Chapter 42 — TVF Chapter 42

A Poor Family’s Hereditary Scumbag (14) Guarding the carriage were Imperial Guards temporarily seconded by the Deputy Commander. They didn’t serve the Sixth Prince personally, so when the Prince Consort stepped forward to drag the woman out of the carriage, they put up only a token show of resistance.

After all, as the saying goes, those who see it get a share. The Sixth Prince had no choice but to split the spoils with Princess Zhaoming. They were all His Majesty’s children—offending neither side was the safest option.

The borrowed Imperial Guards had no idea of the value of Prince Li heir’s mistress. They deliberately yielded to Qin Jingzhou. The Sixth Prince saw it clearly—his heart bled—but what could he say?

He regretted it so much he wanted to beat his chest and howl on the spot. Unfortunately, he couldn’t publicly fall out with his sister. All he could show was shock and displeasure at having his credit divided. “Fifth Sister, what are you doing here?”

Ling Jing glanced at Qin Jingzhou with concern. After receiving his “I’m fine” look, she replied leisurely, “That’s not important. What matters is that we’re all going back to the palace together now.”

What choice did the Sixth Prince have? He could only follow his Fifth Sister back into the palace.

…

The sudden capture of Prince Li heir’s mistress was something even the Emperor hadn’t anticipated.

Just as when he had openly purged the inner palace—partly to observe Prince Li’s reaction—he hadn’t expected the man to flee without a word of defense. In that moment, the Emperor felt that all his years of indulgence toward Prince Li and his son had been utterly wasted.

And now, watching the trembling yet oddly coherent Murong woman kneeling on the carpet of Qianqing Palace, explaining why she had returned to the capital, the Emperor felt a strange mix of disbelief and absurdity: Prince Li and his son truly weren’t very bright.

At the same time, after hearing the explanation of “the delicate mistress running away while pregnant,” Qin Jingzhou and Ling Jing found themselves momentarily speechless.

The Sixth Prince was even more succinct. His entire inner monologue amounted to two words: damn lunatic. So—why had the Murong woman secretly returned to the capital, pregnant, and left Prince Li’s heir?

One sentence summed it up: Prince Li’s heir had decided to marry another Murong woman to further cement the alliance.

Though the delicate mistress also bore the Murong surname, had exceptional talent in preparing secret drugs, and held several Murong formulas, her situation was complicated. Her mother was Murong—but her biological father was the former chief examiner who had tried to strike down Qin Jingzhou and had been sentenced to death with reprieve.

As a result, many Murong elders refused to recognize her status, despite her considerable contributions—hiding clan members’ identities, gathering rare medicinal ingredients, and more. Enough was enough. She returned to the capital with the confidants her mother had left her, believing that with her skills and the properties her mother had secured, she could live well on her own.

Seeing that the Emperor truly was as benevolent as rumors claimed, she gained confidence and spoke more and more fluently.

The selfish cruelty and naïveté of early-era female leads truly blended seamlessly. Of course, early-era male leads were no better. After harming so many people, they felt no fear of consequences at all.

Qin Jingzhou and Ling Jing exchanged another glance.

Prince Li’s heir would surely react once he discovered his beloved had fled.

The Emperor’s confidants escorted the Murong woman away for interrogation. At that moment, an attendant stepped forward and presented a sealed report.

After reading it, the Emperor looked at the Sixth Prince and praised him with a tone that was… complicated. “Not bad.”

That look nearly sent the Sixth Prince’s soul flying out of his skull. In an instant, he felt utterly transparent—inside and out, seen through by his father.

He shuddered. The Emperor’s authority was overwhelming. After a brief hesitation, he chose… cowardice.

Stiffly rising, he bowed deeply to the ground. In front of his sister and brother-in-law, he didn’t plead or confess aloud, but his posture said everything.

Seeing the Sixth Prince so wretched, Ling Jing smiled.

The Emperor tolerated no sand in his eyes. Given an opportunity shoved straight into his face and still losing—what a talent. If the Emperor truly let the Sixth Prince off, and Prince Li’s heir and the Murong clan later tempted him with lavish rewards, who could say the Sixth Prince wouldn’t waver?

Qin Jingzhou merely smiled silently.

After being thoroughly taught a lesson by Prince Li, his son, and the Murong remnants, the Emperor was now in a phase of intense vigilance. For the Sixth Prince to dare dance around the Emperor’s bottom line like this… There was a reason the Emperor favored the Tenth Prince most: the Tenth Prince never tried to be clever.

Cutting off the Sixth Prince’s chance to play the “filial avenger” was absolutely the right move. It would likely spare Great Liang a future bout of turmoil.

…

On the way out of the palace, Qin Jingzhou deliberately asked Ling Jing, “In your version of the plot, how did the Emperor die?” Most of the five hundred thousand words she’d given him focused on the male and female leads’ romance and manufactured turbulence.

“He died suddenly,” Ling Jing replied. “In my plot, there wasn’t even a segment where Prince Li and his son fled.”

Qin Jingzhou nodded. “Same here.”

“Even though the Emperor’s blood test showed he wasn’t poisoned, we should still be careful,” Ling Jing said, nodding as well. “I’ll keep a closer eye on him. Once we’re married, we’ll watch both the Emperor and the Tenth Prince together. We can’t let anything happen to either of them.”

Qin Jingzhou smiled, as if thinking of something. “Alright.”

…

Though the capital felt like a storm was brewing—anyone with half a sense could smell that something was off—Princess Zhaoming’s wedding was still held on schedule.

Given the extraordinary circumstances, everything was kept as restrained as possible. Even so, all the great clans and nobility attended.

