A Poor Family’s Hereditary Scumbag (13) Ancient times also had templates for official documents. Carrying the five hundred thousand words of original plot Ling Jing had given him, Qin Jingzhou went to the Imperial Study, consulting reference materials while skimming the original storyline.
This time, Qin Jingzhou truly experienced the elderly man on the subway staring at a phone moment. Watching the male and female leads’ relationship grow ever more harmonious through an ever-increasing body count was a first for him.
In the plot he’d originally obtained, his scumbag son survived as a social butterfly for a while, only to die in the end at the hands of the illegitimate daughter Prince Li had once sent south. But in Ling Jing’s version of the plot, that same scumbag son actually went castrated along that illegitimate-daughter line, then latched onto Prince Li’s heir—ending up beside him as a eunuch.
Prince Li’s heir did ascend the throne and become emperor, but he didn’t last five years before losing the country. And yes—his scumbag son had played a part in that downfall.
That’s right. In Ling Jing’s plot, Yu Depei had been bent on revenge from the start, determined to wipe out Prince Li’s entire family.
Thinking about his scumbag son’s current state, Qin Jingzhou couldn’t help but sigh sincerely: this really was fate.
That said, the scumbag son at least knew how to take revenge, was especially adept at sowing discord between the male and female leads, and even incited the female lead to drug the male lead. Thinking of this, Qin Jingzhou found him… slightly more tolerable.
Slightly more tolerable didn’t mean he wasn’t still disgusted.
Qin Jingzhou picked out some details from the plot, combined them with current reality, and “assembled” a proclamation calling for the suppression of rebellion. Naturally, the core accusation was Prince Li’s collusion with the remnants of the former dynasty’s Murong clan—high treason.
He wrote the proclamation swiftly. When the Emperor received it, he simply bundled the document together with the ironclad evidence they had gathered and threw the whole stack at the imperial clan elders and senior ministers.
Watching the elder kinsmen—especially those who, even after Prince Li had fled, were still urging him to spare Prince Li this once out of respect for the deposed Crown Prince—shift from shock to ashen faces, the Emperor felt genuine pleasure.
Once those elders saw evidence of Prince Li using Murong secret drugs to deploy schemes inside and outside the palace, and then saw the list of those poisoned within the palace, no one could bring themselves to plead for mercy again.
The senior ministers present said little from start to finish.
The Emperor was satisfied with their discretion. Prince Li’s rebellion was, after all, a scandalous imperial family affair that had grown too big to cover up.
He’d already been comforted into not caring about losing face—he only wanted the problem solved. His daughter had said something that truly struck him: The more you fulfill every obligation of benevolence and righteousness, the harder it becomes for the clan elders to fault you—and the less room they have to keep leveraging past favors. Many of the clan princes were double-edged swords to the Emperor. Most had been staunch supporters of the deposed Crown Prince and had followed his dying wish to support the Emperor. They had helped him ascend and stabilize the throne—but they were also the ones constantly urging him to be lenient and protective toward Prince Li, all while openly extracting benefits for themselves under the banner of “meritorious service.”
Removing Prince Li and cutting down the arrogance of the clan princes could be killing two birds with one stone.
The Emperor thought to himself: I had no choice but to nurture a tiger that turned dangerous. If I can resolve this without crippling damage, that’s already good enough. After the brief briefing ended and the clan elders departed one by one, the Emperor remained with the Grand Secretaries, trusted ministers, and Prince Jin and his son to discuss how to suppress the rebellion. His precious daughter and the princes over sixteen—namely the Fifth, Sixth, Ninth, and Fourteenth Princes—were allowed to listen in.
No one believed Prince Li alone could truly stir up a major storm. He and his son were masters of intrigue, but putting them in charge of troops was laughable.
However, if the Murong remnants were willing to provide full support, that would be another matter entirely.
Because of Prince Li’s rebellion, the ceremony announcing the palace exam rankings was unusually plain.
By this point, Qin Jingzhou had already been personally appointed by the Emperor as a Hanlin Academician, becoming the youngest and least senior among the Emperor’s confidential secretaries. His workplace was no longer the Hanlin Academy but a side hall of Qianqing Palace.
Thus, even though he was searching for information on the Murong clan of the former dynasty, from the moment a palace attendant found him to the moment he stepped into Qianqing Palace took barely half a quarter-hour.
Qin Jingzhou was now a minor nobody—he just needed to sit to the side and listen for instructions.
