Chapter One: Old Zhu Gone Before His Time?

Year twenty-five of Hongwu, golden autumn in September.

On the mountains of Zhongshan outside the city of Ying Tian, yellow leaves fluttered in the wind, and the early chill swept up fallen leaves, swirling them through the air.

Before the grand cemetery to the east, a youth clad in mourning linen sat carelessly on the ground, his gaze shimmering with an inscrutable light.

Suddenly, the youth reached out his hand and gently caressed the tombstone.

Upon the stone was inscribed a line of bold, vigorous characters: Tomb of Zhu Biao, Crown Prince Yiweng of the Great Ming.

Roughened fingers traced the engraved words, and from the youth’s throat came a voice laden with sorrowful gravity.

“Father, why were you so stubborn?”

“You wouldn’t listen when I begged you not to go to Shaanxi. Now look—ended up killing yourself, didn’t you!”

“The most stable crown prince in history, yet you never sat the throne for a single day. Honestly, I’m embarrassed for you.”

“With your passing, the Great Ming will be left vulnerable... Alas! If you knew that because of you, Grandfather will kill Lan Yu next month, implicating other Huai Xi nobles and tens of thousands of innocent people, I wonder if you’d claw your way out from beneath.”

“If only you could rise again, Grandfather wouldn’t appoint Zhu Yunwen as heir, and Ming wouldn’t descend into chaos once more.”

“Bah! The so-called ‘most dependable crown prince.’ I say you were the most irresponsible prince of all, and stubborn to boot…”

This youth was none other than Zhu Yunshuo, third son of Crown Prince Zhu Biao.

But Zhu Yunshuo was not the original figure of history; he was a modern man who had crossed over to the fifteenth year of Hongwu.

Sadly, upon arriving in this world, he lost his mother, and while fainting from grief at his beloved elder brother’s funeral, he had given Zhu Yunshuo this opportunity.

Over the past ten years, Zhu Yunshuo had not only guarded himself carefully, hiding his talents from Madame Lü, but also frequently reminded Zhu Biao to take care of his health.

Just last year, when Zhu Biao traveled to Shaanxi, Zhu Yunshuo had desperately tried to dissuade him, but to no avail.

His father still died from a mere cold.

“Your Highness, there’s news from the palace.”

As Zhu Yunshuo reflected on his decade of effort, lamenting how it had all come to naught, a sharp voice abruptly pierced his thoughts.

The youth wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and rose suddenly, the wind whipping his linen robes to reveal the resolute figure beneath.

—

As a eunuch draped in mourning approached, Zhu Yunshuo’s expression had already regained its composure.

“Sanbao, what news from the palace?”

Ma Sanbao—none other than Zheng He, famed for his seven voyages to the West.

Originally from Yunnan, he had been sent to the palace as a captive after the conquest of Yunnan, intended for service in the Prince of Yan’s household in Beiping. By chance, Zhu Yunshuo had kept him by his side.

Ma Sanbao was still just eighteen or nineteen, seemingly unable to mask his anxiety.

He looked desperately worried, lips trembling. “Your… your Highness, just now our people from the palace brought word… that…”

He faltered mid-sentence, stunned by the news.

Zhu Yunshuo frowned impatiently. “Speak—don’t stammer.”

“Yes!” Ma Sanbao bowed even lower. “Our people say His Majesty has passed—just an hour ago.”

An hour ago?

His Majesty has died?

Zhu Yunshuo froze at the news, a strange expression etching itself onto his face.

It was only the twenty-fifth year of Hongwu, barely half a year since his father’s death. How could Old Zhu be gone so soon?

Wasn’t Grandfather supposed to die in the thirty-first year of Hongwu?

Could it be the butterfly effect from his own crossing? Yet for ten years, he’d been cautious, making no real changes to history.

Thoughts swirled through his mind, quickly leading him to even graver concerns.

It was only September; Zhu Yuanzhang hadn’t yet named Zhu Yunwen as heir. With Crown Prince Zhu Biao newly dead, Zhu Yuanzhang’s sudden passing would surely plunge Ming into a struggle for imperial power.

Would Zhu Yunwen and his uncles simply watch the throne slip away?

No, surely none would resign themselves.

Would his butterfly wings bring endless turmoil to the Ming court?

“No! I absolutely cannot let Ming fall to chaos again.”

—

“Rise, the people suffer; fall, the people suffer! The Han, barely freed from Mongol tyranny, have not yet regained their vitality; they cannot bear such calamity. I must not let war break out in the land, or Ming may face another disaster like the Five Barbarians’ chaos.”

Zhu Yunshuo snapped from his reverie. His presence, once gentle as jade, now turned terrifying.

If his crossing brought calamity upon the Han people, or another round of barbarian invasion, he could never forgive himself, not even in death.

“Sanbao! Do you know the current situation inside the palace? Has Grandfather’s death been made public?”

“No, Your Highness! Our people say no one else knows yet. Only Jiang Huan has gone to the Eastern Palace to inform the Second Prince.” Ma Sanbao bowed deeply.

He looked up hopefully at Zhu Yunshuo, his eyes bright beneath the darkening sky.

“Your Highness, shall we return to the palace?”

From Ma Sanbao’s tone, Zhu Yunshuo sensed hope—his servant wished him to seize the throne.

But Zhu Yunshuo made no move, instead asking, “Any other news from the palace? Have troops closed the gates?”

“None! Everything is as usual. I dare guess that some are giving the Second Prince time to respond, so the news is being suppressed.” Ma Sanbao ventured, “Your Highness, this is our chance.”

Zhu Yunshuo lowered his gaze for a moment, then suddenly turned to look at Zhu Biao’s tomb, his aura shifting once more.

He was like a peerless sword unsheathed, its sharpness forcing Ma Sanbao to retreat.

Zhu Yunshuo murmured to the tomb, “Father, I did not wish for this. But after your passing, Madame Lü and her son forced me to guard your tomb. If Zhu Yunwen ascends, I’ll lose all freedom, so forgive me!”

“But rest assured, Father—I will raise Ming to heights you never dreamed of. This is my promise to you!”

With that, Zhu Yunshuo turned suddenly, his aura vanishing in an instant.

“Your Highness!”

Ma Sanbao, who had served Zhu Yunshuo for seven or eight years, had never seen such presence from him. He felt almost unfamiliar, and called softly again, gathering his courage.

Zhu Yunshuo reined in his aura, returning to his gentle, jade-like demeanor.

“Sanbao, will you follow me through fire and blade? If we succeed, you shall be ennobled and remembered through the ages…”