Book 7: Paying Homage to the Son of Heaven Chapter 155: Noon (Part 2)
These days in Southern Qing were harmonious. A new young prince had been born in the palace, a joyous event. As for how Consort Mei had truly died, no one dared to speak of it openly. The midwives who had attended the birth in that palace naturally accompanied Consort Mei in death due to the difficult labor—a matter considered entirely理所应当.
Currently, the Great Qing court was waging war in the north. In these tense times, as the foundation for unifying the world was being laid, who would be so audacious as to utter those few forbidden words? Were they not afraid of being reported by the hidden eunuchs of the Inner Court or the ascetic monks?
Within a few days, the matter of Consort Mei faded away. The capital returned to a state of serene clarity, like the crisp air and bright moon of deep autumn.
The northern campaign remained protracted. As winter snows gradually fell, Southern Qing's offensive did not weaken, pressing straight north, close to the Nanjing defense line the Northern Qi had spent twenty years building. Unfortunately, Shangshan Tiger, who had remained stationed in the Song state's provincial city, received the Northern Qi Emperor's full trust. Yet, he acted with unusual aloofness, holding his forces firmly in place, stubbornly wedged into the flank of the Qing army's advance route, causing the Qing military high command immense apprehension.
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Shi Fei ultimately went north, due to the critical state of the war. The capital felt a slight solemnity. This former Yanjing general, who had once single-handedly subdued the Northern Camp, was dispatched by His Majesty to the north to assist Marshal Wang Zhikun in managing the Northern Expedition. Like a famed beauty, one imagined Shi Fei must have been filled with lofty sentiments and high aspirations as he embarked on his journey.
With Shi Fei's departure, the position of Commander of the Capital Garrison became vacant again, attracting the fervent gazes of many powerful figures among the military's younger generation. However, the subsequent imperial edict immediately dashed all such hopes.
Ye Wan formally left his staff duties in the Bureau of Military Affairs and, in addition to his post as Martial Grand Tutor, concurrently assumed the role of Commander of the Capital Garrison. No one dared to voice opposition to this appointment, not even the slightest dissent. For the illustrious achievements Ye Wan had made in the empire's western regions this year were plain for all ministers and commoners to see; no one could suppress his rise.
Decades ago, Ye Wan's father, Ye Zhong, had held the position of Capital Garrison Commander at a very young age. Now, the wheel of fortune had turned, landing on his son, whom he did not particularly favor. But in the eyes of outsiders, this was the epitome of a worthy son from a military family, a pillar of the state.
At noon in late autumn, the cold, clear sunlight spilled over Ye Wan's plain, light armor. The young general frowned slightly, gently nudged his horse's flank, and rode slowly outside the Zhengyang Gate of the capital. His eyes were slightly narrowed, constantly sweeping over the commoners passing by, like a hawk searching for its prey on the vast grasslands.
In truth, this was merely a reflection of his subconscious, true feelings. He did not truly expect to encounter that Lord Fan Junior here; he merely harbored a longing to meet that legendary figure. Although His Majesty had sternly ordered that if he saw Fan Xian, he must immediately retreat three steps, how could Ye Wan be willing?
In the vast, deep autumn sky, the cold sunlight transformed into countless straight or curved rays of light. Ye Wan narrowed his eyes even more. On his slightly dark cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkled into a few lines that did not match his age. He silently recalled the conversation he had with His Majesty in front of the Taiji Hall that day, his mood exceptionally complex.
Why choose autumn for the Northern Expedition? Were they not worried about the impending, prolonged harsh winter? This was a great puzzle for the Northern Qi monarch and his ministers, and also a concern for the Southern Qing officials. But once His Majesty's stern decree was issued, the entire world danced to its tune. Warhorses galloped onto the path of invading the Northern Dynasty, and no one dared to question further. Strangest of all, even though they knew the timing of this great war was ill-chosen, none of the senior Qing military officials under Ye Zhong's Bureau of Military Affairs, those who knew warfare best, chose to advise His Majesty against it.
"Thousands upon thousands of our men press forward one after another,踏上不归之路, all just to force him to show himself." Ye Wan, on horseback, lowered his head slightly as if to evade the not-so-intense sunlight, a faint, bitter smile appearing at the corner of his lips. He didn't understand why His Majesty valued Fan Xian so highly, nor did he understand whether it was right for His Majesty to make the sons of Qing pay such a price just to lure and kill Fan Xian.
