It was utterly unbelievable!

The Crown Prince was not yet thirty years of age, right in the prime of his life.

Ye Mian and his friends had considered the elderly Empress Dowager, the Empress who was perennially bedridden, and they had even tremblingly thought of His Imperial Majesty himself—yet they had overlooked the young heir apparent of the Eastern Palace.

The Crown Prince’s health had always been robust. To perish so abruptly meant there was bound to be an underlying cause… Ye Mian did not dare ponder it too deeply, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Several pageboys from the estate of Vice Minister Ye, their faces fraught with anxiety, had already run out to the entrance of the alley to keep watch. Catching sight of the Fourth Young Master’s carriage, they sprinted back at full speed, shouting, “He’s back, he’s back! Quick, go inform the Madam!”

The moment Ye Mian stepped through the threshold, the pageboys hurriedly barred the heavy doors of the Ye Manor and fastened the locks behind him.

“Where are my parents?” Ye Mian inquired as he strode forward.

“The Master and the Eldest Young Master have both entered the palace upon imperial decree. The Madam is currently at the Yunxiu Hall presiding over the household affairs.”

Ye Mian nodded and quickened his pace toward the Yunxiu Hall.

During a great state mourning, protocol dictated that high-ranking officials like his father and eldest brother had to enter the palace to await imperial instructions.

The surrounding streets and alleys were predominantly occupied by official households. Just moments ago in the lane, several blue woolen official litters could be seen hurrying toward the imperial palace, while numerous pageboys, acting on their masters’ orders, snuck out to familiar estates to discreetly gather intelligence.

Figures darted back and forth across the Ye Manor in a chaotic frenzy. In the front courtyard, pageboys balanced on ladders to light white candles within the lanterns; the head steward directed the manual laborers to store away the colorful silk draperies into the storehouse; and handmaidens and matrons clutched stacks of plain white fabric, distributing them to every courtyard and room.

When Ye Mian arrived at the Yunxiu Hall, his mother was in the middle of managing affairs. The room was packed with servants standing shoulder to shoulder, leaving Ye Mian with barely any space to step inside.

Seeing Ye Mian enter, Madam Ye stood up and chided him gently, “You child, you didn’t even think to hurry back sooner when things grew so chaotic outside. You had your grandmother terribly worried just now!”

Ye Mian came to a halt before his mother. “Your son will go pay respects to Grandmother in a moment.” Lowering his voice, he stepped forward and asked quietly, “Mother, do you already know which royal personage it is?”

Madam Ye, née Qiu, shook her head with a solemn expression. “Your father and eldest brother left the manor only two quarters of an hour ago; I fear they won’t be able to return tonight. Your sister-in-law and I have already ordered the servants to lock the main gates of the Ye Manor and the Bihua Pavilion. They are strictly forbidden from sneaking out to pry for rumors. Sigh, everything must await the official proclamations from the government tomorrow.”

Ye Mian leaned in and whispered a single sentence into his mother’s ear.

Upon hearing it, Madam Qiu stood rooted to the spot in utter astonishment. Clutching her chest, she took a step back, her heart pounding with terror.

“This… isn’t this going to overturn the heavens?” Madam Qiu murmured, tightening her grip on her handkerchief.

Ye Mian assisted his mother into a seat and comforted her calmly, “Whether the heavens are overturned or not has little to do with our household. It’s just that things are bound to be chaotic outside for a while. You only need to keep the servants strictly restrained within the manor and prepare supplies for a few extra days; we will handle whatever happens on the outside.”

After sitting down in a daze, Madam Ye bolted right back up and urgently instructed a matron to recall all the stewards responsible for purchasing provisions.

“Aside from the Old Madam’s Shouyun Pavilion, all expenses for food, clothing, and daily utilities across the manor are to be strictly economized. The purchasing stewards must collect a tally-token from me each morning and may only take three people out of the manor. They must go and return swiftly, and are absolutely forbidden from prying for news or causing trouble outside!”

