PM - 9

For some reason, these past two days the Chancellor’s eyelids have been twitching incessantly, which has been causing him great annoyance. He summoned the court physician to examine him, and after taking his pulse for a long time, the physician could only attribute it to overwork, with no better explanation.

“So you still need more rest. Lord Chancellor, you bear a heavy responsibility on your shoulders and must not overexert yourself in your prime. Remember, even a spring can run dry. You are still unmarried, and if your health suffers...” The physician trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. They were both men, after all; such things were tacitly understood.

The Chancellor rubbed his forehead. Though he didn’t quite believe that an eyelid twitch would affect that aspect of his life, the fatigue was undeniable.

A nation’s countless affairs rested on his shoulders. In the beginning, he couldn’t sleep through the night, his dreams filled with scrolls of petitions. Now, though more adept, he still had to navigate the intricacies of court politics and maintain private relationships outside the palace. Scholars, nobles, and officials gathering without cause might be seen as factionalism. To avoid suspicion, they framed their gatherings as philosophical discussions—”pure talks”—which allowed them to discover new talents while strengthening ties with other high-ranking ministers.

In the afternoon, a torrential rain fell, drenching the air with moisture, only stopping by dusk. On the horizon, streaks of rosy clouds appeared, fiery red clouds spreading across half the sky like the layered patterns on a koi’s back.

The Chancellor’s carriage departed from his residence under the glow of twilight, heading toward Baopu at the far end of Chunsheng Lake. Chunsheng Lake was named for its lakeside adorned with thousands of red maple trees. In summer, the scenery was refreshingly cool, but in autumn, the azure water reflected the crimson leaves—a breathtaking collision of blue and red that inspired endless admiration. Scholars prized refined aesthetics, so the venue for their gatherings was chosen with care. Baopu was the retreat of Wen Rong, a renowned scholar of Yangxia, situated at the edge of the maple forest beside the green waters. Invited to preside over this “pure talk,” the Chancellor could not decline. Before nightfall, he arrived at the pavilion by the lake, where many guests had already gathered. They wore silk headbands and waved their horsetail fans, dressed authentically for the occasion regardless of the topic of discussion.

When the crowd saw the Chancellor arrive, they hurried out of the pavilion to greet him, exchanging warm pleasantries and offering flattery in abundance. The Chancellor enjoyed a good reputation in this circle for his humility and respect for talent. He returned their greetings with a bow, then, like stars orbiting the moon, was ushered to the seat of honor.

“Recently, a man from Fufeng named Liu Tang spread slanderous rumors accusing ‘pure talks’ of misleading the nation. I found this deeply offensive...”

Before he could finish, someone impatiently slammed the table and stood up. The Chancellor decided to remain silent, already certain that today’s discussion would veer off course and that the planned poetic exchange would likely fall through.

Scholars were known for their unrestrained nature—it was a given. These “pure talks” were not as genteel as commoners imagined. Participants did not always emulate the lofty ideals of noble streams and serene mountains. Debates often grew heated, with participants gesticulating wildly or even uttering crude remarks. At times, the Chancellor thought himself a true gentleman by comparison. At least he never lost his composure or behaved recklessly. Yet being among these eccentric scholars inevitably left him feeling stifled and disoriented.

A goblet of wine was poured before him. Watching the scholars foam at the mouth in righteous indignation, he lifted the goblet and took a small sip. Presiding over this chaos was futile; these erudite gentlemen no longer cared for debates about Laozi or Zhuangzi. The Chancellor sat cross-legged, glancing at the Chief Censor beside him.

The Chief Censor, one of the Three Excellencies, oversaw surveillance and served as the Chancellor’s deputy. The two shared a mutual understanding. Silently clinking their cups amidst the clamor, the Chief Censor leaned in to ask softly, “I heard His Majesty visited your residence? This morning during the court session, there was talk of establishing an empress. What does His Majesty intend?”

The mention of this irked the Chancellor. He lowered his lashes, watching the clear wine ripple in his goblet. The flickering lantern light danced in the cup, breaking apart and reforming, making him slightly dizzy.

