PM - 70

Even after his downfall, the chancellor maintained his dignity—no matter how dire the situation, he would never reveal any sign of distress. Thus, when meeting him, there was little difference from his usual image: resplendent in fine robes, dignified and poised. Only the faint shadow under his eyes hinted at his recent misfortune—he was no longer the omnipotent chancellor who once controlled everything.

Lü Daochi, the Prefect of Hengshui, had no prior connection with the chancellor. He only remembered that once, when reporting financial matters of the imperial parks, an error was caught by one of the chancellor’s scrupulous clerks—a stern scholar who spared no feelings, thoroughly reprimanding Lü despite his higher rank, leaving him mortified. Later, when the matter reached the chancellor, his reaction was mild. After clarifying the details without further ado, he corrected the error with a brush stroke, rolled up the bamboo slips, and stored them away. Hence, Lü Daochi held a favorable opinion of him and didn’t find working with him particularly difficult.

The chancellor entered the reception hall and greeted the military officer handling administrative duties courteously, bowing slightly. “Long time no see, Prefect. How have you been?”

Lü Daochi promptly returned the courtesy. “Forgive my intrusion, Your Excellency.”

The chancellor smiled warmly, embodying humility. “Prefect is too kind. Once my door was thronged with visitors; now it’s deserted. I am no longer what I used to be. Having a former colleague visit me is my great fortune.”

Lü Daochi demurred, gradually gaining confidence. The chancellor warmly ushered him to sit, and he did so without excessive politeness. People’s attitudes change with their circumstances. In the past, such courtesies were priceless. Now, each face represented a new opportunity, and the chancellor was adept at assessing situations.

A wine vessel was placed in the hall, brought by the chancellor’s order. Two serving maids poured two cups of clear wine with lacquered ladles, carefully presenting them. The chancellor smiled gently, “Others use tea as a substitute for wine; I use wine as a substitute for tea. Please, Prefect.” He raised his lacquered cup, and Lü Daochi reciprocated, lightly clinking their cups together for familiarity. From the corner of his eye, the chancellor noticed him downing his drink. Covering his cup with his sleeve, he tipped back and drank his as well.

“Spring hunting season is approaching; before long, His Majesty will visit the imperial parks. How do you find time to grace my humble abode?” he asked while murmuring, “The park needs repairs again, the Hun captives require reorganization, and the six stable masterships have always been held by foreigners, which isn’t quite right…” Suddenly pausing, his eyes filled with boundless melancholy. He mockingly tapped his forehead and laughed, “I forgot—I can barely save myself now, how could I possibly concern myself with those matters…”

Lü Daochi observed this, sensing injustice. “Since the late emperor’s passing, Your Excellency has devotedly assisted the young sovereign, exhausting himself daily without rest. Now, His Majesty discards you like spent arrows—it truly chills the heart.”

Upon hearing this, he waved his hand dismissively. “Throughout history, there are countless examples like mine. Achieving too much merit invites disaster—it’s a taboo. Ending up this way was within my expectations.”

Lü Daochi fell silent. The maids refilled their cups, and he toasted the chancellor again. “Your Excellency must forgive my boldness. In my view, nothing in the world can stump the chancellor. If you foresaw this, why not leave yourself a way out? Is Your Excellency willing to accept defeat entirely?”

The chancellor gazed at his reflection in the wine, remaining silent for a long while. Finally, he sighed deeply. “All within the realm are subjects of the king. I ultimately serve others. Even if I had contingency plans, what then?”

Whether or not he harbored grievances could be discerned between the lines. The chancellor was an overlord who once manipulated the court and commanded the world. How could he willingly succumb to a teenager? If there were no rifts between them, outsiders wouldn’t dare interfere. But once estranged, losing control over the entire situation was a punishment worse than death for someone accustomed to wielding power.

Lü Daochi glanced at the attendants standing by. “I have a few words I wish to say privately to Your Excellency. May we dismiss the others?”

The chancellor finally lifted his gaze from the wine haze, slightly raising his hand. The maids understood, stepping back and exiting the hall.

“Does the chancellor harbor any grievances against His Majesty?”

His gaze shifted, scrutinizing him intently. “What does the Prefect mean? As a subject, I dare not feel any dissatisfaction towards my sovereign.”

Lü Daochi chuckled. “The young emperor is narrow-minded, lacking tolerance. Publicly speaking, the chancellor was personally appointed by the late emperor to assist in governance, diligently building a prosperous empire over ten years. Privately, the chancellor was like a brother to the late emperor, and the young emperor should call him Uncle Chancellor. Yet now, on fabricated charges, the chancellor is dragged down from his high position. Does the chancellor not resent this...” He glanced sideways, slowly shaking his head with a smile. “I don’t believe it.”