“Retrieve all the plain white silk from the storehouses. Deliver only half of it to the embroidery room, and distribute the rest among the handmaidens and matrons of each courtyard. Over the next few days, they are strictly forbidden from roaming between rooms to indulge in idle gossip; they must remain in their respective masters’ quarters to sew the mourning garments.”

Leaving the administrative hall, Ye Mian went to the Shouyun Pavilion to keep his grandmother company and converse with her for a while. Even after coming out, he did not return to his own courtyard to rest.

With his father and eldest brother absent from the manor, he was the only male capable of making decisions and managing emergencies. With the situation outside entirely unclear, there was no way he could just sleep soundly.

Accompanied by a group of private guards, Ye Mian meticulously patrolled the front and rear courtyards twice. Since it was inappropriate for him to enter the courtyards of the concubines, he instructed his half-brothers to look in on them—ensuring that those who needed reassurance were comforted, and those who needed a warning were properly cautioned.

It was only when the watchman’s clapper struck the fourth watch that Ye Mian lay down on a flat couch in the front courtyard, sleeping fully dressed.

At the second quarter of the hour of Yin, the sound of a crowing rooster drifted in from outside the manor. Ye Mian snapped his eyes open and flipped himself up into a sitting position.

Feng Jin tried to persuade him, “Young Master, please sleep for another two quarters of an hour, you’ll still make it in time. You’ve barely been lying down for an hour.”

Ye Mian shook his head. “Have them bring water. I must report to the Hanlin Academy earlier today; I reckon we will be receiving the imperial mourning proclamation from the palace.”

Feng Jin could only comply. After turning around to relay the orders to the servants outside, he muttered under his breath, “Whose damned plague of a rooster is that! Once things settle down in the coming days, see if I don’t hunt you down and pluck your feathers clean!”

Ye Mian did not take his breakfast within the manor. Requesting the kitchen to pack a few extra pieces of hunger-staving pastries for him, he departed from the estate.

After the passing of a single night, the entire capital was already draped in pristine white mourning colors. The only presence on the streets was the patrolling squads of soldiers from the Warden’s Office.

The intersections leading toward the administrative district were packed with dense crowds of imperial guards, all clad in heavy armor with swords fastened to their waists, their expressions fraught with a chilling solemnity.

When Ye Mian approached, he was likewise intercepted and subjected to a rigorous interrogation.

Once the inspection was complete, Ye Mian let out a silent sigh, feeling a pang of sympathy for Li Zhao. That fellow had rushed back to the Guards of the Palace Gates for night duty last night; judging by this intense setup, he wouldn’t be getting a single night of sound sleep for an entire month.

The Hanlin Academy was steeped in a solemn, stark atmosphere. The Hanlin scholars, who usually engaged in lofty, eloquent discourse and shared lighthearted jests, were now universally burying their heads over their desks, with not a single soul uttering a word. On the rare occasions someone lifted their head, it was merely to exchange a tense look with a colleague before swiftly lowering it once more.

Everyone was waiting for the edict. The oppressive atmosphere within the courtyard was suffocatingly dense.

Ruan Yunsheng rushed over to the Shuchang Academy to find Ye Mian. Exchanging a tacit look, the two moved out to the external corridor.

Last night, after the guards from the Princess Royal’s manor escorted Ye Mian back, Ye Mian had requested them to deliver word to the residences of Yunsheng and the others. Mounted on swift steeds, they covered ground rapidly, and their elite status made things far more convenient than ordinary pageboys. Consequently, Ruan Yunsheng had also learned of the shocking upheaval within the palace the previous night.

The two huddled in a secluded corner, whispering to one another.

Ruan Yunsheng murmured, “The Crown Prince was young and robust. For him to suffer such a sudden demise, one wonders if it was a natural passing or an assassination? If he succumbed to an illness, it might still be manageable; but if it was regicide, there’s no telling what kind of chaotic upheaval will rip through the capital.”

