TBR CH120

Around 5:45 a.m., the sound of horse hooves echoed on the early spring frost.

The soldiers were still laughing and chatting loudly as they neared the capital, but as soon as they drew close to the looming, dark city walls and the faintly jagged rooflines, the atmosphere changed. It was as if they were approaching a slumbering beast, and everyone instinctively quieted.

At exactly dawn, the Northern Defense General dismounted.

Behind him was a sedan chair with a yellow canopy and silver finials, slowly being parted open.

Inside, a man looked up at the familiar dark-purple sky above the capital and exhaled a long breath. Three years ago, he had been driven out like a stray dog, stripped of his title as Crown Prince, seemingly further from power than ever. Yet now, he stood once again at the gates of the city, filled with an uncontrollable thirst for vengeance.

“Chu Huaicun.” That name—

To the current Prince Duan, it was one he wished he could drink the blood of and tear to pieces.

He finally stepped onto the ground, raising his eyes to the dark, yawning city gates.

There weren’t many people present.

That was the deposed Crown Prince’s first thought—like a fresh wound slashed across his heart.

With Chu Huaicun now controlling the court, who would dare show open goodwill to a fallen prince returning to the capital?

Prince Duan swallowed the bitterness in his mouth—not just because he understood the current state of affairs, but also because of the man now approaching him.

“Your Highness Prince Duan,”

the man greeted respectfully. His deep-purple court robes seemed to carry a strange air of decay in the morning light. Half his body was shrouded in shadow, only his dark eyes catching the faint glimmer of dawn.

“His Majesty has ordered me to welcome you back to the capital.”

Those around him cast fearful glances his way. No one dared fight for the position of first greeter. In those gazes were threads of both envy and disdain.

“…You are Ji Ying?”

Prince Duan’s expression remained unchanged, but in his heart, he had already evaluated the man from head to toe.

After being betrayed by Chu Huaicun, his father had finally remembered this son he had once banished far away, hoping to pull him back into the turmoil of court. But it was only today—after long preparation—that he truly gained a foothold.

And the key figure who made that possible—was Ji Ying, the rising star of the court.

Ji Ying nodded. Prince Duan hesitated for a few seconds, then his face paled slightly. He knew that after such a long absence, the power dynamics of court had certainly shifted. He needed to identify who could be used, and who needed winning over. Ji Ying might be a sharp blade handed to him by the Emperor—but not a blade that belonged solely to him.

He knew well: A blade should have no will of its own.

He glanced over the assembled officials. Most were connected in some way to his mother’s clan. He made his decision immediately—adopting a courteous but distant attitude toward Ji Ying, while instead walking toward the other officials.

Even after years away from politics, one could still glimpse the bearing of a former Crown Prince in him.

Those officials who came to receive him had expected to be ignored, yet found themselves speaking with the former heir—and even more incredibly, Prince Duan had left Ji Ying standing aside for their sake. It spoke volumes.

Ji Ying’s reputation was in shambles—his character widely seen as despicable. No one wanted to stand alongside him.

In contrast, Prince Duan had made it clear whose side he favored.

Ji Ying stood silently to the side, waiting for Prince Duan to issue instructions. Left out, he simply stood upright, alone and stiff, looking slightly pitiful. But his expression never changed—no hint of anger or grievance, as if it were only natural for him to remain silently waiting, like a servant forgotten by his master.

However, before remounting to command his troops, the Northern Defense General spoke to him.

This general, a commoner who had risen through a hundred battles, held the highest military merit in suppressing the recent rebellion. Clad in dark armor worn from exposure to the elements, he sat tall on a strong warhorse, his gear glinting faintly in the morning light.

Ji Ying studied him calmly and noted that the general seemed out of place, likely unaccustomed to the subtle undercurrents of court politics. He asked:

“You’re close to the Emperor?”

Realizing the question was too blunt, the general softened his tone:

“I wanted to ask… why didn’t he come?”

Ji Ying nodded to confirm the first question, and adopted a respectful air for the second.

Prince Duan had returned under the pretext of military merit.

The general, unfamiliar with court schemes, was likely already aligned with Duan’s camp.

Ji Ying, a staunch royalist, could be ruthless toward others—but toward the Emperor’s faction, he remained soft-spoken.

The general let out a dry chuckle.

“Chu Huaicun—you’ve heard of him, I assume?”

Ji Ying had not expected to hear that name at this moment.

His pupils contracted. His face revealed a flash of hostility—too quick to suppress. But it was brief—just long enough to pass off as the natural loathing one might show a political enemy.

His hand brushed his wrist, as if the touch from two days ago still lingered there—wrapped in threads of crimson.

The general looked confused at Ji Ying’s reaction.