The campaign plan was set: the Prince of Jin would command the army; the Tenth Prince would serve as supervising commander; Qin Jingzhou would accompany the Tenth Prince as a military strategist.
Meanwhile, the Fifth, Sixth, Ninth, and Fourteenth Princes, together with Prince Jin’s heir, would act based on intelligence to eliminate the Murong remnants still in the capital.
The Fifth and Ninth Princes usually had little presence and were quite self-aware. Their life goal was simply to be virtuous princes—so whatever Father Emperor said, they obeyed, diligently carrying out their duties.
The Sixth Prince froze for a moment. Glancing at his elder sister, the Fifth Princess, who wore a faintly amused smile, and then at his cousin, Prince Jin’s heir, he quickly restrained his expression. He didn’t even dare sneak a look at his father. Rising, he lowered his head and accepted the order along with his brothers.
The Emperor entrusted the Tenth Prince with heavy responsibility not only because he favored him, but also because the Tenth Prince had been innocently implicated.
The Sixth Prince was not in the dark. He and his mother, the Noble Consort, both knew exactly whom they were cooperating with—they simply hadn’t expected Prince Li’s methods to be this outrageous.
Qin Jingzhou quietly observed the Sixth Prince for quite some time. When he took his leave, he didn’t forget to use Morse code to warn Ling Jing: the Sixth Prince was a mama’s boy—who knew what he might pull while the Emperor was busy dealing with Prince Li.
Ling Jing gave a slight nod.
Returning home from the palace, Qin Jingzhou first scooped up Tianniu, who ran out to greet him, then sat in his study listening to reports from the steward.
He was to marry the princess before departing on campaign. Even though the princess had said the wedding needn’t be extravagant, how could the Yu family dare to be negligent?
Previously, the Yu clan’s main line might only have intended to invest cautiously. But before they could finish deliberating, Qin Jingzhou had become zhuangyuan, entered the Hanlin Academy, and was about to marry a princess. A clan elder—currently serving as Vice Minister of Works—didn’t even wait for the old family elders’ reply. He threw his full support behind this clansman who was already beyond the fifth degree of kinship.
As a result, the wedding was now being handled jointly by that clan elder’s steward and the clan uncle who had proactively sought refuge. Qin Jingzhou merely listened to daily reports and made decisions on major matters.
Hearing that the princess’s household stewards and the Ministry of Internal Affairs officials were all extremely accommodating—entirely due to His Majesty—Qin Jingzhou just smiled, then had his nephews and younger sister follow the stewards to learn a bit and broaden their horizons.
At the end, he didn’t forget to promise, “Once I return with merit, I’ll arrange your marriages.”
Both the nephews and the younger sister blushed.
…
On the other side, the Sixth Prince—having received his assignment—returned sluggishly to his mother’s palace, like an eggplant beaten by frost.
The Noble Consort, who had been eagerly hoping her beloved son could redeem himself through merit, was utterly disappointed to hear that he wouldn’t be accompanying the main army to the battlefield. Even on campaign, everyone knew weapons had no eyes—but who would actually let a prince charge into battle? Letting her son accompany the army would have been pure merit farming!
Yet the Emperor gave him no such chance—which meant the Emperor no longer trusted the Sixth Prince, nor trusted her, the Noble Consort.
Clutching her chest, grief welled up. “It’s Mother who’s harmed you!”
The Sixth Prince harbored some resentment himself, but without his mother he would’ve ended up like the Seventh and Ninth Princes. “Mother, please don’t say that! We mother and son… have only each other to rely on!”
The moment he said only each other, the Noble Consort burst into tears. “My son!”
The Sixth Prince stepped forward, pressing his hand over hers. “Merit isn’t only earned on the battlefield. I’ve interacted with Prince Li’s heir before and know some of his hidden assets. Father Emperor wants to wipe out Prince Li and the Murong remnants in one sweep—but I know their relationship isn’t that close. The one truly aligned with the Murong clan is Prince Li’s heir. That mistress he always brought along when drinking with me—she’s of Murong blood.”
