…
“Meng Xizhao.”
Hearing Emperor Tianshou call his name, Meng Xizhao felt—without exaggeration—a jolt of electricity shoot from his back straight to the crown of his head.
Now he finally understood what it meant to stand on the line between life and death.
He turned around.
Forget crying—he did not even dare raise his voice. He simply lowered his head deeply.
“Your Majesty.”
The Third Prince had feared the emperor might lash out indiscriminately and vent his anger on him.
Meng Xizhao feared the exact same thing.
Until now, he had only imagined what the emperor’s wrath might look like. Today was the first time he had truly seen Emperor Tianshou enraged.
Even if this was not the tyrannical grandfather from his imagination, Meng Xizhao still felt uneasy.
What if the emperor blamed him for today’s events?
If that happened, his entire official career would end right here…
In the suffocating silence, Emperor Tianshou asked,
“What Buddhist scripture did you purchase from Jiming Temple?”
Meng Xizhao froze briefly, then hurried to answer.
“The Heart Sutra.”
After all, that one had the fewest characters, so he bought two copies in one go.
The emperor gave no comment.
Instead, he suddenly ordered Qin Feimang, “Bring paper and brush. Let him write.”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
He had not even reacted yet when Meng Jiuyu suddenly looked as if the sky were collapsing.
“Your Majesty! My worthless son has only been copying scriptures for a few days. He likely cannot even write more than a few lines. I fear it would offend Your Majesty’s eyes—”
Emperor Tianshou glanced at him, already feeling somewhat tired. Leaning lazily back against his seat, he said,
“It does not matter. Let him write however much he can.”
Grand Tutor Gan Taishi had been standing there the whole time with his hands tucked into his sleeves, pretending to be a wooden statue.
But when he heard those words, he suddenly lifted his head and looked toward the emperor.
Meng Jiuyu had only become Vice Councillor two years ago. Before that he had been Minister of Personnel.
Ten years earlier, the reason he had been sent to confiscate the estate of Zhan Shenyu was twofold.
First, he had only just entered the inner circle of power at the time and held the lowest position among the corrupt ministers.
Second, his position then had been Secretariat Drafter—a role responsible for drafting imperial edicts and issuing government directives, essentially the emperor’s secretary.
So it had been appropriate for him to handle the confiscation.
In other words, Meng Jiuyu had only been part of Emperor Tianshou’s core circle for a little over ten years.
And even that position had not come overnight. Over those ten years, he had gradually won the emperor’s trust through his eloquence.
Grand Tutor Gan was different.
From the moment he obediently sent his daughter into the palace, he had been especially close to Emperor Tianshou.
One could even say that no one—not even Qin Feimang—understood the emperor better than he did.
So the moment the emperor’s tone shifted earlier, he had been the first to notice.
He realized that Emperor Tianshou was no longer truly angry.
That was simply the emperor’s nature—impulsive and utterly governed by his whims.
A moment ago he had seemed furious. But once the supposed culprit had been dealt with, he could instantly return to enjoying his exalted life.
And the fact that he had calmed down so quickly meant something important.
He already believed Meng Xizhao had nothing to do with the matter.
Still, a ruler’s suspicious nature demanded verification.
If the test went well—everything would be fine.
If it did not…
Grand Tutor Gan instinctively glanced at Meng Xizhao.
The young man stood there with his head lowered, Meng Jiuyu watching him anxiously. He looked thoroughly frightened.
Soon Qin Feimang returned with paper and brush. Other attendants carried in a table as well.
Under the gaze of everyone in the hall, Meng Xizhao hesitated and looked at Emperor Tianshou.
But the emperor ignored his pleading expression.
He clearly intended to watch him copy the scripture from memory.
Did you not say you had been practicing?
The Heart Sutra only has a few lines. If you truly practiced, you should be able to write it.
Scratching his head, Meng Xizhao reached out and picked up the brush.
The moment Meng Jiuyu saw the way his son held the brush—
He nearly fainted.
It was like holding a brush the way one would hold chopsticks!
Meng Xizhao, however, was completely unaware, already putting brush to paper. At first, his strokes were quick, but gradually they slowed. Then, no matter how hard he concentrated, he simply couldn’t get the characters right.
