Chapter 42: Deposing the Crown Prince!

“You brat, what are you staring off for? Tell me—do you feel any better?”
Old Zhu Di frowned and rebuked him, his heavy, powerful hand clapping down on his shoulder, only to feel a bony frame beneath his palm. The once robust and sturdy body had been tormented by illness until it was nearly unrecognizable.
Even with the enhanced Golden Bezoar Pill, it could only dispel the symptoms; to truly restore the body would take a long time yet.
Hiss!
Zhu Zhanji grimaced in pain, then suddenly froze—how could the dead feel pain?
“Zhanji, don’t just stand there gawking. Hurry and pay your respects to your imperial grandfather!” Hongxi, the big, portly emperor, looked at his foolish son with a worried frown and whispered a reminder.
Seeing his eldest son from the future now so gaunt and haggard, he felt a pang in his heart.
“Grandfather! Father?!”
Zhu Zhanji stared in bewilderment, sensing that the feverish chill in his bones was receding rapidly, and finally began to grasp the situation. He blurted out, dazed, “You’re both alive?”
How was this possible? Both his father and grandfather had passed away a decade ago—how could they suddenly appear before him alive and unchanged?
Could it be that heaven truly favored him, letting his imperial grandfather and father descend to earth to grant him extra life?
The imperial physician Du Tong had once said that this illness was beyond remedy, but if the fever and chills subsided, he could survive this ordeal.
With this in mind, Zhu Zhanji called out, “Du Tong, Du Tong, come to the hall at once!”
Outside the hall, Du Tong, who had been on night duty, was startled awake by the shout. He quickly grabbed his medicine chest and hurried in.
Though his hair and beard were white and his years nearly seventy, his stride was still steady and vigorous. As a veteran imperial physician who had served the Yongle, Hongxi, and Xuande courts, he had accompanied Emperor Yongle Zhu Di on three northern campaigns, earning great merit and high honors from the court.
He could rightfully be called one of Emperor Taizong Zhu Di’s intangible legacies for this beloved imperial grandson.
Candlelight flickered.
In the dim great hall, Du Tong entered to see the emperor collapsed on the ground, and panic seized him. He rushed over with his medicine chest:
“Your Majesty, hold on!”
Agile for his age, Du Tong turned Zhu Zhanji over, pressed pressure points to steady his breath, and flipped his hand to check—no response.
He frowned and barked, “What are you standing there for? Hand me the silver needles!”
A broad, fleshy hand passed him the needles.
Startled, Du Tong glanced up—how well-fed were the palace eunuchs these days?
This fellow was so fat he was barely human, like a mountain of meat, his figure rather reminiscent of Emperor Renzong.
Wait!
Du Tong’s gaze rose and, in an instant, he froze. His heart trembled as he recognized the face.

