Wen Yanran merely swept her eyes over the document and immediately spotted a familiar name among them.
The first to catch her attention was someone called Yan Shouping. The name itself was not particularly rare, and at first Wen Yanran could not be sure this was the same person she remembered. It was only after reading the introduction in the memorial that she felt somewhat more certain.
She did, in fact, have quite a strong impression of him. Yan Shouping enjoyed an excellent reputation among players: veteran players would often step forward to praise his unwavering loyalty and exceptional intelligence, while enthusiastically recommending him to newcomers. They would say that no matter which character one started with, if the opportunity arose, one should make a point of recruiting him – he would unquestionably help a player advance even further along the path of becoming a wise and enlightened ruler. New players who followed this advice later reported back with comments like “Thanks for the tip – this was incredibly useful,” or “If you see him, don’t miss the chance.”
That said, his temperament was famously aloof. Experienced players therefore advised that if one wished to recruit him, it was best to go in person and invite him out to show your sincerity.
The contents of Tao Jia’s memorial were much the same. According to it, Yan Shouping was a well-known local scholar. Seeing his home region fall into the hands of bandits, he could not bear it, and so came to the army to offer his stratagems. Working in coordination from within and without, they seized three cities in one swift campaign. Yet he refused to claim any credit for the achievement, and once his hometown had been recovered, he intended to return home and shut himself away to continue his studies.
Misled by the comment section, Wen Yanran did not know the truth. Misled by the enemy’s acting, Tao Jia did not know either. In fact, Yan Shouping was also one of Great Master Xuanyang’s direct disciples. He had long harbored ambitions of his own. This time, seeking to infiltrate the imperial army as a covert agent, he had deliberately catered to the Sovereign’s preferences, carefully crafting for himself a persona of humility and detachment, someone indifferent to fame and reputation.
According to their analysis, since the Emperor herself favored keeping power tightly in her own hands, she would naturally be wary of people with overly forceful personalities. Those she had previously promoted – Song Wenshu, Tao Jia, Shi Zhuhe, and the like – were all men of mild and accommodating temperaments. As for individuals who were rigid and fiery by nature, such as He Tingyun, they enjoyed high rank and great authority only briefly before being demoted and exiled to Tai Province. Then there was Zhong Zhiwei: little was said of her in common rumor, but as a soldier with frontier blood, her disposition was hardly gentle. That was why she had been assigned to the Left Camp and was never summoned back to the capital, even after the fighting had ended.
In fact, if Yan Shouping truly wished to enter officialdom, he should not have bothered crafting a persona at all. Instead, he ought to have attached an analysis of the current political situation and sent it to the capital. In that case, the Emperor – who was always in need of a reserve of “villainous ministers” – would very likely have promoted him directly to Jianping…
Besides Yan Shouping himself, there were several of his friends who followed the same path and adopted the same style. In truth, Wen Yanran could not possibly have retained an impression of every single name. Unfortunately, these people, eager to enhance their own “value,” had clustered tightly together.
After reaching a decision, Wen Yanran drew out a sheet of paper and wrote a reply to Tao Jia. She stated that since those men had no intention of entering official service, the court should naturally respect their personal wishes. As Yan Shouping was a renowned scholar, he would inevitably engage in some form of local instruction and moral guidance; for the eastern regions, which had just emerged from the ravages of war, this might well prove to be a good thing.
At the end, she also reminded Tao Jia that before parting, he should present those men with generous gifts of money and silk, as recompense for the merit of the stratagems they had provided.
Aside from Yan Shouping’s circle of local notables, there were also several up-and-coming officers who had distinguished themselves in the army. Most of them lay beyond the limits of Wen Yanran’s memory; a small number could only be lumped into the category of “this person seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite recall the details.” The names she could truly identify numbered only four: Qin Cuiwei, Ruan Mingfan, Yang Dongxi, and Li Chuhuang.
Wen Yanran felt a bit regretful that she was unable to make more precise evaluations of these figures, but she decided that most of the blame had to be dumped squarely on the game system that had thrown her into this world without so much as a heads-up. Had the will of the world given her even the slightest hint in advance, she was certain she could have mustered the kind of desperate initiative one finds an hour before a deadline, upon discovering a fatal error in a report already queued for submission – memorizing every scrap of valuable information down to the last detail…
Of the four, the first two were both born to humble families and harbored a deep hatred for Great Zhou; they would later become warlords who carved out their own territories. The third, Yang Dongxi, came from a family with many wandering swordsmen – and was himself famed for his martial skill. In the chaos of troubled times, he would unexpectedly become a renowned assassin. As for Li Chuhuang, he appeared to be a strategist who had long harbored designs on toppling Great Zhou.
So long as those with ambitions did not yet possess the ability to foment rebellion outright, Wen Yanran did not much care what their future paths might be. After checking their records of merit and service, she awarded them formal posts in accordance with regulations.
