20demayo Chapter 1212 Hong 4's itchy days have arrived!
Chapter 1212 Hong 4's itchy days have arrived!
The young man broke out in a cold sweat.
“As for the two princes…” Hong Sixiang paused, “they are probably no longer thinking about the eldest princess.”
"what is that?"
"It's Fan Xian."
The name, spoken lightly by Hong Sixiang, seemed to carry immense weight.
The young man was taken aback: "Fan Tisi? Wasn't he staying in the Overwatch Council and behaving very well after faking his death?"
“Content?” Hong Sixiang shook his head slightly. “The most restless people in this world are often the most seemingly peaceful. Since Fan Xian entered the capital, what has he done that has been peaceful? Getting engaged to Lin Wan’er, taking over the Imperial Treasury, composing a hundred poems while drinking—aren’t all of these things done while walking on the edge of controversy? If it weren’t for His Majesty supporting him, he would have been drowned in the spittle of those civil officials long ago.”
He walked back to the low table, picked up the teapot, and slowly poured a cup of tea, but did not drink it. He just stared at the clear tea in the cup in a daze.
"The two princes didn't take him seriously before because they thought Fan Xian was just His Majesty's illegitimate son. There are more than just the two of them in the Qing Kingdom. Having another illegitimate brother won't shake the overall situation. But think about it, if this illegitimate brother held the power of the Imperial Treasury, had the Censorate behind him, half of the civil officials in the court favored him, and countless people regarded him as a poet and a hero—would he still be considered an ordinary illegitimate son?"
The young man's expression changed. Hong Sixiang picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and found the tea to be cold and slightly astringent.
“More importantly, His Majesty’s attitude towards him.” His voice grew lower and lower. “Letting Fan Xian listen to the two princes’ audience and directly asking him his opinion on the successor—is this how one would treat a subject’s family? This is… this is for everyone to see.”
The young man blurted out, "Does His Majesty intend to make him the emperor?"
"Whether you want to or not, I don't know." Hong Sixiang put down his teacup, a complicated look flashing in his eyes. "But at least, His Majesty is giving the two princes a reminder—you've been fighting for so many years, and in the end, you may end up with nothing."
A brief silence fell over the hall.
After a long pause, the young man cautiously asked, "So... what should we do now?"
Hong Sixiang didn't answer. Instead, he walked to the corner and took out a yellowed scroll from an old wooden box. It was a collection of materials he had secretly gathered over the years, densely filled with incriminating information and secrets about countless people in the palace and the court. He turned to one page, his fingertips lightly tracing a few lines of text, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"Tell your men to continue investigating the Princess's affairs, the more detailed the better. Find out exactly where the 500,000 troops she gathered came from, where they went, who supplied them with provisions, and who their generals were. Find out one by one."
"Yes."
"Also, send people to keep an eye on the two princes' movements, but don't get too close. They are at their most vulnerable right now, and they could be discovered if they are not careful."
"I understand."
“And…” Hong Sixiang paused, raised his eyes, his gaze as deep as an ancient well, “Leave someone to keep an eye on Fan Xian as well. He doesn’t need to do anything, just watch. Watch who he meets each day, what he says, and what he does. Don’t miss a single word.”
The young man was taken aback: "Does the Chief Supervisor suspect that Supervisor Fan is also involved?"
Hong Sixiang did not answer directly, but said calmly, "His Majesty ordered me to investigate the Eldest Princess, but what has the Eldest Princess done over the years without Fan Xian? Fan Xian is in charge of the Imperial Treasury, Fan Xian is in charge of the Censorate, and even Yan Xiaoyi's death was related to him. Do you think this is a coincidence?"
The young man seemed to be deep in thought, and dared not ask any more questions. After bowing, he quietly withdrew from the Hall of Tranquility.
The palace doors closed gently behind them with a very faint thud.
Hong Sixiang sat cross-legged on the futon again, his eyes slightly closed, his breathing gradually becoming steady. The ripples caused by the conversation just now were being slowly suppressed into the depths of his heart. This was a skill he had honed through decades of arduous training—no matter how the outside world changed, once he returned to this small space, he could immerse himself in absolute tranquility.
The true energy flowed slowly through his meridians, like a stream flowing through stone, silently and without a sound. Hong Sixiang was practicing an ancient mental technique he had cultivated since childhood, called "Turtle Breathing Technique." This technique did not seek to be fierce or powerful, but only to achieve a long and continuous breath. When cultivated to its extreme, one could even hold their breath for several hours without losing vitality.
His breathing became heavier, and his heartbeat slowed down.
Occasionally, a gust of wind would sweep past the window, rustling the withered branches of the old plum tree in the courtyard. Hong Sixiang's senses, however, did not completely withdraw; rather, they lingered like an invisible net, quietly enveloping the entire Jingxin Hall.
This was a habit developed over years of working in the palace—even while practicing martial arts, one had to keep a portion of their mind focused elsewhere. This deep palace, seemingly calm and tranquil, was actually fraught with hidden dangers. A single misstep could lead to utter destruction.
Time passed by, second by second.
He didn't know how much time had passed—perhaps an incense stick's time, perhaps a quarter of an hour—when Hong Sixiang's brow suddenly twitched slightly. The wind was still the same wind, the plum branches were still the same plum branches, but something had changed.
The sounds. The sounds in the courtyard are gradually fading away.
At first, the faint sound of patrolling footsteps could be heard from outside the palace walls in the distance, but it gradually faded away; then the chirping of sparrows in the corner of the courtyard stopped at some point; finally, even the sound of the wind blowing through the plum branches became faint, as if the wind itself had deliberately lowered its pace, afraid of disturbing something.
Hong Sixiang opened his eyes.
He didn't move, nor did he change the frequency of his breathing. He simply sat there quietly, retracting the invisible network of perception inch by inch, condensing it into a single line, and extending it into the depths of the courtyard.
Nothing at all.
No. It has everything, yet everything is too quiet. This quiet is not ordinary tranquility, but a suffocating deathly silence, as if something has forcibly suppressed it. It's as if an invisible hand has grasped all the sounds in the courtyard in its palm, tightening it little by little until not a sound can be squeezed out anymore.
Hong Sixiang slowly stood up.
He didn't reach for the whisk on the wall, nor did he take any weapons. He simply straightened his robes and walked steadily toward the palace gate. Each step was extremely firm and light, as if he were walking on clouds.
The palace doors opened silently.
The courtyard remained the same, the old plum tree remained the same, and the afterglow of the setting sun cast long shadows of the plum branches, dappling the blue brick ground. Hong Sixiang stood inside the threshold, his gaze slowly sweeping over every corner of the courtyard.
Then he saw that person.
The man stood in the center of the courtyard, no more than three zhang from the palace gate. Dressed in a black, close-fitting outfit, he was tall and imposing, with broad shoulders and a thick back. Standing there, he was like a towering mountain, giving people an unshakable sense of oppression. His face was hidden in the shadows and could not be seen clearly, only his eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, like a beast lying in wait, ready to pounce.
What truly made Hong Sixiang's pupils shrink was the object held in that person's hand.
A long spear.