Regret and compensation

The Grand Empress Dowager gracefully departed the imperial court, leaving the emperor seated upon his throne in a state of blank contemplation. He clicked his tongue in frustration and gently massaged his temples, his thoughts still ensnared by the dilemma he faced.

In his preoccupation, he remained oblivious to the presence of the prince, who observed him with a piercing, unwavering gaze from behind the nearly translucent curtain that separated them.

Sighing inwardly at the sight of his troubled father, the prince yearned to step forward, to clasp his father's hand, and offer reassurance that there was no need for worry and that he could be trusted and believed in.

Yet his heart wavered, and his mind cautioned him to refrain. Instead, he turned toward the window of the side chamber within the royal court, moving backward as slowly and quietly as possible so as not to alert his father.

With great care, he pivoted to face the window and gingerly placed his left foot on the windowsill. But just as he was about to take another step, a shrill voice pierced the air, sending shivers down his spine. In response, he withdrew his foot and remained motionless, as though he had never attempted to make his stealthy exit.

"Prince Ming..." The Chief Eunuch's pitchy voice broke the silence as he entered with a tray bearing a cup of tea. Having observed the Grand Empress Dowager's departure from the royal court, he had decided to serve the emperor. However, his arrival disrupted the prince's discreet exit.

The emperor, his attention captured by the Chief Eunuch's entrance, followed the eunuch's gaze and promptly identified the would-be discreet departee.

Fury welled up within the emperor, and he questioned his son with a piercing gaze, "Did you not leave earlier?"

Recognizing the emperor's signal that he should not intrude on their privacy, the Chief Eunuch immediately withdrew, leaving the two of them alone.

The prince, his eyes still trained on the tree outside the window, replied, "I must have drifted off to sleep. I assume the court session is over, and I should return to my palace now."

The emperor, adopting a sarcastic tone, retorted, "Leaving through the window, are you?"

"You heard us, didn't you?" He added, raising an eyebrow to indicate that he was aware of his son's presence.

The prince finally turned to face his father and responded, "You should have continued to not notice me when I was departing. Father, I would have gone my way without any concern. But now, if anything goes awry, I will be the first you suspect. It's a troublesome situation."

The prince's unwavering voice conveyed a deep sincerity with every word he spoke. He stood steadfast behind the curtain, unafraid of his father's potential anger, recognizing the emperor's role as the sovereign before that of a father.

"Come here," the emperor ordered, his anger momentarily subsiding. In response, Prince Ming approached his father, bowing his head and raising his clasped hands in a respectful gesture.

"Father," he addressed him, the word devoid of resentment or expectation, instead reflecting a close familial bond, albeit one that seemed to have grown distant from the connection one might typically anticipate.

"Since you overheard our conversation, you are aware of my predicament. I wonder, who would you recommend this time?" the emperor quipped, his words containing a hint of taunt.

Prince Ming knew precisely what his father was alluding to—the position of the Crown Prince that was meant to be his. Not only had he vehemently rejected the title, but he had also recommended his brother, Prince Wu, for the role.

Explaining seemed futile, and so the prince remained in his posture, a stance that paradoxically made him appear more guilty than he truly was.

"Tell me, who should bear this burden alongside me?" The emperor pressed, his brows furrowed with emphasis.

"Father is wise; you may select anyone, but I implore you to spare my siblings," the prince commented after a brief silence.

"What do you mean?" The emperor's voice rose, tinged with a sense of injustice, as though he were a serpent driven to devour its own offspring for survival.

"This matter is far more intricate than it appears. My siblings, especially Prince Wu, the designated heir to the throne, would find themselves in as dire a predicament as you are now. Rectifying a mistake is far more challenging than committing it. Regret can linger for an eternity due to a misjudgment, but another regret stems from failing to make amends when the opportunity arises. There's yet more regret for missing the chance to reverse the situation. While you may eventually evade criticism, my brothers' positions within the court will be under threat," he responded, his tone marked by a sense of reluctance.

