Font Size:
Wei Lan crouched down and slipped into the entrance of the secret passage beneath the bed. The passage was wider than expected, spacious enough for two people to walk side by side. The arched ceiling was built with green bricks, allowing an adult to stand upright without bending over. A chilly breeze blew from the front, suggesting an exit at the other end.
Holding an oil lamp, Wei Lan walked for about half an incense stick’s time when a faint glimmer of light appeared ahead. She quickened her pace and approached the creaking wooden door. As soon as she poked half her body out, a sharp swishing sound sliced through the air.
Wei Lan’s eyes widened—there, in the courtyard, a shirtless man was practicing swordsmanship. His muscular back glistened with sweat under the sunlight, beads of perspiration trailing down his tanned skin into his waistband. With a powerful shout, he swung his sword in a reverse grip, slicing through a wooden training post, splitting it clean in half. His taut shoulder blades trembled slightly as he withdrew his strike, his sweat-soaked chest rising and falling heavily.
Wei Lan gasped, and the man abruptly turned around at the sound. Their eyes met, and for the first time, she saw his sharply defined face. Sweat-dampened strands of hair clung to his forehead, his sword-like brows slanted into his temples, and his high-bridged nose was as if carved by a blade. Droplets of sweat clung to his jaw, tracing paths down his chiseled abs.
The man’s cold, steely gaze swept over her face before he turned away, sheathing his sword and walking straight into the house. Wei Lan stood frozen for a moment before blurting out, “Huan Da?”
She hurried after him to the doorway, only to see Huan Da slipping on a navy short-sleeved tunic. A hemp rope cinched around his waist accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow hips. He picked up a rough ceramic bowl of tea from the table, tilting his head back to drink in one gulp, the veins on his neck subtly protruding.
After finishing, he spoke coldly, “What do you want?”
Wei Lan was taken aback by his aloof attitude and took a step back before asking, “Where is your younger brother, Huan Ying?”
Huan Da pulled a crumpled note from a hidden compartment in the wooden cabinet and handed it to her. “This is from him.”
Wei Lan hurriedly unfolded it. The ink had bled into the paper, but the messy handwriting was still legible:
I am in the Forbidden Palace. Safe. Do not worry.
“Brother Mingyi is in the Forbidden City?” Wei Lan’s hands trembled as she clutched the note, her voice quivering. “Can I go into the palace to find him?”
Jinyiwei… The Forbidden City… Liu Mingyi was just a renowned physician. The Imperial Medical Academy was filled with experts, so why had Emperor Chongzhen gone to such lengths to bring him here? Could it be that the Emperor was gravely ill?
“No one may enter the palace without an imperial decree,” Huan Da replied flatly while wiping his sword, not even lifting his eyes.
Wei Lan stomped her foot in frustration. “What do I do then? But Huan Ying promised me! He can’t go back on his word!”
Huan Da finally glanced at her. “I will relay your message to him.”
But Wei Lan was unwilling to let it go so easily. She insisted, “As soon as possible! This is urgent!”
Huan Da, having finished wiping his sword, abruptly sheathed it with a sharp clang. The metallic sound sent a shiver down Wei Lan’s spine. She quickly changed her tone, “Actually… it’s not that urgent.”
Without a word, Huan Da strode to the well, grabbed a bucket, and dropped it in with a splash. Wei Lan hesitated as she watched his forearm muscles tense, then spoke in a low voice, “Just remind him—he mustn’t forget his promise to me.”
Huan Da and Huan Ying were biological brothers, but their temperaments were vastly different. Even though Wei Lan had seen Huan Ying kill before, she had never truly feared him. Huan Da, however, was different—he exuded an intimidating coldness that made people wary. Wei Lan suddenly realized something odd: as a noble princess, why was Huan Da neither saluting her nor showing any deference?
As Huan Da carried the water bucket inside, droplets slid down his neck into his collar. Wei Lan quickly asked, “Does Huan Ying usually stay here?”
He gave no answer, only poured the water into a vat with a loud splash.
Wei Lan touched the tip of her nose awkwardly. “Uh… I’ll just wait here for him, then.” She sat down on a stone bench and curiously observed Huan Da. Even in the simplest of tasks, he maintained a straight posture, as if every chore was part of his martial training.
As she watched, a muffled voice called urgently from the secret passage entrance. “Princess! The princess is coming to Luhua Pavilion!”
Winter Peach yanked Wei Lan into the passage before she could even bid farewell.
Huan Da’s movements halted instantly. His gaze locked onto the door as he grabbed a bamboo rake, swiftly sweeping away their footprints. Then, from the firewood pile, he pulled several dry branches and neatly concealed the entrance. His efficiency and skill made it clear—this was not his first time.
His fingers lingered on the moss-covered hidden door for a long while. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the leaves, casting shadows across his sharp features. His eyes flickered with a complex emotion.
Liu Mingyi knelt on the icy stone floor, his forehead touching the ground, not daring to move a muscle. He could feel Emperor Chongzhen’s piercing gaze on him, weighing down like a thousand-pound boulder, making it hard to breathe. The room was so silent that even the soft crackling of candle flames could be heard, the air heavy with the rich scent of dragon musk.
“Rise. Take a seat,” Chongzhen’s voice was low and commanding.
As Liu Mingyi lifted his head, his eyes met the Emperor’s sharp, hawk-like gaze. Zhu Youjian, clad in an imperial yellow dragon robe, had a gaunt face lined with deep worries and exhaustion, yet his eyes remained as piercing as ever, as if seeing straight through him.
“In the Hongwu era, Lord Chengyi Liu Wen Chenggong presented this prophecy to the founding emperor,” Chongzhen’s fingers trembled slightly as he read aloud, “‘The Ming dynasty shall last 276 years. In the jia-shen year, it will face catastrophe, and only the sixteenth-generation descendant of Liu De can save it.’ Liu De—he was your ancestor, was he not?”
Cold sweat broke out on Liu Mingyi’s back. His grandfather’s final words had warned him: “In the jia-shen year, if you meet the true dragon, use medicine to avoid the sword.”
“Your Majesty,” he steadied his voice, “My ancestor Liu De was indeed a disciple of Lord Wen Cheng. However, I have only studied medicine and know little of warfare.”
“Yesterday, a 600-mile urgent report arrived,” the Emperor snapped, gripping a memorial tightly. “The rebels have seized three more counties!” His sudden movement extinguished two nearby candles. In the dim light, his voice rang out sharply, “Your family has received generations of imperial favor. Now, with the empire in peril, war raging, and people suffering, why do you not rise to defend the nation?”
“If granted favor, I can establish medical shelters to treat the wounded across the provinces—”
“Fool!” The Emperor hurled the report, striking a carved dragon pillar with a loud crack. “I need strategies to defeat the enemy! If you have inherited Liu Wen Cheng’s legacy, then surely you possess the knowledge to secure the nation!”
Liu Mingyi fell silent. He knew that once he became entangled in this political struggle, there would be no escape…