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Flowing water, gentle breeze, tender yellow willow branches combed by nature, the fragrance of plum blossoms varying from light to strong—spring is in the deep layers of flowers where birds sing.
On the green embankment and azure shore, graceful palace maidens walked through the morning mist like smoke, their delicate figures comparable to willows under tight-fitting palace attire.
“Nonsense, the most handsome one is clearly the Third Prince.”
“Seventh Prince! It's the Seventh Prince!”
Two palace maids carrying water buckets challenged each other, eventually stubbornly blocking the path of other palace maids.
“Third Prince!”
“Seventh Prince!”
Neither gave in, and they finally put down their water buckets, glaring at each other like fighting roosters.
“Of course, the Third Prince is the most handsome,” another palace maid responded. “Ever since he married Princess Tianjiao, his reputation has far surpassed that of the Seventh Prince.”
“That's right, even Eunuch Li said that position is within the Third Prince’s grasp!”
“As the old saying goes, geese flying south do not sing for long. No matter how capable the princess of Yi Country is, she cannot match the Qiu family. The most handsome one is naturally the Seventh Prince.”
They exchanged words back and forth; the palace maids fetching water stopped by the long willow embankment, chatting animatedly. The youngest palace maid at the end was utterly confused.
What they were talking about didn’t seem to have any relation to handsomeness. The little palace maid, with an innocent look on her face, stood at the end of the line, her clear eyes blinking with confusion.
“Third Prince!” “Seventh Prince!”
The two factions argued incessantly, eventually turning to glare at her together: “Ping'er, you tell us, who is the most handsome among the eleven princes?”
Huh? The young palace maid was startled, pointing at herself uncertainly.
“Yes, you!”
Under the watchful and somewhat intimidating gazes of everyone, Ping'er slowly set down the yoke on her shoulder, nervously fiddling with the hem of her dress: “Ninth Prince...” She stammered, as if her cheeks were reddened by the slightly damp air.
“Hmm?” The older palace maids leaned forward slightly, raising their eyebrows.
Ping'er looked up, her eyes darting around a bit. After some time, as if making a firm decision, she softly said, “The most handsome is naturally the Ninth Prince.” This, anyone with eyes could see.
“Heh...” The two factions who had been arguing fiercely suddenly exchanged a smile.
“Weren't we just as naive before?”
“Pfft, you were already a monkey back then.”
“You little wretch, see if I don't pinch your thin lips apart!”
The two who had been at odds reconciled, picked up their yokes, and walked leisurely away, gradually blending into the dissipating morning mist.
What was going on? Ping'er stood there with her hands hanging by her side, looking ahead in bewilderment.
“Come on, little girl.” The palace maid sister who shared the water bucket with her smiled and teased, “You're still quite young, after all.”
Ya... Ya...
The yoke sang between them, producing a light-hearted sound.
“Sister.” After walking a few steps, the little girl couldn’t hold back anymore and asked hesitantly, “Why did you guys laugh earlier?” Her small chin moved slightly.
“Ping'er, you’ve been serving in the outer court for two months now, haven’t you?”
“Mm.” Even though the palace maid sister couldn’t see behind her, she nodded vigorously anyway.
“In the outer court, we see civil and military officials every day, so we naturally know more.” The older palace maid shifted the yoke to the other shoulder, and Ping'er followed suit. “Some things are not what they seem on the surface, do you understand?”
Frowning slightly, Ping'er thought for a moment but was still utterly confused: “But the most handsome one is clearly...”
“Ping'er, let me ask you.” The palace maid sister interrupted. “Even the fifteen-year-old Sixteenth Prince has children. Why does the Ninth Prince, who is past the age of twenty, have no children?”
“No?” The little girl exclaimed in shock, passing under the willow leaves. “Could it be... he can't conceive?”
Before the stammering words could settle, whispers drew sharp intakes behind the willow trees. Zhu Tinggui cautiously examined those peach-blossom eyes. After the morning court session, he had specifically intercepted this person in the secluded willow embankment to continue the Seventh Prince's plan. Unexpectedly, he overheard the palace maids fetching water in the morning. To avoid being discovered, he had no choice but to endure listening to their chatter, only to hear these discussions.
Can't conceive? For a man, that’s a tremendous disgrace.
Thinking of this, he couldn’t help but steal another glance. However, those peach-blossom eyes remained as calm as deep pools without a ripple.
