PM - 39

A pillar of the midstream, a beam of the court—if one adds to that the position of Consort Zhaoyi, just below the Empress, even without including the stipend of a marquis, it would be enough to support ten Zhijinyu (Commandants of the Palace Guards) or twenty Taipuling (Ministers of the Imperial Stud). Thinking about this made Fu Wei feel the pinch in her purse. Thus, obtaining both the empire and a beauty required sufficient energy and financial backing. However, the Chancellor’s talents and charm were worth every bit of that price. If he agreed, even if she had to sell everything she owned, she was prepared to provide for him.

The current Chancellor reminded her of the little rabbit she secretly kept many years ago—sensitive, timid, seeing snakes in the shadows. Just a light touch would startle him greatly. Those misty eyes darted left and right, avoiding her gaze. She savored it slowly, tasting his helplessness and resignation. Therefore, her persistent harassment had indeed yielded some results.

She nudged him, “Aru, why aren’t you speaking?”

What could he say? The Chancellor felt as though he were being roasted over a fire. This child, whom he had once manipulated like a puppet, had grown strong and unbreakable in just two or three months. Besides astonishment and admiration, what else could he say? He no longer understood his own thoughts. They had fought, he had suppressed her, knowing full well that their situations were like water and fire. Yet, he still couldn’t help but hope for a bit of sincerity from her—was he going mad? What exactly was sincerity? Was it her remembering their bond while sitting high in the temple, allowing him to continue leading the ministers? Was it when foreign envoys came to pay tribute, only knowing of Chancellor Yan and not the young emperor? Thinking of this, he almost wanted to laugh. How could an emperor like her tolerate his arrogance? Even if there was affection, it would gradually erode through repeated confrontations. The fates of powerful ministers had too many precedents. His emotional involvement would only accelerate the process of destruction, leaving behind a reputation as a court jester. Why bother?

He turned his head; the distance between their noses was at most the width of a finger. He looked straight into her heart, “What does Your Majesty truly want?”

She smiled mischievously, “You, your heart, your body, everything about you.”

“Has Your Majesty forgotten how I treated you before?”

Her smile faltered. Bringing up the past now was certainly untimely. During his regency, he had stripped her of all imperial power, maximizing the authority of the chancellor, leaving her with nothing. She remembered how the late Princess Danyang had once come to the palace to plead for mercy because her cousin, then a Bubing Xiaowei (Colonel of the Infantry), had taken in a lone Hun girl. That Hun girl was later identified as the daughter of King Hao Su, and someone accused the colonel of treason. She knew her cousin’s character—he was brave, loyal, and kind... But she couldn’t save him. The Chancellor forced her to issue the edict herself. Princess Danyang wept bitterly as she sent him off, and in the end, her cousin was executed.

Recalling the old events sent shivers down her spine. At that time, she was still young, thinking he was just enforcing the law strictly. Only later did she realize that he was using this as an excuse to sever any potential support she might rely on in the future. If the colonel were still alive, with his military achievements, his promotion to Zhijinyu (Commandant of the Palace Guards) would have been a natural progression.

Her arms gradually loosened, still trying to maintain composure, “I was naive back then; you taught me, and I don’t blame you...”

“What about the future?” He looked at her, leaving no room for retreat. “If I don’t relinquish power in the future, what will Your Majesty do?”

Seeing her struggle to maintain her smile, he couldn’t help but feel disheartened. Of course, her purpose was so obvious—how could he fall into her trap?

Her arm slipped from his shoulder, but unwilling to be toyed with again, he reached out and pulled her into his arms. His thumb caressed her slender waist, adopting a frivolous tone to tease, “My methods may not be as varied as Your Majesty’s, but I believe I learn quickly. Is this what Your Majesty likes? To be lip-locked with me? To have skin-to-skin contact with me? I’m already twenty-eight years old; if I were truly so unromantic, wouldn’t I have wasted my life? You said you want an heir—why delay? Tonight, with its dark sky and high winds, is a perfect time.” He kissed her earlobe, his hands moving upward to her crossed collar.

Fu Wei, who had always been in control, felt a sudden fear. She hastily raised her head and saw the cold, fierce light in his eyes. He was smiling, but in the lamplight, his smile appeared grotesque. She clutched the brocade quilt beneath her tightly, knowing that whoever retreated now would lose.

“Your Majesty’s tricks are interesting; I quite enjoy them too.” Unwilling to admit defeat, he half-jokingly said, “The most noble woman under heaven, with a beautiful face and a body like a flower—what virtues or abilities do I possess to enjoy such fortune today? Truly, I am blessed three times over. But do you know who suffers the most afterward? I am a man; after the deed, I can simply walk away. But what about Your Majesty? If one day you come to your senses and don’t want to leave behind an heir as unruly as me, it will be too late to regret. Do you understand?”

