Although the court officials held many differing opinions, they reached a swift consensus on one point – the conferral of honors upon those who had rendered great service.
In Great Zhou, families of distinguished merit customarily possessed hereditary titles. With each new emperor’s accession, additional favors would be granted to bless the descendants of those meritorious lines. Even if such families had long since ceased to hold office, the court would still make some gesture of recognition.
The Song, Du, Zhao, and Lu clans, among others, were all long-established noble houses renowned for their virtue and public reputation. The court, in turn, readily bestowed upon them several minor honorary posts – symbolic titles that cost nothing yet carried face and favor.
Once the matter of honorary appointments had been settled, it was finally time for the day’s main affair: the ministers began deliberating how to fill the vacant chief posts across the imperial departments.
Wen Yanran noticed that among the assembled court officials, Lu Yuanguang was perhaps the least enthusiastic about the day’s discussion.
After a brief moment of thought, she understood his reasoning.
Lu Yuanguang, though one of the most capable figures of her generation, had not yet accumulated enough years of service to establish a solid foundation. Even if she wished to promote her own trusted followers into key positions, there simply weren’t enough suitable candidates. Moreover, with the post of Minister of Revenue still vacant, she currently held near-total control over the ministry’s affairs – but once a superior was appointed from above, her comfortable hold on power would come to an end.
A faint smile appeared on Wen Yanran’s face as she sat upon the throne.
There were still plenty of loyal officials in the court, but those who obeyed Wen Yanran’s orders completely were far fewer. After all, according to the prevailing moral view, to carry out the Emperor’s will without reservation was called “bending to imperial intent” – and in terms of political taxonomy, that behavior fell squarely under the category of “sycophantic treachery.”
Having lamented for days that she didn’t have enough properly useful traitorous ministers at her disposal, Wen Yanran began to adjust her thinking – ready-made schemers might be rare, but if one cultivated enough potential candidates, a few suitable ones were bound to emerge sooner or later.
If Lu Yuanguang wished to maintain her control over the Ministry of Revenue, there were only two possibilities: either the officials aligned with Grand Tutor Yuan would speak up and recommend her for the post of Minister of Revenue – or Wen Yanran herself would personally grant the promotion.
Wen Yanran didn’t recall seeing much discussion about Lu Yuanguang in the comment sections, so she was probably not one of those deeply memorable loyal ministers like Yuan Yanshi – which meant she might, in fact, be cultivatable material.
Just as she straightened slightly in her seat, He Tingyun, standing below, immediately stepped forward and requested that the Son of Heaven provide remarks and directives on the matters they had just presented.
“Grand Tutor.”
Yuan Yanshi instantly turned his body forward, performing a half-bow while remaining seated. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
Wen Yanran said, “I must trouble the Grand Tutor – draw up a memorial listing the vacancies of all officials of the third rank and above for my review.”
Ordinarily, the selection of officials would fall under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Personnel, but both the former Minister of Personnel and the former Minister of Revenue had been swept away in the late emperor’s ruthless purges.
Grand Tutor Yuan promptly acknowledged the order, while the other ministers each began their own silent calculations – uncertain whether the Emperor truly intended to deliberate carefully on the appointments, or simply wished to postpone giving a clear answer and use the moment to remind the court of her authority.
Wen Yanran then summoned Tao Su, the Minister of Justice. “How goes the investigation into the recent rebellion of the traitor Ji?”
The Commander of Central Guard had led the uprising, and figures like Ji Yue, its chief instigator, were imprisoned in the Youtai prison. Only the lesser conspirators had been transferred to the Grand Court of Revision. Everyone at court had heard rumors that the new emperor took great personal interest in the matter – so much so that even when the Minister sought to interrogate the rebel leaders, he required her explicit verbal authorization. Moreover, the entire process had to be conducted under the supervision of a female official surnamed Chi, allegedly so that she could report back afterward.
Such an instruction was, strictly speaking, irregular and should have drawn formal censure from the Censorate. Fortunately, the current Censor-in-Chief, He Tingyun, owed her position to Wen Yanran’s personal promotion; coupled with the exceptional sensitivity of the case, she chose to maintain the utmost silence.
Since the new emperor attached such importance to the case, the Minister of Justice dared not show the slightest negligence. He withdrew a memorial from his sleeve, held it respectfully in both hands, and carefully placed it onto the wooden tray carried by an attendant. The attendant then inspected it before passing it on to the Emperor.
When Wen Yanran first experienced this sort of procedure, she couldn’t help but think that incidents like “when the map is unrolled, the dagger is revealed” had truly left emperors throughout history with a deep psychological scar.
