Half a Spoiler Chapter 9

Wen Yanran had her own reasons for dragging Ji Yue over to question him.

According to the spoilers she remembered, this man survived until the middle of the novel. Wen Yanran thought that although the emperors in different story branches varied somewhat, she was definitely not the most hot-tempered among them. If Ji Yue had maintained his same strict stance against absenteeism at the start of every branch, she doubted he could have survived so long under the rule of those various tyrants.

He’d openly shown dissatisfaction, and his position was such a crucial one – if those tyrants hadn’t seized the chance to dispose of him, would they really have kept him around just to enrich the diversity of Great Zhou’s bureaucracy?

Wen Yanran wasn’t someone “born knowing,” but rather someone who had crossed over knowing the spoilers. Unfortunately, after transmigrating, she could no longer browse the comment section across worlds. So, when Ji Yue’s rebellion gave her an opening, she decided to question him carefully – find out what exactly he relied on to stay alive.

If her guess turned out right, that would be a pleasant surprise.

If she guessed wrong… well, there was no one else around anyway.

“Your Majesty is indeed one favored by Heaven’s Mandate…”

Pinned down by Zhong Zhiwei, Ji Yue finally spoke. His voice was hoarse and sluggish; though he had long since been captured, it was as if only now did he truly choose to admit defeat.

Wen Yanran propped her chin with one hand, listening as Ji Yue began to reveal the secrets he held. Meanwhile, Chi Yi and the others present in the hall kept their heads lowered, still as statues – each silently wishing their parents had not gifted them with quite so keen a pair of ears, so they wouldn’t have to hear these forbidden confidences.

Both Chi Yi and Zhang Luo understood very well that within the depths of the palace, the more one knew, the greater the danger. Should the Emperor fear a leak and decide to silence witnesses, they would have no chance of resistance.

Yet alongside their fear, a spark of restless ambition stirred within them – for however secret the matter, someone would still have to carry out the errands. If they could seize this opportunity to be drawn into the Emperor’s confidence, would that not mean a smooth rise to power?

Wen Yanran had no idea what tangled thoughts were running through the minds of those beside her – she was focused entirely on what Ji Yue had just said.

After being frightened out of his wits, the commander had finally begun to reveal some of the inside information Wen Yanran wanted to know: the Ji family’s power base lay in Jianzhou, where they had served the emperors of Great Zhou for generations. The late emperor had trusted him deeply, once entrusting him with the task of gathering a vast sum of wealth and grain from outside the capital.

Great Zhou had its own version of banknotes, but they were rare. That enormous fortune existed mostly in physical form, requiring skilled men to transport it securely. Ji Yue had spent more than a year on the mission, yet before he could finish the delivery, the late emperor had fallen gravely ill, his control over the court rapidly weakening.

In other words, Ji Yue still held in his hands a treasure hoard worth roughly three years of Great Zhou’s tax revenue. Without such leverage, he could never have bought so many hearts – or incited the Imperial Guards to storm the palace itself and seize Wen Yanran.

Ji Yue kowtowed repeatedly. “My crimes deserve a hundred deaths and can never be atoned for. I only beg that Your Majesty, for the sake of my ancestors’ past service to the court, spare a single branch of the Ji family’s bloodline.”

Wen Yanran had been absently holding a handful of chess pieces, lost in thought. At his words, she smiled down at the man on the floor – then, without warning, loosened her grip. The pieces fell one by one into the box on her left, each small click sounding like a death knell to Ji Yue’s ears, until his very liver and gall seemed to quake.

He couldn’t understand it. When he had refused to cooperate, it had made sense for her to threaten his clan’s lives. But now that he had begun to confess the whereabouts of the treasure, why would the young emperor still show no sign of leniency?

Sweat mixed with blood dripped from Ji Yue’s brow. “Aside from that,” he said hoarsely, “there are also… letters from several feudal princes kept in my residence…”

As Ji Yue spoke, Wen Yanran seemed not to hear a word of it – the only sound in the hall was the continual fall of chess pieces from her hand.

The glass pieces struck the wooden box with a steady thunk, thunk.

Ji Yue’s eyes were bloodshot. Pinned firmly in place by Zhong Zhiwei, he could not move; all he could do was throw himself forward, striking his head against the floor. After only a few blows, blood was already seeping from his forehead.

“I truly have nothing left to conceal,” he cried. “I beg Your Majesty to see the truth!”

Wen Yanran fixed her gaze on him for a moment, then suddenly rose to her feet. “Since that’s the case,” she said softly, “I will not make things difficult for Commander Ji any longer.”

