The Emperor found herself idle and weary, so the craftsmen in the Imperial Household Department, following her command and interpreting her intent, crafted a game called “The Landlord.”
“The Landlord” was, in essence, a simplified version of Monopoly. When Wen Yanran saw the finished product, a wave of nostalgia swept over her – the last time she had played this game was back in her middle school days, and even then, it had already been an act of reminiscing about childhood…
Such board games were truly enjoyable only when played with a few others. Coincidentally, Tao Jia happened to be visiting the palace, so Wen Yanran invited him to Western Yong Palace and also summoned inner officials like Chi Yi and Zhang Luo to join.
The seasoned general Tao Jia had a genial temperament. Moreover, with the realm currently at peace, his position as Minister of War was largely a ceremonial one. He usually spent his days at home delighting in mentoring the younger generation, which also made it convenient for him to indulge the Emperor in a game or two.
“Your Majesty, this board game is truly delightful. Would you be gracious enough to bestow a set upon me?”
Wen Yanran casually tossed the dice and laughed. “Even if you hadn’t asked, General, I was planning to gift you a set anyway.”
As a game balancing both strategy and luck, Wen Yanran couldn’t guarantee winning every round. In total, she won three games, while Tao Jia and Chi Yi each claimed one. In the fifth game, it was Zhang Luo who emerged victorious.
Wen Yanran once again took out the pouch from her sleeve and retrieved a round coin forged from gold, handing it to Zhang Luo.
Considering that everyone’s financial circumstances varied, ordinary palace attendants wagered copper coins when they lost, while those holding official positions like Chi Yi staked silver coins. The Emperor herself wagered gold coins – though in truth, neither gold nor silver served as regular currency in the Great Zhou; within the palace, they existed more as ornaments and tokens of reward.
By the sixth round, the winner was a young attendant.
The young attendant knelt down, refusing to take the money, and spoke with utmost deference, “It is not me who has won, but Your Majesty. All beneath heaven falls within the sovereign’s land – these properties, these things in this Landlord game, are naturally all possessions of Your Majesty as well. How could we possibly collect toll fees from Your Majesty?”
When playing games, excessive deference from others only drains the fun. Chi Yi and Zhang Luo, without needing to exchange glances, simultaneously resolved to have this person transferred out of Western Yong Palace afterward.
Wen Yanran was unconcerned and merely said, “Just consider it a gift from me.” She then added, “Put the things away and have someone summon the evening meal. I will be keeping the old general for dinner today.”
As the weather grew increasingly warm, Wen Yanran found that soups and stews made her break into a sweat, so she ordered chilled noodles to be prepared – though in truth, noodles had not yet reached the time for their invention. However, Wen Yanran considered cuisine to be among all inventions the least likely to drive societal change, so she allowed noodles to be widely promoted without restraint. The imperial kitchen even showed particular ingenuity by picking fresh locust leaves and mixing them into the noodle dough, imparting a refreshing quality.
“July and August will soon be upon us, and the city will be sweltering. Will you accompany me to the Gui Palace to escape the summer heat this year?”
Tao Jia smiled and replied, “I am advanced in years and actually finds the city more comfortable.” He continued, “Your Majesty, in consideration of my age, has graciously permitted me to refrain from regular court attendance. Yet I occupy the position of Minister of War without merit, which often weighs upon my conscience. I humbly beseech Your Majesty to strip me of this court position and bestow it upon a worthy and meritorious officer.”
Upon hearing this, Wen Yanran set down her wooden chopsticks and said, “You possess both advanced years and exemplary virtue. If you truly insist on leaving the Ministry of War, you might instead take up the post of Grand Guardian.”
The Grand Guardian had become a ceremonial position even earlier than the Grand Tutor, yet it remained a prestigious office – perfectly suited for someone to retire into.
Tao Jia noticed that the Emperor had not pressed for details about who would succeed him, and a realization quietly dawned upon him.
His suspicion proved correct. Just half a month later, news arrived from the west: Zhong Zhiwei was setting out on her journey back to the capital.
