According to the customs of the Great Zhou, when the Emperor married, it was necessary to have the Appearance Masters – those who made a living through physiognomy – perform divinations to determine whether the couple was compatible. This task typically fell to the Tianfu Palace, and on a personal level, it was the responsibility of the current State Preceptor.
Unfortunately, the reigning emperor had not yet dismissed Wen Jingmei from his post. Instead, she allowed the Tianfu Palace to slowly cultivate a successor, even if it took several decades – after all, more than fearing the empress’s faction becoming too powerful, Wen Yanran was more concerned about talent gaps in critical positions. As a result, the court officials found themselves in a bit of a dilemma. While the State Preceptor could personally handle other sacrificial and divinatory matters, in this particular case, some degree of avoidance was necessary.
Wen Yanran asked those around her, “Is it truly impossible for the State Preceptor to perform the divination himself?”
An Assistant Secretary replied, “Even if Your Majesty does not mind, the State Preceptor is still young…”
Wen Yanran said, “If it cannot be entrusted to the State Preceptor, then to whom should it be given?”
Upon hearing this, the Assistant Secretary was about to answer, but hesitated at the last moment – Wen Jingmei was the foremost Daoist official in the realm, meaning that everyone in the court engaged in similar work was either his student or subordinate, making it very difficult to ensure full avoidance.
Seeing that her minister remained silent, Wen Yanran smiled and said, “If all else fails, I will simply perform the divination myself.”
The ministers hesitated slightly, but upon further reflection, they found the idea not entirely unacceptable.
After all, the Sovereign was the Sovereign. Her unique status meant that she could never truly avoid involvement in matters of state. Intervening in any matter was not considered overstepping, nor were there any taboos. However, to help the Emperor better navigate the process, the court officials would need to find a few eloquent Daoist officers to stand by, ready to interpret whatever hexagram the Emperor might draw – no matter what – as an omen of great fortune and supreme auspiciousness.
Wen Yanran had always been a person of decisive action. Once she made a decision, she immediately set about fiddling with the various divination tools.
The commonly used divination implements at the time included turtle shells, yarrow stalks, counting rods, and the like. Although the ministers had suggested that the Emperor could simply toss them however she wished – since as long as the results weren’t too outrageous, they could help reinterpret them favorably – Wen Yanran nonetheless approached the task with scholarly diligence and began studying the proper methods for using each type of tool. Just in case, her loyal inner court officials also prepared to invite the State Preceptor herself to come and rehearse with the Sovereign.
The person sent to extend the invitation was the highly influential Attendant Chi. “State Preceptor, do not be concerned. Today’s matter is truly official business.”
Wen Jingmei replied, “…When it comes to the Emperor’s affairs, what could possibly not be considered official business?”
As one of the Emperor’s most trusted inner officials, Chi Yi’s quick wit only surfaced when needed. On this occasion, she deliberately pretended not to grasp the implication in his words and responded with perfect solemnity, “Her Majesty has not seen the State Preceptor for several days and holds you in her thoughts. Given your loyalty to the sovereign and devotion to the realm, you will surely be able to ease the Emperor’s concerns.”
“…”
Though he understood the other’s intent, Wen Jingmei could never hold his ground when faced with the Emperor’s questions. By the time he arrived at the bedchamber, he was still dressed in his Daoist official court attire – a soft outer robe embroidered with auspicious clouds and white cranes. The overall effect made him resemble a pure-white crane with its wings folded.
The Sovereign looked up at him and smiled. “Now that you’re here, why not sit down?”
Wen Jingmei obeyed and took a seat beside the Emperor, then began, “Your Majesty has studied…” He had meant to praise the Emperor’s progress in learning, but his gaze swept across the messy arrangement of various divination tools on the table, prompting a quick adjustment, “…studied with great diligence.”
When there was no way to praise the Emperor’s learning outcomes, even the State Preceptor had to find an alternate route, starting with her attitude toward the learning itself.
Wen Yanran set down the counting rods and said unhurriedly, “To be honest, I don’t really believe in the occult.”
Wen Jingmei was silent for a moment, then a faint smile appeared on his face. “I know.”
Aside from necessary ceremonial formalities, the reigning emperor had never been one to report on her governance to the ancestral emperors. This stood in stark contrast to her predecessor, who would burn prayers praising himself at every turn – clearly showing that she placed little stock in the blessings of past emperors.
Wen Jingmei could understand the Emperor’s attitude. Though he was a Daoist official, he himself didn’t truly believe in spirits or the supernatural either.
After the inner attendants brought over the drinks, they quietly withdrew.
The sweet, refreshing scent of fruit drifted from the pitcher. Since the Emperor did not drink alcohol, the pitcher contained a blended grape juice.
Out of habit, Wen Jingmei moved to pour for the Emperor. But just as his hand closed around the handle of the pitcher, another hand covered his own.
The Sovereign held his hand, lifted the pitcher, and unhurriedly poured two cups of the drink.
From Wen Jingmei’s angle, he could clearly see the sovereign’s profile. Her expression was unusually focused and earnest, her gaze never straying to the side – as if she were truly just pouring juice. There was a calm, unhurried certainty about her.
“State Preceptor, please.”
The Sovereign released her hand, but the warmth of her palm remained on the back of Wen Jingmei’s hand, leaving behind a gentle heat.