Finally, blushing, he straightened up. “Your Majesty, this is all I’ve managed to write…”
Qin Feimang carefully lifted the rice paper and examined the handwriting. He raised an eyebrow slightly, but when he turned back, his expression resumed the humble demeanor of an attendant.
Presenting the paper to Emperor Tianshou, the emperor glanced over it. He saw that Meng Xizhao had at least memorized half of the text, though his writing stumbled in places and contained some errors.
The emperor found it perfectly normal. Everyone knew Meng Xizhao’s scholarly abilities—if he could have memorized the entire scripture perfectly, that would have been surprising. The calligraphy itself wasn’t great, but it was legible, and the strokes even carried a faint elegance.
Folding the paper and setting it aside, the emperor asked, “This doesn’t look bad at all. How could it possibly be considered disrespectful to Buddha?”
Meng Xizhao whispered, “This is just the result of a few days’ practice. At first… it truly was disrespectful to Buddha…”
Emperor Tianshou, curious, asked him to write a few extra characters not found in the Heart Sutra to see.
Hearing this, Meng Jiuyu felt the urge to rush forward and cover the emperor’s mouth.
Have you no end? My son isn’t lying to you!
But clearly, as Meng Xizhao’s father, he had no real grasp of the situation. He knew too well how capable his son was at bluffing…
Fearing that Meng Xizhao might be exposed, he stared longingly at the paper in Qin Feimang’s hands. On it, a newly written line of Tang poetry stood out. It was unmistakably the same hand as the scripture, but the strokes were crude, like a three-year-old’s attempt. Truly ugly.
Even Emperor Tianshou had to suppress a chuckle.
Now he was completely convinced: Meng Xizhao had been diligently practicing his copying.
Pleased, he said to Meng Xizhao, “Practice more. I look forward to seeing the results. As for the longevity tablet, it was thoughtful of you. There’s no need to be so cautious. If anything, donate a little more incense money and Buddha will forgive you.”
Meng Xizhao: “…So you get to speak freely, but I’m the one paying?”
He couldn’t show any hint of displeasure. Instead, he feigned a look of sudden understanding, as if to say, As expected of Your Majesty—cleverer than I am.
The emperor gifted Meng Xizhao a set of scholar’s tools. Seeing his eyes red from crying, he also provided him with lunch—actually, two meals: one for Meng Xizhao, one for Meng Jiuyu.
Then, he dismissed everyone, leaving only Grand Tutor Gan Taishi to share the meal with him.
Notice the difference: others received their meals to take away, but Grand Tutor Gan could remain and eat with the emperor.
Meng Xizhao, however, preferred this arrangement. Sitting with the emperor, he feared indigestion if he ate alone.
Throughout the meal, the emperor never mentioned the Crown Prince or the Third Prince. It was as if Meng Xizhao had been called to the palace solely to receive these boxes of imperial food.
His reasoning was easy to guess: the Third Prince had done something shameful, and although punished, the emperor felt embarrassed to mention it. Anyone wise would understand what should or should not be said after leaving the hall.
The unluckiest were probably not the Third Prince, but the unwitting Geng Shumi and General Ding Chun, who had witnessed two dramatic spectacles.
Originally, they had intended to return and reprimand Ding Chun, but now it was best to leave these troublesome people and the place of controversy behind.
Both were powerful military figures—one overseeing all generals, the other the central imperial guard. They had heard Meng Xizhao’s name before and knew he was favored by Emperor Tianshou, but had never paid him much mind. Likely, they would think twice in the future.
This young man was formidable…
See how he cried when he should, spoke when he should? Even if they were in his place, they might not have handled today’s situation so well. They would have panicked, then prostrated themselves, desperately showing loyalty, which the emperor would accept—but would never reward. At best, they would be dismissed empty-handed.
General Shang thought perhaps he could learn from Meng Xizhao—there’s always something to learn in life.
Geng Shumi quietly observed Meng Xizhao. How fortuitous that the Third Prince’s false accusation had instead allowed him to demonstrate loyalty.
And this wasn’t even Meng Xizhao’s initiative—it had been forced out by circumstances.
Quite extraordinary…
They quickly left, Ding Chun trailing behind Meng Jiuyu and Meng Xizhao, feeling a complex mix of emotions.
