Chapter 6

On the third day of their imprisonment, Xu Shi developed a fever.

The first snow had fallen the previous night. The cell lacked a heated brick bed, relying only on straw and tattered quilts for warmth. Huddled together shivering, Zhan Jianxing managed to endure the night, but Xu Shi ended up with a stuffy nose, dizziness, and a burning forehead—she had fallen ill.

Zhan Jianxing urgently called for the jailer. Accustomed to human suffering, the jailer paid no heed to such minor ailments. After a cursory glance and seeing Xu Shi still lucid, he crossed his arms lazily and said, “What do you want from me? Tough it out. I’m no physician.”

With that, he turned to leave.

Zhan Jianxing clung to the cell bars, pleading. But the jailer, eager to return to his warm fire and meat, ignored her. Seeing him walk away unmoved, she grew desperate and shouted, “We’re important prisoners of the court! Even Prefectural Governor Luo wouldn’t dare let anything happen to us. If she falls seriously ill under your watch, you’ll have to answer to him!”

The jailer’s heart was hard as iron—pleas went in one ear and out the other—but this threat gave him pause. The brat’s words were sharp, and not entirely baseless. When these prisoners had first arrived, Prefectural Governor Luo had even sent medicine for their wounds, showing his concern. With the snow falling, conditions were harsh. If one of them died, he’d be in trouble.

After a moment’s calculation, the jailer spat, “Damn brat, still causing trouble even on death’s door!”

Still, he didn’t dare ignore the matter entirely. Cursing his bad luck, he stomped off.

Zhan Jianxing had no idea where he’d gone. She called out a few more times, but no one responded. Left with no choice, she wrapped Xu Shi tightly in the tattered quilt and rubbed her hands and feet vigorously, trying to generate whatever warmth she could.

Human effort was no match for nature. As the snow outside thickened, the cell turned into an icehouse. Zhan Jianxing’s own hands and feet grew numb with cold, aching painfully. Xu Shi fared worse. At first, she had pushed Zhan Jianxing away, afraid of passing her illness, but soon her face flushed red with fever, her mind slipping into delirium—

“Mother? Mother!”

Panic seized Zhan Jianxing. After Father Zhan’s death, life had been hard for her and her mother. But the tougher it got, the more her stubborn nature flared. Leaning on each other, they had somehow kept their household afloat. She feared no hardship—but if anything happened to Xu Shi, her world would collapse.

Tears welled up, but Zhan Jianxing pinched herself hard.

Crying was useless.

Shaking off the pain, she glanced frantically around the empty cell before looking up at the small window—really just a hole—in the wall.

She didn’t know what other prisons were like, but here in Datong, located in the north, even ordinary houses were built low for warmth, and the prison cells were no exception. The cramped space had a tiny window barred with two grilles, covered by torn, filthy paper and haphazardly stuffed with a straw mat—likely the work of a previous occupant. The paper was long ruined, and the mat, clumsily woven and full of gaps, was the only thing blocking most of the biting wind.

Holding her breath, Zhan Jianxing dragged the chamber pot over, stood on it, and stretched to reach the straw mat.

Just as she moved the mat aside and grabbed a handful of snow clinging to the window frame, footsteps approached.

**

At that moment, an envoy from the capital arrived at Prince Dai Manor in Datong, braving the snow.

Not only was there an imperial envoy to deliver the decree, but also a Hanlin academician.  

This Hanlin academician was named Chu Xiuxian, holding the position of Lecturer in the Hanlin Academy, whose primary duty was to expound on classics and history for the emperor or the crown prince.  

Now, accompanying the imperial envoy, he had been entrusted with a new task: to provide elementary education to the Royal Grandson Zhu Chengjun of the Prince Dai Manor. Additionally, if there were other Royal Grandsons in the manor who, like Zhu Chengjun, had missed schooling, they could also attend the lessons.  

For a learned Hanlin academician like him to teach children the basics was, figuratively speaking, using a sledgehammer to crack a nut.  

This clearly showed that Zheng Guifei had judged correctly—though the emperor complained verbally, he still cared for his relatives in his heart.  

However, Zhu Xunshuo couldn’t see it that way.  

After hearing the imperial envoy read out the decree, he was utterly dismayed: “What?!”  

In this imperial decree, not only was his dream of inheriting the Prince of Dai title nowhere to be seen, but even his fief was withheld—Zhu Xunshuo had previously held the Prince of Commandery title without an actual fief, making him essentially a nominal prince. Moreover, all requests for titles and rewards concerning the other numerous princes and grandsons in the Prince Dai Manor were also shelved for the time being. The decree explicitly ordered them to dutifully observe mourning for the late Prince of Dai. If they caused trouble during this period—such as oppressing or harming the people—  

Need we remind them of the past?  

Which past? The past when they were stripped of their titles and reduced to commoners, or the past when they were placed under house arrest?  

Just the mere thought of this threat sent a chill down Zhu Xunshuo’s spine.  

The Prince Dai Manor might act ruthlessly toward the common people, but when facing the even more powerful imperial family, they were not without fear—they couldn’t afford to be fearless. Having been disciplined twice, even a pig should have learned its lesson by now.  

Thus, though Zhu Xunshuo seethed with anger and dissatisfaction, he dared not show it openly. His eyes darted around until they landed on the youth kneeling beside him, finally finding an outlet for his frustration. He kicked the boy and snapped, “Ninth Nephew, what have you been scheming behind my back? How did you catch the emperor’s attention?”  

The decree addressed two matters: one was a reprimand for the Prince Dai Manor to behave itself, and the other was assigning Zhu Xunshuo a Hanlin academician as a tutor.  