“Of course, he can conceive.” A clear female voice came. “He just can't deliver.”
“Huh?” A slightly immature tone.
“Mm, can't deliver.” The elder woman confirmed repeatedly. “Every time the Ninth Prince’s concubines become pregnant, they miscarry.”
“Miscarriage... miscarriage... miscarriage?”
“According to my sisters inside the palace,” the elder palace maid cautiously glanced around before whispering, “Queen Mother and Consort Hua resent the late Noble Consort, so they secretly interfere to prevent the Ninth Prince from having heirs.”
“Impossible...” Ping'er stood frozen on the spot, her companion carrying the yoke also paused, splashing out half a dipper of water.
Really? Behind the tree, Zhu Tinggui was secretly curious. No wonder, no wonder the Ninth Prince doesn’t have a single child. He was about to smirk when he remembered the purpose of this meeting and became annoyed again. If it’s true, the Ninth Prince must hate Queen Mother and the Seventh Prince to death. How could he persuade him then? Sigh, sigh, why couldn’t these two women walk further away to talk!
Graceful willows swayed, and the red lacquer yoke sang again, while the morning mist gradually faded in the bright spring sunshine.
“Ping'er, do you think the most handsome one is still the Ninth Prince?” The worldly female voice overshadowed the chirping of birds.
“...”
Thousands of willow tresses hung down, and a red figure appeared amidst the light yellow and green. The spring breeze lifted the hem of his robe but didn’t disturb the tranquil peach-blossom eyes.
“Alright, even if it’s not the Ninth Prince, the most handsome ones aren’t those two either.” The little girl muttered discontentedly. “When the sisters see that official from the Ministry of Rites, don’t they all stare?”
The palace maid ahead sighed deeply, saying mournfully, “It’s completely different. In a few years, you’ll naturally understand.”
What nonsense! The little girl pouted, her puzzled heart hidden in the embroidered spring scenery.
“That official left two days ago. It’s such a pity, alas, we won’t see such a beautiful smile again...”
Sighs painted that flower-like beauty, and this plum-eyed, willow-cheeked spring day unconsciously stirred up a faint sorrow in Zhu Tinggui’s heart. Yes, although he was a political rival, it was truly a pity that such beauty was gone. The narrow palace robes gradually disappeared into the distance, and Zhu Tinggui put aside his spring melancholy to look again. Those previously tranquil peach-blossom eyes slightly tightened, and the person in front gathered a hint of anger in his elegant distant mountain brows.
Indeed, that official from the Ministry of Rites was truly dear to this person’s heart. If he pressed on this sore spot, this person would surely become enraged and comply with their wishes.
Zhu Tinggui turned his overly keen and conspicuous eyes, cupped his hands, and said, “Your Highness, have you finished reading?”
The unusual color between his brows quietly dissipated, and Ling Yiran slowly raised his eyes, lightly running his jade-like fingers over the confidential report. “Mm.” He hummed softly, his beautifully shaped lips curving slightly upward.
“So...” Zhu Tinggui's face remained impassive, but anticipation surged in his heart.
Ling Yiran lazily brushed away the willow threads in front of him and glanced indifferently. “If the Left Chancellor and Third Brother have indeed committed numerous crimes as stated in the report, it should first be presented to Father, and then personally reviewed by Minister Luo Taiqing of the Ministry of Justice.” His voice carried a casual tone, fitting perfectly with the warm spring day. “Now you come to me instead; hmm, Seventh Brother's tricks are getting more and more numerous.”
Zhu Tinggui's ingratiating smile instantly dropped. He had always thought this person's eyes were unfocused, seemingly indifferent to everything. Now he realized he was wrong, and gravely mistaken. A chill ran up his spine, and his eyes darted around nervously. “Don’t misunderstand, Seventh Prince acted for your own good.” He gritted his teeth, as if summoning courage from eight lifetimes to dare raise his eyes slightly. “Your Highness, even if you want to go with the flow, you need to see the direction of the current. If you drift like duckweed into the mud, it will be hard to extricate yourself later.”
“Oh?” Ling Yiran half-closed his eyelids, gazing absent-mindedly at the lake reflection. “So, Seventh Brother is worried about me?”
“Exactly, Your Highness.” Zhu Tinggui's voice grew hoarse, his tone extremely sincere. “Seventh Prince often says among the brothers, the Ninth Prince is the most unambitious. Such a temperament might be acceptable in ordinary families, but in the royal family...”