The man he disliked most in court was Vice Councillor Meng, yet today his life had been saved by him.
And Meng Xizhao—he had expected this stranger to die today, but not only did he emerge unscathed, he also allowed Ding Chun to leave unharmed. Meng Xizhao and the Third Prince had interrupted the emperor’s mood, saving Ding Chun from hours of kneeling.
Ding Chun thought about thanking him, but ultimately remained silent, unwilling to entangle himself with father and son.
At this moment, Meng Xizhao had no idea Ding Chun was following behind.
Father and son wore expressionless faces until they exited the palace and boarded the carriage. They exchanged a glance, a feeling almost unreal.
Meng Xizhao clutched the boxes of food. He opened his mouth to speak, but Meng Jiuyu waved him off.
“Save it for later.”
So Meng Xizhao remained silent.
No one else yet knew what had just happened, not even the Secretariat. Vice Councillor Meng had returned directly to the study, giving no chance for anyone to inquire about the matter.
Once inside the study, Meng Jiuyu had everyone else dismissed and shut the door, then suddenly spun around, stretching out his hand and pointing directly at Meng Xizhao’s nose.
“You… you…”
His hand trembled slightly—partly from anger, partly from lingering fear. Today had been a narrow escape; one misstep and Meng Xizhao would have been finished.
Yes, Emperor Tianshou might not have killed over such a thing, but he was still the emperor. If he wanted someone dead, did he really need a justifiable reason? Survive today, and he might concoct some imaginary crime tomorrow and destroy you—or even your entire family. After all, how did Zhan Shenyu meet his end?
Meng Jiuyu didn’t believe a word Meng Xizhao had said in the Kunyu Hall. Clenching his fists, he demanded angrily, “Tell the truth—do you know the Crown Prince or not?”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, lowered his eyes, and said, “Yes, we know each other.”
Though mentally prepared, hearing Meng Xizhao admit it still made Meng Jiuyu feel dizzy.
“You… you…”
Meng Xizhao bit the inside of his cheek. At this point, it was pointless to drag it out—he might as well say it all.
“We are friends.”
Meng Jiuyu’s eyes went wide, as if his entire body had been frozen in place.
Meng Xizhao lifted his head and gave him a small smile. “On the first day of the month, I did indeed go see the Crown Prince. You weren’t mistaken, Your Highness. In fact, I even visited him last month on the first day. To be honest, I’ve known the Crown Prince for nearly four months. We often dine and converse together. You know about Bu Xuntian, right? Before the emperor arrived, I had invited the Crown Prince here. He told me Your Majesty would like this place, so I felt confident and arranged everything openly.”
Meng Jiuyu stared silently at him. Meng Xizhao waited quietly. After about half a minute, Meng Jiuyu’s eyes rolled back, and he slowly collapsed to the floor.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Seriously? Fainted just like that?
It was a case of like father, like son: he had been scared faint by Li Huai back then; now Meng Jiuyu was scared faint by him.
The root cause? Zhan Buxiu held the same terrifying status in Meng Xizhao’s mind as the Crown Prince did in Meng Jiuyu’s. That was a true harbinger of death!
Meng Xizhao quickly helped his father up and pressed firmly on his philtrum. Meng Jiuyu soon came to, and seeing Meng Xizhao’s pale, innocent face, he was overcome with emotion: “When you were first born, I should have drowned you in a basin!—”
Meng Xizhao twitched the corner of his mouth. “That was a long time ago. What use is it now? I’ve grown up. Whether you accept it or not, you have no choice.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
The old saying was right: children were a debt owed to parents! Looking back, why had he and his wife decided to have three children? They should have had none—peaceful and quiet!
Yes, yes—Meng Jiuyu was ready to pioneer childfree living in the Great Qi.
…
Brushing Meng Xizhao’s hand away, he got up shakily and sat in a chair, his entire body trembling, suddenly seeming like a man at the end of his life. “No… I need to think. I need to figure out how to protect your mother and Jiao Jiao. Perhaps Da Lang can be saved, too. We can’t stay in Yingtian Prefecture, nor return home—too close to the Xiongnu. Better to go to Bashu. I heard the King of Ba has been captured. Bashu is controlled by local officials—easy to defend, hard to attack. Take plenty of silver; there should still be a way to survive there…”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He had to admit, his father’s plan ran parallel to the hero’s instinct.
