LBLCPCB C1

Chapter 1

“Keep your voice down, do you think this is something glorious?”

“Father.”

The sudden voice behind him frightened Zhu Jingchen so badly that the golden goblet in his hand, adorned with glasswork in the shape of a horse, almost slipped to the ground. Turning around and seeing Zhu Song, he scolded him in annoyance.

“Ah you damn brat, sneaking in here at midnight instead of sleeping, just to give me a fright.”

Zhu Song looked around in utter astonishment. In all his years, he had never known that the Zhu family’s study concealed a hidden chamber like this—one filled to the brim with treasures. The sight was dazzling, radiant with gold and opulence, the shelves crammed with artifacts glittering in the dim candlelight.

But the more he looked, the stranger it seemed.

Zhu Jingchen grew uneasy inside. He hurriedly shoved Zhu Song toward the door. “Nothing worth seeing here, it’s all just your mother’s dowry. Don’t even think about it.”

Zhu Song, however, remained unmoving. He withdrew his gaze, turning to Zhu Jingchen with a cold smile and pointed toward the third tier of the shelf on his left—where a phoenix coronet, shimmering with pink feathers and inlaid with kingfisher feathers and pearlsⁱ, rested.

“This phoenix coronet was tribute from the Jinliu Kingdom sixteen years ago.”

“This white‑jade lily was tribute from the Waluo tribe fifteen years ago.”

“This luminous pearl came from Little Nanhai seven years ago.”

“And those… and those…”

He pointed them all out, one by one. Zhu Jingchen’s eyelids fluttered guiltily. Zhu Song, trembling with fury, let out a strangled cry, “Father!”

Zhu Jingchen immediately covered his mouth, whispering anxiously: “Quiet! Do you think this is honorable?”

Zhu Song yanked his hand away in disbelief. “Not honorable, and yet you still stole them? Do you have such a death wish for all of us?”

Zhu Jingchen muttered: “Well, what else could I do? I’ve already taken them. Better that you admire them properly—touch these peerless treasures with your own hands.”

Zhu Song snapped back: “You must have lost your mind! Who else knows of this?”

His father’s voice grew even smaller. “Only us. It’s just a little secret between father and son.”

Zhu Song was utterly speechless. “You’re insane. Quickly, call Mother, Lingye, and Lingwang here.”

Zhu Jingchen asked, “Call them… so we can all admire these together?”

Zhu Song nearly struck him, but forced himself to endure, gritting his teeth. “To discuss a countermeasure! Or did you plan to wait until the imperial guards storm in to drag us away before you start thinking of one?”

A stick of incense later², all five members of the Zhu household sat dutifully inside the study, staring at one another in silence.

Zhu Lingye was the first to act, slapping the table as he stood, his expression cold as he turned to their father. “Father, a man should take responsibility for his own deeds. I will escort you to the Ministry of Justice³ to confess this crime.”

Zhu Jingchen’s face twitched. He turned hurriedly toward Zhu Song, “Eldest, surely that’s not what you meant?”

But Zhu Lingye, who worked in the imperial guards and possessed a soldier’s strength, had already taken hold of his father’s arm, gripping hard enough to make him grimace and bare his teeth in pain. “Eldest, say something!”

Madam Meng Xiaohé sneered from the side, “Serves you right!”

“Oh wife, darling, it was just a single moment of folly! I deserve a chance to right my wrongs! Besides, the imperial household has mountains of treasures, an endless abundance—what’s the harm in me taking just a few pieces? Who would even notice?”

Zhu Song turned toward Zhu Lingye. “The matter has not yet been exposed, so there is still hope of undoing it. What’s most important now is to find out the current whereabouts of all these treasures. If we can quietly return them, then the matter will be over and done.”

Zhu Lingye asked, “And what if we cannot?”

Zhu Song answered with grim clarity, “The crime of stealing from the imperial household can be minor or grave. A light sentence brings dismissal and exile. A heavier one means execution, perhaps whole‑family extermination.”

Serving as an assistant minister at the Court of Judicial Review⁴, Zhu Song was highly familiar with cases like these and well‑versed in the codes of law.

When Madam Meng Xiaohé heard the words “whole family extermination,” her fury surged, and she yanked her husband by the ear. “You sought pleasure for yourself, yet dragged all of us into peril!”

