Two days later.
Zhao Xin was not surprised by his father’s decision to have him meet the current Grand Councilors at the gates of Chuigong Hall.
After all, he was currently the only imperial prince, and even if younger brothers were born in the future, there would be a significant age gap between them.
Throughout history, dynasties have favored older princes for succession, as they are more mature in mind and less likely to let power slip from their grasp.
Thus, Zhao Xin could be said to be only one imperial edict away from becoming the Crown Prince. Only if Empress Cao gave birth to a legitimate heir from the central palace and raised him safely could his position be slightly shaken.
However, it was widely known both in and out of the court that Empress Cao was not favored, making the possibility of a legitimate heir from the central palace infinitely close to zero.
As the “quasi-Crown Prince,” it was essential for Zhao Xin to gain some understanding of court affairs.
Zhao Zhen also needed Zhao Xin to make an appearance before others, using his cleverness to dispel the doubts of the Grand Councilors and silence the voices in the court that continuously called for selecting another heir.
The succession to the throne was no casual affair—no amount of caution was excessive. Even the emperor had to consider all aspects of its impact, especially in the Song Dynasty, which claimed to share governance with scholar-officials.
Zhao Zhen, who was naturally indecisive, could not simply rely on his own words—”Prince Yu has fully recovered and is far more astute than ordinary people”—to make the ministers obediently give up and stop submitting memorials requesting the selection of an heir.
What surprised Zhao Xin was the timing Zhao Zhen had chosen.
Being summoned after only two days—wasn’t the news spreading a bit too quickly? Why did he feel that this vast imperial palace was not as tightly guarded as it should be?
But upon second thought, throughout the entire Song Dynasty, there had been no incidents like the “Stick Assault Case” or the bizarre story of a vendor selling steamed buns in the Forbidden City for two years. Reassured that his personal safety was well-protected, he calmed down.
At this time, he was still unaware of how advanced the newspaper industry and “paparazzi” were in the Song Dynasty.
To obtain sensational news and earn a hefty sum from the pockets of Dongjing City’s residents, paparazzi had already developed specialized roles: “inner scouts” responsible for gathering palace secrets, “court scouts” dedicated to reporting political news, and “yamen scouts” who followed up on murder investigations.
The inner scouts had already employed the secret technique of “throwing money around,” bribing eunuchs and palace maids in various ways to write several sensational articles, successfully keeping Zhao Xin at the top of the trending topics list for a full two days.
Countless Dongjing City residents, like Wang San, the breakfast shop owner who had participated in the heir-selection betting pool, were eagerly awaiting the final results brought back by the Grand Councilors.
Perhaps the Guanjia was just being stubborn, and they could turn the tables, making a comeback against all odds.
Zhao Xin now appeared weary and listless, as if he had reverted to the wooden stump he was two days ago, allowing Consort Miao to dress him in his princely court robes.
The so-called ritual system was used to determine hierarchy and status. As a direct representation of this system, clothing and headwear carried greater symbolic meaning than practical significance for those of higher status.
In short, the princely court robes of the Song Dynasty were so cumbersome that they gave him a headache. It was hard to imagine what the court robes for the Crown Prince and the emperor would look like.
Although he could have worn simpler official attire for the occasion he was about to attend, this was, after all, Zhao Xin’s first time meeting external ministers—and Grand Councilors at that—so it was appropriate to be more formal.
While inwardly grumbling that he was wrapped up like a ball and would surely take three steps and fall twice if he walked in the snow, Zhao Xin followed Consort Miao’s instructions and raised his arms, allowing his hands to slip through the sleeves of his outer robe.
Finally, he did not forget to flash a big, grateful smile at Consort Miao.
Consort Miao had already developed some resistance to Zhao Xin’s smiles. Seizing the opportunity to make minor adjustments to Zhao Xin’s attire, she leaned in close and whispered a reminder: “When you meet the three Grand Councilors later, be sure to observe proper etiquette. Don’t speak recklessly—they are all highly learned men.”
“If there’s something you don’t know, don’t ask impulsively. Don’t expose your shortcomings in front of others, for they won’t indulge you.”
“Mhm, mhm, I’ll be careful, Sister,” Zhao Xin nodded repeatedly like a chick pecking at rice.
Consort Miao gave Zhao Xin’s forehead one last gentle touch, her eyes tinged with melancholy. “In a way, I wish you could have remained just as you were before, Zui Xinglai.”
Consort Miao had never received much formal education, but her mother had been Zhao Zhen’s wet nurse, and she herself had entered the palace many years ago. By now, she had come to understand many things.
Since ancient times, being a prince had always been a high-risk occupation—and the closer one was to the throne, the greater the danger.
Setting aside distant examples like the First Emperor of Qin’s eldest son or Emperor Wu of Han’s Crown Prince Li, even the Xuanwu Gate inheritance method of the previous dynasty was enough to send chills down one’s spine.
As for the chaotic Five Dynasties period, it was an era where fathers departed and sons rejoiced, where human ethics and morality were shattered by the blade of war, turning fathers and sons into sworn enemies.
By the time of the current dynasty, to prevent such atrocities, the power of princes had been stripped down to nothing more than ceremonial duties like inquiring after the emperor’s meals and well-being.
Even the crown prince had been reduced to a mere symbolic figurehead, yet conflicts between fathers and sons still could not be entirely avoided.
In the past, when the late Emperor Zhenzong was installed as crown prince and went outside the city to pay homage at the ancestral temple, commoners who learned of this lined the streets upon his return, cheering and exclaiming, “This young Son of Heaven is truly the pillar of the state!”
This greatly displeased Emperor Taizong, who even summoned Kou Zhun, the prime minister who had advocated for establishing an heir, into the palace to reprimand him. He said, “If the people’s hearts have turned to the crown prince so quickly, then where does that leave me, the Son of Heaven?”
