Chapter 23

And in another timeline, Lady Gong of the Wang Fu indeed died by being buried alive with the deceased.

Upon receiving news of Zhu Youdun's death, the Emperor, considering his repeated petitions refusing to be buried alive with the deceased, decided to honor his final wish and ordered that the Wang Fei and ladies of the Zhou Wangfu without sons need not die by being buried alive with the deceased.

When the imperial edict arrived at the Zhou Wangfu, the bodies of Lady Gong and the six ladies had long grown cold.

As soon as the Zhou Wang died, Zhu Youjue, according to ancestral custom, ordered Lady Gong and the six ladies to die by being buried alive with the deceased.

Since this was ancestral law, although Zhu Youjue acted swiftly, neither the Emperor nor the imperial court blamed him—they could only sigh and posthumously bestow titles upon Lady Gong and the six ladies.

But Pan Yun thought that, compared to posthumous titles, they would have preferred to live.

Seeing the Zhou Wang gaze skeptically at the cat in her arms, Pan Yun quietly poked its belly with her finger, 【Speak human words.】

Pan Xiaohei: "Meow—I'd still be clinging to you if I could speak human words as a cat?"

The Zhou Wang met the black cat's eyes, clear as glass, and suddenly drifted off—only snapping back to awareness when the cat looked away, his eyes instantly alight; when he turned back to Pan Yun, his demeanor grew far more solemn: "I trust you, young friend. Please sit."

Pan Yun: …

She glanced down at the black cat in her arms, 【What did you just do?】

Pan Xiaohei was curious too—it had merely instinctively retorted at Pan Yun.

Could it be…

Pan Yun and Pan Xiaohei both stared intently at the Zhou Wang—could he also possess the ability to communicate with all things?

Pan Yun fixed her gaze on his chest, eager to know how many heart cavities he had—or what other innate talent he possessed.

She opened her mouth, suppressed the urge to ask, and ultimately said nothing.

Didn't Tao Ji also wonder about her magic and talents?

Yet he rarely mentioned it—clearly, people of this time avoided such topics.

Pan Yun kept silently reminding herself: be polite, be polite, there's plenty of time, plenty of time…

So she sat back down on the small stool.

The Zhou Wang had lived a lifetime—what manner of people hadn't he seen?

Yet Pan Yun, in both her past and present lives, had lived in utterly simple environments: in her past life, she had spent her entire existence from birth to death within a school, a naive, wide-eyed graduate student;

In this life, she never stepped beyond her inner courtyard, and had few opportunities to scheme.

The last time she had schemed was against Master Xuanmiao and Tao Ji.

Though her face showed little expression, her eyes seemed to speak volumes—the Zhou Wang guessed instantly.

He burst into laughter, then volunteered, "A dying man may perceive things differently—I sensed it, in this cat."

Though he was near death, the Zhou Wang was not bound by it; instead, he radiated calm acceptance.

He had been ill too long—early in his illness he had struggled, but later, he had simply lain down, surrendered, and accepted his fate.

When fate decreed his death, he would die.

He needed only to do his utmost.

Once he accepted this, the Zhou Wang began to perceive more.

Especially three years ago, when he had once faced death—he awoke afterward and saw the world with far greater clarity, able to perceive more directly the true feelings of those around him.

Resentment, hatred, love, reluctance, calculation—all kinds of emotions were present.

Take this young girl before him, for instance.

She might truly possess spirit communication—but he still sensed a faint trace of calculation emanating from her, present nonetheless.

What did this child hope to exchange with him?

"I beg you, young friend, to guide me—how can I spare the people of my household from being buried alive with the deceased?"

Pan Yun held the black cat and, using her limited knowledge, deduced it had high probability.

The current Emperor is a fifteen-year-old boy—he listens to flattery, favors kin, is soft to pleas but hard to coercion; thus, begging is more effective than formal petitions.

Though she loathed him and Wang Zhen, Pan Yun said: "Your Highness should personally write a pleading letter to the Emperor, then, in Lady Gong's name, bring heavy gold to beg Wang Zhen to intercede on your behalf—this will secure eight-tenths of success; the remaining two-tenths depend on Heaven's will."

The Zhou Wang's face darkened, his chest heaving, "Wang Zhen… How can the Emperor be swayed by a eunuch?"

Pan Yun spoke coolly: "The Emperor favors Wang Zhen—we have no choice but to act thus."

The Zhou Wang refused—was this not aiding a tyrant, granting Wang Zhen unwarranted prestige?

Future historians would record his name for it.

Seeing the Zhou Wang reluctant, Pan Yun said: "Then write a dying man's letter—let's see if our Emperor is soft-hearted enough."

The Zhou Wang agreed to this method, called his long-serving attendant, and took up his brush to write.

But he had been ill for so long, hadn't held a brush in years—now his hand trembled, and he struggled to form characters, the strokes still shaking.

He glanced at the result, wanted to throw it away and have someone else rewrite it.

But Pan Yun thought it perfect—it would convince the young Emperor that his uncle-grandfather was truly dying.

The Zhou Wang composed a logically sound letter, but Pan Yun felt his approach was wrong. She imagined herself as the young Emperor and judged the letter unconvincing—so she took the brush and rewrote it for him, then had him copy it verbatim.

The Zhou Wang: …

He read Pan Yun's letter, frowning deeply: "Nonsense—this letter contradicts itself, rambling and incoherent. If you say I am devoted to Dao, fond of quietude, and do not wish my Wang Fei and ladies to disturb me, how can you then claim I am deeply attached to them and cannot bear their being buried alive with the deceased? Then you add that the people suffer hardship, and I cannot bear for my kin and servants to endure being buried alive with the deceased—what is the real reason?"

