Chapter 137 End of Text

Chapter 137: The Main Story Ends

A sliver of dawn light, the color of a fish's belly, appeared in the sky. The candles that had burned through the night in the Hall of Mental Cultivation finally sputtered out, a wick snapping and falling to the ground, turning to ash.

Emperor Shunyuan, clinging to his last shred of alertness, sat, a withered figure, upon the imperial throne, silently awaiting news from the palace city.

Now, his heart ached with a pain that pierced to the bone, yet he was utterly helpless.

The Crown Prince, engrossed in a male paramour, had abandoned the Da Qian empire, proving himself unfit for the succession, and could only march toward his own destruction.

Liu Quan still knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against the cold tiles, tears flowing without cease.

Emperor Shunyuan did not look at him, did not tell him to rise, nor did he rebuke or order him out.

After decades by his side, Liu Quan was no longer a mere servant, but the sole witness to all his loneliness, all his secrets, all the anguish he could never voice to another.

Earlier, Consort Zhen had said she was going to check on Princess Zhaoyue, but had then vanished without a trace.

The hall grew emptier and more silent. This loneliest of men, in the moment he resolved to abandon his own son, found himself craving even a sliver of warmth from another, a meager support.

Suddenly, staggering footsteps sounded outside the hall. A young eunuch, forgetting all decorum, scrambled and crawled into the chamber, his cries heart-rending: "Your Majesty! Disaster! The Sixth Prince... the Sixth Prince was pierced by countless arrows and died at the Meridian Gate tower! The Crown Prince has already led his generals into the Forbidden City!"

"What?!"

Emperor Shunyuan felt the world go dark and spin. His gaunt frame swayed several times on the dragon throne, nearly toppling over. A rush of metallic sweetness surged up his throat, filling his mouth with the taste of blood.

"Your Majesty!"

"Your Majesty!"

He could not believe it. Shen Zheng had truly staged a coup. Were the five thousand Imperial Guards just for show? How could they have been defeated so swiftly? Had the hearts of all his subjects truly turned to Shen Zheng?

For the first time in his life, Wen Zuo rode a horse within the palace city. His vantage point was higher than usual, his boot soles not touching the blue bricks of the imperial avenue.

Attendants and palace guards on both sides bowed and knelt in salute. The sounds of their greetings drifted from a distance, vague and unfamiliar.

This was the unique majesty reserved for the emperor. A pang of inexplicable panic stirred in his heart, and he instinctively turned to look at Shen Zheng behind him.

Shen Zheng looked down and smiled, reaching out to brush aside the stray locks of hair at his cheek. Only then did Wen Zuo feel settled.

He tried to look upon this long imperial avenue through Shen Zheng's eyes.

He seemed to see his former self from a past life, covered in blood, tragically marching to his death.

The horse's hooves trod upon the final blue brick, shattering the nightmare that had entangled him for a lifetime. Now, he finally walked this path openly and honorably, with no need to look back or feel fear.

Shen Zheng reined in his horse before the Hall of Mental Cultivation.

The vast palace city was so quiet one could hear a pin drop. The morning breeze carried the damp chill of dawn. Withered leaves on the ground, beaded with dew, seemed to hold unshed tears.

He dismounted, then carefully helped Wen Zuo down. The doors of the Hall of Mental Cultivation stood wide open. The candles were extinguished, the interior pitch black, silent as death.

Side by side, the two ascended the vermilion steps, step by step entering the hall.

In just half a day, their perspectives had utterly changed.

Wen Zuo gazed at Emperor Shunyuan sitting silently in the darkness, seeing only a withered skeleton trapped for a lifetime by imperial power and obsession, now on the verge of death.

Shen Zheng stood unmoving, gazing intently at the utterly defeated Emperor Shunyuan, his voice devoid of any warmth.