Ji Ying had suddenly become like a startled viper—taut, fangs bared, eyes black and unreadable. He asked softly:

“Why would the General ask about Chancellor Chu?”

But the question would not be answered.

Because Prince Duan had finally noticed the exchange taking place in the corner of his eye.

In his mind, nothing good could come from his hard-won ally speaking with a man as infamous as Ji Ying. Worse still, such a scene risked undermining the fear and control he wanted to establish.

“Master Ji,” Prince Duan called out, returning after his round of greetings with polite guilt. “Forgive me, I was overjoyed to see old friends and lost track of time. Please, lead me to the palace. I only hope my father will not take offense.”

Ji Ying curled his lips into a familiar, practiced smile:

“Your Highness cares for the court—how could there be offense?”

He caressed the black jade ring on his finger.

The stone was dark and cold, contrasting starkly with his pale skin—making him look like a ghost lingering in the dim pre-dawn light.

He turned and said:

“This way, Your Highness. General.”

—

The sedan for entering the palace was already prepared.

Chu Huaicun walked slowly through the dew-soaked dusk in a white robe, exuding an air of cold dignity. Servants of the Prime Minister’s residence had readied everything in silent efficiency.

His close attendant lifted the sedan curtain and caught sight of the familiar black-covered book in Chu’s hands.

No one knew what was written inside.

Chu was about to board the sedan when he paused slightly and turned to his subordinate:

“How’s the investigation on Ji Ying coming along?”

It was like a whim—suddenly deciding to thoroughly investigate the man who had been his adversary in court for two years.

But Ji Ying’s history, at first glance, was riddled with gaps. Each time he rose to power, it was by imperial edict. Upon closer inspection, however, there was no flaw to be found. Even his obscure family background checked out perfectly on paper.

“Hmm,” Chu replied after hearing the report. Then said simply:

“Continue the investigation.”

He stepped into the palanquin, his face disappearing into the shadows—followed by long, pale fingers like carved jade.

The ride was smooth, barely jostling—skilled hands and elite horses ensuring comfort. Inside the dim sedan, he reached again for the black book, but didn’t open it.

Instead, he sighed.

He had found the answer to the question that haunted him most.

But everything else remained shrouded in fog.

Worse than fog—it was like finding a single fallen leaf in a vast forest, one that had fallen ten years prior. The rot was incomplete, yet endlessly unearthed.

The dreams he hadn’t had for two years had returned—like a curse.

They were always about him.

He remembered the man’s jade ornaments, his speech, his mannerisms—down to the finest detail. He remembered every word the man had said, remembered the grave he’d built, yet could not bear to carve a name on the tombstone.

But the worst part was: in both dreams and memories, the man’s face remained shrouded in haze.

A leftover of the system.

Perhaps he had changed. Perhaps he looked nothing like before. Perhaps those with similar features were not him at all.

It was foolish, perhaps, to look for the dead using only a face.

His only clue—

—if it could even be called that—was his suspicion.

He found Ji Ying strange—from imperceptible details, from offhand comments, from a too-perfect background.

It might just be coincidence.

In every way, Ji Ying was nothing like the moonlit figure in his memory. Different temperament, style, preferences—worlds apart.

But Chu Huaicun had never been one to ignore doubt.

Even if Ji Ying had nothing to do with him, he was dangerous and must be scrutinized.

A threat.

—

At the palace gates, the sedan came to a stop.

The white marble steps stretched toward the clouds. Chu Huaicun stepped down, noticing a pale moon had risen in the grey sky—though the sun had not yet set.

Inside the hall, lamps were already lit.

Maids with high buns flowed in; civil and military officials sat in their assigned places—orderly and clear.

When Chu Huaicun entered, all eyes turned toward him, like moths to flame.

The candlelight flickered, casting warped shadows.

But his expression remained calm as he ascended to his seat.

Prime Minister—second only to the Emperor.

Prince Duan was seated nearby, though wisely not directly adjacent.

The new Crown Prince, by rank, had to sit beside his brother.

It was only when Chu Huaicun finally sat that his cold, dark eyes seemed to truly see Prince Duan.

All of the Prince’s cultivated grace and humility nearly crumbled to ash under that gaze.

He stared at Chu Huaicun like a poisoned dagger sheathed in his chest, swallowing down resentment with a gulp of wine.

The seat beside Chu, logically reserved for the night’s hero—the Northern Defense General—was, for some reason, reassigned.

By accident or design, the General now sat beside Prince Duan instead.

Chu lifted his cup, the green wine reflecting in his eyes.

He did not raise his head.

Until someone sat down next to him.

“Chancellor Chu.”

Ji Ying’s voice came first, still carrying its ever-persistent, false smile.

This was the first time they’d sat so close at a banquet—

as if someone had carefully calculated the best way to push Chu Huaicun’s buttons.

