Chapter 439 How to Resolve?

Chapter 439: What Now?

Lin Nanshu's brush hovered in mid-air.

He listened to the increasingly arrogant voices behind him, to those people dragging his father into it, to Lin Fangze's blustering, hollow shouts.

He didn't turn around. He just held the brush and set it down on the paper.

One stroke.

One mark.

He finished the last character.

He set the brush down gently on its rest, picked up the finished manifesto, and read it word by word.

Then he turned, his eyes fixed squarely on Lin Fangze's face.

"Father was right." His voice wasn't loud—you could even call it calm.

But that calm hit the crowd like a punch to the gut.

Lin Fangze froze. The men who had been shouting froze.

Everyone froze. Lin Nanshu took a step forward.

"Of all virtues, filial piety comes first—this is basic human decency, this is the natural order of things." He took another step forward.

"But there's an old saying—you can't always serve your country and honor your parents at the same time."

Lin Fangze's expression changed. Lin Nanshu's gaze never wavered.

"Now the sovereign is in peril, the state is on the verge of collapse. Chen Zhengqi, that traitorous minister, has surrounded the palace, eyeing the throne."

His voice suddenly rose: "This is a national emergency! This is what's right!"

The voice boomed through the hall, making everyone's ears ring.

Lin Nanshu's gaze swept across each of their faces. "You all said—if we're expelling people, then we do it to everyone, no exceptions."

A faint smile played on his lips. He raised the manifesto in his hand. "Very well."

"Today! As the current head of the Lin family—"

His voice wasn't loud, but every word landed clearly in everyone's ears.

"Lin Fangze, expelled from the Lin family, his name removed from the family records."

As the words fell, the blood drained from Lin Fangze's face.

His mouth hung open, like someone had him by the throat, unable to utter a single word.

It took him a few breaths to snap out of it.

"You—!" His voice was shrill and piercing, like a rabid dog with its tail caught in a door.

"You ungrateful brat—!" He lunged, but the guards blocked him, blades out.

"You dare expel me from the clan?! You dare expel your own father from the clan?!"

"Do you even know what it means to honor your parents?! You won't even keep your own dad—are you even human?!"

His voice echoed through the hall, getting nastier and more vile with every word.

"You beast! You cold-hearted animal!"

"I brought you into this world, I raised you, and this is how you thank me?!"

"You'll die a miserable death! Mark my words, you'll die a miserable death!"

The men who'd thought they could push Lin Nanshu around now stood pale and shaking.

They never expected—Lin Nanshu actually had the guts.

If he could kick out his own dad, what were they? What did they even matter?

"Nanshu! We were wrong!"

Uncle Qi dropped to his knees with a thud, his voice breaking.

"We shouldn't have gone against you! For old times' sake, please let us off!"

Third Granduncle couldn't take it either. He slid down a pillar and hit his knees.

"I was wrong, Nanshu! I'm kowtowing to you! Please don't kick me out of the family!"

The others hit their knees too, a chorus of wailing filling the hall.

"Patriarch! We'll never do it again!"

"Have mercy! Please have mercy!"

Lin Nanshu looked at them—at those kneeling and begging, at that father still cursing.

His face gave nothing away. He stood in the hall's candlelight, facing the rows of ancestral tablets.

"The sovereign's in danger, so we put the country before our own family."

"If what I've done today really goes against basic decency, really defies the natural order—"

His eyes moved from those people to his mother's memorial tablet.

"Then once this crisis is over, I'll kneel before the ancestors and take whatever punishment I deserve."

When he finished speaking, the hall went dead silent. Lin Fangze was still cursing, his language getting filthier.

"Beast! You beast!"

"Lin Nanshu! You've done something lower than a pig or a dog—you think you'll keep that patriarch title for long?!"

"Just wait! Wait till everyone's talking behind your back! Wait till the whole world curses you!"

Lin Nanshu didn't look at him again. He turned, putting his back to them all.

"Guards, drag them all out."

"Yes!" The guards stepped forward, hauling up those who were kneeling and begging and dragging them out.

Lin Fangze's cursing continued, growing shriller and more unhinged.

His voice grew fainter and fainter, until it finally faded into the night.

The hall finally went quiet.

Only the few clansmen who'd stayed silent the whole time stood there, heads bowed, not daring to breathe.

The candle flames danced, throwing Lin Nanshu's shadow across the ground, stretching it longer and longer.

"Anyone else have a problem with this?"

The others exchanged uneasy glances. No one answered him. No one dared to answer him.

