99. Shattering This Gloomy, Endless Night
Nangong Mingchen handed the torch to the guard beside him, turned his horse around, his handsome face flickering in the firelight. "Your Highness, precisely because my surname is Nangong, I cannot take my entire clan to die alongside you!"
"We are one family—shared glory and shared ruin!" The Prince of Qi's eyes blazed with fury, his whole body trembling. This sudden upheaval had frozen everyone in place.
But Nangong Mingchen cast him a cold, indifferent glance. "One family? Does the bond between Your Highness and me surpass that between the King of Wei and Your Highness? When the assassination failed that day, didn’t Your Highness abandon your own brother, the King of Wei, like a worthless thing? If Your Highness is so heartless and ungrateful, how could I dare entrust the lives and fortunes of my entire clan to your hands?"
The Prince of Qi fell silent; the rebel soldiers grew quiet as well.
Who in the entire empire of Dayi did not know the fate of the King of Wei that day?
“You betrayed me?” The Prince of Qi knew he had wronged the King of Wei. He had hoped that by seizing the emperor’s throne, he could gradually make amends to his brother. Yet today, because Nangong Mingchen turned traitor, his plans were utterly ruined.
Nangong Mingchen spurred his horse forward, speaking in a low voice: “Victory comes at the cost of countless lives! The Nangong family now faces ruin. As the newly appointed head of the Nangong clan, I must strive to reverse our fortunes. Your Highness, just serve as the first stepping stone for the Nangong family’s resurgence.”
He glanced again at the Prince of Qi, his eyes cold and harsh. “Don’t feel too aggrieved, Your Highness. Over these years, the Nangong family has done countless unspeakable deeds for the honor of you and the princess, sacrificing many of our young men for nothing. Now is the time for Your Highness to repay the Nangong family.”
Having spoken, Nangong Mingchen urged his horse toward Fu Lancheng. The Prince of Qi’s face turned ashen. The royal guards, anxious, stepped forward to ask what the next move should be, but in the moonlight and firelight, the Prince’s expression was so fierce it sent a chill down their spines.
Zhou Hui hurriedly grabbed him. “Your Highness! Speak—are you going to fight or surrender?”
If the prince chose to fight, Zhou Hui would lead the charge; if he surrendered, Zhou Hui would accept death in apology. A soldier by nature, death in battle was his destiny.
At dawn, the palace city gates were finally reopened.
The grand rebellion of the Prince of Qi had lasted only three days.
Its suppression owed much to Nangong Mingchen’s efforts. Under his leadership, the Nangong family was destined to rise to even greater heights.
People gazed on with sighs—heroes emerge in times of chaos, and circumstances forge great men.
Fu Lancheng left Mingguang Palace and headed toward Chenghua Palace.
Wei Yuan had gone to deal with the rebels. Along the palace road, only Fu Lancheng and the troops trailing far behind him were visible; no one else could be seen.
Red walls and green tiles, carved railings and jade steps, the north wind howling bitterly, icy cold piercing the entire courtyard wall, stretching endlessly.
Fu Lancheng thought of himself. In this lifetime, he was ultimately trapped within these towering walls.
The wild wind filled his robes. Dressed in a dark blue silk robe embroidered with golden dragon patterns, cinched at the waist with wide sleeves, Fu Lancheng stood motionless on the palace path. The gusts lifted his dark garment like ink waves—alone between heaven and earth, he already bore the aura of a sovereign ruler.
On the last day of the nineteenth year of the Chengxiao era, the emperor formally abdicated in favor of Crown Prince Fu Zhan, retiring to the Northern Gardens to live out his days in peace.
The Fu clan and court ministers knelt to plead, but the emperor turned a deaf ear; his decision was resolute.
The "Annals of the Dayi Emperors" record: At the end of the nineteenth year of Chengxiao, Emperor Yongyi, gravely ill, abdicated and retired to Mingyue Palace in the Northern Gardens; Crown Prince Zhan ascended the throne, beginning the Taihe era the following year.
Prosperous and harmonious, long-lasting joy and peace.
That day, the sky was pale with dawn light; eighty-one sets of bronze bells rang out over the imperial city. The guards at Jiuhua Gate were fully mobilized, and the entire area was on high alert. From Jiuhua Gate to Deqing Hall stretched a long imperial road, festooned with fluttering banners and billowing curtains.
Fu Lancheng wore a twelve-tasselled crown, clad in bright yellow imperial robes. Under the watchful eyes of all the officials and ministers, amidst the endless bell chimes, he ascended step by step to the supreme throne—the very seat he had once scorned.
Yuanhe, holding the imperial edict, solemnly proclaimed: “By my humble virtue, I inherit the great legacy of my ancestors. Though my talents and virtues are limited, I have diligently governed for over twenty-five years, restraining myself and working tirelessly day and night, never forgetting the merits of my forebears. Yet, as I grow old, I fear my incompetence may harm the realm. After much thought, I now pass the throne to Crown Prince Zhan. From this day forth, all state affairs shall be under the new sovereign’s command. The new emperor must bear the world as his responsibility and serve it for life, never betraying the hearts of his subjects, the virtues of his ancestors, nor my own wishes. Let this decree be proclaimed throughout the land.”
On the eighth day of the first month of the Taihe era, Fu Lancheng was officially enthroned. His first act as emperor was to personally execute his third royal brother.
Upon entering the Zongzheng Temple, the heavy snow suddenly ceased. Fu Lancheng dismissed his attendants and stood alone in the icy landscape, the air piercingly clear and solemn.
Wei Yuan looked at him, a pang of sadness in his heart. In just a few short years, Fu Lancheng had changed more than anyone else in the imperial city.
