IDWBE -Chapter 257 Entering the Palace

Ji Zhuo sighed. “I have a feeling that with how fast his cultivation is advancing, sooner or later he’ll surpass the Chief Steward.”

Shen Chu shook his head. “Miss Wen said the Chief Steward has already returned to simplicity—reverted to the primordial state. That’s the highest realm of a Grandmaster. For the blind man to catch up is basically impossible.”

Ji Zhuo asked curiously, “Miss Wen really said that?”

Wen Zhaoyi was a mystery within Prince He’s residence. No one knew her background, nor her age.

Everyone simply called her Miss Wen.

But one thing was common knowledge—she was a Grandmaster.

A Grandmaster’s insight naturally surpassed theirs. That much was beyond doubt.

Shen Chu nodded. “Naturally.”

Wang Tuozi unconsciously imitated Prince He’s tone and sighed, “Ah, why is the gap between people so huge? I exhausted myself just to barely reach fifth rank.”

Ji Zhuo snapped, “Be content! You’re a mere fifth rank, yet in terms of Lightness Skill you’re unrivaled under heaven. What more do you want?”

In actual combat, Ji Zhuo could kill several fifth-rank fighters like Wang Tuozi by himself!

Yet if Wang Tuozi truly intended to run, Ji Zhuo—at peak seventh rank—couldn’t even touch the edge of him.

The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

Shen Chu smiled. “How exactly did you train your Lightness Skill? One day, teach us some of your experience. Don’t hold back.”

He was equally unconvinced. His own Lightness Skill had been personally taught by the Chief Steward, move for move without deviation.

Wang Tuozi’s Lingbo Weibu had been taught by Chen Xinluo. Chen Xinluo’s martial arts were solid enough, but his Lightness Skill was a complete mess. Who would’ve thought he’d produce someone like Wang Tuozi?

Truly unexpected.

Wang Tuozi sighed gloomily. “The monk is still stuck at third rank. If he reaches fourth rank—ah—he’ll definitely catch up to me.”

Back when Wang Tuozi was fourth rank, the monk at third rank could already leave him in the dust.

If the monk advanced to fourth while he himself remained fifth, he was certain his title as the best Lightness Skill practitioner below ninth rank in Sanhe would be gone.

Shen Chu said thoughtfully, “The monk practices hard external techniques—emphasizing lower-body strength. Yet Lightness Skill is about agility and finesse. And still, he trains it so well. I truly can’t understand it.”

If not for Wang Tuozi’s existence as an oddity, Shen Chu would have suspected the Chief Steward gave the monk special tutoring.

Wang Tuozi said, “Who knows? That guy only plays with the blind man. With others, he just brushes them off. Strangest of all, his will is firm, yet he’s stuck at third rank no matter what. In my opinion, if he ever reaches seventh rank, there won’t be many in the world who can keep up with him.”

“Perhaps,” Shen Chu replied with a faint smile.

He stepped forward and looked out across the vast green sea before them. On both sides of the road, emerald wheat shimmered in the sunlight.

“Pass the order,” he continued. “No trampling crops. No open fires at will. Camps must be set in open ground. Keep the livestock under control. This is the people’s harvest for an entire season. If we ruin it, they’ll have no way to survive the winter.”

Ji Zhuo said, “Rest assured, Sir. The order was given long ago. You have more confidence in Sanhe’s military discipline than anyone.”

Shen Chu added, “What about those Qian people? Keep a close watch. If they break discipline, show no mercy. Kill when necessary to set an example.”

“Yes, Sir!”

Ji Zhuo lowered his voice. “Autumn harvest is coming soon. If Prince Yong and Prince Jin fail to take Ankang City and can’t return in time, the soldiers may grow restless.”

Shen Chu sighed. “Not just them. Us too. Haven’t you heard the murmurs among the troops and laborers? Many are anxious to return and harvest their grain. Grain is their lifeline. Touch that, and they’ll kill.”

Ji Zhuo nodded. “At least we’re better off than Yongzhou. Lord Shan Qi will surely organize mutual aid harvesting back home.”

This was Prince He’s initiative—Sanhe’s annual custom.

Shen Chu nodded. “True. But soldiers and laborers may not understand the Prince’s good intentions. Stabilize their hearts. Explain clearly—no one’s farm work will be delayed. There will be help harvesting. If they don’t trust us, then they don’t trust Lord Shan. And if they don’t trust Lord Shan, they don’t trust the Prince.”

Failing to soothe them could shake morale.

Those laborers who valued wealth above all might even abandon the march halfway. They wanted profit—but letting their grain rot in the fields? They’d rather die.

That night, Shen Chu deliberately avoided farmland and set camp on a hillside.

The villagers at the foot of the mountain had already fled in terror when they saw the army. Now, seeing the Sanhe forces ascend the hill, they despaired—behind them was a steep cliff. There was nowhere left to flee.

Huddled together under the blazing torchlight, they trembled as Shen Chu approached.

Shen Chu clasped his hands and said, “Everyone, we are Sanhe troops passing through. We will not take so much as a blade of grass. Please return down the mountain and continue your lives. If any soldier violates discipline, you are welcome to lodge a complaint.”

The villagers were skeptical.

Especially the elders—having seen much in their lifetimes, they knew even officials could be wolves and tigers, let alone passing armies.