… …
While General Ye Wan was sighing inwardly, he did not know that the very target he so desperately wanted to hunt down—the two people the Qing Emperor feared most on this continent—had already passed through the city gates and returned to the capital. However, the gate those two used was not the Zhengyang Gate.
The noon sunlight was just as diffuse at the western city gate. Among the bustling crowds entering and leaving the capital, two figures, extremely inconspicuous, moved along. One wore ordinary cloth clothes, the other wore a wide bamboo hat.
Fan Xian, having undergone some minor disguise, instinctively glanced at the Wu Zhu beside him the moment he stepped into the capital. The large bamboo hat cast the cloth covering Wu Zhu's face entirely into shadow; presumably, no one would notice anything amiss.
Many years ago, Ye Qingmei had brought a youthful-looking Wu Zhu to the Qing capital as casually as if on a tour. She passed through the capital gate guarded by Ye Zhong, beat Ye Zhong until his head swelled like a pig's, and then began assisting a man in starting his magnificent, turbulent life.
Today, Fan Xian brought an indifferent Wu Zhu back to the Qing capital悄无声息. They avoided the Zhengyang Gate, personally guarded by Ye Wan, and merged into the crowds like two ghosts, preparing to begin ending that man's magnificent, turbulent life.
It begins here, it ends here. This seems like a perfect cycle.
When Fan Xian and Wu Zhu returned to the capital, the war in the north was still ongoing, but many days had already passed since Consort Mei's death. Although Fan Xian was now a rebel of Qing, stripped of all his official positions and power, he still possessed his own formidable intelligence channels. In an inn within the capital, he closed his eyes, pondering the reason for Consort Mei's death, analyzing his own chances of success, and his mood gradually grew heavy.
In the following days, Fan Xian disguised himself as a common blue-clad servant boy in the capital, moving between various mansions, streets, alleys, and teahouses. He did not seek out anyone he knew, because he did not want to be met with cries for his death from thousands. He was just cautiously searching for something.
He was searching for the case. That heavy case. On that snowy day when the assassination failed and he was trapped by the Qing army in the palace square, he had heard the sound of the case and knew that His Majesty had nearly died under that heavy sniper rifle.
If he could retrieve the case, perhaps things would become much simpler later. But in whose hands was the case? This question should have been simplest and clearest to ask Wu Zhu. However, the current Wu Zhu was like a pale, indifferent sheet of paper, remembering nothing, caring about nothing. He had only subconsciously followed Fan Xian away from the Divine Temple and begun to wander and experience this world outside the temple...
During those days, for the safety of his family and because of that tacit understanding between him and His Majesty, Fan Xian did not return to the Fan Manor. He searched for traces near the Star-Picking Tower, pondering deeply: who would have Uncle Wu Zhu's greatest trust... besides himself? However, his train of thought had fallen into a误区 (misconception/error); he never once thought of that woman. So this search seemed so hesitant and directionless, as if he wanted to shout out loud on the deep autumn streets of the capital.
After all, he was now the common enemy of the entire Southern Qing court. In the capital, which seemed peaceful and devoid of the smell of war but was actually beginning to seep with an austere atmosphere, his primary task was to survive and conceal his tracks. He didn't even dare contact his old subordinates in the Overwatch Council, so this search seemed somewhat futile.
The capital now was not the same as it was a year ago. The Overwatch Council had become an illegitimate child, swaying in miserable circumstances. If not for the fact that His Majesty wasn't completely senile yet, the court officials would likely have long suggested that His Majesty simply disband the Overwatch Council.
Fan Xian had always believed that possessing his three treasures meant he could go anywhere in the world. Therefore, no matter what dangers he encountered since his rebirth, he had never truly lost confidence. Even when facing Ye Liuyun's sword or the Emperor's finger, he still felt he was the fiercest person in the world.
His three treasures were the poison crossbow, the poison dagger, and Uncle Wu Zhu. But now, Uncle Wu Zhu had become like an idiot, and the case was missing. What could he do?
