He carried a scorching heat upon him, like the furnace that forged blades and swords, bearing an energy that could melt everything, embracing her until she could not breathe.
Jiang He’s ear was pressed against Zhao Zheng’s chest. His heartbeat was strong and powerful; it seemed he would not die after all.
Was he dreaming and mistaking her for someone else?
Perhaps mistaking her for his own mother?
Jiang He suddenly pushed Zhao Zheng away. If not for the crowd kneeling behind her, she likely would have punched him to knock some sense into him.
“Your Majesty is awake.”
She rose and stepped aside. The palace maid holding the medicinal soup immediately stepped forward, and the several high ministers kneeling in wait behind the screen also bowed their heads in obeisance.
Zhao Zheng leaned against a jade pillow and drank the medicine. The panicked yet agitated expression from when he first awoke faded, and a layer of frost covered his face.
“Prime Minister Wei.”
He looked at a shadow on the screen, his voice gentle.
They had heard him speak with harsh severity and seen him glare coldly with furrowed brows, yet it was precisely this gentleness that was hardest to endure. The several ministers outside the screen stood as silent as cicadas in winter, and only an aged yet respectful voice answered, “This old minister is here.”
Wei Zhangde, Prime Minister of Yong, was sixty-two years old, with a broad forehead and high nose, narrow face and long beard, tall and thin of frame, his temples streaked with white. He constantly wore an expression of worry for state affairs, his gaze wise yet respectful.
This was the Prime Minister who had supported the Late Emperor’s ascension, the one Zhao Zheng respectfully called “Second Father.”
Zhao Zheng gave a light cough. The smoke and dust from the great fire had scorched his throat, making his voice somewhat hoarse.
“Last night a fire broke out in the palace and startled your beloved daughter.”
He did not question Wei Nanxu about setting the fire to murder the sovereign, nor did he reproach Wei Zhangde for possible involvement; instead, he opened with consolation.
Wei Zhangde’s forehead remained pressed to the ground as he said in a deep voice, “The laws of Great Yong decree that regicide warrants the extermination of nine kinships. This subject has already sealed his own manor gates and privately dispatched the Palace Guard to arrest my relatives in my homeland of Shu. They will soon return to the capital, and then I may accept death.”
He did not defend his legitimate daughter, nor did he beg for forgiveness. Wei Zhangde intended to set an example by personally carrying out the laws of Yong, exterminating his own nine kinships.
Zhao Zheng’s expression shifted slightly; he subconsciously lifted his eyes to look at Jiang He.
Jiang He was carefully craning her neck, wanting to catch a glimpse of the Prime Minister of Yong. Seeing Zhao Zheng look at her, she gave him a thumbs-up.
“The chancellor’s authority can be reclaimed. You can personally govern now.”
Her voice was nearly inaudible—merely the movement of lip shapes—yet Zhao Zheng understood.
After the Late King’s death, Zhao Zheng had observed the customary one-year mourning period before ascending the throne and receiving the coronation. During that year, court affairs were gradually seized by the Prime Minister and the Empress Dowager.
To this day, memorials and edicts signed by Zhao Zheng required presentation to the Dazheng Palace for review before the Imperial Seal could be affixed. And the memorials that Zhao Zheng was allowed to sign were those tacitly approved by Prime Minister Wei Zhangde after his review.
The new sovereign of Yong was like a clay statue placed high upon an altar—possessing hands and feet yet unable to move, possessing grand ambitions yet unable to realize them.
If he exterminated the Prime Minister’s nine kinships, Zhao Zheng could reclaim half of the royal authority.
But he shook his head at Jiang He.
“Not enough.”
Zhao Zheng coughed lightly and said to the old minister outside the screen, who was revered by the people and relied upon by the Late King, “What words are these, Prime Minister? The matter has yet to be investigated; framing and deception are also possible. How could this solitary one abolish the Prime Minister and exterminate his clan merely because of some fire-starting materials?”
That meant he intended to investigate further.
Before the investigation was complete, Wei Zhangde need only seclude himself in his manor and not go out.
The Prime Minister let out a sigh of relief. He raised his hand to remove his official cap, untied his fish-shaped tally and jade pendant, took out his seal from his sleeve, and removed his black outer robe. He placed these items on the tray held by a eunuch, then kowtowed and departed.
Just before he left, Jiang He’s voice carried over, “The sacrificial offerings in the palace are nearly prepared. Please take Miss Wei back with you, Prime Minister.”
They could actually take her away?
A strange look flashed through Wei Zhangde’s dim eyes.
The moment she climbed into the carriage, Wei Nanxu knelt before Wei Zhangde with tears streaming from her eyes.
“Your daughter is willing to die to atone for this crime!” she said, kowtowing.
Having already removed the black prime minister’s robe that symbolized the head of all officials, and now wearing a white-collared, dark-brown inner garment, Wei Zhangde sat with a heavy expression and said dejectedly, “If you alone die, how can that atone for the sins of the several hundred people of my Wei clan?”
“His Majesty actually intends to exterminate the clan?” Wei Nanxu’s pretty face distorted from shock. Her legs could no longer maintain their kneeling posture under the carriage’s sway, and she collapsed into a sitting position.
Wei Zhangde shook his head.
“His Majesty is exceptionally intelligent and unfathomably deep. He would not order the extermination of our clan merely because you are suspected of arson. First, it is because the Wei clan has operated in Yong for a hundred years; uprooting us entirely would harm the nation’s foundation. Second, I fear His Majesty does not believe it was you who did it.”
“His Majesty does not believe it?” Wei Nanxu’s tears, which had just stopped, fell again in strings, her sobs mixed with emotion and joy. Crying, she said, “The fire truly was not set by your daughter! Your daughter admires the sovereign. Even if I wanted the queen to die, I would choose a time when the sovereign was not present!”