He spoke these words almost against her lips, each one brimming with provocation. Fu Wei suddenly realized that she had thought too simply before, believing that having a child with him was the most direct way to win him over. But his attitude today made her understand that perhaps she could only have one child in her lifetime, while he could have many women and many sons. By then, the heir would merely be one among many. Would she be planting seeds of disaster for her descendants?

She was startled, “Will you cherish the heir? Will you properly assist him?”

Her undergarment had already slipped from her shoulder. He lowered his eyes, his heartbeat thunderous, but nodded nonchalantly, “Regardless of good or bad, he is my flesh and blood. I have no reason not to assist him.”

“And what about me?” She felt tears welling up. “And what about me? Will you love me?”

He paused, “I am Your Majesty’s chief minister. For state affairs, you can rest assured with me.”

Meaning that even if they slept together, it would be in vain; she would merely be the “most noble mistress,” right?

Her heart suddenly grew cold, and she instantly withdrew from this vortex, pushing him away with all her might.

“On such a fine night, Father Chancellor insists on saying such things—can anything still be accomplished?” As she spoke, she pulled up her undergarment and stood on the bed platform, looking down at him. “It’s late; it’s inconvenient for Father Chancellor to stay in the small chamber. You should return early.”

The Chancellor elegantly adjusted his collar, “Has Your Majesty made up your mind? If you miss this chance, who knows when the next one will come.”

She forced a smile, “If there is a next time, Father Chancellor shouldn’t expect me to be sincere.” With indignation, she waved her sleeve and called out loudly for the attendants, “Escort Chancellor大人 out of the palace.”

Hulü and Shangguan soon entered the inner chamber. Seeing the young emperor standing amidst the disheveled bedding and the Chancellor sitting with lowered head on the bed platform, the scene was tense, like two armies facing off, which was truly astonishing.

The two attendants exchanged glances. Hulü was merely embarrassed, but anger flashed across Shangguan Zhao’s face, and without a word, he was about to draw his sword. Hulü subtly pressed down on his hand, stepping forward to shield him, bowing and addressing the Chancellor, “Please.”

The Chancellor stepped down from the bed platform, as calm and elegant as ever. As he passed by Shangguan Zhao, he stopped, sneering coldly, “You must not overstep. If I catch you disrespecting His Majesty again, I’ll send you to the silkworm chamber.” With that, he flicked his sleeves and strode out of the inner chamber.

Shangguan Zhao, red-faced from the Chancellor’s preemptive warning, turned sharply, glaring at his retreating figure with mounting rage. Wasn’t this turning the tables? He had been summoned down from the bed platform by the young emperor—how dare the Chancellor accuse him of disrespect? Yan Xiangru had always disliked him, even from childhood. Over the years, not only had this animosity not diminished, but it had become increasingly pronounced. If he had been unclear about the reasons before, he now seemed to understand—it was all because of the young emperor. The Chancellor lacked the demeanor of an elder and harbored a distorted possessiveness toward the young emperor. Perhaps he himself hadn’t realized it, but Shangguan saw it clearly.

“Your Majesty,” he turned to look at the young emperor, “the Chancellor...”

Fu Wei raised her hand to cut him off, “Go, let me be alone.”

Shangguan Zhao had no choice but to bow and withdraw from the inner chamber. However, he didn’t dare go far, stopping at the other end of the hall to quietly wait. Soon, he heard the sound of objects falling inside the small chamber, a continuous clatter. He furrowed his brows, knowing the young emperor was venting her anger. Let her be, as long as she felt better. However, soon muffled sobs followed, and his heart tightened. Even if the young emperor didn’t say it, he could guess what had transpired. The rumors about the Chancellor and the young emperor outside seemed to have some truth to them. It wasn’t just that the young emperor was suppressed politically by Yan Xiangru, but even her dignity as a person had been stripped away by that treacherous chancellor. Where in this world was there a more tragic emperor than her? If life was a form of cultivation, the tribulations she endured should have allowed her to achieve enlightenment long ago. Why was she still rolling in the dust of the mortal world? It was the injustice of heaven and earth.

Meanwhile, the Chancellor who had left the Eastern Palace was like a walking corpse. He didn’t remember how he exited through Canglong Gate or how he boarded the carriage. Earlier, he had broken out in a sweat in Zhangde Hall, and the evening breeze chilled him to the bone. He rubbed his arms, weakly leaning against the carriage. The wheels rolled, bumping over uneven roads, and his forehead collided with the carved panel, thudding repeatedly. He felt no pain, only endless numbness.

