Half a Spoiler Chapter 13

After Ji Yue’s imprisonment, command of the Outer, Central, and Inner Guards of the Imperial Guards had been temporarily placed under Yan Xiaolou’s authority. Everything was running in good order – but to the emperors, letting a single person control all three divisions of the Imperial Guards was clearly far less secure than dividing command among three.

Leaning back in her chair, Wen Yanran smiled as she regarded the senior ministers gathered in the hall.

She tried to look at the matter from their point of view: on the one hand, they had to consider who was truly fit for the post of Commander of the Imperial Guards. They could not recommend someone too unworthy, for under Great Zhou’s laws, if an official committed a serious offense, those who had recommended him would also bear joint responsibility. On the other hand, they had to guess whether the Emperor already had a preferred candidate in mind.

Wen Yanran certainly did. After the rebellion, the Tianfu Palace had already received its reward, yet Zhong Zhiwei and her faction still had not been granted any honors – an omission that was clearly out of the ordinary.

Zhong Zhiwei had the blood of the border tribes in her veins; the very fact that she had been admitted into the Imperial Guards was already an exceptional privilege. Under normal circumstances, it would have been utterly impossible for her to become Commander of the Guards.

The Great Zhou realm was, after all, “the world of one house and one surname.” For people of this era, to look down upon borderfolk while valuing men of the Central Plains was entirely consistent with the prevailing level of social development and the moral order of the time. In fact, even if Wen Yanran were to reward Zhong Zhiwei merely with wealth and gifts – without granting her any promotion in rank – no one would have accused her of being stingy or ungracious.

Grand Tutor Yuan frowned ever so slightly.

Though he harbored great ambition, he was still a scholar-official of Great Zhou through and through, and instinctively repelled by those of border descent. That Yuan Yanshi could play the role of a loyal minister so convincingly that even those closest to him never suspected otherwise was precisely because his words and conduct, in most cases, perfectly conformed to the dominant values of society. Now, perceiving that the Emperor seemed inclined to promote Zhong Zhiwei and others of her kind, he discreetly exchanged a few meaningful signals with a vice minister who was also attending the council in the front hall of the Western Yong Palace.

The vice minister immediately stepped forward, bowed, and said, “Your Majesty, before we discuss candidates for Commander of the Imperial Guards, might it not be better to first reward the officers and soldiers who rendered merit that day?”

Wen Yanran glanced at him and asked instead of answering, “And you are…”

The vice minister bowed again. “Your humble servant, Wang Qishi.”

Wen Yanran looked at him closely and nodded. “So it is Vice Minister Wang.”

She actually already knew of this person – she had just never managed to match the name to the face.

According to the comment section, Wang Qishi was a student of Yuan Yanshi, but he had concealed their relationship because he did not wish to rely on his teacher’s reputation to advance in office. Many readers affectionately referred to him as “Wang Qishi, loyal and filial both.”

Having never studied the key comment threads carefully, Wen Yanran failed to grasp the irony behind that title. She simply filed him in her mind as belonging to the opposing camp of her own “Fatuous Emperor faction.” In truth, she couldn’t quite understand why Wang Qishi felt the need to hide his connection with his teacher – but as a newly arrived science-and-engineering major turned transmigrant, she could only take it as part of the character’s narrative setting.

Wen Yanran leaned back against her chair with a smile.

“Then let us follow Vice Minister Wang’s suggestion,” she said. “We shall first discuss how to reward the officers and soldiers who rendered merit that day.”

Since Wang Qishi had taken the initiative to raise the topic, he was naturally prepared. He bowed and replied, “I propose that Captain Zhong be promoted to the rank of Commander of Martial Valor, that the rest of the Imperial Guards be granted the title of Mounted Officer, and that they all be rewarded with gold and silk.”

The title Commander of Martial Valor was of the fifth rank, Mounted Officer of the seventh. Like the rank of Grand Pillar of the State, these were honorary military distinctions – positions with stipends but no actual power. Unlike noble titles, they could not be inherited, and were simply marks of honor bestowed upon accomplished warriors.

Having understood Wang Qishi’s intention, Wen Yanran had no need to speak herself -Zheng Yinchuan, the Vice Minister of Rites, had already stepped forward in objection. “To grant only honorary titles – would that not be far too stingy toward those who rendered merit?”

