Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

This scene is utterly absurd.

"Which direction did the carriage go?" Pei Zhihui broke the silence first, his voice sounding particularly cold in the study.

"After leaving the city, we headed west," Li the wet nurse replied, bowing. "When I got off the carriage, I heard the driver ask, 'Are you going to West Mountain?' The young man answered."

West Mountain.

Shen Qiongju quickly conjured up a topographical map of the Western Hills in her mind. The royal hunting grounds stretched across the southern foothills, with dense forests that blocked out the sky for dozens of miles, enough to hide thousands of troops. To the north, several abandoned temples lay scattered, their walls crumbling and incense having been extinguished for many years, perfect for concealment.

She could confirm that Prince Shou did not own any property in Xishan, but since he had chosen to go in that direction, there must be someone there to meet him.

Pei Zhihui stood up, his back ramrod straight.

Pei An.

"Your subordinate is here."

"Take Nurse Li down there and have her draw the man's face. A mask is fine, but make sure she remembers everything – his build, his features, the texture of his clothing – nothing is off-limits." Pei Zhihui's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an unyielding authority. "Order Fu Chuan'ang to mobilize five thousand elite cavalry to surround West Mountain tonight. Block off all routes down the mountain, whether official roads or wild paths."

Pei An accepted the order and was about to lead the wet nurse out of the study when the old woman suddenly swallowed and hesitated. A very strange expression appeared on her face, as if she had recalled some absurd and unbelievable scene.

"That young master... is very good to the child."

The wet nurse couldn't help but gesture, her rough hands clumsily mimicking the action of holding a baby in the air. "When the baby cries, he gets all sweaty. He won't let anyone else help him with rice porridge or diaper changes, afraid that someone might clumsily hurt the little girl. He himself, on the other hand, is incredibly clumsy when he does these things for the first time. He even got pissed on and turned green, but I never saw him get angry."

The study suddenly fell into a deathly silence.

Shen Qiongju's nerves, which had been taut for three whole days, felt as if they had been abruptly severed the moment she heard those words. She collapsed into the armchair, utterly exhausted, and let out a long, trembling breath. The breath had been held in her chest for so long that it trembled as she exhaled.

Her voice trembled, yet it carried a certainty as if she had survived a catastrophe: "It must be Zhao Qiyan, it must be Zhao Qiyan."

Pei Zhihui's eyes flickered slightly, but he remained silent.

"Prince Shou is ruthless, and his henchmen are even more cold-blooded beasts." Shen Qiongju gripped Pei Zhihui's cold hand tightly, her fingers so tight that her knuckles almost pierced his flesh. "If Nian'an falls into their hands, she will only suffer, but Zhao Qiyan is not that kind of person."

She understood Zhao Qiyan. That once dashing and arrogant scion of a noble family, he hated Pei Zhihui, but he would never take his anger out on an infant. He would even personally care for Nian'an, clumsily and stubbornly protecting the child.

"Nian'an won't suffer in his hands." Shen Qiongju raised her hand to wipe away her tears, leaving a wet trail on her cheek with her fingertips. Her voice gradually became steady, like a drowning person finally grabbing a piece of driftwood. "However, Zhao Qiyan has now submitted to Prince Shou. Prince Shou is a ruthless and vicious man. It will be difficult for Zhao Qiyan to protect Nian'an on her own."

Pei Zhihui grasped her hand in return.

"He didn't kill Nian'an not because he was soft-hearted," Pei Zhihui's voice was low, as if it came from the depths of his chest, each word deliberate and forceful, "because Nian'an was the only bargaining chip he had to control me. He wanted to use my daughter to force me to relinquish my regency power. Even—"

He paused for a moment, his eyes dark and cold, his rationality bordering on cruel.

"—Forcing me to commit suicide."

A word that breaks the sky.

The last trace of weakness in Shen Qiongju's eyes was shattered the moment she heard those words.

"He wants leverage, so we'll cut off his escape route!"

Shen Qiongju suddenly stood up. "Prince Shou is privately forging weapons, relying on those abandoned iron mines in Jiangnan. He is secretly raising a private army, which requires a huge amount of pig iron and silver. I immediately sent a message to the 13 merchant guilds in Jiangnan—cut off all shipping routes, and not allow a single grain of rice or a single box of goods to be shipped out from the docks of his properties. Buy up all the grain and medicine in the market, and I want him to be unable to buy a single grain of rice even with his silver."

She raised her head, her gaze devoid of any warmth.

"Within ten days, I will turn Prince Shou's assets into a pile of worthless paper. I will make sure he can't produce a single piece of iron or pay a single tael of military pay."

