FYM - 91

The next morning, the young emperor finally awoke. Still groggy, he heard a commotion outside the Guanfeng Hall. Wang Mu, who had personally served the late emperor, attended to him and reported that Consort Dong had arrived, bringing medicinal soup she had personally prepared for His Majesty.

“Why does she insist on forcing her presence upon me—”

Wei Xi erupted in anger. Though still weak from his prolonged illness, as the newly ascended Son of Heaven, his wrath nonetheless caused the palace attendants to tremble with fear.

“Send her away—now—”

He hurled a cup from his side, shattering it on the ground. The sharp sound echoed from the inner hall to the outer courtyard. Seeing this, Wang Mu immediately signaled an attendant behind him to dismiss the consort. He then knelt before the agitated, flushed young emperor, gently calming him. After some time, the boy finally settled down, his trembling voice asking: “...Where is Mother? Where is she?”

“Where did she go? Was she harmed by those people—”

He hadn’t forgotten what happened on the day of the late emperor’s entombment—the way his mother was publicly vilified in the Mingtang Hall, even struck by an arrow from the Prince of Yinping.

“Your Majesty, please rest assured. Her Majesty the Empress Dowager is safe and well—”

Wang Mu quickly reassured him, patting the frail back of the young emperor with his large hand.

“Her Majesty stayed by Your Majesty’s side until late last night and has since retired to Jishan Palace to rest…”

Hearing this, Wei Xi paused, repeatedly confirming with those around him before finally calming down. His tense body gradually relaxed, though a fresh layer of sweat formed on his forehead.

“That’s good, that’s good…”

He repeated these words to himself, his breathing still somewhat heavy. Supported by Wang Mu, he lay back down, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the entrance of the hall. He asked again: “When will Mother come to see me? Will she come today?”

“Yes, yes…”

Wang Mu took the medicine bowl from a palace maid, gently cooling the liquid with a spoon while continuing to soothe the boy in a low voice.

“After you take your medicine, I will send someone to invite her. Her Majesty will surely be delighted to see Your Majesty recovering.”

Behind the closed doors, the atmosphere was starkly different. Consort Dong Xian, who had personally brought the medicinal soup, was denied an audience with the emperor. A young eunuch stood before her, his tone flat as he said: “Consort Dong, please return. His Majesty is still recovering from his illness. If anything were to happen, we would not be able to face the Empress Dowager…”

This blatant favoritism left no room for ambiguity. What was Consort Dong Xian, after all? Once merely a servant girl, she had been fortunate enough to share a fleeting moment with the late emperor, which elevated her to the status of the current emperor’s birth mother. Even so, she had spent over a decade in obscurity at Bailu Terrace. Without being chosen by the ministers of the Prince of Yinping to antagonize the Empress Dowager, she would never have earned the title of “Consort.”

Empress Dowager Song was the true ruler of the imperial palace. The emperor obeyed her without question, and with the support of her maternal family, the Songs, her influence only grew stronger. More importantly, Lord Fang Xianting, the head of the Fang clan and Marquis of Yingchuan, had recently led troops to rescue Luoyang amidst the chaos, ensuring the safety of Empress Dowager Song. It was clear that he aligned with the Jinling faction, and upon his return, there would be scores to settle with the Prince of Yinping and his allies.

Court politics were always cold and calculating, with favoritism and disdain commonplace. Having endured years of neglect at Bailu Terrace, Consort Dong Xian was well aware of the eunuch’s condescension. Yet, she felt neither anger nor resentment. Truthfully, she had no intention of seeking humiliation by approaching the emperor. However, the new ruler of the realm was her own flesh and blood, and his cold rejection naturally stung.

She sighed softly and nodded. “Very well, I shall leave…”

The young eunuch bowed slightly, murmuring, “We respectfully bid farewell to Consort Dong.” Hesitating for a moment, she turned back, awkwardly pressing the bowl of medicine into his hands. “Please convey my regards to the Chief Eunuch. This medicine is excellent; His Majesty will surely benefit from it…”

Such persistence was unseemly, and the eunuch’s expression grew increasingly impatient. Only when Consort Dong Xian personally removed a golden hairpin from her hair and carefully placed it in his hand did he finally crack a smile, nodding. “Consort Dong, rest assured. I will deliver your message…”

No one cared what ultimately became of the lukewarm medicinal soup. However, news of Consort Dong’s rejection by her own son soon spread throughout the palace, further inflaming the officials of the Luoyang faction inside and outside the imperial court.

“Useless—completely useless—”

Prince of Yinping Wei Bi slammed his palm onto the table, his frustration evident as his anger flared.

“This entire affair rests on my shoulders. I brought her back from Bailu Terrace, yet she couldn’t even see her own son! How can she possibly help us remove that Song witch from the phoenix throne?”

—Wasn’t this burden immense?

Everyone knew the young emperor despised his birth mother. During the late emperor’s reign, he refused to even meet her. Now, the Luoyang faction risked alienating the emperor entirely. Their failure understandably fueled their anger.

“That Song woman raised him for seven years. The bond between them cannot be overturned in mere days,” Fan Yucheng, seated beside him, frowned deeply, sighing heavily. “This matter cannot be rushed. We must deliberate carefully…”

“Deliberate carefully?”

Wei Bi grew even angrier, his tone increasingly impatient. “Do we have the luxury of time? Fang Xianting is returning to court! Song Mingzhen has already stationed twenty thousand elite troops to control the palace!”

