Rise of a Lonely City: From Exiled Prince to Ruler of the Nine Provinces

Shenjing, Prince Yong's Mansion.

The once bustling Yongwang Mansion, frequented by distinguished guests, is now deserted.

The vermilion gate was tightly closed, and the golden plaque above the gate, bestowed by the emperor and bearing the inscription "Prince Yong's Mansion," was covered with a thin layer of dust, appearing dull and lifeless in the cold wind of the twelfth lunar month.

The two stone lions still crouched on either side, but they seemed to have lost their spirit, with only empty eye sockets remaining, staring indifferently at the deserted street in front of the door.

A few withered leaves twirled and landed on the stone steps covered with a thin layer of snow, unswept away.

Inside the mansion, a similar atmosphere of silence and desolation prevailed.

The palace lanterns hanging under the corridor had been extinguished long ago, the artificial hill and pond were covered with a thin layer of ice, and the withered lotus leaves were lifeless.

The servants held their breath and walked on tiptoe, afraid of making the slightest noise.

A suffocating, unsettling atmosphere hung in the air, like the oppressive stillness before a storm.

In the main hall of the Prince's Mansion, the underground heating was not burning brightly, giving it a shabby feel, as if it was trying to save on charcoal.

The fourth prince, Prince Yong, Xiao Jing, sat alone in a large rosewood armchair.

He was only wearing a worn-out dark blue cotton robe, without even a cloak over it. In his hand, he held a copy of the official gazette with worn edges. His gaze was fixed on it, yet it seemed to penetrate the paper, looking away into nowhere.

He had lost a lot of weight since he was in the north, his cheeks were slightly sunken, his eyes were covered with dark circles, and his lips were tightly pursed. His once gentle temperament was now replaced by a deep weariness, resentment, and suppressed anger.

The copy of the official gazette had only been delivered to him yesterday. It contained the latest "decrees" of the court in plain, almost cold language—nothing more than empty words about appeasing refugees, rectifying officialdom, and reprimanding border generals.

There wasn't a single word about the real news. But between the lines, there was a sense of impending doom.

He knew that right here in the capital city, no, just a few streets away from his palace, his eldest, second, and third brothers were fighting tooth and nail for that cold dragon throne.

The Shence Army, the Jinwu Guard, the Five Cities Military Command... those troops he once thought belonged to the court and his father are now being divided and mobilized by them, and tensions are high.

In the imperial court, attacks and insults far more unbearable than those of shrewish women in the marketplace are played out every day.

He, the fourth prince, Xiao Jing, who was once highly regarded by his father and sent to the northern border to supervise the training of the border troops and concurrently serve as the vice minister of the Ministry of War, holding the imperial edict and shouldering the mission of checking the seventh prince and proclaiming imperial power, now seems like an outsider, no, like a discarded pawn, forgotten in this increasingly desolate prince's mansion.

No, it's not forgetting.

Xiao Jing's lips curled into an extremely bitter smile.

It was deliberate rejection, a cold indifference. Did the Crown Prince need him to express his support for legitimacy? Perhaps he did, but the Crown Prince was more afraid that his brother, who also had the title of prince and had once held the authority of "border supervisor," would step forward at a crucial moment to take a share of the spoils, or side with the Prince of Qin or the Prince of Jin.

What about the King of Qin and the King of Jin? They only had each other and the Crown Prince as targets. They never gave his fourth brother a second glance. He was "neither good at literature nor martial arts," had lost the emperor's favor, and had no troops or power.

"Heh... Supervising the training of the northern border troops... concurrently serving as Vice Minister of War..." Xiao Jing murmured softly, his fingers unconsciously twisting the rough edge of the official gazette until that corner was crumpled into pieces.

"Imperial edict? Imperial decree? In those people's eyes now, it's probably not even as valuable as toilet paper in a latrine."

He recalled the scenery when he left Beijing and headed north.

The Emperor personally encouraged him in the Zichen Palace, the Empress Dowager tearfully gave her instructions in the palace, and the court officials saw him off with either envy or jealousy. The bright yellow imperial edict and the heavy seal of office... how magnificent and important they were!

It was as if he had truly become the pillar of the empire in the north, shouldering the heavy responsibility of reconciling the border generals and consolidating the border defenses.

And then what? It was that grand, blindingly extravagant wedding in Zhenbei City, one that went beyond the bounds of propriety to the point of being chilling.

It was Xiao Chen's seemingly respectful but actually distant and indifferent attitude.

It was a polite and considerate house arrest imposed on him, the imperial envoy, by everyone in Hanyuan.

These were the tough obstacles he encountered when he tried to intervene in military affairs and understand domestic politics.

The people he had planted disappeared or defected without a trace, as if they had vanished into thin air.

His secret report to the capital was lost without a trace, like a stone sinking into the sea.

