FYM - 32

Two days later, Song Dan finally returned home from the palace.

Since returning to Chang’an from Lishan, this fourth-rank official—Left Minister of the Ministry of Works—had been confined within the palace for a full five days. When he entered the house, his crimson robes emitted a faint stench, and his usually immaculately arranged hairpiece was askew. The refined scholar of Jiangnan’s foremost noble family had never appeared so disheveled and humiliated in his life. Once seated in the hall, he clutched a cup with trembling hands and drank greedily, losing much of his usual elegance.

“Big Brother...”

Lady Wan wept as she ordered the servants to bring hot towels for her lord. Meanwhile, Song Bo ignored the cacophony around him and crouched beside his brother, urgently asking about the situation in the palace.

“Did His Majesty say anything? What is... what is the current state of affairs?”

Song Dan remained silent, not even blinking—an immobile statue. After a long pause, he slowly set down his teacup, turned to look at his younger brother, and his eyes darkened like storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Zhong Ji...”

Even his voice trembled slightly.

“Chang’an… may soon descend into chaos.”

At its root, all causes led back to the Crown Prince.

To say that the heir apparent had endured a difficult year would be an understatement. Not long ago, he had been punished by kneeling for six hours in front of the Taiji Palace due to the flood disaster in Dizhou. And now, barely any time had passed before he became embroiled in the bewildering scandal of the golden eagle at Lishan. His already frail body could hardly withstand such torment; it was said that he had coughed up blood upon returning to the palace that day.

Yet the Emperor seemed to feel little affection for this son. He summoned the Crown Prince and his Eastern Palace retainers to the Ganlu Hall for questioning. Song Dan, one of the key figures in the matter, witnessed the scene: amidst the biting cold of winter, the heir to the throne knelt publicly once again, enduring humiliation while desperately pleading his innocence against a baseless accusation.

“Father!”

He cried out, kneeling in the fierce wind outside the Ganlu Hall.

“From childhood, I have studied the ways of the sages under Your Majesty’s grace. Since becoming the Crown Prince, I have strived daily to reflect upon myself and remain virtuous—first as a subject, I dare claim utmost loyalty; then as a son, I believe I have fulfilled filial piety.”

“I harbor no thoughts of rebellion or disrespect—please, Father, see clearly—”

His voice, strained to the breaking point, was carried away by the wind like the mournful cry of a cuckoo. This spectacle moved even those uninvolved to sigh in sympathy. Yet behind closed doors, the Emperor’s heart was as hard as stone, utterly resolute.

Still seething with anger, he grew irritated by the Crown Prince’s impassioned cries. Stepping out of the Ganlu Hall, he delivered a vicious kick to the prince’s chest, his face flushed red with rage.

“Good, good—a model of loyalty and filial piety!”

The Emperor’s roar echoed across the courtyard.

“Then tell me! Who wrote the message inside the golden eagle? ‘Destined by Heaven to ascend the throne’—if it wasn’t your wicked ambition, was it perhaps Heaven forcing me to abdicate?”

The Crown Prince, struck down by the brutal kick, collapsed, spitting blood as his complexion turned ghastly pale. His retainers were shocked, rushing to support him while turning to plead with the Emperor for mercy. But this display of unity only further enraged the Emperor. Wei Xun unsheathed a sword from a nearby imperial guard, pointing it at the Crown Prince with an expression bordering on madness.

“Innocence? What innocence does he have to claim?”

“While I still live, you dare seek a new ruler! Good! Today I will execute this wretch to set an example and see how ‘destined by Heaven’ he truly is!”

…It was like a grotesque farce.

Kneeling among the ministers, Song Dan watched the deranged monarch before him, feeling a growing sense of estrangement. At twenty-nine, he had ascended the throne, fulfilling his predecessor’s vision by pacifying the borders and ushering in a golden age during the Rui Xian era. His achievements in governance and military prowess were unparalleled, earning him the admiration of millions.

—And now?

It was as if he had become a completely different person… obsessed with seeking immortality and grand construction projects, favoring relatives and neglecting state affairs. His current paranoia toward the Crown Prince only underscored his weakened spirit, no longer the ambitious young ruler of the past.

Song Dan watched as the sword inched closer to the Crown Prince. For a moment, he considered stepping forward to intervene but ultimately refrained, mindful of his family’s safety. That fatal golden eagle had been shot down by Ziqiu. Now, in the Emperor’s eyes, the Songs were likely aligned with the Eastern Palace. Already struggling to defend themselves, stepping forward to protect the Crown Prince would only provoke further wrath.

The scholarly Songs… there were things they wished to do but simply lacked the strength to act.

—Yet some people never hesitated.

The sword pierced flesh, and the sight of vivid red blood chilled the heart. Song Dan flinched, only to see Marquis Fang He of Jin kneeling tall before the Crown Prince. The nation’s foremost military leader had ample opportunity to stop the Emperor’s flawed strike but deliberately allowed it to sink deep into his left shoulder. His solemn and handsome face betrayed no hint of hesitation or fear. Such was the head of the Fangs of Yingchuan, the most loyal and upright subject under heaven.

“Your servant dares…” Blood dripped from his wound onto the cold white marble floor. “...to request that Your Majesty hear the Crown Prince’s plea.”

At that moment, Song Dan’s heart trembled, suddenly understanding what true shame felt like.

