FYM - 101

the imperial fleet steadily advancing eastward along the Yangtze River. Barely half a month into their journey, they pass through Shanyang and bid farewell to the Bian River. However, just as they prepare for the next leg of the voyage, an urgent dispatch arrives: tens of thousands of refugees have amassed in the Yangzhou region, lingering for days without dispersing. Estimates suggest the number has swelled to nearly ten thousand.

Yangzhou, located on the northern bank of the Yangtze River and at the terminus of the Shan Yang Canal—a crucial route for official ships—has become a bottleneck. Most of these refugees are believed to have fled from the war-torn Central Plains, only to find themselves stranded upon reaching the riverbank, unable to secure passage across.

Upon hearing this news, Emperor Wei Xi is both shocked and enraged. Slamming his hand on the table, he demands, “Where is the governor of Yangzhou? How could such chaos unfold under his jurisdiction without any effort to disperse or resettle these people?”

The reporting official, visibly shaken, bows his head and replies, “Your Majesty, Governor Wan has personally stationed himself at the docks alongside Marshal Sima for several days. However, the province’s vessels are limited in number... this situation...”

Wei Xi falters, caught between anger and resignation. He turns to his mother, Empress Dowager Song Shuyan, seated beside him in the cabin. Her brows are slightly furrowed, her gaze cold and piercing, exuding an air of subtle unease.

What Wei Xi does not know is that the Wan family, one of Yangzhou’s most prominent clans, is closely tied to the Song clan through marriage. The current governor of Yangzhou, Wan Sheng, is none other than Empress Dowager Song’s brother-in-law. His rise to prominence in Jiangnan has been storied but controversial—he once married the eldest daughter of the Song clan in a lavish ceremony, only to later engage in scandalous relations with his wife’s younger sister. Rumors abound regarding who orchestrated the affair, but the damage to his reputation was done. It was only through the unwavering support of his in-laws that he managed to salvage his career. Now nearing forty, he has finally ascended to the position of governor, a testament to his resilience and fortune.

However, Song Shuyan’s concern is not rooted in personal ties or familial scandals. Instead, she senses something unusual about the situation. While the turmoil and refugee buildup are not entirely unexpected given the unstable times, the Yangtze River spans thousands of miles—why has Yangzhou, a critical stopover for the imperial fleet, become so congested?

Could it be...

Narrowing her eyes, she speaks in a tone colder still: “Send orders to the governors of He and Run provinces to dispatch ships and assist Governor Wan in resettling the refugees. Within three days, the situation must stabilize; no delays will be tolerated for the imperial fleet.”

Her command is concise and clear. The attending officials immediately bow and retreat. Once they leave, Song Shuyan summons her second brother, Song Mingzhen, to inquire whether there have been any suspicious movements from Wei Bi or Fan Yucheng. Song Mingzhen shakes his head, adding, “Does Your Majesty suspect that the faction in Luoyang is behind this?”

Song Shuyan offers no direct response, though worry lingers in her eyes. Song Mingzhen attempts to reassure her: “Even if they are involved, it poses no real threat to the larger picture. The imperial guard is well-equipped, and nearby provinces can provide reinforcements. No one dares exploit this chaos.”

While his words carry weight, they fail to fully assuage Song Shuyan’s concerns. Civilians are not bandits; how can armed troops confront unarmed people? After the southern migration, the court desperately needs to win over public sentiment. Every decision must be made with utmost caution.

“For now, we must keep a close watch on Yangzhou,” she murmurs softly, her brow creasing faintly. “Let us hope the Luoyang faction does not act rashly again.”

Yet disappointment is a hallmark of the Luoyang faction—they never fail to disappoint.

Two days later, another report arrives from Yangzhou: the number of northern refugees has surged to thirty thousand within mere days. Despite assistance from neighboring provinces, the congestion along the Yangtze remains unresolved, with multiple ferry points completely overrun by crowds.

With the imperial procession due to arrive in Yangzhou in three days, how can such a volatile situation inspire confidence? Yet Yangzhou lies at the juncture of the Shan Yang Canal and the Yangtze River, making it impossible to bypass without altering course prematurely via land routes in Chuzhou. This journey involves over a thousand official ships, tens of thousands of personnel, and countless supplies—an undertaking ill-suited for overland transport. Moreover, any forced detour would invite ridicule and undermine imperial dignity, jeopardizing future governance.

“In my humble opinion,” Minister of Works Song Bo interjects hastily, joined by Grand Tutor Chen Meng, one of the Five Regents, “this matter requires Lord Fang’s intervention.”

“The unrest ahead is no trivial matter,” Song Bo continues. “It likely stems from provocations by the Luoyang faction. If Lord Fang were to intervene personally, he could restore order and ensure the safety of Your Majesty and the Empress Dowager.”

Chen Meng, a man of humble origins who typically avoids factional disputes, cares solely for the emperor’s welfare. Rarely aligning himself with others, he now concurs: “I agree. Please summon Lord Fang.”

This reflects a chronic flaw among Zhou officials over the past decade: whenever crises arise, their first instinct is to call upon Lord Fang, be it military conflicts, natural disasters, or administrative failures. They treat him as if he were omnipotent—a deity capable of resolving all manner of difficulties.

But what do they take him for?

A Buddha with six arms and three heads?

Empress Dowager Song Shuyan’s expression remains impassive, yet inwardly, frustration wells up. After a brief pause, she responds: “Lord Fang is currently leading troops in Youzhou, aiding the Xie clan against the Eastern Turks. How can he abandon his post and jeopardize the entire campaign? Besides, Yangzhou’s predicament cannot be resolved by force alone. Summoning him would serve no purpose.”

