Chapter 30: Sincere Intent

That night, the Prince of Zhou was overjoyed; the light that Xuanmiao had injected into his soul allowed him to enter anyone’s dream at will.

If only he couldn’t leave the Zhou Prince’s mansion, he would have drifted straight to the capital to meet the young emperor in a dream.

But he was busy that night—after leaving Zhang Physician’s dream and confirming he had agreed to travel to the capital the next morning to plead his case, he went to see the Princess.

The Prince of Zhou showered everyone equally: he visited not only the Princess’s dream, but also those of his six consorts, not to mention Zhu Zijin and his two brothers.

The three of them were keeping vigil; even though they were exhausted, they were half-asleep, nodding off only to jolt awake— he thought he couldn’t enter their dreams, but the moment he thought of it, he slipped into all three dreams at once.

The Prince of Zhou was astonished.

Those who simultaneously dreamed of the Prince of Zhou and his two brothers were equally astonished.

After their shock, the four of them embraced and wept bitterly in the dream.

No one knew what the Prince of Zhou spoke to them, but the conversation lasted a long time; when Zhu Zijin awoke, the three brothers exchanged glances, confirmed they had all shared the same dream, and their brotherly bond grew stronger.

For the estrangement of over a decade had, in that moment, lessened considerably.

The Prince of Zhou, who had showered everyone equally, also visited his younger brother in a dream; Pan Yun had no idea what they discussed, but after returning from Zhu Youjue, the Prince of Zhou grew far quieter, and the free, exuberant energy that once clung to him faded significantly.

Seeing him finally calm down, Pan Yun pointed to her head and said, “Come, enter my dream.”

The Prince of Zhou snapped back to himself and studied her. “Are you mad?”

Pan Yun sat upright. “I want to see how her technique differs from mine.”

The Prince of Zhou said, “Just ask her directly— isn’t she your senior sister?”

Pan Yun lied without blinking. “Even among fellow disciples, there are secrets.”

The Prince of Zhou said, “Snooping into others’ secrets isn’t a good habit.”

Pan Yun simply stared at him silently.

“Fine, fine, I’ll do it,” the Prince of Zhou sighed, assuming a posture. “Go to sleep.”

Pan Yun lay down and closed her eyes. For a long while, neither the woman nor the ghost moved.

The black cat, who had been quietly crouched on the rafters, couldn’t help but laugh and let out a meow.

Pan Yun opened her eyes and sat up on the bed.

The Prince of Zhou had nearly fallen asleep himself. “This isn’t my fault—I enter dreams just by thinking of them. I’ve thought about it for ages and still couldn’t enter yours. Don’t blame me if you can’t sleep.”

“I don’t blame you,” Pan Yun said. “Wait. I’m going to meditate.”

Pan Yun adjusted her breath and sat in meditation—not cultivating, but emptying her thoughts, then weaving a dream within her mind. Gradually, she slipped into a half-dreaming, half-awake state.

The Prince of Zhou still couldn’t enter. He could only wander around the room.

He wandered, and wandered, until dawn broke.

The Prince of Zhou sensed something— the doorway to his dream-entry seemed gone. He looked at Pan Yun.

Pan Yun opened her eyes. The first rays of morning sunlight fell upon her.

The two locked eyes for a moment; the Prince of Zhou’s form gradually faded, returning to the ancestral hall.

Pan Yun sighed and asked the black cat on the rafters, “Why can’t he enter my dream?”

Pan Xiaohei: “Meow. Your will is strong, your Baiwan Palace as solid as a rock—ghosts can’t penetrate it. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Pan Yun no longer dwelled on it. She decided that, if the chance arose, she would trade this technique with Xuanmiao.

This method of dream-entry was highly adaptable—far more natural than her own dream-weaving, and far more convincing as a spirit’s visitation.