The candlelight flickered, casting the rows of ancestral tablets in shifting light and shadow.

Lin Nanshu turned and walked to the incense table.

His pace was unhurried—slow, even—but every step landed with absolute steadiness.

His boots struck the blue bricks, each step a muffled thud that rang out unnaturally clear in the deathly quiet hall.

He reached the incense table and came to a stop.

In the censer on the table, the last of the incense had just burned out, a wisp of blue smoke curling up and dissolving into the candlelight.

Lin Nanshu lowered his gaze, looking at the censer for a couple of breaths.

Then he reached out, took three new incense sticks from the table's edge, and lit them from the candle flame.

The flame licked at the incense tips, slowly catching, sending up thin threads of smoke.

He raised the incense to the center of his brow, holding them steady with both hands—then, he knelt.

His knees struck the cushion with a muffled thud.

His back stayed ramrod straight, his gaze passing over the censer, over the layered ranks of tablets, to settle on the name Shen Qingyan.

The few people in the hall went still for a moment.

Then, snapping out of it, they shuffled forward one by one, kneeling down behind Lin Nanshu in succession.

The candle flames danced, casting the kneeling figures' wavering silhouettes onto the wall.

Lin Nanshu raised the incense above his head and bowed three times. Each bow was heavy, sinking low with deliberate weight.

Those behind him hurriedly kowtowed, foreheads hitting the ground with a ragged chorus of thuds.

Lin Nanshu did not look back. He straightened and planted the three incense sticks into the censer.

The smoke curled upward, intertwining and drifting, slowly dissolving into the sea of candlelight.

Then he stood up.

He didn't look at the tablets again, nor at the kneeling figures behind him. He simply turned and walked out of the hall.

The few people behind him remained kneeling, heads bowed, not daring to breathe.

The footsteps faded, swallowed by the night.

It was a long moment before anyone dared to lift their head and glance toward the doorway.

That figure was already gone.

Only the candlelit hall and the three new incense sticks remained, swaying gently in the night breeze.

Lin Nanshu had just stepped into the corridor when the night wind hit him head-on, carrying the chill of deep autumn.

He paused mid-step.

A dark figure slipped out from behind a pillar, landing at his side and dropping to one knee.

"Master."

Lin Nanshu glanced down.

It was a shadow guard, wrapped in black, half his face lost in the hood's shadow.

He held a letter, its seal stamped in wax. Lin Nanshu reached out and took it.

He broke the seal, pulled out the letter, and unfolded it under the lantern by the eaves.

The letter was short—just a few sparse lines.

His eyes swept down the page, reading every word, his face giving nothing away.

But his fingers tightened on the paper's edge, and the sheet trembled, just barely.

The words sank into his eyes one by one, and his gaze darkened with each one.

It was a deep, heavy darkness, like the sky pressing down before a storm.

He finished reading, folded the letter, and closed his fist around it. Then he looked up.

"Get the men assembled and ready. And send a detachment with me to the Chen estate."

The shadow guard hesitated, then looked up at Lin Nanshu.

Lin Nanshu stood there, the lantern casting a dim yellow glow over him.

His eyes were lost in shadow, black as twin wells.

The shadow guard opened his mouth, said a single "Yes," then turned and melted into the night.

……

Inside the Hall of Literary Brilliance, candles blazed bright. Chen Zhengqi stood before the imperial desk, hands clasped behind his back.

His gaze swept over the faces of the elder ministers in the hall—Lin Zhufeng, Zhang Gelao, Minister Wang, Reader Li.

These were all veterans of the Great Zhou court, pillars of the state raised up by the late emperor himself.

And they were the hardest bones to crack in this court.

The hall was so quiet you could hear the wicks crackle—pop, then another pop, like someone tapping softly in the dark.

Chen Zhengqi didn't rush to speak.

He just stood there, his gaze drifting slowly over those aged faces, like he was sizing up a few old porcelain pieces on a shelf.

He studied their glaze, counted their cracks, and sized up what they were still worth.

After a long moment, he let out a soft chuckle.

"My lords," he said, his voice not loud, even gentle.

Yet that gentleness, falling into the silent hall, was like a stone cast into a deep pool, stirring ripples unseen.

"The night is late, and I would not have dreamed of disturbing your rest at this hour—but—"

He paused, raising a hand to smooth his sleeve, the motion unhurried.

"But some things just can't wait."

From his sleeve he drew out a scroll of yellow silk, unrolling it on the desk.

