Prince is performing the rites on his behalf, then does that mean—”
“Shh! Keep your voice down! Don’t let others hear you!”
Meng Xizhao glanced back at the two commoners squeezed into the front row, then turned away as if he had heard nothing at all.
Squinting slightly, he looked up at Cui Ye standing atop the altar and thought to himself—
The people truly have sharp eyes.
That’s right. His Crown Prince really is handsome.
…
＊
By the time the Emperor finally woke, not only had the Heaven Worship ceremony concluded—even the ancestral rites were finished. Only the tail end of the first day of the New Year remained.
After learning what had happened that morning, the Emperor was beside himself with fury. How could he have fallen like that for no reason? Others might think it was due to unsteady footing, but as the person involved, he was certain—the floor tile must have been faulty!
…Well, he could not actually be sure. But he was too angry, so he firmly pinned the blame on the tile. He immediately summoned Wen Shiji and ordered him to investigate.
Qin Feimang stood to the side with his head lowered. He quietly glanced at the imperial ceremonial robes hanging nearby.
Beneath them lay a pair of silk shoes—spotless, not a speck of dust on them.
That was only natural. It was the New Year, and the palace servants would have scrubbed even a sparrow clean if it flew inside. This outfit was brand new, and the Emperor had worn it for no more than a quarter of an hour. Of course it still looked pristine.
But only Qin Feimang knew the truth.
It was not because the ground had been cleaned so thoroughly—
Those silk shoes had, in fact, never touched the ground at all.
A trace of unease crept into his heart. He knew Wen Shiji’s capabilities well. The man had become Commander at just over twenty years old—not only because of his loyalty, but because he was exceptionally competent. Anything the Emperor assigned him, he always completed.
…Surely it would not be traced back to him?
Wen Shiji accepted the order and left. As Qin Feimang stood there in a daze, the Emperor’s voice rang out again.
“Summon Cui Ye to me!”
Qin Feimang snapped back to attention and hurriedly acknowledged the command. As he stepped out, he silently lit a candle for the Crown Prince.
Months of hard work—about to go up in smoke.
That was simply the kind of man the Emperor was. No matter how well you had served him before, the moment you incurred his resentment, all your past efforts became meaningless.
Qin Feimang had intended to go to the Eastern Palace himself—after all, he was now aligned with the Crown Prince’s faction. But the moment he stepped outside, he saw the captain of the Eastern Palace guards, Yu Fulan, at the gate.
He hurried forward, intending to relay the situation so Yu Fulan could warn the Crown Prince. But before he could speak, Yu Fulan moved faster, chasing after someone ahead into the night.
Qin Feimang stared in that direction, then belatedly realized—
That person was Wen Shiji.
Qin Feimang: “…”
Fine. He would just go himself.
When he arrived at the Eastern Palace, the attendants ushered him in. Upon seeing the Crown Prince, he realized that Meng Xizhao was also present.
After hearing his purpose, the Crown Prince nodded lightly, then said with a tone of regret:
“My father has issued a command—I dare not disobey. However, I remained outside for too long today and caught a chill. His Majesty’s health is already unwell, and I fear that if I go now, I might pass my illness to him. Thus, I can only endure the pain of defying the order. I ask that you relay my words to His Majesty exactly as I have spoken them.”
Qin Feimang: “…”
He stared blankly at Cui Ye for a moment. Cui Ye, utterly composed, met his gaze and even gave him a faint smile.
Meng Xizhao sat off to the side, crunching on fruit, looking completely uninvolved.
Qin Feimang: “…………”
Maybe he had not noticed it at first—but half a year had passed. The Crown Prince had gone from sickly and pale to robust and ruddy. If Qin Feimang still could not see through it now, he might as well go consult the imperial physicians himself.
Back then, Cui Ye’s complexion had been pallid and insubstantial—feigning illness had been easy, because no one could tell whether he was truly sick or not. But now? To speak irreverently, with the Crown Prince’s current vitality, he could probably manage ten women in a night without issue. Pretending to be ill at this point was simply too much.