“The decision hasn’t been finalized yet. It seems further deliberation is needed. After all, she is only an adopted daughter, and there will surely be opposition within the court.”

The Chief Censor smiled. “Even the bricks beneath Lord Chancellor’s feet carry more weight than others. Who would dare to object? Opposition mostly comes from the likes of the Grand Tutor and the Minister of Imperial Clan Affairs—nothing to fear. What worries me is if His Majesty has already made up his mind... Lately, His Majesty seems different from before. Has Lord Chancellor noticed?”

How could he not have noticed? She had stormed into his residence and delivered that outrageous speech, leaving him feeling humiliated to this day. Children grow up and begin to rebel—it didn’t matter. Such petty schemes could easily be suppressed with a snap of his fingers. What puzzled him was why Nie Lingjun, whom he had painstakingly selected, failed to win her approval.

“His Majesty grows older and naturally forms her own opinions. If she disapproves of the adopted daughter, then I shall find another candidate. Establishing an empress is a monumental decision—a lifelong matter. I must honor the late emperor’s trust.”

He turned his gaze toward the tranquil waters of Chunsheng Lake. Across the lake, lotus lanterns floated, and on a waterside pavilion stood a graceful figure in flowing robes, her reflection wavering on the surface. Her slender yet resolute silhouette reminded him of someone. Startled, he straightened abruptly. Beneath the dim lantern light, he couldn’t make out her features, but a long-dormant string in his mind was suddenly plucked, resonating sharply.

The Chancellor, usually composed, drew curious glances with this rare display of agitation. Wen Rong followed his line of sight and whispered, “Does Lord Chancellor take an interest?”

The Chancellor murmured, “It reminds me of an old acquaintance...” Then asked, “Is she a lady of your household?”

Wen Rong shook his head. “Many young women come to Chunsheng Lake seeking marital blessings. It’s hard to tell whose daughter she might be. If Lord Chancellor fancies her, I’ll send someone to investigate immediately.”

But the Chancellor sat back down, the light in his eyes gradually dimming. He waved his hand dismissively. “No need to disturb her for a fleeting fancy...” His gaze lingered, watching as the graceful figure gazed out for a long while, then picked up her lantern and slowly walked along the embankment, disappearing into the distance.

Old acquaintance—the phrase stirred boundless reverie. The Chancellor was twenty-eight this year. To say he was untouched by matters of the heart seemed implausible. But wielding immense power meant knowing how to protect oneself. Thus, his personal life remained shrouded in mystery. Even the Chief Censor, his colleague, knew him only through official interactions. Seeing him distracted, the Chief Censor refrained from prying further, generously refilling his goblet and urging him to drink more.

After berating Liu Tang’s ancestors eighteen generations back, the scholars finally calmed down and remembered the theme of today’s pure talk: “By not contending, none in the world can contend with him. Because he does not contend, none in the world can contend with him.”

As the host, the Chancellor naturally began the discourse. Leaning against a low table, he pondered for a moment. “If one does not contend, how can we know that none in the world can contend with him? And if we know that none can contend with him, how can we call it non-contention?”

One person led, and a hundred schools of thought followed. Each scholar presented their arguments with ingenious reasoning and unique insights. From these, the Chancellor selected promising talents to mentor. Thus, climbing the bureaucratic ladder wasn’t limited to passing imperial exams; participating in such pure talks offered ambitious individuals a shortcut to success.

Yet today, the Chancellor seemed disinterested. Though physically present, his mind wandered elsewhere. As the scholars engaged in heated debate, he drank alone. Observing this for some time, the Chief Secretary whispered, “Is Lord Chancellor feeling unwell? With Chief Censor Cai here, you may retire early if needed.”

The Chancellor frowned slightly. “I...” He had just begun speaking when he noticed the attendant rushing barefoot down the corridor.

The attendant was responsible for delivering messages. His appearance at this hour surely signaled urgent business. The Chancellor straightened, and as the attendant approached, he whispered into his ear from beneath wide sleeves, “The Eunuch Director of Zhangde Palace has arrived at the Chancellor’s residence, requesting an audience. He didn’t specify the reason, only insisted that the Chancellor come to the palace immediately.”