Ling Yiran's eyebrows twitched slightly, focusing intently. “And what about in the royal family?”
Finally showing interest, a good sign! Zhu Tinggui faced the rising sun, letting out a long sigh. “In the royal family, it may be difficult to live long.”
His brows furrowed deeper, and a shadow of hidden worry covered Ling Yiran's handsome face—a perfect mask.
“Since marrying Princess Tianjiao, the Third Prince's carriage has changed from four horses to eight magnificent steeds. Eight steeds—it’s the standard for the King’s outings.”
“Ho ho.” Ling Yiran laughed nonchalantly. “Even the King hasn’t said anything, so presumably, he tacitly approves.”
A punch hitting cotton—it felt soft yet frustrating. Zhu Tinggui endured this soft blow, unwilling to stop provoking. “I heard that Your Highness’s carriage was hit and damaged by eight steeds yesterday. Is it just a rumor?” He stole a glance and saw Ling Yiran’s displeased expression, knowing he hit the mark. “Before ascending the throne, the Third Prince is already so arrogant. What more after he becomes king? Moreover, the Third Prince has always looked down on your maternal family. Once he holds great power, how could he let you live comfortably?”
The peach-blossom eyes abruptly narrowed, revealing a hint of severity in the once soft gaze.
So this clay Buddha has a temper too, good, very good. Zhu Tinggui rejoiced inwardly and continued, “You’re well aware of the recent dispute over the posthumous titles in the palace. The Third Prince went to great lengths to have the King bestow the title of Noble Consort upon Consort Hua, but it’s not really about that. The ministers say the Third Prince is honoring his mother in preparation for his future ascension, but Tinggui disagrees.” Seeing those distant mountain brows rise high, he knew Ling Yiran had taken the bait, causing his tone to become lighter. “According to ancestral regulations, the main tomb of the royal mausoleum houses one empress and one consort. One empress is naturally the Empress, and this consort is the Noble Consort. The King has only bestowed the title of Noble Consort once, and that was upon Your Highness’s mother... the Virtuous, Benevolent, Respectful, and Harmonious Noble Consort Wang. Noble Consort’s coffin is now placed in the main tomb of Yushan Royal Mausoleum. But if Consort Hua is also bestowed the title of Noble Consort, once the Third Prince inherits the throne, your mother's coffin might be forced to move, giving the right chamber of the main tomb to the future king’s biological mother.”
The hazy beautiful eyes suddenly focused. Ling Yiran stood against the spring sun, his eyes piercing sharply at the scene before him. Good one, Zhu Tinggui, hitting his weak spot. Seventh Brother, your claws are quite sharp!
“The construction of Yushan Royal Mausoleum began fifteen years ago, with the selection of the site and materials handled by the then Minister of Works, the Left Chancellor.” Zhu Tinggui suggestively glanced at the confidential report. “During the last cabinet reshuffle, this subordinate was transferred from the Ministry of Personnel to the Ministry of Works. After several months of detailed investigation, this subordinate found that the Left Chancellor has long been privately withholding project funds. Just the Yushan Royal Mausoleum alone involved eight hundred thousand taels. This subordinate has solid evidence. If you don’t believe me, please read the confidential report carefully again.”
Ling Yiran leisurely reopened the eight-fold memorial, the shimmering waves of the lake reflecting in his deep eye pools, breaking the silver fine lines.
Believe? How could he not believe? If he couldn’t trust others, could he not trust himself? Yes, what Seventh Brother saw was exactly what he, Ling Yiran, wanted him to see. If it weren’t for Qingqing stopping him earlier, those bookworms Lu Wen and He Meng would have fallen into Seventh Brother’s trap. That girl who made his heart itch knew how to guard against people but didn’t scheme against them—what a pity for that beautiful and intelligent little brain. He wasn’t some virtuous man; why not use the carefully collected evidence? Only the person using it changed, replaced by someone from Seventh Brother’s camp.
Soft, bright silver light intertwined under his slightly curled beautiful eyelashes, adding a touch of captivating charm. Through the willow curtain, he watched, watched Zhu Tinggui’s mouth frothing with words.
Fortunately, it was the Third Brother who married that Princess Tianjiao. The proud duo colluded, stirring unrest in the court and royal family. Yet, the King did not intervene, leading the ministers to mistakenly interpret it as tacit approval. Back and forth, even his profoundly scheming Seventh Brother became restless. Wanting the cold clan forces in his hands to become the vanguard, firing the first shot against the Third Brother?
