Chapter 5

Under Zhu Xunshuo’s vehement obstruction, Xu Shi and Zhan Jianxing were unable to leave and were instead imprisoned, awaiting the final verdict from the capital.

They were taken to the Prefectural Prison. Prefectural Governor Luo likely knew that his subordinate, Magistrate Li, lacked the backbone to withstand the pressure from Prince Dai Manor. Fearing accidents during detention, he prudently had the prisoners transferred.

Xu Shi was initially terrified, clinging to Zhan Jianxing without daring to let go. After half a day in the cell, she gradually noticed their section was relatively quiet, with the adjacent cells on either side empty. The sole small window in the wall dimmed as dusk fell, and the jailer brought coarse porridge and steamed buns. Though the portions were meager, they sufficed to half-fill their stomachs. Surprisingly, there was also a small bottle of medicinal ointment.

It had been sent in by Prefectural Governor Luo.

Xu Shi was deeply grateful. She quickly unscrewed the bottle and, by the faint remaining light from the window, applied the ointment to Zhan Jianxing’s wounds. “Prefectural Governor Luo is truly a good man,” she murmured.

Zhan Jianxing felt the burning, swollen pain in her fingers ease under the soothing balm, bringing a cool relief. Softly, she agreed, “He is a good official.”

Once the ointment was applied and their meager supper finished, the window darkened completely.

Fear crept back into Xu Shi’s heart. Suppressing her unease, she comforted Zhan Jianxing in the darkness, “Don’t be afraid, Xing’er. There must be reasonable people in the imperial court, like Prefectural Governor Luo, who will stand up for us. Oh—” She suddenly remembered something and lamented, “Prefectural Governor Luo seemed approachable. I should have begged him to release you first, so you wouldn’t have to suffer here with me.”

Zhan Jianxing replied, “It’s alright. I’ll stay with you.”

“But how can you—” Xu Shi hesitated, lowering her voice to a whisper, “A girl like you, imprisoned here… if others find out, it might affect your marriage prospects.”

Yes, the young “boy” Zhan Jianxing was, in fact, a girl.

This unusual circumstance traced back to Father Zhan.

During his time at home, Father Zhan was the middle son—overshadowed by his elder brother, who upheld the family, and his younger brother, whose sweet words won favor. His position was unremarkable. After marrying, his wife suffered under the disdain of her sisters-in-law, and their lack of a son further weakened their standing.

This left Father Zhan with a lingering resentment. He couldn’t understand why, among siblings of the same parents, he was so overlooked. Bound by filial piety, he couldn’t blame his parents, so he directed his frustration toward his childlessness. When Zhan Jianxing was born, he was already middle-aged. Overjoyed yet regretful, he decided to raise her as a son, intending to restore her true identity once a son was born.

As a merchant, Father Zhan traveled extensively across southern prefectures and counties. The strict travel permit system under the founding emperor had once confined most commoners within a hundred-mile radius of their homes. But after the civil war between the previous emperor and his grandnephew, many early-dynasty regulations fell into disuse. Petty merchants like him moved freely, with few bothering to enforce the old rules.

After moving several times, though not intentionally, no one besides Father Zhan and Xu Shi knew Zhan Jianxing’s true gender. Later, Father Zhan passed away before fathering a son. Xu Shi grieved but considered revealing her daughter’s true identity. However, since they had to travel far with the coffin, it was more convenient for Zhan Jianxing to continue posing as a boy. By the time they returned to Father Zhan’s hometown, the greedy relatives were already pressuring Xu Shi to remarry. How could she dare reveal that Zhan Jianxing was actually a girl?

Thus, through twists of fate, Zhan Jianxing continued living as a boy, even attending a low-cost private school as before.

When her mother mentioned “marriage arrangements,” Zhan Jianxing remained unmoved. After a moment of contemplation, she whispered, “Mother, I want to study.”

Xu Shi was puzzled: “Aren’t you already attending school?”

Zhan Jianxing shook her head: “Not just school studies.” She paused. “I want to take the Imperial Examination. With an official rank, we wouldn’t be so easily bullied.”

Xu Shi was startled, then couldn’t help laughing: “You—oh, how could you possibly take it?”

Zhan Jianxing sighed in the darkness. Indeed, how could she?

It was just a wild fantasy.

Though amused, Xu Shi understood her daughter’s reasoning after the laughter faded.

A widow and her “son” naturally seemed like easy targets. Since Father Zhan’s death, they’d endured countless hardships, barely escaping greedy relatives only to fall into the hands of arrogant nobles now.

Misfortune had woven an inescapable net over them.

Xu Shi’s brief smile disappeared. After a while, she stroked Zhan Jianxing’s hair, comforting them both: “Don’t dwell on it. Once we survive this ordeal, we’ll stay far away. Those are lofty nobles—they wouldn’t bother with people like us forever.”

Hearing her mother’s helplessness, Zhan Jianxing didn’t argue, merely murmuring “Mm” in agreement.

