PM - 38

Today, the Chancellor was different from usual. Seated in the highest seat, his spirit seemed elsewhere. The ministers’ discussions mostly revolved around matters of people’s livelihood: “Nowadays, the land granted to princes and marquises keeps increasing, causing hardships for commoners and officials alike. There have even been cases of slaves starving to death. If this continues, how can we claim to give the people a respite? Although His Majesty is unwell today, all matters still rest on the Chancellor’s shoulders. No matter how difficult, we must find a solution. In the southeast, there have been minor rebellions, which have been quelled, but the situation remains urgent. If this persists, the chronic issues from Emperor Guang’s reign will surely resurface. Small problems, if left untreated, will grow into major ailments that require tenfold or even hundredfold effort to rectify later—by then, the costs will be astronomical, and it would be a grave miscalculation.”

After the Imperial Censor finished speaking, the ministers fixed their gaze on the Chancellor, waiting for his response. The Chancellor’s face remained solemn, seemingly deep in thought, but he said nothing for a long while. The issue of the nobles’ fiefdoms was indeed thorny. Once land was granted, it became the recipient’s property, whether left idle, gifted, or leased—it was no longer within the court’s purview to intervene. Thus, the Chancellor’s silence was understandable.

With no reply from him, the ministers began discussing among themselves. After the Grand Herald outlined the practical difficulties, someone immediately rebutted, and the Minister of Agriculture slammed the table, rising to his feet: “All land under heaven belongs to the emperor! How can it be that once granted, it is beyond question? Even noble titles can be revoked, let alone land! Today, the people in the southeast are starving, and the nobles show no concern for the lives of those under their rule. If the court also turns a blind eye, who will stand up for the people?”

Thus, all eyes turned to the Chancellor: “Lord Chancellor, please say something. Though difficult, we cannot ignore this matter entirely.”

The Chancellor remained silent. Seeing the situation deteriorate, the Chief Censor intervened, gesturing for calm: “Gentlemen, there is no need to rush. This concerns the feudal lords across the realm and requires careful deliberation over time...”

However, the Grand Tutor frowned: “If I recall correctly, the Chancellor holds the title of Marquis of Changce. It seems this matter is indeed quite troublesome.”

This remark struck a chord. The ministers exchanged glances. Discussing the redistribution of noble lands in the presence of the nobility was akin to negotiating with a tiger for its pelt. Thus, the Chancellor’s silence made perfect sense.

The Chancellor’s Chief Clerk grew anxious. Having served the Chancellor for many years, he knew his character well. Even if he were unwilling to compromise his own interests, remaining silent during such an intense interrogation was a grave misstep. Surely the Chancellor understood this principle! Kneeling beside him, he tugged at the Chancellor’s sleeve. After a long while, the Chancellor finally responded with an “Ah,” asking, “What were you gentlemen discussing earlier?” The ministers looked bewildered. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “I lost myself in thought—I apologize. His Majesty is unwell, and last night caused chaos in the Eastern Palace. I am truly worried...”

The Imperial Censor had no choice but to repeat his report. This time, the Chancellor listened carefully and quickly replied: “When I received my title from Emperor Wen, my fief was in Pengcheng. Later, when the current emperor ascended the throne, it was moved to Qu’e, increasing to two thousand households... The Chancellery should issue a proclamation to the people. For the sake of giving them a respite, I am willing to allow impoverished peasants under my jurisdiction to cultivate my lands, providing them with seeds and rations while exempting them from taxes and corvée labor.” Pausing, he patted his knee and added, “To touch the lands of the nobility is by no means an easy task. I will lead by example. As for the lands of Yan Wang in Shanggu and Yuyang in the southeast, whether he will be moved by this remains to be seen. For now, the priority is to distribute public lands. I must report this matter to His Majesty again. Ultimately, the decision rests with the emperor.”

“The emperor’s decision”—this phrase was deeply intriguing. Though the Chancellor was reluctant to relinquish power, he was gradually beginning to nurture the young emperor. Whether this was sincere or merely posturing remained unclear.

The ministers harbored various thoughts, but the Chancellor appeared indifferent. With the matter temporarily settled, the court session concluded. Exiting through Quefei Gate, a light drizzle began to fall. He raised his wide sleeves to shield himself, stopping at Sima Gate to look back toward Zhangde Hall. The emperor’s residence was majestic and imposing; from here, the sharp, angular eaves were still visible, cutting through the sky like blades. Rolling up his sleeves with a sigh, he felt no lingering worries. Time to return!

Turning decisively toward the gate, the bustling Zhuzhu Street came into view—a prosperous scene under the emperor’s rule. He smiled faintly and boarded his carriage: “To Chunsheng Pavilion.”