The Zheng clan, ever since their connection with the Seventh Prince, had long harbored ambitions of becoming the imperial in-laws. Their conduct often clashed with that of the scholar-officials. In Great Zhou, though the status of imperial kin overlapped in some ways with that of the literati, the differences between the two were considerable: if an imperial relative behaved too much like a scholar-official, the emperor could not fully trust him; yet if he grew too close to the throne, he was bound to fall into conflict with the scholar class.

Wang Qishi replied coldly, “The State Preceptor, for all his great service, was granted only an honorary title. Why, then, must the Imperial Guards be rewarded with posts of real authority?”

Having spoken, he actually dropped to his knees before Wen Yanran.

“To defend the imperial city is the very duty of the Imperial Guards. Yet when their own commander rebelled, one could say that every man among them bears guilt by association. Had Your Majesty not perceived the danger in advance, could Captain Zhong truly have discovered anything amiss? For such a failure of vigilance, were it not for Your Majesty’s boundless grace, she ought rightly to be imprisoned and punished.”

As he spoke, he could feel the sovereign’s gaze upon him. There was no clear sign of favor or displeasure in her eyes – and as a veteran who had once served the late emperor, Wang Qishi realized, to his unease, that he could no longer read the new ruler’s emotions at all.

Zheng Yinchuan choked for a moment before retorting, “Captain Zhong holds a low rank and carries little weight; she was never on close terms with Ji Yue and the others. If we are to speak of who should have discerned the change in the Guards’ morale, ought we not first question the commanders and deputy generals within the Imperial Guards?”

At present, the Outer Guards were temporarily under the command of Yan Xiaolou, an official aligned with Yuan Yanshi’s faction. Zheng Yinchuan’s words were thus an attempt to use the Grand Tutor’s influence – and that of his allies – to curb Wang Qishi’s momentum.

But Wang Qishi countered, “Indeed, the commanders and deputy generals of the Guards should be held accountable. I humbly petition Your Majesty to dismiss Deputy General of the Outer Guards Yan Xiaolou from his post, and appoint a man of true worth in his place.”

If Zheng Yinchuan had ever been on the internet, his first reaction at this moment would undoubtedly have been: “Wang Qishi has completely lost it.”

After all, Yan Xiaolou’s appointment as deputy general had been recommended by Grand Tutor Yuan. For a vice minister to openly cast doubt on him – and on a matter tied to rebellion, no less – meant that Yuan Yanshi, maintaining the posture of a loyal minister, had no choice but to step forward and plead guilty before the throne. Moreover, since he was now implicated, court custom dictated that he would lose the right to offer further counsel to the emperor on related matters.

In the front hall of Western Yong Palace, one high minister bent low, one vice minister knelt to the ground. Whatever thoughts they each harbored in their hearts, at this moment, all they could do was await the Emperor’s judgment in silence.

Wen Yanran studied Wang Qishi, thinking that his willingness to turn against even his own teacher in the name of righteousness truly embodied that archetypal “loyal minister who sacrifices family for the greater good” often seen in literary works. She smiled faintly and sought to reassure the Grand Tutor. “How could this matter have anything to do with you, Grand Tutor? Please, be seated.”

But the Grand Tutor insisted, “Since this matter touches upon me, I must recuse myself.”

Wen Yanran then rose from her seat and made as if to help him up – an act that, once again, won her considerable goodwill from many of the officials present. Naturally, Grand Tutor Yuan could not truly allow the Emperor to support him, yet neither could he embarrass the ruler by refusing her gesture. Thus he dutifully stood and returned to his place, though he maintained his stance: to demonstrate his innocence, he would refrain from offering any opinion on the matter of the Imperial Guards’ command.

Yuan Yanshi’s actions, however, were not born of any personal conflict with Yan Xiaolou.

He knew very well that Yan Xiaolou was loyal to the sovereign. Although the man was friendly with his own faction, if ever the will of the court’s senior ministers clashed with that of the emperor, Yan Xiaolou would, without hesitation, side with the throne.

