Ru Zilin looked through the broken door and window and saw, in the distance on the opposite riverbank, a brightly lit area bustling with moving silhouettes. His heart was filled with joy—it was so close now. But as his gaze slowly lowered and fell upon the pitch-black river surface, his expression darkened.
There were no reflections on the river.
It was all fake.
Panting heavily, Ru Zilin’s soldiers, who had been marching since dawn, were now utterly exhausted.
Their bodies screamed for rest.
Ru Zilin stepped forward but abruptly halted because he suddenly heard the sound of tiles being stepped on chaotically above his head.
Zhao Tongsheng had already left the house with his archers.
Ru Zilin hadn’t realized anything was amiss when a loud rumble came from underfoot. The bricks on the ground cracked along the seams. Ru Zilin was standing right at the doorway—just one step, and he could have walked out. Half of his body was already outside, but when he turned back, he saw his soldiers beginning to fall one after another. Clenching his teeth, he retreated and let himself fall underground with his men.
Zhao Tongsheng gleefully ran back to report to the princess consort. “Princess Consort, it’s hilarious! You should’ve seen it—they dropped down one by one, just like dumplings! Hahaha—”
However, Gao Yuexing’s heart remained heavy with worry.
It would still be several days before reinforcements arrived, and their underground mechanisms might not actually be able to trap them for long.
But seeing her soldiers so cheerful, Gao Yuexing couldn’t bring herself to dampen their spirits. She smiled and said, “Let everyone rest for a while and replenish their energy.”
Zhao Tongsheng grinned foolishly and said to her, “You should rest too. Also, I have some good news—my backup will be here soon.”
Gao Yuexing asked, “Yours?”
Zhao Tongsheng replied, “Yeah, my deputy commander.”
It was Ding Wenfu.
Gao Yuexing, hearing his name suddenly, realized it had been a long time since she had seen this person.
Zhao Tongsheng continued, “After the upheaval in the imperial city, he refused to obey the King of Xin. The King of Xin threw him and his group into the Sky Prison. But a few days ago, when the Emperor’s coffin was being sent out of the city, they took him along.”
Gao Yuexing asked, “Was it just him?”
Zhao Tongsheng added, “The Emperor’s procession isn’t just filled with eunuchs and palace maids. But these aren’t ordinary eunuchs—they are Xu Zhangyin’s trusted aides. In critical moments, they can serve as extra hands.”
Gao Yuexing sighed inwardly, “All loyal and righteous.”
The underground prison built by Li Fuxiang below was modeled after the one in the Eastern Palace, with the exit underwater.
However, when Li Fuxiang constructed this, it was meant for play and wasn’t intended to take lives. It could trap someone temporarily but was not a long-term solution.
Ding Wenfu, mixed in among the Emperor’s coffin entourage, waited until they were halfway along the journey and confirmed they were far from the capital. Even if Kong Shishu had informants, it would be impossible to send the news back to the capital in time. At this point, Ding Wenfu led his men to ride at full speed to meet with his commander.
Among the Emperor’s entourage were a few who were unaware of the situation, and they suddenly descended into chaos.
From the withered grass half as tall as a person by the roadside, a figure suddenly emerged, riding a tall horse. Everyone’s eyes turned to him as he removed his hat, revealing a face of stern authority.
Someone—no one could tell who—was the first to drop to their knees with a thud and, trembling, called out, “Xu Zhangyin?”
Immediately, the entire group fell to their knees with a cacophony of thuds.
It was none other than the renowned Xu Xiude, rumored to have committed suicide in the Qiankun Hall and then been thrown into a mass grave to feed dogs.
How could he appear here, alive and well?
Just as the crowd was in a state of panic, someone in the group brandished a blade. Under Xu Xiude’s command, they were forced to carry the coffin and continue their march toward the imperial tomb.
Kong Shishu was resting in his residence when a gust of wind blew dead leaves against the window, startling him awake. His forehead was drenched in cold sweat.
“Father, why are you so restless in your sleep?”
Kong’s eldest son stood by the bed, holding a bowl of medicinal soup.
Kong Shishu pushed the bowl aside, steadied himself on the bed to catch his breath, and said, “I had a dream. I dreamt that someone wanted to kill me. I recognized the face—guess who it was?”
The unremarkable eldest son replied, “I wouldn’t know, Father.”
Kong Shishu grinned, “It was someone who’s already dead. Isn’t that strange?”
The eldest son comforted him, “Father, you’ve been overworked lately. Rest a little longer; it’s still not dawn.”
Kong Shishu shook his head, threw on a cloak, and walked to the window. “Has there been any movement outside the city?”
The eldest son shook his head. “No, everything is calm.”
Kong Shishu nodded and waved his son away. Ru Zilin wouldn’t report his plans to him, but Kong had his own informants and sources. He already knew that Ru Zilin planned to delay at Lushu Mountain to deal with the Princess Consort of Xiang first.
The question was, could he really handle her?
Meanwhile, the Chief Astronomer of the Imperial Observatory was a guest at Kong Shishu’s residence. He had been forcibly “invited” on the day the palace fell. The Chief Astronomer’s surname was Ming—Ming Yizhou. It was said that his ancestors could be traced back to Ming Chongyan, a figure of considerable renown.
Kong Shishu composed himself and personally went to the guest quarters to visit him.
