Chapter Thirty: The Talent of a Chancellor!

Zhu Yunheng’s facial muscles twitched involuntarily.

What a truly impeccable argument! The logic was simply invincible.

Zhu Yunheng had no desire to tangle with him over this issue; after all, his uncle had even invoked the memory of his own deceased father, placing himself in an unassailable position.

He promptly shifted the subject: "Uncle, just now outside your manor, I heard commoners discussing rumors about 'divine monk ballads' and the like. Do you know anything about this?"

Chang Sheng immediately defended himself: "You cannot blame me for this. Ever since you told us not to beat the drums for you that day, I haven't done such a thing. I’ve also restrained the other military nobles from doing so. I even notified my uncle, the Duke of Liang. Absolutely no one has been acting in such a manner!"

Zhu Yunheng remained silent. Chang Sheng likely wasn't lying to him. If so, who was spreading these rumors? Was it Zhu Yunwen, Zhu Di, or perhaps the Princes of Qin or Jin? The struggle for the throne was no small matter; hidden daggers and open arrows were inevitable. He had long been mentally prepared for this. After a moment of thought, he said, "Please, Uncle, help me investigate who is behind these rumors. Remember to act in secret; don't alert the enemy."

Chang Sheng looked puzzled. "Since you have openly stepped forward to contend for the position of Crown Prince, it is one thing for you to refuse our assistance. But I have heard these rumors myself—they all claim how wonderful it would be if you became the heir and how bright the future of the empire would be under your rule. This is not a bad thing for you. Since neither you nor we are behind it, we have nothing to fear even if His Majesty holds us accountable. Why not just let it be?"

Zhu Yunheng rolled his eyes at him. He was truly at a loss with a man like Chang Sheng. It was only because he lived under the shadow of his father, Chang Yuchun, that he had inherited the title of Duke. If it came down to his own capabilities, even a commoner in the marketplace with a bit of sense would likely surpass him.

"There is no such thing as a free lunch," Zhu Yunheng explained, his patience wearing thin. "Since we aren't doing this, why would someone else help me for no reason? As the saying goes, 'those who offer favors without cause are either thieves or harbor evil intentions.' Why would they risk spreading rumors to help me seize the crown? It makes no sense by any logic. Unless, of course, they are harboring malicious intent and want to lure me into a trap."

Chang Sheng slapped his forehead. "Right! You're absolutely right, nephew. I failed to see that point. You are truly talented and far more intelligent—worthy of one destined to rule the Great Ming."

His flattery skills were certainly well-honed. Zhu Yunheng rolled his eyes again.

Chang Sheng immediately boasted, "Don't you worry, leave this to me. Within three days, I guarantee I will investigate this clearly and thoroughly!"

Zhu Yunheng nodded slightly. "Uncle, I trust in your ability to get things done!"

Of course, he didn't actually trust him, but he hadn't held out much hope to begin with, so he was happy to toss him a compliment. He then asked, "Did you find Yang Shiqi?"

"Found him!" Chang Sheng bragged. "With my capabilities, finding someone in the city of Jinling is as easy as turning over one's palm, isn't it?"

Zhu Yunheng asked in surprise, "How could he be in Jinling? You haven't got the wrong person, have you?"

Chang Sheng replied, "I’ve checked thoroughly. He is from Taihe, J'an Prefecture, Jiangxi. His father died when he was young, and he grew up with his mother. He is a scholar who failed the provincial examination. Everything matches what you told me—there's no mistake! It must be the person you're looking for. I suppose he hasn't managed to flee back home yet and has been hiding in Jinling."

That made sense. While history books recorded many things about Yang Shiqi, they focused on significant events. If he had visited Jinling at this time without doing anything of note, it wouldn't be recorded. That sounded reasonable.

However, Zhu Yunheng asked, confused, "Flee? Why would he flee? And why hide?"

Chang Sheng said, "Didn't he offend you? Of course, he would flee and hide!"

Zhu Yunheng was stunned. "When did I ever say he offended me?"

Chang Sheng scratched his head. "I guessed it! If he hadn't offended you, why would you be looking for him? A failed scholar isn't worth the Prince of Wu personally sending men to find him, let alone giving me such solemn instructions. He must have offended you!"

He picked up a piece of pastry, eating as he spoke. "Don't worry, I’ve already had him arrested and thrown into the dungeon. Whether you want to kill him, carve him up, or use torture to make him wish he were dead, it's all up to you. If you need help, our manor has experts in interrogation—the same ones who used to help my father deal with enemy spies. As long as they take action, I guarantee they can torture that Yang Shiqi for forty-nine days without letting him die. I’ll make him regret ever coming into this world!"

Zhu Yunheng didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Chang Sheng’s way of thinking was truly unique. He sighed and said, "I have no grudge against Yang Shiqi."

"No grudge? Then why are you looking for him?" Chang Sheng was completely baffled.

"He is a man of talent, and I intend to take him as my teacher!"

"Pfft!" Chang Sheng spat out the pastry he was chewing. He began to cough uncontrollably, his face filled with shock. "Are my ears playing tricks on me? You want to take him as your teacher? You, the noble Prince of Wu, the Emperor's own grandson—royal blood—want to apprentice yourself to a poor, destitute scholar?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Zhu Yunheng replied. "Now, hurry and have someone take me to the dungeon to release him."

...

The Duke's manor had its own dungeon. This wasn't particularly unusual; in fact, at this time, most military noble families had dungeons on their premises.

When Zhu Yunheng walked in, he saw a man of about twenty-five or twenty-six, dressed in coarse linen, holding a scroll of books. He was focused intently, using the dim light filtering in from a high, small window. He didn't even turn his head when someone walked in.

Zhu Yunheng nodded inwardly in approval. He was worthy of being a Grand Secretary for forty years. Despite his youth, his composure was terrifyingly steady. Even while imprisoned, he remained calm, reading with leisure. Forget young men his age; even elderly men of seventy or eighty would rarely remain so collected if locked in a dungeon.

Zhu Yunheng opened the cell door and stepped inside. Only then did Yang Shiqi put down his book and look toward him, asking with curiosity, "You aren't here to bring me food?"

Zhu Yunheng shook his head and asked with a smile, "You've been locked in this dungeon—aren't you worried? How do you still have the heart to read?"

Yang Shiqi laughed. "If being worried could get me out, I would certainly be worried. But I have thought hard and cannot fathom why I was brought here, nor do I know how to get out. Since that is the case, what use is there in worrying? It is better to calm my mind and read. When you finally decide to interrogate me and clarify the cause and effect, only then will I be able to think of a solution."

Zhu Yunheng asked, "You are trapped in a prison; do you not fear that you may never leave, or worry about your own safety?"

"Excessive thought is useless," Yang Shiqi said. "Since I cannot resolve it, thinking more is merely daydreaming—a waste of spirit. If I am fated never to leave this life, then so be it. What else is there to say?"

Zhu Yunheng clapped in admiration. "Master Yang, you are truly worthy of the talent of a Prime Minister. Your composure is admirable. Even if ordinary people understood this principle, when truly placed in such a situation, they would find it impossible to keep their minds so still."