Chapter 430 Purge the Court?

Chapter 430: To Clear the Court of Evil?

Cheng Ge remained silent.

He had heard people mention that Zhou Mingqi was not favored by the Late Emperor as a child—this was hardly a secret among court officials.

But hearsay was just hearsay. Those idle dinner-table conversations, those guarded expressions on court officials' faces—none of it compared to the reality of this room.

The plaster was peeling off the walls, the window paper was worn through, and a low couch with missing legs was propped up on broken bricks. This was where the Emperor had lived.

An image of Zhou Mingqi flashed through his mind. How many years had he lived in this room?

Cheng Ge did not ask. He simply pressed down on the fire starter, letting the faint light fall at his feet.

"Let's go," he said.

He pushed open the half-closed door.

Beyond it lay a narrow passage, flanked by towering walls, slicing the moonlight into a thin sliver.

The palace layout had essentially never changed, and Prince Jing walked ahead with familiar ease. "This way."

Prince Jing turned into an even narrower gap, where the bricks on both sides were damp and covered in moss.

Cheng Ge squeezed through sideways, his clothes scraping against the wall with a faint rustling sound.

Light appeared ahead.

Prince Jing stopped abruptly, raising a hand to halt him. Cheng Ge pressed his back against the wall, holding his breath.

A patrol passed the end of the passage, their steps in unison, the clink of armor echoing in the night breeze.

Cheng Ge squinted and counted—six men, double the usual patrol.

The one in the lead carried a storm lantern, its light sweeping across the bases of both walls, illuminating the standing water and moss in the brick crevices.

Cheng Ge's eyes fixed on the saber at the man's waist.

The pattern on the hilt flashed briefly in the lantern's glow—it was neither the standard-issue of the Imperial Guard nor that of the Patrol Battalion.

He had spent three months in the Capital Garrison. Last year, while helping the Ministry of War organize archives, he had flipped through the equipment manuals of the Three Great Battalions.

This kind of cord-wrapping technique, this style of handguard ornamentation—it was unique to the Capital Garrison.

The men in front of him were carrying Capital Garrison sabers.

Cheng Ge did not move, and neither did Prince Jing.

The patrol passed the end of the passage, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Prince Jing turned his head, lowering his voice. "Did you see clearly?"

Cheng Ge gave a nod.

"The Imperial Guard?"

"No," Cheng Ge said. "The Capital Garrison."

Prince Jing frowned.

Why would Capital Garrison troops appear in the inner palace? The Three Great Battalions were stationed outside the city walls and were forbidden from entering the imperial city without an edict—this was a rule established by Taizu, the founding emperor.

He did not ask further, and Cheng Ge remained silent. Another patrol was coming from the opposite direction.

The two pressed themselves back against the wall, holding their breath.

This group was even larger—eight men in total, their steps in unison, the clink of armor ringing out in the night air.

They walked slowly, as if patrolling, but also as if waiting for something.

Cheng Ge watched the lead man's profile as the torchlight swept past, illuminating the insignia on his shoulder—the mark of a mid-ranking officer in the Capital Garrison.

The patrol moved on, and the passage plunged back into darkness.

Prince Jing's voice dropped to a whisper. "Chen Zhengqi's men?"

Cheng Ge nodded again.

Chen Zhengqi, Superintendent of the Capital Garrison, the Second Prince's maternal uncle.

For him to dare move the Capital Garrison into the imperial city meant only one thing—the situation at court had spiraled out of control to the point that even the Imperial Guard was no longer sufficient.

Or perhaps the Imperial Guard itself could no longer be trusted.

"Let's go." Prince Jing tugged his sleeve.

The two hugged the wall, using the shadows for cover, and moved on.

On the rest of the path, they encountered four more patrols, each with six to eight men, all carrying the same sabers.

Every passage, branching path, and corner watchtower had a patrol.

This wasn't patrolling anymore—this was a lockdown!

Prince Jing's pace quickened, and Cheng Ge followed in silence.

Ahead, a faint light flickered—not patrol torches, but palace lanterns.

Dim, warm, hanging on either side of a moon gate.

That was the way to the inner court. Prince Jing's steps suddenly halted.

Cheng Ge saw his back stiffen. "...What's wrong?"

Prince Jing did not turn around. He simply stared at the two palace lanterns, at the moon gate, at the courtyard beyond, half-lit, half-shadowed.

That direction led to the Hall of Heavenly Purity—the Emperor's bedchamber.

Cheng Ge's eyes darkened. With this many patrols surrounding the Emperor's bedchamber, anyone who thought nothing was wrong would be a fool.

The two hugged the wall, hidden in the shadows, watching the patrols pass each other.

One group went east.

Another went west.

Another rounded the front of the Hall of Heavenly Purity.

There was a gap during the handover—about five breaths—when the sightlines on both sides of the moon gate would be blocked.

Cheng Ge nudged Prince Jing's arm, and Prince Jing turned his head to look at him.

Cheng Ge jutted his chin in that direction and said in a low voice, "Your Highness, stay close to me..."

Prince Jing nodded quickly, pulling the black cloth mask up to cover the lower half of his face.