The chancellor appeared as if struck where it hurt, struggling briefly before abandoning pretense.

“To say I bear no resentment, even I wouldn’t believe it. You know, when His Majesty ascended the throne, the court was in disarray,人心动荡 (hearts wavering). Among the twelve feudal lords, who could submit to a five-year-old child? It was I, meticulously plotting, turning this fiercely contested realm into an impregnable fortress. Who knew that once the realm stabilized, I’d lose my foothold. I still remember the emperor clinging to my leg, saying, ‘Half of the Yuan dynasty’s achievements belong to my esteemed father the chancellor.’ The words were still warm, but hearts turned cold….” He shook his head in disappointment. “The young emperor believes she can rule alone, and old ministers become frost on tiles. Even if I’m unwilling, what can I do?”

Hearing this, Lü Daochi eagerly leaned forward. “Your Excellency possesses talents to govern the world. How can you endure such humiliation? Since hearing about the emperor stripping your powers, I’ve felt indignant on your behalf. Have you considered making a comeback?”

Without a beard, he unconsciously stroked his chin. Lü Daochi saw his eyes gleam brightly, but in the blink of an eye, they dimmed again, despondently sighing, “In the tumultuous sea of politics, one’s fate isn’t self-determined. A comeback, and then what? The emperor said she doesn’t trust questionable people. Given the current situation, even returning to court means walking on thin ice forever—it’s too exhausting.”

Incensed, Lü Daochi raised his voice. “If heaven is unfair, then let’s change it. Has Your Excellency never considered it?”

The chancellor was startled, thinking, ‘Diligence pays off.’ Finally, he waited for this moment, justifying his and Fu Wei’s decision to avoid seeing each other for over ten days.

If others try to incite rebellion, you immediately comply, it might arouse suspicion. Moreover, the mastermind behind this surely isn’t this prefect but someone else. The Empress Dowager, secluded in the palace, serves only to issue edicts changing the emperor. For success, a person with military power is essential. Who this person was remained obscured, but he felt close to the truth. With sufficient bait, the big fish would eventually surface.

He abruptly stood, his expression darkening. “Why exactly have you come today? Listening to you for half a day, it seems you harbor disloyal intentions. Please tread carefully.”

Lü Daochi quickly rose to placate him. “I speak solely for Your Excellency, unwilling to see a precious jade tarnished or a pearl cast in darkness. Please calm down, Your Excellency. If treated with frost, how can one repay with warmth? If you’re content with defeat, even leading to execution, consider my visit today nonexistent. But if you refuse to be toyed with by the emperor, please hear me out.”

The chancellor’s anger surged, his face shifting repeatedly before gradually calming. Dropping his sleeves, he said, “The emperor appoints based on favoritism, yet I’ve never thought to overthrow her. I received my mandate beside the late emperor’s sickbed and swore an oath to him…”

“Did the late emperor instruct the young emperor to never forget your great contributions?”

He hesitated, recalling that indeed he had. Now, she had repaid him in full, body and soul. Others’ provocations couldn’t sway him.

He lamented again. “The emperor’s heart is inscrutable. What great favor? Just temporary appeasement.”

“So, will Your Excellency continue obeying the young emperor? I know you are the Marquis of Longce, once galloping across the land, commanding respect wherever you went. If you’re willing, lost glory can be regained—the realm remains yours.”

This statement plunged them into a prolonged silence. The chancellor frowned at him, but he stood firm, unyielding. The water clock ticked, each drop seeming to fall on one’s forehead. Finally, the chancellor nodded very slowly. “Prefect’s words have enlightened me. However, I’m curious—with my current predicament, how can you be sure I still have room to maneuver?”

Lü Daochi smiled. “Though absent, Your Excellency’s prestige remains undiminished. Both northern and southern armies heed your orders. Even though the young emperor suspended your administrative duties, you’re still the Grand Commander of the capital region. Ten Masters of Splendid Merit and Commandants cannot replace your standing in your former subordinates’ hearts.”

Sure enough, a smile gradually emerged on the chancellor’s face. “Prefect is a clever man; no need for concealment before the wise. Correct—should I wish, both armies still heed my command. But currently, without justification, any move implies rebellion. First, I must find a way back to the military to act.” His gaze circled around him. “Prefect speaking to me thus—surely not aimlessly! I want to hear your sincere thoughts. The Prefect of Hengshui oversees the imperial parks’ finances, unrelated to military affairs. On what grounds do you urge me to rebel against the young emperor?”

The conversation entered a more constructive phase. Lü Daochi visibly relaxed, bowing to the chancellor. “Rest assured, Your Excellency. Though I have no troops, those with soldiers will contact you. When internal and external forces converge, a mere young emperor won’t stand in our way.”

