Chapter 12: Let Old Zhu’s Blade Come With More Ferocity!
In the 25th year of Hongwu, on the 9th month, the 9th day.
The Great Ming’s Crown Prince Yiwen, Zhu Biao, was buried to the east of the Xiao Mausoleum; the mausoleum was named ‘Ming Dong Mausoleum’.
Before dawn, the entire Yingtian Prefecture was enveloped in a solemn stillness.
Plain white banners hung from the main streets inside and outside the Imperial City.
The usually noisy markets seemed to have been muted, with even the sounds of chickens and dogs barely audible.
The air was filled with the distinctive scent of burning incense and paper money, mixed with the cool dew of early autumn mornings; inhaling it brought a chilling coldness to the lungs.
In the plaza before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, Civil and Military Officials had already lined up according to their ranks.
All wore the plainest court attire, with black gauze caps, their expressions solemn, heads bowed, and eyes lowered, daring not to make the slightest transgression.
The atmosphere was as heavy as lead, and every breath felt cautious.
Occasionally, officials, after standing for too long, felt their legs go numb, but they could only bear it, not daring to move.
Consort Lü, in heavy mourning attire, supported by two elderly palace maids, stood at the front of the women’s queue.
Her face was as pale as paper, her eyes swollen like peaches, and her body swayed precariously, relying entirely on those beside her for support.
Every subtle sob caused her shoulders to tremble violently, as if she might faint at any moment.
She portrayed the profound grief of a widow to the extreme, so much so that even the most stringent ritual officials could find no fault.
Yunwen followed closely behind, also in heavy mourning.
His frame was slender, and his complexion was not much better than Consort Lü’s, but his back was straight, and his eyes held not only grief but also a firmness and solemnity unbefitting his age.
He tightly pursed his lips, trying hard not to let tears fall, but his reddened eyes and slightly trembling jaw revealed the immense turmoil within him.
He carefully held Consort Lü’s arm with gentle yet steady movements, perfectly embodying the image of a filial son and virtuous grandson.
The Imperial Grandchildren behind him, such as Zhu Yunteng, appeared somewhat timid, especially overshadowed by Yunwen’s powerful aura of ‘filial piety and fraternal love’.
Among the Princes’ ranks, Prince Qin Zhu Shuang, Prince Jin Zhu Gang, and Prince Yan Zhu Di were all in mourning clothes, their expressions sorrowful.
Zhu Shuang, head bowed, frequently glanced towards the imperial throne, a trace of imperceptible anxiety in his eyes.
Zhu Gang’s brows were slightly furrowed, as if pondering something; his gaze occasionally swept over Yunwen and his mother before quickly shifting away.
Zhu Di was the most serene, his eyelids lowered, his face showing pure sadness, as if immersed in the immense grief of losing his brother, unconcerned with his surroundings. Only the slightly whitened knuckles of his clenched fist by his side betrayed him.
“His Majesty is arriving—!”
Following the hoarse, tear-choked cry of the Directorate of Ceremonial Eunuch, heavy footsteps approached from within the hall.
Old Zhu appeared.
He did not ride in a dragon carriage but walked out.
This founding Emperor, who had commanded awe and struck fear into countless hearts, seemed to have aged ten years overnight.
He still wore his imperial yellow Dragon Robe, but over it was a loose, plain white hemp garment.
His face was etched with profound grief and exhaustion, his eye sockets sunken and bloodshot, and his graying hair, no longer meticulously styled, appeared somewhat disheveled.
His once-straight back seemed stooped, and each step he took was exceptionally heavy, as if bearing the weight of the entire empire and the pain of losing his son.
He looked at no one; his eyes, sharp as a falcon’s, were now dim and lusterless, fixed solely on the immense Imperial Coffin covered with an imperial yellow dragon-patterned shroud, carried by palace attendants.
Inside lay the heir to the empire on whom he had placed all his hopes, his son to whom he had poured all his heart and paternal love—Zhu Biao.
Old Zhu walked to the side of the Imperial Coffin, extending his withered, age-spotted hand, trembling, to gently stroke the cold coffin.
His lips quivered, as if trying to speak, but ultimately, he could only let out a suppressed sob, like a wounded beast.
“Biao’er! My Biao’er…”
This low cry struck everyone present like a heavy hammer.
Many officials could no longer hold back and began to weep softly.
Consort Lü let out a wail, her body going limp, nearly collapsing to the ground, but was tightly held by Yunwen and the palace maids.
Yunwen’s tears finally broke free, flowing out silently and torrentially.
The entire Hall of Supreme Harmony plaza was filled with sounds of grief.
The solemn funeral music began, and the procession slowly moved forward.
The massive Imperial Coffin, guarded by hundreds of soldiers in mourning armor, was steadily lifted by sixty-four selected strongmen. It proceeded along the imperial path, covered with plain white paper money, slowly moving out of the Gate of Heavenly Acceptance towards the Zhongshan Xiao Mausoleum.
Civil and Military Officials, Imperial Clan members, Nobles, and Imperial Concubines, their procession stretching for miles, followed in silence.
White banners fluttered in the autumn wind, and paper money danced in the air, like a mournful snowfall.
Yunwen tightly supported the nearly exhausted Consort Lü, walking at the very front of the procession, closely behind the Imperial Coffin and Old Zhu.
He walked with unusual steadiness, striving to straighten his slender frame and fully exposing himself to everyone’s gaze.
He clearly felt the complex gazes from all directions—sympathy, scrutiny, expectation, and perhaps hidden hostility.
He knew that from this day forward, he was no longer the Imperial Second Grandson who only needed to study, he had to ascend to that position.
The procession reached halfway, passing near the Ten Princes’ Mansion.
Prince Yan Zhu Di’s gaze seemed to unintentionally sweep across a second-floor window of a restaurant by the roadside.
There, a monk in a black robe stood by the window, gazing at the funeral procession.
Zhu Di’s gaze did not linger; it was merely a casual glance before returning to the massive coffin ahead, his face still showing deep sorrow.
However, the brief exchange of glances between the two had conveyed enough information.
Meanwhile, in the depths of the Imperial Prison.
Zhang Biao lay idly on the straw, using his finger dipped in water to draw circles on the cold floor tile.
The deafening funeral music and faint sounds of weeping from outside could still be vaguely heard through the thick prison walls.
“Tsk, Old Zhu must be heartbroken right now.”
Zhang Biao pouted, then changed the subject: “But no matter how sad he is, he’s never been soft-hearted when it comes to executing people!”
“After the funeral, when Old Zhu recovers, he’ll remember me, the ‘troublemaker’ who always stirred up trouble, still eating and drinking well in the Imperial Prison.”
A hopeful glint appeared in Zhang Biao’s eyes: “My Trial by the Three Judicial Offices should be on the agenda soon, right? Lu Ping and Qi Tai probably won’t last much longer! Then, I just need to find a way to see Old Zhu, hehe…”
He could already envision himself being led out of the Imperial Prison by the Imperial Guard, facing an enraged Old Zhu, and then achieving the ‘Execution by Beheading’ achievement, returning to modern times with satisfaction.
“The top-tier prison food of the Great Ming… I probably won’t be able to eat it anymore.”
He clicked his tongue with a hint of regret, then quickly cheered up: “But it’s okay! I’ll just order takeout! All those coupons and discounts are super cheap!!”
He closed his eyes and began to mentally rehearse his ‘Dying for a Cause’ expression, hoping to hit the right nerve this time and deliver a fatal blow!
May Old Zhu’s blade strike faster and more fiercely!