Cheng Ge also tugged his collar higher.

The third patrol passed through the moon gate and headed west.

Their footsteps gradually faded, their figures vanishing around the corner.

Now!

The two darted out from the shadows, their steps as light as a cat's—Cheng Ge in front, Prince Jing behind, hugging the wall as they moved.

The moon gate loomed closer, the lantern light beyond it brightening—

Five breaths.

Four breaths.

Three breaths.

They slipped through the moon gate into a long corridor lined with palace lanterns on both sides.

At the end of the corridor stood the side hall of the Qianqing Palace, its doors and windows tightly shut. Only the wind lanterns under the eaves swayed gently in the night breeze.

Two figures stood in the corridor—not patrolmen.

They were sentries—dressed in the uniform of the Beijing camp, long sabers at their waists, standing face to face in the corridor.

The moment Cheng Ge and Prince Jing stepped through the moon gate, the two men's gazes swept over them.

Trouble!

Cheng Ge didn't hesitate. He planted his foot and shot forward like an arrow.

Before the man could react, Cheng Ge was already in front of him—one hand clamping over his mouth, the other gripping the back of his neck, pressing down hard—

The man let out a muffled grunt, his body going limp. Cheng Ge dragged him behind a pillar.

Meanwhile, Prince Jing snapped into action—half a step slower than Cheng Ge, but catching the man off guard.

The man had just opened his mouth, about to shout, when Prince Jing circled behind him, his arm locking around his neck, his elbow pressing hard against his throat.

The man thrashed and kicked, but Prince Jing didn't let go—he only squeezed tighter.

He pressed his entire body against the man's back, veins bulging in his arms, his face flushed crimson.

Cheng Ge laid down the man he'd subdued and looked back—Prince Jing was still holding the other one.

The man had gone still.

Cheng Ge walked over and felt for breath—still alive, just unconscious.

"Let go," he said in a low voice. "He's out."

Prince Jing blinked, then released his arm. The man slid down limply, and Prince Jing leaned against the pillar, catching his breath.

"How... how were you so fast?" he whispered.

Cheng Ge (internally): You're the fast one! Your whole family's fast!!!

Cheng Ge cursed inwardly as he began stripping the man's clothes. Prince Jing, seeing this, said no more and crouched down to strip the other man.

Cheng Ge worked quickly, pulling off the man's outer robe in a few swift moves and pulling it on.

Prince Jing had never done this kind of dirty work before—his heart was pounding wildly as he dressed, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings.

"Your Highness, move it," Cheng Ge said.

Prince Jing fastened his belt and pulled the hat down. Cheng Ge had already dragged the unconscious man into the shadows behind the pillar.

The two stood up. Cheng Ge shot a glance at Prince Jing—the uniform fit well, the hat was pulled low enough that his features were indistinct in the darkness.

"Let's move," Cheng Ge said.

The two stepped out from behind the pillar, Cheng Ge leading, Prince Jing following, as they walked along the corridor.

Behind them, another patrol passed beyond the moon gate.

At the end of the corridor, the front hall of the Qianqing Palace was brightly lit. Cheng Ge and Prince Jing pressed into the shadows of the pillars, about to turn and leave.

Suddenly, the rhythmic tramp of boots came from beyond the moon gate.

Not just one squad—hundreds, thousands.

Cheng Ge pushed down on Prince Jing's shoulder, and the two flattened themselves against the pillars.

Through the moon gate poured columns of armored soldiers—their uniforms different from the imperial guards, the insignia on their shoulders marking them as the three main camps of the Beijing garrison.

They streamed in, quickly forming ranks, spreading out across the square before the Qianqing Palace.

Spearmen up front, archers in back, shield bearers on both flanks.

Torches stood like a forest, setting half the night sky aglow.

Cheng Ge's gaze swept past the armored soldiers, landing on the man who came in last.

The man was on horseback—riding within the imperial city, what audacity—clad in armor, a long sword at his waist, his face grim.

The firelight played across his features, and Cheng Ge recognized him—Chen Zhengqi.

Superintendent of the Beijing camp's military affairs—and the Second Prince's maternal uncle.

He did not dismount. Instead, he walked his horse slowly through the formation, stopping twenty paces from the front line of the imperial guards.

The imperial guards' formation was perfectly still—the innermost ring with sabers drawn, backs to the palace doors, facing outward.

The next ring stood with spears at attention, eyes fixed on the Beijing camp soldiers flooding in.

Beyond them, the archers had already nocked their arrows, aiming at Chen Zhengqi.

The two forces faced off.

Torches crackled, the night wind whipped the banners with a loud snap.

Chen Zhengqi reined in his horse, his gaze sweeping across the imperial guard formation before landing on the man at its front.

The man was dressed in the uniform of the Imperial Guard Commander, his face composed, one hand resting on his sword hilt, standing utterly still.

"Commander Zhou." Chen Zhengqi spoke, his voice low, yet it carried clearly across the silent square.

Zhou Yan did not respond.

Chen Zhengqi took no notice and continued, "I have entered the palace to purge the court of disloyalty and restore proper governance."

