Chapter 95: Troops Deployed at the Wei River
The arrow pierced straight through Zhao Cun’s forehead, pinning him to the so-called dragon throne.
Blood trickled past his eyes, filling them with unwillingness and shock.
Fu Xun covered Han Min’s eyes. “Don’t look.”
At that moment, a loud bang echoed from outside the hall.
Han Min pushed Fu Xun’s hand aside and turned to look.
Ji Heng had originally been hiding in a corner, hoping to escape through a side door. He tripped over the threshold and fell hard onto the stone steps.
He didn’t dare linger, fearing Fu Xun would catch him. Struggling to get up, he ran forward without even noticing that two guards stood not far ahead, waiting for him.
Fu Xun gestured for the guards to step aside, once again grasped Han Min’s hand, and raised his longbow. He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it.
Ji Heng ran unsteadily, swaying from side to side, difficult to aim at.
Fu Xun, however, held the bow steadily.
Last night, Ji Heng had gone to Jianguo Temple to cause trouble for Han Min, and along the way, Han Min had already told Fu Xun about it.
Han Min hadn’t minded much, as his elder brother, mother, and the Empress Dowager had all protected him well, so he hadn’t suffered. But Fu Xun held grudges.
He drew back the bow, lowering his head to Han Min. “You try it yourself.”
“Huh? My right hand…”
“You hold the bow, I’ll draw the string for you.”
Han Min nodded, closed one eye, and attempted to aim at the scrambling Ji Heng.
Then Fu Xun released the arrow, and it struck Ji Heng’s left shoulder. He screamed and collapsed to the ground.
Fu Xun put the bow away and said to Han Min, “Not bad.”
Han Min stared at the pool of blood on the ground a short distance away and said nothing.
Two guards grabbed Ji Heng by the arms and dragged him to Fu Xun’s horse.
Ji Heng dared not lift his head, keeping his face down. He strained his eyes to look up. Seeing Li Shu there as well, he seemed to glimpse a savior and hurriedly crawled two steps forward, leaving a trail of blood.
“Uncle, save me.”
Li Shu stepped back two paces.
Ji Heng’s heart sank. Yet Li Shu was now his only hope of survival. Summoning all his courage, he crawled forward, dragging a trail of blood behind him.
“Uncle, my mother can’t be without me, please save me…”
Li Shu looked at him steadily. “My sister is the Grand Princess, and my nephew is her son.”
When Ji Heng had introduced Zhao Cun to him, Li Shu had already known, and he acted decisively. Today, the matter was completely cut off.
Ji Heng was struck as if by lightning, unable to regain his senses for a long moment.
Fu Xun tilted his head toward him with a look of annoyance and waved to the two guards. “Take him away.”
The guards obeyed, lifting Ji Heng from both sides.
Ji Heng realized now that being dragged away probably meant he wouldn’t survive—either imprisonment in the Dali Temple dungeon, execution after autumn interrogations, or worse.
His eyes darted wildly, staring at Fu Xun as he shouted, “Do you all think he’s some wise and just king? Go look in the water prison, Han Li…”
He was quickly silenced with a hand over his mouth.
Few ministers in court knew who Han Li was. Only a handful had read that article, but later, Scholar Ning quickly clarified that it had been copied from Han Min.
So hardly anyone paid attention to the name.
Han Min, however, twitched at the mention.
In the past, Fu Xun only said he’d hold someone briefly, beat them, and then return to Tongzhou. Now, hearing Ji Heng, it seemed he had seen something extraordinary in the water prison.
Never mind—Fu Xun didn’t speak, and Han Min didn’t really want to ask.
Finally, Fu Xun dismounted and helped Han Min down as well.
He glanced at the civil and military officials and the three thousand academy students behind them and said, “Since you’re here, let’s hold court. Have the Zichen Palace Hall prepared.”
In the Funing Hall, palace attendants entered in single file, carrying court robes.
Fu Xun removed his heavy armor and looked toward the screen.
Earlier, Han Min had been wearing a blue monk’s robe, but now that he was to attend court, of course he needed to change clothes.
The screen blocked the view of the attendants behind.
Fu Xun raised a hand to dismiss the attendants and silently walked to the other side of the screen.
The attendants bowed and quietly retreated.
Han Min, unaware, turned his back, removed his dusty blue robe, kicked off the dew-soaked shoes, stepped on the floor, and cupped water to wash his face.