Qin Feimang tried to convey his hesitation with his eyes, but neither the Crown Prince nor Meng Xizhao showed any intention of changing their minds. In the end, he could only swallow all his words and return to report, carrying a mountain of pressure on his shoulders.
He did not even need to stand before the Emperor to know exactly how furious he would become after hearing this.
…
After he left, Meng Xizhao finished his fruit, wiped his hands, and said, “I should be heading back as well.”
The previously calm Crown Prince instantly frowned, like a kept lover being abandoned. “So early? Didn’t you say you would stay with me longer today?”
Meng Xizhao stood as he answered, “If I do not go back soon, my family will grow suspicious.”
…The more it was said, the more it sounded like an illicit affair.
Cui Ye fell silent. He stopped speaking, simply gazing at the candle flame beside him, lost in thought. Meng Xizhao was not afraid of angering him—after all, in his eyes, Cui Ye had the best temper in the world: the gentlest and most easygoing man imaginable.
What he was afraid of, however, was Cui Ye pulling something behind the scenes.
Recalling past experiences, Meng Xizhao eyed him suspiciously. It felt wrong that he would give in so easily. But as if sensing his scrutiny, Cui Ye turned his head—and whatever trace of emotion might have aroused suspicion had already vanished.
He personally picked up Meng Xizhao’s cloak, tied the strings for him, then looked at him quietly—as though trying to memorize him to endure the coming loneliness.
Softly, he said, “Do not linger on your way back. Many people will be setting off firecrackers tonight. Have your servant stay alert—do not let the horse be startled.”
Meng Xizhao was clearly the type who yielded to softness but not force. Hearing this, he found himself reluctant to leave—but he had no choice. Leaning forward, he embraced Cui Ye, rubbing against his chest, breathing in the medicinal scent that always brought him comfort.
Reluctant as he was, he still ruthlessly pushed away the Crown Prince, who was about to untie his cloak again. Before leaving, he paused and asked, “Captain Yu should be fine, right?”
Cui Ye replied, “There is no need to worry about him. Yu Fulan entered the Eastern Palace at twelve. It is a dye vat—anyone who can remain here long-term is no ordinary person.”
Meng Xizhao raised a brow. “That includes you?”
Cui Ye smiled. “Of course. I am among the best.”
＊
In the dead of night, both Meng Xizhao and Cui Ye had already retired. Only Yu Fulan was still trudging along miserably, following Wen Shiji to investigate the incident.
Yu Fulan’s excuse was that His Highness cared deeply about the Emperor, so he wished to share the burden. Wen Shiji did not quite believe him, but since Yu Fulan stubbornly insisted on tagging along, he could not simply drive him away.
As for physical evidence—it had long been cleaned up. The shoes had been replaced by Qin Feimang, and the brick that had been tampered with had been quietly wiped clean by a young eunuch.
But no crime in this world is perfect. Dig deep enough, and there will always be traces.
The first trace Wen Shiji found was a faint, indescribable smell lingering on the brick.
The moment he noticed the unusual scent, his eyes sharpened. He could already determine that this had been deliberate—and he immediately prepared to report back to the Emperor.
Yu Fulan, of course, could not let him go. He blocked his path, insisting that such a faint odor proved nothing. If they were to investigate, they should do it thoroughly—identify the mastermind before reporting to the Emperor.
Wen Shiji remained unmoved and ordered him to step aside.
Yu Fulan stood his ground.
Their subordinates nearby were completely baffled, unable to make sense of the situation.
Wen Shiji’s anger began to rise. He even drew his blade in warning, telling Yu Fulan that if he did not move, he would take action and subdue him.
At the sound of the blade leaving its sheath, Yu Fulan froze. He stared in disbelief at the cold glint of steel, then lifted his head and said:
“You think I do not know what you are thinking?”
Wen Shiji frowned.
“You insist on reporting now because you believe the Crown Prince is behind this, do you not?”
Wen Shiji: “…I did not say that.”
Yu Fulan: “But if you return now, everyone else will think so.”
Wen Shiji: “What others think has nothing to do with me.”
Yu Fulan let out a cold laugh. “Of course—it has nothing to do with you. Back then, it had nothing to do with you. Now, it still has nothing to do with you. I truly…”
He paused, as if suddenly disillusioned with everything. Lowering his gaze, he spoke with quiet despair:
“I was a fool to think you had changed.”
