Chapter 4: The Tenth Grandson, Yan Fengao Xu

"I am the previous abbot of Imperial Enlightenment Temple, appointed by Your Majesty yourself." Monk Jueyuan pressed his palms together, his manner cautious and reverent.

He recalled a question Zhu Yuanzhang had once posed to him. "Must I, too, kneel before the Buddha?"

Jueyuan still remembered the tremor of terror that seized him at those words, but in a flash of wit, he replied, "The Buddha of today does not kneel to the Buddhas of the past."

This clever answer saved his life, demonstrating his resourcefulness in critical moments. If all had gone as expected, he would have escorted Zhu Yunwen to a monastery in the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region, seeking a chance to rise again.

But now, things had taken an unforeseen turn.

And what an incomprehensible turn it was.

"So it’s you—wait outside," Zhu Yuanzhang said, realization dawning. Clearly, he still remembered this monk; after all, the incident had happened only months ago in the fifteenth year of the Hongwu reign.

It was nothing worth remarking upon. If history truly followed the path Zhu Youjian had described, it was only natural that Zhu Yunwen would seek refuge at Imperial Enlightenment Temple. With so eminent an abbot there, if not to rally the Ming armies to war, at least he could spend his twilight years in peace and comfort, chanting sutras and finding solace.

It all seemed perfectly reasonable.

"Your humble monk obeys," Jueyuan said, as if granted amnesty, pressing his palms together in gratitude before withdrawing.

Outside the Hall of Veneration, Jueyuan wore a serene expression, quietly chanting the Buddha’s name. Not far off, the mighty armies of the Yan Principality, resplendent in armor, exuded a fierce, unstoppable aura, but he seemed not to notice them at all.

The burden that had weighed upon him was suddenly lifted. In this moment, he felt lighter than ever, the corners of his mouth curling upwards as he recited the sacred words.

...

Zhu Di, clad in martial attire, exuded heroic vigor as he dismounted outside the hall, gazing from afar at the ethereal phenomena lingering within. His heart surged with excitement and uncertainty. "Once I pay respects to my father, I will be Emperor."

In truth, Zhu Di was plagued by guilt and anxiety. The awe Zhu Yuanzhang had inspired in his day still lingered; even seeing his father's spirit tablet would cause Zhu Di to panic and kneel in haste, haunted by remorse and fear.

Any sign of the unusual would provoke a stress response. For instance, when officials tried to block his path earlier, had there been no justification, he would have seen it as an ill omen. Yet, witnessing the miraculous aura within the Hall of Veneration, he took it as a sign of heavenly favor.

In the first year of the Jianwen era, no one could have foreseen how severe the reduction of the princely fiefs would be. Several princes were demoted to commoners in quick succession, and Zhu Bo, the twelfth son of the Grand Founder, was driven to immolate his entire household.

Princes were stripped of their titles or killed. Under the relentless pressure of his nephew's campaign, Zhu Di feigned madness for years—running naked in the markets, eating pig slop before the public eye—all to preserve a sliver of hope, until at last he was forced into rebellion.

Now, he coveted the throne, yet fear haunted him.

Zhu Di dreaded the day, after a hundred years, when he would have to face his elder brother and father in the afterlife. He knew that once he ascended the throne, guilt and uncertainty would be his lifelong companions.

Thus, in the years to come, every campaign to the Mongol north, every assault on the Tatar court, Zheng He's voyages to the Western Seas, and the compilation of the Yongle Encyclopedia—all were a son's tireless efforts to prove himself. Throughout his life, he never relented, striving for the approving gaze of his father and elder brother below, like a child yearning for praise.

"Come, let us go pay respects at the Ming Mausoleum!"

Zhu Di drew a deep breath, his emotions a mix of excitement and trepidation.

"All right, Father!"

His second son, Zhu Gaoxu, eagerly helped remove his martial gear, following behind, still basking in the grand promises Zhu Di had painted for him moments before.

"Work hard—the heir apparent is in poor health..."

"Heh heh." Zhu Gaoxu chuckled to himself. If the heir was unwell, the position of crown prince would soon be his, and he would be emperor someday.