The chancellor inwardly rejoiced. “Who is this person you speak of?”

Lü Daochi looked profoundly secretive. “Not yet ready to inform Your Excellency.”

The chancellor raised an eyebrow. “Plotting with me yet doubting me—Prefect treads a perilous path unheard of.”

“When the time is ripe, Your Excellency will know. For now, revealing it is inappropriate. Please understand.” Seeing lingering doubts, he smiled again. “Today, the young emperor suspends your duties; tomorrow, she might strip your titles. The day after, fabricating a few charges, executing meritorious officials is mere words. Your Excellency has no choice but this path.”

The chancellor pondered, rubbing his forehead. “I’m truly at the end of my rope. Of the three regents, I am the last standing. Now, this fruit is about to fall and rot. I cannot follow their fate.”

Lü Daochi’s visit wasn’t in vain. Though this former powerful minister was difficult to sway, at his wits’ end, grasping at straws, he wouldn’t let go. They had secretly observed beforehand, fearing collusion between him and the young emperor. Yet the chancellor was utterly defeated, while the young emperor busily consolidated power. The saddest thing in the world is teaching apprentices to starve their masters. The young emperor no longer needed anyone’s assistance—reforming currency, unifying salt and iron—all good ministers, but the headship belonged to her. The chancellor was useless, a fan locked in a box, left to decay if he didn’t save himself, destined for corruption and abandonment.

After seeing off the Prefect of Hengshui, the chancellor unprecedentedly escorted him to the gate. With his hands tucked into his sleeves, he watched the man mount his horse and gallop away. A thin veil of dusk began to settle on the horizon. He turned back and asked the steward, “Should I attend tomorrow’s court session or not?”

The steward puffed out his chest and said, “Go. Appear more often before His Majesty so she won’t forget you, and perhaps she’ll restore your position.”

He sneered softly, clasped his hands behind his back, and slowly paced back to his study.

Summoning the Chief Clerk, he buried himself amidst piles of books, occasionally asking, “Has there been any movement in the Yong’an Palace recently?”

The Chief Clerk replied, “The palace is preparing for Empress Dowager Liang’s birthday expenses. Apart from her private treasury’s transactions, there have been no unusual activities.”

He hummed in acknowledgment. “And the Empress?”

“The Changqiu Palace remains as usual. The Empress, being ill for a long time, has not seen outsiders. All palace affairs are conveyed by senior eunuchs, with the Inner Intendant sealing orders. Even when the Empress Dowager inquires, communication occurs through a curtain.” After a pause, the clerk added, “However, today the Empress ordered gifts of hairpins and jewelry to be bestowed upon Princess Yuan Han’s residence, allegedly for Empress Dowager Liang’s birthday.”

“Empress Dowager Liang’s birthday...” He pondered. “Princess Yuan Han indeed lacks proper ceremonial attire, so it’s reasonable for the Empress to bestow gifts...”

The Empress was meticulous; it was common for women of the imperial clan who had lost their fathers to receive special care. However, this consideration stemmed from the assumption that the Empress was a woman. For Lingjun, a man, to consider such details so carefully was truly remarkable.

The chancellor sighed. His own student—hopefully nothing would go wrong. In these tense times, every move was fraught with suspicion. Besides himself, anyone could be suspect.

After dismissing the Chief Clerk, he wrote a line on a small piece of silk. Rolling it up, he tied it to the leg of a carrier pigeon. Dozens were released together—nine to confuse, one flying directly to her.

Night crept in heavily, lanterns hung from the eaves of the palace, casting such bright light that even the stars dimmed. Faint flapping sounds reached her ears. Fu Wei stood under the dripping eaves, looking up. A dark silhouette swooped down, landing on the terrace before her. Gray body, yellow eyes—seeing it felt like seeing the chancellor himself.

Her heart leapt with joy. She retrieved the silk from the pigeon’s leg band and returned to the hall to read it. The message was brief, without unnecessary words: “Request reinstatement to the army; two colonels can be appointed.” Signed modestly with “Chun” in the bottom right corner. She traced the character repeatedly, her longing unspoken but comforted merely by seeing his name.

But why request reinstatement to the army? Previously, he had resisted her appointing colonels, yet now he relented. It must be related to the visit from the Prefect of Hengshui. Seizing every possible opportunity, she had never slackened. But this stratagem of suffering pained her heart. Others in love could be together day and night, but they, in the same city, couldn’t meet. She knew he must feel wronged. For someone accustomed to busyness, sudden idleness was painful. Calculating in his mind, while fearing her changes, he must be enduring greatly!