Wen Shiji froze. His grip on the blade tightened.
“Back then, I did not—”
His attempt to explain was cut off.
“Shut up. I do not want to hear it! If you have the ability, then step over me the same way you stepped over my father’s corpse back then. Otherwise, you are not leaving here today—not even half a step! I will not allow anyone to humiliate His Highness again!”
To carry a lifetime of infamy and claim not to care—such a thing was impossible. No matter how stone-like Wen Shiji seemed, he was still human in the end.
She let out a startled cry. “Your Majesty—have you… lost the ability to speak?”
The Emperor froze. The others, upon hearing this, were instantly thrown into collective shock.
Heavens—stroke could cause someone to lose the ability to speak. Some victims could not even get out of bed. But… but the Emperor was no ordinary person—he was the Son of Heaven. Could an emperor… be mute?!
…
By the time the news spread beyond the palace, it was already morning.
What should have been a full holiday was abruptly canceled. High officials gathered together, solemnly discussing how to handle the situation.
But really—what was there to discuss? Had things not already run just fine whether the Emperor was present or not? Even if he could never speak again, the court could still function with the officials alone.
Yet there was a saying: a nation cannot go a single day without its ruler. An emperor could be incompetent or neglect governance—but he could not lose the ability to rule. Otherwise, when the mountain lacks a tiger, the monkeys would claim kingship.
The Crown Prince’s men were already stationed around Huaning Hall. His stance was unmistakable. He attended the meeting and sat at the head.
As for his brothers—the Fourth, Fifth, Seventh, Eighth—they might as well not exist. No one mentioned them.
The discussion boiled down to two possibilities:
First, the Crown Prince would act as regent, taking full control while others followed his lead.
Second, a senior official would be chosen as regent, while the Crown Prince continued to “learn,” only formally taking power after the Emperor’s death.
Meng Jiuyu naturally supported the first option. Yan Shunying did not say it outright, but his silence made his preference for the second clear.
Situ Huan truly remained neutral. Those close to him wanted to speak, but seeing his attitude, they held their tongues.
Meng Xizhao was also present. Watching his father’s faction argue endlessly with Yan Shunying’s, he listened for a while and realized they could go on for days. He shifted his posture and glanced at Zhan Buxiu beside him.
Catching the signal, Zhan Buxiu immediately stood.
Tall and imposing, his sudden movement startled everyone.
His gaze swept slowly across the faces of those opposing the Crown Prince’s rule. Then he placed a hand on his sword and flicked it slightly, revealing a flash of cold steel.
“Are you opposing this because you wish to become regent yourselves, gentlemen?”
The civil officials stared at him in shock, not yet knowing how to respond. Then Meng Xizhao, who had been idly studying the embroidery on his sleeve, suddenly chuckled.
“General Zhan, that is not quite right. They think His Highness is too young and wish to replace him with someone older. Now, what do we call that again… ah yes—‘holding the Crown Prince hostage to command… something,’ was it?”
Officials: “…………”
They erupted into fierce rebuttals, all turning their attacks toward Meng Xizhao. He met them with a provocative smile, utterly unafraid of their verbal onslaught.
Then—
Clang!
The previously ignored Zhan Buxiu suddenly drew his sword in full.
Yan Shunying finally spoke. “General Zhan, are you attempting a coup?”
Zhan Buxiu smiled at him. “No. I am a simple man—I do not understand the twists and turns of you scholars. I just think you are too noisy.”
Sword in hand, his threat was unmistakable. Meng Xizhao clearly stood with him, smiling at the suddenly silent crowd.
Yan Shunying glanced up at the Crown Prince, who happened to be looking at him as well. Then his gaze shifted toward the military officials. Shang Xiguan sat with his head lowered like a quail, saying nothing, while Ding Chun sat calmly beside him. When he noticed the Crown Prince looking his way, he even inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
Yan Shunying: “…………”
From the start, Yan Shunying had intended to use seniority and rhetoric to pressure the Crown Prince. Military power, however, was entirely out of his reach.
