The Emperor’s attitude was so mild that Grand Tutor Yuan’s mood eased somewhat. He began to advise, “The Eleventh and Thirteenth Princes came by imperial order to mourn, and as they are Your Majesty’s own brothers, it is no harm for them to remain in the palace to offer care. But as for the other imperial kinsmen – their relations are already distant. If they stay long within the forbidden precincts, it will inevitably invite criticism…”
Wen Yanran already knew what the Grand Tutor intended to say. That day, under the pretext of summoning members of the imperial clan to mourn the late emperor, she had gathered in the palace all her younger siblings who were still in Jianping, the children left behind by her elder brothers and sisters, and other close relatives of the imperial line. To outsiders, this clearly had the appearance of house arrest – keeping them as hostages.
Many, however, could understand Wen Yanran’s actions. The late emperor had only just passed away, and the new ruler had only recently ascended the throne; even the accession ceremony had yet to be held. Without any solid foundation, Jianping might look calm on the surface, but in truth, hidden currents surged beneath. If someone sought to depose Wen Yanran and enthrone another royal child, it might well succeed. To prevent such a possibility, the new emperor had chosen to keep every potential threat within sight – a natural act of caution.
Grand Tutor Yuan wished to persuade Wen Yanran to send those people back, so as to avoid the court’s criticism that the new emperor treated her kinsmen too harshly.
Wen Yanran swallowed the thought that “that would actually be just as well,” and replied with a perfectly serious expression, “Now that the weather has turned cold, there are many young children among the imperial clan – small in years and frail in health. It would not be good for them to travel back and forth each day between the palace and their residences. Once the mourning period is over, I shall allow them to return to their respective homes.”
When an emperor passed away, the entire realm was required to observe mourning for thirty-six days. Counting it fully, those children of the Wen clan would only need to stay in the palace for just over a month.
Grand Tutor Yuan hesitated for a moment before saying, “But ever since the imperial kinsmen entered the palace, rumors have been spreading throughout the city. I fear they may harm Your Majesty’s reputation.”
Wen Yanran clasped her hands behind her back, smiling. “My conscience is clear, so I have no fear of what others may say. Besides, for one who rules the world – how could she possibly avoid being the subject of its gossip?”
Grand Tutor Yuan paused slightly, then finally nodded in assent.
With his experience and discernment, he could tell that the young emperor before him not only harbored no suspicion toward him, but even trusted him considerably – yet still chose not to take his advice.
To preserve the image of a loyal minister, the Grand Tutor naturally would not press too forcefully in front of the Emperor. Realizing that the new ruler had already made up her mind to keep the clan members within the palace, he could only yield.
Moreover, Grand Tutor Yuan faintly sensed that the Emperor’s decision might stem from concerns even deeper than what appeared on the surface.
If Wen Yanran had first gathered everyone into the palace, only to later release those imperial kinsmen because of Grand Tutor Yuan’s persuasion, it would have all but confirmed the suspicion that she had indeed been holding them as hostages – bringing her one step closer to the image of a tyrant.
By instead holding to her own view and keeping everyone in the palace until the mourning period ended, so long as nothing untoward happened in the meantime, her earlier explanation – that she merely wished to spare the young children the hardship of traveling back and forth – could at least appear reasonable on the surface.
Grand Tutor Yuan then went on to explain the situation of the Yulin Army. This army was the wings of the emperor, charged with defending the imperial dynasty. Its position was of utmost importance, and its standards for recruitment were exceptionally strict: among the twenty-one provinces of the realm, only the sons of respectable families from the central twelve provinces – including Jianzhou, where the capital lay – were qualified to be selected into its ranks.
Wen Yanran suddenly said, “If that’s the case, then the Yulin Army should all be men of the Central Plains.”
She recalled Zhong Zhiwei, whom she had met that day – her features bore a distinctly foreign cast.
Grand Tutor Yuan guessed at what the Emperor meant and offered an explanation. “In former years, to stabilize the frontiers, border peoples were relocated inland into the heartland of the Central Plains.”
For the Great Zhou, the twelve central provinces formed the core of the realm, its true foundation. The nine outer provinces, by contrast, were home to many Hu and Yi tribes whose customs differed from those of the Central Plains, and over whom the court’s authority was relatively limited – sometimes relying on suppression and control, and at other times on appeasement and conciliation.
Wen Yanran asked, “After the border people were relocated inland, were they treated by the government and the common folk the same as the natives?”
