Chapter 333

"Why are you so certain, Officer Chen? Within one or two months, with my Gao family's influence, how could I possibly not get out?"

Gao Shiliu refused to give up.

He kept telling himself: Don't be fooled by some lowly jailer. What does a jailer know about officialdom? He probably doesn't even know what officialdom looks like.

Chen Guanlou saw through his thoughts and smiled confidently, "Do you think I'm just talking nonsense?"

Gao Shiliu said nothing, but his expression said it all.

Chen Guanlou smiled faintly, "Aren't you curious why I'm so sure you won't get out in one or two months? Do you understand what statistics are? Never mind, even if you don't."

I'll just tell you this: in the past few decades since His Majesty ascended the throne, not a single person imprisoned for disrespect or grave disrespect has ever been released within one or two months. The shortest anyone served was half a year. And many of those prisoners came from distinguished families, possessed talent and scholarly degrees, held legitimate official posts—far superior to your purchased rank. Tell me, why should you be an exception?"

"Gao Shiliu."

"Who understands the Heavenly Prison better—you or me?" Chen Guanlou smirked. "You've been misled. Young Master Sixteen, forget past cases—just look at this one. You've offended Prince Zhong."

"So what? He's just Prince Zhong, not the Crown Prince. He's already been deposed."

"Precisely because he's been deposed, His Majesty must punish your Gao family severely—and Prince Yan will suffer along with you."

"Why?"

"Because His Majesty must compensate Prince Zhong!"

"If he's going to compensate him, why depose the Crown Prince at all?"

Chen Guanlou sighed, "Deposing the Crown Prince and compensating Prince Zhong aren't mutually exclusive. When you were a child, didn't your father beat you, then give you a treat afterward? That's called striking first, then offering a sweet jujube—a crude but effective way to win loyalty. You're a merchant; you've surely used similar tactics on your managers—scold them, then hand out rewards."

"But this is the Crown Prince's position! How can you compare it to ordinary matters?" Gao Shiliu still resisted, though inwardly he was already leaning toward Chen Guanlou's words.

"The essence is the same. Deposing the Crown Prince is punishment; compensating Prince Zhong is the sweet jujube. You're a Gao, well-traveled and well-informed—how can you fail to see such a simple thing?" Chen Guanlou clicked his tongue.

Gao Shiliu was blinded by a single leaf.

In fact, most court officials—even the imperial princes—were blinded by a single leaf.

As Gao Shiliu said, everyone understood the logic, everyone knew how to use the tactic—but no one dared consider deposing the Crown Prince.

That's the Crown Prince! A matter shaking the very foundation of the state—even sparking a military coup. How could such a monumental act be treated like child's play: depose him, then hand out rewards right after?

That's madness!

If you depose him, you must crush him utterly—lest his faction rise again, stir chaos in court, and disrupt the state order.

Throughout history, every deposed Crown Prince has been treated this way: struck dead with one blow. Even if not killed outright, the knife cuts slowly, flesh by flesh.

You don't depose someone, then immediately feel guilty and start compensating him. That's not how it's done.

The rules of the game aren't like that. The foundation of the state isn't a toy to be played with.

Besides, if you do this, public sentiment will shift.

When the people are anxious and unsettled, instability follows—terrible for maintaining order and calming the realm.

Only a foolish, senile old emperor would act this way.

But over the past years, the old emperor has been consistently senile.

Gao Shiliu was speechless, unable to refute him: "How could this be? Has His Majesty regretted it? Does he plan to reinstate Prince Zhong as Crown Prince?"

"That won't happen," Chen Guanlou said.

Gao Shiliu instantly exhaled in relief. Good. If Prince Zhong were reinstated as Crown Prince, he couldn't imagine how chaotic the court would become. As the first to be targeted, the court might not exile him—but his own family would. They'd banish him to some godforsaken wasteland, condemning him to a lifetime of misery.

Just thinking of that outcome sent chills down his spine.

"His Majesty has suffered enough. He probably won't appoint another Crown Prince," Chen Guanlou said.

"If he doesn't appoint a Crown Prince, how will the throne be passed on?" Gao Shiliu didn't believe it.

"He can leave a will, an edict naming a specific prince as heir."

Gao Shiliu frowned deeply. "That would bring endless problems! The new emperor would ascend with no trusted ministers, no loyal faction of his own. If someone deliberately stirred trouble, chaos would erupt."

Chen Guanlou teased, "You've got a lot to say."

"Hmph! Our Gao family has long established a clear heir and cultivated his inner circle. That way, during transitions, everything proceeds smoothly and orderly. Imperial succession is no different from family succession. Appointing a Crown Prince is fundamentally about cultivating a mature, loyal faction for the future ruler, ensuring a stable transfer of power. An edict of succession is no match for a formally appointed Crown Prince. His Majesty is truly foolish. I used to hear people say he'd grown senile—I didn't believe it. Now I do!"

Once convinced, Gao Shiliu grew even more panicked.

Because he realized Chen Guanlou was likely right—he probably wouldn't get out in one or two months.

The words those people told him before he entered were probably just meant to pacify him, to silence him and keep him from causing trouble.

Suddenly, he felt overwhelming despair, fury—but no power to change anything.

He was a Gao. Everything was subordinate to the Gao family's interests. His imprisonment was, at its core, him taking the blame for the family.

But to sit in prison for one or two years? His heart turned cold.

When he emerged, every position would be filled. The slots left for him would be scraps, the leftovers.

If he had scholarly credentials, his prison term might even earn him a promotion—he could return to office, even rise higher. In today's officialdom, men who've endured imprisonment for "unyielding integrity" are especially welcomed.

Take Zhao Mingqiao, for example. After his release, he became wildly popular in court. Even if he acted recklessly, many would tolerate him.

This ties into recent scholarly trends.

Because the old emperor is senile, criticizing him, opposing him, has become politically correct. Anyone imprisoned for it—and later released—gains immense prestige.

Zhao Mingqiao's stint in the Heavenly Prison turned him into a fame machine.

Whatever he wanted to do, a wave of passionate young men backed him—each one rich or noble, either with a powerful father, a mighty clan, a renowned master, or exceptional talent that made them famous across the land.