Chapter 6#
The Edict#
Mijin rose to his feet. He had dressed for nothing else but this very moment. He descended the steps, faced the edict, and bowed in respectful submission.
“…By imperial decree.” Jin Mingshi’s lips were dry as parchment as he heard his own voice reverberate through the cavernous hall. “Miluo betrayed his sovereign and father, showed no regard for human ethics, and led three rebel clans to the northern frontier. In twenty years, he has shown not a trace of remorse. Formerly, when he served before the throne, imperial favor was bestowed upon him lavishly — no request of his went unanswered. Yet his nature was fierce and cruel, his judgments partial and biased. In governing state affairs, he ignored his conscience while serving the sovereign; in commanding the imperial forces, he kept faith with petty men. He was unloyal to the nation, and he betrayed the Emperor’s grace.”
“Now his rebel faction is fractured, and all eyes look with hope upon his son, Mijin, who has devoted his heart to reform. We bestow upon him the courtesy name ‘Wuye’ to acknowledge his primary contribution, in the hope that he shall observe all laws and regulations, return to the capital at the earliest opportunity, serve at Our side, and receive moral instruction. Thus this decree is promulgated, that all may know of it.”
The reading concluded. The silence that followed was so complete one could have heard a pin drop.
Jin Mingshi wore an expression of solemn reverence, eyes fixed on his nose, mind fixed on his heart, holding the edict before him with both hands as he bowed and waited. The sun crept slowly across the sky. Between the layered eaves of the palace, a lone crow croaked dejectedly. The wind bells of iron horses chimed, then chimed again.
The sunlight gradually reached Mijin. The hem of his deep black robe trailed behind him as he declared in a ringing voice, “Mijin, son of the False Prince of the rebel faction and the Crown Prince of Ayoucheng, respectfully receives the imperial edict.”
Longshan lay prostrate on the ground. Hearing Mijin’s voice, he could not help but close his eyes as tears flowed without cease. His lips trembled, and a sob escaped from his throat: “Your Highness…”
“Today, endowed with imperial grace and heaven’s favor — how fortunate indeed.” Mijin kowtowed, rose, then kowtowed again. “The guilty minister obeys and carries out the decree. From this day forth, I am called Mi Wuye.”
The rainwater on the ground had not yet dried. When he finished his last kowtow, his sleeves were already soaked.
No matter how reckless Jin Mingshi might be, he did not dare act out of turn at this moment. He hurriedly sank to his knees, racking his brain for how to respond, when Yuchi Liang, standing beside him, spoke: “The edict makes no mention of altering the Crown Prince’s title. The seal of dragonfly-head and pouch still remains, so the Crown Prince is still the Crown Prince of Ayoucheng. Since His Imperial Majesty has personally marked the Crown Prince as having made the ‘primary contribution,’ we, as his humble subjects, must not address him as ‘guilty Crown Prince.’ Please rise at once, Your Highness!”
Jin Mingshi chimed in immediately: “Yes, yes…”
“General Jin,” Xu Daochun, ever keen at reading the room, took the edict away and said gently, “No more ‘yes, yes’ — hurry and help the Crown Prince to his feet.”
Jin Mingshi reached out quickly, but Mijin had already risen.
Everyone inside and outside the hall had their own work to attend to. Xu Daochun was the most attentive, trailing behind Mijin with solicitous inquiries: “So much happened last night, and I didn’t have time to ask this morning — has the Crown Prince taken breakfast? If the people here aren’t sufficient, I have a few in my own service who might do…”
“You see that?” Yuchi Liang said from the side. “When it comes to serving people, he’s the true master.”
“Eunuchs just love flattering those above them.” Jin Mingshi stood and dusted off his sleeves. “I understand now. You figures that since the Sovereign hasn’t stripped his dragonfly-head and pouch, you want to straddle both boats.”
Yuchi Liang also stood, rubbing his bald head with both hands, quite candidly: “One has no choice in the matter. If I had your background, do you think I’d be showing off this strength of mine with such a red face? You don’t appreciate your good fortune.”
His use of the word “fortune” was a double entendron. Jin Mingshi’s words were clumsy, but he understood the meaning well enough.
Prince Fucheng was one of Mili-Nan’s adopted sons and, after Miluo, the person most likely to become Mili-Nan’s heir. When Miluo defected, one of the Four Garrisons and two of the Nine Provinces were lost, the situation on the western front was dire, and it was Prince Fucheng who took over as Grand General in Miluo’s place.
Prince Fucheng’s original name was Lu Guanjie. He was five years older than Miluo and came from the core division of the Four Garrisons. After Miluo fled, Mili-Nan bestowed upon him the Mi surname, making him Mi Guanjie. But barely two years later, Mili-Nan changed his mind and went back to calling him Lu Guanjie.