The candlelight hit the yellow silk, blazing so bright it stung the eyes.

Chen Zhengqi's fingers pressed upon the yellow silk, stroking it lightly, as if caressing fine brocade.

"Surely you are all aware that His Majesty is unwell," he said, his tone carrying just the right measure of gravity. "Now he lies unconscious, and the imperial physicians say—"

He paused, raising his eyes to glance at the old ministers. "The physicians say he may not survive this illness..."

But no one said a word.

Chen Zhengqi sighed, looked away, and let his gaze settle on the yellow silk, as if talking to himself.

"But the kingdom... cannot be without a sovereign for a single day. A Crown Prince must be named early to continue the state's legacy—this is the law of our forefathers, and it's a minister's duty to see to it."

His finger tapped lightly upon the yellow silk—once, twice, three times.

Lin Zhufeng said nothing. He simply sat there, eyes lowered, staring at the blank yellow silk on the desk.

The candlelight cast shifting shadows across his face, making it hard to read his expression.

Chen Zhengqi waited a few moments, then looked up. "Grand Tutor Lin?"

Only then did Lin Zhufeng seem to come to, raising his eyes to meet Chen Zhengqi's gaze.

Then he looked away, reached for the teapot, and poured tea into an empty cup, leaving a little room at the top.

The tea was clear, catching a soft amber glow in the candlelight.

He lifted the cup, blew on it gently, and fine ripples spread across the tea.

"Lord Chen's loyalty to the throne is truly admirable."

He took a sip, then raised his eyes to Chen Zhengqi again.

"But His Majesty has long since named an heir. Lord Chen has nothing to worry about."

At these words, the hall fell silent again.

Chen Zhengqi fixed Lin Zhufeng with a sharp, unblinking stare.

Zhang Gelao let out a cough.

The cough was very light—as if something were caught in his throat, or merely clearing it.

After coughing, he said nothing, simply lowering his head to stare at his feet.

Minister Wang looked up, glanced at Chen Zhengqi, then at Lin Zhufeng, then dropped his gaze again, saying nothing.

Reader Li stood there, eyes downcast, as if counting the cracks between the floor tiles.

The candle flames flickered, making the old ministers' faces shift between light and shadow.

Chen Zhengqi stood in place, watching them.

Watching those aging faces, a hint of contempt crept onto his face. "Grand Tutor Lin speaks the truth."

"Great Zhou has long since named its heir. I indeed should not worry."

He paused, stepped forward, and fixed his gaze on Lin Zhufeng. "But—I'd like to ask the Grand Tutor one question."

Lin Zhufeng looked up at him.

"A crown prince is a reserve—someone kept in waiting, but never used. That's what 'reserve' means. But what if the one in reserve turns out to be unworthy?"

He paused, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"The Grand Tutor is the highest-ranked of the Three Excellencies and is His Majesty's teacher. Those four words—'unworthy of the role'—how should they be understood?"

The hand holding the teacup trembled slightly—so faintly it was nearly imperceptible.

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the tea in his cup, watching the candlelight reflected in the amber liquid.

Then he raised his head, met Chen Zhengqi's eyes. "Lord Chen."

"Then let me ask you, Lord Chen—how would you interpret those four words?"

Chen Zhengqi met his gaze.

Their eyes met across the candlelight—no sparks, no flash of steel, just a quiet stare.

But beneath the calm, something was brewing, and the air grew tense.

"Hahaha—" Chen Zhengqi looked at him and suddenly laughed.

That laugh was different from the soft chuckle before—it carried a hint of arrogance and defiance.

"Since the Grand Tutor asked, I'll speak plainly."

He let the laugh fade, stepped forward, and his boot struck the gilded floor with a dull thud.

"The Crown Prince—"

He paused, the two words forced through his teeth like chewing on a piece of gristle.

"The Crown Prince—he's no good at letters or arms—mediocre, lazy, lacking in virtue, and prone to vice. He wastes his days on idle pleasures, without a shred of ambition!"

Chen Zhengqi stared at Lin Zhufeng, his gaze aggressive.

"Great Zhou has stood for centuries, weathering countless storms to build what we have today.

Now that the wars are over and everything needs rebuilding, we need a capable ruler to lead with strength!"

He stepped forward, moving closer to Lin Zhufeng. He raised his hand, pointing to the blank yellow silk.

"If the Crown Prince were to inherit the throne, with his mediocre, indolent ways, he could hardly shoulder the weight of this vast realm..."