Chapter One: The Crown Prince Declares Their Paths Diverge and Cooperation Is Impossible

The twenty-seventh day of the second month, in the fifteenth year of the Chongzhen reign, Great Ming.

Since last year, Li Zicheng had raised an army of half a million, besieged Kaifeng, and devastated the province of Henan.

At the same time, the main forces of Great Ming lingered indecisively outside the passes at Songshan. Beyond the empire’s border walls, a foreign regime, grown fat and powerful by feasting upon Ming’s flesh, opened its blood-stained maw like a fierce tiger, brandishing sharp claws as it launched yet another assault against the aging lion that was the Ming dynasty. Once more, they met at the turning point of history, deciding the fate of the world's most brilliant civilization with blood and fire.

Yet today in the capital, the Forbidden City was host to the grand imperial lecture. While gloom and death pervaded the realm within and without, the court before the throne was rare for its lively air, a breath of vitality stirring amidst the desolation.

Perhaps only Heaven knew the source of this vitality: an extraordinary youth.

His name was… Zhu Cilang.

…

Inside the Hall of Literary Glory, before the gathered sovereign and ministers, the foremost speaker at the imperial lecture was Liu Zongzhou, the final master of Ming Confucianism. He spoke: "Self-discipline is the first principle of learning. With self-discipline, the body, mind, intentions, knowledge, family, state, and the world are all harmonized. Thus, in The Great Learning, it is the starting point for investigating things; in The Doctrine of the Mean, it is the path to ascending heavenly virtue, comprehending the highest and the lowest…”

The Chongzhen Emperor, Zhu Youjian, nodded from time to time as he listened to Liu’s discourse; the chief ministers pondered deeply. Incense wafted through the hall, misty as if the court were a celestial realm.

Suddenly, Liu Zongzhou frowned.

His face stern, he fixed his gaze on the fourteen-year-old youth standing beside Zhu Youjian.

The boy’s features were handsome and refined. He wore a winged cap, a narrow-sleeved robe with a round collar embroidered with golden coiled dragons, leather boots, a jade belt, and a jade pendant. Graceful and elegant, he was none other than the Crown Prince of Great Ming: Zhu Cilang.

Though blessed with fine features, Zhu Cilang’s eyes at this moment were vacant, his mind wandering far from the immortal realm of the hall.

Qin Xia had traveled to Ming for a month now. Each time he attended the imperial lectures, his scalp tingled; while the others listened avidly, he was anxious, his mind drifting elsewhere, lost in thoughts unknown.

This brought both embarrassment and anger to Liu Zongzhou, but also deep worry for the state and its people. He sighed inwardly again: since the Crown Prince’s recovery last month, Zhu Cilang seemed to have grown dull, stumbling even over basic questions, let alone the study of classics.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince,” Liu Zongzhou called. Zhu Cilang’s gaze was confused. “Your Highness?” he repeated.

“Ah… ah.” Zhu Cilang appeared to awaken suddenly, rising to bow. “Master Jishan.”

“Your Highness, what meaning do you find in my exposition of The Doctrine of the Mean?” Liu Zongzhou’s eyes were sharp.

Zhu Cilang looked up to meet Liu’s gaze, opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Scholar Ni Yuanlu sighed softly; the hall stirred as if by contagion, a faint commotion rising. Eyes met in silent disappointment.

This was the Crown Prince, heir to the nation, yet he appeared so slow-witted. How could one entrust the country’s future to him?

Zhu Cilang glanced at his father in this world. The Chongzhen Emperor’s white hair was growing, but his spine remained upright, unmoved by the scene behind him.

He turned, gently placed a hand on Zhu Cilang’s back, and, with concern and encouragement in his eyes, said: “Speak your mind, Cilang, whatever comes to you.”

Zhu Cilang gradually lowered his head, his gaze unfocused, murmuring, “I… do not… know.”

Liu Zongzhou’s frown deepened. “Dare I ask, Your Highness, is it because I have explained poorly? This is the content of my first lecture last month. Your Highness remembers none of it?”

Zhu Cilang’s head felt heavy as a boulder; sweat beaded on his brow. After a long pause, he replied hoarsely, “Master Jishan, honestly… I cannot recall it.”

Qin Xia, in his former life, was merely a business student; he knew some Ming history, recognized the Jishan school, but was utterly ignorant of its philosophical intricacies. As for the lessons of days past, since crossing over, his memories had faded, vague and unclear. Now, it was the soul of Qin Xia, a modern man, guiding this body! But such a truth—could he ever speak it aloud?

Just then, a commotion came from behind the curtain.

Lord Zhou Kui of Jiading, father to the Empress, thumped his thigh, leaning close to the Empress with anxious whisper: “It’s only been a month, and Cilang has forgotten everything. With such aptitude, how can the ministers favor him? I’ve heard that Prince Ding is clever—at his last lecture, he could recite the classics from memory, earning the ministers’ praise. I fear Cilang may lose the Emperor’s favor.”

The Empress glared at Lord Zhou, equally troubled, unable to understand why after his illness, her son had forgotten all his lessons.

Such a failing student would never please his teachers, nor reassure his parents. The Empress’s concern was for her child; Lord Zhou’s worry was entirely for Zhu Cilang’s loss of imperial favor and threatened status.

Liu Zongzhou grew despondent, forced a bitter smile. “Perhaps Your Highness finds my teaching inadequate. If our paths differ, we cannot work together; since Your Highness does not accept my doctrine, naturally you may reject it.”

His words were beautiful, earning many nods. Publicly, no one would dare call the Crown Prince slow-witted—he was, after all, the heir.

Yet the Crown Prince’s recent performance was dismal, a world apart from his former brilliance. Liu’s words served only to protect the father’s dignity. What understanding of the classics could a fourteen-year-old have? There was hardly any real possibility of divergent philosophies.

In truth, among the upper echelons, a secret rumor had spread: the Crown Prince had suffered a grave illness, leaving his mind burned and broken!

Now, those rumors seemed not unfounded.

Ministers exchanged glances, meaning clear without words.

Zhu Youjian looked at Zhu Cilang’s anxious face, his heart aching, his smile strained.

Seeing his father’s expression, Zhu Cilang’s heart also stung, his cheeks burning. Zhu Youjian might not have been a successful emperor, but he was a devoted father. Perhaps it was the lesson from the lack of education under the Tianqi Emperor, or perhaps in these dire times Zhu Youjian placed his hopes in the next generation. Whatever the reason, his guidance of Zhu Cilang was tireless. And Zhu Cilang could feel his father's love and expectations.

This thought filled Zhu Cilang with sorrow. He keenly sensed himself caught in a dilemma. He wished to achieve something, to gain reputation and confidence, to make his father happy. But lately, he had performed so poorly. Too young to be taken seriously, yet showing only dullness and limited talent—his troubles multiplied, weighing on his heart.

Suddenly, Zhu Cilang stood, his voice ringing like clashing metal: “Indeed, if our paths differ, we cannot work together. I believe Master Jishan’s teachings may be sufficient for cultivating oneself and managing one’s family. Yet I see no guidance for governing the realm. How to strengthen the state and enrich the people, how to command the armies and pacify the borders, how to manage finance and secure the populace—none of this is answered. Therefore, I find nothing worth learning here!”

His words stunned the entire hall.

…