He asked, “And those others who escaped there… what about me? And you?”
Meng Jiuyu turned his head, his blank expression instantly turning to indignation. “Ungrateful son! You dare ask?! Naturally, we stay here to cover the rear and die obediently!”
Meng Xizhao was silent for a moment, then spoke earnestly, “But I don’t want to die, and I don’t want you to die either.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…Then don’t do anything that risks lives!”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “Father, don’t be so pessimistic. I’m not foolish. I’ve known the Crown Prince for four months—no one has found out yet, right?”
Meng Jiuyu glared. “The Prince knows!”
Meng Xizhao: “Then what is the Crown Prince’s current situation?”
Meng Jiuyu was momentarily caught off guard.
Yet he still felt it was unreliable. “Do you think everyone else is as naive as the Prince? You can’t always protect yourself. Eventually, this will be exposed. More importantly, with today’s events, if it’s revealed again, our entire family is doomed!”
Meng Xizhao agreed. Indeed, a second exposure would be fatal—even invoking Buddha himself wouldn’t help. Emperor Tianshou would certainly be furious.
“So we just prevent anyone from exposing it. I don’t want to sneak around like some hidden concubine either. Father, don’t worry. Soon, I’ll be able to interact with the Crown Prince openly and honorably.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
He didn’t think Meng Xizhao was bluffing—he simply felt like crying.
“Why must you befriend the Crown Prince after he gave you some intoxicating potion? His position is just a target; sooner or later it will go to the Sixth Prince. Can’t you be content as the Junior Minister of the Honglu Temple? Even I, your father, dare not meddle in the princes’ struggle!”
Moreover, Meng Xizhao’s judgment was so poor that he immediately chose the one least likely to inherit the throne!
Listening to his father, Meng Xizhao realized how desperate he must be. Otherwise, he would never have uttered such a rebellious statement.
“But father, isn’t the Sixth Prince succeeding a good thing?”
Meng Jiuyu choked on his words.
Of course, it wasn’t a good thing. The Sixth Prince had been doted on by the emperor since childhood, growing into a colossal brat. Except for Grand Tutor Gan, every minister had to kneel before him—though even the emperor himself didn’t require that. The Sixth Prince, however, was only satisfied if others bent their knees before him.
Moreover, he shared a trait with the Third Prince: a particular hatred for treacherous ministers. Of course, his dislike wasn’t due to their disrupting the court—it was simply because Emperor Tianshou enjoyed their company. The Sixth Prince felt they were monopolizing his father’s attention, so he hated them.
He also disliked the imperial consorts and other princes and princesses. One year during the selection of court ladies, a newcomer named Baolin had not yet won favor. Upon accidentally crossing paths with the Sixth Prince and being a step slow in greeting, the prince ordered his attendants to slap Baolin repeatedly. The emperor was slightly displeased when he heard of it but only said a few words to the prince, and that was that. Baolin was immediately expelled from the palace.
Leaving aside how much longer Emperor Tianshou would live, if the Sixth Prince ascended tomorrow, the first thing he would likely do would be to send all the emperor’s consorts to become nuns, banish the princes to their fiefs, marry off the princesses, and—aside from his maternal grandfather, Grand Tutor Gan—eliminate all treacherous ministers, either by execution or exile.
This wasn’t mere speculation. The Sixth Prince truly had that temperament. He had been raised in luxury, confident and ambitious. If he took the throne, he would reform the court according to his own preferences, sweeping away anything he disliked.
Meng Jiuyu fell silent. Truth be told, he didn’t want to think that far ahead. Life under Emperor Tianshou was already exhausting—both body and mind—and he lacked the energy to consider the future.
Now his son not only thought ahead, but had made decisions for the entire family.
“You’re so certain that if the Crown Prince ascends, our family will be safe?”
Meng Xizhao thought of how often Cui Ye had smiled and nodded. “He will protect us.”
Meng Jiuyu didn’t understand where his son’s confidence came from. “…Why?”