One character, yet worlds apart in meaning. Some said that Lu Guanjie was the least likely candidate to become heir — had anyone ever seen, in hundreds of years of Dongyuan history, a precedent for someone granted a surname having it taken back? Those below him shifted with the wind and no longer addressed him by the Mi surname. He never complained, simply devoting himself to military affairs. Later, perhaps out of guilt, Mili-Nan granted him the title of Prince Fucheng.
In the twenty-seven years since the founding of Zhonggu, there had only ever been this one prince — apart from Miluo. After occupying one of the Four Garrisons, two of the Nine Provinces, and the Xiangling Plains, Miluo declared himself the False Prince, and the territory under his control was tantamount to an independent state.
According to Mi clan tradition, only one who bore the seal of dragonfly-head and pouch could be designated heir. Back then, Mili-Nan had given both the Crown Prince’s seal and the dragonfly-head and pouch to Miluo. Miluo carried them away from his father, and then, in Ayoucheng, he passed them both to Mijin.
“I advise you all — stop spending your days scheming over these matters. I’ve seen plenty of fence-sitters, and very few ended up well.” Jin Mingshi finally said something clever. “Go on and guess the Sovereign’s intentions. I won’t play along!”
He turned to leave, but just as his foot crossed the threshold, he looked back and pointed at Yuchi Liang: “How you scheme against me, I don’t give a damn. But if you dare make a move against my lord again over matters like this, I’ll bite you all to death.”
The matter touched the foundation of the state, and even Jin Mingshi felt a chill of aftershock. Along the way, both Yuchi Liang and Xu Daochun had been evasive about the contents of the edict. In the end, Mili-Nan’s mind was simply too difficult to fathom!
If he wanted Mijin dead, why not have killed him in Ayoucheng? If he didn’t want Mijin dead, why not give a clear answer right away? Bestowing the name “Wuye” was a supreme humiliation — yet he refused to strip Mijin of the dragonfly-head and pouch. Now the Crown Prince wasn’t exactly a Crown Prince, the guilty minister wasn’t exactly a guilty minister, and every subordinate carrying out tasks harbored ulterior motives, acting solely on their own conjectures.
No wonder his lord said: serving a sovereign is like living beside a tiger. Jin Mingshi felt a cold draft down his spine. He had offended Mijin thoroughly on this trip — what if it all came back to his lord later? He wasn’t afraid of Mijin. He was afraid of Mili-Nan.
Outside, the assembly had dispersed. Xu Daochun had been sent away. Longshan still lay on the floor.
Mijin stood inside the room, the sunlight falling just before his feet. He crouched down and said to Longshan, “Lift your head.”
Longshan raised his head, still weeping.
“Over a single ‘Wuye,’ you cry like this,” Mijin said, his expression calm. “What will you do in the future?”
“How could anyone hear them treat Your Highness like this and not cry?” Longshan’s snot and tears flowed together. “Wuye — what Wuye… what Wuye…”
He broke into a choked sob, slowly lowering his head until his forehead struck the floor: “You’ve grown up this much — when have you ever suffered such humiliation? Before, when your brother was still here, everyone called you Naga… If the Queen Mother were to hear of this, how could her heart not shatter to pieces…”
Mijin turned his gaze aside. The sunlight climbed slowly up his legs. After a long silence, he spoke: “How many times have I told you — there is no Queen Mother in this Ayoucheng Palace.”
The chiming of wind bells followed him as he rose, spreading both arms wide so that the sunlight settled into the crook of his elbows. He smiled.
“Wuye — Mi Wuye. Is there any name in all the world more suited to me?” Mijin turned and spoke toward the depths of the hall. “He wants all under heaven to call me this. A-Ye, did you hear? From this day forward, I am Mi Wuye!”
Longshan was struck with an anguish to the core. He crawled on his knees after Mijin: “Your Highness!”
“Your Highness — whose Crown Prince am I?” Mijin looked down at Longshan, mocking himself freely. “My father’s head is in there. Your elder brother’s is as well. Three days now — it’s time I arranged them properly, placing each into a treasure chest in turn. Let me ask you: whose Crown Prince am I? — WHOSE. CROWN. PRINCE. AM. I!”
His hatred was ferocious, his eyes brimming with fury — but whom should this fury be directed at? He was the one who had cut off those heads. This was his sin. He deserved everything he’d been put through. Mili-Nan had called it right. He was a beast.
“Wipe your tears clean and remember this day well.” Mijin lightly kicked Longshan aside and walked toward that nightmarish depth. Wind swept through the hall, through the deep black of his robe. He moved like a traveler wading across a river to pick lotus blossoms, and amid the shifting interplay of light and shadow, he called out with reckless, buoyant abandon: “Someone — bring me the limestone paste and the treasure chests!”