“If we don’t swiftly elevate Consort Dong to secure a foothold in court, we’ll face retribution once they consolidate power!”

…Indeed.

The late emperor appointed five chief ministers. Among them, Chen Meng, of humble origins, posed no threat. The Song family lacked military power and relied solely on their advantageous position in Jinling. The only formidable threat was Fang Xianting. After surviving the devastating defeat at Shangxiaogu, he miraculously returned alive. Half a year later, he drove the Turks west of Yongzhou, securing stability for half the realm for years. The common people revered him as a god, and countless legends about him circulated. Moreover, after the great defeat in the third year of Taiqing, the Lou clan fell into disgrace, and half the military authority within the passes fell into the hands of the Fangs. The prestige and power of Marquis Fang of Yingchuan were unprecedented in the three hundred years of the Zhou dynasty. Overthrowing ministers like them—or even toppling the Wei imperial family to establish his own dynasty—was more than feasible.

If he truly decided to back the Songs…

“That Song woman knows this precisely, which is why she repeatedly feigns illness to avoid attending court—”

Fan Yucheng’s aged eyes narrowed slightly, his frustration mirroring Wei Bi’s.

“She’s deliberately delaying until Fang Xianting returns—to ensure we have no chance to exploit the situation and force her to relinquish power—”

Infuriated, Wei Bi kicked over a stool beside him. In his mind, however, he calculated his future. The Luoyang faction’s roots were firmly planted in the Central Plains. If they compromised and relocated to Jinling, they would become fish on a chopping block, subject to the whims of others. The Jiangnan factions had long divided their territories. How could outsiders like them claim a share? Land, tenants, merchants, taxes—all were predetermined. Even if they initially secured a foothold as chief ministers, their influence would inevitably wane over time, leaving them vulnerable to contempt. Remaining in the Central Plains was far more stable and advantageous.

The Song family had fled Chang’an during the late emperor’s darkest hour, prioritizing self-preservation. How could they compare to the Luoyang faction, whose sacrifices had earned them unparalleled contributions to the imperial cause? The Song brothers’ ambition to profit from national calamity was nothing but a pipe dream!

“In my view, the situation may not be as dire as it seems…”

Seeing Wei Bi’s face flush red and pale alternately, Fan Yucheng offered some comfort.

“Though Fang Xianting now holds absolute power, he is ultimately a man who considers the bigger picture—loyal to the late emperor, never defying his commands. How could he harm us, the regents appointed by the late emperor?”

“The Fangs of Yingchuan enjoy unparalleled prestige. If Fang Xianting were to initiate a purge immediately after the late emperor’s passing, he would instantly earn a reputation for eliminating rivals and oppressing the young emperor. Could he bear such infamy? Could his clan bear it?”

“He will extend us a courtesy… Court affairs always involve compromise and balance. He understands this and won’t break the rules.”

These words were incisive and insightful, showcasing why Fan Yucheng, as the head of civil officials, was no mere figurehead. Prince of Yinping calmed down and reflected deeply, finding reason in the argument. He doubted Fang Xianting could act without regard for collegial relationships. Though Consort Dong was useless, she was still the emperor’s birth mother. Establishing dual empress dowagers wasn’t an insurmountable task. He needed to ensure the Luoyang faction could breathe easier.

“For now, let us proceed cautiously…”

Wei Bi suppressed his agitation with a deep sigh, though the deep furrows on his brow lingered.

“...Let us see whether the Fangs of Yingchuan still value their pristine reputation.”

On the 29th day of the 12th month of the final year of Taiqing, Marquis Fang Xianting of Yingchuan finally returned to court after months of campaigning.

Since the first year of Taiqing, the catastrophe born from succession struggles had dragged on intermittently for ten years. A single spark ignited a wildfire, exacerbated by the Turks’ involvement, turning the realm into a sea of flames. By now, the chaos extended beyond the northwest. Tribes in Longyou and ethnic minorities within Suijing sought to exploit the turmoil, worsening the situation to the point where the Zhou court struggled to cope.

The Fang family remained the last pillar of hope in the hearts of the people.

The defeat at Shangxiaogu had plunged the nation into despair, but Fang Xianting’s miraculous survival provided a final, narrow shelter amidst the storm. No one knew the full story, and for seven years, the court concealed this secret. Desperate people didn’t seek truths—they craved courage to survive and a fragile hope of escaping foreign slaughter.

Now, Lord Fang had returned. He had once again repelled Wei Zheng, Zhong He, and the newly arrived Jiankun tribes. His battle-hardened forces of Yingchuan had endured countless cycles of departure and return over seven years. Wounded and weary, they concealed their pain beneath armor, marching solemnly into Luoyang amid triumphant cheers. The citizens wept with joy, grateful for another moment of peace under their protection.

Before Shangyang Palace, hundreds of officials gathered, much like the past seven years. The only difference was that the welcoming sovereign had changed from the late emperor to the young emperor, accompanied by a youthful, beautiful woman titled “Empress Dowager.”

“Victory announced—”

“Offerings presented—”

The loud cries of palace attendants echoed beneath the Timang Gate, attempting to uphold the imperial family’s dignity with feigned vigor. In truth, all honor stemmed from the man now dismounting silently in full armor. Step by step, he approached the young emperor and the Empress Dowager beside him. His stern gaze was deep and somber, like frost-laden winds beneath a jade pavilion, instilling awe with a single glance.