Cui Ye’s firmness disappointed some people, and excited others. It was said that three women make a drama, but in the Wen De Hall there were thirty men—the performance there was unfolding every single day.
……
Meng Xi Zhao had said before that they would be busy, and he had not been alarmist. Now, it was not only him and Cui Ye—almost everyone in their faction was overwhelmed with work.
Ding Chun held military authority and entered the palace almost every day just to show his presence. After that, he would leave the city to train the army. The one hundred thousand troops originally assigned to him had been reduced to eighty thousand when they returned from Nanzhao, then another thirty thousand were disbanded. Now only fifty thousand remained.
Fifty thousand sounded like a lot, but compared to the two hundred thousand Imperial Guard troops, it was nothing more than a junior.
……
All emperors of the Qi Dynasty were afraid of death, and Emperor Tian Shou was especially selfish. Even though he pursued militaristic expansion so aggressively and wanted to conquer Nanzhao, he always kept his best troops by his side to guard the capital.
Originally, the Imperial Guard Army and the Palace Guard Division were separate, each under different generals. The Palace Guard Division was mainly responsible for protecting the emperor, while the Imperial Guard Army protected the capital.
After Emperor Tian Shou ascended the throne, he changed this system. The Imperial Guard Army was merged into the Palace Guard Division. The capital no longer needed protection—everything was redirected to protecting the emperor.
……One could only say he was truly fortunate to have encountered Wen Shi Ji, who was stubbornly single-minded. Otherwise, if Wen Shi Ji had even a hint of rebellion, he would not have lived to see his thirtieth birthday.
Of course, Meng Xi Zhao did not want any bloodshed in Yingtian Prefecture. So, to capture the leader and break the enemy formation, he had Yu Fu Lan hold Wen Shi Ji back and lure him out of the palace.
Ancient investigations were never simple. A slight delay would be enough for matters inside the palace to settle.
And after Wen Shi Ji returned, Meng Xi Zhao had no intention of placing him under house arrest like he did with Du Yuan Pan and then slowly re-educating him.
After all, Wen Shi Ji was blindly loyal. A person like that had a head like a massive iron ball—completely sealed, with no crack to pour water into.
Unlike Du Yuan Pan, who had lived through eight dynasties and two national eras. He was truly someone who had seen it all.
This was not an exaggeration. Every feudal dynasty nearing its collapse had issues with imperial succession—emperors dying young without heirs, regimes constantly changing hands, giving others opportunities.
Fifty years ago, the Wei Dynasty fell and the Qi Dynasty replaced it. At that time, Du Yuan Pan was already thirty-two, and his children were already engaged.
By the time Emperor Tian Shou passed away, he might even live to see yet another dynasty. If the Guinness World Records had existed back then, Meng Xi Zhao would have submitted his name.
With such a background, Du Yuan Pan could not possibly be fully loyal to Emperor Tian Shou. Deep down, he might even still miss the Wei Dynasty. That was why Meng Xi Zhao chose a strategy of recruitment from the beginning. Du Yuan Pan did not disappoint him either—his resistance to Meng Xi Zhao and Cui Ye was mainly based on the possibility of being harmed by them, not on loyalty to Emperor Tian Shou.
With Du Yuan Pan already shifting his thinking, Wen Shi Ji had only just heard that something had gone wrong in the palace and was rushing back on horseback.
When he discovered that the fall had been man-made, and that the emperor suddenly could no longer speak—when he went to see the emperor, the latter was in a state of persistent drowsiness. Even when he heard Wen Shi Ji’s voice, he merely moved his eyelids slightly before falling back into sleep.
If Wen Shi Ji could calmly accept all of this, then the title of the biggest fool in Shangxi Pass would belong to him without dispute.
……
Naturally, he could not accept it. He even deeply suspected that this was all the Crown Prince’s doing. But so what?
The emperor could not speak, lacked energy, and only occasionally opened his eyes before immediately falling back into exhausted sleep. The Crown Prince had not placed him under house arrest—anyone who wanted to see him could. Before this incident, the physicians had already explained the aftereffects of a stroke. When the emperor first suffered it, he had already shown slurred speech, numbness in his right arm and leg, and near paralysis. If it worsened, it would indeed become what it was now.
