FYM - 158

His words were half true and half false—partly to deflect his mother’s rejection and scolding, partly genuine hesitation and fear. Song Shuyan could sense his confusion; a ruler’s suspicions could be fatal needles, silently taking lives if mishandled. She remained most concerned about Fang Xianting and was unwilling to see the Wei imperial family alienated from him.

“Rebel?”

She raised an eyebrow and repeated the word coolly, her suddenly cold tone causing Wei Xi to unconsciously loosen his tight embrace.

“The common talk has always been complicated. These people in court have never been so concerned before. I suppose it’s because the Marquis is now on a campaign with control over the nation’s resources, and someone can’t stand it, whispering in Your Majesty’s ear.”

Her words carried heavy sarcasm, unusually sharp for her. After speaking, she realized it might not be appropriate to so openly defend him, so she softened her tone slightly, her expression gradually becoming more peaceful.

“When the southern incident occurred, I was also very upset by Marquis Fang’s overreach. But I never doubted his loyalty. If he wanted independence, the best opportunity would have been when your father passed away. He could have easily ignored the call to arms, allowed the Luoyang faction to kill me, and then accuse them of treason—all while avoiding the current complexities of seizing power.”

“Moreover, he has been a Zhou minister all his life. Even if he harbored rebellious thoughts, he wouldn’t dare endanger Your Majesty. History remembers names for thousands of years; the Yingchuan Fang family must protect its centuries-old reputation for integrity.”

These words were harsh, but the reasoning was solid. Wei Xi felt his brows relax, thinking how insightful his mother truly was. Today, if she debated with the Grand Tutor, she wouldn’t have been left speechless like him.

“Your Majesty...”

Thinking this, he heard her sigh again, her tone both helpless and solemn.

“Throughout history, wise rulers have been decisive, resilient, and broad-minded. Only such sovereigns can command talented ministers. If one fears capable officials, only mediocrity and treachery will remain, and the state’s great cause will inevitably decline.”

“Your Majesty is the Son of Heaven and the reviver of our dynasty. Boldness and decisiveness are necessary for progress, while suspicion and duplicity will ruin great matters—you must reflect carefully.”

This rebuke was quite severe, especially the phrase “suspicion and duplicity,” cutting deeply. Wei Xi flinched, feeling that his mother’s gaze held not just admonishment but scrutiny—he feared that scrutiny, and it wasn’t until much later that he understood his fear stemmed from the dread of her seeing through his true self.

“Your subject...”

He was so panicked he didn’t know how to respond, even more so than during his confrontation with the Grand Tutor today.

“...Your subject will remember Mother’s teachings.”

Leaving Fuqing Hall under the biting spring chill, Wei Xi boarded his carriage heading towards his own quarters. His heart was somewhat disheveled, feeling both the shame of being scolded by his mother and the dejection of being despised by his beloved. Yet, the sweet intimacy of that stolen embrace filled him with unprecedented satisfaction. His heart fluctuated wildly between joy and sorrow, extremely complex.

Lost in thought, a glimmer caught his peripheral vision. Looking up, he saw a bright sky lantern slowly ascending into the night sky. Such lanterns were rare in the palace because they could easily start fires if they fell, having been banned many years ago. Lately, however, they had often been seen around the imperial gardens, reportedly as a special grace granted by the Empress Dowager to Consort Dong, allowing her to pray for the Emperor and the Zhou dynasty.

Wei Xi had heard of this and occasionally seen these high-flying lanterns in the night over the past few months. At first, he felt repulsed, but gradually became accustomed to them. His mother was compassionate, unwilling to see his birth mother humiliated in the palace. Allowing her to release lanterns seemed to be a way to ingratiate herself, persuading him to acknowledge the maternal bond.

He didn’t need any birth mother—having met her only a few times, yet suffering shame and criticism because of her. He viewed her as his greatest stain, hating all forms of infidelity and betrayal due to her unfaithfulness. He only needed his mother. Ten years of daily companionship made him respect and adore her. With her, he felt no incompleteness. After his father’s death, she was the only person he truly cared about.

Yet...

...he was somewhat confused.

A teenager’s love is fervent but naive. The forbidden passion sometimes overwhelmed him to the point of helplessness. He didn’t know whom to confide in or how to ask for help. Sometimes, he believed he loved her; other times, he thought he was merely obsessed, blurring distinct boundaries.

Perhaps he should meet his birth mother...

At least then he could understand... what feelings would arise when facing a “mother”...

While hesitating, a figure emerged faintly from behind the flowers and trees. The palace attendants quietly looked up and indeed saw Consort Dong cautiously watching the carriage from the roadside—she had learned her lesson. When she was first brought back from Bailu Terrace last year, she was always frantic to see the Emperor, but after numerous rejections, she realized her unwelcome presence and now only watched from afar, avoiding disturbing the royal procession.

Wei Xi watched her from a distance, vaguely noting that this unfamiliar woman seemed thinner than when he last saw her. Her white hair was striking, far from the youthful beauty of his mother, let alone comparing to her in terms of dignity and grace...