However difficult life was, they had to endure as long as they lived. Xu Shi arranged the prison’s straw and tattered quilt in the dark, urging Zhan Jianxing to sleep.

Obediently lying beside her mother, Zhan Jianxing closed her eyes briefly before reopening them.

Sleep wouldn’t come.

Not wanting to disturb Xu Shi, she stared into the darkness, lost in thought.

…

The path to officialdom was indeed impossible.

Yet once ignited, this thought seemed impossible to extinguish.

**

Hundreds of miles away in the capital:

After the late emperor’s massive relocation of the capital from south to north, the border town of Datong had become quite close to the new capital. News of Prince of Dai’s sudden death reached the Office of Transmission by next morning, eventually landing on the imperial desk.

Normally, births and deaths in the Imperial Clan only concerned the Court of the Imperial Clan, unworthy of court discussion. But since the prince’s death involved a criminal case handled by the Datong magistrate, officials from the Three Judicial Offices could now weigh in.

While catastrophic for Prince Dai Manor, the prince’s death meant little to the high-ranking officials at court—four words summed it up: “Dead is dead.”

To put it more coldly: better off dead.

Such a person, who contributed nothing to the nation or its people and dedicated his life to pushing the limits of villainy, could hardly inspire sympathy among the ministers.

If anything, the officials merely felt their horizons broadened.

After all, he was still a prince—how could he have died like this?

Even dying from overindulgence with women would have been more befitting a prince’s status than choking on a steamed bun—incidentally, the eldest son of the Prince of Dai had died exactly that way twelve years ago, having exhausted himself through debauchery. Now, the eldest among the Prince of Dai’s descendants was Zhu Xunshuo, who was currently throwing his weight around at the County Government Office in Datong.

The emperor, who had only ascended the throne three months prior, was corpulent. His massive frame slumped on the throne as his fleshy face contorted with worry, and he sighed mournfully: “Uncle Prince of Dai truly—”

The assembled ministers hurriedly urged him to restrain his grief.

In truth, the emperor wasn’t particularly grieved. While he valued familial ties, those ties weren’t deep enough to warrant genuine sorrow—more than anything, he found the situation embarrassingly disgraceful.

No sooner had he pardoned the Prince of Dai than the man swiftly delivered this slap to his face.

A prince of such noble standing, leading his sons and grandsons to steal steamed buns from commoners, only to choke to death on his ill-gotten gains—it was practically instant karma in action.

That alone would have been bad enough, but his descendants, refusing to accept the truth, went so far as to falsely accuse the commoners of poisoning, raged in the courtroom, and tortured a twelve-year-old child with leg screws—as if determined to thoroughly disgrace the Zhu family name.

“Your Majesty, in my view, Luo Zhifu of Datong adjudicated the case fairly. There truly was no possibility of poisoning in this matter,” the Minister of the Court of Revision said with a cupped-hand salute.

Minister Zhou of the Ministry of Justice and Chief Censor Chen of the Censorate briefly concurred. There was little room for debate—the facts of the case were too clear. Minister Zhou only added, “The young boy from the Zhan family’s actions in court were sufficient to prove his innocence. While the passing of the Prince of Dai is regrettable, there is nothing more to be done.”

Had Minister Zhou not spoken these words, the emperor might have felt less aggrieved. But now, glancing down at Luo Zhifu’s memorial, the emperor felt his teeth ache—another family’s child had displayed such quick wit, while the Prince of Dai’s descendants, already over ten years old, couldn’t even recognize a single character. From the court transcripts, when Luo Haicheng questioned him, the boy could only reply with “I don’t know”—it was possible he even had some mental deficiency!

This entire branch of relatives brought him no pride—each one was more disgraceful than the last.

Frowning, the emperor asked, “What’s the matter with this Zhu Chengjun? Luo Haicheng’s memorial states he couldn’t even write his own name?”

The current Director of the Imperial Clan Court, Duke Zhenguo, was present and stepped forward to reply: “Your Majesty, if this old servant recalls correctly, he should be the youngest son of the late Heir Apparent of the Prince of Dai, the ninth in line. He was still unborn when the Heir Apparent passed away from illness. Perhaps due to this—ahem—lack of proper upbringing.”

“Passed away from illness” was a polite euphemism. The former Heir Apparent had died of a stroke while atop his favorite concubine, leaving Zhu Chengjun as a posthumous child.

With this context in mind, the emperor gradually recalled the circumstances. However, since Zhu Chengjun’s involvement in the case was minimal, the emperor set him aside for the moment and discussed the handling of the Prince of Dai’s case with his ministers.

The opinions of the emperor and his officials largely aligned. Since the poisoning claim was entirely unfounded, the Prince of Dai’s death was his own doing, and the accused, Xu Shi and her son, were to be acquitted and released without charge.

As for Prince Dai Manor, Zhu Xunshuo also submitted a petition, lamenting his family’s plight in the most pitiable terms, as if the vast princely residence were being bullied to death by two commoners. His overacting backfired—after reading it, the Emperor felt not sympathy but exasperation.

