Yu Lingxin had a good habit: he examined himself three times daily—Why? How? And by what right?
Unlike Confucius, who sought answers within, Yu Lingxin preferred to seek answers externally.
Why did they defy me?
How did they defy me?
By what right did they defy me?
After asking these questions, Yu Lingxin would conclude: everyone owed him. The reason he had these doubts was simply that these people weren’t good enough to him.
Jiang Nong should love him unconditionally, accept him, and pity him—whether he was kind or cruel. His own obsession with Jiang Nong was a separate matter. The ministers should hand over all their money to the treasury—whether or not he planned to rewrite their family genealogies.
When Jiang Nong learned of his malicious reasoning, she searched the room for a set of prayer beads, held them in her hands, and murmured Amitabha.
Yu Lingxin even imparted his philosophy to Jiang Nong like a missionary spreading sacred doctrine: “You don’t understand—if you abandon morality, you abandon worry. Then every day of life will be happy.”
If you woke up each morning believing everyone owed you, then every waking moment was about collecting debts—and you’d never feel burdened by anything you did.
Jiang Nong couldn’t find the words to describe him. After a long pause, she called him a tyrant.
“Say another nice thing about me.” Yu Lingxin leaned against the bed and threw her a glance.
As always, he took shame as pride—his skin too thick for even a needle to pierce.
Jiang Nong kept a tight rein on him. In this harsh winter, Yu Lingxin couldn’t just stick his hands into the ministers’ pockets to warm them, nor could he casually burn their family records. So he had to play the part of a righteous man with just cause.
It wasn’t all bad—just more trouble. The upside was that he could go days without waking early for court.
Soon enough, Yu Lingxin’s first debt-collection victim appeared.
Unsurprisingly, it was Li Ji. But he wasn’t the target Yu Lingxin was waiting for. Li Ji was genuinely worried about Yu Lingxin’s health, so he knelt for a long time before the main hall, begging to see His Majesty.
Jiang Nong had previously provided the Golden Guard with an extra half-year’s worth of grain and salary, so Li Ji trusted her. With a bit of persuasion, he returned home half-convinced.
Jiang Nong still had Li Ji’s grave expression before her eyes. When she returned, she saw Yu Lingxin selecting names and throwing darts at them.
Usually, a tyrant has two types of empress. One is the femme fatale—handing the knife when the tyrant kills, fanning the flames when he burns. The other is the virtuous empress—who generally dies early and miserably, like Empress Jiang of King Zhou of Shang.
The surname Jiang, paired with a tyrant, seemed to carry an ill-fated air.
For instance, Empress Jiang was already offering virtuous counsel: “Li Ji is loyal and devoted. His aim isn’t to disrupt the court. I can see he genuinely cares about you. He’s a capable man—if the opportunity arises, he should be entrusted with important duties.”
Yu Lingxin took her hand and threw a dart, landing squarely on Situ Ming’s name: “How virtuous and virtuous of the Empress. But I am a tyrant—do tyrants listen to virtuous empresses?”
“Then what would it take for you to listen? Do I have to beg you?”
Yu Lingxin extended his face toward her, gesturing.
“You can take it or leave it.” Jiang Nong wasn’t going to beg him—how strange.
Yu Lingxin looked at her with disappointment.
Among the civil officials, Lü Chengcheng was the leader—easy to break, unable to stir up real trouble. What Yu Lingxin truly wanted was Situ Ming’s military power. As Grand Commandant, Situ Ming held authority over all military and national defense affairs. He had been the late emperor’s childhood companion and thus was highly trusted. Half of the military tiger tally was in his hands, giving him a large following in court.
He had no rebellious intentions, and his troops were stationed far away year-round, making a coup difficult. But the man was arrogant and overbearing, looking down on Yu Lingxin’s origins—and his wife was equally disrespectful toward Jiang Nong. Just look at the fundraising for porridge distribution: the Grand Commandant’s wife had donated the least. After witnessing Yu Lingxin’s methods during the envoys’ audience, they’d developed some respect and behaved much more properly.
If it were anyone else, it might not matter—but Yu Lingxin was not a magnanimous wise ruler. He was fundamentally petty, vengeful, violent, and domineering. He remembered every slight. He would not tolerate even a fraction of his power being divided—he needed everyone prostrate at his feet.