The system could not very well screenshot the contents of the comment section, and thus had no way of telling the host that a large part of the reason those men later came to stand so firmly in opposition to the court was that the war dragged on for far too long. Being natives of the eastern regions and not of aristocratic stock, they found no way to offer their services to the court even if they wished to. In the end, they were forced to board the pirates’ ship. As for the assassins, it was only in an age of chaos that they truly began to shine.
At the end of the letter, Tao Jia also reported a number of trivial matters from the front lines: for instance, common folk spontaneously singing the Sovereign’s praises, or striking a sweet spring with a single shovel while digging trenches. In stark contrast stood the rebels in the east, who had the audacity to masquerade under the name of immortals and practice curses – openly performing shamanistic rites and sticking needles into effigies day after day, hoping that Wen Yanran would drop dead and that the imperial army would collapse without a fight. Under the laws of Great Zhou, simple rebellion still carried a fair chance of amnesty, but once witchcraft was involved, it usually meant the extermination of an entire clan.
Aside from the newcomers, Tao Jia also offered a few words of praise for Shi Zhuhe and the others, stating that they had remained unwaveringly loyal and had always done their utmost for the state.
In Tao Jia’s view, those men were already senior commanders and had no need of excessive praise; the Emperor would naturally be well aware of their merits. What he failed to account for, however, was that certain figures already carried less-than-favorable preconceptions in the Emperor’s mind…
After finishing her reply, Wen Yanran had Du Daosi draft an official decree, as per her intentions, granting rewards to the soldiers for their merits. The decree was then sent to the Central Secretariat for the imperial seal.
The sky had grown dark, yet the Western Yong Palace remained brightly lit. Wen Yanran sat in the hall, draped in her robe, reviewing the day’s memorials almost in their entirety before finally retiring for the night.
Since the new emperor’s ascension, daily routines had followed a fixed schedule. By the hour of mao (5 – 7AM), the Emperor would usually have been awake for some time. But today, she remained quietly asleep on her couch.
Cai Qu had no choice but to approach and gently call out, “Your Majesty, it is time to rise.”
There was still no movement from within the bed-curtains. Cai Qu called out a few more times, then carefully reached out to lift the canopy.
Soft light filtered in. Wen Yanran had, in fact, sensed the commotion outside, but she felt dazed and sluggish. It took a long moment before she managed to open her eyes. As she tried to sit up, she had only just lifted her upper body when a wave of dizziness washed over her.
“…”
In this era where medicine was severely backward – even a minor cold could be fatal -Wen Yanran felt that her current condition was far from promising. She stretched a hand outward. Seeing this, Cai Qu naturally stepped forward to support the Emperor’s arm, but instead of rising, the Emperor pulled him closer toward herself.
Cai Qu asked, “What is Your Majesty’s command?”
Wen Yanran closed her eyes, taking a moment to steady herself before speaking softly, “Attendants-in-Ordinary Chi and Zhang should still be in the palace. Have them summoned immediately, and send someone to fetch the imperial physician.” She opened her eyes slightly and looked at Cai Qu. “Do not panic. Instruct everyone in the palace to remain at their posts and not to wander about without reason.”
Noticing the unusual hoarseness in the Emperor’s voice, Cai Qu’s face instantly paled. After a brief, stunned moment, he bowed as if waking from a daze and hurried off to find Chi Yi and Zhang Luo.
Wen Yanran leaned back against the soft cushions and had a palace attendant bring her some hot water. Her knowledge of medicine was rudimentary, but she knew that when unwell, drinking something warm was rarely a mistake…
The Chief Imperial Physician arrived in haste. The first person he saw was Zhang Luo, whose usually honest, round face now carried a sharp and severe expression. Without delay, Zhang Luo escorted the physician directly into the bedchamber.
Wen Yanran studied the doctor who held the highest official medical rank in the country. He was not particularly old, and she hadn’t expected someone so young to reach the pinnacle of a profession that heavily valued personal experience.
“How old are you?”
The Chief Imperial Physician trembled slightly. “I am forty-two years of age.”
Chi Yi, understanding what the Emperor was thinking, responded, “The previous Chief Imperial Physician was imprisoned and executed for failing in his treatment of the late emperor.”
Wen Yanran: “…”
It seemed that his appointment wasn’t due to exceptional skill, but rather because his competitors had been unjustly eliminated by their superiors at a critical moment.
In this era, being a physician was an exceptionally perilous profession. They often bore the brunt of the nobility’s wrath during their duties. For imperial physicians, if they failed to cure the emperor, they were likely to follow the emperor in death. Wen Yanran reflected that her predecessors, in their actions, clearly hadn’t considered the needs of their successors, who would also require physicians…
Wen Yanran said, “It’s not a serious matter. There’s no need for such panic.”
Within the entire Western Yong Palace, she herself remained the calmest. Wen Yanran had always insisted on regular exercise, and her constitution had improved significantly since she first migrated. Moreover, even if the worst came to pass, she could simply start a second playthrough. With the experience she had gained, she believed she could achieve her goal of becoming a “tyrannical ruler” even more efficiently.
