Chapter Forty-Four: The Imperial Prison of the Embroidered Uniform Guard

Zhu Hao shook his head lightly and said, “Take care of the Emperor for me. I don’t believe this incident was a sudden accident—it must be someone plotting to harm him! You must be vigilant and protect him at all costs. As long as my father remains in good health, I still have a chance. Do not worry about me!”

Hearing this, Xie Gang knelt on one knee and gave Zhu Hao a formal military salute, replying solemnly, “I accept your command, Your Highness.”

When Xie Gang stood up, the respectful look on his face vanished, replaced by a businesslike seriousness as he addressed Zhu Hao. “Your Highness, forgive my offense.”

Zhu Hao said nothing more, knowing Xie Gang was simply carrying out his duty. He nodded in acknowledgment, signaling that Xie Gang could have him taken away. Xie Gang immediately summoned two soldiers and ordered them to escort Zhu Hao to the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

As Zhu Hao anticipated his destination, memories of the historical records about the Embroidered Uniform Guard surfaced in his mind.

The Embroidered Uniform Guard was headed by a Commander, ranked third in the hierarchy. This figure oversaw all the Guards across the empire and was usually selected from the Emperor’s relatives or meritorious nobility—those whom the Emperor trusted implicitly.

Beneath the Commander were two Deputy Commanders, also of the third rank, responsible for supervising the Southern and Northern Suppression Offices or administering several of the fourteen Guard stations. In special circumstances, when the Commander’s position was vacant, the Deputy Commanders would assume the Commander’s responsibilities.

Under them were two Assistant Commanders of the fourth rank, who aided in managing the Suppression Offices or oversaw several of the Guard stations.

There were two Suppression Officers, ranked fourth, who acted as the executive officials of the Southern and Northern Suppression Offices. Officially, they were the highest authorities within their respective offices, but due to the immense power wielded by these offices, most of the time the Commanders themselves managed them, or occasionally the Assistant Commanders or Deputy Commanders took direct control.

The entire Embroidered Uniform Guard was comprised of fourteen stations throughout the empire. Each station was led by a Captain (fifth rank), with two Vice-Captains (subordinate fifth rank).

Under each Captain were ten Centurions (sixth rank), and twenty Probationary Centurions (subordinate sixth rank).

Each Centurion commanded two Banner Officers (seventh rank), who in turn were assisted by five Junior Banner Officers (subordinate seventh rank).

In summary, the most distinctive feature of the Ming dynasty’s Embroidered Uniform Guard was the existence of the Two Suppression Offices and the Fourteen Guards. The Southern Suppression Office was responsible for discipline and military law, acting as the internal investigative organ. The Northern Suppression Office was in charge of the imperial prison, handling cases personally assigned by the Emperor, and held the authority to arrest, interrogate, sentence, and execute without recourse to the regular judicial system—serving as the Guard’s external investigative unit. The notorious reputation of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, which struck fear in officials across the land, stemmed primarily from the terror inspired by the Northern Suppression Office.

The fourteen Guards were scattered throughout the empire, mainly tasked with investigation and reporting. During periods when the Guard’s power grew excessive, these stations too could arrest, interrogate, sentence, and execute at their own discretion.

As Zhu Hao pondered all this, he thought to himself, “This dreadful Northern Suppression Office—I’m coming to see for myself what’s so formidable about you!”

The journey passed in silence. Before long, Zhu Hao and his escort arrived at the gates of the imperial prison under the Northern Suppression Office. The two soldiers, knowing their commander’s close relationship with the Fifth Prince, did not mistreat Zhu Hao; on the contrary, they were courteous and respectful along the way.

Upon reaching the prison, the two soldiers knocked on the heavy doors and murmured a few words to the prison warden. Zhu Hao could not catch their conversation but understood they were handing him over. Having finished, the soldiers took their leave.

Once they were gone, the warden of the Embroidered Uniform Guard eyed Zhu Hao with a malicious smirk and sneered, “Boy! This is the imperial prison. I don’t care what your status was before—prince, noble, imperial kin—once you step into my prison, don’t expect to walk out whole. If you behave and don’t give me trouble, I might let you off since you’re still a child. But if you dare act up, you’ll regret ever being born!”