The Songs prided themselves on their scholarly integrity; his father had even been honored with a place in the Imperial Ancestral Temple. Yet here he was, unwilling to defy the Emperor’s wrath, prioritizing his own survival and the family’s prosperity. But the Marquis was different—he had been fearless in his youth, willing to sacrifice himself, and remained steadfast in his principles. For him, the nation always outweighed personal life, and he had never hesitated to lay down his life for it.

“Marquis—”

The crowd gasped, rushing to tend to his wound. Yet he remained calm, gazing directly at the Emperor, his blood-soaked purple robe still exuding dignity. Emperor Wei Xun’s expression twisted beyond recognition.

“Good, good…”

The Emperor laughed bitterly, his grip on the sword loosening. Moments later, he turned back to the Crown Prince, his gaze colder and more menacing than ever.

“To be a ruler yet not rule, to be a subject yet not serve—one breeds chaos…”

“My son… truly virtuous and filial.”

What happened after that sword thrust, Song Dan did not know. He was taken by the Northern Guard and confined to a secluded chamber in the North Palace. For several days, he heard nothing from the Emperor, only rumors that the Marquis had left the palace to recover from his injury and that the Crown Prince had fallen gravely ill, unable to leave his bed.

Alone in the empty palace, he wandered aimlessly, feeling like a prisoner awaiting execution. Scenes of the confrontation between the Emperor and the Marquis replayed in his mind, and an ominous premonition loomed large.

On the fifth day, the Emperor finally arrived, dismissing everyone else and entering the chamber alone to sit behind the long table. Song Dan knelt respectfully, bowing deeply and remaining prostrate without lifting his head. The Emperor chuckled faintly, then asked: “Why does Lord Song remain kneeling and refuse to look at me?”

…His voice sounded weary.

Song Dan kept his hands pressed to his forehead, unmoving. “I am a guilty man… unworthy to gaze upon Your Majesty’s countenance.”

“Guilty?”

Wei Xun repeated the word, his tone laden with meaning.

“So, Lord Song admits that your son’s shooting of the golden eagle at Lishan was orchestrated by someone else?”

This…

Song Dan’s heart tightened, both startled and incredulous. Even the fiercest tiger wouldn’t harm its own cub. Yet the Emperor’s question clearly aimed to drive the Crown Prince to ruin. Bound by blood and kinship, why must it come to this?

“Your Majesty…”

He was speechless, and the hall fell into a prolonged silence.

The Emperor seemed indifferent, and Song Dan heard the faint sound of fingers tapping the table above him.

“Lately, I often reminisce about your father…”

He suddenly changed the subject.

“When I was Crown Prince, he served in my Eastern Palace as a third-rank official, weathering many storms with me…”

“Later, when I ascended the throne, he voluntarily entered the Hanlin Academy, eschewing power and position. I admired his selflessness and integrity, granting him the honor of being enshrined in the Imperial Ancestral Temple…”

Song Dan listened, his breathing careful and restrained.

“You are his son. I hope you will inherit his virtues,” the Emperor’s tone grew heavier, each word deliberate and slow. “There are too many self-proclaimed wise men in the world, claiming devotion to history and righteousness while secretly acting against them. One day, they will be rejected by all under heaven.”

“Lord Song is no fool… You should understand what kind of answer I seek.”

…He understood.

The Emperor no longer cared about uncovering the truth of the silk message. Whether or not the Crown Prince was truly responsible, his position as heir was forfeit. This was the absurd self-justification of an aging emperor, his obstinate standoff with powerful court officials.

Could the Songs admit guilt? Claim everything was orchestrated by the Crown Prince?

Leaving aside the destruction of Ziqiu’s future and the ridicule the Songs would endure, the punishment following such a confession would be unbearable for their family.

But if they refused?

The Emperor’s wrath was like thunder. If his wishes went unfulfilled, he couldn’t touch his empress or legitimate sons, nor the Fangs of Yingchuan, who held military power and popular support. Then whose blood would he spill to soothe his shame and anger?

Song Dan knew the answer. Sitting in the hall, his expression was vacant. Song Bo, sweating profusely, repeatedly urged his brother to recount every detail of the past days. But Song Dan, drained of energy, could only mutter anxiously about tomorrow’s court session.

Tomorrow…

The case of the golden eagle had been suspended for days, and a resolution was imminent. The Emperor’s visit today and his pointed words suggested he intended to settle matters in the Taiji Palace tomorrow, likely targeting the Crown Prince…

Song Dan’s heart raced, feeling cornered with no escape. In his most panicked moment, a servant hurried into the hall, bowing and reporting: “Master, the Marquis of Jin and Young Master Fang have arrived. They await outside—”

…The Fangs?

Song Dan’s brow twitched, and Song Bo frowned deeply. With tensions high in Chang’an, the Marquis, as the leader of the Eastern Palace faction and freshly wounded by the Emperor, stood at the center of the storm. If the Songs met with them now, it would implicate their family…

“Big Brother…”

Song Bo glanced at his elder brother, shaking his head. Song Dan, however, closed his eyes for a long moment, motionless. When he opened them again, beads of cold sweat trickled down his temples.

“…Quickly, prepare fresh clothes for me.”

He spoke rapidly to Lady Wan, as if fearing he might change his mind if delayed. Song Bo could hardly believe his ears, grabbing his brother’s arm to dissuade him. But Song Dan continued: “The Marquis is a pillar of our court. How can we refuse him when he personally visits? Though the Songs lack the power to sway the tides, we know what we must and must not do.”

With that, he rose solemnly and hurried toward the inner chambers. His slender figure exuded determination. Song Bo, agitated, kicked over a stool in the hall, his fists clenched tightly behind his back.