Situ Ming had no rebellious intentions? Then why not give him some?
When Situ Ming learned that Li Ji had entered the palace, he summoned him to his private residence. Several ministers were already seated in the hall. Situ Ming sat with authority, stroking his short beard, and asked: “Have you seen His Majesty?”
Though Li Ji was subordinate to Situ Ming in rank, he fell directly under Yu Lingxin’s jurisdiction.
Li Ji took his seat and shook his head: “No. The Empress said His Majesty needs rest and shouldn’t see anyone.”
“You believe whatever that woman says?” Situ Ming slapped the table in frustration, rising to his feet. Knowing that Li Ji had been promoted directly by Yu Lingxin and wouldn’t make mistakes, he continued: “She is not from our kingdom—how could she sincerely consider Tan Kingdom’s interests?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
Another pressed: “After entering the palace, did you see His Majesty’s trusted attendants? How did they treat the Empress?”
Li Ji thought for a moment, then replied: “Very respectfully. They obeyed her every command, just as if His Majesty were present.”
Situ Ming stamped his foot in fury: “Poisonous woman! A viper ruining the state! The foundations of our Tan Kingdom are being destroyed before our eyes! I’ve already investigated—the imperial physician hasn’t been to Xuan Shi Hall for days. Either His Majesty has recovered, or… she’s firmly seized control of the inner court, and now she’s acting as regent. We can’t even see His Majesty—don’t you understand what’s really happening?”
The others also showed signs of worry: “We only suspected it before, but now that you’ve returned from the palace, our certainty has grown. The Empress is from Xi—it’s highly likely there are spies within the palace coordinating with her to seize Tan Kingdom’s throne.”
“She’s been married here for four months. In my view, her next step is to falsely claim pregnancy, then wait until term and swap the child—a cuckoo in the nest—to place a puppet child on the throne. That’s her goal!”
History was full of such examples. Given the current circumstances, which so closely mirrored past dynastic crises, it wasn’t paranoia.
Situ Ming had already sifted through the surviving imperial clan members in his mind, planning to choose a new emperor.
Li Ji listened to their heated discussions, feeling as if a thunderbolt had struck him. He stammered: “Then what should we do? Should we go together to Xuan Shi Hall and beg to see His Majesty? If we can see him in person, we’ll know for certain.”
Situ Ming’s brow furrowed like a knife-carved gash. He waved his broad, fan-like hand and said: “No. Let those civil officials kneel. We’ll wait.”
Just past noon, Jiang Nong was playing chess with Yu Lingxin in the bedchamber when a great crowd of civil officials knelt outside the hall. They braved wind and snow, demanding to see Yu Lingxin—with the clear intent of kneeling to death if they didn’t get an audience.
Jiang Nong nudged his hand: “That should be enough. I don’t see any rebellious ministers like you were waiting for. Go meet them. The Censor-in-Chief is over seventy—don’t let him ruin his health kneeling in the cold.”
Yu Lingxin had previously described Tan Kingdom’s situation to her—his throne was unstable, surrounded by threats, danger lurking everywhere, assassination a constant risk. Jiang Nong had been on high alert for a while. But during the days Yu Lingxin claimed illness, she actually found things weren’t as dangerous as he’d made them out to be. The ministers genuinely seemed worried about him.
Could it be that in this life, having changed his despotic ways, he’d won over the court, and things were going more smoothly?
Yu Lingxin was stone-hearted. He tapped the chessboard: “You go see them.”
Jiang Nong sighed and ordered that charcoal and hand warmers be prepared for the ministers, shelters erected around the hall to block the wind, and imperial physicians standing by at all times.
The more Yu Lingxin tapped the board, the more agitated he grew: “You sure care about them. So attentive—thinking of everything.”
Why bother with them? A bunch of old relics. They didn’t come earlier or later—they came the moment Li Ji left the palace, clearly instigated by Situ Ming.
Yu Lingxin knew his plan would succeed—victory was already in his grasp. But what about Jiang Nong? How would she feel when she learned the truth?
It turned out she didn’t just care about the people of Xi Kingdom and her blood relatives. What were those old ministers to her? She’d barely met most of them—yet she still thought of everything for them.
Yu Lingxin grew uneasy. Would she still play chess with him?
An hour later, Jiang Nong couldn’t resist going out to check. This time, Yu Lingxin stopped her.
