Chapter 15: The Exiled Prodigal—He Still Keeps Secrets

“Which sentence?” Zhu Yuanzhang had only skimmed the secret memorial, not noticing anything unusual. Zhu Biao quickly read out the conversation between Zhang Yi and his father:

“Father, you overestimate me. It’s not just us—even if our ancestors were to return from the dead, there’s no changing that monarch’s mind. He is Zhu Yuanzhang… And after him, the Zhu family will see several more great rulers. With them, this matter is unthinkable!”

Old Zhu immediately sensed something odd. “Great rulers…” he murmured. “How does he know how many great rulers will come from our Zhu family in the future? And he sounds so certain.” He hurriedly flipped through another secret memorial and compared it to the one in Zhu Biao’s hand. To probe into the truth of the Zhangs, he had set more than one inspector in the monastery. Sure enough, he found the same passage in another report.

“Exactly the same—not a mistake!”

With two people recording identical content, it was clear this was no error. In other words, Zhang Yi really had said that several great rulers would emerge from the Zhu family. But how could this child know such a thing, and why was he so certain?

Thinking of his prophecy about Mount Longhu losing its Celestial Mastership, and his insistence that Zhu Yuanzhang himself was a sovereign for the ages, Old Zhu felt a strange suspicion arise: could this child somehow see into the future? Or perhaps the old immortal behind him truly glimpsed what was yet to come.

Immortals were said to know both past and future; Old Zhu himself had once had such a sage at his side. Yet those so-called prophecies were usually vague, mysterious, and full of trickery. He had never met anyone who spoke as plainly as Zhang Yi.

Once a thought takes root, curiosity is hard to suppress. Though the Emperor had met Zhang Yi the day before and left him in the capital on a whim, he hadn’t given him much further thought. After all, matters of the supernatural were not the right path for governing a realm—they could be considered, but not indulged.

“Have the inspectors keep a close eye on this child—make sure no harm comes to him. Biao, you should try to get closer to him when you can. Also, have someone buy a house in the city and set up the Huang residence’s framework.”

“Yes, Father!”

“And one more thing: I see you get along well with this Zhang Yi. Test him—if he truly can predict the future, make sure to keep him under your control!”

“Father, your son understands.”

Zhu Biao rose and bowed to the Emperor, a subtle smile curving his lips. By entrusting this matter to him, his father had indirectly granted him a privilege—the freedom to leave the palace at will.

As the heir apparent, he was normally not at liberty to leave the palace, and as a youth of only a dozen years, who would not yearn for the world beyond its walls? The Emperor, busy with affairs of state, soon set the matter aside.

At that moment, the Zhang father and son, just as they’d come, were walking back to their monastery.

“Father, when will you return home?”

“I’ll go to the palace and take my leave today. Tomorrow, we depart.”

Upon returning to the monastery, Zhang Zhengchang summoned his disciples. Compared to their high spirits upon arriving in the capital, the men of Mount Longhu now seemed dejected. This was only natural: the Emperor’s rewards for Zhang Zhengchang were clearly aimed at Mount Longhu.

Having enjoyed eighty years of privilege, Mount Longhu’s prospects under the new dynasty seemed bleak. Perhaps for Zhang Zhengchang himself and his descendants, the impact would not be so great, but for those who depended on the Zhang family, the chill from the capital was already palpable.

“As your master, I intend to enter the palace today and take my leave of the Emperor. At dawn tomorrow, we begin our journey back to Jiangxi.

“However, I have made a sudden decision: my son Zhang Yi will remain in the capital, to recite scriptures and pray for His Majesty’s well-being.”

Zhang Yi was Zhang Zhengchang’s hope, but he naturally would not reveal the true reason for leaving him in the capital to his disciples. The news shocked them: Zhang Zhengchang was leaving his young son, no more than seven or eight, alone in Nanjing—a mere child.

“Master!”

“Master, you…”

Though most present were not close to Zhang Yi, owing to Zhang Zhengchang’s long-standing estrangement from him, the Celestial Master leaving his son in the capital called two words to their minds: scapegoat.

It was well known on Mount Longhu that Zhang Zhengchang didn’t care for Zhang Yi. The wager between father and son was common knowledge among the traveling disciples. Now, as Zhang Yi had predicted, the Emperor had given the Zhang family a stern lesson.

As the family head, Zhang Zhengchang had lost the Celestial Mastership, passed down for forty-two generations since the founder, Zhang Daoling. Though Mount Longhu’s influence remained, the significance of the title “Celestial Master” for the Zhangs was beyond words.

The master, shamed and furious, was using this as an excuse to abandon Zhang Yi, the ill-omened star, in the capital? Praying for the Emperor’s well-being—everyone on Mount Longhu knew the truth. Even if someone were to pray for the Emperor, surely it shouldn’t be Zhang Yi, the bringer of misfortune.

Their gazes toward Zhang Yi were full of sympathy.

Exiled to the capital by his own father, he was left to fend for himself. Some disciples, unable to bear it, wished to speak up for him, but their brothers quickly pulled them back, urging silence.

“This matter is not open to discussion—it is decided, and Zhang Yi himself agrees! His place will be the Pure Heart Monastery outside the city…”

Pure Heart Monastery?

Some of the older disciples began to recall the holdings of Mount Longhu in the capital—what kind of place was the Pure Heart Monastery? There were hundreds, if not a thousand, monasteries by that name in the world, but near the capital, and still in the hands of Mount Longhu…

“It’s that ruined monastery—no one has presided over it for years!”

Those with a mind for such matters recalled the place, and looked upon Zhang Yi with even more sympathy. Of all the monasteries where Zhang Zhengchang could have left his son, he had chosen Pure Heart Monastery—if that wasn’t a deliberate slight, what was?

Sympathy aside, Mount Longhu was still ruled by the Celestial Master. With Zhang Yi exiled by his own family, many chose to look out for themselves.

“Zhongxiu!”

Zhang Zhengchang’s eyes fell on his disciple Deng Zhongxiu, for whom he had great regard and who seemed to have some sympathy for Zhang Yi. Over the years on Mount Longhu, because of his father’s public isolation of him, Zhang Yi had few close ties. Deng Zhongxiu was among the few who would even speak to him.

“Your junior is still young. I will send someone from Mount Longhu to watch over him, but until then, you are to look after your junior brother.”

Deng Zhongxiu hesitated, glancing at the other disciples, who secretly rejoiced it wasn’t them. Everyone could see that to be assigned to watch over Zhang Yi was to be exiled as well.

Had the master not promised to look after him—was this how he meant it?

Disappointed though he was, Deng Zhongxiu bowed and accepted the charge.

“Master, rest assured—with me here, nothing will happen to my junior brother.”

“Very well. You may all go now. I am off to the palace to take my leave of the Emperor.”