Rain-swept winds still battered the tent, yet they could not muffle the faint cries and unrest echoing from deep within the camp. The news of Emperor Yongle's passing spread like an invisible plague, and within the Crown Prince's tent, the atmosphere was even thicker with tension.
His trembling hand gently straightened the thin blanket over Li Ming's frail body. His son's face was still pale, his breath so shallow it seemed to vanish any moment. Yet only moments ago, that fragile body had uttered earth-shattering words:
"His Majesty appeared in dreams, warning of traitors rising during the mourning, to beware Prince Han!"
"Father… I may not have long to live, but my late grandfather's last order… must be obeyed!"
"Father… act quickly… secure the army, take control of everything!"
Those words now replayed in Zhu Gaochi's mind like a haunting incantation. His heart spun with turmoil. Though he had long been wary of Prince Han (Zhu Gaoxu), he was still his brother, his flesh and blood. Now, with the passing of the emperor and his succession not yet formalized, his son had issued a warning from his sickbed—suggesting he had to seize control first? Was this truly a celestial omen—or merely delirium?
He knew his own constitution was weak; he lacked the decisiveness of his father and younger brother. His father often praised Gaoxu's martial spirit while expressing disappointment in him. Now, in this fragile moment for Ming, should anyone rise during the mourning period…
A shiver ran through him. He recalled the lessons of the Jingnan Rebellion—how his father had seized the throne from a prince. That harsh history made him hypersensitive to any ripple in the currents of imperial power.
Slowly he rose, eyes drifting to the three ministers—Qian Yi, Xia Yuanji, and Yang Shiqi—stalwart pillars left by the late emperor to stabilize the court.
"Gentlemen, the Crown Grandson's earlier words…" he began, throat dry and voice hoarse, desperation hidden beneath.
Qian Yi and Xia Yuanji exchanged uneasy glances. The prince's words were shocking, almost unthinkable to repeat—but the gravity in his eyes and the implications of that Wala frontier map restrained them.
Finally, Yang Shiqi spoke, bowing respectfully. "Your Highness, though His Highness the Crown Grandson is gravely ill, his concern for the realm is clear as daylight. We cannot dismiss his 'dream,' but rather, we must recognize the urgency of the moment. The empire stands at its most critical juncture: the army is shaky, the populace uncertain, the border unrest growing, and wolves circle close within."
Yang Shiqi's words were measured yet piercing. He did not affirm the dream as fact but deftly redirected their attention to the real crisis—the lurking threat of wolves at the gates: Prince Han.
Zhu Gaochi's heart clenched. He grasped Yang's meaning immediately. Regardless of whether the "dream" was real, the moment demanded no mercy or hesitation. With his father's coffin still in the camp, he must, as Crown Prince, take command of everything—now.
"Xia Yuanji!" he turned sharply, newfound resolve burning in his gaze. "Summon the commanders of the Five Armies into the tent at once! Issue orders tonight—heightened alert, no one moves troops without approval!"
"Qian Yi!" he said next. "Draft an edict in His Majesty's name, summoning all princes, civil and military officials to return to court for the funeral—accurate in every detail, with no errors!"
"Yang Shiqi!" his final gaze fell on Yang. "You are close to my son—remain here at the sickbed. Monitor the army's situation closely, and report any anomalies immediately."
Yang Shiqi's heart stirred. Zhu Gaochi was placing him at the crossroads of monitoring and benefiting from the Crown Grandson's uncanny insight. He bowed humbly: "Your Highness, I will obey."
"Father… please hurry… I… can hold on…" On the bed, Li Ming's weak whisper echoed, accompanied by a few harsh coughs—each cough both a plea and a silent vow of loyalty.
Zhu Gaochi looked down at his ailing son, conflicting emotions swirling in his eyes. He patted Li Ming's hand firmly. "Zhanji, I know your heart is for Ming. You rest—I will not let you down!"
With that, he turned and strode out of the tent. He had to seize control of the returning Northern Expedition army—and the heart of the Ming state—before Yongle's death became common knowledge and turmoil erupted.
Inside the tent, as Zhu Gaochi departed, the lights dimmed to silence.
Yang Shiqi stepped forward to the bedside. He knew the Crown Grandson's words, the use of "Zhen," and the strategically planted "dream" were no accident. A calculating mind, sharper and more ruthless than any emperor he had known, lay hidden within that frail body.
He tightened his grip on the frontier map; its depiction of Wala troop movements stood out terrifyingly in the candlelight—an omen of coming bloodshed.
"Minister Yang…" Li Ming's weak voice emerged, flavored with a subtle, cunning smile. "I… trust that you can see the bigger picture."
Yang Shiqi's heart jolted. He bowed deeply: "Your Highness, I vow… for Ming, I would give my life!" He understood then—"Your Highness" may soon become "Your Majesty."
After Yang departed, Li Ming closed his eyes. A faint but ruthless smile graced his lips.
The board was set.
The first move executed.
Now, it was time to use this loyal pawn to further his grand opening strategy.
Deep night. The storm rose, foretelling the bloodiest dawn this dynasty has yet seen.
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