The imperial quarters of the Great Qi palace were named Wenhua, having been constructed by the previous dynasty, and the hall where the sovereign resided was called the Yuchen Hall.
The candle oil used within the palace was of luxurious quality, casting a halo like silver that did not strain the eyes. Falling upon a person’s face, it made the skin appear somewhat fairer without losing its natural rosy vitality, as if draping a soft, dim mist over one’s features.
The reigning emperor, Ji Sheng, had not particularly excelled in appearance among the imperial princes back in the day, but at this moment, his face bathed in the lamplight also carried a hint of that ancient praise: “Like a refined gentleman, as pure as gold and tin, as flawless as jade and scepter.”
He was in the midst of re-deploying the patrol defenses for the Yujing Security Office. Henceforth, whenever there were festivals, the commanding generals on duty would not be permitted to take leave or rest. Following the recent consecutive dismissal of several deputy generals, urgent new appointments were required.
Ji Shuo sat listening to the boring, half-night discourse on city defense affairs, his phoenix eyes half-closed in a trace of fatigue.
“Sixth Brother,” the Emperor said after finishing his words, suddenly turning his gaze toward the idle Prince of Jing below the steps with a sigh. “If you weren’t blind, and were willing to share the burden of military defense for Me, I wouldn’t have been left with no one usable until now.”
Ji Shuo said calmly, “Your Majesty flatters me. Your younger brother has lived in leisurely idleness for many years and can no longer even lift a blade.”
The Emperor smiled and retorted, “No need for undue modesty. I am well aware of your abilities. Besides, academia has always been your strong suit; this time, when the female academy posted its rankings, the public was fully convinced, not to mention that those treacherous rats and rebellious scoundrels were severely punished—you deserve no small share of the credit. Speak, if you desire a reward, you need only mention it to your imperial brother.”
As for minor, painless rewards, the Wenhua Hall could certainly afford to bestow them upon a leisurely prince like him—provided he did not seek to claim an official post.
Yet Ji Shuo actually had no particular desires. If pressed, his newly wedded Princess Consort would likely have some use for books.
“A collection of books?” The Emperor was startled at first, then laughed heartily. “And what difficulty is there in that? The Lantai archives possess no small number of ancient historical manuscripts and rare editions. Which ones do you want? Take them as you please.”
After exchanging customary pleasantries with the Emperor, Ji Shuo—carrying the rolls of ancient books that Li Mao had packed into cases behind him—returned to the palace gates before the Wenhua Hall was locked and boarded his carriage at the West Gate.
Six more days. Counting the time in his head, Ji Shuo tapped his ring-bearing knuckle rhythmically against the ancient, intricately textured cases.
She would undoubtedly be delighted upon seeing these ancient texts. When he watched her, she was no different from a bookworm.
At this thought, the corners of Ji Shuo’s lips twitched upward uncontrollably, though the arc was as faint as a dragonfly skimming across water.
Without a careful look, one would likely fail to perceive it at all.
The carriage cleaved through the cascading, wave-like moonlight winding between the lanes, grinding across the century-old bricks accumulated along the road in the quiet and tranquil night, producing a sound that stirred springtime longings.
Ji Shuo’s long fingers landed upon the lock of the case, gently stroking it.
Having practiced martial arts since childhood, his hearing was naturally gifted, enhanced further through martial training and heightened still more after losing his sight. In the tranquil night, even changes in the wind direction could not escape his eardrums. Exactly at this moment, the airflow around him underwent an abrupt, compressed shift, and the air outside grew choked with a stagnant, murderous intent.
His long fingers halted sharply upon the case, and Ji Shuo shouted outward: “Longzhou! Draw your swords!”
Longzhou froze for a split second. Drawing his blade from its scabbard in a fluster and looking around in bewilderment, he suddenly saw dozens of figures leaping down from the high walls on both sides like dumplings dropped into a pot. Each of them was clad in night-dark garments, wielding broadswords, iron cudgels, or meteor hammers. The moment they landed from the walls, they moved with disciplined, purposeful coordination, slashing frantically toward the dark-green-tented carriage of the Prince of Jing.
Amidst his panic, Longzhou hastily flashed his weapon alongside Li Mao and the six accompanying household guards, and the two sides clashed in battle.
Weapons met, emitting crisp, dragon-like rings.