He didn’t know how to make himself feel better. A wind lamp hung on the carriage door, casting only a faint light inside. In that dim light, he took out the bamboo hairpin, flipping it over and over. He still couldn’t understand why he had gone to the Chunsheng Pavilion retreat, spending an entire day making such a useless thing. What was the point of keeping it? It served no purpose, only proving his once pitiful madness.

If Shangguan Zhao’s hairpin hadn’t preempted his move, perhaps he would have presented this one. What would Fu Wei think upon seeing it? Would she be pleased or smug? Both were prideful and stubborn, neither willing to yield, so their interactions were like needle against awn. Fortunately, she hadn’t seen it; he felt immense relief. A shameful token, good only for providing amusement. He calmly pushed open the carriage window and tossed the hairpin out. With that act, he severed ties with his earlier lapse in judgment, choosing instead to keep her wary and cautious. Only by doing so could he regain his dignity and ensure she wouldn’t look down on him.

Neither of them were people who became entangled in emotions and couldn’t extricate themselves. That was good—no clinging.

Five days later, during the court session, Fu Wei ordered the reading of the imperial edict granting the title of Marquis to General Yih Wei Shangguan Zhao. Though there had been opposition before, thanks to prior support from the Chancellor, this time it went smoothly.

She gazed at the assembled ministers below, “The beloved daughter of Marquis Gai and Princess Dingyang has come to the capital with the princess these past few days. I’ve met her twice at Empress Dowager’s quarters. The young lady is wise and dignified, a perfect match for Marquis Guannei. I’ve also consulted with the princess, who is very pleased. In a few days, I will issue the decree to bestow this marriage, thus finalizing the union.” She smiled gracefully, her gaze as calm as water, slowly sweeping over the lords present, then leaned forward slightly, saying, “Since the case of the palace maid murdering the sovereign occurred, I fear I won’t conduct any more selections these next two years. Among the ministers of our court, if any have unmarried children yet to wed, they may report to the Ministry of the Imperial Household. I am very willing to play matchmaker and be the old man under the moon.”

The young emperor’s words were light, but the ministers’ hearts were stirred in various ways. Those who once scoffed at the young emperor’s arbitrary ennoblement now truly understood his intentions. The ennoblement was merely a means to arrange the marriage, using his attendant to secure Marquis Gai. Though understandable, it still seemed somewhat perplexing. If truly considering the political situation, why not emulate Emperor Wu of Han’s ‘golden house hiding beauty’ strategy? Why go through such elaborate measures and even risk great unpopularity by ennobling a rankless general just for the sake of matching statuses?

Fu Wei knew the ministers harbored doubts but chose not to address them. She revisited the matter of noble fiefs previously discussed.

“The Chancellor and I have deliberated on the matter of distributing public fields to peasants for cultivation, and I find it highly feasible. Father Chancellor has led by example. Yesterday, we received reports that several nobles—Marquis Pingchang, Lord Jing, Marquis Chenliu, and others—have responded positively. All high-ranking officials in our court holding titles have acted accordingly, demonstrating the unity of our civil and military officials. The land seizure cases from Emperor Guang’s period will certainly not recur.” After speaking, she paused briefly and continued, “A few days ago in Mingguang Hall, while discussing politics with the central office officials, we recalled policies from Emperor Ping’s era—state monopolies on salt and iron, wine taxes, and equitable transportation—all still in effect. While these measures have enriched the state treasury, they have also concentrated wealth greatly into the hands of bureaucrats, landlords, and merchants. The hardships of commoners and artisans cannot be reconciled, as reflected in the recent unrest in the southeast. Farmers bear heavy burdens, women are taxed repeatedly, and wealthy officials and merchants hoard goods for emergencies, buying cheap and selling dear... If this continues, the stability of the nation will inevitably shake—not just in the southeast, but revolts in the northwest and northeast will follow. Then, how will we, your sovereign and ministers, face this?”

After all, the civil and military officials were no amateurs. With their keen instincts, they quickly grasped the young emperor’s intent. It seemed tax reform was due, but this reform would undoubtedly harm the interests of the upper echelons of the Yin dynasty. Pushing such reforms repeatedly might not benefit the young emperor.

Fortunately, the young emperor wasn’t foolish. She didn’t reveal her stance but instead allowed the ministers to deliberate. Some supported, some opposed, each presenting reasoned arguments, and once again, the court fell into a stalemate.

Fu Wei looked toward the Chancellor, intentionally observing his neck. However, he had already donned a fox fur collar, concealing the mark but enlarging its implications manifold. She tugged at the corner of her mouth, “I wish to hear Father Chancellor’s thoughts.”