As for the rebels’ punishment, Wen Yanran had long since established her own plan. Having the Minister of Justice present the memorial now was merely a matter of formality. She glanced over the document; seeing that it matched what Chi Yi had reported earlier, she nodded slightly to indicate approval.
Then she added, “The swift suppression of the Imperial Guards’ mutiny was largely thanks to the efforts of the Tianfu Palace. I recall there are quite a few sons of noble families serving there. Since the court is short of officials in many departments, select among those who rendered the greatest service and bring them into the administration.”
Only members of the Wen clan’s collateral branches could serve as the principal administrators of Tianfu Palace, but beneath the position of State Preceptor there were numerous minor officials responsible for various affairs. Though technically outside the formal bureaucratic ranks, they were still considered to hold official status.
Wen Yanran recalled reading in the comment section that many aristocratic families would send younger relatives – those unable to secure positions elsewhere – to Tianfu Palace to earn at least a small stipend. Her current plan to “recruit manpower” from Tianfu thus served multiple purposes: by introducing members of other political factions into government, she could suppress the loyalist ministers led by Grand Tutor Yuan; and at the same time, she would add a fresh batch of incompetent mediocrities to the bureaucracy, laying a solid foundation for the eventual loss of Great Zhou’s popular support.
Of course, having only skimmed the comments and not delved into the details, Wen Yanran didn’t realize that, according to the customs of the Great Zhou court, many young people lacked prospects not because they lacked talent, but because of their low birth. Her original self – the Ninth Princess – was a perfect example: though she had already reached the eligible age of twelve to ascend the throne, she had no powerful maternal kin to back her. So when the princes and princesses eventually fought for succession, no one had even considered her a contender.
As soon as Wen Yanran finished speaking from the throne, Lu Yuanguang immediately voiced her support, and though He Tingyun was a beat slower, she quickly followed in agreement.
The other ministers thought it over and found no reason to object, so they too voiced their assent one after another.
Wen Yanran wasn’t surprised by their compliance. After all, the recent rebellion still hung over the court like an invisible bargaining chip. During the incident, aside from those at Tianfu Palace, none of the other officials had contributed any meaningful effort. Now, worried that the Emperor might harbor suspicions about their loyalty, they were eager to show deference – on any matter not crucial to the greater state, they would readily yield.
Yuan Yanshi, watching the scene unfold, kept his expression neutral but felt a faint unease. His goal was to steadily increase his influence over the Emperor, and he naturally disliked the idea of Wen Jingmei standing in his way. Yet Tianfu Palace held an exalted status, and Wen Jingmei himself was beyond reproach – he had never committed any fault or scandal that could be used against him. Even if he wished to find leverage to rein him in, there was, for now, no proper excuse to do so.
Wen Yanran paid no mind to the countless twists and turns in her ministers’ thoughts and simply said, “Is there any other matter to report today?”
Lu Yuanguang stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I have something to present.”
She rose, bowed half-way toward the throne, and continued, “Recently, many regions have seen heavy and frequent snowfall. If not properly managed, it may lead to disaster.”
Matters concerning the people’s livelihood fell under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Revenue, and since Lu Yuanguang aspired to become its official Minister, she was determined to achieve some tangible results as a stepping-stone toward promotion.
Grand Tutor Yuan, hearing this, cast a discreet glance in Lu Yuanguang’s direction.
Lacking the technical expertise to offer any substantive opinion on the relief measures -and without enough personal authority yet to act recklessly on major issues – Wen Yanran merely inclined her head slightly. She instructed the Ministry of Revenue to make the necessary preparations and, once the required funds had been calculated, to submit the figures promptly for approval.
After Lu Yuanguang spoke, no other ministers stepped forward. Wen Yanran signaled the end of the court session, then named several officials to accompany her to Western Yong Palace.
Those permitted to enter the Emperor’s daily working quarters for discussion were all figures who, in one way or another, held a place in the sovereign’s regard. It was no surprise that Grand Tutor Yuan followed – though the young emperor had never formally become his disciple, the title Grand Tutor itself implied the role of an imperial mentor, making him the highest-ranking minister in court.
Next came He Tingyun, Lu Yuanguang, and a few others – key officials from the major ministries – along with several attendants and vice ministers, who served as the Emperor’s secretaries, helping her handle routine affairs.
But aside from these expected names, what truly caught the court off guard was that Xiao Xichi, who had long existed as little more than a decorative figure at court, was also summoned by name. This unexpected inclusion greatly surprised the ministers.
When the Emperor called her name, Xiao Xichi showed a flicker of surprise on her face, but quickly regained composure. After respectfully seeing the Emperor depart from court, she dutifully followed behind Grand Tutor Yuan and the others, making her way together with them to Western Yong Palace.