Wen Shi Ji was only a minister, while the Crown Prince was still the Crown Prince. After the emperor fell ill, everyone had clearly seen how he treated the Crown Prince. He had obviously softened, even allowing the Crown Prince to visit him three times a day. Occasionally, he even kept him for meals.
It was only after the fall that Emperor Tian Shou became angry again, directing his hostility at the Crown Prince.
However… only Wen Shiji knew about this; the court officials outside had not heard a word of it.
So in the eyes of the ministers, Emperor Tian Shou’s attitude toward the Crown Prince had already changed from what it used to be. As for his refusal to let the Crown Prince take charge of state affairs after he became unable to speak, that could still be understood. After all, Emperor Tian Shou had always been such a petty-minded person—he would naturally be displeased if his power were divided. But matters of state could not be treated so willfully.
In short, the entire court of civil and military officials concluded that Emperor Tian Shou was merely throwing a tantrum out of petty resentment. No one considered the possibility that he might have been harmed. Wen Shiji did think of that possibility, but he had neither evidence nor the ability to act decisively.
If he wanted to “rescue” Emperor Tian Shou, he would first have to mobilize his own forces, then detain the Crown Prince and a whole host of officials in court. But Emperor Tian Shou was already in that condition—if he truly did that, who would believe he was trying to save the emperor? The entire world would likely think he was staging a rebellion.
Detaining a prince could still be argued. But detaining the Crown Prince—how was that any different from openly raising a rebellion?
As for secretly contacting the imperial clan… heh. Just look at the situation outside.
The Third Prince and Sixth Prince had already been exiled. The Second Prince was a devoted cultivator of immortality, indifferent to worldly affairs. The Fourth Prince was timid; when the Crown Prince had no power, he avoided him entirely, and now that the Crown Prince held authority, he was the first to bow his head in submission, almost eager to personally fan the Crown Prince.
The Seventh and Eighth Princes were too young to matter. Only the Fifth Prince’s stance was somewhat unclear—but he had just married at the end of the year, and his wife was the daughter of Grand Commandant Tian. And Grand Commandant Tian was the first among all court officials to openly declare his support for the Crown Prince.
Even faster than Meng Jiu Yu and Meng Xi Zhao—because the two of them were already aware of their relationship with the Crown Prince and did not need to be so ostentatious. But Grand Commandant Tian could not afford to hesitate. Seeing the Crown Prince so dominant, he feared being marginalized because of his connection to the Fifth Prince, and so he made his move.
Whether the Fifth Prince was internally seething—no one knew. In any case, the Crown Prince was quite pleased with this attitude and had even smiled at him more than once during recent discussions of state affairs.
The princes were no longer viable. What about the princes of collateral branches? There were several in Yingtian Prefecture—three, in fact—but all of them were descendants who had inherited their titles. The original titleholders had all died even earlier than Emperor Tian Shou. The actual power of these inherited princes was not worth mentioning.
Among those who could truly be considered the Crown Prince’s elders—those who could potentially suppress him and were recognized by the court—there were, after all considerations, only the rank of Commandery Princes. Among them, the Liang Commandery Prince, who had once been close to Emperor Tian Shou and maintained connections with many officials, was the best candidate.
However, before Wen Shiji could even investigate the attitude of this Commandery Prince, the Liang Commandery Prince—serving in his capacity as Minister of the Court of Imperial Clan Affairs—had already joined with the Minister of Rites and formally petitioned the Crown Prince, requesting funds be allocated for the repair of Emperor Tian Shou’s long-established imperial mausoleum.
The imperial mausoleum—the resting place of the emperor after death.
Wen Shiji: “…………”
This iron-blooded, hardened man suddenly understood what despair felt like.
Not only was the Liang Commandery Prince acting this way—almost every member of the imperial family with any influence was urging the matter forward. This was understandable. The medicine Meng Xi Zhao had administered kept Emperor Tian Shou unable to rise, unable even to open his eyes. He appeared to be in a state of deep sleep, and many people, when gravely ill and nearing death, would indeed fall into such a condition.
Everyone agreed that Emperor Tian Shou did not have long left. In some dynasties, it might be taboo to prepare posthumous arrangements while the emperor was still alive, but the Qi Dynasty was not like that. After all, they were used to it—the emperor was something that changed every few years anyway.