Her refusal is unequivocal. Still, Song Bo persists, attempting to argue further. But he forgets that the woman before him is no longer the vulnerable girl of seven years ago, subject to manipulation by her male relatives. She is now the regent empress, cloaked in authority. Before he can utter another word, she cuts him off with a chilling glance: “Our court boasts countless talented officials, each drawing salaries and living off the people’s taxes. If none but Lord Fang can shoulder the emperor’s burdens, then perhaps these positions should remain vacant rather than filled by impostors.”

Her words sting sharply, leaving Song Bo flushed with indignation. He knows her disdain for their maternal clan runs deep, extending even to her own father and uncle. Worse still, she harbors lingering affection for Lord Fang, persistently shielding him from harm.

Why protect him?

Romantic love is fleeting, like morning dew. With their betrothal annulled, they share no obligations. He is merely her subject, bound to serve the throne with loyalty and sacrifice. Why spare him when duty calls? First, she shielded the Fang clan’s reputation by preventing the execution of Prince Yinping. Now, she refuses to summon him southward!

How absurd!

Though seething internally, Song Bo dares not voice his discontent openly, especially with his equally defiant nephew, Song Mingzhen, standing nearby. Sighing inwardly, he exchanges glances with Chen Meng before bowing deeply and retreating. Meanwhile, Empress Dowager Song’s resolve hardens further. Perhaps, for the first time, she decides to shoulder a fragment of the immense burden he bears—outside his reach.

Three days later, the fleet reaches Yangzhou. The reality proves graver than anticipated. Along the Yangtze, a staggering fifty thousand refugees have gathered. The waterways are clogged with countless boats, rendering passage impossible for the massive imperial convoy. Both banks teem with humanity, and at the sight of the nine-stream dragon flag, the masses prostrate themselves, chanting prayers. Chaos reigns supreme.

Reluctantly, the fleet anchors ashore. Imperial guards disembark, blades drawn, securing the ferry points while the empress dowager and young emperor remain aboard, hidden from view. Moments later, Wang Mu returns with news: Governor Wan of Yangzhou and officials from neighboring provinces await an audience. After consulting his mother’s expression, Wei Xi grants permission: “Summon them.”

Wang Mu bows and departs. Soon, he escorts a group of local officials into the cabin. Leading them is a distinguished man clad in crimson robes—none other than the empress dowager’s old acquaintance, Governor Wan Sheng. Though years have passed, the once dashing scion of the Wan family now bears traces of age, his youthful elegance dimmed.

“Your servant, Governor Wan Sheng of Yangzhou, pays homage to the Empress Dowager—and to His Majesty,” he declares reverently, bowing deeply. His colleagues follow suit, remaining prostrate as they await the customary dismissal. Yet silence stretches unnervingly until the empress dowager speaks, her voice icy: “What is the current situation inside and outside Yangzhou?”

Governor Wan hesitates, acutely aware that his earlier hopes of leniency due to familial ties have evaporated. Beside him, several military advisors tremble, realizing their miscalculation. Hoping to mitigate punishment for failing to manage the refugee crisis, they had counted on Wan’s kinship with the empress dowager. Alas, her impartiality leaves no room for favoritism. Lowering their heads further, they dare not meet her gaze.

“Your Majesty,” Wan begins cautiously, choosing his words with care. “Since the new year, waves of northern refugees have flooded southward. Yangzhou, straddling the north-south divide, has borne the brunt of this influx. Waterways and roads have been overwhelmed for nearly a month. The city itself is overcrowded. To prevent banditry, we have closed the gates and erected temporary shelters ten li outside the walls to house the displaced. Additionally, we have borrowed hundreds of vessels from neighboring provinces to aid civilians crossing the river. Yet the influx continues unabated, and…”

He trails off, visibly uneasy. The empress dowager’s voice grows colder still: “And?”

Just three words, yet laden with authority. Years wielding power have transformed her utterly. Wan feels a chill run down his spine. As he falters, General Lou Wei, commander of the Northern Palace Guard flanking the empress dowager, barks: “Governor Wan, Her Majesty asks—what else?”

Startled, Wan kowtows again, steeling himself to deliver the grim truth: “And… and presently, vast numbers of civilians have occupied the riverbanks, refusing to board ships. They demand an audience with the Son of Heaven, imploring the court to return to the old capital and cease all southern migrations…”

His words hang heavy in the air. Dead silence fills the cabin. Not only the local officials accompanying Wan but also senior ministers traveling with the imperial entourage exchange nervous glances. Ordinary citizens speaking such treasonous words defy convention—it is unmistakably…

Amidst the tense stillness, the empress dowager lets out a soft laugh. Her delicate voice, layered with complexity, sends ripples through the room. Rising slowly, she speaks: “Man looks after himself when heaven and earth punish otherwise… It seems they have gone to great lengths.”

Her words drip with irony, the pronoun “they” unmistakably implicating those present. Young Emperor Wei Xi, ever fixated on his mother, rises instantly to stand beside her. Gently patting his shoulder, she turns gracefully toward the exit.

“If this stage has been set with such effort, let us not deny them the performance,” she declares coolly, her voice steady yet sharp. As she strides outward, her elaborate robes trail behind her like blossoms unfurling, each step imbued with regal grace.

“This grand theater shall not go to waste.”