Meng Xizhao tilted his head. “Because I am his friend.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
Shifting slightly closer, Meng Xizhao patted his father’s arm in reassurance. “At our family’s level, every decision is made on the edge of a cliff. Even if, as you said, we don’t interfere and just keep ourselves safe, can we truly be secure? It’s better to take a gamble on aligning with the Crown Prince. Of course, one mustn’t put all eggs in one basket. Besides the Crown Prince’s support, I will continue to work hard, rise in rank, and gain resources of my own. As long as I have power, no one will dare harm me.”
Meng Jiuyu’s lips moved, but no sound came out.
He still felt both furious and hopeless. Meng Xizhao had dragged the entire family into this predicament without a word of warning. Had the Third Prince not brought it up today, they might not have realized their heads had been dangling over a blade until it was too late.
Yet what had happened had already happened. As Meng Xizhao said, whether one accepted it or not, one had no choice but to accept.
Meng Jiuyu couldn’t help but start recalling the Crown Prince’s character.
But in doing so, he realized he barely knew the Crown Prince at all. Always so composed, like a delicate puppet, silent in court, reserved at banquets. Over the past decade, as the prince grew from child to adult, Meng Jiuyu had exchanged fewer than ten words with him.
His mind felt scrambled. He waved his hand, signaling Meng Xizhao to leave.
Just as Meng Xizhao opened the door, Meng Jiuyu suddenly remembered something. “Don’t tell your mother about any of this!”
“Rest assured, I know this cannot be spoken of. I’ve only told you.”
Meng Jiuyu nodded, feeling relieved. Then, realizing the gravity, his eyes widened, and he grabbed the nearby teacup and flung it.
Meng Xizhao dodged it laughingly and left.
Meng Jiuyu was simultaneously furious and amused. At a time like this, the boy still had such a carefree spirit! But then again, it was his own doing. If Meng Xizhao hadn’t had courage, could he have even attempted this?
＊
Once out of the study, Meng Xizhao didn’t feel as relaxed as he appeared. He exhaled deeply before returning to his courtyard.
Qingfu had already learned of his return and was waiting inside, tears reddened, angry and crying. “Sir, Prince Linjiang never intended to help you!”
Meng Xizhao signaled him discreetly, tracing a line on his sleeve—an instruction to seek help from Prince Linjiang.
Qingfu went to the prince’s residence, explained the matter, and returned with the news that the prince was out.
Not truly out—he had heard that Meng Xizhao had angered Emperor Tianshou and was avoiding fulfilling his promise. After all, Meng Xizhao had offered him no benefit so far and had caused plenty of trouble; the prince didn’t want to risk being scolded for him.
Meng Xizhao merely smiled. “It’s fine. There’s no need to cry—I knew he wouldn’t help.”
He hadn’t expected the prince to rescue him; his only intention was to let Meng Jiaojiao see the man’s true nature.
He guessed that once the prince learned he was safe, he would send someone to explain.
Sure enough, by afternoon, a page from Prince Linjiang’s residence arrived, inviting Meng Xizhao to dinner. He declined, claiming illness.
By evening, the Meng family had all returned. Meng Jiuyu recounted the day’s events selectively.
Meng Xianang reacted the most, nearly overturning the table.
Madam Meng looked pale, her usually strong demeanor unable to withstand the true danger they had faced.
Meng Jiaojiao’s expression darkened considerably when she heard that Meng Xizhao had sent someone to seek Prince Linjiang’s help, only for the prince to avoid him.
Normally, one would immediately question Meng Xizhao, wanting to confirm whether he really did not know the Crown Prince.
In front of the family, Meng Xizhao replied firmly, “Of course I don’t know him! Among all the princes, I only know Prince Ning and Prince Linjiang. Sigh… and look at them—one wants to take my life, the other refuses to help… It’s strange. Not long ago, Prince Linjiang used to visit me often, calling me brother and all, and now he acts like this.”
Madam Meng slammed her hand on the table. “Naturally, outsiders are unreliable! Which of these princes and dukes isn’t only concerned with themselves? As for Prince Ning… humph, he’s getting what he deserves. A lifetime of confinement—good! At least I won’t be upset imagining him living in luxury while we suffer!”
Meng Jiuyu glanced at his indignant wife, then at Meng Xizhao, whose face seemed to say, “Mother, you’re amazing!”
He didn’t speak—he just lowered his head and gulped tea furiously.
