Chapter 864: Request the Establishment of a New Emperor

Empress Dowager Sun swept her gaze over their faces, knowing the tide had turned; she could not oppose, and dared not oppose.

Great Ming must not perish on her hands, nor on her son's; she clenched her eyes shut hard, then nodded: "Agreed. Let Prince Cheng succeed to the throne."

Yu Qian had expected long persuasion to sway Empress Dowager Sun, yet never imagined she would so easily consent.

He immediately knelt and performed the grand kowtow: "Your Radiance is wise; your servants kowtow in gratitude!"

Wang Zhi and the other ministers followed suit, but before they could echo his words, the Empress Dowager suddenly opened her eyes and fixed them with a stare: "But I have conditions."

The ministers lifted their heads to look at Empress Dowager Sun.

Empress Dowager Sun's face was expressionless, half of it shadowed by the screen, appearing dim: "The Retired Emperor is the true lineage; the Crown Prince must come from his line."

Yu Qian frowned sharply: "Your Radiance, the Retired Emperor currently has no sons."

Empress Dowager Sun's face remained expressionless: "Once you rescue the Retired Emperor, he will naturally have one."

Yu Qian frowned, about to object, when Wang Zhi tugged at his sleeve from behind.

Yu Qian fell silent; Wang Zhi whispered: "Stabilizing the court is most urgent now."

But isn't this sowing disaster for the future?

How unjust to Prince Cheng?

Yet he looked up at the Empress Dowager's resolute face and knew that if they did not agree today, they would not get her edict.

Without her edict, Prince Cheng's ascension would lack legitimacy; at this moment of national crisis, even a hint of illegitimacy could bring catastrophe.

Yu Qian could only suppress his anger, bowed deeply, and accepted the condition.

Empress Dowager Sun sighed in relief, ordering the ministers to immediately draft an imperial decree naming the Retired Emperor's biological son—though the child had not yet been conceived, she had already chosen his name.

The middle character had been chosen by Emperor Taizu himself; she only needed to add one more.

No matter who bore the child, if he was Zhu Qizhen's eldest son, he would bear this name and become the next emperor.

The ministers exchanged the imperial decree for the Empress Dowager's edict, then immediately departed to find Zhu Qiyu.

Yu Qian's face was as dark as water; he strode swiftly, while Wang Zhi and the others ran behind him. Seeing his furious demeanor, they grabbed him and urged: "Before Prince Cheng, you must speak well of the Empress Dowager; otherwise, mother and son will be estranged, harming the state."

Yu Qian's chest heaved with rage; he whispered: "At this moment of national survival, she still thinks of lineage succession—how could Prince Cheng not be Emperor Xuanzong's son, not the true Zhu lineage?"

"An unborn heir, whose wit or folly remains unknown, already designated Crown Prince before birth—this is absurd!"

Wang Zhi whispered: "She fears we won't rescue the Retired Emperor. Sigh—first find Prince Cheng, and have him ascend the throne."

Prince Cheng knew nothing; he was busy in the Grand Secretariat when Yu Qian and the others entered with the Empress Dowager's edict, requesting his ascension—his ears rang as if struck by thunder.

The prophecy he had deliberately buried since receiving the news exploded suddenly in his mind.

Pan Yun's words echoed word for word: "You will be the next emperor—and a ruler remembered through history."

In the end, only Pan Yun's eyes remained in his mind—compassionate, yet profoundly meaningful.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!"

Prince Cheng took a long moment to return to himself; when he did, he waved his hand: "I—I cannot!"

His face paled: "The throne is my elder brother's. I have never learned how to be an emperor…"

Yu Qian stepped forward, firm: "Your Highness, we will teach you. We petition for you not for ourselves—you ascend not for yourself!"

He fixed his gaze on Prince Cheng's eyes, speaking slowly and clearly: "We act for the sake of the state!"

Prince Cheng seemed to draw strength from his eyes; Pan Yun's earlier question suddenly erupted in his mind: "National crisis looms—I am ready to face it. When that day comes, will Prince Cheng have my resolve?"

Prince Cheng stood frozen; Pan Yun's words rang clearly in his ears: "I hope on that day you will have my resolve—to save the nation, to prevent Great Ming from becoming another Southern Song, to spare the Han people from falling again into Northern Yuan's suffering."

He pressed his lips together, his gaze toward Yu Qian gradually hardening; he nodded: "Fine."

Yu Qian's eyes brightened; he saw no ambition in them, only the same resolve to face the nation's peril.

He instantly felt that this younger Prince Cheng, though as immature as the young emperor—no, even more so—possessed a resilience he had never seen in the young emperor.

Yu Qian nearly wept; he immediately went to prepare.

With national crisis at hand, all was simplified; even the dragon robe was altered from the Retired Emperor's old garments.

Prince Cheng would temporarily oversee state affairs; his formal ascension would occur in two days.

Yu Qian had wanted to skip the ceremony entirely—just shove Prince Cheng onto the throne and declare him emperor.

But the Ministry of Rites objected; moreover, to command the nation's armies, proper procedure could not be omitted—especially since there were many Zhu clan princes.

The late Empress Dowager still had Prince Xiang alive; his status was not low—he too held succession rights, no weaker than Prince Cheng's.

Thus, to avoid future disaster, the necessary procedures could not be skipped.

The first to be notified was Prince Xiang, stationed in Xiangyang.

When Prince Xiang received the news, he was stunned: "The emperor personally led the campaign—and got himself captured by Esen?"

He was at once furious and humiliated, yet had to consider the state; after brief thought, he agreed to name Prince Cheng emperor, then shut himself away, refusing all visitors.

But inside his room, he cursed incessantly: "The emperor has no son—why did he personally lead the campaign? He didn't even sire a child before running off! Now look—he's captured, and they want me to be emperor? Are they mad? I've heard of brother succeeding brother, but never uncle succeeding nephew! They're trying to plunge the Zhu family into chaos so someone else can profit!"

Wang Fei listened to his curses; only when he finished did she steer the conversation back: "Can the Retired Emperor be rescued?"

Prince Xiang snapped: "Who knows?"

He fell silent after ranting, slumping into his chair.

He naturally hoped his nephew the emperor would be rescued—but then what?

He scratched his head, deeply troubled.

The brothers were only one year apart: Zhu Qizhen was eighteen, Zhu Qiyu seventeen; both were healthy now. He could easily imagine: once Zhu Qizhen returned, Great Ming would erupt in civil strife.

Prince Xiang slapped his forehead in frustration: "Humiliation! Humiliation! This is utterly shameful!"

Yet even so, he never voiced the words aloud.

Wang Fei sighed, gazing out the door in silence.

None of them knew that the troubles they agonized over would soon vanish.

That autumn, after returning from Japan, watching the people scattered by natural disaster and torn apart by human calamity;

Watching the Emperor, in order to check the court officials, blindly promote Wang Zhen again and again—judging people rather than matters, a whole series of such moves—Pan Yun made up her mind.

So she let things develop as they would, offering no reminders, no interference, until they took their worst shape.