Chapter 23: Arrangements

In another timeline, Princess Gong indeed died in the act of following her husband in death.

When the emperor received news of Zhu Youdun’s passing, considering that he had repeatedly petitioned against the practice of accompanying the deceased in burial, he decided to honor his last wishes. He decreed that the childless princess and the other ladies of the Zhou royal residence need not die alongside the prince.

By the time the imperial edict reached the Zhou estate, the bodies of Princess Gong and the six ladies had already grown cold.

Upon the death of the Prince of Zhou, Zhu Youjue had obeyed the ancestral decree and compelled Princess Gong and the six ladies to die with him.

Because this was a longstanding tradition, although Zhu Youjue acted hastily, neither the emperor nor the court blamed him. They could only sigh and posthumously honor the princess and the six ladies.

However, Pan Yun thought to herself, compared to posthumous titles, they surely wished they were still alive.

Seeing the Prince of Zhou eyeing the cat in her arms with suspicion, Pan Yun quietly poked its belly with her finger and whispered, “Say something human.”

Pan Xiaohei replied, “Meow—if I could speak human words, would I still need to cling to you?”

The prince met the black cat’s eyes, clear as glazed jewels, and suddenly his mind drifted. When the cat looked away, he snapped back to attention, his eyes lighting up. He regarded Pan Yun with newfound solemnity. “I believe you, young friend. Please, have a seat.”

Pan Yun lowered her head and glanced down at the black cat in her arms. “What did you just do?”

Pan Xiaohei was as curious as she was. Had it just instinctively retorted to Pan Yun?

Could it be...

Pan Yun and Pan Xiaohei exchanged a sharp look toward the prince. Could he also possess the ability to communicate with all living things?

Pan Yun stared at his chest, curious to know if his heart had any secret chambers or other supernatural gifts.

She opened her mouth to ask but suppressed her curiosity. Tao Ji had been similarly intrigued by her magic and talents but rarely mentioned them, suggesting people of this era were discreet about such matters.

Pan Yun kept reminding herself inwardly: be polite, be polite. The future is long... the future is long...

She sat back down on the small stool.

The Prince of Zhou had lived a full life and seen all manner of people.

Pan Yun’s past and present lives had been simple and sheltered. In her previous life, from birth to death, she had been nothing more than a naïve graduate student with clear eyes. In this life, she rarely left her home and had few opportunities to scheme.

The most recent time she had engaged in a battle of wits was with Xuanmiao Tao Ji.

Though her expression remained neutral, her eyes seemed to speak volumes, and the prince quickly guessed her thoughts.

He could not help but laugh heartily and said, “A person nearing death might indeed perceive things differently. Look at this cat—I can feel it.”

Though facing death, the prince was not consumed by fear. Instead, he bore a calm and composed demeanor.

He had been ill for a long time. If at first he had struggled, then later he had surrendered, accepting fate.

He would die when destiny decreed.

All he had to do was do his part.

With this acceptance, he could perceive more things.

Especially after surviving a death crisis three years prior, upon awakening, he saw the world with greater clarity. He could more plainly sense the true feelings of those around him: resentment, hatred, affection, reluctance, and calculation—all kinds of emotions.

For instance, the young woman before him.

Perhaps she truly possessed spiritual insight, but he still detected a faint trace of calculation about her.

What was the child trying to barter with him?

“Please, young friend, advise me: how can I prevent those in my household from dying alongside me?”

Pan Yun held the black cat and, relying on her limited knowledge, reasoned there was a strong possibility.

The current emperor was a fifteen-year-old boy, easily swayed by flattery and nepotism, preferring to be softened rather than confronted. Therefore, pleading might be more effective than formal petitions.

Though she harbored deep resentment toward him and Wang Zhen, Pan Yun said, “Your Highness should personally write a letter of supplication to the emperor, then, in the princess’s name, offer a generous sum to Wang Zhen, asking him to intercede on your behalf. This could secure about an eighty percent chance of success; the remaining twenty depends on fate.”

The prince’s face darkened, his chest rising and falling with agitation. “Wang Zhen... How can the emperor be so influenced by a eunuch?”

Pan Yun replied calmly, “The emperor favors Wang Zhen. We have no choice but to work with that reality.”

The prince was reluctant. Was this not aiding a villain, only strengthening Wang Zhen’s power? If things went wrong, history would mark him down for it.

Seeing his displeasure, Pan Yun said, “Then you should first submit a letter announcing your impending death. Let’s see if this emperor has a heart.”

He agreed and summoned a retainer, taking up the brush himself to write the letter.

But he had been ill for a long time and had not held a brush in ages. His trembling hand struggled to form the characters, the strokes unsteady.

The prince glanced at the letter, tempted to discard it and have someone else write instead.

Pan Yun found this perfect—it would convince the young emperor that the prince was truly near death.