Meng Xianang watched his younger brother with suspicion.
Ji Ming Temple… the Crown Prince… worship…
He had heard that the Crown Prince went to worship, apparently staying there a few days each month.
Suddenly, Meng Xianang’s eyes widened. He spun toward his brother.
Meng Xizhao was soothing Madam Meng, noticing his elder brother staring at him. He smiled sweetly: “What is it?”
Meng Xianang stammered, “…N-nothing.”
He said that, but inside, a storm had already arisen.
And he began to piece things together: why had the young attendant at Ji Ming Temple been so fierce, why had he shown no respect to officials, why had Meng Xizhao inexplicably had dealings with the Xie family—even though Xie Yun, though fond of the pleasure quarters, had never seen him consort with other scions before—and why had Meng Xizhao always been evasive, never speaking the truth. Now he understood: it wasn’t unwillingness; he simply couldn’t speak.
Realizing this, Meng Xianang gasped, almost fainting from the shock.
The others were stunned at his behavior, fearing that his old poison side effects had resurfaced. The household descended into chaos. Madam Meng summoned a physician, and Meng Xizhao wanted to go with them. Meng Xianang thought to grab his hand but hesitated, deciding against it.
This matter was too serious. Even if he asked, Er Lang wouldn’t tell the truth. Better to think it through on his own first…
That day, both heads of the Meng family began to question their lives.
＊
There is no wall without a crack.
The news of the Third Prince and Consort Lin being expelled from Ying Tian Mansion spread quickly, though no one knew why. The former Grand Scholar Lin also became low-profile, cautious in all his actions, fearing Emperor Tianshou’s wrath. But avoiding the emperor’s anger was impossible. When the Right Chancellor submitted a memorial to distribute benefits to officials, Grand Scholar Lin’s name was included. The next day, he was demoted to Scholar Lin.
“…Well, at least his life was spared. He wasn’t completely expelled from office. As long as he pretends he has no daughter or grandson, he could still live out his days in peace.”
Meng Xizhao’s construction request initially required more time, but since the matter had been formally submitted before Emperor Tianshou, Qin Feimang, hoping to curry favor, assisted him. The Ministry of Works quickly approved it, and the construction team began work energetically.
Meng Xizhao inspected the site. The villa was not on the same street as the courier inn but was not far, just a few alleys away. Its location was better, closer to the palace.
Fanning himself, Meng Xizhao squinted, offering a few perfunctory words of encouragement to the masons before heading back to enjoy the iced basins and cool breezes at the residence.
Yet just as he turned, he saw someone walking past—someone familiar, likely from the Crown Prince’s entourage.
Qingfu had arrived with the carriage to escort Meng Xizhao, but he suddenly closed his fan, excitement bright on his face. “I’ve changed my mind. Why return to the residence? I’ll go out, have some fun. Wait for me at Baihua Street.”
The nearby mason muttered, “…Fun? Just say you’re going to see your girlfriend, stop pretending.” But no one dared correct him.
Qingfu had learned better: whatever his master wanted, just follow orders. He acknowledged and drove off.
Meng Xizhao followed the person at a measured distance until they entered a private residence. He paused outside, noting that it wasn’t the same place near Xiaokuan Alley—this was new.
Checking that no one was around, he pushed the door open. Yu Fulan stood at the entrance; Sergeant Zhang was absent.
Tilting his head, Meng Xizhao stepped forward cautiously. Seeing Yu Fulan did not stop him, he entered fully.
Through the hall, he finally saw the Crown Prince.
Cui Ye today wore black, looking colder than usual.
Meng Xizhao blinked, bowing with a deep gesture. “Your Highness, I pay my respects.”
Cui Ye raised his gaze.
“You are indeed fortunate.”
Meng Xizhao grinned shamelessly. “To be honest, Your Highness, I’ve always thought so. No one’s life could be tougher than mine.”
In his previous life, he had drowned and immediately gained a second chance. If that didn’t count as a tough life, what did?
Though the second life had been a bit troublesome… as long as he was alive, he was winning.
Cui Ye looked at his smiling face and said, “Then you must cherish it. Even a Great Dao Immortal cannot endure trial after trial.”