Lowering his head, his face was still covered with water droplets when someone suddenly wrapped their arms around his waist from behind.
Han Min was startled, instinctively letting out a frightened “Ah!”
The attendants froze, unsure whether to return to check on the young master.
They exchanged glances and eventually returned, thinking that if the young master was bullied, they could plead on his behalf.
But it wasn’t as bad as they imagined. The young master wasn’t being bullied—the one being “bullied” seemed to be His Majesty.
They stood face to face. Han Min’s face flushed, he noticed his raised right hand, awkwardly smiled, and tentatively touched a red mark on Fu Xun’s jaw.
“Are you alright? Does it hurt?”
The attendants exchanged another glance. “Oh no, the young master hit His Majesty, and there’s a mark. Should we kneel and plead?”
Fu Xun cleared his throat lightly. The attendants who understood quickly left the “scene.” Han Min, not understanding, thought the cough was directed at him.
He whispered defensively, “You leaned over suddenly; I thought—”
What a scoundrel.
Han Min looked at his hand—nails short, well-trimmed, not really capable of harm.
He lifted his head. “Then you scratch me a bit too.”
Seeing Fu Xun raise his hand, Han Min shrank his neck and closed his eyes.
Instead, Fu Xun used his sleeve to wipe his face and pressed his thumb on the corner of his lips, brushing lightly.
Han Min tried to open one eye. “Ah?”
Fu Xun studied him for a moment. “Kiss me once and it’s fine.”
Han Min was startled, then quickly realized. “Got it.”
He confidently cupped Fu Xun’s face and kissed the fading mark on his chin.
“Okay.”
Fu Xun looked at him.
“Just here? Only here?”
When writing, he had been meticulous, using all his mind for his work.
Today was the first time since Fu Xun’s ascension that he did not attend the court meeting on the first and fifteenth of the month.
The palace attendants worked efficiently, quickly preparing the Zichen Palace Hall, removing Zhao Cun and the dragon throne, replacing them with the originals, washing the floor with clean water, and opening windows for ventilation.
Thus, when the ministers stood in the hall, there were still water stains on the floor.
Han Min changed into his crimson court robe, heavy autumn attire, neatly arranged. His black hair was neatly tied and tucked into his official hat.
Proper in every way—except for the slightly broken lip and reddened corners of his eyes.
Fu Xun walked ahead, self-satisfied, with a faint smile at the corners of his mouth.
Seated high, Fu Xun watched as Jiang Huan, the Chancellor and head of the officials, held the jade tablet, led the ministers in bowing, and shouted “Long live the Emperor!”
The Purple Palace Hall doors opened, encompassing all under heaven.
The rewards and recognition in Qi were given.
A few days later, on the first day of the tenth month, it was a Grand Court day in Song.
The Song ruler was over fifty, long accustomed to comfort, slightly overweight.
The golden tassels of his crown swayed as he walked slowly past the Song ministers and ascended the jade steps to sit on the dragon throne.
Song prided itself as the orthodox central kingdom; its court attire was intricate and luxurious, gilded and embroidered with jade.
Through the crown tassels, he watched the kneeling ministers. Before he could say, “Rise,” a woman’s piercing scream rang from outside.
“Father, save me!”
The Song ruler was startled, leaning slightly forward with a hand on the armrest.
The eunuchs understood and shouted sharply, “Who is making noise outside?”
A bloodstained woman pushed past the guards, shouting, “I am Princess Rongning, personally appointed by my father! Who dares stop me!”
The guards cowered, letting her rush into the hall.
Zhao Yin had one last performance to make.
She had deliberately prepared herself this way, returning to the palace on the day of court.
Normally, attendants would have taken her to tidy up first, letting her see the Emperor after court.
But as soon as she entered, she ran straight to the jade steps. Falling to her knees with a thud, she prostrated before the Song ruler, pounding her head.
“Father, save me! Father, save me!”
The Song ruler stared at the disheveled woman, recognizing after a moment that she was indeed his daughter, Princess Rongning, intended to marry the Qi ruler.
“Rong…Rongning?”
He was puzzled, having not received any reports from Song spies in Yong’an for days. How had the princess returned?
Though suspicious, he had to appear as a kind and wise father before the ministers, ordering the eunuchs to help her up.
He asked gently, “Rongning, what happened?”