If Wang Qishi succeeded in persuading Wen Yanran to dismiss Yan Xiaolou, their plan would be to push forward a seemingly suitable replacement – someone who, in fact, had numerous flaws. Once that person’s failings became apparent, they could seize upon them as a pretext to have him removed, and then re-nominate Yan Xiaolou for the position. After repeating such acts of “grace” several times, even if Yan Xiaolou refused to betray his monarch, it would become exceedingly difficult for him to act in any way detrimental to the Grand Tutor and his allies.

Wen Yanran, of course, had no idea that in certain side routes of the interactive storybook, Yan Xiaolou – torn between the growing conflict of imperial power and ministerial authority – would, unable to reconcile loyalty and righteousness, ultimately take his own life.

As a pure science-and-engineering student with no background in the humanities, Wen Yanran had never studied anything about how to be a tyrant. For now, she could only “cross the river by feeling her way along the backs of loyal ministers.” Since dismissing Yan Xiaolou was something Wang Qishi strongly supported and Grand Tutor Yuan tacitly accepted, she decided it might be worth giving Yan Xiaolou a chance instead.

No matter how divided the opinions of the court might be, the appointment or dismissal of the Imperial Guards’ commander ultimately required the Emperor’s own approval.

Leaning back in her chair, Wen Yanran smiled and asked, “My lords, tell me – why do you think I granted the State Preceptor an honorary title of merit, yet did not appoint him to an actual office?”

He Tingyun stepped forward and replied, “It is Great Zhou’s long-standing custom that the State Preceptor holds no official post beyond the Tianfu Palace. Even if Your Majesty holds him in the highest regard, he may only receive an honorary title, not a position of real power. Captain Zhong, however, serves within the Imperial Guards – how could she be treated in the same manner?”

Wang Qishi did not argue. In truth, he did not believe Zhong Zhiwei’s promotion in rank could really be prevented. Feigning concession, he said, “In that case, I recommend assigning Captain Zhong to the Front Camp. The Front Camp has long been at peace; most of its officers are old and dull – an ideal environment for a young and upright officer like Captain Zhong to serve.”

In Great Zhou, it was customary to name military units according to directions. For instance, the Imperial Guards were divided into the Outer, Central, and Inner Divisions; likewise, regional garrisons near the Central Plains were often named using directional terms such as Front, Rear, Left, Right, and Central. The “Front Camp” that Wang Qishi had just mentioned was one such example. As for the garrisons stationed farther out, they were generally called Border Camps – and to distinguish them from one another, the name of the local prefecture was placed before the term, such as the Tianyuan Border Camp in the Tianyuan Commandery.

By proposing that Zhong Zhiwei be sent to the Front Camp, Wang Qishi might not have appeared to slight her in terms of rank, but in effect it was a transfer from the central command to a provincial post. Lacking a strong family backing or influential connections to support him, Zhong Zhiwei would, once reassigned, gradually fade from sight and spend the rest of her career wasting away in quiet obscurity at the Front Camp.

Zheng Yinchuan said, “Vice Minister Wang suggests sending Captain Zhong to the Front Camp – then who, pray, will command the Imperial Guards? At present, there is no one among them whose merits surpass his.”

Wang Qishi replied, “In my humble opinion, we should indeed refrain from selecting any more personnel from within the Guards.”

His reasoning was sound enough. The Imperial Guards were, after all, the emperor’s own troops, charged with defending the imperial capital. For such a grave incident to have occurred within their ranks was scandalous enough. Once word of the Ji clan’s rebellion spread across the realm, the emperor’s prestige might well suffer for it. The fact that the Guards had not been punished already was mercy in itself – promoting them further was out of the question.

And finally, Wang Qishi delivered a remark that struck straight to the heart. “If they are not properly deterred, should rebellion ever arise again, their comrades – even if they learned of it – would conceal the truth, waiting to expose it at the most opportune moment to claim credit.”

After he finished speaking, Zheng Yinchuan fell silent.

Though their time under the new emperor had been brief, the court officials had already formed a shared understanding of her temperament. It was widely agreed that Wen Yanran was a ruler of penetrating insight and subtle thought – praise it, and one might call her perceptive to the point of foresight; criticize it, and one would say she was deeply suspicious by nature.

Since the issue now touched directly upon imperial authority, and Zheng Yinchuan hoped to secure his family’s future by aligning with the throne, he dared not speak another word.