Zhang Fu, Zhu Neng, and other loyal generals joined them, their armored soldiers forming ranks on either side of the sacred way, their presence overwhelming.

At the foot of the steps to the Hall of Veneration, the veterans of the Jingnan campaign halted. Only members of the imperial family could enter the hall to pay homage at the tomb of the Grand Founder and Empress Ma.

As their footsteps echoed up the steps, Zhu Di quietly asked, "Is everything in order?"

"Rest assured, Father. Both the land and water routes are sealed. Zhu Yunwen cannot possibly escape the city," Zhu Gaoxu replied gravely.

"Good," Zhu Di said, suppressing his anxiety with a nod.

Though they were now in the capital, it was, at best, a surreptitious occupation. The armies established in the Hongwu era were still formidable; even the garrison at Jinan remained unbroken. If Zhu Yunwen were dead, that would be the Zhu family’s private affair—no outsider would risk themselves over it.

But if Zhu Yunwen managed to escape, he would surely summon the Ming armies to retake Nanjing!

If that happened, Zhu Di doubted his cousin would repeat the mistake of "Spare my uncle"—the fate of the entire Yan principality would be utter annihilation.

Halfway up the steps, they suddenly halted.

"Father, there’s a monk at the entrance!" Zhu Gaoxu stepped protectively before Zhu Di, shouting, "Monk, who are you?"

"Your humble monk is Jueyuan of Imperial Enlightenment Temple. Greetings, Prince of Yan; greetings, Lord of Gaoyang." Jueyuan bowed from afar, his expression placid, a faint smile on his lips.

"This is a sacred place for the imperial family. Why are you here, venerable abbot?" Zhu Di’s heart stirred, though his face betrayed nothing.

"By the emperor’s permission," Jueyuan replied, pressing his palms together.

"The emperor is within?" Zhu Di did not appear pleased; suspicion flashed in his eyes.

"Indeed."

"Ha! Old monk, you spout nonsense..." Zhu Gaoxu retorted sharply, unwilling to believe that the elusive Jianwen Emperor could be found so easily after all this time.

"Amitabha, a monk does not speak falsehoods," Jueyuan said solemnly, his gaze harboring a subtle hope.

"Hmph, you must have set a trap inside the Hall of Veneration. If Zhu Yunwen could bring you here, he could also station dozens of imperial guards within. Are we to be captured the moment we step through the door?" Zhu Gaoxu sneered coldly.

He had survived the Battle of Baigou River twice, saving Zhu Di both times—not just through valor but by being cautious and shrewd.

Jueyuan sighed. "There’s no need for such vigilance, Lord of Gaoyang. It is true there are others within, but there are no guards or soldiers. Prince of Yan can pay his respects with peace of mind."

Zhu Gaoxu said seriously, "Father, perhaps it would be wise to wait half a day, allow the hall to be cleaned, and only then proceed."

"No need. If Zhu Yunwen dares to spill blood in the resting place of my father and mother, the imperial army shall tear him limb from limb. Go in and see for yourself—it will be fine."

Zhu Di fixed Jueyuan with a cold gaze, issuing the order without hesitation.

Having come this far, to shrink back now would be a stain upon the annals of history—an outcome he could not accept.

"But… Father…"

Zhu Gaoxu’s face fell. If you’re so certain, why don’t you go? I’m sure he really would dare!

"Hmm?"

Zhu Di’s indifferent glance swept over him.

Damn it! For the throne, I’ll risk it all!

"I’ll go and inspect the place!" Zhu Gaoxu shot Jueyuan a glare, ascending the steps, muttering under his breath, "If I fall into an ambush, I’ll have your whole clan executed!"

"Please, Lord of Gaoyang," Jueyuan replied with a smile, as if inviting him into a trap, making Zhu Gaoxu’s heart pound.

Gritting his teeth, Zhu Gaoxu strode up and entered the Grand Founder’s Hall.

And then—

Thud!

In an instant, Zhu Gaoxu’s face turned ashen. He collapsed to the ground, crawling forward, trembling so violently he could not move. It was as if an elephant were lodged in his throat; he could only whimper:

"Tenth grandson, Gaoxu of Yan, pays his respects… Grandfather Emperor!"