Chapter Thirty: The Little Princess of the Jiang Dynasty

Recently, within the imperial city, the number of missing persons cases had been steadily increasing. Most of those who disappeared were young men, and the one thing they all had in common was that they had visited the Drunken Fragrance Pavilion. King Jiang dispatched two teams of spies to investigate the pavilion, but unfortunately, they returned empty-handed. With no concrete evidence, and with some still seeking pleasure, many continued to frequent the Drunken Fragrance Pavilion.

Someone took the trouble to keep a record of the men who entered and left the pavilion, and how many of them vanished. However, this only served to clear the pavilion of suspicion, as only a small number of them went missing after visiting the establishment.

“My loyal subjects, is there anyone who will volunteer to take charge of thoroughly investigating these disappearances?” King Jiang, troubled by this matter, had spent a sleepless night. Dark circles rimmed his eyes as he persevered to attend morning court, exhausted.

The civil and military officials bowed low beneath the dais.

Shen Zhaoyang stepped forward, robes billowing, and spoke: “In my humble opinion, if Your Highness’s sons wish to prove themselves worthy of the throne, why not let them use this case as an opportunity to hone their skills?”

A civil official quickly echoed, “Your Majesty, the Prime Minister’s words express exactly what this old servant thinks!”

Jiang Che and Jiang Ling exchanged glances, then knelt in unison, their robes sweeping the floor. “Father, your sons are willing.”

King Jiang gave a slight nod. “Very well then, let Prince Cheng and Prince Ling take charge of the missing persons case.”

“Jiang Che receives your command!”
“Jiang Ling receives your command!”

King Jiang had only three children. When Jiang Ling and Jiang Che turned fifteen, he had bestowed princely titles upon them; now, he addressed them by those titles.

Eunuch Lin, seeing that nothing more was to be discussed, raised his shrill voice: “If there are no further petitions, court is dismissed!”

“Long live His Majesty, long live the Emperor!”

King Jiang rose and, as if by chance, glanced at Shen Zhao before leaving the hall. Eunuch Lin hurried after him.

Outside the hall, Jiang Che and Jiang Ling did not tarry for even a moment, heading straight for the Phoenix Harmony Palace.

Nearby, seeing the crowd disperse, a minister shuffled over to Shen Zhao. Shen Zhao shot him a sidelong glance, then left as well.

In the study of Phoenix Harmony Palace, King Jiang presided over a private family council.

“On the court, many have already been swayed by Shen Zhao. Aside from your mother’s family and your imperial uncle who’s cultivating immortality far from the capital, there are few we can truly trust.”

A snort of laughter broke out.

Perhaps a testament to strong familial traits, everyone turned in unison to look at Jiang Ling. Though their faces betrayed little, it was clear what they wished to express: “Really?”

Jiang Ling licked a drop of grape juice from the corner of his mouth, widened his eyes, blinked innocently, and pressed his lips together. “Grape seeds, just grape seeds. Please continue, heh heh…”

Returning to the matter at hand, just as King Jiang was about to speak, Jiang Ling’s hand reached once more for the grape dish, moving so cautiously as if fearing the slightest noise.

King Jiang narrowed his eyes and, with a practiced hand, hurled a calligraphy brush at the dish.

A crisp crack—the dish shattered.

Jiang Ling, startled like a deer, looked in the direction from which the brush had flown. King Jiang, exuding an imposing air, lounged in his chair. Jiang Ling silently withdrew his hand, sitting upright and staring straight ahead.

“Che’er, where was I?”

“You were speaking about the forces Shen Zhao is secretly cultivating.”

“Good! Not like some people…” His gaze drifted meaningfully around Jiang Ling.

“No matter how much Shen Zhao amasses, at most he can muster ordinary soldiers. Cultivators rarely get involved in such matters. The real threat likely lurks in the shadows.”

“On my end, my master has advised that we do our utmost to restrain Shen Zhao’s actions. He has foreseen that the Jiang kingdom will face hardship, but will not fall. Most of the calamity will be centered within the capital; the people outside the city will remain largely unharmed.”

In just a few days, Jiang Jiu, citing the tutelage of Master Chongli, had convinced King Jiang and the others that he had matured, could share their burdens, and possessed both insight and strategy. The ideas he offered deserved praise, and with the claim that Chongli could glimpse the secrets of heaven, he’d laid out his thoughts, which King Jiang applauded at once.

Even if there were no other way to control the current crisis, Jiang Jiu’s proposal was already a near-complete plan.

“Since the Grand Diviner says so, I am reassured,” King Jiang said, using the informal ‘I’ that he reserved for family.

Jiang Che, who had been silent, suddenly spoke: “Shen Zhao is manageable, but what about the ones behind him? Ji, Kun, and Doukou died without leaving a trace. Apart from the silver thread Jiu discovered by accident, what other tricks might they have? And even that silver thread—so thin—if it comes to a fight, we’ll be at a real disadvantage!”

The study fell into silence.

Their enemy was cunning, their tactics unknown. Having never faced them, the royal family had no inkling of their methods, and the losses they might suffer could be far greater than expected.

In the hush, a trembling hand was raised.

Jiang Ling, voice wavering, lifted his paw: “Actually, I do have an idea… though I’m not sure if it’ll work.”

Six pairs of eyes turned to him, as if a lone lamb had wandered into a pack of wolves—Jiang Ling appeared especially small and helpless.

King Jiang arched a brow, his meaning clear without words: Speak!

Jiang Ling coughed, voice steadier: “The other day, I was playing with the silver thread Jiu found, and accidentally dropped it into a teacup. When I fished it out, the droplets on it looked beautiful, like raindrops suspended in the air.”

Jiang Jiu and the others were instantly enlightened. If something is invisible, find a way to make it appear. According to Jiang Ling’s method, sprinkling water on the threads would reveal them, thwarting any covert attacks and providing a means of defense before the enemy could strike.

Though this only applied to the silver threads, it could still reduce casualties in battle.

King Jiang rose from his chair and strode over to Jiang Ling, his expression grave. He clapped a hand on Jiang Ling’s shoulder, leaving him stunned.

“Hahaha! Excellent! Excellent! Truly, you are my son!”

With his other hand, he patted Jiang Che. “You’re all doing well, sharing my burdens!”

Jiang Ling scratched the back of his head. In truth, he was a general—good at fighting, but not at devising clever schemes. Coming up with a good idea was truly difficult for him.

Seeing King Jiang laugh so heartily, Jiang Ling grinned foolishly as well.

“I made some pastries—my King, Che’er, Ling’er, Jiu, come and have a taste!”

At these words, King Jiang, Jiang Ling, and Jiang Che all froze.

The Empress entered, followed by two maids, each carrying a tray of cakes.

King Jiang felt a sense of foreboding. Jiang Che unconsciously clutched his stomach. Jiang Ling felt as though he might meet his end before even setting out.

Jiang Jiu, however, was only puzzled—why were they all so alarmed over a few pastries?

[Master, the Empress’s cooking is worse than tossing a pig’s trotter onto hot coals at random. Friendly warning: do not eat! And by the way, the pastries are drugged. Eating them will gradually sap your strength and make you drowsy!]

Well, well. Even the Empress’s attendants had been switched out, but nothing was as shocking as Little Mischief’s first warning.