Pan Yun: "All of them."

The Zhou Wang: "But these contradict—how can the Emperor believe either?"

Pan Yun: "He will believe both."

"Impossible!" Was the Emperor an idiot?

Pan Yun sighed at the Zhou Wang: "Your Highness, you write operas—you value logic. But children don't care for logic—we care for emotion.

This letter is saturated with your feeling: love for yourself, love for your wives, compassion for the people. The Emperor is a man of emotion—he will understand you."

The Zhou Wang remained skeptical.

Finally, Pan Yun conceded: "Very well—copy this one first. Then seal both letters and send them to the palace. Submit mine first. If the Emperor grows angry or ignores it, then submit yours."

"No," Zhou Wang felt this letter disgraced his craft, making him seem like an unprofessional playwright, so he said: "Submit mine first; if it's useless, then submit yours."

!.

Pan Yun silently calculated, her eyes glinting slightly as she nodded: "Fine, but I have a few words of instruction for the messenger."

Zhou Wang glanced at her sparkling eyes and agreed.

So the personal attendant went to fetch Zhou Wang's trusted confidant, while Zhou Wang picked up his brush to copy the letter.

By the time he finished, the confidant had already been waiting nearby.

Pan Yun sealed both letters, marked them distinctly, and handed them to the confidant, instructing: "Deliver the first letter first. If there's no reply after two days, have the Chief Secretary deliver the second letter, saying the Prince is critically ill, unconscious, the Zhou Wangfu has already prepared the funeral rites, and this is the Prince's final letter before falling into coma."

The confidant stared, dumbfounded, glancing at Zhou Wang behind her.

The personal attendant couldn't help shouting: "Impudent!"

But Zhou Wang's eyes shone with excitement; he told the attendant: "Say exactly that—to the Chief Secretary, tell him you left me in the final flicker of life, with little time left. Leave now, take men to catch up with the Chief Secretary."

The confidant accepted the letters and departed immediately.

Zhou Wang was not satisfied—he had often coached others in acting, but this was his first time performing himself, using his own life and death as the stage.

Ah, if he'd known you could play it this way, he should've started two years ago.

Zhou Wang and Pan Yun exchanged glances, both feeling as if they'd finally found a kindred spirit.

Pan Yun stayed with Zhou Wang; Zhu Zijin went to the guest quarters to request Tao Ji and Master Xuanmiao remain to treat Zhou Wang, and to thank them for saving Zhu Tongqie.

In short, it was about cultivating ties and keeping them around.

Tao Ji and Master Xuanmiao exchanged glances; they had already cast their votes, so they agreed without hesitation.

Zhu Zijin sighed in relief, glanced around, and asked: "Where is Young Master Pan Xiao? My son keeps talking about her. He just returned home, terrified—please have her spend more time with him, soothe his emotions. Perhaps, from now on, let them play together?"

Play with a child?

No no no—Pan Yun's companions were people her own age; playing with a child? That was playing with a child, wasn't it?

Tao Ji's lips curled slightly as he said gently: "She's probably in the main courtyard of the Zhou Wangfu right now."

Zhu Zijin froze, then rose quickly to take his leave, hurrying toward the main courtyard.

Zhou Wang was weak, spending most of his time in unconscious sleep; his sleep was poor, so he most dreaded noise.

May Young Master Pan Xiao not disturb Zhou Wang.

But halfway there, Zhu Zijin was intercepted by Wang Fei's people: "Young Master, Wang Fei wishes to speak with you."

Zhu Zijin could only turn and go to Wang Fei.

Gu Shi was still feeding the child, so she hadn't brought him; Wang Fei's courtyard was empty, lacking vitality.

Zhu Zijin knew this was because she had dismissed many servants; now only a few remained to attend her.

Gu Shi handed him several slave contracts and said: "I originally planned to free Xinniang and the others, to spare them… but life outside is harsh, and I fear they'd suffer. Since the Prince has restored you to our family name, take these contracts. When I follow your father in death, keep them to serve you—give them a place to live and earn their livelihood."

Zhu Zijin froze, then knelt immediately: "Mother, why speak such words? Now that I've been restored to your name, I am your son—I will care for you until your final breath."

None dared speak openly of the burial-alive matter, fearing someone might overhear and report them for resentful speech.

Zhu Zijin believed Wang Fei's fate of burial-alive had been decided, but Wang Fei was more cautious than he.

Her eyes were slightly red as she said: "Good child, I know your heart—but life is uncertain, nothing is fixed. No one knows if things will go well. Take these contracts now. Remember: I do not need maids or servants to die with me. When the time comes, give them the contracts and let them go free."

Her eyes reddening slightly, she said, "Good child, I know your intentions, but the affairs of the world are ever-changing—nothing is fixed and unchanging, and no one knows whether things will go smoothly. Keep this deed of servitude on you for now, and remember this: I do not need maidservants or serving-women to accompany me in death. In the future, settle them properly. If… then return the deeds to them, and let them go wherever they wish."

The ten lucky numbers for this chapter are those ending in 4; screenshot as proof. Screenshot deadline: before the next chapter is released.

The ten lucky numbers for this chapter are numbers ending in 4; screenshots will serve as proof, and the deadline for screenshots is before the next chapter is posted.

(End of Chapter)