"Are you not aware that you are showing great disrespect to your father, the emperor, on behalf of your brothers?" The emperor roared, his anger now reaching a boiling point.

"Indeed, I am fully cognizant of that," the prince responded without flinching.

"That's precisely why I wish you had not noticed me. If I had departed unnoticed, I would not feel burdened by the knowledge that my actions could have brought trouble to my brothers when I could have prevented it. Now that I have the opportunity to advocate for them, it is my duty to do what I can."

"You're painting me as a villain," the emperor sneered.

"If you believe yourself to be one, I cannot change this perception," Prince Ming replied, his tone unwavering and deeply serious.

The emperor infuriated beyond measure, pointed his index finger at his son, fuming with anger.

"Father, I understand the complexity of your situation," the prince said, his voice infused with empathy for his father's predicament.

"Oh? Does that mean you are ready to shoulder this burden alongside me?" The emperor inquired with a sly twist at the corner of his lips.

"Father, do you genuinely wish to do so?" The prince retorted, raising his eyes and regarding his father with a hint of resentment.

"What do you mean?" the emperor asked, taken aback by the apparent challenge.

"I wonder if you are prepared to restore justice," the prince responded, transforming the nature of the issue from a mere "mistake" to a matter of "justice."

A smile played on the emperor's lips, impressed by his son's shrewdness. He signaled for the prince to continue and share his thoughts.

"Father, if you don't mind, I have a few questions," the prince began, seeking permission to proceed. The emperor nodded in agreement, allowing him to continue.

"Do you wish to punish the wrongdoer? Or is your aim to provide compensation to Grandaunt?" he inquired, seeking clarity on his father's intentions.

The emperor let out an exasperated click of his tongue and took a deep breath. "The real culprit is my father's biological sister, Princess Jun, and the victim is his half-sister, Princess Shu. I find myself in a perplexing situation. My late father, the previous emperor, was very fond of Princess Jun, but that's not to say that Princess Shu was deprived of his favor. While he never elevated Princess Jun's status, he directly bestowed the title of Grand Imperial Princess upon Princess Shu in his will. This complicates matters, as I cannot grant that title to another aunt nor strip it from the current holder."

He continued, "Princess Shu was wrongfully accused and framed twenty years ago, leading to her disgrace. Now that I know the truth, I cannot rush to judgment. If I act sternly against Grand Princess Jun, the imperial clan will accuse me of mistreating my father's sister. On the other hand, if I pretended ignorance, I would be defying the wishes of my grandmother. If she were to expose my pretense, I would be seen as a corrupt ruler who disregards justice. In either scenario, it is the imperial family that will bear the shame, with two princesses implicated in funding black markets," he concluded, exhaling with a deep sigh.

The prince, contemplating the intricate situation, nodded in understanding. "No wonder you are reluctant to claim responsibility for the unknown wealth of Grand Aunt, suspecting that she might be involved in this, even if she wasn't twenty years ago," he concluded, letting his hand hang by his side.

"Grand Aunt Jun never received any promotions beyond her title of Grand Princess," the prince began, his eyes filled with an intensity that sparked passion. "She could have been envious and demanded promotions, but she didn't. It's possible that she carries a burden of guilt for what she did to her own sister. Furthermore, she's enjoyed a life of luxury when she should have been placed under house arrest."

The prince continued, "Father, considering you've ignored Grand Aunt Shu's opulent lifestyle for many years, why not continue to overlook that and instead focus on a compensation that could alleviate the suffering of both Grandfather and Great-Grandfather?"

The emperor couldn't help but smile proudly at his son. "It appears you already have a plan," he remarked.

"Grand Aunt should be promoted to the rank of 'Heavenly Jade Princess'," the prince suggested firmly, not showing a trace of fear. "She should be granted half of the Western tribute and the province of Yunhao. Her prestige must be elevated, and she should be given the highest tomb in the Imperial Mausoleum, right next to her husband."

