Chapter 17: Alarmist Claims

The carriage moved at a steady pace, passed Donghua Street, followed Panlou Street to the intersection with Taikang Street, where the Imperial City came into view.

The Song Imperial City was the smallest among all dynasties; even when Huizong expanded the Yanfu Palace and built Genyue, integrating them into the imperial compound, it still paled beside the grandeur of earlier dynasties’ palaces.

As the carriage exited Taikang Street, it reached the edge of the Imperial City, then turned past the East Corner Tower, where a solemn gate stood before Xuande Tower—the Zuoye Gate, used for daily entry and exit.

Zhao Ti stepped down, told Bai Zhan and the others to wait across the road, greeted the gate guards, and entered. He passed through Daqing Gate, Xuanyou Gate, traversed several halls to the north, crossed Gongchen Gate, and entered the inner court.

Zhao Ti planned to see his mother, Imperial Consort Xing, first—after all, he was her only son. He enjoyed freedom outside, but she rarely left the palace, spending her days confined within its walls.

At Anfu Palace, where Imperial Consort Xing resided, a young eunuch on guard duty broke into a smile and rushed forward: “Your Highness has returned.”

Zhao Ti nodded; the eunuch led the way, and soon they entered the palace. There, Imperial Consort Xing was chatting with someone—upon closer look, it was Consort Guo, another concubine of Shenzong. The two were close and often visited each other.

Imperial Consort Xing was elegant and beautiful, with an exceptionally gentle disposition. She was once highly favored, but disliked by Empress Dowager Xiang; had it not been for Zhao Ti, her only son, she would have remained only a Shu Fei , only elevated to Imperial Consort decades later when Huizong granted promotions to former palace ladies.

Zhao Ti stepped forward and paid his respects. Imperial Consort Xing beamed, pulled him to sit beside her, and spent a long while asking after his health, inquiring what brought him to court.

Zhao Ti told her truthfully: first to visit his mother, then to pay respects to Empress Dowager Gao, and to seek answers to certain matters. She warned him to speak cautiously, not to overstep, and after lingering for about half an hour, he rose to leave.

After leaving Anfu Palace, Zhao Ti headed straight for Cining Palace—the residence of Empress Dowager Gao Taotao.

This palace was larger than the others, with more eunuchs and palace maids stationed at its entrance. Seeing Zhao Ti approach, they bowed and asked: “Is Prince Yan here to visit Empress Dowager?”

Zhao Ti nodded: “Is Empress Dowager occupied with state affairs today?”

The eunuch replied: “No business today, but her health is poor. I shall announce your arrival.” He hurried toward the main hall.

Moments later, he emerged, sweeping his sleeve: “Empress Dowager summons Your Majesty inside.”

Zhao Ti smiled faintly. A young palace maid stepped forward to lead him directly into the hall.

The palace was a complex structure, containing not only the main hall but also side chambers for handling affairs, reading, and sleeping.

The maid brought Zhao Ti to a side chamber: “Empress Dowager is reading inside. She instructed Your Highness to enter directly.”

Zhao Ti nodded and stepped inside.

Inside, the decor was extremely plain—no luxury at all. Only bookshelves and writing utensils filled the space; not a single jewel or gilded object. At the far end stood a carved long table, behind which sat a broad couch. On it sat a woman clad in a white silk robe, wearing a deep blue brocade cloak embroidered with golden cloud-dragon patterns.

The woman’s bearing was noble and dignified, elegant and majestic. Though her years were many, traces of her former peerless beauty still lingered.

Zhao Ti looked at her—she was Empress of Yingzong, Shenzong’s biological mother, the reigning Empress Dowager Gao Taotao who now presided over court affairs.

She held a thick book in her hands, her complexion pale with a faint bluish tinge, her breath shallow and labored.

Zhao Ti knew: this year, Gao Taotao would die. Now, it seemed her hidden illness had begun to manifest.

“Great Nanny, your grandson pays his respects.” Zhao Ti bowed.

Gao Taotao nodded, placed the thick book on the table, and studied Zhao Ti from head to toe.

“Why, Eighth Brother, have you come to see your old nanny today?”

Zhao Ti rubbed his nose. His grandmother’s tone was less than warm.

He had always been close to her—even if partly for his own benefit—she was still his blood grandmother. Though imperial families had no kinship, the Song court still retained some warmth, unlike other dynasties, cold and devoid of human feeling.

Within the palace, the Emperor referred to himself as “I,” not “ Zhen ” as in court. Children privately called their father “Dad,” not “Your Majesty” or “Lord.”

The Empress was “Nanny,” the Empress Dowager was “Great Nanny,” and other concubines could be addressed by rank or as “Sister So-and-So.” Only one woman could be called “Nanny”—even his own mother could not use that term, but could be called “Mother.”

“Your grandson wishes to visit Great Nanny every day, but outside the palace, one doesn’t have meals served or clothes handed to him—he must manage affairs. I must sustain the livelihood of a whole household. Yet whenever I can spare time, I come straight to pay respects to my grandmother…” Zhao Ti wore a look of deep worry.

“Oh?” Gao Taotao’s expression softened slightly: “So you’ve learned the hardship of living alone?”

Zhao Ti smiled bitterly: “Hardship, hardship. Managing my own Prince’s household is already so difficult. Great Nanny, for years, you’ve overseen the inner palace while also managing the empire—how much mental strain and exhaustion you must endure.”

Gao Taotao looked at him, a faint smile appearing: “Don’t speak of me. You haven’t even taken a wife—what troubles could you possibly have?”

Zhao Ti shook his head, still frowning: “Great Nanny doesn’t understand. Outside the palace is different from within. Leisurely wandering is one thing, but living long-term among common folk reveals endless trivial burdens—and constant vigilance is required.”

“The immediate imperial clan differs from the broader clan. The latter have long maintained their own households outside and are accustomed to life beyond the palace. The immediate clan are venturing out for the first time—they will surely feel discomfort.”

Zhao Ti nodded vigorously: “Great Nanny, the outside world is truly dangerous.”

“Eight Brother, don’t speak nonsense. Under Song rule, the world is peaceful. Dongjing, as the capital, has excellent order—where is the danger?” Gao Taotao frowned.

“Great Nanny doesn’t know—there are many ruffians and hoodlums outside, and gangs linked to military camps, banding together in factions—it’s terrifying.”

“Your Prince’s mansion has guards, and the Imperial City Bureau follows you. Besides, you’ve trained in martial arts since childhood—you’ve wielded spears and clubs while others studied books. Surely you have some skill—why fear a few vermin?” Gao Taotao asked, puzzled.

“Great Nanny, you know I train in martial arts, but my skill is truly low. If I face desperate men in numbers, I won’t stand a chance.”

“Where in the capital are there desperate men in numbers? Don’t spread alarmist tales!” Gao Taotao shook her head.

This grandson had always exaggerated since childhood. She often chose not to correct him—after all, he was close to her, and she liked him.

Unlike that imperial grandson—meek, obedient, rule-abiding—didn’t she know he was pretending? As Emperor, what was he pretending for? What did he seek?

“Great Nanny, no, no, this isn’t alarmist talk—Great Nanny, haven’t you forgotten about Ghost Fanlou…?” Zhao Ti read her thoughts, quickly waved his hands, and spoke urgently.