Hehe, this calculation was truly precise. If the Lie Hou faction was severely damaged, the aristocrats under the Third Brother would surely hate him to the core. In the end, who would reap the benefits as the fisherman? Hmm?
But he also wanted to be that fisherman—not only wanting but determined to be!
“What do you think, Your Highness?” Zhu Tinggui spoke until his lips were dry, confidently looking at the superficial Ninth Prince, waiting for a single word of agreement.
“Hmm.” Ling Yiran pondered for a moment, hesitantly opening his mouth slowly. “Let me think about it some more.”
Think! What is there to think about? Zhu Tinggui’s face stiffened, silently shouting in anger in his heart. So, he thought he was just idly chatting? With fire burning at his eyebrows, this person was still so carefree. Damn it, this sticky personality made even a scholar like him want to curse, hateful! Hateful!
With great effort, he suppressed the impulse to strangle the Ninth Prince, softened his rigid expression, and gently said again, this time hitting him squarely in the face: “Doesn’t Your Highness want to avenge Minister Feng?”
Revenge? The peach-blossom eyes narrowed dangerously, the eye waves still calm but subtly rippling.
“Minister Feng’s mission to Qing this time, the Third Prince put in a lot of effort. Not only did he place an incompetent Zhu Mide, but he also replaced half of the guards with his own people. Minister Feng’s journey westward this time is likely fraught with danger.” Zhu Tinggui looked ambiguously and sighed, “Poor fragile person, doesn’t Your Highness want to seek justice for Minister Feng?”
“Hmph! If she wants justice, let her seek it herself when she returns.” Ling Yiran's face turned pale, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “Minister Zhu, aren’t you meddling too much?”
“Your Highness! Your Highness!”
Without further pretense, Ling Yiran waved his red sleeve and strode away.
Danger fraught? If she wants to risk her life, she should see if he allows it!
The breeze from his sleeves blew away the spring light on the willows.
...
Spring's beauty is divided into three parts: two parts admiring flowers and the moon, one part yearning painfully.
Idle clouds drifted slowly across the sky, a crescent moon flickered in and out of sight. Where the clouds passed, a picturesque silhouette was imprinted on the ground. The apricot-yellow moonlight softly illuminated the fragrant grass and water marshes. Ling Yiran, wrapped in a brocade robe, leaned against the stone table, pouring himself drinks.
It was already the sixth day, they should have crossed the Lei River by now.
The rich, fragrant wine slid over his beautiful lips as he drank in the lonely moonlight.
If it were him, he would have eliminated the “bad seed” before entering Qing. I wonder if Qingqing shares his intuition?
The pine shadows danced on the ground, and the night was filled with the scent of spring plums.
He had already submitted the memorial, waiting for the King’s vermilion approval. Zhu Su probably couldn’t wait, and neither could he. Ling Yiran was accustomed to control, believing that this affection, this person, was no exception. Little did he know that he was the one being controlled. By the time he vaguely sensed something amiss, he realized he had already come so far, fallen so deep, and could no longer turn back.
After the death of his mother, he found it hardest to sleep in spring. And since she left, he discovered that love is a state one cannot awaken from.
Come back, hurry back. Like being intoxicated by the spring breeze, his heart couldn’t help but feel tender and sour, and he began to miss that stubborn Qingqing. He wished to crush her into powder, dissolve her in wine, and swallow her whole in one gulp.
Thinking of this, he tilted his head back to swallow the wine, his nimble tongue lightly wiping the corners of his lips, licking up every drop of spilled liquor, leaving no trace.
“Ninth Brother!” An urgent shout came from outside the waterside pavilion, rudely breaking his train of thought.
Ling Yiran half-lowered his eyelashes to conceal the displeasure in his eyes: “Twelfth Brother, why are you late?” His tone slightly rose as if smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his heart.
Ling Moran sat down carelessly, unceremoniously poured himself a cup of wine, and wet his throat: “Just as I was about to leave, I heard Pan'er was feeling unwell, so I was delayed a bit.”
“Oh? Sister-in-law's body is unwell?” Ling Yiran slightly adjusted his sitting posture, and the plum petals hidden in the folds of his clothes slid down along the smooth silk.