After a preliminary examination, the imperial physician found that the Emperor’s forehead was feverish, her throat sore, and she had slight nasal congestion – all typical symptoms of wind-heat syndrome.
Wen Yanran: “…”
To her, it simply felt like an acute cold.
The Chief Imperial Physician knelt and reported, “Your Majesty’s symptoms have come on swiftly. Proper rest and recuperation are advised.”
Whenever the emperor fell ill, both the physicians and the palace attendants serving in the chamber were expected to plead for punishment. Even those as influential as Chi Yi and Zhang Luo prostrated themselves before the couch, awaiting the Emperor’s judgment.
Wen Yanran shook her head. “There were no symptoms last night, and when I awoke this morning, the bedding was properly arranged. So it is not due to any negligence on the part of the attendants. Do not blame them.” She then instructed Chi Yi, “Check if anyone else in the hall is unwell. Prepare some ginger soup with sugar and have everyone drink a bowl.”
Even the usually composed Chi Yi couldn’t help feeling anxious. “Your Majesty should rest and recuperate peacefully. Please do not trouble yourself with trivial matters.”
Wen Yanran smiled. “Then I will speak with you all while lying down.” She turned her gaze to the Chief Imperial Physician. “Tell me frankly, is this illness truly serious?”
The Chief Imperial Physician replied, “Your Majesty’s pulse is floating and rapid, which undoubtedly indicates wind-heat syndrome. However, the pulse is faint and weak, a sign of mental and physical exhaustion. If I may be so bold to ask, has Your Majesty been having frequent dreams at night recently?”
Wen Yanran gave a slight nod.
Now that the diagnosis was clear, the Chief Imperial Physician felt somewhat more assured. He said, “I will draft a prescription for Your Majesty. Once the fever subsides, all should be well.”
Wen Yanran couldn’t help but chuckle softly. “Once the prescription is prepared, bring it for my review.”
The Chief Imperial Physician was momentarily surprised, but quickly understood – if the Emperor was even proficient in mathematics, it was not unusual for her to have some knowledge of medicine. Perhaps she could even point out any shortcomings in his prescription.
In truth, the physician’s assumption wasn’t entirely off the mark. Wen Yanran could indeed prescribe for herself – though she knew nothing of medicine, she was at least aware of a certain medication called “cold capsules”…
The palace attendants moistened cotton cloths with cooled boiled water and gently placed them on the Emperor’s forehead to lower her fever. As Wen Yanran lay peacefully, she also reflected on her situation. Her workload wasn’t particularly heavy, but there was still a significant difference between the growing body of a child and the resilience of a hardened adult.
When the prescription was presented, she noticed it included cinnabar to calm the nerves – likely due to her frequent dreams. Wen Yanran had always disliked mineral-based medicines and promptly crossed it out. She then asked, “Does the Imperial Infirmary have an herb called banlan?”
The Chief Imperial Physician was momentarily bewildered before responding anxiously, “I have never heard of it.”
Wen Yanran thought for a moment and said, “Perhaps it’s called songlan, or maybe daqin?”
The physician replied, “I am unfamiliar with songlan, but I have heard of daqin.”
Wen Yanran nodded. “I have heard that boiling its roots in water can help dispel wind-heat. Please research it further – it may prove useful.” She then picked up a brush and wrote down the names honeysuckle, Scutellaria baicalensis, and forsythia. “Please also study this formula.”
She was grateful for the medicines named after their raw ingredients.
Despite the Emperor’s suggestions, the Imperial Infirmary dared not use untested herbs to treat Her Majesty. Instead, they brewed the medicine according to the Chief Imperial Physician’s original prescription. After taking it, Wen Yanran lay down to rest, but the fever on her forehead did not subside; instead, it grew even higher than before.
With the Emperor falling ill, the morning court session was naturally canceled. That afternoon, the Emperor urgently summoned Yan Xiaolou, the commander of the Outer Guard of the Imperial Army, to the palace.
“I am fine. As they say, ‘illness departs like drawing silk.’ This is only the first day – how could recovery come so quickly?”
Seeing the Outer Guard commander kneeling before her, his face pale and bloodless, Wen Yanran offered a word of comfort.
At this moment, aside from Yan Xiaolou, others present included the State Preceptor Wen Jingmei, Grand Tutor Yuan Yanshi, Censor-in-Chief Song Wenshu, and Minister of Revenue Lu Yuanguang. Although Lu Yuanguang held a slightly lower official rank, she was a trusted confidante personally promoted by the Emperor, making her status distinct from that of the other ministers.
Wen Yanran spoke slowly, “However, once news of my illness spreads, the capital is bound to grow restless. I must trouble you, Minister Yan, to remain vigilant.”
At this point, Wen Yanran couldn’t help but feel a trace of envy for Emperor Li – if she missed court, outsiders would immediately suspect something was amiss within the palace. But if he missed court… outsiders likely wouldn’t think much of it, treating it as nothing out of the ordinary.
