The Kingdom That Never Sleeps CH 135 Do Not Ask The Heavens
At this moment, the imperial palace of the Great Song was ablaze with lights, and the sounds of battle echoed through the air.
Countless Imperial Guards patrolled cautiously, holding torches and spears, their eyes sharp and alert. Amidst the chaos, a cloaked figure in black slipped unnoticed into the northeastern corner of the palace—Jingxin Hall. This hall, newly built the previous year by the emperor, was dedicated to the worship of Buddhist statues.
Once inside, the figure pulled back his cloak. The Second Prince, Zhao Shang, who had been waiting in the hall for some time, recognized the face and rushed forward anxiously.
Zhao Shang asked, "Master, what is happening? What is going on outside? Why has chaos erupted all of a sudden? Has something happened?"
His forehead was drenched in sweat. Locked away in Jingxin Hall by imperial decree, Zhao Shang had no way of knowing what was transpiring beyond these walls. Earlier that night, he had finished his vegetarian meal and was about to transcribe Buddhist scriptures for the Empress Dowager. He had only written halfway when the sounds of combat reached him from outside. The noise had scared him out of his wits—he feared that Zhao Fu had finally decided to execute him. He had hidden behind a pillar, waiting in terror, yet no one came for him. Only after an hour did Shanting arrive.
The monk’s face was as emotionless as ever, revealing neither joy nor sorrow. He pressed his hands together in a Buddhist gesture and said calmly, "Your Highness, something has indeed happened. His Majesty is gravely ill and has been bedridden for more than three days. Today, a prince has raised troops in rebellion. By now, they are likely already at the palace gates."
Zhao Shang’s eyes widened in shock. "A coup?!"
Shanting’s voice was distant, as though it came from within a dense fog. "Yes, a coup."
"How dare he?!" Zhao Shang roared. "Who is it? Zhao Jing or Zhao Ji? They actually dare to commit such an act of treason?"
Shanting simply replied, "This humble monk does not know."
Before the words had fully settled, the clash of weapons rang out again from the distance. Zhao Shang trembled and stammered, "Then… what should I do?" He had been confined in Jingxin Hall, with no advisors by his side. At this moment, he was utterly panicked, unsure of his next move.
There was no doubt—whether it was Zhao Jing or Zhao Ji leading the coup, if they succeeded, they would never allow him, their elder brother, to live.
A horrifying thought crossed Zhao Shang’s mind: Would they even frame me for the coup and pin the crime on my head?
He clenched his fingers tightly, wishing he could personally kill the treacherous brother who dared to rebel.
Yet, without armor or weapons, how could he possibly eliminate the rebels? He couldn't even escape the palace. Just as Zhao Shang was on the verge of despair, Shanting spoke.
"His Majesty is gravely ill, and the Imperial Guards in the palace are leaderless. Only Your Highness can command them to fight back."
"Me?"
Shanting nodded. "Indeed. Your Highness is a prince. Other than you, no one has the authority to command the three thousand Imperial Guards stationed in the palace. Your Highness must not hesitate. You must head to Zhaode Gate immediately and stop the rebels before they breach the palace."
Zhao Shang’s heart burned with resolve. "Master is right! I cannot sit here and await my doom!"
The grand doors of Jingxin Hall swung open. As Zhao Shang stepped outside, he saw the Imperial Guard commander, Ruan Feng, waiting at the entrance. Zhao Shang turned back to glance at Shanting, his eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you, Master Shanting. As long as I draw breath, those traitors will never set foot inside the palace!"
Ruan Feng knelt on one knee, his face hidden in the darkness. "Your Highness, please give the order."
Zhao Shang’s gaze was steely. "From where are the rebels attacking?"
Ruan Feng replied, "Zhaode Gate."
"Good. Then follow me—we will cut down the traitors at Zhaode Gate!"
The night loomed heavy, like a monstrous beast pressing down on everyone’s hearts.
Beyond Zhaode Gate, the Fourth Prince Zhao Jing and the Fifth Prince Zhao Ji led the capital garrison’s troops in a frenzied assault on the gate. Above them, the Imperial Guards rained down fire arrows, desperately trying to hold back the storm of soldiers.