“Brother Nine!” Ling Moran's eyes trembled slightly, his thick black brows furrowed deeply. “Among all the brothers, only you call Pan'er 'sister-in-law.' Thank you sincerely!”
“Ah, we grew up together; saying thanks makes us too distant.” Ling Yiran smiled, his beautiful eyes misty and intoxicating.
“Mm.” The twelfth prince nodded heavily, sighing softly. “These days, Pan'er can't eat, and she vomits from time to time. I thought she was pregnant.”
Ling Yiran took a sip of fragrant wine, his eyes slightly closed—impossible.
“The imperial physician came and said it’s just spleen and stomach weakness.” Ling Moran swallowed a mouthful of wine gloomily. “Pan'er was very disappointed, and so was I. But there will be chances in the future.”
“Mm.” Ling Yiran echoed casually, with a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
Having children gives women selfishness, and pawns escape control. Children? Since she entered the Wuyan Gate, it had been impossible. Everything Cheng Bi did was seamless; even Hao Pan'er didn’t know, just like that person in the palace, forever kept in the dark.
Seeing his brother silent, Ling Moran pondered for a moment and suddenly realized: “Brother Nine, don't be sad. Even if the child is lost, there will be more. Tomorrow, I'll send you two beauties; they’ll surely bear offspring.”
Ling Yiran's distant mountain brows slightly raised, replying ambiguously: “There’s no need for Brother Twelve to worry about this.” Could any random woman bear his child? Qingqing’s words on progeny were still ringing in his ears—he listened, believed, and dared not forget for a moment.
“Brother Nine.”
“Hmm?”
“I have something to ask you.” The twelfth poured him a cup of wine ingratiatingly.
“Oh?” Finally speaking?
“Others may not know, but I clearly see that among the dozen brothers, the smartest is Brother Nine.”
“Stop sweet-talking. Spit it out.” Go ahead, he was waiting.
“Brother Nine, where exactly does that old scoundrel Dong Jianlin excel?” The twelfth frowned tightly, his square face full of suspicion. “It's been three days; the entire court is impeaching him, yet Father hasn't moved. Could it be true what they say outside—that Father plans to make Brother Three the crown prince?”
“What do you think?” Ling Yiran tasted the fine wine lightly, his red lips glistening.
“No.” Ling Moran decisively replied, “Even I look down on him, let alone Father. In my heart, the only one worthy of that position is Brother Nine.”
Ling Yiran smiled and waved his hand: “Moran, such talk should remain between us.”
“Even if I said it in front of Brother Three and Brother Seven, I'd dare to say it!” The twelfth slapped his thigh and slammed the wine cup down heavily. “Those two, I respect neither!”
“Moran, you're drunk.” Ling Yiran's lips curved into a smile, but his beautiful eyes remained steady and cold, firmly reflecting the twelfth’s figure, sharply as if peeling open his chest.
Sincere or fake? This would determine whether he should keep you around, Brother Twelve.
“Brother Nine, what are you afraid of!” Ling Moran placed both hands on his knees, looking earnestly at him. “Even if the sky falls, I'll bear it with you! If it weren’t for Brother Nine's secret letter with strategies, I’d have perished in the East Sea long ago, let alone capturing Lei Lifeng alive. And then when I married Pan'er, if Brother Nine hadn’t defied Father’s orders to attend the wedding banquet, we’d have become the laughingstock of Yundu. So Brother Nine, with just one word from you, my life belongs to you.”
Ling Yiran said nothing, quietly drinking; his features somewhat blurred in the night. Under the obscure moonlight, his slightly lowered handsome face was coated with a layer of eerie silver light, his slightly wet red lips imperceptibly lifted, making it hard to read his thoughts behind the smile: “After pouring me so much flattery, what do you want from me? Speak.”
“Brother Nine, you know how much I hate that old scoundrel Dong Jianlin.” The twelfth gripped the wine cup, stammering, “So I also want to take this chance to bring him down.”
Ling Yiran raised his brows, watching him with interest: “And then?”
“Please give Brother some advice.” The twelfth hung his head in defeat. “I can’t handle the court affairs.”
“So…” Ling Yiran set down his wine cup and slowly stood up. His elegant figure was reflected on the lake surface, rippling with the rising gentle waves, spreading cheerful ripples.
In fact, it wasn’t Dong Jianlin’s competence but that Brother Seven and his group hadn’t struck the snake at its vital point. He didn’t rush to act because he wanted the situation to escalate, wanting the Left Chancellor faction to blame everything on Brother Seven. A scapegoat, a good scapegoat indeed.
