#99: Without You (X)

◎Political Strife◎

When Qu You, dressed in official robes, walked into the long-unvisited back hall of the Ministry of Justice, Li Hongyu, as usual, handed her a brush. But upon looking up, he froze.

“You… you… you…”

Qu You took the brush and signed the attendance record by circling her name on the roster. She smiled at him. “Little Li, it’s been a long time.”

“You’re not… wait, no—so you’re the one!!!”

Li Hongyu stumbled over his words for a moment before finally realizing. “I heard that Little Zhou… no, I mean Chancellor Zhou’s wife is entering the Ministry of Justice to oversee criminal laws. You must be that esteemed person! My name is Li Hongyu; my older brother leads the Left Forest Guard. Lady Zhou… no, perhaps I shouldn’t call you that—you look so familiar. Please take care of me in the future…”

Qu You’s lips twitched slightly.

So much for what she thought was an epiphany—it wasn’t.

She set down the brush, sighed, and turned her gaze to the screen that had always stood in the back hall of the Ministry of Justice. “Back then, it was Little Li who told me all about this screen. After all these years, meeting an old acquaintance doesn’t seem to stir any recognition.”

Li Hongyu furrowed his brows in deep thought, glanced at her again, and seemed startled by his own conclusion. Tentatively, he asked, “Young sir… could it be that you are from that day…”

Qu You smiled and nodded.

Li Hongyu widened his eyes and clicked his tongue. “So when Chancellor Zhou was still in the Ministry of Justice, Madam was already… Madam is truly an extraordinary woman of our time! How could I have failed to recognize you completely?”

Qu You felt helpless and changed the subject. “Has Chancellor Zhou’s decree reached the Ministry of Justice?”

“Yes, yes,” Li Hongyu replied. “Let me lead Lady… ah no, Minister Qu to retrieve the documents for review.”

A few days earlier, Zhou Tan had bypassed the other members of the Hall of State Affairs entirely and directly requested the emperor’s seal, officially issuing the Tanghua Abolition Decree.

Since the founding of Dayin, governance had traditionally been shared between the emperor and the scholar-officials. During De Emperor’s reign, the Burning Candle Pavilion case had caused significant controversy, and it was easy to imagine how history would criticize him.

Now, with Ming Emperor newly ascended and personally governing, though the victory in the Battle of Dingxi temporarily stabilized the court, the young emperor’s inexperience was obvious to all. Everyone knew that real power lay in the hands of the Hall of State Affairs, as explicitly stated in the late emperor’s edict.

Zhou Tan bypassing the other three members of the Hall of State Affairs to revise the laws made it clear he intended to consolidate power.

The chancellor’s authority was now in direct conflict with both the emperor’s power and the scholar-officials’ influence.

Rumors began to spread through the court and countryside, saying that Su Chaochi and Zhou Tan had a heated argument in the Hall of State Affairs over the reforms, ending on bad terms. The rift between the two factions grew increasingly hostile.

Luo Jinglun, ever the tactician, claimed illness and refrained from public appearances. Cai Ying remained neutral, offering no opinions. Song Shixuan, however, showed unwavering support for Zhou Tan’s new decrees, signing them without hesitation despite the absence of the other three seals from the Hall of State Affairs.

Su Chaochi, born into a noble family, became the go-to figure for grievances.

Over the following days, visitors streamed to his residence unceasingly. Su Chaochi didn’t turn anyone away. He patiently welcomed each guest, inviting them to sit and share their complaints while sipping tea.

But he said nothing.

Some could not contain themselves and vented their frustrations passionately in the hall. “That Zhou Tan clearly uses reform as a pretext to consolidate power! The Hall of State Affairs can no longer restrain him. If this continues, won’t we see another despotic chancellor? The precedent of Chancellor Ji from the previous dynasty is still fresh in our minds. He too used reform as a guise, ultimately endangering the emperor and drawing the wrath of gods and men alike!”

Su Chaochi set down his teacup calmly and said, “Let’s wait a little longer.”

But no action came, no matter how long they waited.

Qu You flipped through the newly revised criminal code on her desk, feeling uneasy.

She recalled the night the Tanghua Abolition Decree was issued, when Zhou Tan played chess with her in their chamber.

The night breeze fluttered the bed curtains. Zhou Tan’s moves were ruthless. At first, she could understand them—they were similar to those he used against Peng Yue or Fu Qingnian, feigning recklessness to lull his opponents into underestimating him—

A brash youth, arrogant and presumptuous, relying on his talent to dream of omnipotence.

Easy to defeat.

Until it was too late.

This time, however, was different. No matter how hard she scrutinized, she couldn’t discern Zhou Tan’s hidden strategy.

After hesitating for a long while, she finally said, holding a white piece, “You’re going to lose this game.”

Zhou Tan didn’t even raise an eyebrow, smiling faintly. “And if I do lose, what of it?”