After seeing off the guests—and escorting away the original host’s father and brothers who had come specially for the wedding—Qin Jingzhou returned to the main residence. As Prince Consort, he could live in the princess’s residence; Old Master Yu and the others could not.

Inside, he found Ling Jing in casual clothes, curled up on a daybed.

They were something like stage spouses—partners for a mission more than anything else—but sharing a room caused no awkwardness.

Each occupied a daybed, relaxed, chatting face to face.

Ling Jing asked, “How long does your cover identity have left?”

“At least twenty years,” Qin Jingzhou replied.

“About the same for me. The Emperor probably has another fourteen or fifteen years. If things go smoothly, the Tenth Prince will ascend the throne in his early thirties… perfect. After we complete the mission this time, shall we leave together?” Hugging a pillow, she smiled. “If I finish early and leave first, it’ll slightly hurt my KPI.”

Qin Jingzhou narrowed his eyes. “Sounds good.”

Their marriage leave was only three days—and in name only. Those three days were anything but idle.

After paying respects to the Emperor and Empress, they returned to the princess’s residence to receive an endless stream of visiting relatives and acquaintances.

Ling Jing handled the polite evasions with the imperial clan. Qin Jingzhou’s job was simply to sit there and smile.

Even so, while smiling, he didn’t forget to bring his eldest nephew, his younger sister, Tianniu, and—incidentally—the scumbag son into the princess’s residence.

The scumbag son was incidental. Qin Jingzhou was more concerned that once he marched out with the army, someone might make trouble using that son. He brought him into the princess’s residence to avoid burdening Ling Jing later.

Otherwise, living nearby like the Yu family elders—under Ling Jing’s watch—would’ve been sufficient.

The nephew, younger sister, and Tianniu were the ones he truly wanted to cultivate and teach. Especially the two girls—just watching how Ling Jing conducted herself would help them grow, provided they had even a bit of insight.

Just as the army set out to suppress Prince Li, news arrived: Prince Li had died suddenly.

A day later, spies hidden in Prince Li’s fief reported back—Prince Li’s heir had killed his father, proclaimed himself emperor, and made the Murong woman his empress.

The entire court shared one thought: Has Prince Li’s heir lost his mind? In truth, he was only half-mad.

He had obtained definitive proof: after fleeing back to the capital, his beloved had been captured by the Emperor—and to save herself, she had sold him out without hesitation. His mental state had deteriorated sharply.

After discussing matters with his newly appointed empress and her family, they decided not to waste the opportunity, placing their own people into key positions.

By the time Prince Li’s heir came back to himself and realized that many of his trusted mid-level elites had been replaced, and that the “small Ministry of Revenue” controlling funds and supplies had been infiltrated, he laughed in fury.

So he went all in.

He allowed the Murong woman to poison his father to death, removing his last obstacle. Next, he would indulge in… one final frenzy.

Even if he couldn’t leave a glorious name for posterity, he’d try to leave an infamous one.

Thus, instead of digging in defensively, he led the last elites willing to gamble with him—along with the Murong clan’s accumulated private troops—out of the passes.

The fief the former Emperor had granted Prince Li lay among mountains on three sides, with a river running through the middle. Though not as rich as the Central Plains or the south, it was self-sufficient and easy to defend. If they truly adopted a “turtle shell” strategy and lay low, optimistically speaking, it would take an army of a hundred thousand three to five years to besiege it.

Just thinking about the daily consumption of such an army would give any emperor a headache.

That was why, when Prince Li and his son fled, the Emperor had immediately prepared to send troops—hoping to strike while their footing was unstable. If he let them settle in…

The Emperor refused to imagine it.

So when an eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch reported that Prince Li’s heir had chosen to commit everything to a full assault, the Emperor laughed so hard his shoulders shook—so delighted he nearly had a stroke.

The court was unanimous:

Prince Li’s heir had truly gone mad.

…

Yet Qin Jingzhou and Ling Jing were far less optimistic.

Prince Li’s heir’s mistress—Murong—was clearly pregnant, yet had been repeatedly interrogated in prison. The Emperor would never connect that child to anything, but even with poor food and little rest, both she and the fetus remained fine.

Qin Jingzhou couldn’t help remarking, “That Murong woman really does have luck.”

Now that Prince Li’s heir had thrown everything into a desperate gamble, clearly in an “I don’t want to live, so I’ll drag everyone with me” posture, Qin Jingzhou couldn’t shake the feeling that if he truly fought with his life on the line, he might actually succeed.

Ling Jing thought the same and warned him, “You absolutely must keep an eye on the Tenth Prince.”

There was no choice. Among all the Emperor’s sons, the Tenth Prince was the only one with the makings of a wise ruler. If Prince Li’s heir managed to kill him, their mission would likely fail as well.

Qin Jingzhou knew the stakes. “Even if I have to sacrifice myself, I’ll keep the Tenth Prince alive.”

This wasn’t a joke. Ling Jing responded solemnly, “I’d rather go down myself than let anything happen to the Emperor.”

They looked at each other, then laughed together.

Qin Jingzhou’s expression relaxed. “Even if we trade one-for-one at the limit, it’s still a profit.”

So when the army made its first camp after leaving the capital, Qin Jingzhou proactively sought out the Tenth Prince.

“During the day, I’ll watch you. At night, too,” he said. “Otherwise, your sister won’t be at ease.”

The words had barely left his mouth when an arrow shot straight into the tent.

Qin Jingzhou grabbed the teacup at hand and hurled it. Cup and arrow collided midair—the shaft veered sharply and slammed into a tent pole, quivering violently.

The Tenth Prince stared at the trembling arrow, then at the shards of porcelain scattered on the ground. Ignoring the rising shouts outside—“Enemy attack!”—he finally found his voice.

“Thank you for the trouble, Brother-in-law.”