“It was all of you who kept urging me to appoint a crown prince. Now the people of Kaifeng know only the crown prince and not me, the Son of Heaven!”
If not for Kou Zhun’s steadfast resolve, the late Emperor’s position as crown prince might not have remained secure.
Supreme power is singular and indivisible. At present, because Guanjia has only Zui Xinglai as his son, he dotes on and indulges him excessively. But when the father grows old and the son reaches his prime, Zui Xinglai will inevitably become a thorn in his side…
Rather than the throne, she would much prefer her son to grow up safe and sound.
Hearing Consort Miao’s words, Zhao Xin felt a warm current flow through his heart.
It truly echoed that saying: others care about how high you fly, but only family worries about how tired you are.
Zhao Xin leaned his small head against Consort Miao’s shoulder and whispered close to her ear, “Don’t worry, Sister. I’ve been taught by the Sacred Ancestor, after all. I can protect myself well, and I’ll also be your and Elder Sister’s support.”
When Zhang Maoze, who had been sent to fetch him, arrived, Zhao Xin had already transformed back into an utterly ordinary child. He waved excitedly at Consort Miao, ignoring her dissuasion, and called out loudly, “Sister, go back now, no need to see me off!” I’ll return soon! Tell Elder Sister I’ll bring back some pastries from Chuigong Hall for her to try!”
Zhang Maoze couldn’t help but find this both amusing and exasperating.
He truly hadn’t expected this young prince to still retain such childish playfulness—thinking about snatching pastries while on his way to Chuigong Hall to meet the Grand Councilors.
But when Zhao Xin settled into the carriage and lazily, yet with an intensely oppressive air, began questioning him about which Grand Councilors were at Chuigong Hall and what their temperaments were like, Zhang Maoze suddenly realized he had misjudged the situation earlier.
What childish playfulness? It’s clearly dressing in colorful clothes to amuse one’s parents!
Zhang Maoze is not yet thirty years old, but having grown up in the palace since childhood and becoming a trusted confidant of the Guanjia, he knows very well whose rice bowl he relies on and who he must obey.
Thus, he simply said concisely: “There are the Tongpingzhangshi Lv Yijian, the Shumishi Zhang Dexiang, and Yan Shu.”
No further information was provided.
Just kidding, those three came to strongly argue that the Second Prince had not recovered and to bring the Thirteenth General into the palace.
If he said too much, he couldn’t guarantee that the officials wouldn’t play dirty and shift the blame onto him for “leaking information.”
Moreover, the Thirteenth General had officially served as the Guanjia’s heir for several years and had many supporters in the court.
Besides, Second Prince, you are only ordered to meet with the ministers, not to participate in court politics, so there’s no need to know such detailed information.
This is for your own good.
Zhao Xin could guess some of Zhang Maoze’s thoughts, and since his goal had already been achieved, he didn’t press further.
Asking about the ministers’ personalities was merely a pretense to open a window by pretending to tear off the roof.
Curled up in the cushion, Zhao Xin maintained a farmer’s posture and called out the System.
After two full days of research, Zhao Xin had confirmed that the System he carried couldn’t be called completely useless—it was more like a chicken rib, tasteless but not worth discarding.
It seemed to be a database search engine, and an unfinished one at that. The sub-function button for paper plagiarism checking and reduction on the interface remained grayed out and unclickable.
Daily check-ins earned three points, which could be used for searches.
Each search required a minimum of one point. To obtain more detailed and comprehensive information or to specify content, one had to pay more—or rather, use more points.
As for ways to earn points, currently, he had only discovered daily check-ins.
Zhao Xin had first used his biological father, Zhao Zhen, as a guinea pig, running a search through the engine.
Originally, he wanted to know when his father would pass away so he could prepare.
But only one line appeared: “Zhao Zhen, originally named Zhao Shouyi, was the fourth emperor of the Northern Song Dynasty.”
His birth and death dates, as well as his reign dates, all required additional points to view!
And they cost a whopping 50,000 points…
The greed was as bad as Visual XX! Zhao Xin had wanted to smash this wretched thing on the spot.
However, Zhao Xin later discovered that he could slightly bypass the restrictions by narrowing the search scope before conducting a search.
For example, specifying that he only wanted birth and death dates before searching could effectively reduce the point cost.
The stingy System would partially display answers based on an assessment of the question’s importance and the number of points provided.
It was like a progressive lottery scratch card—pay a few points to scratch once. When enough points were paid, the full answer would be revealed.
But Zhao Xin had no intention of doing that now.
“Lv Yijian, Zhang Dexiang, Yan Shu…” Zhao Xin silently repeated these three names in his mind.
He couldn’t help but sigh that his father had really hit the jackpot with his card draws—one of the three current ministers had made it into the Chinese poetry recitation hall of fame.
Although it seemed to be just an elective, Zhao Xin, who had already mostly returned his knowledge to his teachers, now only remembered Yan Shu’s line: “Flowers fall, do what one may; swallows return, no strangers they.”
So profound and lingering, with an enduring charm.
With only five points left, Zhao Xin first removed Yan Shu from the search list.
If he remembered correctly, this man was a famous child prodigy who lived a long life, enjoyed a smooth official career, and had many disciples and former subordinates. Right now, he was at the peak of his success.
Moreover, at present, he was merely a minor figure sitting at the end of the table, not someone who could play a decisive role.
Because his previous life also bore the surname Zhao, Zhao Xin had often been recommended historical stories about the Song dynasty by short video apps. Feeling inexplicably familiar with the name Lv Yijian, he instinctively chose to search.
And then, he summarized the third rule of this damned System.