Chunsheng Pavilion was not only home to precious herbs like baopu but also housed his retreat. However, he rarely visited, only staying briefly when seeking solitude. Alas, burdened with the nation’s affairs, he had little time to retreat and enjoy peace. Yet today, inexplicably weary, he had resolved during the session to avoid further political discussion and head straight there after the court meeting.

The steward had already arranged everything before the carriage arrived. Preferring solitude, the Chancellor ensured only one steward awaited him at the entrance. Stepping out of the carriage, he muttered, “Unless the sky falls, do not disturb me,” and walked alone into the depths of the garden, umbrella in hand. Each time he visited, he had a fixed destination: a small pavilion by the inner lake, where bamboo swayed gently above and colorful carp swam lazily below—it was his favorite spot in the entire estate.

The servants had prepared tea utensils, neatly arranged on a bamboo table. He moved the lacquer tray aside, placing his jade-hilted sword on the table, and began inspecting the bamboo stalks one by one. This one too slender, that one lacking vibrant green... Finally, he found a satisfactory phoenix bamboo. Drawing his sword, he cut it open, splitting the joints. After measuring its length, it seemed just right. By then, the steward had brought the carving knife, unsure of the Chancellor’s intentions but too timid to ask. Hesitating, he lingered at the edge of the pavilion. A glance from the Chancellor sent him scurrying away, neck tucked in fear.

Alone, the Chancellor felt no loneliness. After smoothing the bamboo strips, he began meticulously carving. A pair of fish—he had planned this beforehand. A single fish might seem lonely, but a pair would bring liveliness.

A hairpin has a single prong, while a hairpin with double prongs requires more effort. Though skilled in engraving seals, the Chancellor was less practiced in crafting hairpins. Bamboo, being tougher than stone, took considerable effort to split into two prongs.

The Chancellor, who usually handled state affairs with swift efficiency, lamenting the brevity of dawn, now devoted great patience to this trivial task, feeling no sense of wasted time. Each scale, each eye, he carved with meticulous care. By the time the bamboo hairpin was complete, dusk had fallen.

As the rain intensified, he stepped out of the pavilion, soon drenched at the hem of his robe. Boarding the carriage, he ordered a return to the palace. Resting his feet on the yak-hair rug, he toyed with the bamboo hairpin in his hand, feeling an inexplicable unease. Taking several deep breaths, he barely managed to steady himself.

Entering the palace, he did not require layer upon layer of announcements. Concealing the day’s political scrolls in his sleeve, he was prepared to answer should the young emperor inquire. Descending from the covered walkway, he saw the palace lamps lit in Zhangde Hall as attendants exited the main hall in formation—it was time to close the imperial bedchamber.

Jianye was about to order the gates locked when he saw guards escorting the Chancellor with lanterns. Startled, he hurried forward to greet him: “So late at night, why has Lord Hou come to the palace?”

The Chancellor casually grunted, “How is His Majesty faring?”

Jianye replied: “The fever hasn’t completely subsided, and His Majesty lacks strength, having not left the palace all day.”

The Chancellor slowed his pace, asking, “Is the Empress still here?”

“His Majesty has already ordered the Attendant to escort the Empress back to her residence. The Empress was worried about His Majesty, but His Majesty consoled her, saying the wedding is near, and they will soon be together day and night. He asked the Empress not to worry.”

Ah, the romance of youth was so sweet, filling Jianye with envy. The young emperor’s life was fraught with thorns, but if she could find a kindred soul in her queen, the future years in the deep palace would not be so unbearable. Having someone to share burdens would be far better than enduring solitude.

Upon hearing this account, the Chancellor showed no sign of the relief an elder might feel seeing harmony between his ward and nephew. Without a word, he proceeded without announcement, entering the sleeping chamber and stopping to bow solemnly: “Your servant Rú pays respects to Your Majesty.”

Fu Wei, preparing for bed, heard the Chancellor’s voice and stepped out of the inner chamber, surprised: “Is there urgent business? Why has Father Chancellor come to the palace at this hour?”

Her face bore signs of illness, dressed in a deep garment embroidered with rhombus patterns. Despite her condition, she stood tall and straight.

The Chancellor performed the formalities, reporting the day’s events in the court session. However, he guessed she already knew them, so his words carried a distracted tone.

Fu Wei responded formally: “Father Chancellor sets a fine example, and I am greatly comforted. Regarding the southeast, I heard of it six months ago. Yan Wang is unjust, and the lives of his subjects are difficult. I have often pondered how to handle this matter.” As she spoke, she turned and walked back inside. “The attendants may all withdraw... Father Chancellor, come inside. My legs are weak from standing; let us discuss while seated.”