A breeze shattered the soft waves, the rippling ripples dreamily kissing the moon in the water. The sleepless fish slightly wagged their tails, creating a beautiful sound.
“Moran.” The reflection on the lake trembled slightly; his black satin-like hair fluttered in the wind. “Not to hide anything from you, but I really have made preparations.”
“Really?!” The twelfth excitedly stood up, “Tell me, tell me quickly!”
He half-turned; his untied long hair fell messily on his red robe. His sash was loose, not tied as usual. “Let me ask you, what kind of fate do you wish for Dong Jianlin?” His voice was slightly tender.
“What kind of fate?” The twelfth looked somewhat bewildered.
“Yes.” Ling Yiran gathered his flowing robe, seemingly pacing carelessly. “I have three memorials here. The first one alone is enough to ruin his family. If you want him torn apart by five horses, use the second one. If you also want to pull down Brother Three, then it depends on the third one.”
...
“Bang!” A loud noise erupted in the imperial study, startling the duty eunuchs, each shrinking their necks.
The suppressed cough settled behind the curtain. Ling Zhun’s back hunched over, unable to conceal his illness: “Damn it!” With his body trembling, the confidential memorial in his hand quivered slightly. Looking at the three “Confidential Memorials for Personal Attention” on the desk, he had to confront the anger swelling in his chest.
He, Ling Zhun, the most enlightened monarch since the founding of the Qing Kingdom. Unlike Gaozu King Yue, who tried to establish a pure dynasty, after all, the character “official” has two mouths—one eats money, the other handles affairs. Between a clean mediocre official and a corrupt capable minister, he preferred the latter. As long as the money-eating mouth didn’t cross the line and the handling mouth was loyal, he would turn a blind eye, pretending not to see, just as he did with Dong Jianlin.
But now, Dong’s name drifted further away in his mind, gradually heading toward the bloodthirsty end. The imperial brush danced in his thin fingers—a dot, a stroke, a hook. This was the roof radical of the character “official,” symbolizing the rank cap above the officials' heads. However, the two mouths under the roof were not free and easy. He heavily put pen to paper, writing a vertical stroke that pierced through the page. Whether eating money or handling affairs, none could escape the constraints of royal power.
His dragon-like eyes narrowed dangerously, his fierce gaze falling on the first sealed memorial.
The Divine Kun crouched on the eastern continent, holding a “dragon.” This dragon granted fertile grain lands to the Qing Kingdom but could roar at any moment—the Red River. For so many years, he had exhausted himself and spent immense resources to subdue this “dragon.” The era name Tianzhong had been used for twenty-four years, and given his health condition, it should end here. He was destined to never complete his hegemonic ambitions, but at least he accomplished something even the Sage Emperor had not—greatly developing the Red River project. On both sides of the Red River, stone masonry lined the riverbanks, bricks built the embankments, making it the most docile river under his reign. Previously, he could boast of being a virtuous king of flood control, but upon reading the confidential report from He Meng, an official of the Ministry of Works, he realized what a foolish king he had been!
“Damn it!” He clenched his fist and slammed the desk, causing the Four Treasures of the Study to jump. A discordant sound emerged from his chest. He accepted the warm tea offered by Dexian, moistening his slightly sweet throat.
“Grind the ink.” Ling Zhun coldly commanded.
“Yes.” Dexian obeyed without hesitation.
The tapping fingertips abruptly stopped. Ling Zhun glanced faintly: “Use cinnabar red ink.”
Dexian’s hand, which had just started grinding the ink, froze momentarily. He quickly masked his surprise: “Yes.”
Whenever the king specified the use of cinnabar red ink, it signified that someone’s life in the court was in peril. Cinnabar meant execution.
The crimson tip of the pen danced like a dragon or snake. Blood-red characters appeared on the imperial decree, bold and decisive, revealing firm intent. After finishing the last stroke, Ling Zhun put down the vermilion brush and reached for the jade seal. His sharp eyes inadvertently swept by, halting his wide sleeves mid-air.
The second sealed report pierced his heart like a drill. Ling Zhun, wise from a young age, had indulged only once in his life—falling in love with Nuan’er. She was the tender meat on the tip of his heart, the reverse scale on his body. Buried together after death, continuing their bond in the underworld—what a small and humble wish for a king. Yet, even such a tiny prayer, Dong Jianlin was secretly overturning.