Qu You was momentarily speechless. “Don’t you play to win?”

Zhou Tan shook his head. “With others, yes. With you, no.”

“With you, it’s to make you happy. Losing holds more meaning than winning.”

At this memory, she suddenly shivered, a chilling sensation flooding up her spine as if icy water had been poured over her head in the dead of winter.

Zhou Tan was well-versed in history. Aside from being unable to foresee the future, he was fully aware of the fates of past reformers. Even without her perspective from a thousand years in the future, he knew this reform was almost certainly doomed to fail.

Ming Emperor was too young, raised on Confucian ideals and aspiring to be a benevolent ruler like Xuan Emperor.

That was the polite way of putting it.

In harsher terms, although Ming Emperor had gained prestige through the Battle of Dingxi led by General Zhuozhou, his short reign lacked decisive authority or the backing of powerful aristocratic families.

—The emperor’s influence was insufficient, the Hall of State Affairs was divided, and Su Chaochi, though close to Zhou Tan, bore the responsibilities of the old nobility and couldn’t offer full support.

Luo Jinglun and Cai Ying were different from Su Chaochi and the rest of the court. With their years of experience, they immediately saw that Zhou Tan’s reform measures, if enforced decisively, would genuinely benefit the common people.

But they chose to remain silent.

In essence, reform itself was a bold defiance of the established order. No matter how patriotic or compassionate Luo and Cai were, they were beneficiaries of the scholar-official class.

Never expect vested interests to relinquish their grip willingly.

So then…

Blinking slowly, her thoughts churned, yet she had never felt so clear-headed.

Since the founding of Dayin, one keyword that was hard to avoid was “the scholar-official clique.” Due to the prevailing preference for scholars over soldiers, the scholar-official group in Dayin was more developed than in any previous dynasty.

And when scholar-officials held power and disagreed with one another, it inevitably led to one consequence:

—Factional strife.

The seeds of factional strife were sown as early as during the late Zhou Dynasty. The fall of the late Zhou was largely inseparable from the incessant factional struggles.

After Emperor Shizu founded Dayin, factional strife disappeared because Shizu wielded an iron fist, and he had a renowned prime minister, Liu Zheng. Liu Zheng’s contributions during the founding era were extraordinary; the emperor and his minister respected each other throughout their lives, a rare and beautiful tale.

With Liu Zheng in court, his word was law, and under Shizu’s reign, the scholar-officials submitted without question, none daring to act rashly.

After Shizu’s death, factional strife resurfaced through the scholar-official cliques, becoming the most deeply engraved keyword in Dayin’s history.

At its root… Emperors, in order to maintain control and manipulate power, followed Han Feizi’s strategy of “stirring up opposing views” to govern their subordinates.

In other words, the position of Chief Minister in the Hall of State Affairs was initially created to oppose the Chancellor directly.

During this period, the eunuch faction had not yet risen to prominence, leaving the scholar-officials to fight among themselves. To balance the court and prevent anyone from consolidating power, the emperors tacitly allowed—and even encouraged—factional rivalries among the ministers.

De Emperor’s tolerance of Gao Ze and Fu Qingnian’s feud was a case in point.

After Shizu, there were very few figures like Liu Zheng who could command universal respect in the court. Gu Zhiyan once restored court morale and nearly brought the factional strife to a halt, but due to the Burning Candle Pavilion incident, he quickly exited the historical stage.

After Liu Zheng and Gu Zhiyan, over several hundred years of Dayin’s history, only one person remained with such influence.

Who?

Qu You’s cold sweat dripped from her temple, and she unconsciously tightened her grip on the book page.

...It was Su Chaochi.

Su Chaochi, the first name inscribed in the history of Northern Dayin’s illustrious figures and famous ministers, hailed from the prominent Su family of Bian Capital. He became the second-place winner of the imperial examinations in the twelfth year of Yongning. Soon after starting his career, his father died unexpectedly, and his mourning period was deliberately extended by several years by Zhou Tan, who was already at odds with him. Only after Zhou Tan’s exile did Su Chaochi return to court.

While in office, Su Chaochi was upright and incorruptible. After Ming Emperor ascended the throne, Su, being the emperor’s tutor, was exceptionally promoted to the position of Chief Minister, becoming the second-in-command in the Hall of State Affairs.

After Zhou Tan’s second dismissal and departure from Bian Capital, Su Chaochi officially became the Chancellor, taking charge of all matters in the Hall of State Affairs.

The following year, Su Chaochi consolidated power within the Hall of State Affairs and abolished most provisions of the Tanghua Abolition Decree.

Before spring ended, Zhou Tan fell ill and passed away in Lin’an, never to return to the capital.

