Chapter 86: I, Lu Chen, Have Cultivated on Zhongnan for Fifteen Years

You heard Ma Bao’s words and already understood the imperial decree’s true nature.

Lu Yu had long grown impatient; before the eunuch behind Ma Bao could even retrieve the edict, it shattered violently in midair.

It turned into countless fluttering scraps, silk and paper drifting like snow.

The young eunuch’s face turned instantly pale, terror plain on his face; he knelt on the ground, trembling as he glanced at his master, the Grand Eunuch Ma Bao.

To tear up the imperial edict was a crime of the gravest kind, punishable by death; he was utterly lost, wondering why such an accident had occurred—how could a lowly eunuch possibly bear such guilt?

Ma Bao crouched down and carefully picked up each fragment, clutching them tightly in his hands.

Liu Jinchan sighed, his expression complex.

The seven disciples behind Lu Yu glared fiercely, filled with outrage.

Especially Yang Su, whose fury burned uncontrollably, his eyes blazing with menace.

The capital dared imprison Uncle Lu, sending an edict to Zhongnan Mountain ordering Uncle’s elder brother to return to the capital for questioning.

Lu Chen’s father was imprisoned on charges of association.

Uncle had once served the Eighth Prince’s Jing Wangfu , but after the Eighth Prince fled the capital and declared himself Prince Jing in open rebellion, he became an enemy of the court.

Uncle, having a wife and daughter at home, chose to remain in the capital.

For years, he had hidden his identity within the Lu household, serving as Mother’s personal guard—until one day, when he intervened to save her from danger, someone recognized him.

Under cover of night, one secret report after another was laid upon the Emperor’s desk.

The next morning, three thousand Imperial Guards surrounded the Lu residence.

Imperial decree: Hand over Wei Gao, and you shall be spared punishment.

Your uncle’s name is Wei Gao.

The Lu residence fell silent.

Lu Chen’s father, Lu Jiaxuan, now sixty-eight, stepped out of the Lu residence and walked alone along the ten-li-long street, bare-chested, carrying thorns on his back, to beg for pardon at the imperial palace.

He knelt before Wu’an Gate; the midday sun blazed like fire, while women gathered around, whispering and laughing—until afternoon, when the palace gates finally opened.

That same afternoon, Uncle turned himself in at the Dalisi , biting off half his tongue to ensure not a single member of the Lu family would be implicated.

On the third day, Uncle’s daughter arrived at the imperial palace with a blood-written petition, striking the Heavenly Drum—before she could even step inside, she was arrested and taken to the Eastern Depot.

This cousin, whom you have never met, is the last living bloodline of the Wei family.

The reason is simple: Wei Gao’s father died at thirty in the northern winds; his younger brother died at twenty-five during the northern invasion.

All six sons of the Wei family perished in the north.

In the afternoon, Mother visited the mansions of several high officials: the Xie family, the Chen family, and others.

Yet by nightfall, every door remained tightly shut.

Lu Yu had risen to his feet, his anger no longer containable.

“Stop picking them up,” he said coldly, his voice devoid of any emotion.

The edict in Ma Bao’s hands shattered again under invisible force, shards flying, cutting Ma Bao’s fingers until they were covered in blood.

Ma Bao felt the pressure around him like solid walls of air, suffocating him.

His mouth tasted bitter—was this the realm beyond Grand Master? Merely by aura, he could barely hold himself upright.

Yet Ma Bao forced his head up, gazing at the man seated at the head of the hall, his expression cold.

The course of this matter rested entirely in the hands of this Shaobao.

Ma Bao hoped the Shaobao would consider the greater good—for the sake of the people.

Ma Bao clenched his teeth and pleaded: “Please, Shaobao, think carefully—for the sake of Daqing’s people!”

“His Majesty has just ascended the throne; please, Shaobao, show leniency. If the matter is explained clearly, Uncle Lu will surely be spared.”

Lu Yu also turned to look at you!

“Brother, make your decision.”

Your gaze settled on Ma Bao.

Ma Bao shuddered all over—not from any overwhelming aura, but from the chilling sensation of being utterly seen through.

You withdrew your gaze.

Slowly stood up.

Walked to Ma Bao’s side and patted his shoulder.

“Your uncle’s daughter was rescued by the Imperial Seal, wasn’t she? Otherwise, how could the Western Depot have intervened at the Imperial Palace’s Heavenly Drum?”

Ma Bao lowered his head, silent; the crushing pressure around him eased considerably.

You said nothing more.

You stared blankly at the scene beyond the door—autumn had come, the sky high and the clouds thin, the fruit on the mountains ripened year after year.

Your father, the man who abandoned scholarship for martial arts to reclaim the north, passed by his home three times without entering—thirty years of ceaseless toil.

He always said he owed his greatest regret to Mother and to you two brothers.

That year, just after his marriage, news of the northern invasion reached them; the next day, he bade farewell to Mother and rode north.

One step out the door—he was gone for twenty years.

Father always said he was unworthy as a husband.

You two brothers grew up, and he never kept you by his side.

As a father, he owed you too much.

But he never failed Daqing.

During those years of northern invasion, Daqing’s forces retreated step by step beneath the Iron Cavalry; Father’s letters home were hurried and brief, always ending with: “Beneath the peach tree in the courtyard, we buried wine for you two boys when you were born—don’t forget it when you marry.”

Each letter was also a farewell.

At the end of each letter was another line: “If the north is pacified, do not forget to tell your father at the ancestral rites.”

To give one’s life for the nation’s peril—death is as natural as returning home.

Father was originally a Confucian scholar, always proper and courteous; the Lu family poured all their wealth into the righteous army resisting the north—even in poverty, he kept his faded white Confucian robe neatly worn.

When had he ever gone bare-chested, walking ten li, subjected to the people’s pointing fingers?

You took a deep breath.

Mother came from a noble family, steeped in scholarship.

She had never begged anyone in her life.

When you were children, she taught you two brothers: never seek favors from others.

Even in the Lu family’s darkest days, Mother held up the entire household with her frail shoulders.

When there was no food at home, this daughter of a wealthy family took up needlework to make ends meet.

When had Mother ever begged anyone?

Even when the Lu family was prosperous, they lived plainly; Father’s salary barely covered household expenses, and even the servants’ weddings and children’s upbringing were paid for by the Lu family.

During New Year’s porridge distributions, the Lu gates were always crowded, often serving porridge for days on end—longer than some noble families.

Everyone knew the Lu family would have to tighten their belts again, yet Mother had never bought herself a single fine garment.

Each time she served porridge, she smiled and said: “I’m accumulating merit for you two boys.”

Last month’s letter spoke mostly of you two brothers—you are past thirty, yet Mother still sees you as children.

Your chest rose and fell.

Uncle spent his life obsessed with “northward, northward”—how many Wei sons died on the battlefield?

When drunk, Uncle once swore: “Without crushing the north, how can I have a home?”

But every man eventually meets the woman he loves most in life.

“Country” and “family”—two words, yet reversed in meaning.

“Establish family, then career”—or “establish career, then family.”

Now, with such a crisis at home, not a single letter reached Zhongnan Mountain.

Your parents refused to burden him; Uncle did the same.

Even Uncle’s daughter, now about ten years old, seemed to have no thoughts of her own.

She struck the Heavenly Drum with the resolve to die.

You looked at the ginkgo tree in the courtyard—its leaves had turned gold, blanketing the ground; next spring, it would bloom again in full splendor.

“I, Lu Chen, have cultivated on Zhongnan for fifteen years.”

The relationship between uncle and niece above is mixed up—I’ll fix it later.

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(End of Chapter)