The prince logically finished the letter. Pan Yun, however, felt it was not quite right.

Putting herself in the young emperor’s shoes, she thought the letter would be hard to move him. She took up the brush and wrote a new letter, then asked the prince to copy it.

The prince frowned upon reading it. “This is nonsense! The letter contradicts itself. If I say I am devoted to cultivation, serene and detached, not wanting the princess and ladies to disturb me, how can I also say I care deeply for them and cannot bear to have them die with me? Then it mentions the hardships of the common people, not wanting my household to suffer further. Which reason is true?”

“All of them,” Pan Yun said.

“But these contradict one another. How will the emperor believe any of this?”

“He will believe them both.”

“Impossible! Is the emperor a fool?”

Pan Yun sighed, “Your Highness, as a playwright, you value logic, but children like us do not. We value emotion.

This letter is full of your feelings: your love for yourself, for your wife, your compassion for the people. The emperor is a sentimental man—he will understand.”

The prince remained doubtful.

Finally, Pan Yun proposed a compromise: “You copy your letter first. Seal both letters and send them to the palace. Submit mine first. If the emperor is angered or unmoved, then submit yours.”

“No,” the prince felt the letter insulted his craft, making him seem unprofessional. “Submit mine first. If it fails, then submit the one you wrote.”

Pan Yun quietly calculated, her eyes gleaming, and nodded. “Very well, but I have a few instructions for the messenger.”

The prince noticed the sparkle in her eyes and agreed.

The retainer fetched the prince’s confidant. The prince began copying the letter.

When finished, the confidant was already waiting nearby.

Pan Yun sealed both letters, marking them differently, and handed them to the confidant. “First deliver this letter. If after two days there is no response, have the chief clerk deliver the second, saying the prince is gravely ill, unconscious, and the Zhou residence is preparing for mourning. This is the prince’s final letter before losing consciousness.”

The confidant stared in astonishment, glancing at the prince behind her.

The retainer could not help but scold, “How dare you!”

The prince’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Say exactly that. Tell the chief clerk I am at death’s door. Time is short. You must leave now and catch up with him.”

The confidant nodded, took the letters, and left immediately.

The prince was still exhilarated. Though he often directed others in acting, this was his first time performing with his own life as the stage.

He sighed. Had he known it could be done this way, he would have started years ago.

The prince and Pan Yun shared a glance, a sudden sense of kindred spirits.

While Pan Yun stayed with the prince, Zhu Zijin went to the guest quarters and requested Tao Ji and Xuanmiao to remain and treat the prince, giving them a chance to thank them for saving Zhu Tongqie.

In any case, it was a matter of fostering goodwill and keeping them close.

Tao Ji and Xuanmiao exchanged a look; having already agreed, they accepted without hesitation.

Zhu Zijin breathed a sigh of relief, glanced around, and asked, “Where is Young Taoist Pan? My son keeps asking for her. He recently returned home frightened. Please have the young Taoist accompany him to soothe his emotions. Otherwise, the two of them can simply play together.”

Playing with children?

No, no—Pan Yun’s companions were their own age. Playing with children would be like playing with dolls.

Tao Ji smiled gently. “She should be in the prince’s main residence now, shouldn’t she?”

Zhu Zijin was taken aback, quickly rose, and hurried to the main residence.

The prince was in poor health and mostly dozed in a restless sleep. Noise was the last thing he needed.

The young Taoist must not disturb him.

Halfway there, Zhu Zijin was stopped by one of the princess’s attendants.

The princess summoned him. “Eldest son, the princess wishes to discuss something with you.”

Zhu Zijin turned and went to the princess.

Gu was still feeding the child and had not come along. The princess’s courtyard was empty, lacking the usual bustle.

Zhu Zijin knew this was because she had dismissed many attendants, leaving only a few by her side.

Princess Gong handed him several servitude contracts. “I had wanted to free the heartmaids as well, to spare them... but life outside is harsh. I fear they would suffer. Since the prince has restored your name to ours, take these contracts. If I follow your father in death, keep them to look after these women. Give them a place to settle and live.”

Zhu Zijin was stunned but quickly knelt. “Mother, why would you say such things? Since I am restored to my parents’ name, I am your child. I will care for you until the end.”

None dared speak openly about the practice of accompanying the dead, fearing that such words could be overheard and reported as discontent.

Zhu Zijin believed the matter of the princess’s accompanying death was settled, but she was more cautious.

Her eyes reddened as she said, “Good child, I know your heart. But life is uncertain. Nothing is fixed or guaranteed. You do not know if things will go smoothly. Keep these contracts for now. Remember, I forbid any maids or servants to die with me. When the time comes, arrange for them properly. If... then you may give the contracts to them and let them choose their fate.”

Zhu Zijin wept as he promised to do so.