Jianye waved swiftly, and all attendants on duty inside and outside the inner chamber withdrew. The Chancellor hesitated visibly, but she paid him no mind, proceeding into the inner chamber herself.

The Chancellor reached into his sleeve, fingertips brushing the bamboo hairpin. Finally gritting his teeth, he followed her in.

The imperial bedchamber was brightly lit. The young emperor had already removed her deep garment and reclined on the bed, smiling lazily at him: “Forgive my informality, Father Chancellor, and do not take offense. Regarding Yan Wang, we must discuss this matter thoroughly. He and Jing Wang are now threats within the court. I fear that one day, they will rebel. Father Chancellor, please exert extra effort—once we have evidence against them, removing their titles will facilitate the redistribution of their lands...” Gazing at him under the lamplight, her eyes clear and bright, an unexpected thought stirred within her: “Father Chancellor...”

The brilliance in his eyes flickered again, “Your Majesty...”

“Father Chancellor...”

His chest tightened slightly, “Please instruct me, Your Majesty.”

“Did you really come to the palace for state affairs? Or were you worried about my illness and came to see me?”

She leaned against the armrest, her weak gaze rippling with charm. The Chancellor felt a flush creep up his ears and quickly averted his eyes, “I came for state affairs...”

“Liar,” she chuckled softly. “Though the rebellion in the southeast was significant, it has already been quelled, and there are no urgent reports arriving at court. Is it necessary for you to rush into the palace in the middle of the night? Father Chancellor, don’t you have any diversions during your leisure time? All you do is handle official matters and read books—how dull! If you miss me in the future, just come to visit. I can’t leave, but you can come to see me—I’m always happy to see you.”

As she spoke, her lips curved into a smile—not forced or artificial, but genuine joy. The Chancellor exhaled softly, “I was indeed also concerned about Your Majesty’s...” Suddenly, he noticed a wooden hairpin in her hand. It was lacquered, appearing glossy and smooth, but it wasn’t the broken hairpin she had held earlier. His heart began to race, “Is that not Lady Lou’s relic in Your Majesty’s hand?”

She glanced down at the hairpin and hummed with a smile, “Attendant Shangguan made this for me. He’s thoughtful—he feared I would constantly be reminded of the past, so he replaced that broken hairpin with this one.”

The Chancellor remained silent, his hands unconsciously gripping the fabric of his robe tightly, wringing it too hard. The pain from his fingers, which had previously held the carving knife, was intense—it didn’t even feel like his own.

Shangguan Zhao didn’t know the young emperor was a woman, so what he made was a hairpin—long and rugged, suitable for securing a ceremonial cap. In contrast, his own creation was overly sentimental—a useless hairpin, something only women wore. For her, it might never be of use in her entire life.

A wasted effort. His heart sank. What had come over him? Had he truly begun to waver, falling into her trap? Despite rushing happily to his retreat and even feeling proud while carving, now that bamboo hairpin lay mockingly in his sleeve, an obvious joke that left him utterly embarrassed.

Slowly releasing his grip, he lowered his eyes and said, “Your Majesty will soon take a queen, a joyous occasion for the entire nation. If Your Majesty desires, we could coincide this with a change of era name and posthumously honor Consort Lou as Empress Dowager.”

Fu Wei hadn’t expected him to bring this up voluntarily. Perhaps it was due to the influence of that hairpin—without her having to say anything, he had already agreed.

“Father Chancellor, do you mean it?” Overjoyed, she straightened up and moved closer to the edge of the bed, leaning forward to ask, “Can I really posthumously honor my mother? Will the ministers object?”

The Chancellor nodded reluctantly, “As long as Your Majesty wishes, anything is possible. You’ve reigned for over ten years—it’s only right to honor your birth mother. No one among the civil and military officials would oppose it.”

He had expected her to immediately arrange for the honors, but she didn’t. After the initial wave of immense joy, she gradually calmed down, bowing her head without speaking for a long while. Unsure of her thoughts, the Chancellor cautiously called out to her. She lifted her head and smiled again, “Let’s put this matter on hold for now. We can handle it after the grand ceremony—it won’t be too late.”

The Chancellor understood. Given his knowledge of her, if she had agreed immediately, she wouldn’t be the young emperor. With the wedding to the empress followed by the coming-of-age ceremony and full accession to power, she wasn’t entirely confident about the smooth transition of power, needing Empress Dowager Liang’s support. Acting impulsively now might offend Empress Dowager Liang, making subsequent matters difficult. Posthumous honors could wait—if they had been delayed for ten years, waiting a little longer wouldn’t hurt. She clearly knew what was most pressing.