Having read a great deal of history at the Guozixue, Ye Mian was well aware of how terrifying the sudden demise of a nation’s heir apparent could be, and he had been worrying over it all night. “It will entirely depend on how the mourning edict delivered by the Ministry of Rites in a moment is worded.”

Ruan Yunsheng felt a bitter taste in his mouth. “If things truly turn bleak, the provinces far away from the Emperor might have it easier. Households like ours, however, have lived clustered in the capital for generations; our clan relatives, in-laws, and hereditary family friends are countless, bound together root and branch. There’s no telling which stray root might get entangled, causing us to suffer collateral disaster. It is truly impossible to guard against completely.”

“We’ll just have to tuck our tails between our legs and get by day by day,” Ye Mian let out a long breath, sighing with profound emotion. “The few of us brothers certainly picked the most splendid time to enter the court!”

He grumbled, “I heard from my grandmother that back when our fathers entered officialdom, the imperial court guaranteed an administrative posting the moment one clinched a degree. When the annual festivals arrived, all sorts of rewards and bounties were incredibly abundant. Now that it’s our generation’s turn, not only are the positions scarce while candidates are plenty, making tasks hard to come by, but even reward money and bonuses are practically non-existent. From this day forward, we even have to tuck our tails between our legs just to live. Who can we possibly reason with?”

Ruan Yunsheng chimed in supportively, “Exactly! On top of that, my father keeps lecturing me, saying they didn’t enjoy such fine conditions back in their day… What does their generation know of the miseries we face?”

The two did not dare converse for long, returning to their respective desks after a brief exchange.

At the start of the hour of Chen, while Ye Mian was sitting idly with a restless heart, a sudden commotion erupted outside.

Officials from the Ministry of Rites, leading several eunuchs carrying imperial decrees, strode swiftly into the Hanlin Academy. Unfurling the yellow silk, they commenced reading the imperial mourning proclamation aloud.

An incense altar had long been prepared in the main courtyard. Every official and clerk of the Hanlin Academy, regardless of rank, dropped to their knees with profoundly solemn countenances to receive the edict.

“…Crown Prince Lian, occupying the paramount position of the heir apparent, possessed a divinely endowed sagacity and intelligence, alongside a benevolent, filial, gentle, and elegant nature… He applied himself to statecraft and revered the sacred path… Yet the heavens have descended a calamitous decree; his lifespan has failed to match his years. Our imperial heart is wracked with piercing grief, our vital organs feel as though consumed by fire, and the six palaces wail in lamentation… This constitutes a monumental sorrow for the realm… We hereby issue this mourning proclamation to manifest it across the world.”

The gathered officials and clerks of the Hanlin Academy kowtowed in accordance with protocol to accept the edict. Following this, they unleashed a torrent of bitter wailing to express their utmost grief. Once the crying subsided, they kowtowed once more to conclude the ceremony.

The decree-announcing eunuch then proclaimed another imperial edict: “…Court assemblies shall be suspended for five days. Across the realm, music, entertainment, and marriages shall be strictly prohibited for seven decades of days. All princes and officials shall don the Qicui mourning attire… The Ministry of Rites and the Hanlin Academy shall deliberate upon the posthumous title and enfeoffment, and all funeral rites must be conducted with utmost generosity…”

The moment the officials from the Ministry of Rites and the decree-announcing eunuchs departed, the Hanlin Academy instantly dissolved into a flurry of frantic activity.

They had to swiftly draft the posthumous title documents, compose the texts for the funerary jade tablets, the tomb epitaphs, and the texts for burning yellow silk memorials… This vast array of diverse documentation fell entirely upon their shoulders.

The senior Hanlin scholars kept their mouths tightly shut, abstaining from any conversation unrelated to official documents for fear of a slip of the tongue.

Ye Mian and Ruan Yunsheng exchanged a glance, not daring to gather for a chat again.

