FYM - 31

The winter hunt of the seventh year of Yuanzhang ended abruptly amidst an inexplicable storm.

The Emperor, enraged, struck the Crown Prince and promptly departed Lishan with Consort Zhong, returning to Chang’an while leaving behind the Empress and her entourage. The officials were thrown into disarray, none knowing what was written on that small piece of silk that had provoked such fury. Just as no one could have foreseen the shocking upheavals that would soon convulse the imperial court of Great Zhou within mere months. Three hundred years of imperial prosperity were drawing to a close, and the nation would fracture, its lands plunged into chaos. For a hundred years, the Central Plains would never achieve reunification again.

The Song family bore the brunt of the fallout.

The golden eagle had been personally presented by Young Master Er, and now that it had caused trouble, the Songs were inevitably implicated. Upon returning to Chang’an from Lishan, Song Dan was detained by the Emperor and confined to the palace for three full days without returning home. The entire Song household was gripped by panic, their lives thrown into disarray.

“Zhong Ji...” Lady Wan’s voice was nearly hoarse from crying. “What... what are we to do?”

The second branch of the family was equally at a loss. Song Bo’s brows remained deeply furrowed; for every day his elder brother was trapped in the palace, he too went without food or rest outside. All he could do was repeatedly summon his nephew for questioning, demanding that Song Mingzhen recount in painstaking detail every event that had transpired in the forest that day.

“That... that day...”

No one in the Song household was more flustered than Young Master Er. Overnight, he had fallen from grace. Not only had he failed to gain fame and honors but he had also brought calamity upon his family. Even now, his mind was still reeling, struggling to find clarity amidst the chaos.

“That day, I entered the forest to hunt, parting ways with my brothers...”

He recounted carefully.

“After entering the sixth zone, I saw Prince Wei Zheng and his entourage pursuing the eagle. I joined them, drawing my bow to compete...”

“Later... later Third Brother arrived. He called out to me, perhaps trying to stop me...”

“I... I don’t know...”

His words grew increasingly incoherent.

Song Bo listened in silence, his brows knitting tighter with each passing moment. After a long pause, he suddenly slumped back, his gaze growing distant and unfocused.

Lady Wan was alarmed, forgetting propriety as she rushed to grab her brother-in-law’s arm, repeatedly asking, “What is wrong?” Song Bo’s face was pale as he replied: “Our Song family... may ultimately become collateral damage in the factional struggle between the Fangs and Zhongs...”

This cryptic statement left most in the hall perplexed, except for Song Shuyan, seated at the far end, who understood perfectly.

What kind of words could provoke the Emperor to publicly strike the Crown Prince in front of everyone? What could make an emperor so wary? It likely involved the succession, orchestrated by Prince Wei Zheng himself.

—Surrounded by capable generals, how could Zhong Xiaoshenjun’s archery skills, honed over years of border defense, be inferior to her second brother’s? If they had pursued the eagle for so long without success, how could her brother have conveniently taken the shot? Perhaps the eagle was not a wild creature but one bred by the prince’s faction.

In ancient times, Chen Sheng and Wu Guang concealed messages in fish and faked divine omens to sway hearts. Now, Prince Wei Zheng had reversed this tactic, likely inscribing seditious words praising the Crown Prince’s virtue and claiming he was destined to ascend the throne early. How could the current Emperor not know how harshly he had treated the Crown Prince? Presumably, he assumed the Crown Prince harbored resentment and interpreted this act as a plot to usurp power under the guise of divine will. How could he not be enraged?

The dire situation was that her second brother had been dragged into this lethal affair, implicating the entire Song family.

“You ungrateful wretch!”

Though Lady Wan couldn’t fully grasp her brother-in-law’s cryptic warning, she didn’t hesitate to vent her anger on her concubine-born son. Mimicking the Emperor, she slapped Song Mingzhen hard across the face, ignoring his birth mother Wu Shi’s tearful pleas as she knelt on the ground begging for mercy.

“Your father warned you countless times to stay away from both the Fangs and Zhongs! Did you listen? No!”

“You, blinded by ambition, acted recklessly, bringing this calamity upon our family!”

“If anything happens to your father—may you die a thousand deaths and still not atone for your sins!”

Her shrill cries pierced the air. Song Shuqing, along with her mother Wu Shi, knelt before their mistress, clinging to her legs and weeping. Meanwhile, Song Shuqian feigned consolation while coldly observing her half-brother and half-sister, her disdain mingling with satisfaction.

Song Shuyan knelt beside her second brother, her eyes reflecting the myriad emotions playing out in the hall. Her already desolate heart grew colder still.

On the other side, the Prince’s residence was alive with music and revelry.

Though he had a fief, Prince Wei Zheng resided in Chang’an in defiance of regulations. The Emperor not only reserved a palace for his beloved son but also allocated an entire district for his mansion, adorned with gold and jade, its tiles made of glass—an unparalleled sight in the western capital. Today, dancers clad in crimson skirts whirled in the garden, their vibrant movements seemingly capable of burning a hole through the dreary skies that had hung over Chang’an for three days.

At the height of the festivities, a servant arrived with news that Lord Zhong He, the prince’s uncle, had come to visit. Wei Zheng set down his wine cup, straightened his robes disheveled by his concubines, and called out: “Invite Uncle inside.”