"The Sixth Prince, Shen Chen, harbored treacherous intent, secretly plotted rebellion, covertly gathered a faction of traitors, colluded within the palace, deceived his sovereign, and murdered loyal officials. Your son personally commanded the three armies to enter and quell the national crisis, proclaiming his crimes and launching a punitive expedition, capturing and executing this vile creature. He was executed before the palace gates, pierced through the heart by volleys of arrows, to cleanse the evil at the sovereign's side, to quell the disorder within the palace, and to secure the Da Qian state. Father, you have reigned for a long time, your years are advanced, you are weary of the myriad affairs of state, your strength unequal to the burden. From this day forth, you shall abdicate. All military and state affairs shall be entrusted to your son for decision. Are you satisfied with today's outcome, Father?"

Emperor Shunyuan raised his eyes, glaring fixedly at this imposing, formidable son. He trembled with extreme fury. As soon as he opened his mouth, bloody froth sprayed forth.

"You... you wish to emulate Li Chengqian, to defy human relations and morality, to plot rebellion and stage a coup!"

Shen Zheng looked down at this deluded, lifelong captive of an old man.

"Your son is not Li Chengqian. Father, you are not Emperor Taizong of Tang either. And Master Wen is certainly not a helpless court musician boy to be slaughtered at will."

"You... you..." Emperor Shunyuan was so enraged he was speechless.

Wen Zuo watched for a long moment, finally unable to restrain himself. His voice was weak, yet abnormally calm: "After over twenty years of suffering, has Your Majesty been able to conceive of no other solution than to kill Imperial Consort Chen once more?"

"What did you say?!"

Emperor Shunyuan's entire body stiffened, then every inch of his bones and sinews trembled violently. He finally understood whose hand those two volumes of palace secrets had come from, who had used his own fears to eliminate rivals!

Wen Zuo gathered his robe tighter, suppressing a cough, and took a step forward. Lowering those eyes so resembling Imperial Consort Chen's, he gazed calmly at him: "This subject never imagined that, twenty years later, what Your Majesty wished to do was to personally kill the Imperial Consort of that year once again."

Emperor Shunyuan suddenly found himself somewhat unable to meet Wen Zuo's gaze. The mouthful of blood long suppressed in his throat finally could no longer be held back, spraying with a *splat* onto the desk.

Gurgling, rasping breaths issued from his throat. Through blurred vision, he vaguely mistook the Wen Zuo before him for Ying Xingluo.

That person stood not far away, quietly watching him, accusingly questioning him: Why did you want to kill me again?

"Xingluo! Xingluo! I did not..." His body slid, tumbling from the dragon throne. His withered fingers clawed wildly at the air, grasping only emptiness.

Only at this moment did he finally comprehend the solution to that deadly impasse from years past. It was what he had not dared to think, not dared to do, yet it was the only solution—

Staging a coup to seize the throne.

Back then, it was not ancestral law, not ritual codes, not the pressure from officials that demanded Ying Xingluo's death. It was the emperor sitting upon the throne.

It was his own father, and later, himself.

He crashed heavily to the ground, the beaded crown askew, white hair disheveled, covering his bloodshot eyes.

"Your Majesty! Summon the imperial physicians, quickly!"

Liu Quan knelt and scrambled forward, supporting Emperor Shunyuan, his old face streaked with tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

At first, Emperor Shunyuan clutched his arm fiercely. Then, coming to his senses and realizing Liu Quan had secretly aided Shen Zheng and had told Wen Zuo of the old affair concerning the Imperial Consort, rage surged from his heart. He shoved him away: "Get... get away from me! You betrayed me, pledged yourself to a new master... I will never, ever forgive you!"

Liu Quan kowtowed heavily, his voice desolate and sorrowful: "This servant never betrayed Your Majesty! At the ambush on Qingping Mountain, had the Crown Prince not gone, Master Wen would still be dead! This servant... merely gave him the same chance you had back then, Your Majesty!"

Without support, Emperor Shunyuan lay sprawled on the ground in disarray. Hearing this, he jerked his head up, his eyes filled only with bewilderment.

Liu Quan closed his eyes, speaking bitterly: "This servant entered the palace at nine. My godfather taught me that in this deep palace, the only way to survive was to choose a master and serve him, unwavering through life and death. But my godfather also said that mere survival was not enough. For our lowly bodies, if we wished to leave a trace of an unsullied name in history, to avoid becoming the chief culprit in the collapse of the state, we must, amidst chaos, preserve a heart of benevolence and compassion. Compassion for the loneliness and suffering of fellow eunuchs, compassion for the sorrows of women in the inner palace, compassion for the helpless loneliness of young masters."

