"Lu Fang, go tell Wu Feng..."
Jiajing's habit was that the next sentence would be "You know what to say," but strangely, he had no next sentence today.
Lu Fang, who had always guessed what should be said and done, was dumbfounded this time. After a long silence, he stammered, "Say, say what?"
This was almost the first time in his life he had asked such a question, but Jiajing did not get angry. Instead, he said gently, "Tell him to go south to Jiangnan... let Zhu Mo go into hiding, go to Bianluo, go to Goryeo, go to Wa, or go to Nanyang... I will handle my business with Prince Jing myself..."
His tone was calm, but despair showed on his face. Amidst the despair, there was a rare firmness, as if he had made some resolution.
"Could it be? He's going to fight to the death?"
This thought suddenly flashed in Lu Fang's mind. Based on his understanding of this person, he absolutely could not tolerate this kind of insult. No matter who it was, even his own father or son, he would never tolerate this... It seemed a confrontation between father and son was inevitable, and no matter the outcome, the emperor would be a complete loser. The root cause, it was hard to say for sure. If it was a case of being too clever for his own good, how could one rule this Great Ming without more thought? If it was retribution, perhaps there was some truth to it, but this was, after all, a father-son relationship. Was retribution in this world truly so cruel?
Sending Wu Feng to Jiangnan, this layer of meaning was very clear—
Zhu Mo did not know his background, and Wu Feng was the one who found the old Daoist Pu Qing, so he was basically clear about the cause and effect. Having him go down to speak would naturally mean explaining the whole story, starting from the imperial estate along the Han River, all the way to their reunion in the small courtyard...
Letting Zhu Mo leave was a natural act of protection. As for whether he would leave or how he would do it, that was up to him. In short, Prince Jing's affairs had nothing to do with Zhu Mo... Whether it was the great cause of reform or the mutual destruction of father and son, at this point, the Emperor would surely provide an explanation...
Lu Fang suddenly recalled the warmth of their reunion in the small courtyard years ago, and before he knew it, tears welled up. He choked out, "This, this is good... If this old servant may say, why not just not tell him... keep it a secret... What does Your Majesty think? Woohoo..."
"Heh heh..."
Jiajing gave a bitter laugh, then turned to say calmly, "How can this be kept a secret? A person lives for a lifetime, and can hide anything, but this cannot be hidden..."
"What if he doesn't leave?"
Lu Fang guessed that Zhu Mo would definitely not leave and would most likely fight Prince Jing.
"Then let him be..."
Jiajing also knew very well that this young man was both similar and dissimilar, possessing an indescribable strangeness. He didn't know what he had experienced, but one thing was certain: this person would likely not leave. His obsession with the Great Ming was deeper than anyone else's, perhaps only comparable to Zhang Juzheng. They were both peculiar people, perhaps similar to Confucius and Mencius. He himself had always failed to understand the meaning of such obsession.
At this moment,
He too suddenly let go of everything and became exceptionally relaxed. Since everything was laid bare, any further pain was meaningless. His life as a ruler was a series of accidental occurrences; he was originally a Daoist priest. But even with these accidents, he felt he had done everything he should have. As for the ultimate fate of the Great Ming, it was up to heaven. Even if, as Zhu Mo said, rivers of blood flowed and heads rolled, leaving only one tenth, that would be the burden of the people themselves. With the character of the people in this world, there would naturally be no good end...
He straightened his robes, walked beneath the Three Pure Ones, lit three strands of Zhenxiang incense, and began to conceive how to deal with that tyrannical, rebellious son.
...
The noon hour had arrived.
Duanmen was already filled with people, almost every corner packed. The inner layers were officials, the middle layers were gentry and scholars, and the outer circle was commoners, all in an orderly fashion. There was not a single sound at the scene, and everyone's faces were strange, like walking corpses, merely staring at the more than six hundred people kneeling in the open space.
This, of course, was forced to attend the ceremony by Han Chong. For the past forty days, he, Han Chong, had been like a malevolent deity in the capital, a figure whose name could stop children from crying at night. Prince Jing had intentionally indulged his brutality, having seen through his nature. For this reason, he had acted without restraint, leading soldiers on patrols all day long. Whether it was extortion, beating, or occupying, he had done it all. Forcing them to come and witness this, who would dare say a word of objection?
Not only that,
These officials in the capital were all wearing mourning attire at this moment, looking exceptionally solemn. Everyone lowered their heads and cast their eyes down, standing respectfully, daring not to show the slightest negligence.
Because in front of the kneeling crowd was a high platform. Long strips of white cloth hung down on both sides of the platform, and in the middle was a large character "奠" (Diàn - Mourning). This was a state funeral, and its grandeur exceeded the ordinary. Those who understood could see that it was already close to the ritual of mourning Duke of Zhou.
At this moment,
Han Chong stood amidst the six hundred and three members of the Yan faction, kneeling with cangues, clad in dark red armor, like a god of slaughter overlooking the masses. Today, there would be the greatest scene since Emperor Taizu. The entire world, all people, would be thoroughly conquered by Prince Jing...
He looked at the sundial. The appointed time had arrived. He immediately ascended the one-zhang high platform and shouted,
"The auspicious hour has arrived, proclaim the decree!"
Proclaim the decree?
The two to three thousand officials filling the inner layers were not ordinary people. They immediately sensed the difference today. Usually, they would say "proclaim the imperial edict" or "proclaim the order," but today it was "proclaim the decree"? Those who had studied knew that the Zhou Dynasty favored such phrasing... This meant that Prince Jing intended to emulate the Zhou Dynasty? But the Zhou Dynasty ruled the world with benevolence and righteousness, so why would they publicly execute people? It was evident that there must be something unusual about today. For a moment, all the officials were startled, their breaths held tighter, not daring to even exhale.
"Prince Jing proclaims the decree!"
Han Chong's rough, hoarse voice once again pressed down on everyone's hearts.
Everyone saw Prince Jing wipe away his tears, compose himself for a moment, and then walk to the edge of the platform, uttering words that everyone had unexpectedly anticipated.
There were only two words—
"Execute."