In a side hall of the Crown Prince's Mansion.
Zhu Gaochi lay on the bed with a look of utter despair, staring blankly up at the canopy.
After fainting twice yesterday from scaring himself, he felt he had no face left to show anyone.
Especially Father Emperor's look of disappointment, as if he could never live up to his expectations. It hurt more than a knife.
Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the bloodstain across his chest—and then the world began spinning.
"Ugh..."
He let out a long sigh, feeling as if his life had turned utterly bleak.
The fighting in the north was growing fiercer. Under Arutai's leadership, the remnants of the Tatars were taking advantage of the bitter cold to harass Great Ming's borders without end.
Father Emperor was advanced in years, and this expedition had already left him physically and mentally exhausted.
As Crown Prince, he should have been easing his father's burdens. Instead, he couldn't even get out of bed after being assassinated over some trifling matter, and had become a complete liability.
What made it even more humiliating was that he fainted at the sight of blood!
If word got out, what would become of the dignity of the Regent Crown Prince?
"Talk about being born under an unlucky star..."
The more Zhu Gaochi thought about it, the more miserable he felt. He couldn't help sighing again.
Just then, the hall doors swung open, and a familiar voice rang out.
"Dad, why are you sighing away in the middle of the day? You'll spoil your appetite."
Zhu Zhanjun strode in, carrying an enormous copper pot.
Several young eunuchs followed behind him, bearing plates piled with ingredients: lamb sliced thin as cicada wings, emerald-green vegetables, snow-white tofu, and all kinds of mushrooms.
A rich, spicy aroma instantly filled the entire side hall.
"Zhanjun? What's all this...?"
The smell made Zhu Gaochi's stomach growl. He looked at his son in confusion.
"Something good."
Zhu Zhanjun set the copper pot on the table. Its bright-red broth was bubbling away.
"It's called hot pot. It's a way of eating passed down from my master's side."
"In the dead of winter, nothing warms you up—or brings people together—like this."
He picked up his chopsticks, lifted a slice of lamb, and swished it through the boiling broth a few times. As soon as the meat changed color, he scooped it out, rolled it in a bowl of prepared sesame sauce, and popped it into his mouth.
"Mmm! That's the taste!"
He narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.
Zhu Gaochi watched from the side, practically drooling.
"Here, Dad. You should try some too."
Zhu Zhanjun swished another slice and held it to Zhu Gaochi's mouth.
Zhu Gaochi couldn't hold back any longer. He opened his mouth and ate it.
The tender lamb, coated in rich, fragrant sauce, melted on his tongue. A wave of warmth rose from his stomach and spread throughout his body.
"Delicious! Delicious!"
Zhu Gaochi's eyes lit up, and all his gloom vanished.
Father and son kept at it—one swishing the meat, the other eating—and soon polished off a whole plate of lamb.
After eating his fill, Zhu Gaochi leaned back against the headboard, rubbed his round belly, and let out a comfortable burp.
He watched his son clearing away the dishes, his heart full of emotion.
"Zhanjun, I owe you one this time."
"If it weren't for you, your father would probably be dead."
"We're family. What's the point of saying that?"
Zhu Zhanjun waved it off.
"Besides, if you really kicked the bucket, Elder Brother would have to take the throne early. Then the censors would be on his back every day. What a miserable life."
"For Elder Brother's happiness, I had to keep you alive."
Zhu Gaochi didn't know whether to laugh or cry at his son's crooked reasoning. He pointed at him and scolded, "You little rascal!"
After laughing and scolding, the smile slowly faded from Zhu Gaochi's face, replaced by another sigh.
"Your father may be fine, but the fighting in the north grows more urgent by the day."
"That scoundrel Arutai knows the terrain well, so he's playing hide-and-seek with us."
"The weather's getting colder, and heavy snow has blocked the mountain passes. Our supply routes are nearly cut off."
"If this drags on, before spring comes, hundreds of thousands of troops will freeze or starve to death on the steppe."
He looked at Zhu Zhanjun, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "Zhanjun, you're full of clever ideas. Can you think of a solution?"
"A solution?"
Zhu Zhanjun wiped his mouth and smiled.
"Of course."
"But there's no use just talking. I'll take you to see something, and then you'll understand."
He helped Zhu Gaochi out of bed and draped a thick fox-fur cloak over his shoulders.
"Dad, come with me."
Confused, Zhu Gaochi followed his son out of the side hall.
They passed through several covered corridors and arrived at an enormous, wide-open drill ground.
This was where the Eastern Palace's guards practiced. It was usually empty.
But today, it was packed with people.
No—not people. An army!
When Zhu Gaochi saw the scene on the drill ground, he went rigid. His mouth fell open, and he couldn't close it again.
On the wide drill ground, three thousand cavalrymen stood arrayed in an enormous, tightly packed square formation.
Every one of them was covered from head to toe in gleaming silver-white full-body armor.
The armor's design was sleek yet menacing, and it reflected the winter sunlight with a cold, dazzling gleam.
The warhorses beneath them wore equally heavy silver-white horse armor, leaving only their breath-steaming eyes exposed.
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