However, because the assassins’ wave came with startling suddenness, even though Li Mao and Longzhou possessed exceptional martial arts skills, they could not immediately break through the assassins’ heavy encirclement to reach the Prince’s carriage.
Two fierce, wildly whirling meteor hammers were hurled by a burly assassin with all the strength he could muster toward the dark-green-tented carriage under the moonlight behind them.
Though the Prince of Jing inside the carriage remained uninjured, the canopy of the carriage, along with its left and right walls, shattered into pieces in an instant and collapsed to the ground.
The abandoned floorboards of the carriage shook with violent tremors, startling the docile horse at the front. The white horse threw back its neck in a long neigh, terrified as it let loose its hooves and galloped wildly down the lane. Ji Shuo, seated atop it, lost his sense of direction amidst this disorderly, violent motion due to his blindness; his body tilted, and he nearly tumbled off the carriage.
“Don’t let the Prince of Jing live!”
Following a command issued in a distinctly altered, disguised voice, the group of well-trained assassins ceased to tangle with the Prince’s guards, instead raising axes, halberds, hooks, and forks to pursue and slash at Ji Shuo.
“Protect His Highness!”
Here, Longzhou served as the backbone of the personal guards and issued instructions: at all costs, they must protect the Prince’s safety.
Thus, swords crossed once more, and they engaged in a desperate, bare-knuckle slaughter where every single stroke drew blood.
Neither side was made of pushovers, but soon the assassins’ numerical advantage made itself felt.
The lane where they lay in ambush was precisely the mandatory passage from Wenhua Hall back to the Prince of Jing’s Manor. The hour of the nightly curfew had already passed, and houses along the road had all bolted their doors tightly. Meanwhile, the new defensive handover for the Yujing Security Office had not yet been completed, leaving the entire avenue completely deserted, with no one arriving to render aid in the short term.
Blocked by the desperate, life-risking interception of Li Mao and the others, the assassins pursuing Ji Shuo still had one or two slip through the net. They galloped like winged runners after the frantic white horse, leaping through the air to deliver a slashing blow toward Ji Shuo, who had lost the cover of the carriage canopy.
Ji Shuo steadied his body on the erratically swaying carriage using a heavy-footed stance. A sudden gale rushed into his ears, and in the flash of a spark, the trajectory of the enemy’s long saber materialized as if clearly before his eyes—slashing directly toward the right side of his neck.
To judge the distance with greater precision, he could only wait until the opponent’s blade entered within three feet of his ears. The enemy struck with extreme speed, leaving him less than a split second to react.
Yet, quick as thought, just as the assassin’s blade was about to find its mark on the Prince of Jing’s neck—amidst the shrill, desperate shouts of Li Mao behind him—Ji Shuo seemed to possess eyes upon his back as his body leaned sharply to the side, dodging this perilously close stroke.
Failing in their initial strike, the assassin had already leaped onto the carriage, intending to engage in close-quarters combat.
Undeterred, the assassin raised his blade to slash again. Gathering his strength, Ji Shuo lashed out with a kick aimed at the attacker’s arm, catching him squarely on the wrist holding the saber. Accompanied by sharp pain and numbness in the wrist, the long saber slipped from the assassin’s grasp, only for Ji Shuo to catch it and sweep horizontally, cutting the attacker down right upon the carriage.
Hot, reeking blood splattered across his robes and face. Frowning with disgust, Ji Shuo gripped the hilt of the broadsword tightly in his palm.
The next wave of attack arrived swiftly. No sooner had one person fallen than two others rushed forward fearlessly, leaping close—a muscular man wielding a meteor hammer and an assassin armed with twin iron cudgels.
The two employed a coordinated formation: one responsible for ranged attacks, the other for close combat. Their offensive and defensive setup was tight, executing grand, sweeping movements.
Ji Shuo could only judge positions by sound, relying on his previously accumulated combat experience to face the danger.
Yet the rushing gales of their weapons could not be finely parsed within a short span; sometimes he couldn’t tell whether the object lunging toward his face was the twin cudgels or the meteor hammer, forcing him to guess. Especially after a prolonged entanglement, Ji Shuo’s stamina declined, causing him to misjudge the meteor hammer whistling fiercely through the air toward his face in the hands of the burly man.
Once swung, such a hammer could also be retracted; its forward momentum was immense, and the pulling force upon its recovery was equally massive. Only after his broadsword deflected the twin cudgels did Ji Shuo realize his mistake, sensing immediately that something was amiss.