The grief of losing his wife and mother had not drowned him, nor had the harsh western sands. Yet the coldness of imperial power had ultimately frozen him. He was but a mortal man, not an unfeeling deity.
The world knew only the royal family’s vast wealth and power, but not the ceaseless strife and betrayal behind that glory.
Not long after Empress Zhaosu passed away, the retired emperor lay ill in bed for several days. Prince Zhao was confined to his fiefdom, the Prince of Qi imprisoned for rebellion. The weight of the empire rested solely on Fu Lancheng’s shoulders.
Once, the crown prince laughing and chatting on Zhuque Street, dressed in fine clothes and riding spirited horses, carried only the clear breeze, bright moon, and warm sun in his sleeves.
But within a few years, he bore the fate of the realm and the welfare of the people.
Standing before the prison gate, Fu Lancheng fell silent. He had not spoken properly to his third brother in a long time.
The third prince, Fu Yuán, styled Jinning, was granted the title Prince of Nankun at eight, Prince of Qi at sixteen, and married the noble Gong family’s daughter at eighteen. Talented in both civil and military arts, his reputation was illustrious, his future promising.
In his youth, Fu Lancheng had always found Prince Jinning too rigid and stern, and felt he was harsh toward him. He could exchange a few lines of poetry or discuss famous paintings with Prince Zhao, but with the Prince of Qi, there was nothing to say.
Even now, Fu Lancheng looked at him in silence. “Father is ill. I came to see you.”
Fu Yuán seemed to falter slightly, his dark eyes falling silent for a moment before he slowly said, “I used to think that if I lost to you, Fu Lancheng, I would never accept it. Now I understand—it was never my fate to inherit the throne.”
Fu Lancheng gave a low, bitter laugh. “You may not believe it, brother, but I have often fantasized what it would be like if we had swapped identities. You, the empress’s son, the ambitious heir apparent; I, the consort’s son, a carefree vassal prince—wouldn’t that suit us both? Alas, life is mostly disappointment. Even born into royalty, with noble blood, we have no greater choice in our fates.”
Fu Yuán rose and approached Fu Lancheng, his gaze filled with grievance. “Father has always feared the Nangong family’s power. Yet though he also fears the Song family, why does he protect you at every turn, while placing my mother under house arrest?”
Fu Lancheng found his brother’s accusation amusing. “You think Father protects me? You know better than anyone how Father despised and reprimanded me all these years. His true affections lie with your mother and you.”
Fu Yuán raised his head, eyes blazing with hatred, gritting his teeth: “My mother was born a Nangong noblewoman, childhood sweethearts with Father, worthy to be Empress. But your mother beat her to it, forcing her to settle for consort. She was strong-willed, and as her son, I must fight for her with my life. Even if outmatched, I will still struggle.”
Fu Lancheng remained silent, displeased. Fu Yuán’s eyes reddened as he continued, “I know, Crown Prince, you have always looked down on such scheming—the struggle for power, the plots and intrigues. You never cared because from birth, you had it all: your mother was the empress, and you the legitimate heir. Even though my mother was favored among the six palaces, and you mediocre, you still remained the crown prince. I, who strove hard in study and martial arts, never dared slacken, received only a few words of praise from Father.”
Fu Lancheng’s face darkened as he glared at Fu Yuán fiercely. “Has Father not given you enough? Out of guilt for Nangong Consort, how many years did Father neglect my mother? With all that you and your mother have done, you deserved death many times over, yet Father spared you again and again, and you never showed gratitude.”
Fu Yuán’s face paled, and with great emotion, he asked the question he had long held back: “Since your great victory in Liaodong, I knew I had no hope. I had resolved to let go, return to my fief, and fulfill my duties as a vassal prince. But you all have gone too far!”
Fu Lancheng’s eyes darkened instantly, cold as ice. “Duties? Do you even know how to write that word? To sever my arm, you sent assassins to kill my mother, causing my crown princess to leap to her death. Then you colluded with the Crown Prince of Dayue to assassinate me in the street, killing the Lady of Changping instead. Her son, the heir of Changping, lost his mother before his first birthday. Who is the cruel one? Us, or you?”
His hatred rivaled that of the Prince of Qi.
Fu Yuán laughed aloud. “Ha! What a compassionate crown prince! Well then, let me tell you something. Before my mother was placed under house arrest, I saw her one last time. Guess what she told me?”
His smile was strange, eyes gleaming with triumph. “She said that actually, the murderer of the crown princess was found the same month she died. But for the sake of the royal family’s reputation and the Nangong family’s power, Father chose to keep it secret. He judged that a mere crown princess was not worth causing strife among the royal kin, so he buried the matter.”
Fu Lancheng suddenly halted, shaken to his core, his face draining of color.
Fu Yuán’s smile turned bitter and cold. “Does that pain you? Then I’ll tell you more. The truth of the crown princess’s death was discovered by our Father within ten days. Tell me, how much longer do you think it took your mother, the general’s wife, to find out? Ha! How ridiculous. Both the emperor and the empress knew the truth, yet none acted. Why do you think that is?”
Memories flooded Fu Lancheng’s mind, suffocating him.
Fu Yuán’s twisted face was stained with cruel laughter. “For the sake of the Song family and your crown prince’s position, Empress chose to conceal the truth. In their eyes, no one’s life was worth a thought—as long as it paved your way, they showed no mercy. What a perfect imperial couple, truly well matched!”
Each word cut Fu Lancheng’s heart like a blade, ruthless and deep.
Alone, Fu Lancheng exited the gates of the Zongzheng Temple, walking through the endless snow. He knew his heart bled. This was the royal family—bloodied, cold, and bereft of mercy.
Why was he born into royalty, only to endure such torment?