Zhong Zhiwei had initially been groomed as the Emperor’s commander of the Imperial Guard. However, at the time, the western frontiers had only recently been pacified, and the Emperor had too few trustworthy military commanders at her disposal. She was compelled to leave Zhong Zhiwei stationed there, tasked with overseeing military affairs in Dan and Tai Provinces.
Time flew swiftly by – it was then the first year of the Zhaoming era, and now it had already reached the fifth year of Zhaoming.
The Emperor herself clearly placed great importance on this meeting with her trusted and beloved general. Had it not been for the earnest remonstrations of her court officials, who ultimately restrained the Sovereign within Qianyuan Hall, Wen Yanran might have personally gone out to receive her.
On the day Zhong Zhiwei arrived, the Marquis of Fengsu and the Marquis of Dujiang -both accompanied by ceremonial guards – rode out of the city at dawn to welcome the Marquess of Qu’an.
Her term of office had ended, meaning she no longer held the position of Left Camp Commander. However, back when she first entered Jianzhou, the imperial court had already dispatched envoys to confer upon Zhong Zhiwei the rank of Middle Grand Master and bestow upon her an additional five hundred households as fief.
The members of the Wen imperial clan escorted Zhong Zhiwei all the way to Qianyuan Hall. After she had performed the ceremonial obeisance to the Sovereign, Wen Yanran granted her the position of Minister of War – the post vacated by Tao Jia’s retirement – during the court assembly. Following the audience, she also specially held a banquet in Zhong Zhiwei’s honor.
At the banquet, Wen Yanran raised her cup with a smile. “It has been several years since I last saw you, Minister Zhong.”
Zhong Zhiwei accepted the toast and replied, “Though I commanded troops beyond the borders, there was never a moment I did not think of Your Majesty.”
Wen Yanran said, “I have had the Marquess of Qu’an’s residence built for you in the capital, right by the imperial city. When you reside there in the future, it will be convenient for you to enter the palace whenever you wish.”
Zhong Zhiwei lowered her voice. “While I was away, though I commanded millions of soldiers, I always harbored a wish – to return to the capital and serve as Your Majesty’s personal guard again, if only for two days.”
Wen Yanran laughed. “What difficulty is there in that? The quarters you once stayed in within the palace are still there. You may come and stay for a few more days.” Then, in a warm tone, she added, “Truth be told, when I first left you behind in Dan Province, I found it quite hard to get used to as well.”
Their time together had not been long, yet they had weathered heart-stopping events side by side – the Imperial Guard rebellion, the night raid on the Northern Park. Though they had not seen each other for many years, those bygone scenes remained as vivid as if they had happened yesterday.
After the banquet concluded, Wen Yanran did not, as she had mentioned earlier, arrange for Zhong Zhiwei to stay the night within the imperial palace. Instead, she changed into a set of clothes tailored two days prior, shed her imperial regalia, and left the palace incognito, making her own way to the residence of the Minister of War.
Zhong Zhiwei rarely assumed a stern expression, but this time it was not directed at the Emperor – rather, she addressed Chi Yi and the other palace attendants. “I have only just returned, and matters in the household are still in disarray. With all sorts of comings and goings, what if some disturbance were to trouble Her Majesty?”
Wen Yanran laughed. “Your residence stands right beside the imperial city. Who would dare stir up trouble here? And even if there were trouble, with you present, I have nothing to fear.” She took Zhong Zhiwei by the arm and guided her through the mansion, showing her every corner in detail.
This residence had been constructed by the Imperial Household, with all expenses personally funded by the Emperor. Though glass had been developed by this time, flat glass panels were still far from satisfactory and could not yet be used for windows. The Imperial Household had therefore resorted to using animal horn, boiled down into a gelatinous substance, to form window panes – a material known as “mingwa.”
Zhong Zhiwei lowered her head. “I am but a humble military officer. How could I deserve such profound consideration from Your Majesty?”
