Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 5: The Zhao Family

As dawn broke, officials began to emerge, walking along the long avenue toward the imperial palace. Once through the Xuanwu Gate, they could proceed along the imperial thoroughfare, passing through the Chengtian Gate and truly entering the inner city of the imperial palace.

Newly appointed officials often felt a surge of emotion, recalling how, after passing the imperial examination, they had walked this very street to the Chengtian Gate to pay homage to the emperor’s grace. From a humble farmer to the halls of the Son of Heaven in a single day—riding down the imperial street, watched and admired by all. It was one of the greatest honors for any scholar, a glory unmatched.

Yet on this particular morning, the first few officials to arrive saw, from a distance, a short, elderly man in plain dress standing near the palace gates. He wore no insignia of rank. They wondered how the guards could allow someone so casually near such an important location.

Not wishing to meddle, they were about to enter the palace for court when the old man suddenly approached, noting their official robes.

"Honorable censors, you must impeach with all your might," he pleaded, sobbing and sniffling, his emotions on full display.

This left them utterly baffled. "Impeach for what?"

"My lord was assassinated!" the old servant cried, anguish overwhelming him. "He was frightened and now lies unconscious. My lord is the son of the Princess Royal, nephew to the ruler of Wei..."

Their shock was palpable—so many twists and turns. It was the Crown Prince of Jin who had met with assassins.

Even for a foreign prince, such an event was momentous, hinting at upheaval. The local authorities had acted swiftly, both investigating and reporting up the chain; the emperor himself likely already knew... It was only their lower rank that had kept them out of the loop.

Soon, their superior arrived at a leisurely pace—someone better informed, though not familiar with the old servant. When the old man rushed out, the official was startled.

He heard the man say, "Master of the Censorate, you must impeach at court! My lord was attacked... I have always admired the upright men of the Department of Remonstrance. Had I been more learned and wealthy, I would have taken the imperial examination myself..."

The higher-ranking official quickly understood, nodding with perfunctory assurance. "Understood, understood..."

But who was he supposed to impeach? He had no idea who was behind the attack.

The old servant waited by the palace gates for the next group of officials. Some, seeing trouble from afar, tried to slip away while he was busy haranguing others. Suddenly, the old man knelt before the gates, crying out in anguish.

"My poor lord, your fate is so bitter, unconscious and unresponsive..."

"Lord of Jin, your son has been wronged and harmed..."

"Snow in June, how pitiful my lord..."

"The capital of Wei is shrouded in darkness, even a crown prince is not safe..."

The commander of the palace guards could no longer tolerate this scene, which resembled the antics of a shrew at the gates, and ordered his men to remove the old man.

The old servant collapsed to the ground.

"Don’t touch me! My wounds are not healed; if I fall, I cannot rise again. My lord is waiting for me to return home and administer his medicine..."

"Are you trying to harm my lord as well...?"

"O heavens, my old injuries have flared up again, snow in June..."

The ministers could only use the morning court as a chance to voice their arguments before the emperor. The morning audience, already ritualized, was also a chance to show one’s face.

The throne was set high atop the golden platform. The emperor sat early, his gaze cold and distant as he stared at the empty square.

Then the eunuch sounded the whip, bells and drums resounded, and hundreds of civil and military officials surged across the Golden Water Bridge. They could not keep the emperor waiting, so all proceeded quickly.

Once assembled, they cried out their acclamations, marking the formal start.

Yet today, both sovereign and ministers seemed distracted, their minds elsewhere.

One by one, state affairs were discussed and decisions made...

The most important news was that the Jin state’s censors had already set out; together with the envoys, it would take about three days for them to arrive.

The response remained swift, just as it had been when Yanzhou was seized in a lightning strike.

This time, there was a tacit agreement not to mention the Crown Prince of Jin. Some junior officials wanted to bring it up, but sensing the mood was wrong, wisely refrained.

The morning audience ended, and it was already late. They left the palace gates in order, chatting with their colleagues.

And there, in the distance, still squatting at the gate with a large bowl, eating his meal, was the old man.

A feeling of foreboding crept up. Why hadn’t the palace guards removed him? Had he ordered takeout to wait for them?

I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

Unable to confront him, they tried to avoid him.

But the old servant abandoned his bowl and rushed over.

"Prime Minister, have you impeached yet? You are the pillar of the state—do not let this old servant down..."

"Minister of the Secretariat, what did His Majesty say..."

Is there no end to this? Enough already!

Can’t you see? The emperor has decided to handle this with silence. If he acts as if nothing happened, then nothing has happened.

Besides, since it was an assassination, the public remains unaware.

If you wish to earn sympathy before the emperor, fine—but must you make it known throughout the city? Are you stupid?

Several officials brushed their sleeves and left; each was harangued by the old man, who was far too bothersome.

Yet none dared offend him, all smiling with sincere expressions.

Who didn’t know this old fellow was a hidden master, who had dispatched the assassins in three swift moves?

You never knew if he might take offense and strike you down.

And he could easily use the Crown Prince of Jin to stir up trouble—best not to cross him.

The old servant cried for a while longer, then left, unwillingly; the guards breathed a sigh of relief and kindly reminded him to take his bowl home.

He had come seeking justice, but received nothing.

In others’ eyes, that was all it amounted to.

The old servant sighed inwardly. My lord, you foresaw all this, didn’t you? The ruler of Wei truly is cold and heartless...

...

"Three days left, then?" The ruler of Wei spent time with his mother, then returned to his study to attend to affairs.

The ruler of Jin had already abandoned Wang Chuan, and he understood him well. His heart was set on the realm—sacrificing a son meant nothing, even if that son was Wang Chuan.

