Chapter 429 A Shared Legacy

Chapter 429: Passed Down the Line

Of course he knew who Beauty Chen was—at the Mid-Autumn night banquet, she was the one who'd set a trap to harm him.

Later, he heard she was publicly reprimanded by the emperor, demoted from Noble Consort to plain Beauty.

But she was a few years younger than Zhou Mingqi, barely past thirty, give or take—how the hell did she die so suddenly?

"There is one more matter," the steward added. "In recent days, a good number of officials from the Chen family's faction have been cleaned out by His Majesty.

Chen Yuanli of the Household Registry Bureau was stripped of his post and put under investigation, Chen Yan, the Commissioner of Communications, was banished to Lingnan, and even the Chen family's offshoots working in the Six Ministries got nailed for something—demoted or punished, the lot of them."

Cheng Ge's eyes went cold.

The Chen family had just been purged, and then Beauty Chen died so suddenly—how could that be just a coincidence?

It was hard not to suspect the emperor was behind it.

But Cheng Ge felt something was off. Zhou Mingqi wouldn't pull something like this...

Cheng Ge stared at the cold tea in his cup. But in this world, plenty of things didn't give a damn what you believed.

For now, the only move was to go dig up some intel.

Cheng Ge stuffed himself, took a hot bath, and went back to his room to sleep.

...

It was a dark, windy night.

The walls of Prince Jing's mansion were quite a bit taller than those of Prince Cui's. Cheng Ge had to try three times, scrambling up the eaves, before he finally got over.

He sat on the wall, looking left and right. The front courtyard still had a few scattered lamps, but the rear garden was pitch black.

He picked what looked like the most secluded corner, closed his eyes, and jumped.

"Thud!" A dull thud.

Beneath him wasn't hard frozen ground, but a warm, fleshy landing pad—

"Ouch...!" came a pained yelp from below.

Cheng Ge was dazed. He scrambled up quickly and, in the moonlight, looked down.

Holy crap!!!

Prince Jing was sprawled flat on his back, one hand clutching his chest, the other holding his lower back, his face scrunched up like a wrinkled prune.

"What damn thief..." he said weakly, "squashing me to death..."

Cheng Ge: "..."

He hurriedly reached out to haul him up.

Cheng Ge hauled him up, and Prince Jing, clutching his back, let out a string of soft "ouches" through gritted teeth. He was about to curse when he saw who it was in the moonlight.

The curses died in his throat.

He stared at Cheng Ge for a full three breaths—shock, disbelief, and a "did I just see a ghost" look flashing across his face in turn.

"...How the hell are you here?!"

Cheng Ge helped him steady himself and gave a dry laugh: "Your Highness, fancy meeting you here."

Prince Jing, still clutching his back, raised a trembling hand and pointed at Cheng Ge.

"You-you-you... didn't you die?!"

Cheng Ge's dry smile froze on his face.

"What the hell??? Which bastard is spreading rumors about me now?!"

Prince Jing took half a step back, looking him up and down, as if trying to tell if he was a man or a ghost.

"The storytellers in the taverns are all spreading it! Cheng Xiezhi cleaned house in Chengping's officialdom, and on the way back to the capital, was assassinated—not even a full corpse left behind!"

Cheng Ge: "..." He knew it was those damn tabloid types!

He was silent for three breaths, then let loose a torrent of curses!

Seeing him curse with such gusto, Prince Jing finally confirmed this was a living man, and anger flared up.

"If you're fine, why didn't you show up earlier? My son nearly cried his eyes out in front of your memorial shrine!"

Cheng Ge: "What the hell?"

Cheng Ge didn't want to argue with him about all that. He needed to figure out what was going on first.

Cheng Ge gave him a once-over.

There stood Prince Jing in dark stealth gear, with a black cloth over his face, no less.

It was now dangling crookedly at his chin, clearly knocked askew by the impact.

"...Your Highness," he squinted, "this getup of yours—where were you headed?"

Prince Jing froze.

He reached up, pulled the black cloth down, and casually stuffed it into his sleeve, looking flustered.

He muttered, "I was just thinking of slipping out to check on something."

Cheng Ge arched an eyebrow: "Check on what?"

Prince Jing didn't answer.

He stood there, eyes lowered, the moonlight casting an unusual gloom across his face.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice going quiet: "I heard the emperor is ill. I wanted to go into the palace to check on him."