Zhang Physician and the eunuch Qian, who had both been pressed by a ghost and had deep, face-to-face conversations with the Prince of Zhou, were thoroughly convinced. At dawn, they came to bid Zhu Zijin farewell.

They were willing to plead on behalf of the Zhou Prince’s mansion…

Zhu Zijin immediately handed them the memorial he had copied the day before, along with the gifts the Prince of Zhou had instructed him to give.

The eunuch Qian received a box of golden trinkets—golden ingots, golden beans, all gleaming yellow and beautifully crafted.

Zhang Physician received a cookbook, said to be from the previous dynasty’s imperial kitchen.

It was an artifact from the former dynasty; giving it away wasn’t against protocol.

Both men were delighted with their gifts. They took the memorial and departed immediately.

Zhu Zijin saw them off at the mansion’s main gate. Zhu Youjue arrived in haste, catching only their fading backs.

The uncle and nephew exchanged glances, both thinking of the dream from last night.

Zhu Zijin: Father never lied to me—he must have arranged everything in his dream last night.

Zhu Youjue remained half-skeptical. Yet it matched almost exactly what his elder brother had said in the dream—could it truly be that some possessed foresight, or that spirits could enter dreams?

Today, people began arriving at the Zhou Prince’s mansion to pay their respects.

The Princess, accompanied by the six consorts, kept vigil and wept. The six consorts moved together daily, sleeping three to a room at night, with no incident whatsoever.

The imperial clan members who came to pay respects saw no names on the list for Xunzang and asked—only to learn the people had not yet been sacrificed. They grew displeased with Zhu Zijin.

“Though he wasn’t your biological father, he raised you. Knowing you suffered, he went out of his way to bring you back to inherit his title. For that alone, you shouldn’t be unfilial.”

“Your father has been dead three days, yet you haven’t even chosen someone to die with him—do you intend to make your father lead the way for a pack of servants?”

Zhu Zijin bowed humbly. “Father could not bear to sacrifice the living. He has already submitted a memorial to His Majesty. We now wait only for the imperial decree.”

The Emperor had already received Zhu Zijin’s memorial. Knowing Zhang Physician and the others had arrived just in time to see the Prince of Zhou’s final moments, he sighed to Wang Zhen: “Thankfully we didn’t delay in naming the heir—if we had, wouldn’t the Prince of Zhou have died with regret?”

Wang Zhen naturally smiled and praised His Majesty’s wisdom.

“Issue the imperial decree granting the Zhou Prince’s heir his title. Since Zhang Physician is already familiar with the matter, let him deliver it.”

Zhang Physician: … Really didn’t want to go again.

But Zhang Physician could only agree.

Wang Zhen interjected: “Your Majesty, why rush? The Zhou Prince’s heir must observe mourning. Why not wait until he completes a full year before issuing the decree? Otherwise, the Prince of Zhou has barely passed, and his heir assumes the title—how can the court feel neither sorrow nor joy? It would undermine filial piety.”

Zhang Physician, standing nearby: … What nonsense is this? When the former emperor died, the new emperor ascended immediately—does that mean the new emperor is unfilial?

But the Emperor thought Wang Zhen was right, nodding repeatedly: “Good. Do it that way. Wait until he completes a full year of mourning before issuing the decree.”

Will the young Emperor still remember Zhu Zijin a year from now?

Zhang Physician glanced quickly at Wang Zhen—he feared that when the Zhou Prince’s heir eventually succeeded, he’d have to pay a fortune to get Wang Zhen to intervene.

Zhang Physician recalled the gift he had received and quickly mentioned the Prince of Zhou’s dying wish, hinting: “The Zhou Prince’s mansion knows His Majesty wishes to honor the Prince’s final wish, so we have held off on the Xunzang matter, awaiting only His Majesty’s command.”

The eunuch Qian nodded vigorously, describing how the Prince of Zhou had pleaded and fretted in his final moments: “The Prince of Zhou was kind-hearted—he couldn’t bear to see life taken. Even at death’s door, he couldn’t forget this. As soon as Zhao Yuansong returned, he asked about it. When he learned His Majesty intended to approve it in court, he ate two bowls of rice with joy, smiling all the way out.”