He turned away, pretending to be indifferent, but his heart still inexplicably pricked. As the carriage passed her, he glanced at her tearful eyes and ingratiating smile, feeling increasingly stifled.

“Hurry up—”

“If you dawdle like this, I’ll cut off your heads—”

He vented his anger on the palace attendants, his expression growing increasingly fierce.

Compared to the minor squabbles within the inner palace, the changes in government affairs were like great storms.

The front-line battles were intense, and logistics procurement was exceedingly difficult. Everyone in the Ministry of Revenue was overwhelmed, flipping through accounts nationwide. Every available fund was used to purchase military grain, and even unavailable funds were urgently requisitioned. Originally dispatched to inspect fields, officials were forced to become grain collectors, taking the hard-earned surplus from the lamenting and sighing populace of Jiangnan. The only consolation offered was the promise of land rewards upon reclaiming the Central Plains—a mirage everyone hoped would come true.

Xu Zongyao was promoted to the rank of fifth-grade Zhongshu Secretary due to his meritorious service in land investigations, officially staying in Jinling as a close minister to the emperor. He wished to go to the counties and share the people’s hardships, but his leg injury hadn’t healed, and he had become the primary enemy of the Jiangnan gentry. Without the Empress Dowager’s protection, he would likely be killed within days, so he had no choice but to comply with the decree and stay in Tai Cheng.

The Zhongshu Secretary was responsible for transmitting imperial edicts and often walked near the emperor. Now, after court sessions, he mostly served at Fengyang Palace, assisting the Empress Dowager daily in governance. He saw her burning the midnight oil, almost day and night, poring over every message, good or bad, coming from all directions. It was hard to believe that such a vast empire relied on the support of such a frail woman.

“Empress Dowager...”

Sometimes, out of concern, he couldn’t help but say a few extra words.

“Please rest early tonight... it’s already the hour of Hai.”

She wouldn’t listen, only telling him to leave and finish his duties. Military reports sometimes arrived at midnight, and she couldn’t wait even a single night, needing to read them personally to feel reassured. He had seen it once—when a report mentioned setbacks in battle and the Marquis injured by a stray arrow in his left arm, her face instantly turned pale, and she struggled to eat for several days. Only after new reports came days later, saying Liangzhou was taken and the Marquis’s injury wasn’t serious, did she gradually return to normal.

She... must have been tormented physically and mentally by this prolonged war.

Xu Zongyao felt some pity—not from any inappropriate romantic notions, but because he regarded her as his sovereign and couldn’t bear to see her crushed by the increasingly heavy burdens of governance.

“There won’t be any military reports tonight.”

Boldly, he pressed down her pen, his frowning expression showing stubbornness.

“I asked Minister Fang earlier. He said the earliest they would arrive would be tomorrow afternoon.”

She was startled, unsure whether by his words or his bold action, then shook her head and smiled, chiding: “You really have no manners.”

Xu Zongyao wasn’t afraid, only bowing respectfully. She set the pen aside, stood up, and walked outside to look at the myriad lights of Jinling city. The distant Central Plains lay beyond, separated by mountains and rivers, seemingly very far from this new capital.

“How much longer can they hold on...”

He heard her murmured words but didn’t know whether “they” referred to the exhausted commoners beneath those lights or the soldiers fighting beyond the mountains.

“We must endure, even if we can’t. We must.”

Her answer was resolute, the young man’s ambitious spirit not so easily extinguished.

“The Marquis’s northern campaign is an offensive defense, aiming at Chang’an for a glimmer of hope—this is a life-and-death battle for our dynasty. Even at the cost of our lives, we must carve out a path. The commoners of Jiangnan fear war for temporary stability, but the Empress Dowager, as the governing authority, must not waver.”

He was indeed a first-rate remonstrant minister but not fit material for a close minister, straightforward without tact, risking decapitation if he encountered a narrow-minded ruler. Fortunately, he was employed by Song Shuyan, who wouldn’t quibble over his words.

“People’s hearts are unpredictable, harder to control than floods...”

She sighed, her gaze still appreciative as she looked at Xu Zongyao.

“Not everyone in the country understands as you do. The northern campaign appears to be an active pursuit of victory, but in reality, it’s still a passive quest for survival. Southern discontent has arisen, and the Central Plains cannot afford another defeat. I fear...”

She stopped, perhaps unwilling to utter those ominous words. Xu Zongyao knew she feared that setbacks in the frontlines would exacerbate current southern conflicts—peasant uprisings were the greatest threat, quickly leading to national collapse if not quelled. Even if suppressed, voices advocating peace treaties with the barbarians and dividing the Yangtze would soon emerge, spelling doom for Zhou. Within a few years, the barbarians would seize all lands north of the Yangtze, and the crumbling court, clinging to a corner, couldn’t escape ruin.

They were fighting a desperate battle...

...only victory, no defeat.