She descended the steps from her seat, her robe sleeves brushing lightly across the patterned floor tiles. When she reached Ji Yue’s side, her five slender fingers slowly loosened, letting the chess pieces slip one by one through the gaps between them.

The pieces were made of red glass, gleaming like drops of congealed blood. Each time one struck the ground, the sound it made deepened the chill that had already settled in the hearts of Chi Yi and the others.

Wen Yanran tossed the last seven chess pieces before him and smiled. “The Marquis of Dongyang was enshrined in the Imperial Ancestral Temple and rendered great service to the realm. In that case, the Ji family shall keep a trace of its bloodline.”

The Marquis of Dongyang was the Ji family’s forebear.

At her words, Ji Yue felt a strange daze settle over his brief sense of relief. Staring at the floor before him and the hem of the Emperor’s robe, a deep, unspeakable sorrow welled up within his heart.

“…Your Majesty’s words are as precious as gold. I… thank Your Majesty for your mercy.”

Wen Yanran smiled. “Naturally, what I say is as firm as nine tripods.” Her tone was gentle as she continued, “I heard that your aunt was strangled by eunuchs and their men. Yet after the late emperor’s passing, no decree of burial sacrifice was ever issued, and all other consorts within the palace remained unharmed. Why, then, was the Ji family alone so harshly punished? Would Commander Ji care to enlighten me?”

At her words, Ji Yue’s body wavered slightly, his face drained of all vitality.

His family had served as officials in Jianping for generations, commanding the Imperial Guards and enjoying deep favor from the Wen clan. Without sufficient reason, even if he raised the banner of rebellion, it would be difficult to win others’ support.

Ji Yue closed his eyes briefly, then spoke in a low voice, “When His Majesty summoned my aunt to the palace that day, it was originally intended to use her as a hostage. Later, after some negotiation between the two sides, my aunt was temporarily placed in a Daoist temple.”

To be an emperor was inevitably to be suspicious by nature. Though the late emperor had entrusted Ji Yue with great responsibility, he would never have done so without also keeping him in check.

Wen Yanran cast a glance at Ji Yue, her thoughts already settled. “Captain Zhong, take Commander Ji away.”

In truth, the Ji family’s story was full of obvious flaws – it wasn’t particularly credible. But once they attributed it to the late emperor, it immediately became believable.

In his early years, the late emperor had seemed eager to govern diligently, but once his throne was secure, he grew increasingly muddle-headed. The court was currently debating what posthumous title to grant him, and none of the proposed characters carried pleasant meanings. From what Wen Yanran knew, it would most likely end up being Li (厉) – the “Severe.”

After the late emperor’s death, all ministers entitled to mourn before his spirit in the Qianyuan Hall had to attend court daily. Ostensibly, it was to express their grief at his passing – but it also provided a convenient chance to exchange information with their peers.

When Han Shijing first entered the palace that morning, she immediately sensed that something was wrong. After hearing from familiar colleagues what had happened the night before, her face turned ashen, her knees went weak, and she instinctively turned toward the late emperor’s coffin to offer a deep, formal bow.

Everyone looked at one another in confusion – no one knew where to begin discussing it. The commander of the Central Guard, Ji Yue, had led men into the palace at night intending rebellion, yet the newly enthroned emperor had personally subdued them all. Even with the State Preceptor vouching for the account, the ministers still felt as though they were living in a dream, unable to believe it had truly happened.

For minor officials like Han Shijing, the shock came mainly from the event itself. But for men of noble birth such as Zheng Yinchuan, the implications ran much deeper.

With the Seventh Prince dead, the Zheng clan’s only way to strengthen its standing before the new emperor was to seize an opportunity to render great service. Yesterday’s incident had seemed the perfect chance – only for the new sovereign to resolve it single-handedly. No wonder they now felt restless and uneasy.

The emperor needed her ministers, and the ministers likewise needed their emperor. Both sides had originally been quietly observing and assessing each other – but now, seeing Wen Yanran so calm and composed, many courtiers found their hearts unexpectedly unsettled.

Those inclined toward loyal service felt that the young emperor possessed an extraordinary bearing, worthy of their support; while those who had hoped to bargain for advantage began to lower their posture, ready to place themselves at her disposal.

Wen Yanran knew that the previous night’s events were bound to stir controversy among the court. After leading the ministers through the mourning rites, she had just returned to the Western Yong Palace when a report came from outside: Grand Tutor Yuan requested an audience.

He had been personally appointed by the late emperor as a regent minister, with many former students and colleagues, and enjoyed an excellent reputation among the scholar-officials. Since Wen Yanran’s transmigration, she had never once made things difficult for the old man – so she immediately ordered Chi Yi to bring him in.