Zhu Xunshuo, for all his faults, was still surnamed Zhu. Even with his lack of learning, he knew that a Hanlin Lecturer like Chu Xiuxian was typically meant to tutor someone of higher status. The emperor had scolded him, yet this nephew he barely remembered had somehow reaped benefits—what kind of injustice was this?!  

Suspicious and displeased, Zhu Xunshuo found everything about Zhu Chengjun irritating. However, Zhu Chengjun, who had also been summoned to receive the decree, didn’t look pleased either. Originally kneeling, he was kicked off balance and slumped to the ground, his lips downturned in clear displeasure.  

“Second Uncle, how should I know?”  

His tone was defiant, and Zhu Xunshuo flared up: “You—”  

But then he caught himself. He understood what the Hanlin academician represented—how would this nephew, raised like a sheltered maiden, know anything? The boy had been left to his own devices all this time, and now the emperor had meddled by assigning him a tutor to force him to study. If he were happy about it, that would be strange.  

Zhu Xunshuo’s faint suspicions faded. The imperial envoy, who had witnessed him kicking Zhu Chengjun, frowned slightly and urged, “Prince of Commandery, it is time to receive the decree.”  

Zhu Xunshuo had no desire to accept it but lacked the courage to outright refuse. Reluctantly, he stood up, his face sullen, and took the bright yellow scroll.  

After that, he couldn’t even be bothered to dwell on Zhu Chengjun’s matter anymore. Too resentful to engage with the imperial envoy, he turned and strode away without another word.

The imperial envoy who came to deliver the edict was an official from the Court of the Imperial Clan. Accustomed to dealing with these Royal Grandsons and their temperaments, he paid no mind to their attitudes. He simply said to Hanlin Academician Chu, “Lecturer, my duty here is done. I shall return to the capital to report the completion of my task. Farewell, Lecturer.”

Hanlin Academician Chu cupped his hands and nodded.

After the official from the Court of the Imperial Clan left, Hanlin Academician Chu turned around only to find that Zhu Chengjun had also slipped away at some point. The vast front courtyard, blanketed in white snow, now held only him.

A few servants in the corners cast faint, amused glances his way. The Hanlin academician, who should have been climbing the ladder toward becoming an imperial tutor, could only shake his head with a bitter smile.

**

Zhu Chengjun walked along the path back to the main hall.

A thin, frail eunuch hunched his shoulders as he followed closely behind. Glancing back to ensure they were far from the front courtyard and no one else was around, he hastily reached out to brush off the shoe print left by the kick on Zhu Chengjun’s clothes. With a pained expression, he exhaled a white puff of air and asked, “Ninth Master, where did Prince of Commandery Zhu Xunshuo kick you? Does it hurt?”

Zhu Chengjun continued walking, swinging his arms. “It doesn’t hurt. I dodged it.”

“That Prince of Commandery Zhu Xunshuo—venting his own frustrations on you, Ninth Master. Some uncle he is!” The little eunuch, far less composed, wore an expression of shared indignation, grumbling angrily. “He’s not even half as kind as the Emperor. His Majesty is truly benevolent—he’s never even met you, yet he remembers you and specially sent a tutor from the capital.”

Zhu Chengjun lowered his lashes, curling his lips into a faint, mocking smile.

The derision in his laugh left the little eunuch bewildered. “Ninth Master, did I say something wrong?”

Zhu Chengjun chuckled. “Of course you did.”

Since when did good fortune ever fall from the sky?

This so-called “remembrance” was something he had painstakingly maneuvered into existence through indirect pleas.

Of course—he hadn’t shed a single tear. With hundreds of miles between them, even if he cried two vats of tears, the Emperor wouldn’t see them. The only way was to lay out the facts in a way that forced everyone to take notice. If the Emperor had any regard for his own reputation, he couldn’t ignore a nephew on the verge of being driven mad by confinement—he had to show some mercy.

This tactic was something he had learned on the spot from Zhu Xunshuo. That day in the hall, when he heard Zhu Xunshuo stubbornly insisting on submitting a petition to the court to “plead his grievances,” he instantly understood what his second uncle was scheming.

Zhu Xunshuo failed. He succeeded.

The little eunuch had no idea what he was thinking. After waiting a moment without an explanation, knowing his master’s temperament, he didn’t press further. Instead, he cheered up on his own. “Well, no matter what, things will be better from now on. With the tutor sent by the Emperor, others will think twice before bullying you, Ninth Master. Oh—should we have left the tutor back there? It’s his first time in the residence, and he doesn’t know the way. Plus, it’s snowing.”

Zhu Chengjun replied airily, “So what?”

The little eunuch fretted, “I’m afraid the tutor might hold it against you, Ninth Master.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Zhu Chengjun didn’t slow his steps. Only when the main hall—hastily converted into a mourning hall for the Prince of Dai’s funeral—came into view did he speak again. “There’s nothing we can do about it anyway. Second Uncle just had his hopes dashed and is in a rage. Once he’s vented his anger, he’ll put on a different face.”

The young eunuch was taken aback for a moment before suddenly understanding: “Your Highness is right. The Second Prince of Commandery still covets the title of nobility, so how would he dare offend the imperial tutor Mr. Chu sent by His Majesty. By the way, Your Highness, when I was hiding aside earlier, I only half understood the imperial edict—it seemed to mention selecting a few virtuous local youths to serve as Your Highness’s Study Companions. I’m not sure if I heard correctly—”

They had reached the steps of the main hall. White mourning banners fluttered wildly in the cold wind, their rustling blending with the wails and sobs rising intermittently from within. The chatty young eunuch promptly fell silent, swiftly adopting a grief-stricken expression as if mourning his own parents.

All expression vanished from Zhu Chengjun’s face as well, turning wooden. He walked in silently, found an inconspicuous corner, and knelt down.