Her hand struck with no mercy. Zhu Jingchen twisted with a howl of pain, his ear pulled sideways. “Ah! Wife, I know I was wrong! I swear, I’ll return them! I’ll return every last one!”

Scenes like this were commonplace within the Zhu household. Seeing the moment, Zhu Song exchanged a discreet glance with his two younger brothers to get moving quickly. Zhu Lingye extracted a register from their father and the three brothers spent the night investigating where each treasure had ended up.

After three days of searching openly and secretly, they finally uncovered the truth.

Coincidentally—indeed, almost too coincidentally—all eighty‑one pieces had ended up in the Eastern Palace.

And when speaking of the Eastern Palace, one cannot avoid speaking of its current master—Crown Prince Wen Fengxuan.

To mention Wen Fengxuan is also to speak of his mother: the late Empress, Lady Chen Mingluo, posthumously honored as Ming‑yi, the Virtuous Empress Consort⁵.

In the sixteenth year of the Tianqi reign, the current emperor journeyed south to observe the people, and while in Suzhou he fell victim to bandits, injured and missing—until he was rescued by Chen Mingluo, then only a humble fisherman’s daughter. In their time together, affection grew between them. Three months later, the Emperor escorted her back to the capital. Despite opposition from the powerful clans whose daughters filled the harem, he made her empress.

For three years Empress Chen bore no children, but the Emperor’s favor for her was unmatched. He even neglected the remainder of the harem. In the fourth year, at last she conceived. The Emperor was overjoyed and immediately proclaimed: if the child were male, he would be named Wen Fengxuan and declared Crown Prince.

But fate is ruthless. Chen Mingluo died in childbirth. The Emperor was stricken with grief, standing vigil over her coffin for seven days. The boy who should have been born into glory was instead cast into one of the most neglected palaces of the inner court, Changqiu Palace, attended only by two elderly nursemaids.

It was as if Wen Fengxuan vanished from the world—as if he had never existed at all. In the entirety of the capital, no one spared him a thought, until just two years ago when drought struck the land. The Emperor led the entire imperial clan and all officials to Mount Tai to pray for rain. Among their retinue, the crowd glimpsed a strange face wearing a prince’s robes—only then did they realize Wen Fengxuan was still alive.

Those who had once seen Empress Chen all remarked how alike Wen Fengxuan was to her. That day the Emperor looked upon his son at length, as though through the boy he saw his deceased empress once more.

The next day, rain indeed poured from the heavens, ending the three‑month drought. Yet in the imperial court that very morning, ministers clashed fiercely over who should be the next Crown Prince. The Emperor kept silent—but by afternoon, an imperial edict arrived at Changqiu Palace, naming Wen Fengxuan as heir.

There are two interpretations of this act: one, that the Emperor wished to honor his late Empress and fulfill his long‑ago promise; or two, that the Emperor had not yet decided on the true heir and merely thrust Wen Fengxuan forward as a shield.

Most leaned toward the first explanation. After all, though Crown Prince in name, Wen Fengxuan held no real power, was not allowed into court, and being weak in body and cold in temperament, he barely spoke. When he visited Xiangguo Temple, its abbot predicted he would not live past twenty‑five.

Now, two years had passed since he entered the Eastern Palace, yet he almost never appeared in public. No one sought his acquaintance, nor did he seek others. Without a powerful maternal clan backing him, he lived alone, isolated. Ministers considered him nothing but a nominal Crown Prince, unlikely to last.

Zhu Song had once joked in conversation with Gu Huaiyu that the Eastern Palace was in a more wretched state now—with a Crown Prince—than it had been when left empty.

“So what should we do now?”

Once more, all five gathered in the family study to deliberate.

When Zhu Jingchen heard that all the treasures were in the Eastern Palace, his thoughts again slid the wrong way. “Come now, the Crown Prince won’t live for long anyway. Once he dies, these things will be buried with him. Underground, who will care if they’re real or fake?”

Zhu Song could guess his meaning the moment he pursed his lips. He curled his own mouth in exasperation. “Do you truly have to be so greedy for riches?”

Zhu Jingchen defended himself. “Hey, this isn’t greed. This is appreciation of beauty! The imperial household has treasures piled like mountains—these items would just gather dust! It would be a crime against heaven to waste them so.”