Meng Xizhao studied him for a moment, then crossed over and sat opposite him. “The term ‘trial’ comes from Daoism, meaning it is heaven-ordained. What I do is by my own choice. Naturally, I’m not arrogant enough to believe I can defy heaven, but I do believe one can overcome another man by one’s own efforts.”
Cui Ye suddenly looked a little bewildered and called his name: “Meng Xizhao, what exactly do you intend to do?”
Meng Xizhao, however, didn’t answer. Instead, he asked back, “Why don’t you tell me first, Your Highness—what is it that you wish to do?”
Cui Ye lowered his eyes. Memories flashed through his mind for an instant, and then he said, “I have nothing I wish to do.”
Meng Xizhao wasn’t surprised by this. He tilted his head and said, “Then the things I wish to do, Your Highness, can be shared with you, and become what you wish to do.”
Cui Ye smiled. “You truly know nothing. You always overestimate me, but you don’t know—I am not as capable as you imagine. I cannot help you.”
This was likely the first time Cui Ye had ever spoken so honestly to him—a genuine truth. Yet hearing it, there was a faint sting of sorrow.
Meng Xizhao was momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected that Cui Ye would be so self-effacing. As the Crown Prince, he should have a certain amount of ambition. But then again, the Cui Ye in the book had never defied his father, so why would he change now?
Even now, Meng Xizhao still didn’t know what Cui Ye had been like in the past, or why he had been so awkward in the palace. Staring at Cui Ye, he suddenly blurted out, “But… I need Your Highness.”
Cui Ye was startled.
“No one else will tolerate my striving so much. A new emperor brings a new court—no matter what I’ve done, it’s impossible to expect the new ruler to discard past grievances and make full use of me again.”
If the next ruler wasn’t Cui Ye, Meng Xizhao’s days would surely be difficult. After all, he had taken the path of a favored minister. Being a favored minister is like being a favored consort—who would truly value the concubines of the previous emperor? It’s not like they’re perverse.
So, being sent away is normal. And if old grievances or new grudges were added, finding a reason to execute him wouldn’t be impossible.
Meng Xizhao looked somewhat helpless. He hadn’t expected Cui Ye to reject his olive branch, even after the previous incident. Cui Ye still wanted to clarify things, to distance himself. His eyes were wide and bright, staring at Cui Ye like a puppy confused why its human friend would refuse it.
But Meng Xizhao was not a puppy. Pressing his lips together, he decided he couldn’t stay any longer. He feared that lingering would only make things more embarrassing; after all, he had assumed too much.
He stood to take his leave, eyes lowered to conceal his emotions. Cui Ye stared blankly at him, standing up a moment too late. But Meng Xizhao ran swiftly; he was already gone.
Yu Fulan noticed Meng Xizhao’s unusual expression and paused, rushing inside.
He found the Crown Prince looking equally tense. He became anxious. “Your Highness, what happened? Why is Meng Shaoqing in such a hurry?”
The Crown Prince stood straight, fists clenched tightly at his sides.
Meng Xizhao usually acted openly, but just now his emotions had been restrained. The Crown Prince, usually reserved, now revealed all his feelings—guilt, worry, confusion, and pain.
Yu Fulan had never seen him so flustered; he nearly panicked. Then suddenly, the prince raised his head. “Send Zhang Shuogong here.”
Yu Fulan didn’t understand. “For what?”
After forty lashes, wounded and recuperating, even if summoned, he likely couldn’t come.
The Crown Prince frowned. “I remember he said there was a doctor in Yangzhou skilled at detoxifying poisons. Bring him here—I want to ask carefully.”
Yu Fulan: “…………”
Oh heavens.
The Crown Prince had finally decided to attempt to remove the poison?!
By the Empress and the ancestors of the Yu family, the Crown Prince had finally realized!
Yu Fulan dashed out, ecstatic. At this point, he didn’t care whether Zhang Shuogong could come; if he couldn’t, he could carry him!
…
Meanwhile, Meng Xizhao walked slowly along a small path, rubbing his face and sighing.
The Crown Prince wasn’t as easily deceived as Emperor Tianshou. In front of him, Meng Xizhao had to perform immersive acting—but this kind of immersive acting… was exhausting. By the end, he felt genuinely fatigued and emotionally drained.