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On the tenth day of the sixth month in the sixth year of Jiawei, chaos erupted at Xiaoshan. The rebel Han Shouye was captured.
On the twenty-third of the same month, the Emperor returned to Jiankang. Xiao Ziteng issued a self-reproach edict, abdicating the throne and passing it to Crown Prince Xiao Yizhao.
On the first day of the seventh month, the new Emperor ascended the throne, changing the era name to Rongshun and declaring a general amnesty.
The day the young Emperor ascended the throne, he was not accompanied by his mother. Officials heard that the Empress Dowager had fallen ill and retired with the deposed Emperor to the Hualin Garden for recuperation. However, they all knew this was not the truth—she was likely imprisoned, doomed to spend her life in darkness.
But who in the political arena cared about such truths? Amidst such turmoil, their only wish was for safety.
The day of the coronation ceremony was scorching hot. Everyone wore heavy official robes, waiting in the expansive square of the Liang Palace—not for the young Emperor, but for their Left Chancellor, the true master of Liang’s court.
The young Emperor waited as well.
He was still very young, around four or five years old—a time when most children would understand nothing. Yet everyone could see this young sovereign possessed precocious wisdom. He waited patiently alongside his ministers, showing no trace of resentment or impatience, nor sending palace attendants to inquire why the Left Chancellor was late. His demeanor was entirely respectful and obedient, prompting thoughts of his reign’s title:
“Rongshun.”
Rong —to encompass; Shun —to follow.
No matter how one interpreted it, the meaning was clear: docility and compliance.
At this thought, many officials sighed inwardly, worrying about the young Emperor’s future. Could he grow up safely? If so, would he remain a puppet controlled by others throughout his life?
Survival of the fittest… truly a cruel affair.
As they reflected on this, movement was finally heard outside the palace gates. The young Emperor and the hundred officials turned their heads simultaneously, watching as the Left Chancellor passed through the gates, walking steadily down the long white jade path towards the imperial steps.
Step by step, calm and steady.
This scene was all too familiar to the court officials—many had served alongside this great man for years. Counting back, Lord Qi had been in office for over a decade, traversing this white jade path countless times. Yet it was precisely this occasion that stirred a storm of emotions in all those who watched him.
Most of them had witnessed the calamity that befell the Qi family five years ago. Back then, in this very hall, this man stood alone, cast into the mud by the former Emperor. Though he survived in the cracks, he became an isolated minister in court. Almost all noble families turned their swords against him. Despite holding high rank, he was cursed behind his back, evoking both pity and disdain.
At that time, no one imagined he would ever rise again. Yet, just five years later… he had overturned the heavens of Liang.
Now, everyone watched him, step by step, drawing closer.
He had obtained everything. But this success was not easily achieved—it was surely built on countless sacrifices and tears. Those who achieve such heights often become arrogant and tyrannical. Yet their superior remained as he always had been. Even now, his demeanor was as open and calm as it had been every day for over a decade. This was true equanimity, unaffected by honor or disgrace, gain or loss. Only someone truly at the pinnacle could possess such bearing and majesty.
Involuntarily, the hundred officials bowed their heads, instinctively submitting.
Yet this great man paid no heed, striding straight to his position as chief minister without a sideways glance. The moment he arrived, the young Emperor immediately descended from the imperial steps, carefully approaching him and respectfully addressing him as “Teacher.”
Yes, this great man was now the teacher of the Son of Heaven.
After the chaos at Xiaoshan, rumors spread among officials that Qi Yin intended to relinquish his position as Left Chancellor to Han Shousong, head of the Han family, as gratitude and support for the Hans. In turn, he would assume the role of Grand Tutor, becoming the Emperor’s mentor.
Though the position of Grand Tutor ranked above the Left and Right Chancellors, it held no real power, merely a ceremonial title. For example, the Zhao family once produced a Grand Tutor—they gained a fine reputation, but little wealth or influence. Moreover, even that reputation was tarnished by the scandal of their divorced granddaughter.
Why would Qi Yin give up the chancellorship to become a mere Grand Tutor?
While the officials pondered this, their superior addressed the Emperor: “Your Majesty is the sovereign, and I am your subject. How can you bow to me?”
These words instructed the Emperor on the proper relationship between ruler and subject, undeniably reasonable. Yet the young Emperor trembled with fear at this reprimand-like statement, looking utterly terrified.
Trembling, he stammered: “I… Your Majesty understands.”
He then returned to the imperial steps under the attendants’ care.
By now, the auspicious hour had arrived, and the coronation ceremony should begin. However, the knowledgeable palace attendants understood who truly held power in the Liang Palace. They waited for Qi Yin’s nod before commencing the music and rituals.
To be fair, Qi Yin did not intentionally humiliate the young Emperor. The coronation was conducted with utmost seriousness, as grand as the former Emperor’s ascension, with all rituals meticulously observed. It was indeed a splendid and dignified event. Yet what changed was the audience’s mindset: everyone knew the young Emperor seated on the throne was merely a puppet, and even this puppet position might not last long. Who could say whether he would die in the palace one day, with some fabricated illness as an excuse? Who could investigate?