Shen Chu approached a woman holding a crying child and smiled gently. “The child must be hungry. There’s little food up here. Better return early. We are strong and well-armed. If we meant harm, we wouldn’t be speaking politely. Please leave before I change my mind.”

His reasoning made sense. One person stepped forward, then others followed.

Once home, they shut their doors tight.

Ji Zhuo chuckled. “Sir, these are stubborn folk. No need to be so polite.”

Shen Chu snorted. “Lord Ji, have you forgotten the Prince’s teaching? An army without the people’s support is forever a rabble.”

Under the Prince’s reformed structure—army, division, brigade, regiment—they should address each other as Commander and Division Chief.

But old habits were hard to break.

Ji Zhuo knelt. “This subordinate was wrong. I will remember the Prince’s teachings.”

Shen Chu continued, quoting, “Some things, if done, may not bear fruit. But if not done, they will certainly bear none.”

Ji Zhuo lowered his head. “Understood.”

“Where is Jin Bo’s vanguard?” Shen Chu asked.

“Scouts report,” Ji Zhuo replied, “that the laborers drove off a detachment of Prince Jin’s troops. Jin Bo’s advance is unobstructed and now within ten li of Ankang City.”

Shen Chu sighed. “Those laborers are truly troublesome.”

At that moment, Wang Dahai ran out from the woods. “Sir! A message from Lord He!”

Shen Chu read the letter by firelight.

Ji Zhuo asked, “What does Lord He say?”

Shen Chu replied, “Pass the order: hold position. Await the Prince.”

“Yes!”

Ankang City

A capital of three dynasties. Its walls rose over three zhang high, stretching for dozens of li.

Now every gate was sealed. Outside, tents and bonfires stretched beyond sight.

On the walls, soldiers stood armored and armed, ready for battle.

Inside the imperial palace, lights blazed.

The former Crown Prince, now the Zhengchang Emperor, sat in the Golden Throne Hall in a fury, having smashed three teacups in succession.

The court officials stood silent as cicadas in winter.

“Speak!” the Emperor roared. “You are all eloquent in peace—why mute now? Shall we let Prince Yong, that traitor, run rampant outside? What face do I have left?”

Qi Yong bowed. “Your Majesty need not worry. Prince He and the Prince of Nanling are leading loyalist forces here.”

“Qi Yong!” the Emperor sneered. “Do you take me for a fool? Do you think I don’t know their intentions? A pack of ingrates!”

Qi Yong lowered his head again.

“Dismissed.”

The Emperor strode away without his imperial carriage, walking through vermilion towers until he stopped before Cian Palace.

Standing at the gate, he bowed. “Your nephew greets Aunt.”

The door creaked open. A palace maid bowed. “Your Majesty, please.”

The courtyard was pitch-black. The eunuch bearing a lantern dared not follow. The Emperor walked alone toward the single lit chamber.

Inside, he bowed to a radiant woman with closed eyes.

If she were not his aunt, he would never believe a woman past fifty could remain so breathtaking.

“You are Emperor now,” Lin Yuner said lightly. “You should act like one. I am but a woman. No need for such courtesy.”

“Aunt jests,” he replied with a smile. “Without you, I could never have ascended the throne…”

He described the siege and his worries.

Lin Yuner said calmly, “I expected Prince Yong, Prince Jin, and the Prince of Nanling. Only Prince He escaped my notice. He has endured quietly all these years. His schemes run deep.”

The Emperor sighed. “I underestimated him.”

He suggested bringing Consort Yuan into Cian Palace.

Lin Yuner smiled. “Liu Chaoyuan guards her day and night. It won’t be easy.”

“What if Aunt intervenes?”

“Your enemies are Prince Yong and Prince Jin. Why create more? Yuan Ang and Yuan Qing are famed generals. Offend Consort Yuan, and morale will waver.”

The Emperor clenched his teeth. “Some ministers don’t seem fully loyal. I even suspect Qi Yong serves Prince Yong.”

“Emperor,” Lin Yuner smiled faintly, “in schemes, you cannot match the Third.”

He bowed. “I will heed Aunt’s teachings.”

On the roof of Zhongxiu Palace stood two figures—one tall and thin, one short and stout.

“Do you know where you are?” the short, hoarse-voiced man said. “You cannot come and go as you please.”

“You’re Liu Chaoyuan?” the blind man tilted his head and smiled.

“Since you know my name, leave now. I won’t trouble you.”

“You can’t beat me,” the blind man said plainly.

Liu Chaoyuan frowned. “Care to test that?”

“I didn’t come to fight,” the blind man replied. “I came to see the Consort. ‘When the heart is unstained, the empty chamber glows white; when the spirit arrives, it shines like the full moon.’”

Liu Chaoyuan’s expression changed. “One of our own. No wonder such skill at your age.”

“Prince He sent me.”

“Then follow me.”

Inside, Consort Yuan rose barefoot from her couch.

“My son sent someone?”

The blind man knelt on one knee. “Wang Dong pays respects to Your Ladyship.”

Liu Chaoyuan only now noticed—he was blind.

Consort Yuan asked, “My son sent you?”

“Yes,” Wang Dong smiled. “The Prince leads his army north. He will arrive at Ankang City soon.”