His back was struck squarely by the meteor hammer. As the carriage sped onward, Ji Shuo’s body was knocked off the deck, rolling twice across the ground before the back of his head slammed heavily against the uneven bluestone wall of the lane.
Instantly, his cranial cavity churned violently, and a mouthful of blood surged upward from his internal organs, erupting from his throat to splatter upon the ground.
“Your Highness!”
The rolling body of the Prince of Jing came to a halt after colliding with the wall. Supporting himself with his broadsword in his right hand, his back pressed against the hard stone surface, his attendants turned pale with fright. Li Mao, enduring a slash to his arm, broke through the blockade first amidst the chaotic melee and galloped to his aid.
Seeing that the Prince of Jing was merely injured and not yet dead, the assassins naturally had no intention of fleeing just yet. Brandishing their twin cudgels and whirling their meteor hammers once more, they charged toward Ji Shuo with intent to kill in every single strike.
The Prince of Jing’s personal guards were fierce generals who had followed Ji Shuo on campaigns against Liaodong in years past. Later, when Ji Shuo lost his sight and was stripped of his military command, these subordinate commanders who had followed him were gradually marginalized by officialdom and the military ranks. Several among them, unable to stomach such suffocating exclusion and banishment, had entered the Prince of Jing’s Manor as personal guards.
They still retained the martial prowess acquired from following the Prince on expeditions east and west, and had not let their skills rust over the years. Therefore, their temporary numerical disadvantage was only skin-deep; under prolonged assault, their true mastery—capable of fighting ten men single-handedly—inevitably manifested. Once the assassins’ encirclement was torn apart, the Prince’s Manor’s counterattack unfolded in the blink of an eye.
Several assassins were chopped down like fruits and vegetables, their juices blurring the ground. Realizing the tide had turned and fearing the loss of their lives here—since they could no longer kill the Prince of Jing anyway—several other broadsword-wielding assassins tucked their tails, leapt up the blue brick walls, and fled in panic.
A righteous and indignant Li Mao immediately leaped atop the wall as well, his chest heaving with furious agitation. Holding his blade, he looked all around, only to be called back by Longzhou: “Do not pursue desperate bandits! Shugong, come check on the Prince first!”
Recalling the Prince’s injuries, Li Mao jumped down from the wall in a panic, parted the crowd, and rushed toward the Prince of Jing at the base of the wall, crying out, “Your Highness! How are your injuries?”
As he spoke, preparing to examine the wounds, the attendants hastily fetched torches, igniting flint to provide illumination. At that moment, Longzhou—who was protecting the Prince’s head and cervical vertebrae—carefully withdrew his palms, and the blazing torchlight illuminated Longzhou’s hands drenched in dripping blood.
“Your Highness! How do you fare!” Li Mao felt as though he had lost his parents; overwhelmed by crushing guilt and frustration, he lost his voice entirely.
When all was said and done, it was because he was useless and failed to protect His Highness. Knowing full well that His Highness possessed an affliction in his eyes, he ought to have protected him without leaving his side for a single moment.
Those damned scoundrels deserved to be torn limb from limb!
Longzhou’s tone was heavy: “The Prince has lost a great deal of blood; he must receive medical attention immediately.”
However, from this spot to the Prince of Jing’s Manor still required a long stretch of travel. By the time they arrived and summoned the manor physicians to examine him, His Highness’s injuries would likely have deteriorated further.
Gritting his teeth, Longzhou issued an immediate command: “Help the Prince onto a horse first. Turn back—return to Wenhua Hall.”
Wenhua Hall was closer than the Prince of Jing’s Manor, and the imperial physicians within the palace possessed superior medical skills. Now that His Highness was gravely wounded, returning to the palace for treatment was more appropriate.
Li Mao shared this assessment. In moments of crisis, Longzhou was forever calmer than himself; accustomed to listening to Longzhou, Li Mao nodded heavily, and the two of them joined forces to support Ji Shuo’s shoulders.
A stream of fresh blood once more spurted from Ji Shuo’s mouth, terrifying the two men and nearly making them lose their grip, when they heard Ji Shuo’s deep, hoarse voice sound in their ears: “Longzhou.”
Longzhou replied instantly: “This subordinate is here.”
With his ink-dark brows knitted, his eyes half-closed, and the long, trailing corners of his eyes leaking a sliver of faint light, Ji Shuo commanded, “Bring the torch closer.”