Ming Yizhou was brewing tea in the courtyard.
Kong Shishu leaned against the doorway, watching him for a while. “You seem quite at ease.”
When Ming Yizhou saw him, his expression remained calm. He neither stood up nor lashed out, merely saying, “Treasure these last moments of peace. In just a few days, this year’s snow will fall.”
Kong Shishu asked, “Will it be snow—or blood?”
Ming Yizhou stroked his beard and chuckled, “Minister Kong, even you are afraid…”
Ming’s words pierced Kong Shishu’s heart, but instead of becoming enraged, he casually sat across from Ming Yizhou, clearly intending to help himself to a cup of tea. As he watched the tender tea leaves unfurl in the boiling water, he said, “I asked you to calculate the fate of the Great Xu dynasty, and you said it would prosper for at least another hundred years. I asked you to calculate the Xiang Prince’s destiny, and you said he was entangled in a web of killing karma, but there would be a benefactor to help him resolve his disasters.”
Ming Yizhou asked, “What else do you want me to calculate?”
Kong Shishu demanded, “Does the Xiang Prince have the fate of an emperor?”
Ming Yizhou smiled and replied, “His destiny comes from the west. It is not the Purple Star but the White Tiger. The White Tiger governs war—he is a star of generals.”
Kong Shishu pressed, “I’m asking if he has the fate of an emperor!”
Ming Yizhou sighed helplessly, “Must I make it so clear for you? Yes, he can rule the world.”
Kong Shishu continued, “Then calculate the fate of the Xiang Princess Consort, Miss Gao. I once heard that the abbot of Qingliang Temple cast her horoscope and said she had the destiny of a phoenix soaring to the heavens, a fate to become an empress.”
Ming Yizhou, however, closed his eyes and said, “I cannot calculate her fate.”
Kong Shishu: “Why?”
The tea boiled over twice, releasing a bitter and astringent aroma. Ming Yizhou closed his eyes and performed a small cycle of meditation. When he opened them again, Kong Shishu was still glaring at him from across the table. Clearly, he wouldn’t let this go without an answer today.
Ming Yizhou had no choice but to explain: “At the Princess Consort of Xiang’s centennial banquet, I was invited by Minister Gao to offer my congratulations. I caught a glimpse of that little girl back then. At that time, I cast a divination and concluded that she had the fate of an early death, destined not to live past the age of nine.”
Kong Shishu: “And Gao Jing didn’t beat you to death for that?”
Ming Yizhou chuckled: “Of course, such words were not spoken aloud.” He gazed calmly at Kong Shishu. “But you’ve seen it for yourself. When she was nine, she faced a great calamity, yet she survived. Minister Kong, my advice to you is this: if you ever meet her, stay as far away from her as you can.”
Kong Shishu furrowed his brows.
Unfortunately, Ru Zilin didn’t receive such advice.
He and his subordinates were trapped in the underground dungeon of the Haitang Courtyard for an entire night.
Naturally, the underground offered no glimpse of daylight, but Ru Zilin calculated the time in his heart. The more he thought about it, the harder it became to suppress the agitation deep within him, even though his face remained outwardly cold and ruthless.
Gao Yuexing detected the dampness in the air.
“It’s already the si hour (9–11 a.m.), and still, there’s no sign of the sun.”
Zhao Tongsheng remarked, “It looks like it’s about to rain.”
Gao Yuexing wrapped herself in a thick cloak and said, “It won’t rain today. In a few days, it should snow.”
Zhao Tongsheng exclaimed, “Princess Consort, you must be joking. It’s only Shuangjiang1Shuāngjiàng (霜降), translated as “Frost’s Descent”, is the 18th solar term in the traditional Chinese lunar calendar. It typically occurs around October 23rd to 24th in the Gregorian calendar. Shuāngjiàng marks the transition into late autumn, when temperatures drop significantly and the first frost begins to appear in many regions of China. (Frost’s Descent), still far too early for snow!”
Gao Yuexing’s face turned somber, and she said nothing.
Her fated day of doom was approaching.
Gao Yuexing murmured, “Just hold on for two more days. Our prince should be home soon.”
Li Fuxiang had departed for the capital without sending word in advance because he was traveling faster than the imperial couriers.
In his heart, he worried about his wife. She didn’t understand military strategy, nor did she have capable people at her side. With internal traitors ahead and external enemies behind, how could she handle it all alone in the capital?
If only she’d run away.
Run far, hide, and ignore the chaos outside. Just wait peacefully for him to come back and bring her home. That would have been ideal.
But he knew—it was impossible.
The clouds were densely layered, blocking the sunlight completely. Occasionally, faint rays of light filtered through thin patches of fog, only to be quickly swallowed up again, leaving no time for anyone to reach out and touch them.
Before dusk.
A fire broke out at the entrance of the underground palace in the Haitang Courtyard.
Ru Zilin and his men were no ordinary foes.
If the fire wasn’t extinguished quickly, the entire Haitang Palace would turn into a sea of flames, and everyone would perish within it.
But if they divided their forces to fight the fire, those hiding below, like Ru Zilin, would seize the opportunity.
As Zhao Tongsheng directed people to respond, he grumbled angrily, “This is a classic case of trouble piling on—how could a fire suddenly break out?”
Standing by the river, Gao Yuexing replied, “Of course, someone set it on purpose.”