Wen Yanran was an exceptionally diligent ruler. In a single year, the effort and worry she devoted to state affairs could rival the total of the previous generation. For many officials of that era, it was fortunate that the emperor did not demand that those around her match her own pace. She often urged her ministers to take care of themselves – especially Chi Yi and Zhang Luo, who oversaw the Imperial Guards and the City Bureau while also frequently participating in court deliberations. She even forcibly granted them five days of leave.
Inside Taizheng Palace, the Emperor let out a sigh and expressed her dissatisfaction with her subordinates’ habits. “You two go to bed later than I do every day, yet wake earlier than I do. If this continues, it is hardly conducive to good health. Court affairs have not been too busy lately – take some time to rest.”
Chi Yi first acknowledged the order, then said with a smile, “There are many important matters in the bureau. Attendant Zhang and I need not take leave at the same time…”
Wen Yanran smiled. “You both insist on handling everything personally. If you take leave separately, wouldn’t the one still on duty end up taking over the other’s workload? In that case, though one is ‘resting,’ they would only grow more exhausted.” She added, “Affairs in the bureau will be managed by your deputies for the time being. I will also keep an eye on things. You may rest without concern.”
Seeing that the Emperor was firm in her decision, Chi Yi and Zhang Luo both complied with the order.
Besides granting them leave, Wen Yanran also specifically summoned the palace attendants who served Chi Yi and Zhang Luo, carefully inquiring into their daily routines – including how much they ate and drank each day.
“After you return, take it easy – find some enjoyment for yourselves.”
Hearing this, Chi Yi smiled and said something that, if recorded, would certainly sound suspiciously like the words of a scheming attendant. “Then why doesn’t Your Majesty find some enjoyment as well?”
Wen Yanran reached out and tapped the mountain of documents piled before her -some from the previous dynasty, others from the Southern School and the Jingyuan and Heyuan offices. Of those, even Chi Yi could only understand about half – then answered frankly, “If we exclude people, these are already the most interesting things in the world.”
After a pause, she added with a smile, “Of course, there’s also Xiao Hong.”
Xiao Hong was the name of the Emperor’s tabby cat. When she had first brought the cat into the palace, many attendants of the inner court, eager to curry favor, had carefully proposed numerous names. After reviewing them, the Emperor offered a few words of praise, saying they were all well chosen, but ultimately did not adopt any of them. Instead, she named the cat “Xiao Hong” herself, and even remarked that if she were to have a second cat in the future, it would be called “Xiao Ming.”
Those close to the Emperor had once heard her explain her reasoning for the name.
“There are far too many cats in the world called Mimi, so calling it Xiao Hong makes it stand out a bit more.”
“…”
As two of the people closest to the Emperor – and, in theory, among those most skilled at discerning her intentions – Chi Yi and Zhang Luo sometimes still found the imperial will difficult to fully understand.
After being granted leave, the two first returned to the City Bureau to make some basic arrangements for their ongoing work. Only then did they follow the Emperor’s instruction and go home to enjoy their break.
They had been colleagues and close friends for twenty years, thoroughly familiar with one another. Yet during their leave, they did not spend time together. This was partly because their interests differed, and partly for reasons of safety – if the two heads of the City Bureau were seen gathering too often, it could easily provoke hostile forces into attempting to eliminate them both at once.
Having changed out of her official robes at her residence within the palace, Chi Yi stood before the main gate, gazing at the curtain of rain before her.
Summers in Taikang were full of rain.
She had once accompanied the Emperor to Dan Province, where rainfall was also frequent – but rain differed from place to place.
In the southern regions, the rain was heavier and often came in sudden downpours. Yet once it passed, the weather would become exceptionally bright and clear.
Once the young palace attendants had brought the carriage around, Chi Yi opened her oil-paper umbrella and, with the help of a servant, stepped into the carriage. The oil-paper umbrella was itself a relatively new invention – some years earlier, the Emperor had ordered tung tree seeds to be dried and pressed for oil, which was then applied to paper to create an excellent waterproofing effect.
Taikang was livelier than Jianping; even at night, the streets were still filled with a steady flow of pedestrians. Fortunately, her residence was close to the imperial city, making it comparatively quiet and solemn.
A servant came to report, “Someone has arrived from the Imperial Medical Bureau, saying they have been sent by Her Majesty to examine Your Excellency.”
Chi Yi nodded. “Show them in.”
The visitor was an Deputy Imperial Physician. As he frequently served within the palace, he was an acquaintance of Chi Yi’s. After exchanging greetings, he said, “Her Majesty noticed the dark circles under Your Excellency’s eyes and sent me to take a look.” He then took her pulse and prescribed a calming remedy.
“In truth, it’s not just Your Excellency who has been feeling unwell lately. Quite a few palace attendants in the wards have also summoned physicians, complaining of insomnia and excessive dreaming.”
Chi Yi smiled. “I’ve heard a bit about that as well.”
