Chapter 25: The Last Light of the Setting Sun (Part Two)

Jiu Zhu’s worries were not without reason. The Tang Dynasty was far from united; not only was there friction between the Heavenly Strategy and Divine Strategy factions, but an even more chilling rift existed: that of imperial power itself. Every transfer of the throne throughout history had been stained with blood. Someone once remarked that the number of wronged souls within Daming Palace far surpassed those in any penal ground in the Eastern Capital.

Since the reign of Taizong, one prince after another had fallen before the marble stairs of the Taiji Hall. The steps, once white, were dyed crimson, bearing faint traces of blood to this day—a silent testament to the ruthlessness of the imperial family.

By the time the three youths left the Imperial Ancestral Temple, dusk had already descended. The setting sun cast long shadows of the trio along the streets of the Eastern Capital. Its fading glow bathed the red glazed tiles of Daming Palace, painting the rooftop an even deeper crimson—a cruel irony, given the tale Jiu Zhu had just told.

The three young men walked silently down the bustling Vermilion Bird Avenue, the most prosperous street in the Tang Dynasty. None of them spoke; a hint of melancholy hung over them.

“Where do you think the descendant of that eldest son—whom Jiu Zhu mentioned—might be now?” Yang Zixu raised his head to the waning light and finally broke the silence.

“He’s probably not in the Eastern Capital. If he were, I doubt he could escape the grasp of the Imperial Clan Office,” Jiang Moxuan sighed softly.

Royal methods extended far beyond the reach of any single office. Who could say how many shameful secrets were hidden within Daming Palace? If they truly wished to kill a prince fallen from favor, perhaps no one would ever know.

“The old man who passed away... contingency... protection... contingency... protection... Taizong...” Yang Zixu muttered, a daring thought flashing through his mind, though he couldn’t be sure.

“What are you mumbling about?” Li Fu asked.

Yang Zixu walked along Vermilion Bird Avenue, troubled by a nagging feeling he couldn’t shake—as if something crucial eluded his grasp. He replayed Jiu Zhu’s story in his mind, scene by scene, yet something still seemed missing.

“I dare say that person is here in the Eastern Capital! Moreover, he’s been under the care of a contingency arranged long ago by Taizong, or perhaps by one of the elders of the Lingyan Pavilion!” Yang Zixu suddenly looked up, only to find a face mere inches from his own. Startled, he stumbled back several steps.

“Brother Yang Ning!”

Recognizing the newcomer, Yang Zixu cried out in surprise. It was none other than Yang Ning, Great General of the Heavenly Strategy. He hadn’t expected this. He knew some of the internal matters: for three years, Yang Ning and Li Yuanhua had fiercely vied for the position of Young Lord within the Heavenly Strategy. Now, with Li Fu’s arrival, the post had been claimed without effort.

Yang Ning, frowning at Yang Zixu’s flustered reaction, seemed displeased. Shaking his head, he said, “When will you ever learn to be steady? A general should remain unshaken, even if Mount Tai collapses before him. I’ve told you so many times, but you never change your ways.”

“What brings you here?” Yang Zixu asked, curiosity flashing in his eyes.

Yang Ning looked resigned. “After today’s commotion outside Shanglin Park, word spread throughout the Eastern Capital. Once you three entered the Imperial Ancestral Temple, the Shangguan family sent many people to repair the gate at Shanglin Park. Marquis Diwu ordered me to wait for you three to emerge.”

Li Fu and his companions exchanged surprised glances. The Shangguan family was quick to send people for repairs.

“What business did Jiu Zhu have with you?” Yang Ning paused, then asked curiously.

“Do you think the ‘seed’ Jiu Zhu spoke of could be... him?” Li Fu eyed Yang Ning, pointing at him thoughtfully.

“What seed?” Yang Ning was taken aback, not understanding. Yet the three before him looked at him as if he were some sort of rare creature.

“I think it’s possible!” Yang Zixu was the first to support Li Fu’s speculation.

“It’s not out of the question. Brother Yang Ning grew up in the Heavenly Strategy residence, adopted by Marquis Diwu, and is the youngest general in the faction. That fits Zixu’s earlier hypothesis,” Jiang Moxuan considered, nodding in agreement.

“He’s an orphan?”

“Yes, Marquis Diwu took him in from a young age. No one knows his true origins.”

“Heavenly Strategy was founded by Taizong.”

“Indeed. Their duty is not only to guard the borders but also to ensure the legitimate succession of the Tang throne.”

“That matches what Jiu Zhu said.”

“Then that’s it...”

It was as if Li Fu and his friends had chosen to ignore Yang Ning entirely, launching into a discussion right there on Vermilion Bird Avenue.

“What nonsense! Are you three alright?” Yang Ning frowned. The three seemed bewitched, speaking of things he couldn’t comprehend.

Soon, the trio fell silent, their gazes fixed on Yang Ning. The more they thought about it, the more convinced they became that Yang Ning was the very person Jiu Zhu had spoken of.

Yang Ning, unnerved by their stares, forgot what he’d intended to say. Four pairs of eyes darted back and forth—it was an awkward moment.

At last, Li Fu sighed, “Then again, if General Yang Ning is really that ‘seed,’ wouldn’t keeping him by Marquis Diwu’s side make him far too conspicuous?”

Yang Zixu ignored him, leaning in to study Yang Ning’s face intently, missing the flicker of anger in Yang Ning’s eyes...

“Ouch! Why’d you hit me!” Yang Zixu leapt back, clutching his forehead.

The blow had come from Yang Ning. Ignoring Yang Zixu, he looked at Li Fu and asked seriously, “Young Lord, did you meet with Jiu Zhu?”

Li Fu nodded. “Yes, we did.”

“And did he say anything important?”

Li Fu hesitated, uncertain whether to share Jiu Zhu’s story with Yang Ning.

“Let’s return to the Heavenly Strategy residence. This isn’t the place to talk.”

Yang Ning glanced around. Although it was dusk, Vermilion Bird Avenue was still crowded—hardly a safe place for private conversation. Who knew if spies from rival families lurked among the throng? The matter was far too sensitive.

The red sun in the west was sinking even faster, streaks of crimson lingering in the winter sky—a rare beauty, though none of them were in the mood to appreciate it. Burdened with heavy thoughts, they made their way back.

From one end of Vermilion Bird Avenue, they could see the busy scene before Shanglin Park on Chang’an Street: members of the Shangguan clan bustling about. Two ornate gates leaned against the wall, drawing a crowd of onlookers. The Shangguan family had lost all face in the Eastern Capital these past days—a prominent member slain, their head of house bested at the gate, and now forced to repair doors smashed by their own junior. Even with all their reluctance, there was nothing to do but swallow their pride and get to work.

Though the Shangguan family had the backing of the Divine Strategy and the favored concubine in the palace, they could not withstand even a casual remark from Jiu Zhu. He hadn’t said a word, yet they still dutifully repaired the gates of Shanglin Park.

“Do you think it’s worth turning fathers and sons, brothers, against one another for the sake of that cold seat?” Li Fu asked suddenly, drawing his cloak tighter against the chill, unsure if it was the wind or something else that made him shiver.

“What do you think? That’s the supreme throne,” Yang Zixu retorted, casting Li Fu a mocking glance.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never sat on it,” Jiang Moxuan replied indifferently, shrugging.

“What throne?” Yang Ning looked puzzled, unaware of what they meant. Yet his curiosity about what had transpired in the ancestral temple only grew.