This had never been a contest with much uncertainty—he had merely wanted to try his luck. But seeing things now, if he continued to push, once the Crown Prince ascended the throne, he himself would likely be purged.
Forget it. He had known how to read the situation for decades—there was no need to fail at it now.
Once the leading figure lowered his head, the rest quickly fell apart.
Meng Xizhao was very satisfied. When he had no force behind him, he had to rely on persuasion. But now that he did have force, why waste words? If someone refused to listen, one punch would suffice. Civil officials were useful—but also like flies, endlessly buzzing. There was too much to do; who had time to argue endlessly?
And so, it was settled—the Crown Prince would act as regent.
Only after the matter was finalized did Cui Ye rise. In his usual mild manner, he offered a few polite assurances, telling everyone not to worry. For matters he did not understand, he would consult the two chief ministers and the vice ministers. With the Emperor gravely ill, regular court sessions would be suspended; all memorials would henceforth be sent to Wende Hall, where he would personally handle affairs each day.
The hall was smaller, typically used by the Emperor for rest or for receiving less important officials.
But no matter what—it was still an imperial space. The Crown Prince appeared humble, yet he had already begun to extend his reach.
…Then again, compared to placing his own men around Huaning Hall, this was nothing.
Some felt the Crown Prince was going too far. Others, however, found this decisiveness reassuring—it made him seem more fit to rule.
Before leaving, someone requested to see the Emperor. The Crown Prince did not stop them—after all, opportunities like this would not come again.
The Emperor lay there, attended only by Qin Feimang and Su Ruocun. He had a keen sense that something was wrong. He tried to get out of bed, but no one allowed it.
When the ministers filed in, tearful as they greeted him and informed him of the decision to have the Crown Prince act as regent, his reaction became violently intense.
He could not speak. His right hand could not hold a brush. His left hand could not write.
All he could do was flail—furious, helpless.
No one could fully understand what he was trying to express. At most, they could guess one thing—
He did not want the Crown Prince to take power.
Some officials wept. Truthfully, they did not want this either.
But the Crown Prince had already backed his position with military force. If they continued to resist, they feared he would truly stage a coup and seize the throne outright.
The attendants ultimately persuaded the Emperor to calm himself and properly recover, which only made him look as if he was about to fall ill again from rage.
…
After everyone left, Meng Xizhao remained by the Crown Prince’s side. Everyone knew he belonged to the Crown Prince now, and everyone also knew he was about to rise with him—so no one bothered asking why he did not leave.
As for why Zhan Buxiu also stayed, that was more puzzling.
But given how the two of them had just acted in tandem earlier, it was not hard to guess: Zhan Buxiu, too, had become one of the Crown Prince’s men.
One civil, one military—both young, both capable. Sigh. It was easy to see now how wrong they had been before, thinking the Crown Prince was merely an ornamental figure who could do nothing.
Yan Shunying was still brooding over the missed opportunity to control court affairs and paid them no attention. Meng Jiuyu would not undermine his own son. Situ Huan glanced over briefly, found the situation a little odd, and chose to pretend he saw nothing.
In an instant, everyone else had left.
The Emperor was left shaking with rage. He turned abruptly, glaring at Cui Ye, lifting his left hand to point first at Qin Feimang, then at Cui Ye.
Meng Xizhao watched and could not tell whether he meant for Qin Feimang to throw Cui Ye out, or to arrest him.
Even now, the Emperor still did not believe Cui Ye would actually harm him. In his mind, he was the Emperor—no one would dare touch him.
That belief had defined his entire life.
And then—something happened that shattered it.
No matter how he gestured, Qin Feimang did not move. But the moment Meng Xizhao casually raised a hand and pointed toward the palace door, Qin Feimang immediately nodded and went to close it.
He did not return. Instead, he stood by the door, keeping watch while looking toward the dragon bed.
The Emperor had always seen Qin Feimang as obedient, humble, and loyal—always trembling with deference in his presence.
But that faint, almost amused expression on Qin Feimang’s face—that was something he had only ever seen him show to low-ranking eunuchs.
Eunuchs he could crush like ants.
