Chapter Nineteen: To Think My Son Possesses Such Majesty!

"Father, what is so great about being emperor? Look at Grandfather; he never even gets a hot meal, and day after day he just eats the leftovers of others. He is worked to the bone—rising earlier than a rooster, sleeping later than a dog, eating worse than a pig, and toiling like an ox. So, Father, let us just return to our fief!" Zhu Zhanhe, now somewhat desperate, began to ramble and smear the position of emperor in a frantic attempt to convince his father to leave for their fief.

Zhu Zhanhe's words left the Princess of Han stunned. She stared at her son in a daze, never having imagined that in his eyes, the imperial throne was so worthless, even beneath contempt.

Zhu Zhanhe was not surprised by his mother’s reaction; he knew his words had been shocking from the start. However, his focus remained on the Prince of Han. He turned to look at his father, only to see him still listening intently, casually picking up his teacup and sipping it with ease, clearly waiting for him to continue. Seeing this, Zhu Zhanhe could only roll his eyes in frustration.

"He'er, what you call eating others' leftovers must be the imperial food tasting. That is the duty of Lady Hu, the director of the palace. How did it become your grandfather eating leftovers in your words?" The Princess, Lady Wei, looked at her son in bewilderment, her small mouth agape as she spoke with hesitation.

"That is exactly what I mean! It is nothing more than eating someone else's leftovers!" Zhu Zhanhe spread his hands, looking indifferent, and rolled his eyes with annoyance.

"Uh..." Princess Wei was left speechless by her son’s astonishing logic. She stared at him, completely confused—yet, somehow, his words seemed to make a strange kind of sense.

"Son, continue. What else did you see in those history books? I am listening," the Prince of Han said, ignoring his wife’s interruption. He held his teacup, watching his son with keen interest, waiting for his answer.

"Father, the history books are filled with everything: the rise and fall of dynasties, the shifting of mountains and seas, the turning of the stars, the suffering of the people, natural disasters, man-made calamities, and vast fortunes. There are too many to list. So, Father, which one would you like to hear about?" Zhu Zhanhe was in no mood to play along anymore; filled with disappointment, he just wanted to go to sleep.

"You brat, still trying to deflect with jokes. I played that game long ago. If you want me to return to the fief with you, find a reason that can actually convince me. Otherwise, I won't be swayed," Zhu Gaoxu said, projecting the imposing aura of an invincible general. His booming voice made even Zhu Zhanhe flinch.

"But Father, I have said so much, and you have absolutely no advantage. What do you have to win with? That tiny force under your command? The support of my third uncle? Our family's lives? Or are you hoping that if you fail, the mistress you keep outside the manor will preserve your bloodline?" Zhu Zhanhe delivered these final words without hesitation, causing cold sweat to pour down the Prince of Han's back.

The Prince of Han cast a guilty glance at his wife. Seeing that Princess Wei remained silent, merely staring at him with a strange, piercing gaze, he felt his confidence vanish. He awkwardly rubbed his nose to hide his unease.

"Hmph! What do you know?" Zhu Gaoxu clearly had a backup plan, though he couldn't disclose it. He looked at his son with disdain, but sensing the murderous intent in his wife's eyes, he couldn't help but mutter to himself, wondering if he was about to meet his end.

"Father, it is always strength that decides everything. Those underhanded methods are merely paths for the weak. A truly powerful person does not need such external tricks—just like Grandfather! Not everyone can become the Yongle Emperor; not everyone has his ability to raise an army of eight hundred and succeed. Throughout history, he is the only one." Zhu Zhanhe pleaded earnestly, but seeing his father remained unmoved, he decided to change the subject.

"Father, this assassination attempt was massive. The number of people involved, the weapons, the armor, the logistics—it was no small feat. All of this had to be transported into Shuntian Prefecture. To pull this off, there must have been someone of high status acting as an inside man. Who do you think it was?" Zhu Zhanhe warned his father to stay out of trouble, reminding him that every action leaves a trail.

"Oh? You have a suspect?" The Prince of Han’s hand trembled slightly as he held his tea. He took a small sip, looked up at his son, and asked softly.

"Father, it is the simplest principle: whoever benefits most is the prime suspect! Since the attempt failed, who stands to gain the most? That person is the most suspicious. Do you think Grandfather will see it that way?" Zhu Zhanhe might as well have pointed a finger at his father's nose, urging him to behave, as his every move risked the lives of their entire family.

But the Prince of Han clearly didn't take it to heart. Instead, he looked at his son thoughtfully, lost in his own ideas.

"Son, the eldest brother's Zhanji wore a flying-fish robe today, a personal gift from your grandfather. He also tasked him with assisting the Embroidered Uniform Guard in investigating the assassination case. He’s taking a chicken feather for a command arrow, trying to sniff out my sources! He'er, I think your brother Zhanji looked quite dashing. If you wore one, you’d look even more heroic. How about I have your third uncle get you one?" Zhu Gaoxu sidestepped his son's words. He knew his son was right, but he refused to accept defeat. He was no worse than his elder brother, and he had such an excellent son. He wanted to show him off to the old man, proving his son’s competence in managing affairs just as he had proven his martial prowess.

Just as Zhu Zhanhe was about to object, someone burst into the room.

Zhu Zhanhe turned to see the Chief Steward of the manor, Steward Hu—the head eunuch. Zhu Zhanhe frowned, deeply displeased. He was discussing important matters with his father; what could be so urgent that it couldn't wait? What a lack of awareness! His oppressive gaze fell upon the steward.

The moment Steward Hu entered, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him suffocating. He looked up in a panic, only to be met by the sharp, piercing eyes of the Heir Apparent. In an instant, Steward Hu felt as if he were being stared down by a dragon. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to his knees with a thud.

The sudden intrusion also startled the Prince of Han. When he turned to look, he sensed the abnormal atmosphere—the feeling of air being drained or being watched by a giant beast. He turned sharply to look at his son, his face filled with shock and delight. The Prince of Han confirmed it: the oppressive aura he had felt when his son was angry at the servants was no hallucination. It was real! His son truly possessed the might of a true dragon!

"Heir Apparent, Your Highness, there is a matter that requires urgent attention," the Chief Steward knelt on the floor, his forehead pressed against the ground, his voice trembling. He didn't dare look at Zhu Zhanhe.

"Son, I forgot, I have business to attend to. We shall talk when I return." As soon as the steward finished speaking, the Prince of Han seemed to recall something. He patted his head in surprise, hurried over to his son to give a brief word, and rushed off with Steward Hu.

"Heir Apparent, this servant takes his leave," the steward said respectfully before backing away. Only after he had escaped Zhu Zhanhe's line of sight did he turn and trot to catch up with the Prince of Han.