He was like a pebble thrown into a cold pond; apart from the initial ripples, nothing changed.

No, perhaps things have changed. It has made him realize more clearly that the land in the north now completely belongs to "Xiao Chen".

The imperial authority he brought was as fragile as thin ice under the sun in the face of the Frost Abyss cavalry and the hearts of the people of the North.

Then came the news that my father was seriously ill and had fallen into a coma.

At that moment, he felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

It wasn't because of his father's illness, but because of his own sudden collapse.

All his power, mission, and glory stemmed from his father's imperial edict and from the fact that his father was still in power.

With his father's death, his position as "Imperial Envoy" became like water without a source or a tree without roots.

He left the northern border in a hasty and secret manner, without even daring to disturb Xiao Chen, leaving only a vague excuse to return to the capital to report on his duties.

He sped along, his heart filled with fear and resentment. He thought that if he returned to the capital, to the center of power, he could find his place and do something.

But he was wrong. Utterly wrong.

The capital city is no longer the same as the one he left behind.

The Crown Prince, the King of Qin, and the King of Jin, like three hungry beasts, had long regarded this capital as their hunting ground.

He, the disgraced and powerless Prince Yong, didn't even deserve a scrap.

He wanted to see the Crown Prince, but the gatekeeper of the Eastern Palace politely but distantly told him that His Highness the Crown Prince was overseeing the country and was too busy with state affairs to receive him.

He wanted to pay a visit to the Prince of Qin, but the Prince's staff laughed it off, saying that the Prince had caught a cold and was not in a position to receive guests.

He tried to contact the Prince of Jin, who did meet with him, but the Prince's first words were, "Fourth brother, not to criticize you, but you handled this mission to the north terribly. That seventh brother has become so arrogant."

His words were full of ridicule and attempts to win him over, hoping he would testify against the Crown Prince or the King of Qin for their "disloyal acts," thus contributing to his grand ambition of becoming the King of Jin.

When did Xiao Jing fall so low as to need to fawn over these uncouth warriors? The pride he held as a prince was crushed by reality.

He also secretly contacted some court officials who were his old friends or had received favors from him, hoping to find out information or a way out. But those people either avoided him, spoke evasively, or simply sided with a certain prince.

The coldness of human relationships cannot be more pronounced than this.

He is now a plague; anyone who gets infected may be regarded as an enemy by the Crown Prince, the King of Qin, and the King of Jin.

The meager intelligence he possessed about the Northern Territory was nothing more than a ripple in the face of the overwhelming tide raging in the capital.

"Your Highness," a frail yet respectful voice rang out at the doorway.

It was the old eunuch Fu'an, Xiao Jing's personal attendant. He had been with him since the time he was a prince and was one of the few loyal old men in the mansion.

"What is it?" Xiao Jing asked without looking up, his voice slightly hoarse.

"The expenses of the Prince's residence... the Imperial Household Department has cut another 30%. They said that money is needed everywhere now, and the expenses of the palace have also been reduced, asking the Prince to... understand." Fu'an's voice was filled with suppressed resentment and helplessness.

Understanding? Xiao Jing sneered.

Is it the Crown Prince? Or the King of Qin? Or the King of Jin? It's simply that they saw him fall from power and deliberately humiliated him, forcing him to make a statement, or forcing him to get out.

His Prince Yong's mansion is now probably not even as good as some powerful noble residences.

"understood."

Xiao Jing waved his hand, his tone weary, "Tell the accountant... to use it as soon as possible. Also... halve the servants' monthly allowances."

"Your Highness..." Fu'an's eyes reddened.

"Go down," Xiao Jing interrupted him, not wanting to see the sorrow in the old servant's eyes any longer.

Fu An silently withdrew and gently closed the door.

Xiao Jing leaned back against the cold chair and slowly closed his eyes.

Images flashed uncontrollably through his mind: his mother's tearful yet expectant eyes when he left the capital; the shock he felt upon arriving in Zhenbei City and seeing the disciplined and menacing Hanyuan Iron Cavalry; the overwhelming grandeur of Xiao Chen's wedding, with all nations coming to offer their congratulations; the cold, wary eyes of the armored soldiers on the streets of the capital; and the hypocritical, contemptuous, or greedy faces of the Crown Prince, the Prince of Qin, and the Prince of Jin…

He suddenly started coughing violently, coughing so hard it was heart-wrenching, and he bent over.

It took a long time to calm down. He opened his palm, and there was a glaring scarlet mark on his palm.

He stared at the crimson stain, his eyes first blank, then empty, and finally, a near-mad, desperate flame slowly coalesced within them.

He was not reconciled.

He was a prince, the Prince of Yong, and an imperial envoy sent by his father, the emperor, to the north to counterbalance powerful vassal states!