He knew exactly what those people were thinking. This was not a good time for Jiang Nong to appear.
Jiang Nong had a vague sense that something big was about to happen—though she couldn’t say what.
By nightfall, word came: Situ Ming had led his forces—including troops stationed outside the city and the Golden Guard—to Xuan Yang Gate, declaring his intention to purge the court of evil advisors.
Yu Lingxin ordered his men to put up a token resistance, then let them through.
Outside Xuan Shi Hall, torches blazed against the night sky. Silver armor glinted coldly in the snowlight. Situ Ming’s forces stood facing the Langzhong Guard—weapons drawn, neither side making the first move. His voice boomed like a bell: he demanded to see His Majesty.
The man Yu Lingxin had been waiting for had arrived.
Surrounding the palace at night—just cause for action.
He rose, tossed aside his chess piece, brushed his sleeves, strapped on his sword, and took Jiang Nong’s hand: “Don’t come out. Blades have no eyes. I’ll be back soon.”
Yu Lingxin both wanted her to see and feared her seeing it.
Would she understand? Or would she be furious? If she was angry at him, how long would it be before she’d play chess with him again?
He had thought Jiang Nong wouldn’t care much about the lives of Tan Kingdom’s ministers. But now he realized—her love and kindness could extend to everyone.
Jiang Nong’s brow twitched. She nodded.
The heavy palace doors creaked open from within. The north wind swept in, carrying swirling snowflakes. Yu Lingxin stood there in black robes, tall and straight, illuminated by the bright lantern light—coldly looking down upon the crowd below.
“I’ve been ill for a few days, and already you’ve turned the world upside down.”
When Situ Ming saw him standing there healthy and whole, his blood froze. In that instant, he understood everything.
The color drained from his face. He stumbled to his knees, swallowing back the metallic taste rising in his throat—words failing him. After a long pause, he said hoarsely: “Your servant disturbed Your Majesty out of genuine concern for your safety…”
He knew nothing he said would matter. Only those who wronged you could truly understand how wronged you were.
Today, it was him they were after.
He had considered himself a loyal, pure minister of the late emperor—yet here he was!
Late emperor! Look at your son! How ruthless! I may have been disrespectful, but I never had rebellious intentions!
The ministers present all lowered their heads deeply. There had been no empress-led rebellion—this was merely the emperor’s scheme to remove the Grand Commandant.
Claiming illness, suspending court, having the Empress act as regent, refusing to appear—making everyone believe he was controlled by her. Stirring up court dissent, drawing Situ Ming to “rescue” the throne—then emerging only after the palace was surrounded, solidifying the charge of coup.
Brilliant strategy. Deeply calculated. And utterly ruthless. Removing a powerful minister with full justification—without soiling his own hands.
Yu Lingxin descended the steps slowly, the thin snow crunching under his feet. He stopped before Situ Ming, his thumb pushing his sword three inches out of the scabbard, pressing it under Situ Ming’s chin, forcing him to look up.
He let out a low, cold laugh, his narrow phoenix eyes narrowing with contempt: “Grand Commandant Situ, you’ve done well. So I shall reward you—a chance for your entire clan to reunite. Do you like it?”
One could only believe half of Yu Lingxin’s words. Who would call the execution of nine clans a “family reunion”?
It was the kind of thing worthy of hell.
“Your Majesty! Heaven watches above! Your servant is wronged!”
“Yu Lingxin—”
Jiang Nong had come out at some point. Yu Lingxin’s movements froze, his smile stiffened.
Jiang Nong walked through the snow toward him, the crunching underfoot. She hadn’t put on an extra cloak and was shivering slightly.
When she saw his back stiffen at the sound of her voice, she knew her guess was correct.
This truly was a “rescue the king” effort—not a coup under that pretense.
“Though Situ Ming has erred, his crime does not warrant this.”
She lifted her hem, as if to kneel. Yu Lingxin threw his cloak over her, caught her, and lifted her up. He forced a smile: “I was joking with him.”
How could Situ Ming have missed the murderous intent in Yu Lingxin’s eyes?
He never expected that at the brink of life and death, it would be the Empress—whom they had all maliciously suspected—who stepped forward and saved his life.
And that the emperor, so iron-hearted, would actually change his mind for a single word from her.
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