"In the final years of Kangzhen, Your Majesty was deeply enamored, never able to forget your feelings for Imperial Consort Chen. The late emperor, hearing of this, was furious and immediately conceived a murderous intent. This servant was ordered to handle the matter, but could not bear to subject her to death by random blades, adding to her suffering. So, I used a packet of knockout drugs to render the Imperial Consort unconscious, then set fire to the courtyard, hoping only that when Her Ladyship's spirit departed, she would be spared pain."

"Although that detached courtyard was in a remote location, the fire was fierce and towering, black smoke blotting out the moon. The common people, startled awake by the commotion, rose in alarm, the neighborhood in an uproar. That night... Your Majesty also awoke, did you not? This servant stood guard outside the door and heard Your Majesty knock over a candlestick."

Emperor Shunyuan's face changed drastically, drained of all color. His whole body stiffened into a withered log, even his breath seeming to vanish.

That night, for some reason, he had tossed and turned, drenched in sweat, unable to sleep for a long time. In the middle of the night, hearing the commotion in the streets and alleys, he rose and knocked over a copper basin. Rushing to the window, he saw the towering flames in the distance.

Through the window pane, the orange light fell into his eyes, stinging them.

He was terrified, helpless, slumped to the ground, telling himself it was just a common house fire and not the Imperial Consort’s residence.

He sat in a stupor all night until dawn, when the fire finally died out.

Panicked, he rushed to the door, but as soon as he had one foot out, a servant urgently reported that the detached courtyard had caught fire the previous night, and the Imperial Consort’s body had been reduced to ashes.

Liu Quan reached out, as he had done countless times over the decades, gently straightening the Emperor’s crooked ritual crown, his movements practiced and sorrowful.

“My godfather always arranged things meticulously. The fire started in the front courtyard and would have taken half an hour to spread to the rear. In the dark alley, dozens of eunuchs stood ready with buckets of water, on standby for any contingency. If Your Majesty had stepped out of that door that night, like the Crown Prince, rushing desperately toward the courtyard—since the late Emperor had only one son—would those eunuchs have dared not to extinguish the flames immediately?”

“This servant did not betray his master or forsake his duty. I merely followed my godfather’s example, granting a sliver of mercy to Master Wen and giving the Crown Prince a chance to push open that door!”

After speaking, Liu Quan finished straightening the crown, then bowed deeply, falling silent.

Emperor Shunyuan could no longer see him.

A shaft of sunlight suddenly streamed into the Hall of Mental Cultivation, blinding and cruel, just like that dawn morning when he had opened the door and seen it.

Forever regretting that this body is not my own, trapped in a cage, my heart not my own…

He swayed, then collapsed completely to the ground, unconscious.

Long candles wept layers of wax tears as several more days and nights passed.

The imperial physician gently lifted Emperor Shunyuan’s eyelids, checked his pulse, and slowly shook his head before turning to Shen Zheng to bow.

“Your Highness, His Majesty’s health is failing rapidly. His pulse is as faint as a gossamer thread. We are powerless to reverse this. Your Highness, please make preparations early.”

Shen Zheng nodded slightly and was about to speak when Emperor Shunyuan suddenly opened his eyes on the bed.

Everyone held their breath instantly, all eyes turned toward him.

Emperor Shunyuan did not look at anyone, merely staring blankly at the intricate caisson ceiling above the hall. On his aged face, a pure, joyful smile broke out—one that none present had ever seen before.

His withered hand eagerly reached into the empty air, his tone light and excited like a youth’s: “Xingluo, Xingluo! Come quickly, this is Pingliang Street. I told you before, the most authentic delicacies in the capital are all here—vibrant in color and rich in flavor. What would you like to eat?”

Then, he tilted his head toward the side of the pillow, his gaze tender and doting, as if someone there were softly responding.

The physicians and imperial consorts in the hall stood gaping, not daring to make a sound.

