PM - 28

The Counselor of the Prefecture, a minor official responsible for deliberations, had come to meet with the Chancellor for two simple reasons: first, to pay respects on behalf of the Prince of Jing; and second, to seek advice. Rumors were rife that the Prince of Jing was implicated in the Wuling case, though he claimed innocence. The question was how to handle the situation without alienating the emperor.

The Chancellor’s response was formal. “If one conducts oneself uprightly, why worry about rumors? His Majesty is an enlightened ruler, and the court is diligently investigating the matter. If there’s truly no involvement, the prince will not be wronged.”

The Counselor still appeared anxious. “Our lord isn’t worried about slander. However, His Majesty is young and might be swayed by false accusations, harming familial bonds. Our lord, stationed far away in Jingzhou, cannot enter the capital without an imperial decree. Lately, he’s been restless, struggling to find peace. He often reminisces about the past—how he and Your Excellency trained together in martial arts, forging deep brotherhood. Unfortunately, in recent years, Your Excellency has been occupied, and our lord in the prefecture has also been busy, causing their estrangement—a source of great sorrow for him. Today, he sent me to convey his greetings and present a token of his esteem, hoping Your Excellency will graciously accept it.”

“Brotherhood”? Hardly. The Chancellor examined the letter from the Prince of Jing, rolled it up, and placed it on the lacquered desk before him.

He was the posthumous child brought into the palace by Consort Ru. Though favored by Emperor Wen, he was mocked mercilessly by legitimate princes. Names like “bastard” and “false son”—he never forgot them. Now, when favors were sought, talk of brotherhood rang hollow. Back then, they would never have deigned to call him brother.

How fickle human nature was! After years at the pinnacle of power, he’d seen too many faces, even smiling felt like wasted effort.

His fingers tapped the desk rhythmically, each knock unsettling. The Counselor grew uneasy, and after a long pause, the Chancellor finally spoke somberly: “You may relay this message to the Prince of Jing: if he wishes to prove his innocence, he should request the court send an inspector into his army. I serve under the late emperor’s mandate, prioritizing the empire above all else. Since the Prince of Jing is now under suspicion, private associations are taboo. Inform your lord: in these extraordinary times, staying still is better than acting rashly.”

Was this visit truly seeking his aid, or attempting to bind him to the same ship using rumors of ties between the Yan clan and the Prince of Jing? In politics, who willingly handed over their last lifeline? He had long said that the court’s power was divided into three factions. Whether through deception or coercion, once the balance tipped, the feudal lords would stir. Was it more advantageous to assist a mature prince or an inexperienced young emperor? Comparing the two, the Chancellor had his own calculations.

The Counselor, of course, understood. This visit wasn’t meant to gain favor. Yan Xiangru was a marquis, chancellor, and commander of the capital garrison—powerful and respected. Who dared disrespect him? Bribery? How much wealth could sway him? As for sentiment, the entanglements between him and the young emperor were beyond what the Prince of Jing could offer. Thus, only one option remained: unilaterally tie themselves together. If the Chancellor didn’t fall, Jing State would remain safe. Should the young emperor err again, the enemy’s friend became an enemy, pushing the Chancellor away voluntarily—a boon for the Prince of Jing. And those rumors linking the Yan clan to the Prince of Jing? Whoever spread them knew well that implicating the Chancellor’s family left him no choice but to act.

But playing clever now wouldn’t do—it was best to avoid mentioning the Yan clan altogether. The Counselor, wise to this, stopped pressing further. Bowing deeply, he said: “Your Excellency’s advice will be conveyed word-for-word to my lord upon my return to Jing State.”

The Chancellor nodded. “Take the gifts back as well. My treasury is full; there’s no room for more. Please thank your lord for his kind intentions on my behalf.”

Indeed, the dowry for the empress alone amounted to twenty thousand gold pieces—the storerooms were packed.