Grand Tutor Yuan hurried into the hall, and before he had even finished his bow, he asked directly, “Your Majesty, why would you take such a reckless risk? Had anything gone wrong, what would have become of the realm?”

He looked at the young emperor before him – who seemed outwardly no different from before – and felt a subtle, unsettling sense of losing control.

As a regent minister, Yuan Yanshi’s own power had always been tightly bound to the imperial authority. To preserve his position, he had to maintain his influence over the new sovereign.

Wen Yanran had already been spoiled by the comment section – she knew that Grand Tutor Yuan was a “loyal minister of Great Zhou.” Because of his age, she treated him with extra courtesy and said with a smile, “Grand Tutor, please sit. Even if you wish to instruct me, at least have some tea first to moisten your throat.”

Grand Tutor Yuan sighed helplessly. “Your Majesty!”

Wen Yanran simply stepped down from her seat and personally handed him a cup of tea. Whatever he might have been thinking, since he still had to maintain the appearance of a loyal minister, he could only respond with repeated cries of “I dare not,” and receive the cup respectfully with both hands.

Bound by the decorum of sovereign and subject, Grand Tutor Yuan could not speak too harshly to the new emperor. After taking a sip of tea, the momentum he’d carried upon entering the hall dissipated, leaving him little room to continue his rebuke.

Wen Yanran smiled pleasantly. “I’ve made you worry. Yesterday’s events came too suddenly – it was indeed a little dangerous. Fortunately, the outcome was still acceptable.”

She briefly recounted what had happened the night before. Grand Tutor Yuan remained silent for a long time, then sighed. “Ji Yue was a minister left behind by the late emperor – how could he have been so foolish!”

Wen Yanran looked at him, the corners of her lips curving slightly. “With so many officials in Great Zhou, it’s only natural that their quality should vary. You need not trouble yourself too much.”

A faint, rueful smile crossed Yuan’s face. “In my moment of agitation, I lost my composure – and now it is Your Majesty who must comfort me. I am deeply ashamed.”

Wen Yanran smiled again, returning to her seat before changing the subject. “I wonder – what do you intend to teach me today?”

At her words, Grand Tutor Yuan kept his expression calm, but inwardly he was growing more and more astonished.

A palace coup had taken place only the night before, and yet the new emperor still remembered to attend her lessons the very next morning. Considering her young age, this alone spoke volumes – clearly, she possessed the proper temperament of a ruler.

What he didn’t know was that the young emperor before him possessed a heart tempered by years of sudden overtime – steady as a mountain under pressure. For Wen Yanran, it was crucial to complete her crash course in royal knowledge as quickly as possible, so she could gain effective control over the court.

And indeed, Grand Tutor Yuan lived up to his reputation as a minister trusted even by the late emperor. In Wen Yanran’s original world, his teaching ability would easily qualify him as a top-tier private tutor. In addition to explaining the structure of the imperial administration, he also lectured on the classics and histories. Since the empire was still in mourning, his recent lessons had focused mostly on the themes of filial piety and ritual propriety.

Yuan Yanshi was explaining, “To spend three years without altering one’s father’s ways –this may be called filial piety.” He wasn’t merely imparting knowledge to the Emperor; he was also observing her attitude.

Wen Yanran nodded slightly, appearing entirely in agreement with his words.

In her view, Yuan Yanshi hoped to mold her into a proper and steady ruler – one who governed according to ritual and decorum. Although their ultimate goals were fundamentally at odds, for the moment there was room for cooperation. From the subtext of his lecture, Wen Yanran could tell that he wanted her to avoid making any drastic moves in the near future.

It is often said that one’s position determines one’s perspective, and Wen Yanran felt the truth of that deeply. To her, the moral principles extolled in the Confucian classics also contained an effective system of management. Take Yuan Yanshi’s current quotation, for instance – “To spend three years without altering one’s father’s ways.” As a newly enthroned sovereign who lacked authority and a stable foundation, maintaining her predecessor’s administrative practices would help the court transition smoothly through the turbulence of succession, while giving her time to familiarize herself with the machinery of power. Once she had built enough prestige and gathered trustworthy subordinates, she could implement her own plans at leisure.

In other words, Wen Yanran would follow established precedent only for matters she could not yet control – but she had no intention of letting old ways or old men tie her hands.

Seeing the Emperor’s humble and composed demeanor, Yuan Yanshi allowed a faint smile to appear. When the lesson ended, he asked, “May I inquire, Your Majesty – how do you intend to deal with those rebellious Imperial Guards?”