The next day, Prince Xian, who presided over the Zongzheng Temple, personally visited the Kaifeng Prefecture to demonstrate sincerity.
To show respect, Tu Yao and Xie Yu both went to the main gate to welcome him.
The old man didn’t put on any airs, smiling like a jovial Buddha, saying repeatedly, “No need for ceremony, no need for ceremony. We’re all family, family…”
Approaching Xie Yu, Prince Xian patted his shoulder affectionately, examined him carefully, and nodded with a satisfied expression:
“You’ve grown taller again!”
This was an adult’s lie of the purest kind; anyone who took it seriously would be foolish.
The Zongzheng Temple was originally a special office for resolving internal imperial family matters and did not have daily affairs to attend to.
Moreover, Prince Xian himself preferred to avoid work whenever possible, rarely attending court unless summoned and declining palace banquets by citing old age.
He never made a point of befriending anyone and spent most of his time entertaining himself within his princely mansion, rarely receiving guests or interacting with younger relatives.
Due to the insufficiently explained deaths of Prince Shun and Princess Shouyang, the funeral arrangements were simplified. Prince Xian claimed illness throughout and didn’t even appear, entrusting all funeral rites entirely to his subordinates and the Ministry of Rites.
Xie Yu vaguely recalled that the last time he had been so close to Prince Xian was probably during the late emperor’s funeral.
After more than ten years, if he really hadn’t grown at all, that would indeed be strange.
Everyone exchanged meaningless pleasantries at the entrance of the Kaifeng Prefecture before modestly yielding to each other and entering.
Prince Xian had come today out of necessity mainly to ask how the Kaifeng Prefecture intended to proceed.
“You also know, after all, he was the late emperor’s beloved son,” Prince Xian said with difficulty, “so when the imperial clan asks, I can make excuses… cough, explanations.”
Holding tea cups, Tu Yao and Xie Yu both looked over at him simultaneously upon hearing his awkward correction.
You meant “excuses,” didn’t you?!
And this word “beloved” was also quite a stretch for the old man.
Anyone with eyes could see that Prince Su was not merely beloved by the late emperor but arguably his most beloved son. Had he not been so inept in political affairs, it would be uncertain who would be sitting on the dragon throne today!
Tu Yao said, “At the court meeting, the prince also said that since it involves national law, it must naturally be handled officially.”
Prince Xian chuckled, “That goes without saying, but…”
He paused, his already drooping old eyes narrowing tightly, concealing his true emotions, “But we also need to consider the royal family’s dignity… after all, the late emperor once left a will, allowing Prince Su to be buried alongside him.”
The word “beloved” was vague and intangible; mere verbal claims might not convince the public.
The late emperor’s favor towards Prince Su was evident from just one example:
He was the only prince among many who had been specially permitted to be buried alongside the emperor while the emperor was still alive!
Later, when skilled craftsmen designed the late emperor’s mausoleum, they indeed dug a slightly smaller secondary tomb beside it, which was intended to be Prince Su’s future tomb.
Since the entire project was supervised by Prince Su himself, during the construction of his own mausoleum, he spared no extravagance, with specifications even subtly exceeding those of a prince, vaguely showing the prototype of a crown prince’s status.
Apparently, he himself was well aware that he probably wouldn’t have the fortune to become crown prince in his lifetime.
If so, he would simply indulge in luxury after death.
No one knew whether the late emperor was truly kept in the dark or silently approved, but Prince Su’s tomb was indeed built like that.
Prince Xian’s meaning was clear:
The construction of Prince Su’s tomb had been so grand at the time; if something were to be discovered later, it might not be possible to bury him according to the specifications of a prince.
And judging from Xie Yu’s current move of personally leading the imperial guards to place Prince Su under house arrest, the situation was certainly not going to end peacefully, and the matter would inevitably escalate.
If that happened, would the mausoleum have to be changed?
It would be troublesome either way: historical records were one thing, and royal dignity was another.
Changing the tomb would violate the late emperor’s will;
Not changing it would defy the current emperor’s command.
It was truly a dilemma.
That was why Prince Xian had never wanted to take on this task from the beginning.
Tu Yao didn’t speak, simply lifting his teacup to take a sip, and from above the lid gave Xie Yu a meaningful look:
It’s your family’s mess, go ahead.
Xie Yu asked Prince Xian, “Your Highness, which weighs heavier, dignity or truth? The living or the dead, who comes first?”
This was a question he had once asked his maternal uncle.
Now, he threw it to the most senior elder among the current imperial family.
This question was quite sharp.
Even Prince Xian, known for his smoothness, couldn’t answer immediately.
The old man drooped his loose eyelids and thought for half a day before deciding to pretend ignorance.
“I don’t have many days left to live, and although I may want to manage many things, I am powerless. As long as the Kaifeng Prefecture handles things officially, I believe the emperor will be satisfied.”
He thought that question was definitely better left unanswered.
This young man was too cunning, trying to get me in trouble!
He was just a leisurely prince who didn’t deal with official matters, so why should he consider these matters of state?
If he answered well, wouldn’t that imply interference in politics?
What if the emperor found out and thought I harbored disloyal intentions?
Although I am old, I have many sons and grandsons under me, and the young people might not be able to keep their composure.
If the answer was not good… it would be better not to answer at all.
Didn’t Prince Xian have his own reputation to maintain?
Prince Xian thought it over carefully and felt that his decision made in a flash of insight was absolutely correct, so he began coughing loudly again, trying to show his weakness and harmlessness.
Listening to his strong and hearty cough, Xie Yu felt quite helpless.
He genuinely wanted to hear the other’s opinion.