"Simply cutting off their source of income isn't enough." Pei Zhihui turned to look at the door, his voice suddenly rising, "Pei An!"

"Your subordinate is here!" Pei An pushed open the door and entered, his armor making a low metallic sound as it rubbed together.

"Activate the 'spies' planted within the Zhao family." Pei Zhihui's tone was as calm as if he were ordering food, but he wasn't referring to the dishes; he was talking about lives. "Although Zhao Qiyan has run away, the Zhao family is still here. Send the Zhao family patriarch a grand gift—cut off the head of his illegitimate son and hang it on the gate of the Zhao residence."

Pei An shuddered, then clasped his hands in a fist salute, his voice escaping from deep within his throat: "Yes!"

"Pass down the order," Pei Zhihui slammed his vermilion brush onto the desk, the sharp sound of the brush striking the surface particularly jarring in the quiet study. "Since Prince Shou wants to play, I'll play a big game with him."

Pei An accepted the order and withdrew, closing the study door behind him to block out all outside noise.

The candlelight flickered in the secret room, casting long and short shadows that intertwined on the walls.

Pei Zhihui stepped forward and embraced Shen Qiongju. His chin rested on the top of her head, his stubble brushing against her soft hair. He held her so tightly, as if he wanted to meld her into his very bones.

"Ten days." His voice was hoarse, yet it carried an unwavering resolve, each word as if carved with a knife. "Within ten days, I will bring Nian'an back safely."

He closed his eyes, and his murderous intent permeated the room as if it were a tangible substance, so intense that it was almost suffocating.

"If even a single hair is missing—I will wipe out Prince Shou and the entire Zhao family, leaving not a single survivor."

.

About 100 miles outside Beijing, in the Western Hills.

The wind and snow were like knives.

Halfway up the mountain, an abandoned ancient temple nestled beneath the cliff face. The temple door, long since decayed, hangs askew on the doorframe, creaking in the wind.

A small bonfire burned beneath the altar.

The flickering firelight cast an unpredictable glow on the dilapidated Buddha statue on the altar. The statue, abandoned for who knows how many years, had half its face peeled away, leaving only one eye lowered, as if silently watching the person beside the fire.

Zhao Qiyan leaned against a stone pillar.

The former deputy commander of the Imperial Guard, clad in silver armor and wielding a long spear, now looked astonishing to anyone who knew him. His brocade robe was tattered by withered branches and thorns, revealing a thin undergarment underneath, the cuffs and hem stained with mud and bits of grass.

Half of his face was blue from the cold, his lips were chapped, and a layer of bluish stubble had sprouted on his chin, making him look more than ten years older.

But he was wrapped in a large fox fur coat.

He had snatched that fox fur coat from Tingzhu Pavilion. It was made of top-quality silver fox fur, with thick and soft down, enough to withstand the biting cold of the mountains. The fox fur coat covered him completely, leaving only his small face showing.

Nian An was biting her fingers.

Her eyes, like two black grapes, shone brightly in the firelight, darting around as she curiously surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings.

She seemed completely unaware of the perilous situation she was in. When she saw Zhao Qiyan looking down at her, she giggled at him, revealing her pink gums.

Zhao Qiyan was carrying a chipped, broken bowl in a flustered manner.

He found the bowl in the temple; it had been abandoned under the altar by someone, covered in dust and cobwebs. He washed it again and again, wiping it several times with the corner of his clothes, before daring to use it. Inside the bowl was freshly cooked brown rice soup—he had rummaged through his saddlebags on his horse, found a small bag of brown rice, and cooked it in a broken earthenware pot over the fire for half an hour until it became a thin, mushy rice porridge.

He scooped up a little with a wooden spoon, brought it to his lips, and blew on it several times. After blowing on it a few times, he tasted it himself to test the temperature. Only when he felt it wasn't too hot did he carefully bring it to Nian'an's lips.

"Drink up, Nian'an." His voice was very soft, as if he were afraid of startling a butterfly.

Nian'an wasn't shy around strangers. She opened her toothless little mouth and swallowed the rice porridge in one gulp, her cheeks puffing out like a greedy little squirrel. A little rice porridge spilled from the corner of her mouth, and she licked it with her pink tongue. Then she reached out her chubby little hand and grabbed Zhao Qiyan's loose, drooping hair.

"Hiss—Let go!"

Zhao Qiyan gasped in pain, his scalp tingling, and tears welled up in his eyes. But he dared not pull too hard, afraid of hurting those delicate fingers. He could only stiffen his neck, in an extremely comical posture, letting a baby pull his head.