Upon hearing this, the Chancellor rose at once and bowed to excuse himself. “An urgent matter demands my attention. I must leave ahead of you all. Please forgive me.” Without waiting for a response, he exited the pavilion. As he walked, he asked, “Where is the person now? Has he returned to the inner palace?”

The attendant replied, “No, he followed us to Chunsheng Lake and is waiting ahead for news.”

The Chancellor quickened his pace. When he reached the road, Jianye was anxiously pacing around the carriage. Seeing him, Jianye hurriedly clasped his hands and bowed deeply. “Lord Chancellor, thank the heavens I’ve found you! Please save my life!”

Over the years, the Chancellor had spent no small amount of energy worrying about the young emperor. Whenever someone came from the inner palace, it was easy to guess that trouble had arisen again. After all, any mishap involving the emperor was no trivial matter. Without time to inquire further, he boarded the carriage and set off toward the palace. Only halfway did he learn the full situation: the young emperor had gone mad, ordering ten jars of wine brought to his chambers. Without using cups, he guzzled directly from the jars, heedless of anyone’s attempts to dissuade him. The palace attendants were at a loss what to do.

No one could control him. The Empress Dowager dared not be disturbed, leaving only the Chancellor to act as savior. Sitting bitterly in the carriage, the Chancellor reflected that, given his current authority, the young emperor should have feared and distanced himself from him. Yet inexplicably, over the years, he had become her guardian, involved in everything from state affairs to personal matters.

He sighed. “Is he drunk?”

Jianye nodded vigorously. “So drunk he doesn’t recognize anyone.”

“Then why hasn’t he slept?”

Jianye chuckled nervously, tugging at the horse’s reins. “Master keeps searching for Lord Chancellor. He refuses to rest until he finds you.”

The Chancellor’s migraine returned. Earlier, he had consumed quite a bit of alcohol himself, hoping it would help him sleep through a melancholy night. He hadn’t expected another crisis to arise in the palace.

Though the young emperor had a decent tolerance, ten jars of wine would overwhelm anyone. Perhaps frustrated by his interference—rejecting her choice for empress, mocking her beauty—he had driven her to despair. Now, drowning her sorrows in wine.

After all, she was still a young woman. If only they had united the lords to install a new ruler back then, things wouldn’t have become so burdensome. Pressing his temples, the Chancellor felt his brain throbbing from the jolting carriage. Normally, the palace gates were locked at night, barring passage, but his access was unrestricted. As the carriage arrived at Canglong Gate, the long, open corridor stretched before him. He disembarked and hurried along it, passing through Zhongdong Gate into the Eastern Palace. Familiar with the route, he navigated smoothly despite the dim lighting, eventually reaching Zhangde Hall.

Approaching the emperor’s residence with its soaring eaves, he saw numerous eunuchs and palace servants standing anxiously on the steps below. Irritated, he waved his sleeve. “His Majesty has merely had a bit to drink. What’s the fuss about? Disperse!” He lifted his robe and ascended the vermilion steps, stumbling slightly due to the cumbersome wide sleeves.

The door to the front hall was ajar. He paused at the threshold, adjusted his attire, and stepped inside.

The hall was quiet, the scent of burning sweet-flag filling the air with a faintly decadent aroma he disliked. The young emperor’s sleeping quarters lay behind layers of curtains, requiring him to pass through one after another. For some reason, even the insects were silent tonight. The only sound was the echoing thud of black shoes on golden tiles, magnified in the vast emptiness, each step evoking a sense of unease.

Finally, he drew near, catching a glimpse of the scene beyond the curtains. Raising his hand to lift the final layer of gauze, the view opened before him—but a sudden chill ran down his neck. Looking down, he saw the young emperor’s sword resting on his shoulder. The wielder, clad in soft sleeping robes with loose hair cascading down, smiled warmly at him—

“Father Chancellor, you’ve come.”