Thereafter, Su Chaochi became the revered Chancellor of Ming Emperor’s reign, commanding respect from all quarters. He and the emperor maintained a harmonious relationship throughout their lives. Although he took no disciples after retiring, upon his death, the entire scholarly community mourned, and the emperor personally escorted his coffin, while the streets were filled with grieving citizens.

The prosperity of Ming Emperor’s reign owed much to General Zhuozhou’s military victories, but half of the credit went to Su Chaochi, who, over twenty years, completely eradicated factional strife.

Not long after Su Chaochi’s death, factional struggles reemerged. Despite Ming Emperor’s efforts to suppress them, the corrupt practices continued for several dynasties.

Subsequently, the northern nomadic tribes, who had destroyed Xishao, rode southward, and the last emperor relocated the capital. Northern Dayin eventually collapsed amid factional strife and war.

Without Su Chaochi and General Zhuozhou, the situation that Xuan Emperor failed to salvage and De Emperor destroyed, compounded by latent threats from the northwest and severe droughts four or five years later, would have hastened Northern Dayin’s demise by a century.

The purpose of reform was to tighten laws, consolidate governance, and supervise military reforms.

Before Xuan Emperor, others had attempted reforms, but those led by Chancellor Ji were even more disastrous. The conflict between old and new factions plunged the dynasty into chaos, allowing Xishao to seize eleven cities.

Xiao Yue reclaimed the territories lost during that time.

If Zhou Tan had learned from past failures and truly wanted to succeed, he should have spent over a decade after becoming Chancellor painstakingly building his reputation, balancing various forces within the court, and refining the laws.

Qu You had read the Tanghua Abolition Decree countless times—it originated from her, from things she brought back from a thousand years in the future. It transcended its time, breaking conventions. While every clause addressed pressing issues and was meticulously crafted, given the current historical context, it was impossible to implement.

Had Zhou Tan realized this?

If he had, why hadn’t he made changes to align the decree with contemporary circumstances, instead leaving it untouched?

Li Hongyu seemed to be calling her, but she couldn’t hear anything.

In the void, she opened her eyes and saw her mentor sitting before a screen, the voice from the loudspeaker muffled and full of static.

“...Speaking of which, the person Su Chaochi should thank most in his life is his political rival.”

“That’s right, Zhou Tan. I know some students are puzzled, but there are too few historical records about Zhou Tan. If I were to evaluate him in one sentence, I’d say…”

Governor of two dynasties.

Zhou Tan drafted and promulgated the Tanghua Abolition Decree , not expecting it to save a collapsing dynasty, but knowing that these legal provisions, enforced with thunderous momentum, would become objects of repeated study by future generations.

He wasn’t wrong. Though useless in his time, the contents of the Tanghua Abolition Decree had profound and indelible impacts on the formulation of future legal codes.

No pursuit of fame.

—”What do scholar-officials seek? Fame in life and legacy after death! They close their eyes to the cries of the world, longing to die in protest, staining the pillars with their blood and etching their names into history!”

—”Fame, power, wealth, salary—what are these worth?”

A true villain.

“To fulfill my promises and ideals is more important to me than anything else.”

A true gentleman.

The bed curtains were made of moon-shadow gauze, and the shadows of apricot blossoms were projected onto the window paper. When the wind blew, they fell faintly onto the young Chancellor’s face.

He lowered his eyelashes, smiling gently.

“...Losing holds more meaning than winning.”

The first time she read the Biography of Flatterers , she wrote annotations next to the few lines related to Zhou Tan.

“Addicted to tea and tormented by oranges, a bookworm and poetry fiend, laboring half a lifetime, all becomes a dream.”

For no apparent reason, she memorized The Spring and Sandalwood Collection thoroughly, changing the annotation from “Grief” in The Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry to “Broad-Mindedness.”

Living a hundred years, how far apart are we… Why not enjoy wine, day by day amidst the misty vines.

Since ancient times, who can escape death?

Only the southern mountain remains majestic forever.

So, that half-lifetime of effort wasn’t a “dream.” She had never thought that perhaps Zhou Tan… had already realized his ideals.

Then all sound faded.

“Madam, Madam, someone has struck the drum of the Ministry of Justice, wanting to accuse the new decree!”

“Madam…”

Li Hongyu stepped forward to steady Qu You, who nearly collapsed at the desk. Her face was as pale as fresh snow.

He intended to call out again but heard Qu You laugh softly.

Seemingly deaf to the surrounding sounds, she laughed a few times, then coughed up blood, clutching her chest.

Li Hongyu was alarmed and hurriedly went out to call for help.

Qu You knelt on the cold ground, leaning against the table corner. Instinctively reaching out, she touched the folding screen left here by Zhou Tan under the pseudonym “Mr. White Snow.”

“White Snow Song… sending you… back to the capital.”

She muttered dazedly, tears falling drop by drop onto her hand.

Turning mountains and roads, you are nowhere to be seen…

On the snow, only the horse’s tracks remain.

So… it was this meaning after all.