Preparing early simply prevented chaos later.
The Crown Prince fully agreed and ordered the Ministry of Revenue to allocate ten million taels for the construction of Emperor Tian Shou’s imperial tomb. The Minister of Revenue nearly choked on the scale of the order and hurriedly tried to dissuade him, putting on a deeply moved expression while repeatedly praising the Crown Prince’s filial devotion, all while begging him to reconsider. After all, even a well-stocked treasury could not withstand such extravagance.
In the end, the ten million taels were reduced to three million. This was mainly because the mausoleum had already been under construction since the beginning of Emperor Tian Shou’s reign and was already extremely lavish. Even so, no one knew how much of that three million taels would actually end up being spent on the useless mausoleum.
But there was no need to panic. The Crown Prince needed this method to express his filial piety, and Meng Xi Zhao needed it to get the money back.
Anyone who dared embezzle those funds would not escape. And when the matter was eventually exposed, perfect—the Crown Prince could once again demonstrate his filial devotion through righteous fury and mass confiscations.
……
Because this was essentially a planned “bait-and-catch” scheme, the matter was not handed over to the Liang Commandery Prince. Meng Xi Zhao did not want to imprison his elder brother’s father-in-law. The Liang Commandery Prince’s responsibility in the Court of Imperial Clan Affairs—functionally equivalent to the Imperial Clan Court—was to manage all members of the imperial family and all their ceremonial affairs. Even if the mausoleum project had been assigned elsewhere, he still would not be idle.
White mourning cloths had to be prepared. How the mourning hall should be arranged required consultation with senior princes of the clan. The coffin of golden silk nanmu wood had already been made, but it still needed inspection and maintenance.
In short—he was extremely busy.
……
With the Crown Prince now acting as regent, and the Liang Commandery Prince occupied with Emperor Tian Shou’s posthumous affairs, both the harem and the young princes were left without proper supervision. Originally, Su Ruo Cun had been assisting with management, but since Emperor Tian Shou fell ill and became bedridden, she had never once left the Hua Ning Hall. Whether awake or asleep, she remained by his side.
Because of this, the Crown Prince even invited the Princess Royal of the State of Chu into the palace to help manage the harem.
The Princess Royal of Chu was also an extremely useful figure—a legitimate daughter of Emperor Tian Shou and the only imperial princess formally titled “Princess Royal.” To outsiders who did not understand the situation, this was proof of her immense favor from Emperor Tian Shou. Her cooperation with the Crown Prince and alignment with him naturally became another asset in his favor.
Meng Xi Zhao did not find it appropriate to personally thank her, so he asked his elder sister-in-law to convey his gratitude instead. Since the county princess had become able to leave the princess residence, their relationship had grown closer. When the county princess became pregnant, the Princess Royal had even personally visited her.
During a rare moment of rest, Meng Xi Zhao realized he had not visited Hua Ning Hall for several days, so he went over to take a look.
Su Ruo Cun was seated beside Emperor Tian Shou, eyes closed, resting. Her appearance was visibly haggard—not an act, but genuine exhaustion. She had not slept properly for several days.
As soon as he stepped inside, Su Ruo Cun immediately opened her eyes in alertness. Meng Xi Zhao looked at her and asked, “Where is Wen Shiji?”
Su Ruo Cun shook her head. “He has not come since after the hour of noon.”
At present, this side of the palace was entirely under their control. Even Guan Niangzi had been moved here to take care of Su Ruo Cun. When she saw Meng Xi Zhao glance at her, she immediately understood and quietly withdrew, gently closing the door behind her.
Only then did Meng Xi Zhao speak again. “He will not dare to act rashly. There is no need for you to exhaust yourself like this.”
Su Ruo Cun replied, “It is not only for that reason. The court officials come and go. The more exhausted I appear, the better their impression of me becomes.”
Meng Xi Zhao: “……”
That was true.
She had always been like this—willing to do anything to achieve her goals. If all it took was appearing slightly more worn down to earn the trust of the court officials and make future matters smoother, then of course she would do it.