Longzhou immediately obeyed, instructing the men behind him to bring the torch nearer and shine it upon the Prince.
Ji Shuo’s fingers pressing against his ring tightened abruptly, and his previously erratic breathing following his injury halted in its tracks at that very moment.
He felt as though, when the torch drew close to him, vast floods of brilliance poured into his eyes like a rising tide—so bright that the entire world grew as clear and pure as glazed crystal, resembling a holy Buddhist sanctuary, empty, vast, long-lost, and unfamiliar.
Yet merely an instant later, Ji Shuo lost consciousness, his body leaning backward powerlessly to sink into Longzhou’s arms.
The dizziness brought no dreams. When Ji Shuo awoke once more, he was already resting in the Hanguang Hall of Wenhua Hall.
A chorus of clamorous voices crowded around him instantly. He recognized some as coming from the imperial physicians, others from Longzhou and Li Mao, and even his imperial brother seemed to have come to visit.
He answered them one by one: “This Prince is unharmed.”
The Emperor refused to believe it, drawing a sharp breath as he said, “Right beneath the feet of the Son of Heaven, someone actually dares to assassinate a prince—are the laws of the realm reduced to mere decoration? Heqiu, rest and recuperate; I will thoroughly investigate the origins of the assassins and secure justice for you.”
Ji Shuo asked, “Are there any living captives?”
Li Mao hesitated for a moment before replying in a low voice: “None. The few who were captured took their own lives. They were death-sworn soldiers.”
Generally speaking, only when someone had provoked another to a desperate extreme would they summon such death-sworn soldiers. However, Ji Shuo was long no longer the imperial prince who led armies to suppress rebels back in the day, but rather an idle, blind prince who had lost his power; the sole duty he currently held was the trivial and painless female academy. Recently, the academy had released its rankings, and the timing matched perfectly. This wave of assassins must have been hired and sent in retaliation because the Prince of Jing had infringed upon certain people’s interests through the academy.
Yet he had not expected that an academy—already a narrow doorway among narrow doorways—could still stir up a thousand layers of waves. The hidden filth beneath the imperial examinations over these years was likely even more severe.
The Emperor pressed down his brow ridge, his expression looking exceedingly poor. After inspecting his younger brother’s injuries and learning they were not life-threatening, he furrowed his brows and left the Hanguang Hall.
Ji Shuo could hear the sound of the Emperor’s departure with exceptional clarity. Reaching out, he touched the layers of bandages wrapped around his head, tracing along the bandages toward the swelling upon his skull.
“Your Highness, ah, it must not be touched, it must not be touched…” The imperial physicians vied with one another to step forward and stop him.
Ji Shuo’s expression grew more puzzled and vexed.
Before he lost consciousness, he seemed to recall that a vast beam of bright light had poured into his eyes at that time.
Back then, he thought that was a sign his sight was returning, yet upon waking from sleep, he had returned to his previous state, with his entire field of vision pitch black.
“Has the Prince’s Manor been alarmed?” he asked enduringly.
Longzhou replied: “Fearing that Her Ladyship the Consort Dowager would worry, this subordinate acted on his own authority to conceal the news of Your Highness’s injury. We only told the manor that Your Highness was kept behind by the Emperor to drink wine in the palace and will return in a couple of days.”
Ji Shuo nodded slightly. He knew his own injuries well enough—they hadn’t damaged his foundation, so there was no need to cause his mother grief.
As for the Princess Consort…
Treat her the same.
“Conceal it from the Princess Consort’s side as well, for now.”
“As you command.”
Hearing Longzhou’s definite reply and knowing that she had not yet learned of his injury, Ji Shuo’s heart settled downward a fraction as he once more reached toward the wound on the back of his head.
The swelling was somewhat elevated, yet it didn’t feel hard to the touch.
He ought to have felt disappointed.
Yet, as Ji Shuo stroked the lump on his skull, before his eyes, a bright white beam of light seemed to flicker and flash once more, resembling the tail of a comet before swiftly submerging into the long night.
“Longzhou,” continuing thus, even though Ji Shuo had long abandoned all hope of recovering his sight over the past two years, he still found it hard to endure his restlessness. “Are the lamps lit within the hall?”
“There are lamps; they are the fish oil used in the palace.”
“What color?”
“White.”
Answering the question, Longzhou perplexedly noted that the Prince’s voice seemed to have grown hurried.