He truly believed he could not kill Wang Chuan.

The ruler of Wei slapped the table.

That Crown Prince of Jin was truly a prince in name only, living as a hostage in a foreign land, nearly of age. Other princes had long since established their own households, with wives and children aplenty.

But he remained alone in a foreign land, attended only by an old servant, vulnerable to any would-be assassin.

The ruler of Jin had made his move; now it was his turn.

Should he abandon him as well?

For some reason, he recalled a poem and took it out again, reading it word by word.

"Wei Ping..."

"Here."

An elderly man in the attire of an inner servant appeared in the imperial study.

"I fear I may forget, so let me tell you now. In about three days, when I host the Jin envoys, bring Wang Chuan to the banquet," the ruler of Wei instructed. "Let the people of Jin see their crown prince."

"As you command." The old man bowed and withdrew.

...

"Your Highness, you have a visitor."

Wang Chuan was lost in thought in his study when the old servant knocked to report.

For more than a decade, he had eaten, slept, and lived here.

"Who is it?" Wang Chuan let him in.

"The Zhao family," the old servant replied, handing over a visiting card. "From the Zhao family merchant guild."

Wang Chuan straightened, his clothes trembling, his face quickly assuming a sickly pallor. "Let’s meet them..."

The old servant’s respect deepened.

His master had become increasingly inscrutable.

Years ago, the ruler of Jin had sent Wang Chuan to Luocheng, the capital of Wei. He was accompanied by ninety-nine loyal guards, one old servant, and the branch office of the Zhao family merchant guild, with access to all resources.

Most importantly, he had money.

As a hostage prince, some managed to survive against all odds.

Others...

Perhaps the ruler of Jin believed he owed nothing, having already given opportunities.

It was Wang Chuan who had disappointed him.

His starting point had been so high.

Wang Chuan met the representative from the Zhao family in the main hall, surprised to find someone so young—and a woman.

She arrived under the moonlight, dressed in silver brocade embroidered with cloud patterns, ancient and elegant, her features delicate and fair, her stature upright as a spear.

"Greetings, Your Highness."

She bowed precisely, every gesture proper and correct.

Her professionalism only underscored her lack of emotion.

"Rise," Wang Chuan struggled to hold back, but could not suppress a cough, his face growing paler.

"I am Zhao Qingrong," she said. "Congratulations, Your Highness."

Wang Chuan was puzzled. "I don’t understand your words."

"A hidden dragon in the abyss, three years without flight—when it flies, it soars to the heavens," Zhao Qingrong said. "War may erupt between the two countries. Marquis Wu Cheng is coming as envoy to Wei. Your Highness may seize this opportunity to return home and display your ambition, vying for supremacy as the ruler of Jin once did."

Her indifferent tone gave no clue to her true feelings.

Wang Chuan responded in kind, laughing twice, uncertain. "I am hardly so formidable."

"Enough, let me be frank," Zhao Qingrong waved her hand. "Your Highness, there’s no need to feign madness before me. I know you’re hiding your talents; anyone perceptive can see it. It’s understandable—you have your difficulties. We too are not free in this capital, like two lonely boats, relying on each other to weather the storm."

"I wish to return home as well. What should I do?" Wang Chuan asked, moved.

How others speculated was one thing; he still had to play his part to the end.

"Your Highness, whether you’re truly foolish or merely pretending, I’m offering you a way out," Zhao Qingrong looked down at him. "Return to Jin’s capital. As crown prince, you will one day inherit the throne!"

"Miss Zhao, I don’t understand. My imperial uncle will not allow me to leave."

"The key lies with the ruler of Wei, yes. Next is Marquis Wu Cheng. If he wishes to take you back, there’s a forty percent chance. He is on the road and will arrive within three days. Your Highness can seize this opportunity to gain his support," Zhao Qingrong explained carefully.

"So... this Marquis Wu Cheng—is he after money?" Wang Chuan asked anxiously. "How much can you offer me this time?"

"Money is not the issue," Zhao Qingrong shook her head. "Your Highness, you may have feigned madness for years, but you cannot fool the discerning. You are not foolish—a true fool would not have survived this long. Those who mistake others for fools are themselves the most foolish!"

"Marquis Wu Cheng can help you return to Jin, and we can give our all. But then what? What we want is not enough. Your Highness, you must please your father and secure your position, so you can one day inherit the throne. But as you are now, your father would be deeply disappointed—I am already disappointed! Better you had never tried."

"Why?" Wang Chuan was suddenly panicked, his body trembling.

"Your father will not favor a useless son; nor will we waste our time on one," Zhao Qingrong said loftily, her tone almost contemptuous.

By protocol, Wang Chuan was a prince, and Zhao Qingrong’s attitude was highly disrespectful.

She showed no deference to his rank.

"His Majesty is a ruler of revival, of great talent and vision. No matter how you struggle, you should have inherited his blood. But when you return, how will you compete with the other princes? You have no foundation in court or in the field. For all your supposed accomplishments, do you know some princes have mastered martial arts and are close to becoming grandmasters?"

"So... they’re really that formidable?" Wang Chuan was taken aback.

"You truly are pathetic. A crown prince living worse than a merchant—attended by dozens of servants, traveling by carriage, with wealth and luxury, food and clothes at your beck and call. Yet you live in perpetual fear, feigning madness, hiding your light, and even your existence is miserable. Don’t you want to change everything? What are you waiting for?" Zhao Qingrong sneered. "This tiny courtyard—any stray cat or dog can come to assassinate the crown prince, treating you like a paper tiger."