However, when the Great Song’s imperial palace was originally constructed, it was never meant to be a fortress. Shengjing was the empire’s capital—if enemies had already reached the palace, the city was already lost. There was no point in fortifying the palace itself. As a result, the three thousand Imperial Guards stationed at Zhaode Gate were struggling to hold their ground, while the rebel forces gained the upper hand.
Gritting his teeth, Zhao Jing cursed, "That treacherous Zhao Shang! Not only has he colluded with that wicked monk Shanting, but he even turned the Imperial Guards against us! Father is trapped in the palace—who knows how he fares?"
Zhao Ji added, "Tonight, we fight as brothers. Together, we will behead Zhao Shang. What do you say?"
Zhao Jing nodded. "Agreed!"
Zhao Ji raised his hand and ordered, "Charge! Seize Zhaode Gate for this prince!"
The soldiers roared as they surged forward, storming the massive gates.
The defenders atop the walls were weakening. The gate, barely holding, seemed on the verge of collapse.
Zhao Jing and Zhao Ji’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. Both subtly assessed each other. While they were united in their goal of eliminating Zhao Shang, whoever entered the palace first and "saved" the emperor would claim the greatest merit. Neither wished to let the other steal this monumental achievement.
With a thunderous crash, the towering gates groaned and shattered. Just one final strike, and the entrance would be theirs.
Zhao Jing and Zhao Ji held their breath, preparing to charge in—only to see a force approaching from outside the palace.
Both turned their heads, faces lighting up with joy.
"Prime Minister Ji!"
Ji Wengji rode in on horseback, his aged body battered by the journey. Gazing at the wrecked Zhaode Gate, he seemed to glimpse another door—one from long ago. His sharp, ancient eyes peered beyond the ruined gate and saw the dense ranks of archers hidden behind it.
The night was deep, time slipping away like a dream.
Ji Wengji returned to his senses and greeted the princes. "Fourth Prince. Fifth Prince."
Zhao Jing, furious, exclaimed, "That traitor Zhao Shang dares to attempt a coup! Prime Minister, join me in storming the palace and executing him!"
Zhao Ji quickly added, "Join me, Prime Minister! Help me take Zhao Shang’s head!"
The capital garrison surged forward, their roars shaking the sky.
Yet Zhao Jing and Zhao Ji were unaware—behind the tattered Zhaode Gate, Zhao Shang and his Imperial Guards had already positioned their archers, waiting to unleash a deadly rain of arrows.
Meanwhile, chaos reigned within the palace. Eunuchs and maids fled in panic, while a cloaked figure slipped quietly into Funing Palace.
In the vast, empty hall, only the grand eunuch Ji Fu remained, guarding his master. A single lamp flickered in the sleeping quarters, casting shadows over Ji Fu’s trembling form. He dared not speak.
At the imperial desk, a frail figure held a brush and carefully wrote in large characters—
"Do not ask the heavens."
Shanting removed his cloak, pressed his hands together, and greeted him. "Your Majesty."
Zhao Fu did not respond. He carefully completed his calligraphy, then took his imperial seal, pressed it into red ink, and stamped it onto the paper. Admiring his work, he finally looked up.
"Tell me, how does my calligraphy look?"
Shanting glanced at it. "A monk does not speak falsehoods."
Zhao Fu laughed and turned to Ji Fu. "He means to say it is terrible!"
Ji Fu, tense as ever, stammered, "Your Majesty's writing is excellent."
Zhao Fu nodded. "Indeed. I think so too."
Tossing the brush aside, he stood, stretched, and asked, "Zhao Shang has gone?"
Shanting replied, "He has."
"And Zhao Jing? Zhao Ji?"
"They are here as well."
Zhao Fu fell silent. Then, he murmured, "Then someone should be arriving at Funing Palace soon."
At that moment, Imperial Guard Commander Ruan Feng arrived, kneeling outside.
Zhao Fu turned, his expression unreadable. "Well? Is it Zhao Shang, Zhao Jing, or Zhao Ji?"
Ruan Feng hesitated before replying, "All three princes are in Zichen Hall, awaiting judgment."
Zhao Fu stiffened.
At that moment, he asked, "Are they all there?"
Ruan Feng replied, "Yes, all of them."
"How could they all be there?!"