So shocked was he that he failed to register the more important fact: Qin Feimang was listening to Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao took in the Emperor’s collapsing worldview with satisfaction. After watching enough, he leaned down and snapped his fingers in front of the Emperor’s face.
“Alright. Snap out of it. You’ll have plenty of time to think about life later.”
The Emperor turned his head stiffly to look at him, unable to believe he would make such an act of blatant disrespect.
Meng Xizhao barely spared him another glance. He took out a new medicine bottle from his sleeve.
“This is a new type of mafeisan,” he said lightly. “One pill a day will make the limbs weak and powerless. He will struggle even to keep his eyes open, but his mind will remain clear—he won’t fall asleep. To be safe, give him two a day. Otherwise, he might find a way to escape.”
Su Ruocun’s gentle voice came from the side. “I will watch him daily.”
“Good,” Meng Xizhao replied. “Two layers of assurance.”
The Emperor stared at her blankly.
His mind might already have stopped working properly.
Meng Xizhao continued, “General Zhan, since today is the first day, you go first?”
Zhan Buxiu glanced at the Emperor and said flatly, “Breaking his limbs would have the same effect.”
Meng Xizhao paused. “…But then people would notice.”
Zhan Buxiu: “And what if they do?”
To him, even killing the Emperor outright would not cause any meaningful resistance now.
Cui Ye frowned. “If it is discovered, it creates unnecessary risk. Not everyone acts purely on impulse.”
Zhan Buxiu looked at him oddly.
From long ago, he had felt that Cui Ye seemed to dislike him. Unable to find a reason, he concluded it must simply be that he could not get along with anyone surnamed Cui.
The four of them continued speaking, as if the Emperor had already ceased to exist.
Only then did the Emperor finally understand what was happening.
Cold dread flooded him from head to toe.
They… they—
They were all rebels.
His body reacted before his mind did. He tried to flee.
But Zhan Buxiu moved faster. He grabbed him and shoved him back down with brutal force—the Emperor’s bones nearly felt like they were cracking, yet he could not even scream.
In the next moment, Zhan Buxiu yanked his hair and reached for the porcelain bottle.
Meng Xizhao, momentarily impressed by his efficiency, quickly poured out two pills.
Zhan Buxiu seized them, forced the Emperor’s mouth open, and shoved the medicine in as he struggled uselessly.
In Meng Xizhao’s view, the drug resembled a muscle relaxant—he had no idea how Teng Kangning had managed to develop something like this.
The effects would take time. With Cui Ye’s people controlling the palace, Zhan Buxiu did not need to stay. There were still matters outside—unrest had not fully settled, and any attempt at escalation would require him.
He left.
Su Ruocun was not used to being alone with men and also departed.
Only Cui Ye and Meng Xizhao remained, watching as the Emperor’s strength drained away, his body going limp. To the Emperor’s eyes, their faint smiles looked like those of demons.
Once they were certain he could no longer rise, Meng Xizhao finally walked over and sat beside him.
Looking at him, he suddenly recited:
“‘At dusk we part, candle tears fall.’”
Even though the drug should have immobilized him, the Emperor’s eyelids still trembled slightly at those words.
Meng Xizhao did not miss it. He smiled faintly and pointed to himself.
“I wrote it.”
Then he pointed at Cui Ye beside him.
“He copied it.”
Cui Ye said nothing. He only looked at Meng Xizhao with a gentle expression, allowing him to bully the Emperor however he pleased.
The drug was too strong. It was difficult to read the Emperor’s reaction clearly, but his fingers were trembling violently—so he was clearly still hearing everything.
Meng Xizhao finally looked satisfied and continued.
“I may not be well-read, but don’t you think what I wrote is quite good? I believe I have some talent in this area. So I’ve been thinking… I should write something else. What do you think about me drafting an edict of self-reproach for you?”
He even asked considerately, “If you agree, just twitch your hand.”
The Emperor’s eyelids and fingers both twitched—but after only two seconds, he suddenly went still.
Meng Xizhao blinked in confusion, then turned to Cui Ye.
“Never mind. I’ll take that as agreement.”
Cui Ye: “…”
Mm. As you wish.