Escaped Fish (2)
Taking advantage of the deep night when everyone was meeting with Zhou Gong, Ji-shi wrapped her newborn son in cloth, kissed his tiny face, looked at him again and again, then with reddened eyes, tearfully handed the child to a palace maid named Qiu Yue.
Ji-shi cried: “Take the child and hand him over to Eunuch Zhang at the gate, have him send the child out of the palace to be abandoned. Whether the child lives or dies, it will be left to fate.”
Qiu Yue timidly asked: “What if the Emperor finds out?”
Ji-shi said sorrowfully: “I’m afraid that before the Emperor knows, Consort Wan will already know.”
Yes, this was the only way out.
Just as Qiu Yue was about to leave with the child, Ji-shi suddenly said: “Wait.” Despite her weakness, she struggled to get up and take one last look at her child. Perhaps this farewell would be their last in this lifetime.
The child’s small face was red, with blood not yet wiped off.
Having just been nursed by Ji-shi, he was full and had closed his eyes, sweetly asleep.
Ji-shi gritted her teeth and said firmly: “Go.”
The child was handed to eunuch Zhang Min.
Zhang Min was kind-hearted and loyal to the Emperor. He couldn’t bear it and thought of helping the Emperor: The Emperor still had no living son, and now that a child had finally appeared, complete with eyes, nose, and mouth, how could he be abandoned?
Zhang Min was experienced and cunning, having seen more and known more people in the palace than Ji-shi. He secretly took the child to Empress Wu, hoping she would help, knowing they shared a deep hatred for Wan Zhen’er. Zhang Min was certain Empress Wu would not refuse.
Wu took great care of this little prince, hiding him in a secret chamber and rationing food, saving up powdered milk and honey-like foods, with Zhang Min or herself caring for and feeding the prince every day.
The prince grew day by day.
He learned to walk.
He learned to speak.
Even more, the prince would call Wu “Your Highness” and Zhang Min “Gongong”. But he would not call out “Father” or “Mother”, because the prince did not know who his father or mother were, having never seen them.
His mother, Ji, was nearby, but unfortunately had become a public figure, a key target of Wan Zhen’er’s “protection”. Her every word and action was monitored by Wan Zhen’er’s paparazzi. To prevent any mishaps, Ji dared not play cat and mouse games, only restraining herself obediently. When she could no longer bear it, she would imagine her son’s appearance in her dreams.
Wan Zhen’er’s lackeys were everywhere, but even the most careful plan can have a flaw.
Because Wu was a deposed empress, an outdated, despised, and contemptible figure, the Western Palace where she lived was a corner forgotten by the emperor. The emperor had absolutely moved on, and Wu’s old ticket was completely unlikely to board the emperor’s golden and splendid ship again.
Wan Zhen’er and her lackeys were completely at ease, not believing Wu could play any tricks.
What a joke. Could a dead fish come back to life?
Therefore, Wan Zhen’er was too lazy to spend effort monitoring Wu.
The little prince was lucky and survived in such difficult circumstances.
Miraculously, he escaped Wan Zhen’er’s many eyes and ears, persistently carrying out the underground workers’ secret work, becoming the biggest fish to slip through the net in the history of the Great Ming.
The Little Prince was already six years old. He had been staying in the basement, participating in secret organization activities, never seeing daylight, his hair had never been cut, and was dragged on the ground. His face was pale and bloodless due to long-term sun protection and malnutrition.
Fortunately, the Little Prince hadn’t become dull or stupid from staying in the basement; he was clever and quick-witted. From far away, he saw his father and rushed forward, tightly hugging his father’s neck, affectionately calling: “Father Emperor! Father Emperor!”
These calls of “Father Emperor” brought tears to the Emperor’s eyes. This little brat was undoubtedly the Emperor’s son, as he looked just like the Emperor. The expression of loneliness, helplessness, and fear on his face was identical to the Emperor’s when he was young.
The Emperor was overjoyed, issued an imperial decree, and announced to the world: “I have a son, I, I have a son! Haha!”
The Emperor personally named his son: You Ting.
Zhu You Ting.
The Emperor’s ministers were equally excited, rushing to court to offer congratulations.
As for Ji, she was elevated because of her son, rising from a small palace maid to become a Virtuous Concubine, with a first-rank status, one of the three wives.
In the imperial harem of three thousand beauties, according to the ancestral rules: the Empress was first, the Noble Concubine second, and the Virtuous Concubine third. This meant Ji was below the Empress and Noble Concubine, but above all others. If luck was on her side, and her son eventually sat on the dragon throne, becoming the ruler, the Virtuous Concubine could surpass the Noble Concubine and Empress, potentially becoming the Empress Dowager.
Ji no longer had to do hard labor in the An Le Hall, but moved to the Yong Shou Palace to enjoy her life.
The Emperor’s actions of recognizing his son, announcing it to the world, conferring the title of Virtuous Concubine on Ji, and receiving congratulations from civil and military officials were done in one swift motion.
Wan Zhen’er found out, but it was too late. Everything was already a done deal.
Wan Zhen’er was anxious, angry, furious, and sad. The entire world was against her – including the Emperor.
Wan Zhen’er wondered: Did the Emperor still love her? Was she still in his heart?
Wan Zhen’er couldn’t be sure. Now, she was middle-aged, looking like a typical older woman: fat, old, with accumulated facial muscles giving her a fierce appearance.
Fine, a female butcher it would be.
Wan Zhen’er was determined to see this through.
Her first target was her little attendant Chun Yan. This despicable creature had tricked her earlier, telling her to give Ji abortion medicine, and when she didn’t, had betrayed her, deceiving her by saying Ji’s belly was just a tumor.
Wan Zhen’er’s face darkened as she called a palace maid: “Summon that wretched Chun Yan!”
Since the Little Prince’s matter was exposed, Chun Yan had been living in constant fear.
Chun Yan knew that in Wan Zhen’er’s world, there was only killing, never forgiveness.
As expected, when Wan Zhen’er saw Chun Yan, her eyes were full of murderous intent.
She coldly asked: “For deceiving me, what punishment do you deserve?”
Chun Yan knelt on the ground, trembling: “Mercy, Your Highness! Mercy!”
Wan Zhen’er gritted her teeth, her expression fierce, with a bloodthirsty impulse: “If I spare your life, who will spare mine?”
Indeed, in the palace, it was either kill or be killed.
In the future, if Ji’s son became Emperor, Wan Zhen’er would likely meet a terrible end.
Wan Zhen’er coldly told her traitor: “Having served me for years, go and end yourself.”
Chun Yan kowtowed and left with reddened eyes.
She would die one way or another.
Wan Zhen’er only ordered her to take her own life, not involving her family, which was a small mercy.
An hour later, a eunuch reported to Wan Zhen’er that Chun Yan had died, “accidentally” falling into a well. Thus, Chun Yan became like countless unnamed palace maids, cremated after death, her ashes filling a dry well.
That night, the Emperor came to Wan Zhen’er’s bedchamber to check in.
