Chapter Eighty-Three: Forcing the Palace

Seeing this, Ling Zexin had no choice but to summon Wei Long and Yu Fan, instructing them to press Ling Zetian’s acupoints. He then ordered the imperial physician to prescribe some calming medicine, which he personally administered to Ling Zetian. Only when Ling Zetian finally slipped into a deep, untroubled sleep did Ling Zexin breathe a sigh of relief.

Arnold had gone to seek his master and had yet to return. At this moment, Ling Zexin was the only one in the palace able to stay by Ling Zetian’s side, so he did not even return to Prince Xin’s residence but remained in Chaoyun Palace, keeping watch over Ling Zetian at all times, fearful that the poison in his body might flare up again unexpectedly.

Yet at this very hour, the palace itself was in utter turmoil.

Kimura Hoshikage, having suffered too deep a wound from Feng Qiuji’s blade, succumbed to his injuries and died young. That was tragedy enough—yet in Fusang, this was a matter of national upheaval. The ministers who had supported Kimura Hoshikage, still grieving, were consumed with rage. Their political futures had been tied to his; had they helped Kimura Hoshikage ascend the throne, they would have become the elder statesmen of the court. Now, with his death, their prospects were bleak. Should Kimura Hoshiyo take the throne instead, most of them would be lucky to keep their heads. Such has always been the way of power: when the cunning hare is dead, the hounds are cooked. Much less since they had gone to such lengths to oppose Kimura Hoshiyo—there could be no reconciliation.

No one knew who first spread the rumor that Kimura Hoshikage had been killed by the Empress of the Ling Dynasty. With that, the ministers found their excuse: they loudly accused Ling of intolerable arrogance and called for war to avenge Kimura Hoshikage. In truth, this was merely a ploy to redirect attention, delaying Kimura Hoshiyo’s accession and buying themselves time to devise countermeasures.

Meanwhile, the Empress Dowager received word of Kimura Hoshikage’s death. Usually composed, she now felt her blood surge with emotion. She had believed she would never love again in this life, but Kimura Hoshikage had been the first to truly care for her. Though theirs had been a political alliance, he had always sympathized with her misfortune and shown her sincere compassion. She had been deeply grateful to him. Learning of his death—especially at Feng Qiuji’s hand—filled her with sorrow. She could no longer restrain herself, and, joining forces with the ministers loyal to her, resolved to stage a coup and force Ling Zetian to abdicate. She sought revenge for her family and for Kimura Hoshikage—her sole purpose for so many years.

The news of Feng Qiuji’s death could not be contained; soon, it swept through the palace.

“My lord, terrible news! The Empress Dowager is marching on Chaoyun Palace with a formidable throng!” Just as Ling Zexin restlessly paced within Chaoyun Palace, anxiously awaiting Arnold’s return, a young eunuch burst in, breathless with alarm.

“What?” Ling Zexin nearly jumped out of his skin. He had never imagined the Empress Dowager would dare such a thing. With Ling Zetian unconscious, wasn’t this nothing but seizing the opportunity to strike? He spun around, utterly at a loss—he had never dealt with anything like this before. “What should I do? What should I do?”

As the heavy footsteps outside drew ever nearer, Ling Zexin steeled himself and flung open the doors of Chaoyun Palace.

Outside, soldiers with long spears crowded the palace steps. At their head stood several of the most powerful ministers, alongside the Empress Dowager herself, ever eager to stir up chaos.

“What brings the Empress Dowager and so many attendants to Chaoyun Palace today?” Ling Zexin, faced with this display, showed not the slightest hint of fear. He laughed heartily, his bearing as unshakable as one who would stride out laughing under the open sky, undaunted by humble origins. He knew that in a moment like this, though he lacked numbers, he could not afford to appear the weaker party. After all, he was Ling Zetian’s brother—if he lost his nerve or fled, he would only bring shame upon Ling Zetian. Ling Zexin feared many things: trouble, crisis, inconvenience. But he had never feared threats from others.

“I have a few words for you, Prince Xin,” the Empress Dowager announced.

“I am listening, Your Majesty,” Ling Zexin replied. Whatever her motive, she was, nominally at least, his mother, and he was willing to show her that respect.

“You can see for yourself: the entire Ling army is now at my command. If you are wise, you should know what to do,” the Empress Dowager said, stepping forward from the crowd, her smile answering his.

