FYM - 92

…What a perilous scene this was.

The leader of the five chief ministers, wielding immense military power and influence over the court, approached the defenseless young emperor in full armor, his sword at his side. The “Son of Heaven,” a frail child, stood beside the Empress Dowager, both delicate as flowers. Such an orphaned mother and son—if only…

All the civil and military officials watched, and the entire city’s populace craned their necks to see. Everyone witnessed Marquis Fang of Yingchuan standing just one step away from the highest seat of power in the realm. Finally, he stopped before them, his solemn, cold gaze slightly lowered.

…Thud.

In full view of all, he knelt on both knees, the weight of his armor stirring the thin layer of snow before the palace gates. Reflecting later, the privilege of entering the court without haste granted by the late emperor had never been used throughout his life. He approached the young, fragile ruler with the same reverence and respect he showed the late emperor and Emperor Ruizong.

“Your humble servant obeyed the late emperor’s command to quell the rebellion. Now that Xizhou has been secured and the Jiankun remnants annihilated, Wei Zheng and Zhong He remain unvanquished…”

Before the eyes of the world, he bowed in the most humble submission to the imperial family.

“...Please, Your Majesty, punish this subject.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the entire army behind him dismounted and knelt, bowing their heads in unison, shouting: “Please, Your Majesty, punish us!”

Their momentum could swallow mountains and seas; their solemnity and grandeur were indescribable. Those present were all stunned, especially the Luoyang faction led by Wei Bi and Fan Yucheng, who grew uneasy, their sweat drenching their backs. The young emperor, startled, stepped back slightly but knew well that Lord Fang had been the late emperor’s trusted aide and the most loyal and upright minister in the court. Looking up at his most trusted and relied-upon mother, he received a slight nod from her. Thus, emboldened, he took a few steps closer to the kneeling Marquis Fang of Yingchuan and slowly extended his hand to help him rise.

“Lord Fang has achieved great merit in pacifying external threats and stabilizing internal affairs. How can such deeds warrant punishment?”

“Please rise! Quickly, please rise!”

…This address of “Lord Fang” carried endless significance.

In the past, the Fang family had been granted the title of Duke, passed down through generations. However, in the seventh year of Yuanzhang, due to involvement in a succession struggle, they were stripped of the title by Emperor Ruizong, demoted from Duke to Marquis—a fall that drew widespread lamentation. After the late emperor ascended the throne, he repeatedly sought to restore the Fang family’s honor, even discussing the reinstatement of their title in court sessions. Yet, Marquis Fang consistently declined, stating that until the Zhou dynasty returned to its former capital, he would feel unworthy of promotion. His noble stance was celebrated by the people.

Now, with the late emperor gone, he had risen to the rank of First Rank General and Chief Minister. Throughout the court, he was respectfully addressed as “My Lord.” Only the emperor and the Empress Dowager could refer to him by name. Yet, this address concealed deeper meanings—historically, titles reflected one’s status. Though Fang Xianting held a high-ranking official position, his noble title remained that of Marquis. By logic, his title as General should have taken precedence. However, calling him “Lord Fang” highlighted his integrity. It honored the Fang family’s righteousness and their refusal to accept higher titles.

The old ministers of Emperor Ruizong couldn’t help but feel myriad emotions stirred by the young emperor’s use of the title “Lord Fang.” Once a cruel mockery of the Fang family, after more than a decade, it had become the highest form of respect. The ways of the world and human hearts change in an instant—nothing is predictable.

Lost in thought, My Lord rose under the young emperor’s support, his towering figure almost enveloping both him and the Empress Dowager. Perhaps, at some silent moment, he glanced at her, but it was fleeting and intangible.

“Your servant has been away on campaign for too long and failed to attend the late emperor’s funeral. I now wish to visit the imperial mausoleum to pay respects,” his deep voice conveyed neither joy nor sorrow, his expression exuding a detached compassion born from witnessing countless deaths. “I humbly request Your Majesty’s permission.”

The young emperor, still deeply grieving his father’s death, had seen nothing but power struggles among his ministers for nearly a month, none mourning the late emperor sincerely. Hearing Lord Fang’s words, tears instantly welled up in his eyes, and he responded: “Yes, yes… I—this Emperor will accompany Lord Fang.”

My Lord bowed his head slightly, then mounted his horse to personally escort the imperial carriage out of the Dingding Gate. The imperial mausoleum lay atop Baiyun Peak in Yanshi, south of Songshan and north of the Luo River, surrounded by majestic mountains. Ascending the steps inside, one saw countless gates and watchtowers, with stone statues of辟邪 (guardian beasts), humans, flying horses, ornamental pillars, and seated lions in their proper places. The spirit path leading to the tomb was broad, adorned with intricate carvings—every angle and edge representing the nation and its rivers.

All the ministers knelt silently, heads bowed, watching My Lord approach the late emperor’s mausoleum. They had once been close friends, then trusted sovereign and minister, and even now, separated by life and death, they could still entrust the nation to each other. The late emperor had bestowed upon him unparalleled honor and authority, even entrusting the lives and dignity of his own children to this man of a different surname. Such trust was immeasurable.

My Lord performed the ritual bows, kneeling before the late emperor’s spirit for a long time without rising. No one knew what he was thinking at that moment, not even the small, dignified mole beneath his right eye, which appeared unusually obscure and profound. Observing from the sidelines, Prince of Yinping, though shocked, also harbored some derision, thinking that Fang Xianting truly excelled at theatrics more than his father—wasn’t the late emperor’s passing the best thing for him? With all the nation’s armies under his control and a young, malleable emperor, holding sway over the court was surely far better than being subordinate to one person. Why then did he feign such false humility?

