Chapter 25: Support or Oppose

Superstition always chooses to believe what one wants to believe, and to doubt what one does not want to believe.

Prince Zhou was already superstitious; Pan Yun had demonstrated her abilities, and her words struck right at his heart—what was originally only six-tenths belief became nine-tenths after he pondered it.

Prince Zhou firmly believed Zhu Zijin was his son, though he did not know why he had been reborn into the second son’s household; he urgently said, “Go fetch the Princess Consort—this matter must be told to her.”

The personal attendant smiled and agreed, going to summon the Princess Consort.

Upon hearing Prince Zhou’s report, the Princess Consort’s face showed astonishment, then smoothly replied, “Could it be so?”

She clenched her silk handkerchief and said, “Now that Your Highness mentions it, I recall—I had a dream before Zi Jin’s birth. He was meant to be our child…”

Prince Zhou: “Yes, yes, I remember too. You had so many dreams back then, always waking up at night.”

Wasn’t that a lot of dreams?

The eldest son of the former Prince Zhou had fathered his first grandson, yet his most beloved eldest son remained silent—back then, the Princess Consort bore immense pressure and nearly dreamed every night.

Whether it was a prenatal dream or not—wasn’t it up to her to decide?

With the Princess Consort’s agreement, Prince Zhou became even more certain that Zhu Zijin was his destined child; any notion of incompatibility was pure nonsense.

The Princess Consort seized the opportunity to say, “His Majesty dislikes Zhu Youlao—could someone in court oppose Zi Jin being registered under our name?”

“I’ll write letters to my other brothers and nephews, urging them to pressure the Clan Office,” Prince Zhou said. “This is my family matter—only the Clan Office has authority over it. They all have sons to filially serve them; why deny me my son?”

Of course, Prince Zhou could no longer write these letters himself—he could no longer hold his brush steadily—so he summoned a scribe from the princely mansion to write them.

He wrote over twenty letters, sending them all to his close brothers, cousins, and nephews.

The Zhu family, aside from him, was exceptionally fertile.

The scribe’s eyes grew blurry from writing; he stayed overnight in the main courtyard and wrote another full day before finishing.

When done, Prince Zhou had the personal attendant sort them, then dispatched messengers to deliver them.

Zhu Youjue had already learned the contents of his elder brother’s letter; his heart burned with anguish. “In half a day, how did he suddenly become so adamant about registering him?”

Previously, he had merely sent Zhao Yuansong to bribe the Clan Office—there was still considerable room for maneuver.

If they could bribe, so could he.

Making something happen is endlessly difficult, but destroying it is easy.

As long as he stalls—until his elder brother dies without progress—Zhu Zijin will remain nameless and unacknowledged. He can keep him off the imperial genealogy, make him no heir at all.

With Zhu Youlao as his biological father, he had countless ways to ensure he never became crown prince.

That’s why he would never do something as foolish as ambushing Zhao Yuansong on the road.

That would be handing direct evidence straight into Prince Zhou’s hands.

As long as he commits no grave error, and Zhu Zijin is not officially registered, the most likely successor after his elder brother’s death is himself.

But if Prince Zhou can persuade those princely relatives to plead on his behalf…

The Clan Office manages imperial clan affairs; eight out of ten of its members bear the Zhu surname—in short, it’s family managing its own affairs.

Yet now the Clan Office rarely intervenes; most matters have been transferred to the Ministry of Rites—perhaps he should target the Ministry of Rites instead…

Prince Zhou was also speaking with Zhu Zijin about the Ministry of Rites. “Since Emperor Taizong, most Clan Office duties have been handed to the Ministry of Rites—but matters like genealogical registration still fall under the Clan Office’s authority. I’ve asked many princely relatives to intercede; you should record their names. If they help, remember to repay them later.”

Zhu Zijin agreed.

Prince Zhou said, “Tomorrow, I’ll summon all the estate managers. You should meet them.”

Zhu Zijin looked at Prince Zhou in surprise—he had returned half a year, and this was the first time Prince Zhou had mentioned family matters. Before this, there had been only two things.

Caring for Prince Zhou’s daily needs, and finding his son.

Prince Zhou looked at him gently. “Ke has been found. You should now focus on other family affairs. The princely mansion will rely on you in the future.”

Zhu Zijin’s eyes reddened as he nodded.

After glancing at the time, he said, “Father, let me help you rest.”

Prince Zhou waved him off. “Let the servants handle this.”

Zhu Zijin said nothing, went out, brought warm water, dismissed all servants, then personally wrung out a cloth and carefully washed Prince Zhou.

He knew Prince Zhou disliked servants washing his body—even if their faces showed no expression, their hands moved unevenly, and their hearts deeply resented it.

Not just Prince Zhou—he knew the servants disliked serving him too.

With gratitude, Zhu Zijin tended to Prince Zhou, changed two basins of water, dressed him in clean undergarments and trousers, helped him lie down, then felt the quilt to ensure it was neither too cold nor too hot before withdrawing.

In the dim yellow light, Prince Zhou sighed softly—yes, Zi Jin was born to be his son.

The second son was the one truly incompatible with him.

Pan Yun and the other two temporarily stayed at the Prince’s mansion, visiting Prince Zhou daily and playing with Zhu Tongqie—the days slipped by quickly.

Pan Yun spent most of each day cultivating; every visit to Prince Zhou brought her some gift.

She was happiest to receive real gold and silver; jade pendants and gems she didn’t reject—but she hated receiving items bearing imperial marks.

They were valuable, but hard to convert to cash. Not impossible—black markets might buy them, and she wouldn’t be held accountable.