“Your Majesty flatters me, but I truly have no idea what you expect me to do, nor what you mean by ‘wisdom.’”

“Very well, I shall be plain. If you are willing to yield to me and help me regain power, I promise to support your claim to the throne and ensure these ministers serve you faithfully in the future.” The Empress Dowager, though determined to grasp the reins of power, knew that while she could force Ling Zetian to abdicate, she could never claim the throne for herself. She had spent a long time considering whom to elevate—someone whose rise would silence opposition but still leave her in control. Ling Zexin, while not the ideal candidate, was suitable enough. His residence was in the capital, and he had spent his life in pleasure rather than governance; if he became emperor, he would not descend into tyranny, and such a man would make the perfect puppet, easily manipulated from behind the scenes.

Ling Zexin had long since guessed her intention, but he had wanted to see if she would actually say it aloud. Unexpectedly, she was brazen enough to make her offer openly, seeking to win him over before all present.

He felt almost insulted.

After hearing her words, Ling Zexin shook his head and smiled. “Your Majesty, you underestimate me. I may be fond of pleasure and idle in my duties, unfamiliar with affairs of state, but I would never betray my brother for selfish gain. I have no desire for the throne of Ling, nor do I lack for wealth. Above all, I cherish my freedom and dread complications—were I to be confined within these palace walls year after year, I could never endure it.”

His declaration rang clear and true, wholly different from his usual easygoing, frivolous manner. Now he seemed a man of principle, steadfast and dependable.

And these were his genuine feelings. He had grown up alongside Ling Zetian, who was always praised, while he himself was constantly scolded. Though he sometimes felt disheartened, he never once envied or hated his brother. Power and wealth meant little to him—he lived only to enjoy life as he pleased. Besides, Ling Zetian had always treated him as a beloved younger brother, sheltering him and handling affairs of state so that Ling Zexin could live a carefree life. He both respected and loved Ling Zetian, always seeing him as a role model. If ever he could help his brother, he would consider it his greatest joy.

“So you refuse my offer? Are you not afraid I might kill you as well?” the Empress Dowager snapped, narrowing her eyes. Ling Zexin’s response had surprised her; like everyone else, she had always believed him to be a weak, frivolous prince, incapable of anything but pleasure. Who would have guessed that, at such a moment, he could speak with such courage?

“What joy is there in life, what fear in death? I have lived my life as I wished, and as the emperor’s subject, I am sworn to live and die with him. Even if I die here today, torn to pieces, I will have no regrets.” Every word came from the depths of his heart.

Though born a prince, he had always been the object of ridicule. Unlike Ling Zetian, who was forever surrounded by praise and fatherly affection, honored by the Grand Tutor, and regarded by all as a future sage-king, Ling Zexin’s name was synonymous with idle dissipation and wasted potential. Yet what of it? He had never envied his brother. On the contrary, he took pride in having such a sibling, knowing they were different people with different destinies. He asked for little—only to live happily as a prince and do as he pleased. Often, he felt Ling Zetian’s burdens were too great: ruling the vast realm for the people’s sake was no easy task, while he himself, under his brother’s protection, enjoyed a life of leisure. For this, he felt both gratitude and guilt.

“If you are so ungrateful, then today I will kill you first—and then Ling Zetian,” declared the Empress Dowager, signaling her confidants. Two of her most trusted guards stepped forward to seize Ling Zexin.

At that moment, a figure in black suddenly descended from above, striking both guards with a palm each and wrenching Ling Zexin free.

The Empress Dowager, observing his martial skill and movements, felt a flicker of recognition. She studied him closely, then recalled that he was the same man who had rescued Qin Ruyan from Changxin Palace days before.

It was Wen Changfeng.

“Who are you, and why are you lurking in the palace?” she demanded.

“I am Wen Changfeng, here by order of His Majesty to safeguard the palace.”

“Wen Changfeng?” The Empress Dowager was taken aback. That name was familiar—she remembered that, in his youth, Wen Changfeng’s reputation in the world of martial arts had been illustrious, though he had since retired into obscurity. She had not expected to encounter him here in the palace. “Very well. For every one of you who comes, I will kill one; if two, I will kill a pair! Come, let all who do not fear death step forward!”