As the Left Vice Commissioner of the City Bureau, very little news in the city escaped her notice. She knew that some attendants had been having strange, disjointed dreams, and even after waking, their minds remained muddled. Some, upon seeing her, would even address her as “Chancellor Chi,” only snapping back to their senses after being reprimanded by their superiors.
For some reason, that title carried a faint sense of familiarity for Chi Yi.
The current emperor had been on the throne for over twenty years. Her prestige had grown ever stronger, and coupled with her exceptional ability, officials at court naturally served with dedication. However, given the many reforms and innovations she had introduced, voices of opposition – both within the inner court and the outer administration – had never truly ceased.
When those people heard that Chi Yi and Zhang Luo, after having an audience with the Emperor, had both returned home and shut themselves in, they began to speculate. They suspected that the Emperor might harbor some misgivings or suspicions toward them – otherwise, there would have been no need to send the two of them home together.
Within the Chi residence:
The young Cavalier Attendants-in-Ordinary stood by the pond, holding a bowl of fish feed and scattering it into the water.
Behind her, a palace attendant in narrow sleeves hurried over, first bowing respectfully before handing her a slip of paper.
The development of papermaking had greatly influenced the lives of the people of Great Zhou, and it had brought tremendous convenience to the daily administrative work of court officials.
Now, only three days into the leave of the Left and Right Vice Commissioners of the City Bureau, unusual stirrings had already begun to appear within the city.
Chi Yi thought to herself that it was no wonder those people could not hold back -opportunities were so rare in ordinary times that they had to seize any chance that arose.
Although both she and Zhang Luo could be considered ruthless, compared to her more restrained style, Zhang Luo’s reputation for “hiding a blade behind a smile” was even more pronounced. According to intelligence gathered by the Wind-Catcher Envoys, some people were already preparing memorials to impeach him, intending to use this to strike at the authority of the City Bureau.
A palace attendant asked, “Should the City Bureau intervene to stop them?”
Chi Yi shook her head. “Better to guide than to block.”
They were the Emperor’s eyes and ears. Their duty was to observe on her behalf what she could not easily see herself; they could not, for the sake of their own interests, obstruct those voices from reaching the imperial ear.
“Then… shall the City Bureau simply allow them to act as they please?”
Chi Yi scattered another handful of feed into the pond, then tilted her head slightly to look at the dark clouds gathering overhead. It seemed it would soon rain again. Only after a moment did she speak:
“To fish in troubled waters.”
The palace attendant bowed deeply, accepted the order, and withdrew.
Every year, there were personnel changes at court. Song Wenshu, who had long overseen the Censorate, was growing old and intended to retire. He Tingyun, who had previously served as inspector of Tai Province, was summoned back to the capital, granted an honorary promotion, and reassigned to her original post. After arriving in Taikang, she rested for a day at the relay station; the very next day, after reporting to the Emperor, she went straight to the Censorate and began working overtime to handle official business.
Gao Changjian, originally from the Secretariat, had spent several years in regional posts before also being transferred back to the capital. He now served as Vice Censor-in-Chief, effectively He Tingyun’s deputy. With a smile, he said, “You’ve worked hard, Censor-in-Chief. The Censorate is not usually this busy – once we get through the next couple of days, things should ease up a bit.”
His words proved somewhat inaccurate. The hectic pace continued for nearly two months before things finally began to settle. After officials from the City Bureau faction were impeached, they wasted no time dragging their accusers down with them. The two sides clashed incessantly, exposing one another’s secrets. In the end, the Emperor reprimanded a large number of officials – including those from the City Bureau – and more than a hundred court officials were dismissed or demoted before both sides finally restrained themselves.
Knowing that her old friend was under attack, Chi Yi took charge of the City Bureau during those two months. On the other side, although Zhang Luo endured a great deal of criticism, he remained composed throughout. As a palace official, so long as the emperor’s trust did not waver, demotions or salary penalties were of little consequence.
Just as the situation at court seemed to be stabilizing, within the past couple of days, a memorial impeaching Chi Yi was quietly placed upon the Emperor’s desk by the opposing faction.
Compared to the blunt accusations leveled against Zhang Luo, the language of the memorial against Chi Yi was more subtle, yet sharply edged. It briefly outlined her actions in controlling both the City Bureau and the Imperial Guards during this period, and included one pointed line:
“She has monopolized authority within and without; even the clerks under her refer to her as ‘Chancellor Chi.’”
When the Emperor opened this memorial, Chi Yi was standing before her.
There was no rain today, and the hall was especially quiet.
Wen Yanran skimmed through the contents of the memorial at a glance, her gaze tightening slightly.
This was already an open, aboveboard stratagem.
The City Bureau could not block the impeachment of its Right Vice Commissioner, and naturally could not block the impeachment of its Left Vice Commissioner either. Moreover, compared to Zhang Luo, Chi Yi enjoyed a far better reputation. She had once commanded the Imperial Guards, now held the City Bureau firmly in her grasp, and participated in deliberations within the Secretariat. Indeed, there were faint signs that her power was beginning to overshadow the court.