The Counselor awkwardly took his leave. The Chancellor instructed the steward to see him off. The Chief Secretary quietly asked, “Is there truly a connection between the Yan clan and the Prince of Jing?”

Tucking the letter into his sleeve, the Chancellor replied smoothly: “Send someone to investigate. Whether true or not, we must sever ties. Failure here leaves only one path.”

What that single path was, he didn’t say, but the Chief Secretary understood—it meant overthrowing the young emperor and installing a new ruler. Among the imperial lineage, were there any young princes whose fathers were either deceased or weak enough to control? Calculating thus, Crown Prince Yuan Biao’s son stood out. The Chief Secretary glanced at him in mild astonishment, but he casually shifted his gaze to a yellow oriole perched atop a tree.

“I must enter the palace,” he mused. “Rather than wait passively, I’ll incriminate myself.”

So he retrieved the anonymous bamboo scroll, boarded his carriage, and arrived at the triple-arched gate before the emperor’s chambers before mid-afternoon.

Passing through the deep doorway, he was met by the armored figure of Attendant Shangguan Zhao.

Attendants and chamberlains were close to the emperor, holding significant power despite their lower rank. Trusted by the emperor, many throughout history became regents. The Chancellor bore no personal grudge against Shangguan Zhao—he simply believed the young emperor shouldn’t have such a confidant. Given her precarious position, maintaining distance from everyone was wisest. Yet some things couldn’t be stopped. Beyond basic needs, emotional expression was essential. With no one else to trust, she relied solely on Shangguan Zhao.

Shangguan Zhao, aware of the Chancellor’s disapproval, still bowed respectfully.

Dressed in purple silk, adorned with a jade belt hook, the Chancellor exuded dignity. Shangguan Zhao performed the salute, and he accepted it naturally, hands tucked into his sleeves.

“Aren’t you overseeing the assassination case? When Han Yan was captured, you were still in the detention center, so lacking details is understandable. For anything unclear, consult Censor Cai. He’s been handling the case alongside me and knows many details.”

Shangguan Zhao acknowledged, “Thank you, Chancellor. His Majesty, sparing you the labor, assigned me temporarily. With Censor Cai present, I merely assist. Final decisions rest with you.”

The Chancellor smiled graciously. “My duties are numerous. Having all of you assist is excellent. Have today’s two suspects been interrogated?”

Shangguan Zhao replied: “All blame is placed on Prince Yuan Heng of Zhao. Han Yan came from Zhao, and the Han clan has deep roots there. From this perspective, it seems credible.”

The Chancellor hummed. “Prince Heng began plotting five years ago. If Han Yan acted under his orders, it makes sense.” Then, with a sly glance, he added, “But you might not know—before entering the palace, Han Yan was betrothed to the Gao family of Chenliu, who have marital ties to your Shangguan clan…”

He watched Shangguan Zhao’s face pale dramatically and softened his smile. “His Majesty assigned you to investigate to elevate your status. However, given the Shangguan clan’s prior involvement, avoiding suspicion is prudent.” Without further words, he patted Shangguan Zhao’s shoulder as he passed, leaving him stunned, and proceeded toward the Yuecheng Hall.

Palace security was typically shared among officials. Ahead stood Cavalry Commander Hu Lu Puzhao. Since promoting these men, the Chancellor sometimes reflected on how entering the palace had changed. Layer upon layer of barriers made it feel like navigating perilous passes. The young emperor’s habit of summoning him frequently would likely need adjustment. More eyes meant more restrictions, gradually shaping the emperor into a proper sovereign, widening the gap between monarch and minister—or perhaps it wasn’t intentional, just habit forming under external pressure.

Autumn sunlight, less intense, bathed the imperial city in pleasant warmth. The Chancellor walked with measured steps. Approaching the gate, Hu Lu Puzhao stepped forward and saluted. The Chancellor nodded. “Where is His Majesty?”

Hu Lu replied: “In the Yuecheng Hall, in conference.”

“Is Grand Tutor Zhang present?”