How could he be trapped in this cold palace like a stray dog, watching those fools turn the country upside down, and then perhaps one day be disposed of by some victor like garbage?

He had to go out; he had to do something, he absolutely had to do something!

But...where is the way out?

To side with the Crown Prince? That would be humiliating. The Crown Prince himself is in dire straits and would not truly trust him.

To pledge allegiance to the King of Qin or the King of Jin? That would be like seeking refuge with a tiger; once the deed is done, they would inevitably discard you like a spent bird. To go it alone? No soldiers, no generals, no money—what would you use to go it alone?

He suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze fixed on the north. That direction led to Zhenbei City, and to Xiao Chen.

A crazy, audacious, even desperate idea, like a venomous snake, crept into his mind and quickly grew, ensnaring his entire being.

Seventh Brother... Xiao Chen...

This was once his seventh brother, whom he needed to "supervise" and "check," and now he sits firmly in the north, eyeing the throne with predatory intent.

He might have something that Xiao Chen needs.

It's not about soldiers or supplies, but about legitimacy, about righteousness, about something that would allow him to intervene in the south with "legitimate authority"!

The Crown Prince is the legitimate heir, while the King of Qin and the King of Jin are rebels.

But what if... what if there's a problem with "orthodoxy"?

What if the crown prince is "unworthy of his position," or even "dull-witted and incompetent, causing the collapse of the court"?

What if he, the Prince of Yong, who also has the blood of the Xiao family and was entrusted with important responsibilities by his father, stood up to accuse the Crown Prince of immorality, and even... produced some "evidence" to prove that the Crown Prince was already unfit to be a ruler, and even unfilial and disloyal to his father?

Furthermore, what if he were willing to "request" or "recognize" Prince Jingbei Xiao Chen, claiming to be a "bloodline of the late emperor" and a "legitimate member of the royal family," and to travel south in the name of "purging corrupt officials from the court," "rectifying the court," and "protecting the nation"?

What Xiao Chen lacked was precisely this kind of "righteous" title that could silence the gossip of the world. If he raised the flag of rebellion himself, he would be a traitor and a rebel.

However, if the military action is launched "at the request of members of the royal family" or "to purify the court and quell the rebellion," then the nature of the action is completely different!

At least morally, he can stand firm, win over some centrists, and even divide the power of the Crown Prince, the Prince of Qin, and the Prince of Jin!

And Xiao Jing didn't want much either.

A title of "Regent"? A title of "King Regent"? Or, a fiefdom granted to a king, to rule a region forever?

It's better than being trapped in this magnificent cage, rotting away silently!

The thought grew clearer and hotter, burning Xiao Jing so intensely that he trembled all over and his eyes became bloodshot.

He knew it was risky, like dealing with a tiger for its skin, and that he might even be used by Xiao Chen and then discarded.

But what else does he have to lose? What awaits him is either being crushed in the chaos of Shenjing, or being slowly forgotten and tortured to death, just like he is now.

Rather than waiting to die, why not... take a gamble! Gamble on Xiao Chen's ambition, gamble on Xiao Chen needing his "brand," gamble on that sliver of hope!

Xiao Jing's gaze slowly swept across the empty and cold study, finally landing on a dusty sandalwood box at the bottom of the bookshelf.

Inside were a few inconspicuous little trinkets he brought back from the Northern Territory. One of them was secretly given to him by a low-ranking clerk from the Cold Abyss who had once received a small favor from him before he left Zhenbei City, who said it was "to keep as a memento."

It was a very ordinary wolf tooth from the Northern Lands, tied with a red rope.

The clerk's eyes flickered, and he only said, "If Your Highness has any ordinary items you would like to send back to the North for your enjoyment in the future, perhaps... you could try Hu's Leather Goods Shop in the West Market. They often travel the trade routes to the North."

At the time, Xiao Jing didn't pay any attention, taking it as flattery from his subordinate. But now, in his eyes, that cold wolf fang seemed to ignite a flame of hope.

"Hu's Leather Goods Shop... the northern trade route..." Xiao Jing repeated in a low voice, his fingers tightly gripping the wolf tooth. The hard edges hurt his palm, but they also brought a kind of self-destructive clarity.

He stood up abruptly, his vision blurred from the sudden movement, and he staggered, only managing to steady himself by grabbing the table for support. He took several deep breaths of the cold, dusty air, and the confusion and dejection in his eyes were gradually replaced by a resolute determination mixed with despair, madness, and calculation.

"Fu'an!" he shouted hoarsely towards the door, his voice slightly distorted with excitement.

The old eunuch hurriedly pushed open the door and entered: "Your Highness?"

"Change your clothes," Xiao Jing straightened his slightly hunched back. Although his face was still pale, his eyes were frighteningly bright. "Prepare the carriage. We're going to the West Market. I... need to clear my head and buy some furs."