The Fan Manor, the Duke Liu's Manor, the Prince Jing's Manor, the Yan Manor, the Prince Consort's Manor, the Overwatch Council on Tianhe Road, an office next to the Court of Judicial Review, the small residence in the southern city... all places Fan Xian might possibly contact were under the surveillance of the court's agents. Several times, Fan Xian nearly bumped into those hooded ascetics, escaping by a hair's breadth.
Since he couldn't figure out where the case was, he stopped thinking about it. The current Fan Xian was such a ruthless person. By comparison, determining the Emperor's true physical condition and mental state was the most important.
Although intelligence was gathered and delivered to him, he didn't fully believe it. Because the Emperor in the palace, throughout his life, was most adept at concealment, endurance, deception, and luring others to their death. It had been so on Great Dong Mountain, and so many other times. Fan Xian did not want to make a mistake, because he knew the Emperor would never give him another chance to err.
It was quite奇妙 (remarkable/strange). Both the Emperor and Fan Xian actually couldn't completely sort out their feelings and emotions towards each other. Yet, once they thought of the other, their hearts calmed and cooled down, leaving only the word 'kill'!
There was no need to speak of it to others, no need to proclaim it to the sun and moon. Killing the other seemed to have become a kind of spiritual support for both of them living in this world. It must be said, this is indeed a rather sorrowful thing.
...
...
To obtain the most accurate situation in the palace, after pondering for a long time in the inn, Fan Xian chose the Ye Manor. The Ye family was loyal and righteous for generations. Ye Zhong was the head of the Bureau of Military Affairs, and Ye Wan was the commander of the Capital Garrison. His Majesty's trust in them was unsurpassed, so naturally, he wouldn't send agents to monitor them.
In the world today, there were few places that could stop Fan Xian from infiltrating. So when a worried-looking Ye Ling'er suddenly saw a blue-clad servant boy appear before her like a ghost, her face changed dramatically. However, this tiger daughter of a military family was, after all, not some delicate, weak woman. She didn't cry out to summon others. Instead, her face darkened, she directly drew the sword from her waist, and without hesitation, swung it down!
"It's me," Fan Xian called out, a trace of a weary smile appearing at the corner of his lips.
"You?" Ye Ling'er stared in disbelief at his unfamiliar face, speechless for a long time. She never imagined that her young master was actually still alive, that he had truly managed to return alive from the Divine Temple.
After a conversation, Fan Xian wearily lowered his head. It seemed His Majesty's body really was failing. And from Consort Mei's death, from the royal family's arrangements for that young prince, his heart stirred slightly, and he grasped His Majesty's intentions and state of mind with exceptional accuracy.
It carried a faint sense of aging. It seemed that after suffering heavy blows from his closest son and subjects, the powerful Emperor, both in body and spirit, had entered the lowest point of his life.
But why did His Majesty choose to launch the northern expedition at this time? Was it because he felt his time was running out, so he needed to seize the moment?
To pull the Emperor down from his divine altar, Fan Xian had not hesitated to use guns, swords, and human hearts, exhausting all the shameless cunning he had cultivated over two lifetimes, threatening the world, holding the common people hostage to bolster his own weight, and finally successfully creating the current situation. The Emperor had aged, developed feelings, and naturally became weaker. This was the situation he had most looked forward to seeing. So why did Fan Xian feel no joy in his heart at this moment?
Not only was Fan Xian not joyful, he felt even more bewildered. Sitting in the chair before Ye Ling'er, his feet on the seat, his arms hugging his knees, his face pressed against his legs, he silently engaged in thought, giving off an exceptionally weary feeling.
Ye Ling'er saw his posture, her eyes brightening slightly, then quickly transforming into a thick, unmeltable sadness, because she thought of someone. Perhaps precisely because she thought of that certain someone, she did not ask Fan Xian where that other person was now.
The sun gradually dipped westward, casting a twilight glow over the Ye residence. Ye Wan stepped into the rear garden with a grim expression. Whether due to the tense northern war or the entire capital being on guard against that person’s return, the palace had not strictly ordered him to leave the capital and return to his camp. Instead, the Emperor had left a verbal decree for him to assist in official duties.
His father, Ye Zhong, was likely still at the Bureau of Military Affairs, analyzing military reports and formulating strategies, probably working through the night again. Yet, Ye Wan felt no envy or resentment, for he understood better than anyone that although the Northern Expedition had already begun, it would not conclude anytime soon, as one crucial objective remained unfulfilled.