The door shut. When it opened again, night had fallen.
Shaque was in no hurry to leave. He reached along the doorframe and found a small drawstring pouch.
Old custom.
Shaque didn’t even bother closing the door, opening the pouch right there at the entrance. Kong Xiaoquan emerged from the other side and brightened at the sight of Shaque, greeting him: “Brother Shaque — we’re on the same watch!”
“What a coincidence.” Shaque rummaged through the pouch without missing a beat at pleasantries: “Have you eaten? What did you have? Was it good?”
“Steamed corn cakes — delicious, absolutely delicious! Being in the Imperial Guard is a whole different world. Two meals a day, even white flour.” Kong Xiaoquan barely dared look at Shaque, and for no reason other than that Shaque was simply too beautiful.
Yesterday’s rain had been heavy and the sky dark — even Yuchi Liang hadn’t gotten a clear look at him. Seeing Shaque this morning had startled him too, though he quickly relaxed halfway, because no spy or assassin would ever recruit someone like this — and certainly not someone with a face like this.
Shaque fished out a Zhonggu government coin from the pouch. Kong Xiaoquan, watching, couldn’t help asking: “Are you going to buy something? I don’t think anyone in this city would sell to us.”
“I’m poor,” Shaque pinched the coin — a Tian-Shou Five-Zhu — and held it up before his eyes. “I never waste my own money.”
The Tian-Shou Five-Zhu was a government-minted copper coin of Zhonggu, but due to the chaos of war, fragmentation of authority, and issues with the copper moulds, it circulated only in the old capital of Senluo. Its appearance here carried an unmistakable message: it was an order for Shaque to go to Senluo.
Shaque’s mission on this trip was to kill Mijin. He should have succeeded, but yesterday, upon entering the hall, he changed his plans on the spot — because there were his own comrades among the assassins. No one but himself should have been sent on this task. If others had appeared, it meant something had changed.
Yuchi Liang probably didn’t even realize himself that the assassins he’d embedded among Jin Mingshi’s ranks included some truly extraordinary figures.
Shaque had identified them at a glance. Companions were easy to recognize, because they had all been trained under the same set of rules. Whether they were as clever as he was, however, Shaque couldn’t say. Regardless, whenever they encountered one another, one side had to die.
A long time ago, Shaque had disliked killing his own kind. But the world had grown so wretched — they were always the ones plunging knives into him. During that period, Shaque had wrapped his waist tighter and tighter, yet the blood still flowed freely. He fled through the alleys, and whenever he felt he was about to die, he’d count the wounds. Over dozens of times he’d counted, and every single one had been dealt by a comrade.
Shaque didn’t harbor hatred toward them. He didn’t waste his anger on the dead. Once his wounds had healed, he’d wandered outside for a while — until this pouch called him back. He’d had nowhere else to go anyway. They’d agreed long ago: in life, he was one of them; in death, he belonged to them still.
His thoughts drifted back, and Shaque once again found himself loathing the pouch. He threw it aside. Kong Xiaoquan, startled, exclaimed: “Why’d you just throw it away!”
“It’s not mine — I picked it up off the ground.” Shaque gestured carelessly. “If you like it, take it and sell it.”
With that, he hung his short sword at his waist and went to take up his watch.
By the time he arrived at the palace, Xu Daochun was arranging the dishes for Mijin, who had changed into another outfit — though the colors differed little from what he’d worn during the day.
Beside the Crown Prince’s lacquered armrest lay three treasure chests. Shaque’s gaze swept over them, and he knew at once what they held. With keen interest, he observed Mijin from the shadows of the palace guard post.
No chicken. No fish. Oh — he didn’t want to touch meat. Was it because of his father’s head?
Xu Daochun knelt beside the small table and said earnestly: “I guessed the Crown Prince’s appetite might be poor these days, so I specifically ordered them to prepare golden corn congee. These meat dishes, originally, were meant for the generals to see. Once the Crown Prince has finished eating, if you don’t mind, you may reward them to the eunuchs — no need to waste them.”
Mijin’s chopsticks landed on the fish. He broke it into eight pieces, then stuffed them one by one into his mouth.
Xu Daochun was quiet for a moment, then suddenly withdrew and bowed: “This servant has a foul mouth — Your Highness, please don’t take it to heart!”
Mijin’s tongue was steeped in a fishy taste — he couldn’t tell whether he’d bitten himself or whether it was simply the flavor of the fish. He glanced at Xu Daochun without speaking immediately, choosing instead to chew the entire fish — bones, fins, and all — to a complete pulp before swallowing.
Shaque laughed. He rarely laughed from the heart; he just found it amusing. But in that very moment, amid the cluster of lamplight and candleflame, Mijin had turned his gaze.
He was looking at him — strangely, as if Shaque were the one who had been under scrutiny all along.