Nian'an tugged at his hair and shook it, as if she were playing with a new and interesting toy, making babbling sounds and laughing even more happily.

Zhao Qiyan just tilted her head and didn't move.

He looked towards the capital. The wind and snow obscured his vision, and he could see nothing, but he knew which direction the city was in.

In that city, there was the court he once served, the palace he once protected, the woman he had admired for half his life, and his mortal enemy.

His expression was extremely complex, like a jumble of emotions, a mixture of sweet, sour, bitter, spicy, and salty.

He hated Pei Zhihui. He hated him to the core. That man had taken away everything that should have been his: the power of the Imperial Guards, his voice in the court, and Shen Qiongju.

He should have killed the baby girl with one stroke, sent her head back to the Regent's Palace, and let Pei Zhihui also experience the agony of unbearable pain.

But this is Qiongju's child.

Looking into Nian'an's dark, grape-like eyes and her small face that bore a slight resemblance to Shen Qiongju, the anger in his heart involuntarily softened, melting away silently like snow under the scorching sun.

He can't do it.

That night at Tingzhuxuan, Prince Shou's assassins went on a killing spree. Amidst the flashing swords, he rushed into the meditation room, kicked over the assassin who was about to strike the cradle, and risked his life to snatch the child out.

The assassin's blade grazed his ribs, leaving a three-inch-long wound that still aches faintly.

"A gentleman takes revenge, but not upon his wife and children," Zhao Qiyan murmured to himself, his voice so low that only he could hear it. It was as if he was convincing himself, or as if he was finding an excuse for himself. "Pei Zhihui is a traitorous minister, and his crimes deserve to be punished. But this child is innocent. Exchanging her for the rest of the Zhao family and forcing Pei Zhihui to abdicate is enough."

Suddenly, Nian'an frowned.

That once smiling face crumpled into a grimace, its eyebrows furrowed, its mouth pursed, and it let out a deafening wail.

"Wow--!"

Zhao Qiyan panicked instantly, and almost dropped the broken bowl in her hand.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying again? I just fed you! You drank the rice water, it wasn't hot, why are you crying?"

He hurriedly untied the fox fur coat. A pungent smell hit him like a punch to the nose.

It's diarrhea.

Zhao Qiyan's face immediately turned green. That green was even more vivid than the urine-soaked robe he was wearing.

He was the legitimate son of the Zhao family, who had been pampered since childhood and even had maids to serve him when he dressed. How could he have ever done such a sordid thing?

But he had no other choice.

He pinched his nose and clumsily tore off the lining of the tattered brocade robe, shredding it into strips. He then scooped half a ladle of snow water from the stone mortar outside the temple and warmed it over the fire. Then, holding his breath, he washed Nian'an and changed her diaper.

His movements were ridiculously clumsy. The cloth strips were tied too loosely, then too tightly again, and Nian'an squirmed uncomfortably. He frantically tried to hold her down, but was afraid of hurting her, and broke out in a sweat. After the whole set of movements, he was more exhausted than if he had fought three hundred rounds in a battle on the training ground, and his clothes were soaked with sweat.

"I really owe the Pei family!" Zhao Qiyan plopped down on the ground, panting heavily, her hair disheveled, her face exhausted, looking like a worn-out old woman.

Outside the dilapidated temple, the wind and snow were fierce.

The wind howled through the dilapidated doors and windows, making the campfire flicker and almost go out. Zhao Qiyan reached out to protect the fire and was about to wrap Nian'an up again when she suddenly froze.

A very faint sound of footsteps pierced through the noise of the wind and snow and reached his ears.

Those weren't the footsteps of wild beasts. Wild beasts don't have such a regular rhythm; they don't pause precisely during the brief intervals when the wind is strongest, and then continue on their way. Those were people, and more than one.

Zhao Qiyan shuddered and suddenly grabbed the short knife lying beside her with her right hand.

The dilapidated wooden door was slowly pushed open.

The door hinges creaked dryly and harshly, and a mysterious figure in black stepped out from the shadows.

In the firelight, the broken crossbow totem on the back of his hand hanging by his side was glaringly obvious—it was the symbol of the Prince Shou's assassins, the Broken Crossbow Battalion.

"Young Master," the mysterious voice was cold and piercing, "raising a child must be hard work."

Zhao Qiyan stood up. His movements were slow and steady as he moved the fox fur covering Nian An inch by inch behind him, using his own body to block her view.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, his gaze fixed on the sword in the mysterious man's hand. "Didn't the prince say we'd meet at the secret camp in the Western Hills after things calmed down?"