Precisely because Ye Zhong was not at home, Ye Wan’s footsteps felt somewhat lighter. His relationship with his father had always been strained, which was why he had stayed in Nanzhao for so many years, to the point where people in the capital had nearly forgotten his existence.
However, Ye Wan got along very well with his sister, Ye Ling’er. Perhaps because they had not seen each other for many years, the siblings were exceptionally close.
Ye Wan intended to visit his sister in the rear garden, so he did not bring any guards or subordinates. Yet, upon entering the garden, the first person he saw was not his sister but a young servant in blue attire.
The servant in blue hunched slightly, bowed humbly, and prepared to leave.
But Ye Wan narrowed his eyes. The moment he entered the garden, he had noticed something unusual about the positioning of this seemingly ordinary servant’s feet.
It was an extremely subtle detail. The servant’s feet appeared casual, but Ye Wan knew that with a slight push from the back foot, this person could leap into the air effortlessly. Of course, only experts of their caliber possessed such skill.
Was he being overly cautious? A cold gleam solidified in Ye Wan’s narrowed eyes as he watched the retreating back of the blue-clad servant. Suddenly, he called out, “Why have you returned?”
The servant’s figure stiffened slightly. He slowly stopped, turned around calmly, and looked at the young master of the Ye family with great interest. “Ye Wan? To see through my disguise like this—though I was careless—you are indeed… impressive.”
While Fan Xian unexpectedly encountered Ye Wan at the Ye residence, Wu Zhu, who had entered the capital with him, was wandering the streets of the city, wearing a large bamboo hat. As for the current Wu Zhu, Fan Xian no longer knew how to describe his sense of frustration. This eternally fifteen-year-old绝世强者 (peerless expert), with his eyes covered by a black cloth, had not only lost his memories but also forgotten much of the knowledge needed to survive in the world.
Fan Xian had been in the capital for several days, and Wu Zhu had spent just as many days sitting by the window of the inn. Though the black cloth hid his eyes, Fan Xian always felt he could glimpse a trace of longing and curiosity in Wu Zhu’s gaze.
Wu Zhu remained silent and withdrawn, like a walking, pale machine, merely following Fan Xian’s footsteps out of instinct. Fortunately, dealing with childlike innocence was one of Fan Xian’s greatest strengths. He had always managed Da Bao well, and Wu Zhu was no exception. So far, their journey had proceeded without major issues.
Yet, the sight of Wu Zhu’s seemingly soulless shell never failed to pain Fan Xian. Eventually, he stopped trying to prevent Wu Zhu from leaving the inn to wander. Truth be told, he couldn’t stop him anyway, as long as Wu Zhu remembered his way back to the inn. Fan Xian also never worried about Wu Zhu’s safety, for in his view, no one in the world could harm him now.
However, Fan Xian seemed to have forgotten that the current Wu Zhu was like an ignorant and curious child. More troublingly, Wu Zhu’s mind held no possibility of harming humans.
Thus, Wu Zhu, with his eyes covered by the black cloth, wandered the capital seemingly freely but actually perilously. He did not act or intervene, merely observing through the cloth, watching this unfamiliar yet familiar city.
Wu Zhu walked among the streets and crowds, curiously observing the tanghulu (candied fruit skewers) and listening to the heated discussions about the northern war in the tea shops. Then, he passed through long alleys, crossed Tianhe Road, and arrived at the edge of the palace square.
He tilted his head curiously, gazing through the black cloth at the magnificent main gate of the imperial palace. For some reason, an uncontrollable sense of disgust welled up in his cold heart.
Thud! A small stone hit him, followed by more stones pelting down. The street urchins of the capital had no idea that the person in the bamboo hat was the most dangerous existence in the world. They threw stones with all their might, shouting, “Hit the fool! Hit the fool!”
Wu Zhu remained motionless, allowing the children to throw stones. He stared at the palace’s main gate and suddenly murmured to himself, “This place… I think it’s called the Meridian Gate. It’s where people are executed.”
These were the second words Wu Zhu had spoken since leaving the Divine Temple, with no one to hear them. He only remembered that this place was once called the Meridian Gate, where many people had died—a story from a very distant past.