As the Crown Prince’s figure disappeared beyond the hall doors, Emperor Yongming’s gaze returned to Princess Zhaohua. Looking at this daughter whose features resembled the late Empress Xiao by seven or eight parts, he could not help but think of her maternal clan, the Xiao family. Now, only General Xiao Yan’s branch remained.
That the northern frontier’s Grand General Xiao Yan could remain untouched amid this storm was no accident.
In the Emperor’s heart, all was clear. The Xiao clan had once been illustrious. The late Empress Xiao was gentle and virtuous, bearing him the eldest legitimate son. At that time, the Xiao family basked in glory.
But the Empress died young, and soon after, the crown prince she had borne also passed away, leaving only this eldest daughter, Baili Jun.
With the deaths of the Empress and her son, the Xiao family’s greatest support—and greatest threat—vanished.
Now, the clan consisted only of General Xiao Yan, guarding the frontier far from court, his son Xiao Lin, and a princess secluded in the palace without real power. They had no prince to champion, no path for the maternal clan to seize authority and threaten the throne. It was precisely this “clean break,” this absolute safety born of severed bloodlines, that allowed Emperor Yongming to entrust Xiao Yan with command of two hundred thousand troops.
Xiao Yan was a pure minister. His loyalty was to the Emperor and the realm, not to any prince. He had no son to pave the way for, no family to leverage military power for advancement. His very existence was a bulwark stabilizing the frontier and balancing factions at court. Thus, when accusations targeted Xiao Yan, Emperor Yongming had never truly believed the “treason” evidence.
Xiao Yan had no motive, no need. To frame him was, in essence, an attempt to wrest control of the frontier army, to uproot the Emperor’s own anchor in the north. That was what truly enraged him.
Allowing Xiao Yan to “remain untouched” was not indulgence, but recognition of the Xiao clan’s reality and trust in Xiao Yan’s loyalty.
By investigating thoroughly, clearing Xiao Yan’s name, and purging the parasites around him, the Emperor could strengthen the army’s morale and keep that sharp frontier blade firmly in his own grasp.
“Zhaohua.” Emperor Yongming’s voice broke the silence of the hall, tinged with fatigue and scrutiny.
Baili Jun immediately composed herself, bowing. “Your daughter is here.”
His sharp gaze fell upon her. “You slew a court official without sanction. That is a grave crime, punishable by law.”
The hall tightened once more.
The Crown Prince’s faction showed a flicker of gloating in their eyes.
“But…” the Emperor’s tone softened, “in light of your service today—exposing grain corruption, the framing of the loyal, and the leaking of defenses—your merits balance your faults. From this day, you are confined to your residence for one month. You may not leave, nor may anyone visit without imperial decree.”
“Your daughter accepts the decree and thanks Father for his grace.” Baili Jun bowed, her voice calm.
She understood well. The charge of “slaying a court official” was merely her father’s warning for storming into court and stirring up upheaval.
The Emperor’s mind was subtle: he would wield her as a blade to cut away rot, but would not allow that blade to grow too sharp, beyond his control.
Confinement was both punishment and protection, keeping her away from the storm’s center—for now.
“Court dismissed!” Zhao Deshun’s shrill voice ended the dramatic session.
Baili Jun walked out of the Hall under the ministers’ watchful eyes. After leaving the palace, she returned to the Princess’s residence in a carriage, “escorted” by the imperial guards.
The gates of the residence were tightly shut, cutting off the noise and prying eyes of the outside world.
Baili Jun removed her elaborate court robes and changed into plain attire. She sat at her desk in the study, her face calm and unruffled, as though the storm in court earlier had been nothing but a dream. Her gaze fell upon the black command token lying on the desk.
This token had been retrieved from Ji Huai’an’s hidden chamber. On its front were the carved characters *Eastern Palace Command*, and on the back, the Crown Prince’s name, *Zhang*.
She did not yet know its true purpose. But for Ji Huai’an to hide it in such a secret place, it had to be of great importance. That was why she had decided to test the Crown Prince with it. His reaction in court—pupils contracting, throat bobbing, breath halting—had told her everything.
This was no ordinary token. So what was it for?
A symbol to mobilize the Crown Prince’s shadow guards? A key to some hidden treasury? Or a more secret, more deadly means of communication?
“Your Highness.” Qingluan appeared silently before the desk.
“All arranged?” Baili Jun lifted her teacup, blowing gently across its surface.
“Yes.” Qingluan replied crisply. “The shadow guards have all been deployed. As ordered, they are split into two groups. One group watches every entrance and exit of the Crown Prince’s residence—especially side gates and alleys—with fixed posts and rotating shifts, ensuring no blind spots. The other has infiltrated the Ministry of Revenue’s district, focusing on the archives and the homes of clerks who handle military payroll records. Any unusual movement is under surveillance.”
Baili Jun nodded, setting down her cup. “The Crown Prince must now be like an ant on a hot pan. He will surely send men to destroy evidence—especially the payroll records at the Ministry of Revenue. So watch every person leaving his residence. I want to know who he sends, where they go, whom they meet, and what they do. Especially if anyone approaches the archives or contacts officials—use the covert lines if necessary.”
“Understood!” Qingluan bowed deeply, her expression solemn. “The Crimson Feather Guard are veterans. They know the stakes. If anything happens, Your Highness will be informed at once.”
When Qingluan departed, silence returned to the study, broken only by the ticking of the water clock.
Baili Jun closed her eyes, replaying the morning’s court session in her mind, calculating every faction’s response. Under the decree of confinement, she was safe for now. No one would dare strike at the princess who had just “earned merit” under the Emperor’s gaze. But she was also bound, unable to act directly against the Crown Prince.
His foundation was deep, his faction vast. If he managed to erase all evidence pointing to him, then once he recovered from this storm, he would surely launch a furious counterattack.
Now it was a race—who would seize the decisive moment first? Would her shadow guards catch him in the act of destroying evidence? Or would the Crown Prince’s men succeed in wiping out every trace?