For a girl to be so calculating—it was troubling. But as an emperor, such qualities were essential. Without them, she’d forever live under others’ control, abandoned one day with no way out but death. Over the years, he had taught her moderation, but the results weren’t ideal. She had her own strategies and personality—he couldn’t reshape her and could only let her develop as she saw fit.

Fu Wei had been covertly observing his expression. The Chancellor remained calm even amidst chaos, quietly listening and executing decisions. She knew she wasn’t seen as a good girl in his eyes—nor did she ever aspire to be one. He was strong; perhaps he didn’t prefer delicate, fragile women. Life was boring—having an equally matched opponent made it more colorful, didn’t it?

The high bed was level with him as she lay upon it. Just as she was about to call him, a sudden itch seized her throat. She quickly covered her mouth and coughed violently, struggling to catch her breath. Seeing her like this alarmed the Chancellor. He hastily removed his shoes, stepped onto the wooden platform, and patted her back with his sleeve, sorrowfully saying, “Why hasn’t it improved? Is Magistrate Nie’s medicine ineffective?”

Those who suffer from coughing know it’s a fierce battle. When it subsided, she was utterly exhausted, leaning on his shoulder, panting heavily. “This is the hardest to treat, and my fever hasn’t completely subsided yet...”

Her soft body leaning on him made the Chancellor uneasy. He didn’t dare move, his neck stiffening. She was indeed still feverish, burning like a furnace when close. Perhaps delirious from the illness, her reliance at this moment shouldn’t be taken seriously. Struggling to maintain composure, he calmly said, “Perhaps we shouldn’t have let Lingjun leave so early. If he stayed another night, adjusting the prescription appropriately, recovery would be faster.”

“Does Father Chancellor truly wish him to stay another night?” She raised her face, her warm breath brushing against his cheek, “If he stays another night and does something to me, will you regret it?”

The Chancellor suddenly found himself at a loss for words, stuttering, unsure how to respond.

Fu Wei chuckled secretly, gently wrapping her arms around his neck and nuzzling him like a cat, “I like you, Father Chancellor. Even if I walk the path to the underworld, you’ll pull me back, won’t you?”

Feeling the situation growing perilous, the Chancellor shifted slightly backward, “Your Majesty overestimates me—I may not have such ability... Your condition is poor; you should lie down. Sitting makes you prone to catching a chill, which would worsen your illness.”

“Last night, Lingjun said warming me would help my recovery faster. If Father Chancellor warms me, I’ll surely be lively tomorrow.” Her breath was fragrant, her voice low, eventually turning into an ambiguous whisper, irresistibly alluring in the rainy night.

Was the Chancellor’s heart racing? Fu Wei sensed his whole body stiffening. She was a bit scared herself but couldn’t help but anticipate—whatever happened, she would have no regrets.

Her fingertips moved upward, caressing the skin beneath his ear, “What’s wrong, Father Chancellor? Are you burning up too—are you feverish?” He struggled, but she wouldn’t let him escape, tightening her arms threateningly, “I’m sick, and Father Chancellor has no patience? If you move again, it’s disrespect—treason!”

The Chancellor couldn’t help but bitterly smile, “I didn’t even bring my sword in—how am I supposed to commit treason?”

“You have a hundred ways to kill me.” Her nose lightly grazed the line of his jaw, “For example... mesmerizing me to death.”

In this scene, perhaps only the dead wouldn’t be moved. In the past, he would have pushed her away without hesitation, but now, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. That anger and humiliation had subtly transformed into boundless confusion and helplessness. Behind his infatuation was nothing but pain, devoid of pleasure.

“Your Majesty...”

“Call me Ayin.” She nuzzled against his neck, “I like you calling me by my nickname. Why bring titles like ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘My Lord’ into the inner chamber? Leave them in the court.”

He swallowed, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob—how proud and charming he looked with his neck twisted.

She laughed, pressing her lips against that spot. He flinched, wanting to resist, but she tightened her arms warningly, and he froze. Then she sucked forcefully. When she moved her lips away, a round bruise remained above the collar of his undergarment, reminiscent of when she used to suck on her own arm. Admiring it repeatedly, she was immensely pleased, clapping her hands and pointing, “May heaven bear witness—I’ve marked you. From now on, this place, including this person, belongs to me. I’ve had time today to think carefully and plan to establish the position of Consort Zhaoyi. The Consort Zhaoyi position is equivalent to the Chancellor, ranking alongside dukes and marquises. This position is tailor-made for you. Consort Yan Zhaoyi—sounds nice, doesn’t it? You were dissatisfied before with Zhao wearing two sashes; now you’ll have three sashes and three seals. I can barely afford your salary—there’s no other way but to offer myself.”