Move the coffin? Drive Nuan’er out of the Yushan Royal Mausoleum? Did he think he was dead!
“Splash!” Pens and inkstones scattered across the floor. The eunuchs in the imperial study knelt down in fright, though they didn’t understand why.
The two people buried with him had been decided long ago—one he deeply loved, the other who deeply loved him. Dong Jianlin, if you’ve only overeaten with one mouth, I might leave you a whole corpse. Now that the remaining mouth isn’t loyal either, you should prepare to face the king’s wrath!
His pale lips curved into a shallow arc. Ling Zhun stopped inking, letting the dry tip scrape across the paper: No pardon for treacherous ministers.
Just four words determined Dong Jianlin’s fate, enough to destroy a prominent family. No further explanation needed; Minister Luo Taiqing would surely understand the king’s command at a glance.
And this third document… Ling Zhun handed the imperial decree to Dexian, feeling somewhat drained as he looked at the ground. The folded confidential reports were stained by vermilion ink on slightly yellow rice paper: Envoy Yi entered the court, knowing only Liehou, not our king…
Enough, just one sentence sufficed. Huai Ran, it’s time to wake up from the dream.
Ling Zhun sighed, slowly standing up from his seat. Step by step, he walked outward, extremely light yet extremely heavy.
Another year, another spring grass green. The east wind blows snow onto the plum branches.
In the imperial garden, white plum blossoms were pure as snow, pink ones bright as peach blossoms, and the solitary red plum stood elegantly independent in a corner.
“Your Majesty, that red plum has bloomed.” Dexian smiled ingratiatingly.
Spring plum blossoms were the clan flowers of the Ling family, the royal flowers. That red plum tree was planted by Gaozu King Yue himself. Before Ling Zhun was crowned crown prince at the age of twenty, his father, King Wen Ling Mo, cut a branch of red plum and personally bestowed it upon him. Now, he would perform the same ritual, except…
“Hmph.” He slightly lifted his thin lips, cutting a branch of pink plum at its peak decline. “Grant it to Liehou.”
The little eunuch closed the lacquered box and turned to run towards the Fengtian Gate.
The fragrance of plum permeated his robes. Ling Zhun held the golden scissors behind his back, wandering through the sea of flowers. Dozens of pairs of eyes nervously watched from behind, observing him slowly approach the red plum tree, raise his right arm slowly, and select a budding plum branch.
Then he handed it to their ears, listening to whose new master it would be, hearing the pleasant sound of the scissors.
“Snap.” Without dragging, “Grant it to Ronghou.”
Sure enough, it's the Seventh Prince! Some rejoiced while others worried. Those who had previously chosen the wrong side regretted bitterly, hoping only to survive in the future.
Dexian respectfully approached, ready to accept the gold scissors from the king. But the bright yellow hem passed before his eyes, walking straight into the fragrant snow sea.
Your Majesty… The head eunuch was speechless.
Ah, he was tricked again by that child. Ling Zhun’s face showed annoyance, but his lips carried a smile.
He Meng, Yu Ning, Little Twelve—three seemingly unrelated petitioners. Yet, the strings pulling them were all in one person's hands. Confidential memorials submitted directly to the king, to be burned after reading. As long as he didn’t speak, the oppressed Left Chancellor faction would blame everything on Little Seven. But he, Ling Zhun, must remain silent too. Was this giving him a choice? Forcing the supreme king of Qing to declare his stance?
He could almost hear Little Nine’s unrestrained tone: Me or Brother Seven, you decide…
Hmph! What arrogance!
“Crack!”
The plum branch broke in his palm. Watching the falling flower rain, he was both annoyed and smiling: “Disobedient son!”
Behind him, Dexian’s eyes widened suddenly. The king’s tone was almost resentful, carrying a touch of common folk sentiment.
This child resembles him!
No, such tactics and thoughts—though he was unwilling to admit it—compared to Little Nine, he was indeed old, old…
Winter snow has melted, plum blossoms are about to bloom.
Hidden dragons, riding the waves.
Sky Peng spreads its wings, overshadowing clouds and rosy dawn.
All sounds arise from the mountains, hundreds of rivers converge into the sea.
Permit it, permit it, grant the white plum, let you tread on your father’s back, soaring straight up to the clouds!