Grand Tutor Yuan slightly bowed his head. “The government offered many gestures of appeasement, but among the people, because the migrants’ appearance and customs differed from their own, there was much rejection.” He added, “Moreover, the border folk’s sense of loyalty to the state is comparatively shallow. In the future, when Your Majesty bestows favor upon them, you must not take the matter lightly.”
Wen Yanran indicated that she understood.
If the government had not implemented some form of appeasement, someone with Zhong Zhiwei’s background could never have been chosen into the Yulin Army. Yet the customs and attitudes of the common people were not something that could be changed overnight. Such appeasement was, in all likelihood, little more than a gesture for show. Even after entering the Yulin Army, Zhong Zhiwei would find it difficult to truly integrate with the Central Plains factions.
That day, when the Director of the Imperial Household demanded Zhong Zhiwei’s sword, it was likely not merely because she happened to be on duty, but also because she lacked powerful backing – making her easy to order around. Even if something went wrong, it would not matter much.
Since the Emperor had only recently recovered from a serious illness, Grand Tutor Yuan gave lessons for just one hour each day. When the time was up, he would take his leave from the palace. Wen Yanran also rose from her seat to see him off, accompanying him all the way to the front hall before stopping.
The officials on duty who witnessed this scene felt deeply reassured – such a courteous and respectful ruler, they thought, would surely not repeat the mistakes of the late emperor.
The reason Wen Yanran insisted on personally escorting the Grand Preceptor out was twofold: partly to familiarize herself with the layout of the imperial city – so she wouldn’t end up unable to tell what her own palace looked like – and partly to take the chance for some fresh air and movement. After all, a sound body was the foundation for ruining the family estate properly; she had no desire to die halfway through her plan to become a proper tyrant just because of frailty.
It was now early winter, and the cold had arrived earlier than in previous years. Seven or eight days ago it had still been raining, then came sleet, and by yesterday it had turned into a full-fledged snowstorm. As the group made their way back, snowflakes once again drifted down from the sky. The palace attendants hurried to hold an umbrella over the Emperor, while Chi Yi draped a heavy cloak – brought along specially – over Wen Yanran’s shoulders.
Wen Yanran was already dressed in thick fur, and with another layer on top she looked rather puffed up and bulky.
She smiled at Chi Yi – the latter did not yet hold an official court rank, yet was already allowed to handle certain aspects of the Emperor’s household affairs. This was partly because other attendants, wary of the Emperor’s favor toward Chi Yi, tended to yield to her in daily matters; but it was also due to Chi Yi’s own quick wit and perceptive nature. Otherwise, in the harshly competitive environment of the palace, she would long since have been quietly pushed aside and sent back to menial service.
Zhang Luo said with a cheery smile, “Your Majesty, shall we return to the palace now?”
Wen Yanran replied, “No hurry. Walk around with me a bit first.”
Maybe because the snow came early this year, the plum blossoms in the palace gardens were early too. Wen Yanran saw a few rare green-plum trees nearby already starting to bud and paused to look.
These green plums had been a favorite of the late emperor; if they survived transplanting more easily they would long ago have been planted in Yao Palace and Gui Palace. In past years only favored children and high ministers received them as gifts. Given that the Ninth Princess was lodged off at Tongtai, she clearly had never been given any of these trees. The eunuch who tended the flowers, worried that the sight might stir sad memories in the Emperor and remind her of her frustrations in the past, nervously blurted, “If these green plums displease Your Majesty, I will saw them down right away.”
Wen Yanran shook her head, unconcerned. “They’re rather pretty – why cut them down?”
The eunuch was momentarily puzzled, standing there in a daze – then suddenly realized that Wen Yanran truly had no reason to brood over it. After all, she was now the new master of these green plums.
And not just of the green plums – of the entire palace gardens, and indeed, of the whole realm of Great Zhou.
On a whim, Wen Yanran reached out and broke off a branch, admired it for a moment, then casually handed it to Chi Yi, who stood beside her, instructing her to remember to place it in a vase later when they returned.
After that, Wen Yanran continued strolling eastward with the attendants following behind, leisurely taking in the scenes of the palace grounds while silently observing all that surrounded her.
In the final years of the late emperor’s reign, the court had fallen into turmoil. Both the imperial administration and the inner palace underwent large-scale purges. Though the palace grounds still retained a semblance of imperial grandeur, they inevitably felt somewhat desolate.
Wen Yanran heard faint sounds of weeping from afar and asked those beside her, “Is someone crying?”