Moreover, after his strenuous lamentations, Zhu Xunshuo subtly hinted at the matter of inheriting Prince Dai’s title, with a barely concealed suggestion of volunteering himself.

Normally, when a Prince of Dai passes away, the heir apparent would succeed. However, Prince Dai Manor’s situation is somewhat complicated.

Years ago, the eldest son and heir apparent of the previous Prince of Dai died during the period when the Prince himself had been stripped of his title and reduced to commoner status. With no princely title left, there could be no heir apparent. Later, when the previous Emperor ascended the throne, he restored the title to Prince Dai. But soon after, Prince Dai committed offenses, and the entire family was placed under house arrest. The previous Emperor ignored Prince Dai’s petitions to appoint a new heir apparent, leaving the position vacant to this day.

With no heir apparent, Zhu Xunshuo, as the second son, saw an opportunity to vie for the title. Though he already held the title of Prince of Commandery, it paled in comparison to that of Prince—smaller fief, lesser stipend, fewer guards, and future descendants (except the eldest son) would inherit a downgraded rank. His earlier outburst in Datong wasn’t due to sheer stupidity or cruelty but was calculated to evoke the Emperor’s familial sympathy, ultimately aiming to secure Prince Dai’s title.

—Which is precisely why Prince Dai couldn’t have died from choking on a bun.

If that cause of death were confirmed, people would be too busy laughing to pity him, and Zhu Xunshuo would lose his pretext to champion his father’s cause and position himself as the head of Prince Dai Manor—after all, by law, the eldest son of the previous heir apparent, his eldest nephew, held the primary right of succession.

The intricacies of this were beyond the grasp of most in Datong, but from the Emperor’s vantage point, they were glaringly obvious. So when Chen Zongxian of the Censorate suggested, “Your Majesty, since Prince Dai has passed and the title remains undecided, perhaps it’s best to delay the matter,” the Emperor, after brief consideration, agreed immediately.

The recent pardon decree, being the Emperor’s own word, couldn’t be retracted so soon. Yet Prince Dai Manor’s outrageous behavior had brought no honor to the imperial family and couldn’t go unpunished. As a lenient ruler, the Emperor couldn’t bring himself to deal harshly with his relatives, so withholding the princely title was the perfect penalty.

Presumably, with the title at stake, the entire Prince Dai Manor would now behave.

**

It wasn’t until returning to the inner palace that the Emperor remembered his illiterate nephew Zhu Chengjun and complained about him to Zheng Guifei, who always knew how to soothe him.

“From what Your Majesty says, the ninth son of Prince Dai’s household is still young,” Zheng Guifei observed, gauging the Emperor’s mood with a smile. “In my view, the boy must be a good child at heart. It’s just that he lost his father early and lacked proper guidance from elders, so some principles take longer for him to grasp.”

The Emperor shook his head. “His father—best not mentioned.”

Though his tone was stern, Zheng Guifei sensed his true feelings. If the Emperor truly despised Prince Dai Manor, why bring up Zhu Chengjun at all?

Clearly, familial ties still mattered to him. Thus, Zheng Guifei refused to speak ill of the Zhu family, instead suggesting, “If Your Majesty feels the boy’s elders cannot teach him, why not assign someone who can? At his age, it should still be easy to set him right.”

Upon hearing these words, the emperor couldn’t help but feel moved.

When he thought about it, his young nephew Zhu Chengjun was indeed pitiable. He had lost his father before birth, and within two years of being born, he was placed under house arrest. Luo Haicheng’s recorded testimony contained the phrase “first time leaving the residence.” At the time, the emperor had been too angry to notice how his nephew seemed like a simpleton. Now that he thought calmly, wasn’t it true? This nephew had grown up within four high walls—how could he be blamed for lacking worldly experience?

Speaking of which, the Prince of Dai, as a grandfather, was truly disgraceful. Whenever he went out, he would wreak havoc and bully the common people. What good could Zhu Chengjun learn from such an elder? As a child, he snatched steamed buns and acted like a petty tyrant; when he grew up, he would likely become a full-fledged tyrant, wielding his sleeve mace to strike passersby or forcibly abduct beautiful common girls.

As the emperor pondered this, he slowly nodded in response to Zheng Guifei’s suggestion.

Author’s Note:

My friend glanced at my comments and saw little angels weeping about how tragic it was, asking if I’d written something cruel. We both know readers nowadays can’t handle cruelty.

Me: It’s not that cruel. The female protagonist just had her fingers squeezed during a court hearing.

Friend: Wow, you’re so mean.

Me: If I don’t push her early on, she won’t take the Imperial Examination. It’ll be better later.

Friend: You don’t have to go that far. You could’ve squeezed her father’s fingers instead.

(She hasn’t read the story and doesn’t know there’s no father.)

Devilish friends have wild ideas lol.