Zhao Yin cried, “Brother…my brother went to Qi as an envoy. Over the marriage matter, he had a conflict with the Qi ruler. Later, influenced by someone, he incited the Duke of Xin to rebel, intending to make the Qi ruler and the duke destroy each other, so he could take advantage and become the emperor of Qi…”
The Song ruler’s face darkened. Zhao Cun sought the throne, standing equal to him—how could he tolerate it?
Zhao Yin continued, “Unexpectedly, the duke reported the matter to the Qi ruler. Now that the plot is exposed, the Qi ruler is enraged, my brother has been executed, and the Song envoys are all gone. Those Song officials in Qi arranged by father have all been eliminated.”
Rebellion in one’s own country warrants execution. Attempting rebellion as an envoy abroad—absurd beyond belief. Even if executed, Song could not protest.
No wonder the Song ruler hadn’t received any letters from Qi recently.
Fool, fool! He had sent Zhao Cun, thinking him easy to control, not expecting him to dig his own grave. How could he be so foolish as to rebel in Qi?
He hoped the Qi ruler would kill him; if not, then send supplies.
Zhao Yin continued, sobbing: “The Qi ruler deployed troops at the Wei River and even took me, planning to use me as a human flag. I barely escaped back to Song. Father, save me!”
So it wasn’t as simple as he had thought. Qi intended to go to war with Song.
The Song ruler, alarmed, quickly ordered, “Send someone to the Wei River immediately.”
Qi had deployed troops along the Wei River within days. In the heat of anger, the Qi ruler might cross north at any moment.
If war broke out, how could Song mobilize soldiers and supplies in time? Moreover, Song would be at fault in this matter.
The Song ruler slumped, looking exhausted, and asked again, “Rongning, are you sure the Qi ruler led the troops himself?”
Zhao Yin sobbed, “Yes. He executed my brother, then immediately took me. My brother’s body hangs opposite the Wei River, in front of the Qi ruler’s camp.”
The Song ruler leaned back in his chair, speechless for a long time.
The Wei River naturally divided the two nations.
The current was fierce. A dozen or so Song soldiers lay hidden in the northern grass, peeking south.
They could vaguely see hundreds of Qi soldiers building wooden rafts along the riverbank, with many rafts already stacked.
A young man clad in silver-white armor came to inspect. The soldiers dropped their work, kneeled on one knee, and saluted.
After observation, the Song soldiers returned to report.
By the time they arrived at the Song palace, it was already midnight.
The Song ruler sat on the dragon throne, unmoving, the court ministers standing beside him for a full day and night.
Still clinging to hope, he asked, “Did the Qi ruler lead the troops himself? Did you see him?”
“Yes.”
Like being struck by lightning, the Song ruler blacked out, collapsing sideways.
The eunuchs shouted, “Call the imperial physician!”
After some time, the Song ruler awoke, pushing aside the physicians, weakly gasping, and said to the ministers, “Who…who has a plan…immediately grant them titles and offices…”
After a long silence, an elderly man stepped forward, bowing.
“I, your humble servant, will cross the Wei River and persuade the Qi ruler to withdraw.”
The old man was frail, white-haired, even walking was difficult.
The Song ruler, seeing this as a lifeline, stumbled down the steps, clasping his hands: “Sir Gongsun, the Song empire is entrusted to you.”
Gongsun nodded firmly, resolved to die if necessary. “Prepare the boats, Your Majesty. If the Qi ruler does not withdraw, I will not return.”
On the other side of the Wei River, in the general’s tent.
Fifth Prince Fu Rang slumped in his chair, looking at the chaotic shadows of Zhao Cun’s corpse projected on the tent wall. He sighed. “Why did the emperor send me? If he doesn’t come himself, I can’t fight? What if I mess it up?”
His polished silver helmet rested on the table. The Song soldiers had not actually seen Fu Xun, but him.
He hadn’t brought troops—these were local Wei River garrison soldiers.
At this point, Song reinforcements weren’t worth sending.
Fu Rang idly tapped his bracers, then remembered something. Jumping to the ground, he opened the bundle he had brought.
Inside was a small booklet.
It was given to him by Han Min before he left.
Flipping it open, the first line read, “If Song sends someone to speak, it must be Gongsun’s argument. Gongsun’s argument consists of three main points.”
The following pages contained suggested responses.
Fu Rang blinked in confusion. How did Han Min know even this?