“This flower is granted to Ling Yiran.”
...
“White plum?”
Four people, eight eyes, looked at the spring plum in the secret porcelain vase with varying expressions.
“White?” Lu Wen stared wide-eyed, confirming repeatedly. Disappointment spread across his chest.
That meaningful red plum now bloomed in the Ronghou Mansion...
The orange lamplight dyed the night, infusing this secret meeting with a unique color.
“Hehe.” Suddenly, two laughs, Yu Ning and Luo Yin exchanged glances. Amidst Lu Wen’s astonishment, the two slowly rose, bowing to Ling Yiran in the seat of honor with kingly reverence. Three kneelings, nine kowtows.
“Minister Luo Yin (Yu Ning), paying respects to Your Majesty!”
Majesty... Majesty... Majesty? Lu Wen stared in disbelief at the domineering Ninth Prince, involuntarily collapsing to the ground. This title couldn’t be used without permission, only…
“Master.” Luo Yin raised his clear, gaunt face, excitement barely concealed in his eyes. “Congratulations to Master for gaining the king’s favor.”
“Minister Luo, Minister Yu,” Lu Wen looked at them with doubt clouding his face. “This humble official is dull-witted, may I ask…”
Yu Ning laughed: “Maocai, do you know what spring plum represents in the royal family?”
“The royal flower.” Everyone in Qing knew.
“And adding a white hat to the king, what does that mean?”
It… It… It is!
Lu Wen’s breath caught abruptly, his frantic heart almost bursting out of his chest: “Your Majesty!”
The man in the main seat emanated an aura of stern majesty. He glanced indifferently at those below, his eyes shimmering with brilliance. His jade-like fingers gently caressed the white plum, the corners of his crimson lips lifting slightly, stunning the spring night.
Snow-white spring plum, you will no longer be the royal flower, but the imperial flower!
Outside the window, thunder suddenly roared. February, February, accompanied by drizzle, quietly drenching…
...
The rain in Yundu came and went, washing away the blood of nearly a hundred people from the Left Chancellor faction at Caishi Kou, dampening the confined heart of the newlywed Liehou, cleansing the dust on Ronghou’s gate, and moistening the first good news of February.
“We won!” Excited shouts reverberated through the streets, scattering the drizzling spring rain. “Generals Han and Lei have conquered sixteen states of Former You! The traitorous Qian family was exterminated by Minister Feng!”
“Snap!” “Snap!” Wooden windows along the street were propped open one by one.
“Is Old Dog Qian dead?” There were many former You refugees in Yundu.
“Mm!” The young messenger wiped the rain from his face, raising his arm and shouting loudly, “The old dog has gone to hell!”
“Heaven has eyes! Heaven has eyes!” An elderly man in his sixties knelt down tearfully. “General Han Baiqing, you can rest in peace!”
“Cui'er! Quickly go pack our things; we’re going to Qingzhou to visit your grandmother!” The plump woman trembled as she packed up her stall, her throat choking with emotion. “Never thought we’d meet again, never thought…”
“Three days later, triumphant return!”
...
On February 24th, over a hundred court officials awaited in the rain outside Xiling Gate.
The misty rain romanticized the Longhate Slope.
Distant mountains, green waters, ink planting bones, colors blending spirits.
Green spring feelings flooded Ling Yiran’s chest, slow yet urgent, quiet yet noisy.
Subduing the righteous army, sowing discord between the two Qians—she thought of it, she achieved it. His heart felt like a thousand bugs crawling chaotically, tickling and numbing, making him somewhat at a loss.
This girl, he absolutely, absolutely wouldn’t let her go!
Faint hoofbeats came from the mist, and the officials couldn’t help but crane their necks.
Branches still bore unopened flowers; the drizzle washed away the dust, brewing a charming spring scene. A restrained and elegant purple hue mixed with a touch of wildness dimmed the thousand-mile greenery.
“Giddyap!” Hoofbeats clattered, splashing spring rain, swift breezes lamenting joyfully.
“Giddyap!” “Giddyap!” Behind the smoke purple rode the heavenly cavalry, their thunderous horse sounds shaking everyone’s hearts.
Closer, closer, that bewitching smile, like mid-spring peach blossoms, lightly adorned with morning dew.
“Yundu! We’re back!” A clear voice soared to the ninth heaven.
On Changhen Slope, Ling Yiran revealed a serene smile, in this fleeting glimpse…
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