The title of 'Heavenly Jade Princess' was only granted once every four generations, and its prestige was on par with that of a Grand Empress Dowager. As for half of the Western tribute, even the emperor was obligated to share it among his consorts and children. Giving half of it to a single person was unheard of, as it had never been done before. Prince Ming's boldness in even suggesting such a proposal before the emperor was remarkable.

"Heavenly Jade Princess? Half of the Western tribute? The province of Yunhao? The highest tomb? This honor isn't even bestowed upon a Grand Imperial Prince. It will be blatantly obvious that I am attempting to rectify the injustice," the emperor responded, his perplexity evident.

"Oh? Father, you must think that's a lot... Then how about sending her back in time by twenty years, so she can relive her life?" The prince's soft-spoken words dripped with sarcasm.

The emperor was utterly outraged by the audacious suggestion, something so preposterous that it could have cost the speaker his head had it been mentioned before the emperor.

The prince, being the black sheep of the family, seized the opportunity to express his thoughts openly, unrestrained by convention.

"Father, you find yourself ensnared in a dilemma," he remarked, his tone combining sympathy with a subtle taunt.

"Father, there are only two options before you," the prince continued. "First, you allow everyone to condemn you and let history remember you as an unfilial emperor, filled with regrets. Second, you deliver justice to Grand Aunt and strengthen your own position. It may seem like you gain too little from this, but consider the impact your benevolence could have on this Empire. Grand Aunt is not an ordinary woman; she has lived through three generations of emperors. She possesses a rare lineage and an esteemed status. She is also the mother of the Prime Minister!"

The prince's tone grew more impassioned as he spoke. "She is the Grand Madam Dowager of the Xuan Family. If we elevate her status, no one would dare cast their eyes on the Xuan clan. Their loyalty is unparalleled, and their talents are unmatched. The Prime Minister, being the son of a princess, has remained your loyal friend, but who can guarantee the future? If you worry about them amassing too much power, Father, by granting them a unique status, their lives will be like walking on eggshells. They will be more cautious than ever. With enemies on all sides, they will become tougher and more loyal to you. Just as you can bestow them with grace, you can also take everything away from them when needed."

"I had witnessed your bravery and intelligence when I called you from the Northern border. I took pride in your martial skills and strategic acumen, but I never realized you possessed such a rare talent in state affairs. To see the bigger picture is a skill not everyone possesses. Are you absolutely certain you don't wish to become the crown prince?" the emperor asked, sighing with a hint of disappointment.

The prince shook his head, a knowing smile playing upon his lips. His eyes, resembling a vast galaxy, held depths that eluded easy comprehension. This enigmatic quality made the emperor feel a sense of unease and anxiety.

He couldn't fully fathom his son, a man who possessed all the qualities necessary to be the crown prince but had chosen to feign idleness and recommended his own brother instead. This person, who seemed perfectly suited for the role of heir apparent, had played the role of a seemingly useless prince for so long that not even his own mother knew his true nature.

Emperor Zhao, had he not personally led the army to reinforce the border, might have never discovered his son's hidden talents.

All the victories were wrongly attributed to various unrelated generals, not to his own flesh and blood. The emperor couldn't comprehend why his son behaved in such an unusual manner, but he suspected there was more beneath the surface.

Prince Zhao Ming adhered to a single principle: to minimize the pain of regrets and heal the wounds that seemed incurable. The palace was, after all, a house of regrets.

Curious about the kind of person his son truly was, the emperor retrieved a blank scroll adorned with golden embroidery and sealed it with his jade mark. "Take this. Draft the decree. I entrust everything to you, make all the arrangements yourself," he commanded, studying his son's body language intently.

The prince displayed no hesitation or fear as he moved forward and inclined his head to receive the scroll with confidence shining in his eyes.

"It shall be done, Father," Prince Ming responded in a straightforward tone, as if accepting a blank, sealed scroll was a routine matter for him. However, both father and son were acutely aware of the power contained in that scroll.

Prince Zhao Ming walked gracefully towards the three gates, casting a glance back at his father, his thoughts cloaked in the question, 'Is it worth risking your throne to test my intentions?'