“Be good.” Mary Williams's voice was low, yet left no room for argument. “You go into the palace first, and then... then... bring me in afterward.” Mary Williams leaned close to her son's ear and whispered even more quietly, “Remember, trust no one but yourself, and don't offend anyone.”

James Foster began to feel terrified. Pushed forward by his mother, he moved ahead involuntarily, until another pair of arms took him, and then the crowd surged in, engulfing him like dark clouds. From that moment, James Foster lost most of his senses; he didn't even know how he left home and got into the carriage. The carriage had no enclosed compartment, only a canopy. He kept looking back again and again, always feeling as if his mother was still following behind, but all he saw were a dozen unfamiliar riders. It wasn't until they had gone two streets that he realized he hadn't even said goodbye to his mother.

“We'll see each other again soon.” James Foster thought this to himself, and unconsciously said it out loud.

Nights in the capital were always quiet, so the sound of hooves on the street was unusually loud. William Turner, sitting beside James Foster, heard the whisper and turned his head, speaking kindly, “I've seen the prince when he was little.”

James Foster said nothing.

“The prince is... twelve this year, right?”

“Thirteen.” The carriage was moving so fast that James Foster felt as if his insides were hollow, his whole body light and floating, yet he was still able to sit steadily in the carriage, which surprised him.

William Turner continued to stare at the boy. He needed to assess the value of this prince in the shortest time possible. “You don't look that old.”

James Foster was not shorter than his peers; what made him seem childish was his expression—like a kitten that had fallen into a doghouse, bewildered and at a loss, unable to handle so many unfamiliar faces and smells all at once.

“The prince rarely leaves home, does he?” William Turner recalled that when the Emperor Heng was still the crown prince, Mary Williams was not favored and lived with her son in a secluded side courtyard. After the crown prince ascended the throne, Mary Williams and her son entered the palace, but were still neglected. Barely a month later, on the grounds that “the prince is getting older and should not stay long in the inner palace,” both mother and son were sent out of the palace.

No matter what, even the most unfavored prince would be granted a title before the age of fifteen—this was the ancestral rule of Great Chu. He might be sent to some remote, damp place, but he would still be a regional lord, and Mary Williams would become the Queen Dowager, finally free from the palace's surveillance and jealousy.

William Turner suddenly felt a bit soft-hearted. The boy sitting beside him was a little lamb with a bright future, yet now he was being led into a den of wolves.

“When... will I be able to bring my mother into the palace?” James Foster asked in a small voice.

William Turner secretly mocked his own moment of weakness. “When you are able to issue decrees.”

“How long will that take?” James Foster pressed.

William Turner was silent for a moment, then said, enunciating each word, “If you only wait, it will never happen.”

James Foster couldn't grasp the deeper meaning in the eunuch's words, but from his expression and tone, he sensed coldness, so he closed his mouth. He was a prince, but had never felt superior to others.

William Turner stood up and shouted to the driver in the front, “Turn right ahead, go to the Penglai Gate.”

“Robert Turner, the Penglai Gate is farther...” The driver was surprised, not understanding why Thomas Turner, who was in a hurry to return to the palace, would take a longer route.

“Watch the road!” William Turner gave the driver a heavy slap on the back and sat back down, turning to wave at the riders behind.

The driver dared not question further. At the intersection, he turned toward the northeast Penglai Gate of the palace. The dozen or so eunuchs behind the carriage split into two groups: one followed the carriage, the other continued toward the Dongqing Gate.

A faint light appeared on the horizon. The coachman called out nervously, “Robert Turner.”

Up ahead, a squad of soldiers blocked the road.

William Turner suddenly stood up. The night was still dark, and he couldn't make out the soldiers' origins. He pressed both hands on the coachman's shoulders and shouted, “Go faster! No one dares to stop an imperial carriage!”

The soldiers ahead were also shouting, ordering the carriage to stop.

James Foster shifted slightly, his gaze passing over the four galloping horses, seeing at least twenty soldiers lined up in two rows, each holding a long spear, blocking the way.

The carriage couldn't break through, he thought, turning to look at William Turner. The over-fifty-year-old chief eunuch was leaning forward like a wolf about to pounce, both hands pressing down on the coachman's shoulders, as if exerting force for him.

“Faster!” William Turner roared.

James Foster was astonished. He had seen some eunuchs before, all cautious and timid, like a group of sneaky cats. Chief Attendant William Turner was different—more like a well-trained hunting dog.

The soldiers blocking the way drew closer and closer. James Foster gripped the carriage tightly with one hand, bracing himself for a possible crash.

Several riders overtook the carriage, running ahead, shouting a string of curses and commands.

In the end, for reasons unknown, the soldiers blocking the way actually stepped aside. The carriage continued forward, and James Foster was even more amazed. This was his first time witnessing the power of charging straight ahead.

William Turner sat back down, silent for a long while, then suddenly turned and asked, “Do you really want to bring your mother into the palace?”

James Foster nodded repeatedly. Of course he did—he had never been so far from his mother before.