Holding his tablet, the Chancellor reported to her: “In my humble opinion, gradual progress is the best strategy. Taxes should be reduced, but not too hastily. Since the beginning of the year, the Wuhuan have repeatedly invaded our northern borders. Though the court has dispatched cavalry to repel them, this is merely a temporary solution. When the Wuhuan might return is unknown. For long-term peace, border defenses must be strengthened, troop numbers increased, and defensive fortifications built. Currently, the north is entering harsh winter, and the army requires significant expenditures for warmth. If taxation is drastically reduced now, next year’s finances will become strained. What then?”

Fu Wei sighed and nodded, “Father Chancellor’s words are very true. However, the late emperor left instructions to govern with benevolence and virtue...”

The Chancellor wouldn’t budge an inch, “Securing the north and preventing the people from suffering displacement is the greatest benevolence.”

His refusal to follow her line of thought didn’t anger her but rather made her grateful—grateful that their political views aligned and that he currently bore no divided loyalties. In fact, her proposal was a test. Had their last unpleasant parting bred resentment, he would surely have strongly supported her reforms. The nobles, generals, officials, and wealthy gentry formed the bedrock of the upper class of the Yin dynasty. Plotting against noble fiefs five days ago and attacking wealthy gentry’s livelihoods five days later—if she offended all these people at once, her throne would become unstable.

For now, at least the Chancellor hadn’t abandoned her. She secretly exhaled in relief. Even without affection, there was no need to reach a deadlock. Otherwise, one of them would have to die first to quell this internal strife.

“Good,” she relaxed slightly, leaning back onto the armrest. “Let’s set aside the discussion on salt and iron taxes for now. Father Chancellor’s proposal to strengthen border defenses cannot be neglected. I’m considering possibly reducing the boundaries of the Xuantu Commandery. If conditions allow, another commandery might be established. What does Father Chancellor think?”

Admiration gleamed in the Chancellor’s eyes. It was indeed rare for a girl to possess such acute political acumen.

He slightly lowered his head, “Your Majesty’s decision is astute, I concur.”

The young emperor smiled kindly, “Then everything rests on Father Chancellor. Please prepare a roster of officials for the commanderies and states. We will discuss it together.”

When Emperor Zhao sought the advice of his regent ministers regarding the ennoblement of attendants, he had said, “Isn’t the ennoblement up to me and the general?” Appointments of officials indeed didn’t require the consensus of the entire court. However, such authority, when the young emperor had yet to engage in politics, was usually decided by the Three Dukes collectively. Now, as the young emperor sought to take control, it became “you and I will discuss,” clearly showing her determination to gradually seize power.

The Chancellor offered no comment, which was tacit approval. Fu Wei finally loosened her clenched hands. Her mood was quite good after the session ended, and she visited Princess Changzhu and Lady Langlang in Jingfu Palace.

Upon seeing her, Langlang no longer spoke freely as before. The little girl respectfully performed a proper greeting, addressing her as “Your Imperial Majesty” and referring to herself as “this lowly concubine.”

Fu Wei glanced around. The palace maids had been packing bundles, but upon her arrival, they bowed their heads and retreated to the side, attempting to hide the packed items behind their skirts, though the outlines were still visible.

“What is busy here in the palace?” she asked knowingly, glancing at Langlang.

Princess Dingyang’s expression was uneasy. She tucked her sleeves and slightly bowed, “My daughter and I have been in the capital for some time, originally visiting the Empress Dowager. Now it’s time to return to our residence. Moreover, since Langlang has been honored with Your Majesty’s consideration and granted a marriage, I must prepare her dowry. Staying in the palace indefinitely isn’t practical.”

Originally aiming to enter the palace as empress, she ended up merely a marquise’s wife—a considerable drop. Fu Wei knew she was embarrassed but pretended otherwise, gently saying, “Auntie originally came from the palace; this palace is her natal home. As for Lady Langlang, in my eyes, she is akin to a close sibling. Thus, marrying Langlang to Zhao is my utmost protection of familial ties. I hope you understand my intentions. Though your residence awaits, the palace remains open to you and Langlang. Whenever you wish to visit, you may return anytime. Please don’t feel estranged.”

The princess looked at her ambiguously, “Your Majesty’s heart, I understand. This is also for our benefit, not wanting our lord and the Chancellor to become enemies...”

As they conversed inside the hall, suddenly Langlang’s crisp voice rang out from outside, “So you are my husband?”

Fu Wei turned toward the sound and saw a young girl in a cross-laced quju dress standing under the corridor, looking up at the tall, armored youth in crimson robes. The young man visibly flustered, awkwardly confirming, “Yes...” Then he crouched with a smile, “Lady, you may call me Zhao. My mother is your aunt—we’re cousins.”

① “Sent to the silkworm room”: Refers to castration. After undergoing castration, one is prone to catching colds and needs to recover in a warm, windless room akin to a silkworm chamber until the wound heals before emerging. Hence, it is often used as a metaphor.