Cheng Ge: "What about the young prince?"

Prince Jing: "Might also be in the palace... maybe?"

Maybe...?

Cheng Ge: "..."

He stared at Prince Jing, silent for three full breaths.

"Prince," he said calmly, "is the young prince your own son?"

Prince Jing said, "Of course he is!"

Cheng Ge said, "Then let me thank you for him..."

Prince Jing, as thick-skinned as ever, pretended not to hear and instead got bolder:

"He's in his late twenties now—do I have to keep him tied to my belt every day?"

Cheng Ge didn't want to get into it with him.

The most important thing was to figure out what was going on. He lowered his voice and nudged Prince Jing's waist.

"I hear the palace is under lockdown now, no one in or out. Can you swing it? Take me along?"

Prince Jing said, "That's no problem at all!"

"Prince, now I know for sure—the young prince is definitely your own son."

Cheng Ge stood by the wall, looking down at the pitch-black opening, completely speechless.

Father and son, truly cut from the same cloth.

Prince Jing didn't catch the implication and crawled straight in without a second thought.

Then he got stuck halfway.

"..." Cheng Ge stared at his waist jammed in the opening.

Prince Jing's muffled voice drifted out from inside: "It used to fit perfectly before... I haven't crawled through in ages—how did this hole get smaller?"

Cheng Ge crouched down with a resigned sigh, braced his foot against Prince Jing's lower back, and gave a firm shove.

Prince Jing tumbled in with a thud.

Cheng Ge hunched over and crawled in after him.

He stood up, brushed the dust off his knees and sleeves, and pulled out a flint to spark a flame.

The flame flickered twice, barely illuminating the small space—a desolate scene.

The room was small, yet strangely empty.

Large patches of plaster had peeled off the walls, exposing the patchy brickwork beneath.

The paper in the windows had long since rotted away, leaving only a few warped wooden frames. The night wind howled through the gaps.

The low bed in the corner was missing a leg, propped up by broken bricks and leaning askew against the wall. The bedding on it had long rotted to dust, its edges thick with cobwebs.

Cheng Ge held the flint up and cast its light around the room.

It was hard to imagine such a place existed inside the palace.

Prince Jing didn't bother to brush off the dust. He walked slowly around the room, treading softly.

He stopped before the low bed, then turned and walked back and crouched by the opening.

"I lived outside the palace for a while as a child," he said. "This was where I passed food to my brother through this hole."

Cheng Ge paused, his hand holding the flint.

He looked up, the firelight casting shadows on his face, and said without thinking: "You mean... this place is..."

Prince Jing didn't answer right away.

He crouched by the opening, his head bowed, his fingers brushing lightly over the smooth, worn groove along its edge.

"This is where my brother lived when he was a child," he said softly.

"He lost his birth mother at a young age," Prince Jing said. "The Imperial Astrology Bureau also concluded that his fate clashed with his kin and harmed the nation's fortune."

He paused.

"Father abandoned him here, to fend for himself."

The room fell silent, with only the night wind howling through the broken window.

The flint in Cheng Ge's hand flickered, shadows dancing across the mottled walls, like those forgotten dusks thirty years ago, slowly fading.

He looked down at the cracked floor tiles beneath his feet, then glanced around.

Cobwebs thick, paper torn from the windows, the couch missing a leg leaning crooked against the wall, its bedding rotted to dust.

Three years old.

Four.

Five.

Or until he was ten or so.

A child who hadn't even cut all his baby teeth—how many years had he lived in this place, worse than a dog's den?

Cheng Ge didn't ask. He just held up the flint and aimed it at the opening again.

That thin, worn-smooth groove along the edge—how many trips in and out had it taken to leave such a mark?

An eight-year-old boy, crouching by this filthy opening, shoving in half a piece of leftover cake.

A four-year-old child, squatting on the other side, taking tiny bites for half an hour.

"...And then what?" Cheng Ge asked.

Prince Jing stood up.

"Then Father passed away, and my brother ascended the throne," he said. "His first decree was to seal up this palace."

He paused.

"I thought he would tear it down," he said, looking down at the cracked floor tiles beneath his feet. "But he didn't."

"He just sealed it."

Cheng Ge didn't say anything.

He recalled what Prince Jing had said earlier—"The Emperor is ill; I want to go into the palace to see him." He remembered how Prince Jing had lowered his eyes when saying it, moonlight casting a rare melancholy across his profile.