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The Emperor immediately said, “Issue the decree at once—don’t miss the Prince’s seventh day.”

Wang Zhen narrowed his eyes, glanced at the eunuch Qian, then at Zhang Physician, and sneered inwardly.

But seeing the Emperor eagerly preparing to write the decree himself, he said nothing further.

To the young Emperor, this was a novel act—breaking ancestral custom, yet a good one—and he was delighted to write the decree himself.

Of course, it still had to be reviewed by the Grand Secretariat before being stamped and issued.

This time, the young Emperor again sent officials from the Ministry of Rites and the Directorate of Ceremonial to deliver the decree.

The Director of Ceremonial, eunuch Wang Zhen, suggested to the eunuch Qian: “First time’s a stranger, second time’s familiar—he’s been once already. Let him go again; the journey will be smoother.”

The Ministry of Rites, seizing the opportunity, also recommended Zhang Physician.

Zhang Physician and the eunuch Qian: …

Though delivering the decree might bring profit, such a long official journey was exhausting—especially since they might encounter the Prince of Zhou again.

What if the Prince of Zhou asked why there was no decree naming his heir?

But Zhang Physician and the eunuch Qian forced smiles, pretending delight, accepted the decree returned from the Grand Secretariat, and left the palace.

Yes, official travel was this painful—look at them, they’d just returned, hadn’t even entered their homes.

Their luggage was already packed, though dirty and stinking, but they could grab it and leave immediately.

Better than being exiled from the capital.

Today, a capital official had just received his exile order. As soon as he got the document, he boarded a donkey cart and left the city, not even carrying a change of clothes.

The two groups met at the city gate. Zhang Physician recognized the man; they exchanged tearful glances before departing the city together.

Zhang Physician waited on the road and whispered, “Brother, when you return to the city, please send word to my home—I’ll be back in ten days at most.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll delay my return until the gate closes. Alas, the decree came suddenly—I have no money. Could you lend me some to tide me over?”

Zhang Physician asked, “Where are you being posted?”

“Guangxin Prefecture in Jiangxi.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll write a letter to my wife—she’ll arrange twenty taels for you.”

Twenty taels was no small sum—enough to settle in.

The man agreed. They murmured together for a while, then parted.

The eunuch Qian was unfazed.

The founding Emperor had decreed that to prevent exiled capital officials from accepting bribes, they must immediately leave the city upon receiving their official documents and seals.

Anyone who dared return home would be punished.

But officials couldn’t possibly travel on only the meager travel allowance the court provided—they needed food, lodging, and funds to settle in their new posts.

So above, there were policies; below, there were workarounds.

After leaving the capital, officials would secretly return to steal money or borrow funds.

An unspoken understanding: as long as no one made a scandal, everyone turned a blind eye.

Even the eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial knew this—everyone in court understood it, except the man on the dragon throne.

Zhang Physician had lent twenty taels, unsure when he’d ever recover them. His mood was poor.

Constant travel made it worse.

So when he returned to the Zhou Prince’s mansion, his face was as sour as could be, leaving the household anxious—was this good news or bad?

The Princess and Zhu Zijin led the entire mansion to receive the decree. When they clearly heard the Emperor had honored the Prince of Zhou’s final wish and abolished the Xunzang for all in the Zhou Prince’s household, every single person sagged with relief.

The six ladies paused, then burst into tears, pounding the ground and wailing, “My Lord—My Lord, how could you abandon us—”

The servants behind them also broke into loud sobs, especially those who had served Prince Zhou closely—they wept as if they had lost their own parents; never before had they mourned Prince Zhou with such genuine sorrow.

Reminder: Tonight’s ten lucky numbers end in 5; screenshot as proof.

(End of Chapter)