Zhu Song snorted coldly, words cutting. “Your head on your neck is also wasted. When it tumbles to the ground, perhaps that too will attract admiration.”

His father knew he would win no such argument, and muttered under his breath until silenced by a glare from Madam Meng Xiaohé.

Deliberation continued. Though Crown Prince Wen Fengxuan would be difficult to handle, he had to be dealt with if they were to avert disaster. The only question was—who would undertake the task.

Zhu Lingye immediately nominated their father. “This was your doing. You should be the one to put it right.”

Zhu Jingchen protested. “Not me! The moment I step foot into the Eastern Palace, the old foxes at court will say I’m currying favor with the Crown Prince. How could I hold my ground then? You lot came up with this idea—you should be the ones executing it! Besides, young people can talk things over more easily with each other.”

Zhu Lingye suggested: “Then I could declare an assassin intruded, go search the Eastern Palace in the name of security, and you could use the chance to return the treasures.”

Zhu Song shook his head. “We know nothing of the Eastern Palace, where could we possibly put them? And with such a large quantity—some of them enormous—how could we smuggle them in with no one noticing for all those nights?”

Indeed, this seemed too difficult. Zhu Lingye admitted defeat. “Then what do we do?”

Zhu Song replied, “I have three ideas. First: build rapport with Wen Fengxuan. Once we are trusted, we can move freely in and out of the Eastern Palace and switch the items. Second: map out the entire Eastern Palace, record where every treasure is stored, and then under cover of night exchange the fakes for the real ones, piece by piece. Third: create chaos inside and burn all the forgeries.”

At first hearing, all three sounded feasible, but in truth the obstacles were immense.

First: rumor said Wen Fengxuan was profoundly aloof, uttering no more than three sentences in a day and showing no interest in anything. To befriend him was harder than scaling the heavens.

Second: eighty‑one treasures meant nearly a month of nightly intrusions even if the three brothers worked together. Could the attendants of the Eastern Palace truly remain blind and deaf for that long?

Third: arson was simple, but could they guarantee destroying every counterfeit? If even one remained, the discrepancy would be obvious during accounting.

Thus, fire was ruled out. For safety, the family decided to pursue two routes at once: seek to connect with Wen Fengxuan, and at the same time learn the layout of the Eastern Palace.

At last, after debate, the task of befriending the Crown Prince fell upon Zhu Song. First, because he was the eldest and held a post at the Court of Judicial Review, giving him knowledge and standing. Second, among the three brothers, he was the sharpest.

The plan settled, Zhu Jingchen clapped his son’s shoulder solemnly. “Son, our whole family depends on you.”

Zhu Song narrowed his eyes at him, face expressionless. Zhu Jingchen chuckled awkwardly. “The Crown Prince may have many faults, but he is handsome. And haven’t you always liked beautiful things since young? You won’t come out of this empty‑handed.”

Zhu Song brushed his hand aside with a careless tone. “Spare me. I’m not as shallow as you.”

Zhu Jingchen’s official rank was higher than his son’s. At the prayer for rain on Mount Tai two years prior, he had stood close to Wen Fengxuan, close enough for a clearer view. Zhu Song, only a junior assistant minister and posted much farther away, had seen nothing: just a blurred silhouette through torrential rain.

And frankly, it had seemed nothing special.

For the capital was never lacking in beauty.

Men or women—there was no shortage.

Zhu Song would not believe Wen Fengxuan could be beautiful beyond mortal measure.

Footnotes for Readers

1. Phoenix coronet with kingfisher feathers and pearls (點翠流珠鳳冠) — an intricate crown covered with tiny inlaid feathers of the kingfisher bird and strung with pearls; historically considered extremely precious and usually reserved for royal women.

2. One stick of incense (一炷香) — a traditional unit of time, roughly 15–30 minutes, depending on the incense length.

3. Ministry of Justice (刑部) — one of the Six Ministries in imperial China, in charge of judicial administration and handling criminal cases.

4. Court of Judicial Review (大理寺, Dali Si) — high imperial court responsible for reviewing major legal cases and handling judicial affairs. Zhu Song’s position here explains his legal expertise.

5. Posthumous honorific titles — in Chinese dynasties, when empresses or high consorts died, they were given elaborate posthumous names (like “Ming‑yi, Virtuous, Filial, Worthy Empress”). This indicates respect and places emphasis on their remembered virtue.