The tranquility of the Azure Crane Palace, once a symbol of his gilded exile, was violently shattered. Reports, breathless and terrified, began to trickle in from the surrounding villages that nominally fell under the Third Prince's dwindling authority. It began with whispers, then grew into panicked cries: bandits. But these were no ordinary brigands, no common thieves seeking easy spoils. These were organized, ruthless, and strangely strategic.
"They burnt the granary of Willow Creek, Your Highness," Zhao Wu reported one grim morning, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Took all the winter stores. Villagers say they were heavily armed, moved with military precision. Not common bandits." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a gesture of frustrated impotence. With only three guards, any direct intervention was suicidal.
Days later, another report: "The Blackwood logging camp, razed. The timber wagons, stolen. And… several young men, conscripted at sword-point." This time, the messenger was a terrified young boy, his face streaked with soot and tears.
Tang Liu listened patiently, his gaze unwavering, his expression serene. He made no sudden moves, offered no false promises. He knew the truth. These were not random acts of lawlessness. These were probes, tests, orchestrated by unseen hands. Someone wanted to gauge his reaction, to see if the Crippled Prince would appeal for aid, display weakness, or simply succumb to the chaos. The attacks were strategically placed, hitting resource nodes, disrupting the fragile economy of his territory, creating unrest among the populace. It was a deliberate campaign to destabilize his last shred of influence.
His suspicions immediately turned to the Grand Duke of the Eastern Marches, Wei Changkong. The Duke had been a known ally of the Prince Regent, an ambitious regional power player. The plot document mentioned he orchestrated the original poisoning. It would be entirely in his character to use mercenary bandits to further weaken Tang Liu, to extend his own influence into these resource-rich borderlands. The Regent, of course, would turn a blind eye, seeing it as a convenient way to eliminate a rival.
"Send a formal request to the Regent's office, Zhao Wu," Tang Liu instructed, his voice calm, cutting through the rising tide of panic. "Detail the bandit incursions, the suffering of the populace. Request immediate military assistance to quell the unrest."
Zhao Wu stared, incredulous. "Your Highness, the Regent will ignore it. He wishes to see you fail, to see these lands crumble. He'll say the capital forces are stretched thin, or that this is a local matter."
Tang Liu merely offered a faint, knowing smile. "Indeed, Zhao Wu. That is precisely what he will say. But we must follow the proper channels. To do otherwise would be to play into their narrative, to appear rash or rebellious. Let the records show that I requested aid, and it was denied. Let the inaction be theirs, not mine."
The formal request, penned in elegant calligraphy by a nervous scribe, was dispatched. As expected, the reply, when it finally arrived three days later, was a masterpiece of bureaucratic evasion. A junior official, his face a mask of practiced regret, delivered the Regent's official communiqué:
"His Imperial Highness, the Prince Regent, expresses profound sorrow at the unrest in the Third Prince's territories. Regrettably, due to unforeseen military deployments to the Northern and Southern borders to counter rising external threats, the capital garrison is currently unable to spare the necessary forces for prolonged bandit suppression. His Imperial Highness trusts that the Third Prince, with his innate wisdom, will manage this local difficulty with the resources at his disposal. May the Heavens protect the loyal citizens of the Tang Dynasty."
The message was clear: you are on your own. Your suffering is noted, but aid will not be forthcoming. The phrase "resources at his disposal" was a thinly veiled sneer, acknowledging his stripped treasury and depleted guard. The Regent had played his hand, confirming Tang Liu's suspicions. He wanted him to fail, to be overwhelmed by the very chaos he allowed to fester.
Zhao Wu crumpled the scroll in his fist, a low growl escaping his throat. "Local difficulty? They burn our villages, steal our people, and he calls it a local difficulty? He starves us, Your Highness, and then expects us to fight off wolves with our bare hands!"
Tang Liu nodded, his expression remaining perfectly calm. "Indeed, Zhao Wu. He does." But there was a new gleam in his eyes, a glint of steel. The Regent's refusal was not a setback; it was a green light. He had exhausted all proper channels. He had proven, on paper, that the Imperial Court had abandoned its duty to his people. Now, he was free to act outside the rigid confines of courtly expectation.
The cries of the villagers, the reports of burning farms and stolen resources, weighed heavily on him. He might be a strategic manipulator, a silent spider, but he was also the prince, the supposed protector of these lands. The image of the terrified child messenger, the despair in Zhao Wu's eyes – these were not things he could ignore. His calculated detachment had its limits.
He retired to his study, the faint moonlight illuminating the ancient texts. He had reached Qi Condensation Layer 4, the Primordial Breathing Technique steadily refining his core. His Void-Shattering Primordial Physique hummed with a quiet power, resilient, adaptable, and most importantly, utterly undetectable. They thought him crippled, weak, and abandoned. They thought he had no resources. They thought he was waiting to die.
They were about to be gravely mistaken. The bandits had taken more than grain and timber; they had taken a village elder hostage, demanding a ransom he could not pay. The stage was set. The Regent had refused to send an army. It was time for the Crippled Prince to show them what an individual, armed with unseen power and ruthless resolve, could truly do.