Soon, Zhong He appeared along the winding path in the rear garden. Over fifty years old, his temples were streaked with gray, but his piercing green eyes remained sharp. Resembling the Hu people more than his son Zhong Ji, he was short but sturdy, walking with an upright posture that exuded confidence.

“Uncle.”

Wei Zheng did not rise but merely raised his cup with a faint smile. Zhong He took his seat slowly, his tiger-like eyes scanning the beautiful dancers before him. Frowning slightly, he said: “The palace remains in turmoil, and all eyes are on the Eastern Palace and the Qin Prince’s Residence. Your actions should be cautious; it’s unwise to flaunt extravagance at this time.”

Wei Zheng chuckled, tilting his head to drain his cup. “Father knows I am unrestrained. Pretending to be cautious now would only reveal guilt. Besides, pitying the downfall of others is tedious. I have no interest in joining that spectacle.”

Zhong He shook his head and smiled, clearly exasperated. Finally, he accepted a cup of wine from a dancer and toasted with the prince, sighing: “The matter is yet unresolved. Whether we can claim that rabbit remains uncertain. Alas, the Fangs of Yingchuan have had too much luck. Otherwise, this time...”

He slammed his cup onto the table with a dull thud that sent a ripple of unease through the room.

This scheme involving the golden eagle was indeed orchestrated by the Zhongs. Their intention, however, was not to drag the Songs into the fray but to lure the Fangs into a trap. Everyone knew the Emperor harbored resentment toward Marquis Fang He, displeased with the Fangs’ immense influence over court affairs. If the eagle had been shot by a Fang descendant, the Emperor would have seized the opportunity to settle old scores. At that point, the Zhong faction, like wolves pouncing on prey, might have toppled the Fangs of Yingchuan forever.

“Uncle underestimates Fang Yi Zhi,” Wei Zheng remarked with a sly smile, his heterochromatic eyes glinting. “That day, his fourth brother intended to shoot the eagle but was stopped at the last moment, likely sensing something amiss... Had Song Ziqiu not appeared suddenly and acted so swiftly, our efforts might have been in vain.”

Zhong He narrowed his eyes, silently repeating Fang Xianting’s name. After a moment, he sighed: “Fang Yi Zhi is truly extraordinary. I know Your Highness admires his talent, but if he insists on resisting, he will remain a formidable threat.”

Wei Zheng understood this well. Though he resented Fang Yi Zhi’s stubbornness, he also respected his integrity. Perhaps the Emperor felt similarly about the Fangs of Yingchuan—not ignorant of their uprightness, but frustrated by their inability to control them.

“Let us set aside Fang Yi Zhi for now. The pressing matter is how to use the Songs effectively,” Wei Zheng ordered another round of wine, slowly rubbing his fingers against the golden cup. “Uncle, do we still have a chance to turn this small advantage into a great one?”

A small advantage into a great one?

Zhong He raised an eyebrow, pondering deeply before breaking into a slow smile.

Indeed... Though the Songs of Jinling were the foremost clan in Jiangnan, compared to the Fangs of Yingchuan, they were insignificant. What fear could these self-proclaimed upright scholars inspire, compared to the formidable military families wielding real power? Fortunately, they weren’t entirely useless. Perhaps they could serve as leverage to bring down the Fangs once more...

—Didn’t Fang Xianting grow close to Song Ziqiu? Rumor had it that during the Lishan hunt, he even saved one of the Song daughters. Why not bind the Songs and Fangs together, convincing the Emperor that this renowned Jiangnan scholar family had become pawns of the Fangs? With accusations of factionalism compounded by charges of usurpation, wouldn’t the Emperor be driven to destroy the Fangs of Yingchuan?

But...

“What if the Fangs, in a bid for self-preservation, decisively sever ties with the Songs?” Zhong He frowned, his eyes clouded with doubt. “Neither Song Dan nor Song Bo has openly supported the Fang faction in court politics. To argue based solely on private friendships seems insufficient to convince others.”

“This is a gamble.”

Wei Zheng smirked, draining his cup once more.

“A gamble that the Fangs cannot bear to see loyal and virtuous men fall. And a gamble on Father’s deep-seated wariness of the Fangs,” his voice grew low, tinged with both ruthlessness and resignation. “My elder brother now stands on the precipice. If he fails to navigate this crisis, he will be deposed. I wager he will fight desperately, rallying support from the Jiangnan faction to pressure Father into leniency. But...”

“The more popular support he garners, the more he will incite the Emperor’s suspicion,” Zhong He finally lowered his gaze and smiled, looking at his nephew with evident pride. “Your Highness’s foresight and meticulous planning will surely make you a revered ruler for the ages.”

Wei Zheng laughed at his uncle’s praise, outwardly dismissing it as flattery, though inwardly he yearned for the pinnacle of power—to look down upon the world. It wasn’t just greed for wealth and authority but also a vision of unity and prosperity. He too harbored dreams of a golden age. His elder brother, frail and with only a low-born concubine’s son as heir, could scarcely maintain stability even if crowned. Could the Fangs ensure his longevity?

The dilemma of choosing the wisest or eldest heir was timeless, tied to the fate of dynasties. He could not avoid taking this gamble.

Wei Zheng slowly lifted his golden cup once more, watching the dancer pour wine while covertly glancing at his uncle Zhong He. For a fleeting moment, a trace of doubt flickered in his eyes—a thought that mirrored the Fangs’ longstanding concerns.

The menace of powerful relatives...

So be it. He would deal with it after ascending the throne.