“Don’t be afraid. Though there are many people here, they are all good-hearted. Besides, I’ll protect you. I am Prince Jing, Shen Zhaoxi.”

Emperor Shunyuan patted his chest, suddenly kicked off the covers, and got out of bed. Without even bothering with shoes or socks, he rushed forward barefoot, as if clutching someone's hand tightly, his heart and face alight with delight.

Everyone hastily stepped aside, clearing a path.

He could not see the crowded hall, believing he was still on Pingliang Street, holding Ying Xingluo’s hand as they ran to a stall, his voice bubbled with excitement: “Smell how fragrant it is? This is aiwowo, stuffed with walnuts, sesame seeds, melon seeds, green plums, golden cake, and white sugar. My mother often bought it for me when I was young.”

As if someone took a small bite but then frowned, holding it in their mouth, unsure whether to spit it out, gesturing apologetically to him.

Shen Zhaoxi stepped forward and directly bit into the remaining half in his hand, without a second thought: “Whatever you don’t like, give it all to me.”

His cheeks puffed out roundly as he continued leading the person forward: “Let’s look at something else.”

When they reached a stall with a pot of spicy soup bubbling away, the person beside him suddenly stopped, eyes filled with curiosity, itching to try it.

Shen Zhaoxi saw through it immediately, took out some silver, bought a large bowl, and handed it over.

Ying Xingluo sat on a small stool, holding the bowl, unsure how to use the spoon properly, so he tilted his head back and gulped it down noisily.

Such manners would have been decried as a grave breach of etiquette in the palace.

But Shen Zhaoxi only rested his chin on his hand, watching with tender eyes.

He had always despised the palace's tedious rituals and strict etiquette, most fond of Ying Xingluo’s free, innocent, and open-hearted nature.

“So Xingluo likes spicy food. You spent over a decade in Mount Zhe, raised among mountain beasts. Was the food the abbot of Wangxiang Temple gave you utterly tasteless? Stay in the capital, stay by my side, and I’ll let you eat your fill of spicy delicacies every day!”

Ying Xingluo finished the bowl in moments, contentedly licking his lips, then flashed him a radiant smile and nodded gently.

Shen Zhaoxi’s heart softened. Suddenly, he fished a jade pendant from within his robe, dangling it by its silk cord before his eyes.

Two characters were carved on the jade: “Zhao” on the front, “Xing” on the back. The carving was shallow and clumsy, yet it contained all his heartfelt intent.

“This side has my name, the other side has yours. I carved it myself. It’s not very good… do you like it?”

Ying Xingluo quickly took it, cradling it in his palm, his fingertips tracing the crooked lines.

These were the first two characters he had learned, taught stroke by stroke by Shen Zhaoxi holding his hand.

Of course, he liked it.

For this, Shen Zhaoxi’s hands had gained countless small cuts—more than the injuries Ying Xingluo had suffered while fighting golden jackals for food in the mountains.

He closed his fist tightly around the pendant, gently pressed his cheek against Shen Zhaoxi’s palm, and slowly closed his eyes.

Shen Zhaoxi carefully held him, his other hand gently stroking his hair.

Later, Shen Zhaoxi invited the old man who sold the spicy tofu soup back to Prince Jing’s residence, so Ying Xingluo could enjoy his favorite flavor anytime, anywhere.

Later still, that bowl of spicy tofu soup vanished from Pingliang Street, and the one who loved it was gone too.

Emperor Shunyuan suddenly rushed back from the stall to the bed, wildly rummaging through the bedding. Pillows flew, and the bed was left in disarray.

Finally, in a hidden corner beneath the pillow, he found that jade pendant.

Faint burn marks marred the jade, but the characters “Zhao” and “Xing” remained clear.

As if he had found a priceless treasure, he pressed the pendant tightly to his chest, let out a long sigh of relief, and gave a relieved smile to the empty space beside him.

“Xingluo, do you know? I had a very long nightmare. In the dream, I woke up and you were gone. I became a very cold, very heartless person, just like my father… I never want to become like him.”

As if gentle fingertips brushed his cheek, Emperor Shunyuan leaned his head against them affectionately, his gaze stubbornly fixed outside the hall, trying to see beyond the layers of high walls into the endless distance.