Hu Lu Puzhao remained silent, giving a slight nod.

That Zhang Zhongqing often considered himself a confidant, spreading tales about the Chancellor to the young emperor. The Chancellor sighed inwardly. Perhaps in the Grand Tutor’s eyes, his interactions with the young emperor were signs of restlessness, intentional seduction of the sovereign.

Direct entry into the hall was impossible. The evolving system of imperial guards around the emperor was becoming complete. One day, this would inevitably happen. Standing at the entrance, he requested the cavalry commander announce him, turning to gaze at the sprawling rooftops stretching endlessly, obscuring much of the sky. As a youth, he had marveled at the solemnity and majesty of it all. Decades later, it remained unchanged—this empire’s core had never been his home.

Hu Lu Puzhao emerged, armor clinking, a youthful hero in his prime, every movement exuding valor. The Chancellor chuckled softly. The young emperor favored employing the young. At his age, claiming seniority felt like forcing his way into the youth’s ranks.

Hu Lu Puzhao, the second son of the late Hu Lu An, whose father had achieved great victories against the Xiongnu but died young at thirty, was personally selected by the late emperor for the Northern Army, serving under the Gold Staff as a commander—a loyalist groomed for the young emperor.

Approaching respectfully, he bowed deeply. “His Majesty commands the Chancellor’s presence.”

The Chancellor stepped over the threshold. Before him stretched a broad walkway leading to the black marble steps of the Yuecheng Hall. At the end, a figure stood before the hall doors—broad robes flowing, dignified and poised—it was the young emperor.

Step by step, he approached, his mind clear as still water. As her face came into focus, she turned and entered the hall. Inside, several ministers were gathered, including an old man with a beard who, despite trying to appear calm, still resembled a butcher.

Chief Justice Wei Shixing, Minister of the Imperial Household Liu Shou, Vice Minister Sun Mo… The Chancellor bowed, and the ministers collectively returned the gesture. He smiled faintly. “Today, the inner palace is bustling!”

The young emperor followed with a smile. “With the Prime Minister here, it’s even livelier. We’re discussing where to hold the empress’s investiture ceremony. After Emperor Wen, it was held in the Yuecheng Hall; before him, in the Beigong Deyang Hall. Given our youthful marriage, to show solemnity, let’s use the Deyang Hall. What does the Prime Minister think?”

The Chancellor agreed. “Proper protocol. It reflects Your Majesty’s affection and the empress’s legitimacy.”

Empty courtesies, customary in court. Whatever they’d discussed earlier would not continue—if he guessed correctly, it revolved around establishing the Ministry of Ceremonial Rites. Previously dismissive of the young emperor’s initiative, the Chancellor now sensed a real threat. Her plans were methodical, strengthening her allies. If he remained passive, he might soon be ousted from his position.

“I reviewed petitions yesterday and received a bamboo scroll for Your Majesty’s perusal.” He presented it reverently. Jianye took it and passed it to the young emperor.

Fu Wei unfolded it, immediately understanding its contents. Saying little, she placed it face down on the desk and asked gravely, “What does the Prime Minister suggest?”

The Chancellor replied: “I beseech Your Majesty to investigate rigorously—not only the Yan clan, but also myself, submitting us to the Chief Justice for interrogation.”

Their cryptic exchange left the Minister of the Imperial Household and Vice Minister exchanging puzzled glances. Removing the Chancellor, head of all officials, wasn’t simple. Political power rested in his hands; without transition, military authority around the capital was also his. Simply imprisoning him wouldn’t resolve everything.

The ministers bowed collectively: “Please, Your Majesty, reconsider.”

Fu Wei’s earlier plan certainly wasn’t to imprison him. That dark dungeon had already cost Shangguan Zhao dearly; throwing her precious darling in would age him another decade upon release.