Wei Zhangde sighed, looking at his daughter before him.
Having received a daughter in his old age, he had doted on her excessively. He had originally believed that inviting teachers from the seven states to educate her into excellence could spare her from disasters in her remaining life. Who would have known that while talent was acquired, a proud and overbearing nature was also cultivated?
Raised in a honeypot, she was even less able to see through the treachery of human hearts or understand the proper measure of advance and retreat.
She possessed petty cleverness but lacked great wisdom.
She actually harbored thoughts of secretly harming the queen?
Judging solely from how the queen today allowed him to take his daughter away at the appropriate moment, this person was not to be underestimated.
After this calamity, he needed to quickly find a suitable family to marry Wei Nanxu off to.
Only by assisting her husband and teaching her children, content within the inner chambers, could she be guaranteed a lifetime of peace and tranquility.
“Xu’er,” Wei Zhangde gently patted Wei Nanxu’s shoulder, signaling her to stop crying, and spoke, “Tell Father everything that happened these past few days. Who you came into contact with, what you saw, what you said. If a single detail is wrong or missing, our Wei clan will suffer a catastrophic disaster.”
Wei Nanxu wiped clean her tears and knelt before her father, reporting every detail regardless of size.
After the carriage entered the Wei manor, the two of them remained inside. Not a single person in the Wei manor dared to approach and disturb them. It was not until night fell and dark clouds obscured the moon that Wei Zhangde exited the carriage.
A servant carried a lantern to receive the master.
The instantly lit flames illuminated Wei Zhangde’s face. An early autumn wind blew past, and he shivered. He lifted his foot and stepped into empty air, nearly falling.
The servant hurriedly supported him.
Wei Zhangde’s legs were weak and his expression gloomy. His usually tall back was hunched as he walked. In the span of a single day, he seemed to have aged more than ten years.
Zhao Zheng did not sleep.
He leaned against the dragon bed, perusing a bamboo scroll.
The sleeping chamber of Zhiyang Palace had collapsed from the fire. The Empress Dowager’s meaning was that they could temporarily move to live in Dazheng Palace, but Zhao Zheng refused on the grounds that his legs were inconvenient and he did not wish to move.
Palace maids and eunuchs thus cleaned out another side hall of Zhiyang Palace according to instructions. It was only slightly smaller, its furnishings slightly more plain; otherwise, nothing was amiss.
After the Prime Minister left today, Zhao Zheng had forced himself to handle some court affairs. The hour of Xu was approaching, yet he still showed no intention of sleeping.
It was said that the Lord of Chang’an, who had gone out hunting, upon suddenly hearing that his elder brother’s palace had been set on fire by villains, fell from his horse in shock and worry, fracturing his ankle. He had already rushed back overnight from the hunting grounds and would enter the palace for an audience tomorrow.
Watching him turn the bamboo scroll slowly, one wondered if he was thinking about this matter.
Jiang He glanced at the dressing case behind the screen before the dragon bed, preparing to sleep.
Abruptly, Zhao Zheng spoke, “Those letters, they weren’t burned, were they?”
In the early morning fire, Zhao Zheng had discovered the palace door was locked. After pushing open the window to shout for guards, he returned to untie Jiang He’s arms.
Unfortunately, he was pinned by a falling crossbeam.
In the smoke and dust, there was no time to call for help. He saw that the first thing Jiang He did subconsciously after rolling off the bed was to retrieve the bundle from the dressing case.
Inside that bundle were letters written to her by someone she cared about.
Later, when Jiang He realized he was pinned, she did not flee for her life first but returned to save him.
That bundle was tied to her body—not on her back, but pressed against her chest.
In the great fire, she bent over, practically using her own life to protect those letters.
Now, the first thing upon moving to the temporary sleeping chamber was also to carefully place the letters back into the new dressing case. That expression was like she was holding a baby.
Hearing Zhao Zheng ask this, Jiang He nodded and replied, “I’ve already checked. They’re fine.”
Zhao Zheng gently rolled up the bamboo scroll and turned to look at her. “Who is that person?”
The person who wrote you those letters—who is he?
The person you care about so much—who is he?
Compared to the sovereign of a nation, what kind of person is he?
Many questions waited in Zhao Zheng’s heart for Jiang He to answer.
Jiang He thought for a moment.
Wei Ji’s name was known throughout the four seas, but she already had a hostage from Qi whom Zhao Zheng held as leverage; she had no wish to add another.
She smiled slyly, pillowing her head on the middle garment she had folded to serve as a pillow, looking up at the pearls hanging from the bed canopy. These pearls, whenever they encountered even a bit of light, would emit an even brighter luster.
Dazzling yet not glaring, soft and warm.
Just like him.
“He is a good person,” Jiang He said. “He is my savior, my elder brother, the person I often dream of, the person I long to see.”
She had said so much, yet had not mentioned a name.
Zhao Zheng turned his head away.
Jiang He stretched out her arm. “Tie it up. Don’t wait until I’ve fallen asleep to wake me up again.”
Zhao Zheng, sitting in the depths of the bed curtains, did not speak. His expression hesitated for an instant, and he said indifferently, “My rope was burned. We’ll skip it these next few days.”
Jiang He looked at him somewhat surprisingly. Seeing that he had already lain flat on the pillow, pulled up the brocade quilt, and closed his eyes.
It seemed he truly wasn’t going to tie her up.
This could be considered a blessing in disguise. Jiang He comfortably raised both hands high and stretched.
She turned her body with her back to Zhao Zheng, pulled up the brocade quilt to wrap it casually around herself, and was about to fall asleep.
In her drowsiness, she heard Zhao Zheng ask.
“Jiang He, do you have feelings for him and wish to marry him?”