Officials nearby averted their eyes, staring at their bowls.

They had no desire to be part of this.

Chu Huaicun’s lips touched the jade cup lightly.

Everyone around him had already rotated out.

No one could tamper with things during a palace banquet.

The wine was southern—bamboo-aged, sharp and slightly spicy. The taste lingered on his tongue.

He did not speak.

“Lord Ji,” Chu Huaicun responded in kind, merely using a formal title as he acknowledged the man. “We meet again.”

On the surface, tonight’s palace banquet was a celebration of the Northern Army’s success in quelling the rebellion. In truth, it marked a new wave of turbulence in the court. The deposed Crown Prince—now known as Prince Duan—had once been banished to the north, stripped of his title, his heart filled with endless resentment and grievance. Though his maternal clan had suffered greatly, it was a noble house—its fall was never total. And now, it seemed that same noble house was once again stirred by the changing wind.

The Emperor himself was in particularly high spirits tonight.

He personally announced generous rewards for the Northern Defense General, ordered comforts for the troops, and promoted many in rank and title.

Chu Huaicun, head bowed, listened to the officers cry out their thanks.

He thought: All of this is thanks to Ji Ying.

If not for the many dirty ledgers hidden under Ji’s command, His Majesty likely wouldn’t have dared to hand out rewards on such a grand scale.

But this kind of occasion offered no favor to someone like Ji Ying.

Now, during a moment of imperial joy and unity between ruler and ministers, a man known for making enemies in every direction could only sit quietly and sip drink after drink in silence.

“Lord Ji, how is your tolerance for alcohol?”

Chu Huaicun asked suddenly. His voice was low but sharp and cold, like shattered jade.

Ji Ying’s hand, mid-lift with the wine cup, paused slightly. Almost without thinking, he replied:

“Tolerable.”

Then he smiled again—this time turning toward Chu Huaicun, the smile a touch more intense.

The palace hall gleamed with the light of luminous pearls and coral lamps, but those very lights made the shadows darker.

Ji Ying’s thick black hair cast a sharp shadow across his cheek:

“What is it? Is the Chancellor worried I’ll get drunk?”

It was the kind of answer designed to kill a conversation.

But Chu Huaicun actually paused—as though he really intended to say something more.

Yet tonight, any attempt at conversation between them was easily interrupted.

At the head of the banquet table, the old Emperor seemed decades younger. Every movement radiated joy, and the atmosphere in the hall satisfied his fantasy of still being a wise and beloved sovereign, firmly in control.

The Northern Defense General accepted another cup of amber-colored liquor with a wry smile.

This was freshly unsealed hard liquor—far stronger than the light rice wines served before. He respectfully bowed and said:

“Your Majesty, I truly cannot drink any more.”

But the Emperor only seemed more pleased.

He placed a hand on the table, then turned his cloudy gaze toward Prince Duan. Even the cataract in his eye couldn’t hide the gleam within:

“Today is a day of joy for the realm—and for me.”

“General, why not another cup? My son has grown through his trials abroad. Now he is worthy of serving the nation. A father reunited with his son—what joy it brings.”

The Sixth Prince’s expression turned unreadable, and Prince Duan lifted his wine cup with a practiced smile.

But then, the Emperor abruptly shifted the subject.

“There is another joyful matter I have yet to share with my beloved ministers.”

He said this without a hint of concern for the shockwave his words would send through the court.

“While touring the south, I rekindled an old connection with a woman—who turned out to be with child. And now, the imperial bloodline gains a new branch. Since all my sons are gathered tonight, let’s call the boy forth and officially write him into the family records.”

“Crown Prince, Prince Duan—you must both guide your younger brother well.”

Chu Huaicun looked at Ji Ying’s tense jawline.

He had already known.

That morning, the person Ji Ying welcomed at the city gate had not been only Prince Duan.

There had also been another palanquin—plain-colored with a silver canopy—slipping silently into the royal city.

Ji Ying turned his eyes and met Chu Huaicun’s gaze in silence.

There, in his eyes, was the smug satisfaction of a plan fulfilled—and something darker.

He stared at the Chancellor as if to say: Let’s see how your expression changes now.

But Chu Huaicun only lowered his white jade cup.

His snow-white sleeve brushed softly across the table, his voice still cool and crisp—yet with no added indifference or malice:

“Yes, that is how I see it too.”

For a moment, Ji Ying’s well-practiced mask cracked.

A trace of confusion flickered in his eyes as he stared at Chu Huaicun—who looked like a celestial being, gazing down at him with icy calm.

And amid the rising storm of whispers and murmurs across the banquet hall, the Chancellor said:

“Do you really think you’ll get drunk, Lord Ji?”