Her face impassive, she declared: “Such a crucial case, yet the petition lacks a signature—no way to verify. Too many villains rely on mere words to destroy others, leaving the falsely accused unable to defend themselves, harming loyal subjects and the state. Under my reign, this won’t happen. The Prime Minister is my right hand; I trust him as I trust myself. Thus, no self-blame or thorough investigation is needed. From me, no approval will be granted.”

The Chancellor never waged uncertain battles in governance. Hands tucked, he said: “The Yan clan resided in Hongnong for generations, migrating to Jingchu in the second year of Xihe. Whether they’ve had no dealings with the Prince of Jing, I can’t affirm. Nor can I vouch for the Prince’s loyalty. However, this morning, after Your Majesty left my residence, a Counselor from Jing State arrived with a letter from the Prince…” Reaching into his sleeve, he produced the letter and ribbon, lightly tossing it. “For Your Majesty’s perusal.”

A crimson silk ribbon floated from his sleeve, landing gracefully flat due to its lightness. The ministers stared—the unmistakable shape of a woman’s belly band, intricately embroidered with auspicious motifs. Such intimate items were familiar to married men, but seeing one emerge from the Chancellor’s sleeve in the emperor’s presence was scandalous. The ministers were visibly uncomfortable. Looking up, they saw the young emperor’s pale face redden, almost matching the hue of the garment. After a pause, she coughed softly. “Prime Minister, you’ve dropped something.”

Seemingly unfazed, he bent swiftly to retrieve it, tucking it back into his sleeve. Bowing slightly, he said: “My apologies, gentlemen—pretend you saw nothing.” He handed the Prince’s letter to the eunuch commander, repeating: “For Your Majesty’s perusal.”

Fu Wei gripped the silk tightly, her mind a whirlwind. Shame? Yes, she wanted to vanish into the ground, but anger dominated.

She hadn’t expected him to reveal it publicly. A warning—its origin now clear to him. Her actions had crossed his line, and he reminded her: he held her most lethal secret. If she valued her life, she’d tread carefully.

Fine, very fine! Humiliated tears threatened to fall. All her affection cast aside—he didn’t care at all. When push came to shove, he’d sacrifice her life to protect the Yan clan and his position.

What did she mean to him? Just another entertainer outside the palace? His casual retrieval of the belly band stung her eyes. First, he referenced her overnight stay; then, he proved he wasn’t interested in men—a flawless performance. She cursed herself for seeing perfection in him, forgetting his ruthless nature.

Yet she couldn’t lose composure—not with so many watching. Taking a deep breath, she focused on the letter, though her mind raced. Nodding absently, she said: “Everything—I’m aware. The Prime Minister’s loyalty has never been doubted. Matters concerning Jing State require investigation…”

The Chancellor acknowledged with a bow. “I propose sending Tiger General Huo Ding and Commander Sima Qi secretly to Jingchu for a thorough investigation. Your Majesty’s thoughts?”

Fu Wei’s limbs chilled, sweat breaking out on her forehead. Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth. “Leave everything to the Prime Minister.”

“Leave everything to the Prime Minister”—those familiar words, uttered for ten years. Despite her struggles, she always returned to square one. She suspected her efforts seemed child’s play to him. His lenience stemmed from knowing her weakness, nudging her back into line whenever she strayed.

Alas, last night she thought him vulnerable. Yet in political matters, he remained unyielding. She dared not meet the Grand Tutor’s eyes, fearing his disappointment. All her efforts aimed to prevent uttering those words again. Yet here she was, subdued, unable to reveal the real reason.

The ministers slowly exited the Yuecheng Hall. Seated behind the imperial desk, she clenched her fists tightly. Wanting to move but unable, she sat frozen until Shangguan Zhao entered to check on her.

“What’s wrong, Your Majesty?” Seeing her pallor, he hesitated before approaching.

Fu Wei shook her head. “Nothing.” But after kneeling too long, she stumbled upon standing.

Shangguan Zhao quickly steadied her, his voice rising angrily. “Did the Chancellor commit an offense?”

How could she explain? Words failed her. Clutching his robe, she trembled silently.