Prince Bei Jing of the Red Chamber, starting from saving Qin Keqing

The candlelight flickered beside him, casting a long, thin shadow that, when reflected on the mottled wall, exuded an indescribable chill.

He had secretly investigated his origins countless times over the years since he transmigrated here.

The original text is vague, only stating that he was the hereditary Prince of Beijing, handsome, humble, and deeply favored by the emperor.

Within the deep palace walls of the Great Yin Dynasty, the word "favor" often felt more ominous than the sharpest blade.

Whether he was a descendant of the late emperor who had been left among the common people, an orphan adopted by a collateral branch of the imperial family, or, as he vaguely suspected, had some unknown secret connection with the current emperor—none of these matters anymore.

The important thing is that he is now the Prince of Beijing, a prince with considerable power, and the dragon throne in the Forbidden City, the supreme imperial throne, has an almost instinctive and fatal attraction for him.

"The throne..."

Shui Rong murmured softly, her fingertips slowly tightening, making the scroll in her hand wrinkle slightly.

His eyes grew increasingly dark, like a bottomless, icy pool in the dead of night, obscure and unfathomable. "No matter the cost, I will seize it. Why can't I sit on this vast empire of the Great Yin Dynasty?"

He didn't linger, turned around and walked to the desk, his gaze falling on an inconspicuous dragon-patterned paperweight on the corner of the desk.

The paperweight was exquisitely carved with a coiled dragon pattern. It looked like an ordinary stationery item, but it was actually the mechanism to open the secret room.

Shui Rong reached out and gently twisted the bottom of the paperweight. With a soft "click," a bookshelf on the inside of the study slowly slid open, revealing a hidden door that could only accommodate one person at a time.

A faint, chilly aura emanated from behind the door, a stark contrast to the warm fragrance inside the study.

Shui Rong straightened his robes and stepped inside.

The room was dark and unlit, except for a few fist-sized luminous pearls embedded in the dome, emitting a faint, cold light that illuminated the room as if it were daytime.

Directly opposite the entrance is a huge sand table map, which meticulously outlines the territory of the Great Yin Dynasty, with mountains, rivers, cities and passes all clearly visible.

"Such a vast and beautiful land, a land of fertile soil, how could I not wish to taste it?"

Shui Rong stood in front of the map, stretched out his hand, and traced his fingertips along the Sixteen Prefectures of Yan and Yun in the north, feeling the rough texture of the sand table as if he were touching the real earth.

His gaze eventually settled on a region along the southeast coast marked with the words "Zhejiang".

After the New Year, he will lead the Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Uniform Guard south as an imperial envoy to investigate and confiscate the property of wealthy merchants who have broken the law and the families involved in the case.

"The South..." A glint flashed in Shui Rong's eyes, and a confident smile curved his lips. "My place of origin might just be there."

He stood before the map for a long time, until the chill of the dark room seeped into his bones, before slowly withdrawing his gaze, turning around and walking out of the dark room.

The bookshelf slowly closed behind him, returning to its original state, as if nothing had happened.

Upon exiting the dark room, the sky was already as dark as ink, the moon was hidden and the stars were few, with only a few palace lanterns swaying under the corridor, illuminating the ground in an intermittent manner.

In the following two days, the situation in the capital changed dramatically. Imperial edicts flew out of the Forbidden City like snowflakes, landing in various mansions and breaking the tranquility of the year's end.

First, an imperial edict was issued, officially appointing Prince Bei Jing, Shui Rong, as Imperial Commissioner, to lead the Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Uniform Guard southward, departing after the New Year to investigate and confiscate the property of wealthy merchants and families involved in illegal activities in the south.

Immediately following were those chilling execution and exile orders.

Needless to say, the Wen family was already shrouded in gloom and despair, with Wen Ziyu's heinous acts leading to his execution by slow slicing, and Wen Zonghan's lax management of his household resulting in him being forced to reflect on his mistakes behind closed doors. The entire Wen family was filled with sorrow and despair, and the sound of weeping was deafening.

Although the Jia family was not completely eradicated, Jia Lian was sentenced to beheading for embezzlement, corruption, and forming cliques, and Jia She was also punished for lax discipline by being confined to his home and forbidden from associating with outside officials. The family had already suffered a great loss.

Suddenly, those once bustling and prestigious families became deserted, shrouded in gloom, with everyone fearing that the next imperial edict would fall upon them.

On this day, a north wind swept across the land, dark clouds gathered, and a heavy snow began to fall. The world was blanketed in white, concealing the filth of the capital, but unable to hide the desolation within the Rongguo Mansion.

Jia Lian's mourning hall was set up in a side hall of the Rongguo Mansion. White banners fluttered, mournful music played softly, and the air was filled with a strong smell of incense and a chill.

Shui Rong, dressed in plain clothes and wearing a white headscarf, walked slowly into the Jia Mansion accompanied by Zhao Zhong.

According to the established rites, it is a breach of protocol for a prince to personally attend the funeral of a subject's family member.