Wen Yanran smiled. “You and I, sovereign and subject, have faced life and death together. How could this be comparable to others?” She then asked, “Now that you have returned to the capital, who would be suitable to take over as the commander of the Left Camp?”
Although Zhong Zhiwei had stepped down from her post, a successor had yet to be appointed, the matter lingering unresolved. To avoid any unrest, the Left Camp had been placed under the temporary authority of the inspector of Dan Province.
In light of the Yan rebellion, many had come to recognize the danger of leaving a military commander stationed in one place for too long, lest they accumulate too much power and become difficult to control. In truth, had Wen Yanran followed her own inclination, she would have kept Zhong Zhiwei in the Left Camp for several more years – until the realm was in complete turmoil, if possible. It was only because Zhong Zhiwei herself had repeatedly submitted memorials requesting to return to the capital that she had finally been recalled.
Zhong Zhiwei smiled. “Does Your Majesty not already have someone in mind?”
Wen Yanran nodded. “The situation in the south is stable. Ah-Xun can be transferred to the west.” She then added, “As for the vacated position of Rear Camp Commander…”
Zhong Zhiwei said, “Your Majesty intends to have the new generals gain some experience there?”
Wen Yanran laughed. “There is no warfare in the south – what experience could they gain? The south is now focused primarily on engineering works. It would be better to send a civil official there instead. Once the canal is completed, other matters can be addressed.”
Zhong Zhiwei looked at the Emperor, then suddenly dropped to one knee. “Your Majesty, I have a request to submit.”
Wen Yanran reached out to help her up. “Minister Zhong, speak standing. Whatever request you have, if I can grant it, I will.”
Zhong Zhiwei raised her head. “Your Majesty, I do not wish to serve as Minister of War.”
Wen Yanran paused briefly, then smiled. “Although at your age, it might still be premature to assume one of the Three Excellencies, it is not entirely beyond consideration.”
Zhong Zhiwei, upon hearing this, could not help but laugh despite herself. “Your Majesty is making fun of me again.”
The Emperor had always been perceptive and would not have misunderstood the true meaning behind her words; she had merely feigned incomprehension.
Wen Yanran looked at her and sighed. “You have only just returned to the capital, Minister Zhong. Do you truly not wish to stay a few more days?”
Zhong Zhiwei replied, “With the Yan clan eliminated, the borderlands lie vulnerable. Though the Wuliu tribe remains docile for now, what the future holds cannot be easily foretold.” She added, “I do not intend to leave immediately, but I hope Your Majesty will grant me permission to be dispatched to the border as a general.”
Wen Yanran was silent for a moment before she spoke. “During the eastern campaigns to suppress the rebellion, quite a few new talents emerged. It is not necessary for you to personally go to Dingyi.”
Moreover, the status of the border camps was lower than that of the Five Great Camps. If Zhong Zhiwei were sent there, it would effectively be a demotion.
Zhong Zhiwei said, “All the world knows that I am Your Majesty’s most trusted subject. If I, as Minister of War, were to be appointed to a post as the commander of a border camp, then the realm would understand Your Majesty’s intention.”
During her time as a general in the Left Camp, she had always been thinking on behalf of the Emperor. The present Sovereign was young, and the military commanders she employed were likewise young. Even counting from now, they could continue to serve for another two or three decades – how would they be kept in check when that time came?
By the time the Emperor had swapped the positions of Shi Zhuhe and Song Nanlou, Zhong Zhiwei had come to understand something: rotating the commanders of various camps to different posts, preventing them from remaining in one place for too long, would keep local commanders from amassing excessive power. It was also a means of protecting the ministers themselves.
But these young commanders had now all become chief generals. According to the established customs of the Great Zhou, unless they committed errors, they could only continue to advance upward. Yet how many official positions did the court have to accommodate each and every one of them? By volunteering to go to Dingyi, Zhong Zhiwei intended to show the world that even with her many merits in quelling rebellions and protecting the sovereign, she was willing to endure hardship to guard the borders for the Emperor – so why could others not do the same?