But he didn’t expect the old man to be even more cowardly and cunning than the rumors suggested, skillfully kicking the issue back with a few words:
Repeatedly saying “not many days left to live,” making it impossible for anyone to press him hard;
And as long as the Kaifeng Prefecture “handled things officially,” then any slight problem afterward would certainly be the fault of the Kaifeng Prefecture;
And “the emperor will be satisfied”—if not satisfied, it would still be the Kaifeng Prefecture’s responsibility, nothing to do with him.
After all, who could blame an old man who “didn’t have many days left to live”?
It was both amusing and frustrating.
No wonder people outside jokingly called him “Prince Xian,” without the slightest reverence.
With such a high status and seniority, even the empress dowager and the current emperor would show him courtesy, but unfortunately, he only knew how to protect himself and had no sense of responsibility at all…
Although a bit annoyed, Prince Xian’s visit also indirectly showed his stance and attitude:
As long as I’m not implicated afterward, do whatever you want; I’m not getting involved.
The Kaifeng Prefecture was relieved.
Autumn was the season of harvest and solemnity.
Xiaohuang seemed to vanish into thin air, and no matter how thoroughly the Kaifeng Prefecture and Gao Laoliu investigated, there was not a trace of him.
Prince Su governed his subordinates strictly; after being interrogated for four or five days, none of the people from his mansion revealed any hint of major issues.
However, a few maidservants, out of fear, sobbed and said that several of their female companions had disappeared without reason.
“The steward said they were released because they did their jobs well, and their families missed them, so the master was merciful and waived the redemption fee,” one young girl, no more than twelve or thirteen years old, wiped her tears and said, “But later, when I got time off to visit my family and went to see her, her house was empty. I asked the neighbors, but they only said she had moved away.”
But if she moved, why were the large pieces of furniture still there? They were worth a lot of silver!
If she moved to a new home and bought new furniture, it would cost a large sum.
She asked around all the neighbors, but no one could say exactly when she moved or where she went.
“Who would suddenly move when living well?” she said, “We’ve all been neighbors for ten or even twenty years. Even if they were to leave, wouldn’t they say goodbye?”
After that, the girl started paying attention secretly.
About a year ago, another acquaintance of hers suddenly stopped working, and the steward gave the same explanation.
The girl did the same as last time, visiting her friend’s house during her time off, but again found no one there.
One time might be a coincidence, but when it happened two or three times, even a fool would know something was wrong.
At the end of her story, the girl was crying so hard she could barely breathe, and the group of grown men couldn’t calm her down, so they had to call Ma Bing.
Ma Bing comforted her for a long time, and once the girl’s emotions had slightly calmed, she asked carefully, “Can you remember the names of those two girls, where they lived, and what they looked like?”
Sobbing, the girl suddenly knelt down and kowtowed to her.
“Sister, please save me. I don’t want to suddenly disappear like them. Please, buy me. I don’t want to go back to the princely mansion anymore!”
It was said that being chosen to work in the princely mansion was a blessing earned through eight lifetimes, but even with such blessings, one must still survive to enjoy them!
She had mentioned the idea of buying her freedom to her family, but her parents refused.
The princely mansion paid generous monthly wages!
Moreover, having a daughter working in the princely mansion made the neighbors look up to the family.
And if, by some luck, she caught the master’s eye and was taken in, wouldn’t she rise from a commoner to nobility?
After being beaten twice, she never dared to mention buying her freedom again.
Ma Bing quickly helped her up and gave Xie Yu and the others a meaningful look, leading the girl to her room first.
She then personally boiled hot water to wash the girl’s face and brewed hot brown sugar ginger tea.
Seeing that the girl had been in jail for several days, her clothes and hair were smelly, she asked for more hot water and took clean clothes for her to change.
“Stop crying now. Whatever happens, first wash up and fill your stomach, okay?”
Before the words had even finished, the girl’s stomach growled loudly.
Song, the official in charge of trials, was impartial to all, treating men and women the same, never feeding anyone before an interrogation.
The girl wasn’t old, still growing, and had been starving for days. After crying just now, she felt her ribs sticking to her skin from hunger and emotional distress.
She quickly covered her stomach, embarrassed and scared, “I, I don’t need…”
Without letting her finish, Ma Bing pulled her over and wiped her face with a hot towel, saying while wiping, “I’m not someone from the princely mansion, so don’t call yourself ‘I’ all the time. Just call me Ma Sister. Oh, by the way, what’s your name?”
She was a clever girl.
If it had been someone else, they might have just listened and forgotten. Who would bother going to the person’s home to check with so many neighbors over two or three years?
The girl looked at her blankly, murmuring, “I…”
She remembered what the other had said and quickly corrected herself, “My name is Zhaodi.”
The towel was thick and soft, the hot steam from the water opening the pores on her face.
The steam made her eyes hurt.
Zhaodi?
What kind of name was that!
Ma Bing frowned deeply, “Do you have many sisters at home?”
Zhaodi nodded vaguely, “I’m the sixth, with a seventh sister, an eighth sister, and a younger brother.”
That’s what she thought.
Sighing, Ma Bing gazed at the girl’s thin, dry face—even after being cleaned—and felt a pang of heartache.
“Go take a bath now. The kitchen has steamed honey pumpkin cakes. When you’re done, I’ll give you some to eat, okay?”
Zhaodi instinctively wanted to refuse, but deep inside, she longed for such warmth. After hesitating, she thanked her in a barely audible voice and went off with the clothes.
She looked back every few steps, fearing that as soon as she entered, Ma Bing would disappear like those other girls.
“Go ahead,” Ma Bing smiled at her, “I’ll be right here, not going anywhere.”
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