Western Yong Palace was not far from the Heqing Hall, and its front hall was smaller in scale than the latter. By the time the ministers arrived, the tea seats inside had already been set out according to number – clearly, the Emperor’s summons that day was not a passing whim, but something she had planned in advance.
Seeing this, Yuan Yanshi’s expression darkened slightly. Back in the late emperor’s time, he had maintained frequent contact with the palace eunuchs and servants, which made his intelligence network particularly well-informed. But ever since Chi Yi and Zhang Luo had been promoted to serve closely beside the new emperor, it had become far more difficult for him to learn what went on in the inner court. He would have to strengthen his connections through the Imperial Household Department instead.
Having watched Wen Yanran repeatedly bestow favors upon Tianfu Palace in recent days, Yuan Yanshi couldn’t help harboring certain thoughts. In his view, a newly enthroned ruler naturally wished to exercise her ambition, and thus might find the presence of senior ministers restrictive. Although Wen Yanran had always shown him great respect, there was no guarantee that she would continue to do so in the future. Therefore, while he still held considerable authority, he needed to seize the moment – to make the young emperor recognize his worth and grow dependent on his counsel.
After the ministers had performed their bows and taken their seats according to rank, they were just about to speak when Wen Yanran suddenly turned to Chi Yi and said,
“The weather is cold today – bring each of our guests an extra seat cushion.”
At her words, the ministers’ expressions – never particularly stern to begin with – relaxed even further.
If Wen Yanran’s system could display the officials’ moods in numerical form, the air would be filled with floating notifications reading “Favorability +1.”
Showing concern for whether her ministers felt cold in winter – such gestures, to Wen Yanran, who had been through the baptism of the internet age, were a familiar and well-worn tactic for winning hearts. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), the scholars of Great Zhou were precisely the kind of people who fell for it.
After Grand Tutor Yuan and the others slowly finished their hot tea, Lu Yuanguang spoke up, “Your Majesty, this tea has a refreshing and elegant aroma – there seems to be something quite special about it.”
Wen Yanran smiled. “Then tell me, Minister Lu – what do you think makes this cup of tea so special?”
Lu Yuanguang returned the smile. “I could not have guessed at first, but upon noticing the vase of green plum blossoms on Your Majesty’s table, I think I understand – it must contain a few plum petals, does it not?”
Wen Yanran praised her warmly, “Indeed, Minister Lu – you have a keen palate and a most observant eye.”
Lu Yuanguang gave a rueful smile. “Alas, Your Majesty, I rather curse my own tongue -after tasting the tea served in Your Majesty’s hall today, how could I ever go back to the coarse brew at home?”
Understanding the hint behind his words, Wen Yanran chuckled softly and said to Chi Yi, “Then have a packet of plum-blossom tea sent to Minister Lu’s residence later.”
Grand Tutor Yuan took only a single sip of tea before setting his cup down. When Wen Yanran and Lu Yuanguang’s exchange had concluded, he finally spoke, “Your Majesty summoned us here today – surely it was not merely to taste tea?”
His tone was not overly harsh, but it clearly carried the intent of a remonstration.
Wen Yanran smiled. “There is a matter to discuss. I merely served tea first, so that you might moisten your throat.”
Since Yuan Yanshi had already opened the topic, Wen Yanran went straight to the point. “After the rebel Ji’s defeat, his position has remained vacant. Though the Commander of the Imperial Guards is not among the top three ranks of the court, it is still an office charged with defending the imperial city – it cannot remain unfilled for long.”
The assembled ministers were taken aback at these words. Since it concerned the Imperial Guards, why had Xiao Xichi been summoned to sit in on the discussion?
Wen Yanran noticed the change in the ministers’ expressions and turned to Xiao Xichi, speaking with a tone that was half polite, half explanatory, “General Xiao is a seasoned commander, well versed in military affairs. I would like to hear your thoughts as well.”
Xiao Xichi bowed her head. “Your Majesty honors me too greatly. I have long lived idly in the capital and has had little contact with the generals of the court. I fear I may disappoint Your Majesty.”
Wen Yanran smiled faintly, not truly expecting Xiao Xichi to provide any immediately useful insight. The post of Commander of the Imperial Guards, after all, carried not only the burden of protecting the imperial city but also the implicit requirement of being someone the emperor could trust.
Xiao Xichi, being of foreign descent, viewed Jianping not as her homeland but as a perilous stronghold – a dragon’s den, a tiger’s lair. That she had survived the great political purges at the end of Emperor Changxing’s reign suggested she was a woman who knew well how to preserve herself and would never speak rashly on matters of sensitivity.