Meng Xi Zhao understood, though he still felt it was not easy for her. “Falsifying an imperial decree still depends on timing. A self-reproach edict and your elevation to Empress cannot be placed together. There must be at least one or two months between them. My idea is to let you be an ‘Empress for a single day.’ After all, Cui Jin is extremely sensitive about the position of Empress. Only when he is near death will he suddenly become more open-minded and decide not to dwell on the past. As for the court officials, they are always more lenient toward a dying emperor’s final words. It is only the title of Empress, and you have never interfered in state affairs—they will not object.”
So even if you did not exhaust yourself like this, the plan would still succeed.
Su Ruo Cun nodded. “I understand your intention, Lord Meng. It is just that I want everything to be as perfect as possible.”
Meng Xi Zhao could not help but laugh. “So it is perfectionism.”
Previously, when Meng Xi Zhao had laid out her “script,” he had given her several lessons in psychological concepts, including how to capture a man’s heart. The term “perfectionism” had been explained at that time, so Su Ruo Cun recalled its meaning and smiled a little in embarrassment.
The atmosphere between them was relaxed, even light—both of them smiling faintly at each other.
Meanwhile, lying nearby, Emperor Tian Shou was staring at them in utter horror.
What were they saying?
Were they… were they planning to kill him?!
He was the Son of Heaven! A true dragon! The Emperor!
You rebels! You traitors! You would all be punished! You would all suffer retribution!
Wen Shiji, you fool—you deserve to die too! How can you not see it? They are imprisoning me!
And Meng Xi Zhao—Meng Xi Zhao, Meng Xi Zhao!
He wished he could personally crush that fragile neck, tear flesh from bone, and swallow it piece by piece. It was him and that beast Cui Ye—they forged Yue Niang’s poetry, ruined Grand Tutor Gan, and harmed him as well!
Despicable… absolutely despicable!
Meng Xi Zhao seemed to sense something and turned his head. Seeing Emperor Tian Shou glaring at him with hatred, he paused for a moment, then actually laughed. “So you can still open your eyes.”
Su Ruo Cun also looked over and immediately tensed. “I gave him the medicine!”
Meng Xi Zhao waved his hand. “Don’t be afraid. Either he’s developed resistance, or he saw me and got too angry. His emotions overwhelmed the medicine. Worst case, just increase the dosage daily. We still have plenty—it will last until he dies.”
Emperor Tian Shou: “…………”
The hatred in his eyes instantly turned to fear.
Meng Xi Zhao bent down and studied him closely, so close that Emperor Tian Shou broke out in a cold sweat under his gaze. Only then did Meng Xi Zhao smile faintly.
“I know your nature. You will never reflect on your own faults. You will only believe that the world has wronged you, that everything is someone else’s fault, and that you bear no blame at all. Isn’t that right?”
Emperor Tian Shou stared stiffly at him. Of course, he could not speak.
Meng Xi Zhao tilted his head slightly and continued, “But I also know your weakness.”
His smile deepened as he leaned closer. Emperor Tian Shou’s pupils contracted with fear.
“I will choose an auspicious day for your departure,” Meng Xi Zhao said softly. “Before you leave, I will invite the monks of the Great Xiangguo Temple to chant scriptures for you—the kind used to suppress evil spirits, to send you directly into hell, never to be reborn.”
“As for your remains—after you die, I will have them secretly dug up, burned to ashes, and buried beneath the dirt road outside Yingtian Prefecture’s city gate. Trampled by thousands, stepped on by ten thousand people. Every single day, you will feel what it means to be utterly crushed.”
He straightened up leisurely after speaking.
Emperor Tian Shou’s eyes were red, his lips trembling uncontrollably, cold sweat beading on his forehead—whether from fear or not, it was impossible to tell.
Meng Xi Zhao gave a cold laugh, fully performing the role of a cruel and malicious villain, then turned and walked out.
A staunch materialist naturally did not believe in such things—but whether he believed it or not did not matter. What mattered was that Emperor Tian Shou believed it.
Suppressing a laugh in his heart, Meng Xi Zhao walked away with great satisfaction.
Su Ruo Cun watched him leave, then turned her gaze back to Emperor Tian Shou.
Seeing his cowardly, trembling state—worse than a rural farmer—she once again understood a simple truth.
The so-called emperor who received the Mandate of Heaven was, when stripped of power, no more than a worm groveling in the dust.