Ruan Feng hesitated. "It… it was the Left Prime Minister who rode alone through the Zhaode Gate first. The Second Prince did not release his arrows, so now… they are all waiting in Zichen Hall for His Majesty."
Zhao Fu collapsed onto his throne, staring blankly at the four characters on the desk.
"Do not ask the heavens."
The monk Shanting fingered his prayer beads, his voice drifting like mist. "Karma is the cause, breaking the barrier is the effect. One who indulges in desire is like one holding a torch against the wind—they are bound to burn themselves. Yet, due to illusions and attachments, they cannot attain enlightenment. Benefactor, beneath Avīci, the Thorned Hell—ultimately, you are alone."
Zhao Fu abruptly lifted his head, his eyes burning with murderous intent as he stared at Shanting.
The round-faced monk, with his benevolent brows and kind eyes, continued his chanting, neither pleased nor sorrowful.
The night echoed with the sound of weapons and war drums. In the Right Prime Minister's residence, the kitchen had long stopped serving food, yet Tang Shen and the Right Prime Minister remained at the table, sitting awake until dawn.
As the eastern sky brightened and the sun began to rise, a government officer rushed into the estate. "Reporting to daren, the Minister of Justice, Geng daren, entered the palace half an hour ago."
Wang Quan was surprised. "Geng Shaoyun? Why would he enter the palace? What exactly happened last night?"
The officer had only followed Wang Quan’s orders to gather information from the usual channels; anything he hadn't learned, he couldn’t report. Wang Quan waved a hand dismissively. "You may leave."
"Yes, daren."
Tang Shen turned to him. "Uncle, what on earth happened in the palace?"
Wang Quan sighed. "Oh you, even if you ask, I truly do not know."
Tang Shen looked a bit embarrassed.
Wang Quan continued, "But Geng Shaoyun entering the palace is unexpected. If he has done so, does that mean there has been a turn of events? But what kind of turn?"
Intrigued, Wang Quan pondered deeply, yet he couldn’t grasp the full picture.
He could not have known that outside Funing Palace, Ji Wengji, dressed in an old, slightly worn official robe, was being led into the hall by Grand Eunuch Ji Fu.
As he stepped inside, the scent of burning sandalwood filled his nostrils, thick and heavy, obscuring clarity. Without lifting his head, the Prime Minister stood quietly in the hall, waiting.
After a long while, a figure emerged from behind the curtains, stopping before Ji Wengji and gazing at him silently.
A sigh drifted through the air, as if from a distant place.
"Oh, Chong Ming…"
The Left Prime Minister, Ji Wengji, courtesy name Chong Ming—which was drawn from the I Ching: "The double brightness aligns with righteousness."
Ji Wengji slowly raised his head and spoke sincerely, "Your subject, Ji Wengji, pays respects to Your Majesty."
Zhao Fu spoke gently, "Why have you entered the palace?"
"I am concerned for Your Majesty’s health."
"I feel quite well."
"Your Majesty’s well-being brings me great joy."
The two of them faced each other in silence. No one knew how much time passed. The imperial incense in the hall had burned out, and the air grew cold.
Zhao Fu finally spoke. "Chong Ming, you and I have been ruler and minister for over twenty years. Yet suddenly, I find… I can no longer understand you."
Ji Wengji lowered his head, his tone steady but respectful. "Your subject has never understood Your Majesty either."
Bang!
A teacup flew straight at Ji Wengji’s forehead, smashing into him and breaking into shards upon the ground. Blood gushed down his face.
Ji Wengji was old now; the sudden blow nearly knocked him over. He staggered but managed to steady himself.
Zhao Fu let out a sharp, breathless laugh. "You don’t understand me?"
Blood covered Ji Wengji’s face, yet his eyes remained piercingly clear. His voice, despite the injury, was calm as he spoke slowly.
"Indeed, I do not understand. I do not understand what crime the Second Prince committed to be branded a rebel traitor. I do not understand what the Fourth and Fifth Princes did to make Your Majesty seek their deaths. Even a tiger does not eat its cubs. If all three princes perish, then tell me, Your Majesty—this Great Song, this empire you struggled to wrest from others, whom will you hand it to?"
"Zhao Ao? Zhao Qiong?"
"Have you forgotten? Every other Zhao in the realm has already been slaughtered. The only ones left are the descendants of Prince Jing."