“Emperor Renzong?!”
At that moment, his hand happened to rest on Zhu Zhanji’s pulse—it was strong, steady, and long, the pulse of a healthy man!
But the emperor had clearly been at death’s door before, beyond all remedy!
While his thoughts tangled, a commanding, resonant voice rang in his ear: “Du Tong, you old scoundrel, you’re still alive?”
The words hit Du Tong like a thunderclap, and only then did he see Zhu Di, hidden behind the portly figure. He cried out in shock, “Emperor Taizong!”
“No need for formalities. See to Zhanji first; looks like the lad’s still got a touch of hysteria,” old Zhu Di instructed.
“Yes, yes!”
Du Tong stammered, deeply unnerved, thinking: Have both emperors descended from heaven to take His Majesty with them?
Should he treat or not treat? Yet His Majesty seemed already cured—what was he to do?
If he told the truth and the emperors couldn’t take the sovereign, would they take him instead?
After much inner turmoil, Du Tong finally braced himself and said honestly, “Your Majesties, the emperor’s illness is cured. With several months of quiet recuperation, His Majesty’s health will be fully restored!”
“Then what were you acting for, boy?” Zhu Di said, displeased, scolding Zhu Zhanji for his earlier theatrics, which had truly given him a fright.
“Forgive me, Grandfather!”
Zhu Zhanji snapped to attention, finally regaining his senses. He rose and quickly said, “Physician Du, you may withdraw for now.”
“As you command!”
Relieved, Du Tong packed away his medicine chest and hurried out in just a few steps.
Once Du Tong was gone,
Zhu Zhanji—who had not knelt in a decade—awkwardly prostrated himself, his voice choked with emotion: “Unfilial descendant Zhu Zhanji pays homage to Imperial Grandfather and to Father!”
“Rise.” Old Zhu Di didn’t stand on ceremony and said, “We’ve come because Emperor Chongzhen has summoned you to the Immortal Realm to join the emperors of all Ming dynasties in discussing the governance of the state.”
The Immortal Realm?
Emperor Chongzhen?
Emperors of all dynasties?
Zhu Zhanji’s face was blank; his mind, still weary from illness, could not process so much at once.
Hongxi, the portly emperor, explained, “Emperor Chongzhen is the first immortal of the Ming, his arcane arts boundless. A single pill can restore life; his strategies of state are peerless. Even a few words from him are enough for you to achieve immortal renown as a wise sovereign.”
Zhu Youjian felt embarrassed, secretly thinking: I hardly deserve the title of Ming’s first immortal—Emperor Jiajing before me was already called an immortal.
Guided by Zhu Gaochi, Zhu Zhanji finally noticed another emperor quietly standing beside the portly figure.
Clever as he was, Zhu Zhanji instantly understood that all these marvels were wrought by this man’s hand, and a profound awe welled up in his heart. He bowed respectfully: “Thank you, Emperor Chongzhen, for granting me life.”

“Your Majesty Xuande is of my own lineage—there is no need for formality.”
Zhu Youjian smiled and stepped forward: “Time is short. Please, all of you, return with me—Grand Ancestor must be growing impatient.”
In the blink of an eye, they vanished from the empty great hall.

Within the small world.
At the Hongwu dragon throne sat Zhu Yuanzhang and Zhu Biao.
At the Jianwen throne sat Zhu, the old fourth.
At the Yongle throne sat old Zhu Di.
At the Hongxi throne sat the portly Hongxi and young Zhu.
At the Xuande throne sat Zhu Zhanji.
Counting Zhu Youjian, six emperors of the Ming dynasty were gathered, plus two crown princes.

Upon entering, Zhu Zhanji was stunned. He saw two imperial grandfathers, one father, and even himself. He couldn’t help but shoot furtive glances at old Zhu, his heart pounding in terror.
The golden characters “Hongwu” glinting on the dragon throne nearly blinded him. He needed no further thought: the old and middle-aged pair could only be the Grand Ancestor and Crown Prince Yiwen!
A sudden pang of guilt made him unconsciously rub his face and half-cover it with his hand.
At this moment, Zhu Youjian smiled at young Xuande, saying, “I have two tasks for Your Majesty.”
Zhu Zhanji, thoroughly cowed, replied with utmost respect, “Please speak!”
“The first: depose Crown Prince Zhu Qizhen.”
Zhu Youjian spoke gravely.
All the emperors present changed countenance at once. To depose the crown prince was to shake the very foundation of the state—at any time, it was a decision taken with the utmost caution!
Zhu Zhanji’s face changed dramatically. Zhu Qizhen, only eight years old, was innocent and dearly loved by him. Should the crown prince be deposed, his mother, Lady Sun Ruowei, would by ritual law also lose her position as empress.
Though Sun Ruowei had not kept her youthful vows, he had already promised her the empress’s seat, and once given, he was loath to take it back.
Moreover, he had few children: only Zhu Qizhen and another, Zhu Qiyu, whom he did not much favor, born of Consort Wu.
If the crown prince were deposed, only Zhu Qiyu could be named heir, and Consort Wu would become empress.
…