The bedchamber was lit by newly crafted glass lamps, making the room seem excessively bright. Wen Jingmei unconsciously lowered his gaze. He saw the lamplight fall into the cups, casting shimmering, rippling reflections.
Wen Jingmei had entered the Tianfu Palace as a child to prepare for his eventual succession to the position of State Preceptor. Many within and outside the court praised him for his steady, prudent temperament. Yet Wen Jingmei felt that he was not truly reserved by nature – it was simply that he had no one with whom he could share his thoughts.
He had recognized early on just how precarious the Great Zhou had become. Yet as State Preceptor, his duty was to assist the sovereign and determine the heir to the throne.
The results of the divination appeared quickly: the successor to Emperor Li would be the Ninth Princess, Wen Yanran.
In the eleventh year of Changxing, the Ninth Princess was only thirteen years old. She had no powerful relatives on her mother’s side, nor any capable court officials. Even if she ascended the throne, her position would be perilously unstable. Gazing at the divination results, Wen Jingmei felt he could already foresee the realm erupting into flames of war on all sides.
If the new emperor could not secure the throne and power was ultimately seized by another member of the Wen clan, she would most likely have no chance of survival. But if the Mandate of the Great Zhou had truly run its course, and a dynasty of a different surname rose to establish a new court, the old dynasty’s emperor would actually occupy a relatively safe position – at that time, it was not yet common practice to directly execute the previous dynasty’s emperor. The new emperor would typically designate a tract of land and support the former emperor as a state guest. By contrast, her siblings, lacking any ceremonial value, would be put to death.
As the daughter of Emperor Li, Wen Yanran could find no truly safe path to walk. The affairs of the world were like a game of chess, and they were already pieces on the board.
When Wen Jingmei finally submitted the list to the late emperor, he felt a numbness and a quiet mockery within himself, as if he had been burned clean through.
He had a vague feeling that this was not the first time he had done something like this.
Every time an heir was chosen, the Great Zhou would meet with a bloody end.
Though as the foremost Daoist official in the realm, Wen Jingmei should not have been so pessimistic, he suddenly realized that he had ceased to believe in the Mandate of Heaven a long, long time ago.
If the Mandate of Heaven truly existed in this world, then how had the Great Zhou fallen to such a state?
After the list was delivered to the Taiqi Palace, Emperor Li quickly issued an edict, decreeing that the Ninth Princess, Wen Yanran, would be established as the heir apparent. With the matter settled, all the Tianfu Palace could do was to make full use of the remaining time to solidify the legitimacy of the Ninth Princess’s status as successor in legal and ritual terms.
Wen Jingmei had made a private resolution back then: if, in the end, he could not protect the frail young emperor no matter what, he would at least die before her.
The intangible atmosphere of pessimism abruptly ceased after the new emperor awoke. Subsequent developments defied all expectations. In just one year, Wen Yanran – later known posthumously as Emperor Xiaoming of the Shizu reign – had accomplished more in governance than several previous emperors had managed in their entire lifetimes.
Witnessing scene after scene of these achievements by the Emperor’s side, Wen Jingmei found himself wavering once more. He began to suspect that the Great Zhou imperial family truly did possess the Mandate of Heaven – otherwise, how could the Ninth Princess his divination had singled out truly have the ability to turn the tide?
…But if that were the case, then how had the previous two reigns produced emperors like Emperor Dao and Emperor Li in the first place?
While Wen Jingmei was puzzling over this, he happened to overhear a conversation among junior Daoist officials. They remarked that the reason Emperors Dao and Li had been able to ascend the throne was that one was the grandfather of the current Sovereign and the other was her biological father – influenced by the fortune of their descendant, they had thus become emperors.
“…”
Wen Jingmei thought to himself that his subordinates truly lived up to their reputation as Daoist officials – they were indeed very skilled at finding excuses for the imperial family.
Wen Yanran raised her cup, lightly clinked it against his, and then took half a sip.
The chefs in the imperial kitchen were quite skilled at making fruit drinks. With one sip, the rich, subtle fragrance of grapes lingered between her lips and teeth.
A trace of relaxation appeared on Wen Yanran’s face. “It must be very difficult for you, having to stay in the palace like this all the time.”
Wen Jingmei shook his head and said with dignified composure, “Not at all.”
Just as when he did not drink alcohol, and the Emperor saw it and told him not to force himself – many years had passed since then, and Wen Jingmei truly had never touched wine again. In other matters as well, he had never once felt the slightest bit of strain.
Wen Jingmei reached out to tidy the counting rods on the table. “There are so many things in this world that cannot be predicted or divined. To be honest, back then I never imagined there would ever be a day like this.”
Wen Yanran first gave a dry cough, then couldn’t help but laugh. “Since you said back then that you wouldn’t leave, of course I will share my fortune and honor with you.”
She had once believed the Great Zhou was a great ship about to sink, and had considered making arrangements for him, letting him leave early out of consideration for his wellbeing.
Hearing this, Wen Jingmei instinctively looked up at her.
The lamplight fell upon the young sovereign, and the sovereign’s reflection fell into his eyes. As if scalded by the sight before him, Wen Jingmei wanted to look away – yet he found himself unable to tear his gaze from her. His heart was pounding fiercely, yet when he spoke, his voice was low and soft.
“I am not complaining, either.”
“Emperor Shizu was skilled in chess and also adept in divination, thus able to plan battles a thousand miles away.”
– New Book of Zhou
