Chapter 2: Midnight Summons — The First Clash Between Monarch and Ministers
The northern wind howled relentlessly, unable to dispel the suffocating tension hanging over the imperial camp. Wang Zhen stumbled out of the tent in near panic, his heart pounding with confusion and dread. How could such a frail body harbor such terrifying presence? That gaze—colder and deeper than even the Yongle Emperor's! He dared not delay. Wrapping himself hastily in a cloak, he braved the cold night and rushed toward the tents of the three great ministers.
In the dead of night, the three regents—Grand Secretary Qian Yi, Minister of Revenue Xia Yuanji, and Hanlin Scholar Yang Shiqi—were startled awake by Wang Zhen's urgent call. Hearing it was an emergency summons from the Crown Grandson, their expressions shifted subtly. Qian Yi frowned deeply; Xia Yuanji wore a face full of worry. Only Yang Shiqi showed a faint glint in his eyes, barely perceptible.
When they entered Zhu Zhanji's tent, a strong scent of medicine hit them. The Crown Grandson lay on his couch, pale as death, breath weak and shallow, as if he might expire at any moment.
"Your humble servants pay respect to Your Highness." The three men knelt in unison, though confusion filled their hearts. Why summon them so urgently in such a dire state?
Li Ming—no, at this moment, he was Zhu Zhanji—coughed weakly, causing the maids nearby to cry out in alarm. He waved his hand, signaling them to withdraw, leaving only Wang Zhen standing guard outside.
"There's no need for such formality," he rasped, lifting his hand feebly, barely completing the motion. "I… cough… I do not have long. I summoned you tonight because I must entrust you with a matter… cough… that concerns the fate of the Great Ming… and the lives of all under heaven."
The moment he finished speaking, Qian Yi and Xia Yuanji's faces changed. Entrust a great matter? This sounded eerily like a deathbed testament. Grief surged in their hearts, but so did suspicion—if the Crown Grandson were truly dying, why not relay his words to the Crown Prince directly?
Yang Shiqi remained calm, silently observing. Unlike the other two, he was adept at reading people, catching meaning from the subtlest of details.
"Your Highness mustn't speak such words," Qian Yi quickly offered a reassuring response. "You are the cornerstone of Ming. You will surely recover and—"
"No more self-deception!" Li Ming's voice suddenly hardened, weak yet commanding. "I know my own condition. My father, too, is unwell… A great change is coming for Ming."
The air inside the tent instantly froze. Zhu Di's illness was the highest-level military secret—now bluntly stated by a supposedly dying Crown Grandson? The three ministers were visibly shaken.
"Your Highness must be cautious in your speech," Xia Yuanji whispered urgently.
Li Ming ignored him. His gaze swept across the three men and settled on Yang Shiqi, who slightly lowered his eyes in response.
"I know that if my father inherits the throne, though kind-hearted, he lacks the strength to carry Ming forward. In the next twenty years, war will blaze across the land, internal strife will fester, and even… a rebellion from the feudal princes shall arise!"
His words, though frail, struck the three ministers like hammer blows. Rebellion from the princes? That was treasonous talk!
"Your Highness!" Qian Yi lifted his head abruptly, eyes wide in disbelief. "You must never speak such things!"
Li Ming sneered—a smile that was both mocking and laced with subtle amusement. From beneath his pillow, he pulled out an aged scroll and extended it toward Yang Shiqi.
"Minister Yang, you are the most perceptive. See for yourself."
Yang Shiqi, still suspicious, stepped forward and took the scroll. As he unrolled it, his expression changed. It was a map of Ming's northern frontier, densely annotated with topographical data—and detailed movements of the Oirat (Wala) forces! What shocked him more were the vivid red lines—vulnerable defense points, enemy strike routes, even troop deployments at strategic passes, all meticulously marked.
This wasn't merely a border map. It was a classified strategic analysis of the enemy's war planning!
"This… this is…" Yang Shiqi gasped, pupils dilating. Much of the information here was beyond what even high-ranking ministers knew. And even if some of it were known, it would never have been this detailed—this predictive.
Qian Yi and Xia Yuanji, alarmed by Yang's reaction, leaned in for a look. Their faces paled instantly. This map was drawn by someone who had lived the battlefield—who knew both the enemy and Ming's weaknesses intimately.
"I compiled this… cough… during my illness, based on my lifelong studies and Father's campaigns," Li Ming said weakly, as though drained from speaking. "Esen Taishi of the Oirat is ambitious. The day my father passes will be the day he strikes. If we continue by the book, the Ming frontier will collapse."
He made it sound effortless, but the ministers' minds were in turmoil. This wasn't deduction. This was prophecy.
"Your Highness… how could you possibly know all this?" Qian Yi's voice cracked. His eyes now carried not only respect—but fear.
Li Ming's eyes were as deep as the sea, hiding truths none could imagine. He gazed steadily at them and spoke in a tone heavy with fate:
"I have always been sickly. In restless nights, I often dream of strange visions. In those dreams, I see the rise and fall of Ming, even the world centuries ahead. I've seen the trials that await us… and I've seen that the choice made today will shape all that is to come."
His words blended truth and fiction. With the help of the "Super Library," he added mystery with talk of dreams and destiny, both explaining his insight and making him unfathomable.
"My lords, I did not summon you here merely to surprise you," Li Ming said, his voice calm but forceful. "Ming now stands at a crossroads. If we follow the old path, we will repeat the doom of dynasties past. I intend to rewrite that path."
The final words rolled out like thunder: "I intend to rewrite that path."
And with them—he no longer referred to himself as "this prince" (ben gong), but as "I, the Emperor" (zhen)!
The three ministers looked up as if struck by lightning.
Zhen—a term only an emperor may use!
But what shocked them more was the expression in the Crown Grandson's eyes. Gone was the weakness—replaced by icy clarity and an edge as sharp as a blade.
The air froze. The three most powerful officials in Ming now felt a chill that pierced to their bones. They realized: before them wasn't a dying prince—but a monster that had lain dormant in the dark, now baring its fangs, ready to swallow heaven and earth.
"There are only two roads before me now," Li Ming said softly. His voice echoed in the tent, each word heavy with fate.
"One: You stand with me. We defy destiny and forge a new Ming—unmatched in history, ruler of all under heaven!"
"Or…" His eyes turned cold as death, and his words carried lethal intent. "I will clear every obstacle myself—and pave the way for Ming with blood."
Silence fell like a blade. The three ministers stiffened, faces pale, their racing hearts pounding like war drums.
This was no request.
This was a threat. A declaration.
This Crown Grandson—he truly meant to usurp the throne. And he wanted more than the crown—he wanted the entire world to bow before him.
Yang Shiqi clenched the map in his hand, his knuckles turning white. Looking into Li Ming's bottomless eyes, he suddenly understood—this prince's ambition was far beyond anything he could have imagined.
And now, tonight—they had been pulled into a storm that would shake the empire to its core.