“So what if you are a man… The capital is so vast, so wonderful. I want to take you through every street, taste all the delicacies, give you the best things in the world, and make up for all the suffering you endured before.”

He tightly clutched the jade pendant, leaning back against the bed, closing his eyes contentedly and longingly, sinking into a beautiful dream where he was only Shen Zhaoxi.

Only when his body gradually grew stiff and cold did the imperial physicians snap out of their daze, all kneeling and weeping in sorrow: “His Majesty has passed away, the dragon has ascended to heaven!”

That long autumn finally came to an end. The north wind swept in snow, blanketing the capital in silver overnight.

Xie Langyang, imprisoned, received news one after another: Shen Chen’s execution, Emperor Shunyuan’s death, and Wen Zuo’s appointment as Chief Grand Secretary.

Overwhelmed by fear and shock, he went mad that very night, violently bashing his head against the prison wall. By the time the guards discovered him, his skull was caved in, and he had been dead for some time.

A month after Emperor Shunyuan’s passing, the national mourning was finally properly concluded.

During that month, Wen Zuo, through careful recuperation, recovered from the illness caused by his fall into the water, his complexion gradually regaining its rosy hue.

Liu Chenming, Grand Secretary of the Grand Secretariat and Minister of Rites, was the first to submit the "Memorial on the Ceremony of Advising the Ascension," earnestly urging the Crown Prince to promptly ascend the throne and inherit the great legacy.

Shen Zheng declined for the time being, citing the recent passing of the late emperor and his overwhelming grief.

However, just two days later, Chief Grand Secretary Wen Zuo personally presented the "Memorial Urging the Ascension," with sincere and heartfelt words—

"Now, the late emperor’s coffin has yet to be laid to rest, border unrest persists, the court and the commoners are united in shock and mourning, and the masses are filled with anxiety. Your Highness has personally cultivated virtue and diligently mastered statecraft; your heroic bearing is renowned throughout the land. We humbly beseech Your Highness to heed the will of Heaven, comply with public sentiment, prioritize the state, and consider the welfare of the people. Ascend the precious throne and rightly assume the imperial seat. Your subjects are filled with utmost reverence and earnestness, bowing our heads and kowtowing as we respectfully present this memorial."

After the new snow fell, plum blossoms bloomed in disarray. Daylight streamed through the bright windows, illuminating the palace halls inside and out with a radiant glow.

At the beginning of the new year, the Nine Dragon Throne was placed outside the Hall of Heavenly Offering. Shen Zheng sat upright, gazing down upon all directions, clad in crimson robes and wearing the imperial crown, his posture upright and imposing with majestic authority.

With only a slight nod from him, in an instant, all civil and military officials—from the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers down to the palace guards—lay prostrate in layers upon the ground—

"Long live the Emperor! Long live, long live, long live!"

The roar of voices swelled, as countless heads bowed low, echoing across the land and soaring straight to the heavens.

The young emperor, after hearing the acclamation, unexpectedly lifted his robes and descended the vermilion steps.

He passed by the kneeling courtiers and stopped solely before Chief Grand Secretary Wen Zuo, slowly extending his hand.

Wen Zuo suddenly looked up and plunged into Shen Zheng’s deep and tender gaze. For a moment, his mind and spirit were shaken, his lips slightly pursed, and his mind went completely blank.

Shen Zheng called out softly, "Teacher, rise."

Wen Zuo hurriedly shook his head.

Shen Zheng called again, his tone firm, "My beloved Wanshan, come to my side."

The principles of ruler and subject, the norms of secular etiquette—all vanished into mist in an instant.

Wen Zuo’s heartbeat lost its rhythm. Finally, he cautiously extended his hand, gently placing it in Shen Zheng’s palm.

Shen Zheng immediately closed his fingers, gripping it firmly, and pulled him up from the ground to stand side by side with him.

Then, Shen Zheng turned to face the assembled officials and smiled broadly. "All ministers may rise."

The officials rose as instructed, and only then did they look up in astonishment, realizing that the new emperor had never once let go of the Chief Grand Secretary’s hand.