But at this moment, who dared to object? Although the Jia family had suffered a severe blow from this calamity, even a weakened camel is still bigger than a horse. Moreover, Prince Bei Jing had a long-standing relationship with the Jia family and was a trusted relative of the current emperor.

Everyone knows that Prince Bei Jing's actions were not only a gesture of goodwill towards his allies, but also a way to preserve the last shred of dignity for the Jia family, and a way to demonstrate to the court his loyalty and righteousness.

"Your Highness's presence is an honor to my humble abode, but... but my family is unfortunate and has offended Your Highness's eyes."

Jia She, dressed in mourning clothes and leaning on a cane, came out shakily, tears streaming down his face, his voice hoarse.

Shui Rong looked solemn and nodded slightly. He didn't say much, but simply accepted the three sticks of incense handed to him by the servant and lit them himself.

The flames flickered slightly in the wind, making his face appear even more aloof.

He walked slowly to the coffin, his gaze falling on the coffin covered with white silk, his heart feeling little.

Jia Lian's death was a political sacrifice and an inevitable consequence of the Jia family's corruption.

But at this moment, he had to put on a good show, not only for the Jia family, but also for his elder brother, the Emperor, and for those watchful eyes in the court.

Shui Rong inserted the incense into the incense burner, bowed deeply, and moved with fluid grace, carrying a hint of pity and regret.

After the ceremony, he turned around, looked at the grieving Jia family members filling the hall, and slowly spoke, his voice deep and magnetic, sounding exceptionally clear in the somber mourning hall:

"Life is short, yet we often worry about a thousand years. Although Jia Lian had his shortcomings, he was still a descendant of the Jia family and an old acquaintance of mine. It is truly regrettable that he has passed away in this world."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Wang Xifeng, who was crying her eyes out in the crowd, and Xue Baochai and the others with complicated expressions.

Wang Xifeng was dressed in plain clothes, her eyes were red and swollen, but she forced a calm expression on her face, clearly trying to maintain the composure of the situation.

Xue Baochai stood upright to the side, her expression sorrowful, yet she could not hide the worry in her eyes. The verdict for the Xue family would be delivered tomorrow; today's case concerned a family of meritorious officials.

Shui Rong continued, "'Time flows like a river, never ceasing day or night.' The dead cannot be brought back to life. Everyone in the Jia family, please accept this loss with compassion."

"Although His Majesty is furious, he also shows kindness. As long as the Jia family can learn from its mistakes and reform itself, there may still be a day when they can rise again."

These words were both a comfort and a warning.

He was reminding everyone in the Jia family that the current situation was the Emperor's will, and he was powerless to change it. The only way to preserve the remaining foundation of the family business was to honestly conceal their talents.

Then, Shui Rong moved to the brocade table on the side of the spirit.

He had prepared a writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone on the table beforehand. He picked up the brush, hesitated for a moment, and the brush tip scratched across the paper. The ink spread out, and he quickly wrote a eulogy.

The crowd gathered around, and there the poem read:

"White banners flutter down like falling snow, the world is impermanent, I sigh for the departed one."

All the splendor and gold have turned to dust; when all the glamour has faded, true simplicity is revealed.

Do not let a single mistake ruin everything; believe that even a thousand pounds can be as heavy as a single pound.

A message to those in the Dream of the Red Chamber: Do not shed tears, for spring breezes will bring a bountiful harvest to the world next year.

The poem expresses both regret for the dead and admonition to the living, while also subtly revealing expectations and hints for the future of the Jia family.

"Don't let a single mistake ruin everything; believe that even a thousand pounds can be as heavy as a single pound." This is clearly telling Jia She not to panic because of the death of Jia Lian. As long as the remaining people are kept in check, there is still hope for the Jia family.

After finishing writing, Shui Rong threw down his pen and said to Jia She, "Master She, let's keep this poem as a memento."

Jia She hurriedly stepped forward, respectfully accepting the Xuan paper with both hands. His fingertips trembled slightly with excitement and sorrow as he choked out, "Thank you for your consideration, Your Highness. The Jia family will never forget this kindness."

Shui Rong nodded slightly, his gaze casually sweeping over everyone in the hall, before suddenly pausing.

In a corner of the crowd, a boy dressed in plain clothes with disheveled hair was huddled beside the coffin, his shoulders heaving violently, and suppressed sobs coming from between. It was Jia Baoyu, who was usually the most mischievous and naughty and rarely so grief-stricken.

In the past, Baoyu would either linger in his sisters' boudoirs or bury himself in poetry, books, and paintings. He always liked to joke around when things happened. Even when he was sad, it was mostly about flowers, plants, and trivial matters. Shui Rong rarely saw him in such a heart-wrenching state.

He thought to himself that Jia Lian's death must have had a significant impact on this naive young man.

In Baoyu's world, even if his elder brother had made mistakes, they were nothing more than ordinary absurdities. Although human trafficking was wrong, it was far less heinous than those evil deeds that framed loyal officials and disrupted the court. How could he have ended up being beheaded and displayed to the public?

Such swift and decisive measures have likely shattered his gentle imagination of imperial power and grace.