Zhu Hao cursed inwardly, “Damn you! I haven’t said a word and here you are trying to intimidate me. Don’t you know I’m just a child, protected by law? Infuriating!” At the same time, he thought, “It’s a good thing I’m the one in here. Any other child of my age would have been scared witless or left bawling after such a threat!”

He did not argue with the warden. Now, forced to bend under the eaves, he had no choice but to bide his time. Once his imperial father’s anger cooled and he was released, he would settle the score with this warden—what a dog who looks down on others!

Despite his thoughts, outwardly Zhu Hao nodded obediently, saying nothing. The warden, satisfied to see Zhu Hao seemingly cowed, nodded and said, “Not bad, you know your place! Come on then, stop gawking at the entrance—I promise you, the sights inside are much better!”

Though Zhu Hao had mentally prepared himself, stepping inside the imperial prison shattered his assumptions. He had imagined a place like those depicted in dramas before he transmigrated—wails and howls of tortured prisoners echoing through the halls. But when he entered, the scene was the stark opposite. Beyond the gates, darkness enveloped everything; only faint candlelight illuminated the corridors, barely enough to see one’s feet, with the rest lost in shadow. Passing a cell, Zhu Hao glanced in by the dim light and glimpsed a bloodied prisoner lying motionless on the ground—dead or alive, he could not tell.

The warden noticed Zhu Hao’s curiosity and snorted, “Boy, if you don’t want to end up like him, you’d best stop looking around! You seem curious, so I’ll tell you a bit more. They say the imperial prison is terrifying—do you know why?”

Without waiting for a response, the warden answered his own question in a chilling tone, “The terror of the Embroidered Uniform Guard lies in this: after being tortured here, you won’t have the strength or ability to make a sound.”

Hearing this, Zhu Hao felt that this place truly deserved its hellish reputation. The pervasive silence, broken only by scenes of blood and suffering, created an atmosphere far more psychologically harrowing than any screams could. For any normal person, this was the ultimate ordeal.

Only now did Zhu Hao understand why everyone in the Ming dynasty spoke of the Northern Suppression Office with such dread. This was indeed no place for the living.

For the first time, Zhu Hao regretted defying his father to protect Hua Rong. But thinking of handing Hua Rong over, his conscience would not permit it. Hua Rong was blameless—and he represented 500 summoning points, and possibly a powerful three-star general. As a miser at heart, Zhu Hao had clung to his principles, valuing treasure over his own life—never expecting to end up in this hellhole.

Still, Zhu Hao did not regret saving Hua Rong, only his manner of defying his father. Even if he could live this moment a thousand times over, he would always protect Hua Rong. But if he had a second chance, he would never confront his father so directly. Now he could only wish he had pleaded or acted spoiled; perhaps then his father would neither kill Hua Rong nor send him here.

But it was too late for regrets. All Zhu Hao could do was pray that his father’s anger would subside and release him soon.

While Zhu Hao prayed in his cell, he had no idea that, at that very moment, his mother was kneeling before his father, weeping bitterly. “Your Majesty, Youjian is your most beloved son! How could you bear to send him to the imperial prison? Please, if you must punish someone, punish me! He’s just a child—he hasn’t even recovered from his last injury. If you frighten him alone in that dreadful place, and he falls ill again, I will not survive the grief!”

Consort Liu sobbed as she spoke, tears streaming down her face, her beauty pitiful and moving.

Emperor Zhu Changluo frowned slightly and replied, “I know all this. But Youjian refused to hand over that guard, and the officials have come pressing for justice. I must give them an answer. Don’t worry—a tiger does not eat its cubs. I would never truly harm Youjian.”

Hearing him unmoved, Consort Liu continued to plead, “Your Majesty, forgive me for speaking out of turn. You say a tiger does not eat its cubs, but do you know what kind of place the imperial prison is? It’s a den of wolves and tigers! Even I, though long in the palace, have heard that no one who enters that prison ever comes out whole. Even if Youjian’s life is spared, he will be ruined for life. If you destroy his future, how is that different from killing him? You might as well grant me a white silk cord and let me die with my son—leave this cruel world together with him!”

Zhu Changluo, filled with anger at the officials who demanded his son’s execution in the name of righteousness, grew even more irritable at Consort Liu’s petitions. Unable to vent his rage on the officials, he unleashed it upon her, roaring, “If you want to die, I’ll grant your wish! Die before me now, and I’ll immediately order Youjian’s execution as well—then the officials will leave me in peace!”