His voice was unhurried, as if reciting a foregone conclusion.

"The Crown Prince, Zhou Zhan, has committed regicide, usurped the throne, and gravely wounded His Majesty—crimes of the gravest nature."

Prince Jing started violently. Cheng Ge gripped his arm tightly.

Prince Jing did not move, only fixed his gaze on Chen Zhengqi, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Chen Zhengqi went on, "His Majesty has not appeared at court for seven days. The palace gates are sealed, cut off from within and without. If nothing were amiss, how could things have come to this? Commander Zhou comes from a family of loyal service for generations; you must know where your duty lies. Today I lead the Three Great Camps into the palace precisely to arrest the Crown Prince and purge the court of disloyalty, restoring order to the realm."

He paused, his gaze settling on Zhou Yan's face.

"If Commander Zhou is willing to join me in purging the court, then when His Majesty recovers, rewards will be distributed according to merit—and you shall be first among those rewarded."

The square fell silent.

The two armies faced off, the crackle of torches plainly heard.

Zhou Yan slowly raised his head. He looked at Chen Zhengqi for a very long time.

So long that Prince Jing started to wonder if he would ever speak.

Then he said, "Lord Chen."

His voice was not loud, but it was steady.

"The Imperial Guard stands sentry over the palace and protects His Majesty—this is the rule laid down by Taizu. Seven days or seventeen, the Guard recognizes only one gate."

Chen Zhengqi's brow twitched slightly.

Commander Zhou continued, "Whether the Crown Prince committed regicide, I do not know. Whether His Majesty is gravely wounded, I cannot say. All I know is that the Hall of Heavenly Purity is His Majesty's personal quarters, and my duty is to guard this gate."

His hand rested on his sword hilt, utterly motionless.

"If Lord Chen wishes to arrest the Crown Prince, then go first to the Eastern Palace. If you wish to purge the court, then go to the Grand Secretariat. If you wish to enter the Hall of Heavenly Purity—"

He paused, his gaze passing over Chen Zhengqi, over the ranks of armored soldiers, settling on the dark, imposing palace buildings in the distance.

"Unless His Majesty issues a decree in person, no one shall set foot through this gate."

As his words fell, the Imperial Guard took a single step forward in unison.

The spear-bearers lowered their spear tips, the archers drew their bowstrings taut, the shield-bearers held their shields at the ready.

Perfectly synchronized, silent. The metallic rasp of armor was the only sound, carried briefly on the night wind.

Chen Zhengqi sat on his horse, gazing at the unyielding formation, at the arrow tips aimed at him, at the composed, motionless figure of Zhou Yan.

He smiled—briefly, just for an instant.

"Your loyalty commands my respect, Commander Zhou," he said. "And yet—"

He turned his horse, his back to the Imperial Guard, facing his own troops.

"My duty is to purge the court and restore order. The crime of regicide is unforgivable. Commander Zhou protects this gate today; when His Majesty demands an accounting another day, how will you answer?"

Commander Zhou did not reply. He simply stood before the hall, hand on his sword hilt, motionless.

Chen Zhengqi said no more. He raised his hand and made a slight gesture.

The capital garrison's formation slowly retreated, ten paces back, then halted—neither attacking nor withdrawing.

The two armies stood opposed across an invisible line, neither side crossing.

Cheng Ge stood hidden behind the corridor pillar, watching the scene, saying nothing.

Prince Jing stood at his side, staring at Chen Zhengqi's back, at the unyielding Imperial Guard, at the blaze of light from the Hall of Heavenly Purity.

Prince Jing's voice was barely above a whisper, straining to contain something. "The Crown Prince would never commit regicide."

Cheng Ge said nothing. He just stared at the sealed palace doors.

The hall was bright with lamplight, its doors and windows sealed tight—Zhou Mingqi was inside. How was he faring now?

The Crown Prince gravely wounding His Majesty... what did that mean?

Cheng Ge furrowed his brow, his heart heavy with foreboding.

He could wait no longer.

Chen Zhengqi had already marched troops into the palace openly, publicly accusing the Crown Prince of regicide.

True or false, the situation was spiraling dangerously toward chaos.

Wait any longer, and there would be mutiny, bloodshed—waking one morning to find the world had changed.

He had to see the Emperor himself.

Only by seeing Zhou Mingqi would he know what was truly happening inside—was he genuinely ill, or being held prisoner?

Had the Crown Prince actually committed "regicide"? Was Chen Zhengqi's "purge of the court" directed at the Crown Prince, or at the Emperor?

Cheng Ge turned to look at Prince Jing.

Prince Jing was still staring toward the main hall, lips pressed into a line. Then he lowered his head, raised his sleeve, and surreptitiously dabbed at his eyes.

Cheng Ge was speechless.

Chen Zhengqi sat on his horse before the formation, the firelight flickering across his face.

He glanced at the sealed main gate of the Hall of Heavenly Purity, then at the motionless Imperial Guard commander, and raised his voice:

"His Majesty is gravely ill, yet not a single physician from the Imperial Medical Academy has been permitted to enter and treat him—this bodes ill for the realm!"