The Noble Consort’s eyes widened. “What? Son, you mean—”
The Sixth Prince gave a bitter smile. “Prince Li may have been set up by his own son. He probably never imagined the Murong clan would be this rampant, using Prince Li’s palace agents to drug people everywhere. The Murong clan has secret drugs—they don’t even need silver to coerce people. Prince Li and his son fled in haste. I don’t believe they left no ‘good things’ behind. Even if the city’s already been cleaned out by Father Emperor, the estates outside the capital—”
The Noble Consort suddenly raised her head. “Don’t worry about manpower. Mother will borrow people for you!” How could such a chance—to purge Prince Li’s heir and the Murong clan—be shared with others?
In Great Liang, the Crown Prince had his own guard force of around three thousand personal troops. Ordinary princes were afforded no such privileges. When they went out, they could bring only twenty or thirty guards.
Even accounting for rotations, they could command at most about a hundred soldiers. Using that to raid Prince Li heir’s hidden assets would be a joke.
That said, when the Emperor promoted concubines, aside from the Fifth Princess’s birth mother—the one true love—he followed strict rules.
Every consort became a palace mistress either through family background, childbirth merit, or both.
Consort De’s natal family had once been among the meritorious supporters of the throne. The Noble Consort’s family was even more formidable—suffice it to say they could get the Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guards not only to turn a blind eye, but also to let his men cooperate with the Sixth Prince on their rest days.
Those who understood, understood.
While the Emperor was too busy to spare attention for this son, the Sixth Prince truly made several rounds through the outskirts of the capital.
Prince Li’s and his heir’s estates outside the capital weren’t even near each other. Because the father and son fled so quickly—abandoning even their wives—it was likely they hadn’t had time to settle the personnel guarding the estates.
These “estates” weren’t just fields for grain and vegetables. They included medicinal fields and sizable livestock operations. Prince Li father and son even raised cattle, sheep, and horses. Normally, the estate stewards would have had to consult the Princess Consort or the Heir’s Wife still in the capital—but now, they didn’t.
After having several clever men stake things out for days, the Sixth Prince finally discovered one estate where a physician carrying a medicine chest arrived every three days. And the steward of that estate never seemed to leave—not to seek instructions from the Princess Consort either.
When the report came back, the Sixth Prince was thrilled. “We’ve hooked a big fish!”
He personally led the operation, throwing all notions of fair play aside and ordering a direct assault on the estate.
To break into the main residence and seize the target, he lost over a dozen trusted men—splashed in the face with medicinal liquid and collapsing soundlessly to the ground.
In the end, his men dragged the mastermind out, bound hand and foot. The Sixth Prince took one look—
Wasn’t this Prince Li heir’s beloved, impossibly treasured, delicate mistress?
Regardless of how many secrets she knew, the mere fact that she was a Murong descendant who controlled secret drugs made her… priceless.
The Sixth Prince felt like he was floating. He couldn’t stop envisioning the future: maybe this was his imperial destiny!
Lost in his daydream, he hurried back with the mistress in tow. He definitely couldn’t place her in the palace—she’d be hidden in a residence under his mother’s name.
As their group passed through Zhuque Avenue, they happened to run straight into Qin Jingzhou and Ling Jing, who were out strolling.
When Princess Zhaoming went out, she always had an escort. Even at its simplest, that still meant dozens of guards. Even if the guards tightened formation and stood to the side, the Sixth Prince’s party still had to give way.
The Sixth Prince’s head began to ache. But if he didn’t step forward, it would look suspicious.
So he dismounted and greeted his Fifth Sister and her fiancé. He’d barely exchanged a couple of pleasantries when a muffled sob came from his carriage. His face instantly changed.
Qin Jingzhou and Ling Jing exchanged a glance.
Why bother being polite? They’d just stumbled upon a massive prize.
After all, the Sixth Prince usually only had a few dozen guards in the capital. Moving with over a hundred guards—if not for special circumstances—would’ve had even the gate commanders questioning his intentions.
As the two groups’ guards faced off, Ling Jing held the Sixth Prince in conversation. Qin Jingzhou seized the opening, leapt into the carriage, knocked down several guards with swift kicks, and with one hand dragged out the woman who had just made a sound.
The Sixth Prince’s face turned deathly pale. At this point, no one would believe any claim of “abducting a common woman.”
Ling Jing, of course, recognized the female lead. Seeing Qin Jingzhou’s questioning look, she announced openly, “This is Prince Li heir’s infamous mistress.”
Qin Jingzhou glanced at the woman’s slightly swollen belly. Without changing expression, he reset his dislocated right arm.
How could an old-school female lead possibly skip running away while pregnant?
Join the discussion
Log in to comment.