Half a Spoiler Chapter 2

“Her Majesty’s condition has greatly improved.”

Hearing the reply from the palace attendant, the ministers waiting outside finally breathed a sigh of relief. Since the future sovereign was no longer in immediate danger of dying on the spot, there was no need for them all to crowd around the palace doors – they could retreat to the side hall for a brief rest.

Although the late emperor had personally named his successor, there was no precedent in Great Zhou for an heir to fall gravely ill and then postpone the enthronement for a year or half a year to recuperate. According to custom, whenever a Son of Heaven passed away, the court – seeking to stabilize the situation and calm the people – would immediately have the new monarch ascend the throne before the spirit of the deceased, and within fifteen days hold the coronation ceremony. Even taking into account that Wen Yanran had been appointed crown princess only recently and that all the ceremonial objects had to be hastily prepared, the delay would at most not exceed twenty days.

Led by the senior ministers, the assembled officials entered the side hall and took their seats according to rank and proximity of relationship. The seat of the State Preceptor was arranged at the upper right – under normal circumstances, the State Preceptor of Great Zhou would reside near the ancestral temple and seldom come to court. Yet, to signify that the new ruler was Heaven’s chosen, his presence at the enthronement ceremony was indispensable, and his position was one of exceptional distinction.

The title of State Preceptor could only be held by a collateral branch of the Wen clan. Their distant bloodline barred them from any claim to succession, while their shared surname ensured that they were bound inseparably to the imperial power.

The current State Preceptor was named Wen Yuan, a handsome young man with fine features, considered a distant cousin of the new sovereign. His courtesy name was Jingmei Hermit, and those acquainted with him simply called him Wen Jingmei.

Seated opposite the Preceptor was Grand Tutor Yuan Yanshi, a man well past fifty. His hair was mostly white, and his appearance older than his years. Appointed by the late emperor as a regent and chief counselor, and with Wen Yanran counted among his disciples, he had served through three reigns. His students and old associates filled both court and country – by any measure, he was a man of immense influence and authority.

Two seats away from the Grand Tutor sat Lu Yuanguang, the Vice Minister of Revenue. Still young – not yet thirty – she had already risen to the rank of a fourth-grade official. Though such a position was not particularly high within the entire imperial court, among the younger generation she was unquestionably outstanding.

After the Changxing Rebellion, officials at every level had been thrown into prison, leaving many key posts vacant – for example, the Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, and the Minister of Revenue. The former office had fallen into disarray for lack of a superior capable of holding authority, while the latter, under Lu Yuanguang’s supervision, remained well-ordered and efficient.

Thus, although Lu Yuanguang had not been formally named a regent, as one of the late emperor’s favored protégés – and a capable one at that – she was now among those qualified to wait in attendance beside Grand Tutor Yuan and the other senior ministers in the side hall.

Although two seats lay between Lu Yuanguang and Grand Tutor Yuan, no one sat there – during the struggle among the imperial princes and princesses for succession, many officials had become entangled in the conflict and were purged by the late emperor. The result was a lingering shortage of manpower – but it also meant that the average office space per official in the Zhou court had significantly increased.

Han Shijing was a low-ranking clerk in the Ministry of Revenue, one who had always followed her superiors’ lead without taking initiative. By rank, she had no right to be present in this side hall at all. Yet with the Ministry now so short of capable personnel, she had been compelled to come along, bracing herself to lend some weight to Vice Minister Lu’s presence.

After entering the side hall, Han Shijing obediently took a seat near the door, eyes lowered, quiet and well-behaved – only now and then did she steal a glance at the assembled ministers from the corner of her eye.

Aside from the few high ministers at the head of the hall, whose expressions remained calm and unreadable, most officials wore looks of worry, deep or shallow.

The hall itself was far from noisy; the majority kept silent, and even those who spoke did so in hushed tones.

Although many of the rebels and conspirators had been rooted out during the Changxing Rebellion, that did not mean the court was now at peace.

Every minister still standing in this hall had his – or her – own private thoughts and calculations.

Most officials of Great Zhou came from powerful aristocratic families, many of them related by blood or marriage to the imperial family. Among these, the Cui and Zheng clans were particularly prominent – the former being the maternal family of the Fourth Princess, and the latter that of the Seventh Prince. Each side supported its own master, and for years they had fought openly and in secret without pause. It was only when the Fourth Princess voluntarily requested to leave the capital that the Seventh Prince’s faction gained the upper hand, and the long-standing struggle between the Cui and Zheng clans finally came to a temporary halt.