Chi Yi replied, “It is the people in Qiyan Palace who are weeping.”
Wen Yanran nodded. For the sake of easier management, she had gathered all of the late emperor’s surviving consorts and housed them together in Qiyan Palace – among them the mothers of the Eleventh and Thirteenth Princes, as well as a few of the concubines the late emperor had taken in his final years.
The attendants walking with her saw that the Emperor had only asked casually and seemed unconcerned, so they said no more. They followed her in silence as she walked on slowly, until they came to a stop outside Tianfu Palace.
Geographically speaking, Tianfu Palace was connected to Taiqi Palace and had always been regarded as an extension of the eastern section of the imperial city. The Wen Clan Ancestral Temple was also located there, and it served as both the workplace and residence of the State Preceptor and his subordinates.
The current State Preceptor, Wen Yuan, with the nickname Jingmei, had planted many plum trees around his residence.
The people within Tianfu Palace were mostly dressed in Daoist robes. Though they were far removed from the affairs of court, their bearing was even more disciplined than those in Taiqi Palace – everything appeared calm and orderly to the eye.
Someone noticed the Emperor’s entourage at the palace gates and immediately came forward to pay respects. Wen Yanran nodded, indicating that the person was excused from formalities, then said with a smile, “Since we’ve come to Tianfu Palace, we should, of course, pay a visit to the State Preceptor.”
Normally, Tianfu Palace paid little attention to affairs beyond its walls; even when courtiers sought an audience, they were often politely refused. But the Emperor’s status was beyond question – wherever she wished to go, she could. A Daoist official, dressed in solemn robes, quickly came forward to lead the way and guided Wen Yanran to the State Preceptor’s residence.
Wen Yuan was reading at that moment. Upon seeing the Emperor enter, he was about to rise to offer formal greetings, but Wen Yanran spoke to excuse him.
The newly enthroned emperor stood with her hands clasped behind her back. With a single glance toward Zhang Luo and the others, she said nothing more – but her attendants understood the signal and quietly withdrew. The Daoist priests of Tianfu Palace also dared not remain, leaving the space to the Emperor and the State Preceptor alone.
Wen Jingmei remained silent, standing at the side, waiting for the Emperor before him to state her purpose.
Wen Yanran smiled. “I’ve come today to ask you, my brother, to assist me once more.”
Wen Jingmei did not ask what kind of assistance she sought, but instead replied, “Why do you say once more?”
Wen Yanran countered, “Was it not you who first submitted my name to the late emperor?” Then she added slowly, “But to call the act of enthronement mere assistance – that is far too shallow a word for it.”
Wen Jingmei looked at his distant younger cousin and gently shook his head. “Heaven’s Mandate indeed rests upon Your Majesty. I have no merit to claim. When the late emperor inquired of me that day, I merely spoke truthfully of what I had discerned.”
Wen Yanran’s lips curved faintly, though there was not the slightest trace of emotion in her eyes. “Since Heaven’s Mandate lies with me, then why not follow Heaven’s will – and act in accordance with destiny?”
Wen Jingmei sensed that although his young cousin before him still spoke with a gentle smile, the imperial authority within her had already begun to show its sharp edge. Though her words carried the tone of discussion, there was in them an undercurrent that brooked no refusal.
And indeed, he had no room to refuse.
The State Preceptor closed his eyes for a long moment. He did not yet know what exactly had happened, but from the Emperor’s demeanor he could already feel an ominous foreboding. When he opened his eyes again, he sighed. “The Wen clan has wronged many.”
Wen Yanran smiled. “Though you keep clear of courtly strife, you sees through matters as if by firelight.” Then she asked, “In your opinion, what should be done now?”
Wen Jingmei remained silent for a long moment before finally saying, “Since Your Majesty has made up your mind, how could I dare disobey? Only, Tianfu Palace has ever concerned itself solely with the affairs of the ancestral temple. Once this matter has settled, I beg Your Majesty to treat us as before.”
Wen Yanran’s tone grew even gentler. “Rest assured.”
Chi Yi and the others waited outside for about the time it takes half an incense stick to burn before they saw Wen Yanran emerge. She did not linger further in Tianfu Palace but went straight toward Western Young Palace, her attendants dutifully following at her side.
Partway along the road, Chi Yi saw the Emperor suddenly lift her head and murmur to the sky, her voice tinged with a faint, icy mockery. “Heaven’s Mandate…”
The words were spoken so softly that Chi Yi could not be sure whether she had heard them correctly – or merely imagined them.