Thus, many officials inevitably felt contemptuous, extending this sentiment to the ceremony itself. They knew the Xiao family’s fate was nearing its end—they were no longer the masters of Jiangzuo. All this golden splendor was merely Qi Yin’s charity, akin to a child’s game.
The grand ceremony passed amidst the officials’ dazed observations. Finally, the main agenda of today’s court session began—settling grudges, avenging wrongs, granting titles, appointing officials, each receiving their due.
Today, the final structure of the Liang court would be determined.
The newly enthroned young Emperor sat trembling on the dragon throne. A palace attendant beside him unrolled an edict prepared long ago, beginning to read aloud.
First, assigning blame.
Former General Han Shouye and his son Han Feicong conspired against the throne, attempting to overthrow the state. Their crimes were unforgivable, warranting execution of nine generations. However, considering the contributions of the Han clan in protecting the Emperor and remaining loyal to the court, their merits outweighed their faults. Thus, only the elder branch of the Hans would be executed, while other members of the clan would face promotion or demotion based on circumstances, showcasing the Emperor’s benevolence.
Additionally, the Fu clan had long harmed the nation. They manipulated power in court, blinded the sovereign, formed factions, excluded rivals, lent usurious loans, hoarded land, and oppressed the common people. Their sins were grave. Their titles were stripped, and the Chief Justice was ordered to conduct a thorough investigation, delivering judgments based on the severity of their crimes.
These two edicts carried deep implications that perceptive officials could discern.
Han Shouye required no elaboration—he was guilty of heinous crimes and wielded military power. Neither the Left Chancellor nor the Emperor could tolerate him, and the extermination of his line was expected.
The Fu family’s situation was more complex. Their notorious deeds were undeniable, and their purge was justified. Moreover, the collapse of the Qi family five years ago was inseparable from the Fus. Now that the Qis had risen again, how could the Fus escape ruin? It was rumored that on the day of Xiaoshan’s upheaval, the Privy Council had already dispatched men to detain the Fus remaining in Jiankang. Most of the clan was now imprisoned, with only a few branches in remote areas still resisting—but their days were numbered, soon to be captured.
They were finished.
What puzzled the officials most was the edict’s treatment of the remaining Hans.
The phrase “promotion or demotion based on circumstances” was ambiguous. What did Lord Qi mean? The Hans had greatly assisted him in this crisis—could they still face demotion? Wasn’t the Left Chancellor afraid of retaliation from the Hans?
At this thought, the officials discreetly glanced at the Hans. They saw their patriarch, Han Shousong, bowing his head, showing no sign of dissatisfaction. His younger son, Han Feichi, appeared completely at ease, seemingly oblivious to any hint of the Hans’ weakening in the edict.
As the officials puzzled, the palace attendant continued reading, now bestowing rewards for meritorious service.
Han Shouzheng, patriarch of the Han clan, was promoted to Left Chancellor and granted the title of First Rank Duke, hereditary without revocation.
Former Cavalry General Pei Jian was promoted to General of the Elite Cavalry and enfeoffed as Duke of Anlu County.
Former Sixth-Rank Official Han Feichi was appointed Chief Justice and promoted two ranks.
…
A long string of promotions followed, stirring the hearts of the officials. They noticed that not only were those who sided with Qi Yin during the Xiaoshan chaos rewarded, but many young officials from humble backgrounds were also promoted. For example, Li Wei, the top scholar of the sixteenth year of Qinghua, was promoted to Second Minister of the Board of Civil Affairs. Many poor scholars from the Jiawei era also received significant promotions.
Would they become the new rulers of this court?
The original aristocratic officials began to panic. They lacked merit in supporting the rise of the new regime and couldn’t change their status to align with the rising tide of commoners. What awaited them?
Undoubtedly… marginalization, alienation, decline.
The Liang court would transform into something unpredictable.
Amidst their unease, the officials sensed they stood at a pivotal moment in history. Perhaps a grand and turbulent era loomed ahead. The entrenched, decaying problems plaguing the land seemed poised to be swiftly excised, like a sharp knife cutting away rot. After brief bloodshed, Jiangzuo would regenerate, shedding its old skin for a new visage.
A rebirth.
Everyone was silently stunned. The final reward announced was for Qi Yin himself—he had indeed stepped down as chancellor, assuming the role of Grand Tutor to instruct the Emperor.
The position of Grand Tutor held no real power, but what did it matter? Looking across the court, weren’t all the young officials from humble backgrounds his disciples? Hadn’t they all been promoted under his guidance? Didn’t they all address him respectfully as “Teacher”?
He had indeed relinquished his position as a powerful minister, yet power could never be separated from him.
In fact, he was power itself.
For the next ten, twenty, thirty years—or even longer—he would remain the true ruler of Liang, even without an official title. What did names matter?
He could truly control the tides of fate. Everything in Jiangzuo—and perhaps the entire world—lay within his grasp.
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