On the side of the great clans, with Song Wenshu’s retirement, few veteran officials remained at court. Even if the palace officials had no intention of expanding their influence, their overall power would still rise accordingly.
With the City Bureau’s strength swelling to this degree, it was no longer possible for them to avoid conflict.
Thus, the earlier attacks from the outer court against Zhang Luo had merely been a smokescreen to confuse the palace officials. Their true aim was to make the authority-concentrating emperor realize that such a pivotal figure now existed at her side.
Since ascending the throne, the Emperor had consistently centralized power in her own hands and had never shown mercy when dealing with forces that might threaten her rule. According to the expectations of those in the outer court, upon learning of the title “Chancellor Chi,” the Emperor might reprimand the memorialist and temporarily placate the palace faction – or she might seize the opportunity to strike, using it to curb the City Bureau.
However, Wen Yanran’s response was entirely different from their predictions. She merely gave a faint smile, then lowered her head and continued reviewing memorials as usual.
This year, the southern regions had seen excessive rainfall, while the north suffered from a lack of it. Officials from various regions had all submitted memorials to Taikang, and Wen Yanran remained busy until around the middle of the Xu hour (early evening), when a palace attendant finally came to invite the Emperor to rest.
Even at this point, Attendant Chi was still in the hall.
Wen Yanran stood up, stretched her limbs, then gave Chi Yi a slight nod, signaling for her to accompany her on a walk toward the palace gardens.
A gentle night breeze stirred, and the shadows of flowers swayed softly in the garden.
“‘Chancellor Chi’ – I actually knew of that title earlier than any of them.”
As a minister, Chi Yi knew that at this moment she ought to immediately beg forgiveness, kneel, and declare her fear and guilt. Yet she also understood clearly that the Emperor had no interest in hearing such formalities right now.
Night had settled over the city, rendering everything hazy and indistinct. And yet, the distance between people seemed somehow closer than it did in daylight.
“The State Preceptor once said that I would reign as emperor for fifty years.”
Nowadays, Wen Jingmei no longer concerned himself much with court rituals, but the Emperor was a rather nostalgic person; in private conversations, she still used the old form of address.
Chi Yi thought for a moment, then said candidly, “Your Majesty ascended the throne at thirteen. Fifty years from then, you would only just be reaching your sixtieth year. Perhaps the State Preceptor has even underestimated it.”
Wen Yanran let out a soft laugh, turned around, and looked at her seriously.
“Since I can reign for that long, Ah-Yi, you may rest assured – within twenty years at most, I will certainly grant you your wish.”
Having stood in high office for so many years, Chi Yi had seen many people changed by power. Even she herself could not guarantee that, once holding great authority, she would remain true to her original intentions.
Through the shifting of seas and the turning of stars, amid all the changeable hearts of men, there still existed something as constant as the bright moon in the sky.
Placing that memorial – detailing Chi Yi’s growing power – upon the Emperor’s desk had indeed been an open stratagem. Yet those people did not understand that the reason Chi Yi had reached her current position was not only due to her diligence, meticulousness, decisiveness, and far-reaching ambition, but also because of another, even more important factor.
“To govern by virtue is like the North Star: it remains in its place, while all the other stars revolve around it.”
Seeing the smile on the Emperor’s face, Chi Yi found herself smiling as well. In her sovereign’s eyes, she seemed to glimpse her own reflection in that moment. Then she stepped forward, and, just as in her youth, took up her place at Wen Yanran’s side – calm and composed, in the posture of one who assists and supports.
“Yi and Luo were originally palace attendants. When Emperor Shizu ascended the throne in her youth, they were promoted to positions at her left and right, serving within the inner palace, and were later transferred to Cavalier Attendants-in-Ordinary. Both were loyal in character and devoted to public duty, forgetting personal concerns for the sake of the state. In the thirty-fourth year of Zhaoming, Luo was appointed Minister of Justice; in the thirty-sixth year, Yi was appointed Censor-in-Chief, acting in the capacity of a prime minister. Since taking office, criminal cases throughout the realm gradually became more orderly, and both court and country came to recognize the Emperor’s keen discernment of people.”
– Later Zhou History, Biography of Chi Yi and Zhang Luo.
“When Emperor Shizu newly established the City Bureau, Zhang Luo was appointed Right Vice Commissioner, secretly observing the hundred officials. Any clandestine schemes within court or country were often leaked to the outside through speech.”
-Book of New Zhou, Biography of Cruel Officials.
“At that time, Emperor Shizu resided in Tongtai and secretly conspired with palace attendants. When she ascended the throne, Yi and Luo immediately served at her left and right, and were especially favored and trusted.”
– Book of New Zhou, Biography of Eunuchs.