Looking back afterward, Han Shijing felt that the Fourth Princess’s withdrawal had been a contest won through non-contention. Her Highness had clearly seen how chaotic the situation in Jianping had become, and chose instead to find an excuse to retreat – watching from the sidelines while quietly building her own influence beyond the capital, waiting for the dust to settle so she could reap the final reward like a fisherman profiting from others’ battle.

Jianping was the capital of Great Zhou.

After the Seventh Prince gained the upper hand, he soon became intoxicated by his own success and, blinded by ambition, plunged headlong into the chaos of the succession struggle. In the end, he was captured by the Imperial Guards. At that time, however, the late emperor was already gravely ill, and the situation in the capital was in turmoil, leaving him unable to properly deal with this son. Thus, the Seventh Prince managed to escape with his life and was, for the moment, confined in Youtai Prison.

A short while later, a palace eunuch arrived with a message: the new sovereign had taken her medicine and was now able to rise; before long, she would proceed to the Qianyuan Hall.

Wen Yuan, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them and smiled toward Grand Tutor Yuan across from him.

“In that case,” he said lightly, “let us go and await Her Majesty’s arrival.”

Yuan Yanshi gave a slight nod, his expression solemn and composed.

“You speak truly,” he replied.

Wen Yuan and Yuan Yanshi locked eyes – one held high status but no real power, the other was a regent personally appointed by the late emperor. The two had never been known to have any dealings before, and their brief exchange just now contained nothing outwardly amiss. Yet Han Shijing felt a sudden chill run down her spine; for some reason, the hairs on her back stood on end, and she dared not look toward the front again.

The Qianyuan Hall was the main audience hall, and also the place where the late emperor’s body lay in state. The court officials had already arrived in advance and were lined up neatly on both sides. Although the formal enthronement ceremony had not yet been held, since the late emperor’s passing, the former Ninth Princess could already be addressed as Her Majesty.

While the court officials waited, Wen Yanran stood before the mirror as the palace attendants dressed her.

Because the late emperor had appointed his successor only two months before his death – and Wen Yanran had been ill ever since – her measurements had never been properly taken. The only garments at hand were those of an uninvested princess. Thus, the Imperial Household Department had specially presented several of the late emperor’s old robes for her to wear, with a layer of mourning attire draped over them.

The Imperial Household Department was one of the offices responsible for attending to the emperor’s daily life.

As the attendants helped her change, one of them said softly,

“These garments were prepared by Grand Tutor Yuan.”

In Great Zhou, there was an old custom for elders, before their passing, to gift their old clothes to those they cherished. The late emperor had personally promoted Grand Tutor Yuan and entrusted him with guiding the new sovereign – a clear sign of the deep regard he had held for him.

Wen Yanran gazed at the reflection in the mirror, showing no inclination to continue the conversation.

The attendant lowered her head. She had thought that after years of living in quiet seclusion, the Ninth Princess – now suddenly ascending to the throne – would surely have many questions to ask. Yet the new ruler’s expression remained calm and unreadable throughout, leaving everyone around her uncertain of what lay beneath that composed surface.

Once she was fully dressed, the Director of the Imperial Household came to report that the ceremonial procession was ready and requested the new sovereign to board her carriage. But Wen Yanran paused mid-step and ordered:

“Fetch a sword for Us first.”

Hearing the words, the Director suddenly seemed to realize something – his knees gave way, and he fell straight to the floor in fright.

Wen Yanran smiled faintly.

“What is it? Is the Imperial Household unable to handle such a simple matter?”

A thousand thoughts flashed through the official’s mind in that instant.

If he said he could not do it, he might at once be charged with dereliction of duty and thrown into prison.

But if he said he could, and the new sovereign took it as proof that he was capable of smuggling weapons into the inner palace – branding him a dangerous man to be purged – what then?

He had no time to deliberate, and could only answer tremblingly, “The Imperial Guards stand watch over the dynasty, and naturally bear arms at all times. I am willing to summon one to Your Majesty’s presence.”

Wen Yanran nodded, and before long, a captain of the Imperial Guards hurried in, clad in light armor. She unfastened her sword and presented it with both hands.

Wen Yanran took the weapon – her frail, youthful body almost too weak to hold the hilt steady – then fastened it at her own waist. Casting a glance at the guard, she smiled slightly.

“Captain, lift your head and let me take a look at you.”

The Imperial Guard obeyed, raising her head. Wen Yanran saw that the captain was a young woman of about twenty, her features strikingly sharp – not entirely of Central Plains descent.

Wen Yanran memorized the woman’s appearance, then asked, “What is your name?”

The Imperial Guard captain, being a military officer, was not skilled in speech. Hearing the sovereign’s question, she only bowed her head and replied, “Your Majesty’s humble servant, Zhong Zhiwei.”