Having received the decree, anyone could discern that the situation at court was highly precarious. The mourning edict utilized the phrase “the heavens have descended a calamitous decree,” failing entirely to clarify whether it was due to a severe illness, an accident, or perhaps…

Furthermore, this mourning edict must have been meticulously drafted by the Minister of Rites while staying overnight within the palace, and subsequently approved by His Majesty’s own brush. It was absolutely impossible for it to contain the slightest oversight, which indicated that the imperial intent deliberately sought to obfuscate the matter at this specific point.

This was highly ominous…

Though the Hanlin Academy did not sit at the core of political administration, it was positioned close to the imperial will. The senior Hanlin scholars were exceptionally sensitive to every character within official documents; upon listening to the mourning edict, cold sweat flowed far more abundantly than their tears.

Naturally, classes at the Shuchang Academy could not be conducted today. Many ranked officials of the Hanlin Academy concurrently held positions within the Ministry of Rites, and they had now all rushed back to reinforce the Ministry. Word had it that the department over there was already overwhelmed with work, running around in utter chaos.

With the supervisors absent, the young Shujishi did not dare cause any trouble during this critical juncture.

Although the primary mandate of a Shujishi was to study at the Shuchang Academy, they also handled ordinary duties on a regular basis, usually assisting the compilers with transcribing books and polishing drafts.

At present, it was even more impossible for them to remain idle; every single one of them without exception was mobilized to the public offices to compose funerary texts.

Ye Mian went over to Ruan Yunsheng’s “office,” and the two squeezed together at a single desk to draft the texts for burning yellow silk memorials.

There was no food available during midday. The entire capital outside was completely desolate, with all marketplaces firmly shut down. They dared not carry their lavishly packed lunchboxes into the dining hall; if anyone caught sight of it, you could easily be slandered for being irreverent and failing to mourn properly, leaving you entirely defenseless to argue your case.

The laborers responsible for heating water on the tea stoves had all been dispatched for other tasks. The two could only rinse their throats with cold tea, choking down a few pieces of the plain pastries Ye Mian had brought in the morning to barely fill their bellies.

Several Hanlin officials had already been wailing continuously for the entire day, appearing profoundly sorrowful and distressed. The old traditionalist Zhao Fangru, in particular, beat his chest, stamped his feet, and wept tears and mucus in equal measure whenever his brush reached a poignant passage, his crying sounding incredibly piercing and hoarse.

Initially, Ye Mian had assumed that Zhao Fangru was merely weeping to display his loyalty, much like several of the cunning young Hanlin scholars nearby. However, as time progressed, he realized that the deep sorrow and grief shining in the elder’s eyes did not seem feigned in the slightest.

The old man’s weeping caused a wave of genuine sadness to swell within Ye Mian’s own heart, prompting him to raise a hand and wipe his eyes.

Ruan Yunsheng watched as Ye Mian, sobbing softly, wrapped two pieces of pastry within a handkerchief and placed them onto Scholar Zhao’s desk. Finding it rather amusing, he asked him, “Don’t you detest him?”

This Zhao Fangru was the very individual who had pressured Ye Mian to drop to his knees and kowtow before Prince Consort Rongnan that day, and Ye Mian had frequently gossiped about him behind his back.

Ye Mian wiped his eyes. “The way he’s crying is making my heart shatter into pieces…”

Had it not been for the state mourning prohibiting music, he would have loved to grab a erhu fiddle and play a somber tune right behind the old man.

A storm was brewing over the capital, and everyone within and outside the government offices felt entirely insecure, behaving like startled birds at the slightest sound.

In the afternoon, even the heavens joined the fray. The originally bright sky grew dark and murky at some unknown point. Low-hanging dark clouds cast a deathly, suffocating shroud over the entire imperial city, making the atmosphere stiflingly heavy and causing people to feel even more restless.

Candlelights were lit within the government offices just after midday. Tucked away in a corner, Ye Mian and Ruan Yunsheng huddled together like a pair of shivering quails, spending the entire day composing funerary texts.

Though their hands were thoroughly exhausted, having a close friend by one’s side allowed both of them to feel a measure of peace that eluded the others.