She secretly chuckled. Pretending magnanimity while being petty, Chancellor Ruchun was suffering unbearably.

At the next court session, he appeared, still leading the officials with unwavering stability. Fu Wei sat solemnly on her throne, gazing deeply at him. He met her gaze, his eyes filled with affection. No words were needed between them; this exchange spoke volumes.

“The northern and southern armies are currently managed temporarily by the Commander of the Palace Guards and the Grand Master of Ceremonies. However, a leaderless group cannot stand. After much deliberation, I believe they should still be entrusted to Father Chancellor. But military affairs are complex, and the heavy burden rests solely on Father Chancellor’s shoulders. To prevent overexertion, I propose appointing two colonels—one for the infantry and one for the cavalry—as deputies to assist Father Chancellor. What does Father Chancellor think?”

Appointing colonels was naturally about dividing power. With power divided, the chancellor certainly wouldn’t appear pleased. Yet his acting skills were impeccable—he maintained a stern face, the red tassels on either side of his ceremonial hat trembling slightly, embodying the image of someone utterly humiliated. After a moment of silence, he reluctantly consented, his voice laced with resentment and bitterness. “Your Majesty, it has been over a month since I last inspected the two armies. Military affairs pile up like mountains; I request permission to reside permanently in the army.”

The young emperor was pleasantly surprised, smiling warmly. “Why does Father Chancellor have this idea? The court cannot do without you.”

The chancellor, holding his tablet, bowed. “During my ten days away, Your Majesty handled state affairs with seasoned expertise, fully capable of managing alone. Over the years, I’ve focused on court matters, neglecting the armies somewhat. With Your Majesty’s wise decisions, I can focus on reorganizing the armies.”

The young emperor slowly acknowledged, “Father Chancellor is right. Neglecting military matters is not sustainable. Since Father Chancellor requests to station in the army, I cannot refuse... Thus, how will criticisms reach Father Chancellor in the army? Or should I appoint an envoy to shuttle daily between the military camp and the palace?”

If they hadn’t coordinated beforehand, facing such a meticulously calculating emperor would drive anyone to exasperation! Every word was a calculated move, backing him into a corner, while she maintained an innocent expression. In terms of scheming, she was already on par with historical monarchs. He sighed helplessly, saying it was unnecessary. “Your Majesty can rely on the central offices. The feasibility of decrees can be discussed by the Remonstrance Officials and central office ministers. Being in the army, I cannot manage both ends. Everything shall follow Your Majesty’s wise judgment.”

The young emperor’s smile broadened. “Then all military affairs are entrusted to Father Chancellor. The two colonels are your subordinates; Father Chancellor need not handle everything personally. Prioritize your health. Though I cannot visit often, I’ll send a chamberlain to inquire after you. Any requests can be relayed through the chamberlain. Does Father Chancellor find this agreeable?”

This meant no necessity to enter the capital, essentially equivalent to banishment. The officials present were astute; the emperor’s suppression of the chancellor was unprecedented. Sympathy was the only sentiment they could muster.

The chancellor was undoubtedly aggrieved. Rising to accept the order, his wide sleeves trembled visibly, chilling the cold hall. The pervasive scent of osmanthus permeated every corner, like the emperor’s omnipresent influence. Clutching his tablet tightly to his forehead, he bowed deeply, retreating from Deyang Hall under the watchful eyes of his peers.

The chancellor’s mid-session departure elicited no words of retention from the young emperor, who merely watched him descend the vermilion steps, disappearing from sight at the terrace. The steps were twenty zhang high; the entire court silently waited. Eventually, the dark figure reappeared on the pathway, steadfastly walking forward without a backward glance, vanishing at the end of the triple-arched gate.

An era had ended—the chancellor’s era.

Grand Marquis Changce, Chancellor, Grand Tutor, Commander-in-Chief of the Capital Region… If he bore the weight, his waist would carry four sashes. Reaching such heights was unparalleled in Yin history. But what of it? Abandoning all authority in the capital, he was pushed to the army. To those with intentions, it seemed he was cornered—with no choice but rebellion.

The chancellor sat in the leather military tent, drowning his sorrows in wine for three days. On the fourth day, unshaven, he received the emissary sent by the Prefect of Hengshui. After earnest discussions, the gloom lifted, and his vigor renewed.

Revitalized, he attended to military affairs. Three lamp trees illuminated the tent, as bright as day even at night. Seated behind the desk reviewing documents, he was about to dip his brush when suddenly a long, drawn-out “Report” echoed outside. The tune was so distant, as if shouted from a li away, soaring straight to the heavens.

He jolted, his heart racing. Dropping what he held, he rushed forward, arms wide open. The felt on the tent flap was lifted, and a soldier sprinted in, diving straight into his embrace.