The attendant beside them sighed inwardly. If this young Captain Zhong had been a bit more astute, she might have taken the chance to mention her family background and left a deeper impression on the new ruler.

What the attendants did not know, however, was that Wen Yanran was already quite familiar with this Captain Zhong.

Before opening the book that day, she had skimmed through the comments section -and remembered a few of the characters mentioned within it.

Zhong Zhiwei was a rather well-known general in the book, affectionately nicknamed by readers as “Offline Zhong” – a playful jab at how she always seemed to disappear at crucial moments in battle.

Wen Yanran thought to herself that while people might sometimes be given the wrong name, they were rarely given the wrong nickname.

So, in her eyes, this young Captain Zhong was definitely a talent worth cultivating -someone who could help pave the way for her future career as a “faint and incompetent ruler.” With that thought, she waved her hand lightly, ordering the captain to follow behind her ceremonial escort.

Confident that she already understood the story, Wen Yanran was unaware that there was far more to Zhong Zhiwei than the nickname suggested – layers of background and misfortune waiting to be uncovered.

The game-like novel she had entered had enjoyed a fair amount of popularity, but there weren’t many readers who left detailed reviews. A few casual comments were hardly enough to capture the entirety of Zhong Zhiwei’s unlucky life – for in those crucial battles, her repeated “disappearances” had not been voluntary, but forced.

Zhong Zhiwei had come from a humble background. After years of struggling within the imperial army, she had accumulated more than a few enemies. Her rivals, eager to suppress her rise, would deliberately send military inspectors to interfere whenever she was assigned to those “win this battle and you’ll surely be promoted” campaigns – ensuring she stumbled just when success was within reach.

Before Wen Yanran even entered the hall, the eunuch’s voice rang out within Qianyuan Hall, announcing her arrival. All the assembled ministers prostrated themselves to the ground in unison, addressing her as Son of Heaven and unanimously beseeching Wen Yanran to ascend the throne and take up the late emperor’s mantle, so as to bring peace and reassurance to the realm.

In Great Zhou, it was rare for ministers and monarch to exchange such grand formal rites, but this was the solemn moment when the new ruler was to be officially recognized as the sovereign – an exception to all ordinary decorum.

Wen Yanran lifted her gaze, letting it rest briefly upon the late emperor’s coffin before glancing lightly toward the attending eunuch.

For a succession held before the late emperor’s spirit, Great Zhou already had a fixed and well-practiced procedure. She needed do nothing more than follow the prescribed steps, one by one.

The eunuch gave the command for all officials to rise. Most of the courtiers obeyed -but not everyone stood up.

At that moment, one person still remained on the floor, bowing low in solemn reverence. Wen Yanran did not recognize him, but the other ministers knew well who he was: Zheng Yinchuan, a scion of the Zheng clan.

At a time like this, remaining kneeling was less a gesture of earnest petition than an act of deliberate provocation.

Still, many officials could understand his feelings. Under normal circumstances, even if a member of the Zheng family had something to say, he would never have appeared personally. But so many of their allies and retainers had been purged in the Changxing Rebellion that few were left who still had the rank or right to stand before the new sovereign today.

Zheng Yinchuan, an official serving in the Ministry of Rites, did not wait for anyone to rebuke him. He immediately spoke out, “Your Majesty, I have an important matter to report.”

The Zheng clan was the maternal family of the Seventh Prince, and naturally their every action was taken on his behalf. Zheng Yinchuan’s purpose today was clear – to persuade the new ruler to release the Seventh Prince from confinement.

However, he did not mention the prince by name. Instead, he said that Great Zhou revered filial piety, and since the late emperor had other sons, daughters, and grandchildren living in Jianping besides Her Majesty Wen Yanran, it was only proper that they, too, should be permitted to come and mourn before the imperial bier.

In the minds of many, the Ninth Princess was still young, rumored to be timid and dull-witted – unlikely to dare contradict anyone in public. Zheng Yinchuan had chosen to voice his opinion openly, forcing the new sovereign to respond on the spot. If Wen Yanran were to show a moment of softness and grant his request, the Seventh Prince would be freed from Youtai Prison.

Reckless as his behavior seemed, on closer thought, it actually had a fair chance of success.

At the end of the ministers’ ranks, Han Shijing of the Ministry of Revenue couldn’t help but lift her head to secretly observe the young ruler’s expression.

From her elevated seat, the youthful monarch gazed down at Zheng Yinchuan. There was not the slightest trace of panic or anger on her face – only the faintest hint of a smile.

Wen Yanran truly wasn’t angry.

To her, the man’s action was like someone offering a pillow just as she was about to doze off – his timing could not have been more perfect.