Pan Yun carefully stored these items, counted her money, and planned to send some to her father soon.

Xuan Miao seemed to sense her intention and said, “If you want to send things, wait until you leave the Prince’s mansion.”

Pan Yun thought a moment and understood: “You fear someone is watching me, tracing me back to my father, suspecting my identity, and uncovering the Embroidered Uniform Guard affair?”

Xuan Miao: “There are many who wish to please Wang Zhen. Your father offended him—even if he’s forgotten him, others will keep whispering his name in his ear, constantly suppressing your father.”

Didn’t the search of the Pan household and your killing of the Embroidered Uniform Guard stem from this very thing?”

“And now, with the Prince’s mansion embroiled in power struggles, we returned Zhu Tongqie and snatched meat from their mouths—how could they not hate us?” Xuan Miao said. “We’re inside the Prince’s mansion now. Once we leave, not only will we be watched—we might lose our lives.”

Anything is dangerous when there’s a flaw, when connections are drawn.

She was formidable—Pan Yun decided to listen to her.

She had noticed during this time: though Xuan Miao spoke little and avoided unnecessary words, her calculations were precise, her foresight deep—far superior to the foolish, simple-minded Tao Ji.

And since childhood, she had lived secluded in the inner quarters, her knowledge of the outside world limited to her father and brothers—her understanding was vastly incomplete. So she decided to follow Xuan Miao’s advice.

!. Read

Prince Zhou, declared by the court physician to be near death, survived another two months under Tao Ji’s care—even Zhu Youjue couldn’t help but return to Xiangfu County first.

But few knew that two months had pushed Prince Zhou’s body to its absolute limit.

Tao Ji spoke seriously with Prince Zhou, then inserted needles to induce unconsciousness, preserving his bodily functions until news arrived from the capital.

Zhao Yuansong carried Prince Zhou’s memorial and letters through the capital, but he could not even secure Zhu Zijin’s registration—let alone petition for him to be named crown prince.

Because everyone, from the Emperor down to Ministry of Rites officials, remembered how fiercely Zhu Youlao had fought to seize the Prince’s title.

The Emperor detested him; the Ministry of Rites and Clan Office feared the trouble.

If they followed Prince Zhou’s dying wish and Zhu Youlao later resurfaced to cause chaos, the Emperor would blame them—Prince Zhou would be dead and gone, but what of them?

So no one dared risk it.

Only when other princely relatives and commandery princes wrote pleading letters did the Clan Office relent—but even then, opposition remained.

Thus, the matter dragged on.

Zhao Yuansong knew that to petition for crown prince status, he must first restore Zhu Zijin’s official registration as heir—only then would it be legitimate.

He took Prince Zhou’s final letter, gritted his teeth, and requested a personal audience with the Emperor to deliver it himself.

The young Emperor’s face darkened at the sight of the Prince’s long history.

Prince Zhou had claimed he was dying for years—and yet still lived.

Zhao Yuansong knelt, weeping. “Your Majesty, a letter from Kaifeng says the Prince has fallen into unconsciousness; the court physician says he has only days left. This is the Prince’s final memorial.”

The young Emperor glanced at the Embroidered Uniform Guard nearby; they quietly withdrew.

A young eunuch took the letter from Zhao Yuansong and presented it to the Emperor, who, as he unsealed it, sympathetically asked, “Prince Zhou has lapsed into unconsciousness again?”

Soon, the Embroidered Uniform Guard returned and whispered into the Emperor’s ear.

The Emperor paused, grew serious, and frowned as he opened the letter.

It was a letter penned by Pan Yun, copied by Prince Zhou—after already writing one, this second version’s handwriting was even more shaky and illegible.

The Emperor felt a heavy pang inside and asked, “Princess Consort has no sons. Did Prince Zhou deeply love her?”

Zhao Yuansong answered, “Yes.” He sensed something and quickly described how Prince Zhou and the Princess Consort had loved each other, shared hardships, and supported one another.

The Emperor: “If they loved each other so deeply, why did the Princess Consort refuse to die with Prince Zhou?”

Zhao Yuansong trembled, head bowed low: “The Princess Consort naturally wished to die with him—but the Prince could not bear it. The heir is still young and needs her guidance; thus, the Prince did not wish her to be buried alive.”

The Emperor, moved, thought of himself, of his father’s deep love for his mother, and of his mother’s tender care for him. At fifteen, the young Emperor finally spoke: “If this was Prince Zhou’s dying wish, then honor it.”

Zhao Yuansong rejoiced, bowing repeatedly. “Thank Your Majesty’s great grace! Thank Your Majesty’s great grace!”

With the Emperor’s command, the Ministry of Rites acted; the previously deadlocked Clan Office ceased arguing, and Zhu Zijin’s name was restored to the genealogy under Zhu Youdun and Gong Shi.

With this official document from the Clan Office, Zhao Yuansong seized the opportunity in court to propose naming Zhu Zijin as Prince Zhou’s crown prince.

The Emperor had been annoyed by them for two months; since Zhu Zijin had been re-registered, father’s death, son’s succession—was natural. The Emperor gave his consent, and the court agreed.

The Ministry of Rites then proposed a decree to exempt Gong Shi and others from burial alive.

Someone in the Clan Office immediately objected: “It’s as if Prince Zhou is already dead—he’s not even dead yet! Why speak of burial alive?”

“Exactly! Burial alive is ancestral custom—how can it be changed so casually?”

The Emperor frowned. “This is Prince Zhou’s dying wish. We change it only for his family, not others. If he consents, that’s enough.”

The ten lucky numbers for this chapter are those ending in 9; screenshot as proof. Screenshot time until next chapter update.

(End of Chapter)