He smirked coldly, his gaze toward Fang Xianting growing increasingly complex and indescribable.

After noon, the imperial carriage returned to the palace. The Mingtang Hall’s doors were opened—it was the first court session since the chaos during the late emperor’s entombment a month prior. Civil and military officials lined up on either side, with the victorious General Fang standing at the foremost position on the right. The young emperor, ill for many days, sat on the throne for the first time. The sea of black figures below inevitably reminded him of the mutiny following his father’s death. Instantly, his heart raced, his breath quickened, and his face paled. He couldn’t help but glance back repeatedly at his mother behind the curtain, just a partition away.

…She had a beautiful pair of eyes.

Seven years ago, in this very imperial city, she entered the palace gates clad in ceremonial robes alongside the late emperor. The palace attendants informed him that she hailed from the first family of Jiangnan, the daughter of Song Dan, lord of the Jinling Song clan—a noblewoman of distinguished bearing. From then on, he was to call her Mother.

…”Mother”?

He had already known two mothers before. One was of low birth, rumored to have ties with eunuchs, exiled to Bailu Terrace after his birth, yet still brought him endless criticism and humiliation day after day. The other was his esteemed stepmother from the Fang clan of Yingchuan, estranged from the late emperor since his childhood, treating him with cold indifference.

—And her?

…This new “Mother”?

He hadn’t expected much, merely following Wang Mu, the late emperor’s attendant, to meet her in her chambers. She had already changed out of the heavy ceremonial robes, her neatly styled hair adorned with few ornaments—only a pair of unfamiliar white jade combs, clearly not of their palace’s style.

“Xi’er?”

She looked down at him, her eyes slightly red, perhaps from crying over something unpleasant or simply disliking the high-walled palace like him.

Yet, she didn’t vent her anger on anyone. Instead, she bent down and crouched before him, less formal than the other palace ladies, yet no one was more beautiful or approachable than her.

“There’s no need for such formalities…”

She gently reached out to help him up. As she drew near, one could smell the faint floral scent emanating from her sleeves—likely plum blossoms, elegant yet tinged with a touch of aloof loneliness. Like a true mother, she smoothed the wrinkles in his clothes caused by his kneeling. Her gem-like eyes reflected his guarded demeanor while offering him an unprecedented sense of comfort and reassurance.

“…From now on, you’ll have to teach me how to be a mother.”

—She didn’t need anyone to teach her.

It seemed she was born knowing how to care for others. From the day she entered the palace, she had taken excellent care of him, accompanying him in reading, teaching him writing, and explaining the difficult texts he struggled with in Master Chen’s lessons… He imagined she must have had wonderful parents, raised in a harmonious home, which explained her gentle nature and ability to bring peace and tranquility to those around her.

He had always depended on her, from age six to now. Even last night, he had run to Jishan Palace to seek comfort, saying he didn’t know what to say during the court session, fearing that Lord Fang might rebel and wouldn’t be as loyal and reverent to him as he had been to his father.

“It won’t happen…”

She gently patted his back, consoling him with the same patience she had shown when he was a child. Her care for him hadn’t wavered despite his father’s passing.

“Lord Fang is the best minister in the world. As long as he’s here, Xi’er has nothing to fear…”

“As for matters of the court, leave them to your mother. If you don’t know what to say tomorrow, let your mother handle everything.”

He never doubted her. Seeing those beautiful eyes behind the curtain now, his restless heart gradually calmed. Turning back, he sat straighter, emulating the late emperor’s commanding presence over his subjects. Summoning courage, he began: “Lord Fang’s recent campaign annihilated the remaining Jiankun forces and severely damaged the traitorous king’s party, achieving feats worthy of eternal fame. Appointed by the late emperor as the foremost of the five chief ministers, he shall henceforth assist this Emperor in stabilizing the realm and protecting the people. A mere marquis title cannot adequately recognize such achievements. He should be promoted and rewarded, and this proclamation should be announced to the world…”

These effusive words, likely taught beforehand, were delivered clearly and fluently by a half-grown child under the watchful eyes of all. Despite his efforts to appear composed, his youthful innocence was unmistakable, much like the hastily made dragon robe that didn’t quite fit perfectly. The ministers, fully aware of this, could discern the flattery and appeasement in the young emperor’s words toward Fang Xianting, likely fearing that he might follow Wei Bi and Fan Yucheng’s example, leaving no chance for another lucky escape as before.

Before the sigh over the decline of the imperial family could fully form in their hearts, My Lord, standing at the forefront of the Mingtang Hall, stepped forward and bowed deeply to the emperor, declaring solemnly: “Those who eat the emperor’s food serve the emperor’s affairs. As a general, I should wield arms and protect the borders for my sovereign. Though the enemy has retreated temporarily, they will surely return. How can I chase trivial honors instead of focusing on my duty?”

These were words everyone had heard many times, from Chang’an to Luoyang, from the late emperor to the young emperor. My Lord’s resolve to decline promotions was unshakable, and it was clear this time would be no exception.

But—

“I have also heard that there was turmoil in the court on the day of the late emperor’s entombment, troubling both Your Majesty and the Empress Dowager…”

His tone abruptly shifted, his already low and solemn voice growing even colder and sharper.

“…Your servant led troops outside and failed to rescue the emperor, causing His Majesty distress and unsettling the court. How can I, with such shame, accept titles and rewards?”