The atmosphere in the Empress Dowager’s palace was heavy, the sharp sound of slaps echoing through the hall.
“It’s this servant’s fault, this servant’s fault!”
A eunuch knelt on the ground, striking his own face so hard that the blows cracked loudly. Blood was already seeping from the corner of his mouth.
“I only feared that Your Majesty would worry for His Highness, so I took it upon myself to summon him.”
“It was also my failure to watch over Prince Qing properly… he ran into the princesses…”
The Empress Dowager, eyes closed, seemed wearied and irritated by the noise. She struck the table with her hand.
“Take him away,” she commanded.
At once, the attendants gagged the eunuch and dragged him out.
Silence returned to the hall.
It seemed as if a long time had passed, yet also as if only the blink of an eye, before the Empress Dowager looked toward the outside.
“How are the princesses?” she asked.
“They’ve already been examined. The doctor prescribed a calming decoction and said there’s no serious harm – only fright. But the youngest princess, though awake, is still showing signs of convulsions from the shock. His Majesty is with them now,” the maidservant replied softly, bowing.
The Empress Dowager let out a long sigh.
No sooner had the sound faded than there came a sudden thud beside her.
“I beg forgiveness,” said Duke Jin’an.
“What trouble are you stirring up again?” the Empress Dowager said, raising her hand for him to rise.
But Duke Jin’an did not move. He pressed his forehead to the ground.
“I beg Your Majesty’s permission for Prince Qing and myself to leave the palace,” he said.
The Empress Dowager’s face darkened at once, her brows arching sharply as she looked at the kneeling Duke Jin’an.
“Wei-lang, are you blaming me?” she said coldly.
“No,” Duke Jin’an lifted his head to meet her gaze. “I blame only myself. Your Majesty and His Majesty have showered me with protection and kindness, yet I’ve done nothing to repay it. It’s been two years – almost three now – and I’m still like an ignorant child, unwilling and afraid to face reality. I’m already nineteen, yet I still live within the palace walls, under Your Majesty’s and His Majesty’s shelter, forgetting that such indulgence invites the world’s ridicule.”
“I have said before – who would dare mock you!” the Empress Dowager shouted, striking the table. “This is my family’s affair. No minister would dare to speak against it.”
Duke Jin’an only smiled and shook his head, then shuffled forward on his knees.
“Your Majesty, it’s not others’ laughter I fear – it’s that I, myself, can no longer help but laugh at my own folly,” he said. “I thought that by hiding away in some quiet corner, avoiding people, everything could stay the same. That if I didn’t think, didn’t ask, didn’t look, then nothing would change. But in truth – everything has changed. My hiding doesn’t make it cease to exist.”
“It’s all right, it’s all right – I’ll find you another palace, somewhere quiet, where no one will disturb you,” the Empress Dowager said hastily, reaching out to help Duke Jin’an up.
But he straightened his back and remained kneeling.
“Your Majesty, I don’t want to hide anymore. Prince Qing’s injury is nothing shameful. I want to live with him openly – upright and unashamed,” he said, and bowed his head to the floor again. “I beg leave to depart the palace, but once more, asks Your Majesty’s indulgence – one last act of love and mercy.”
Tears welled in the Empress Dowager’s eyes as she grasped his hand.
“Speak,” she said at last.
Speak…
Duke Jin’an, still bowed low, closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he lifted his head.
“I ask to remain in the capital,” he said, “and to share a residence with Prince Qing.”
…
“He actually took the initiative to request it himself?”
Attendant Scholar Gao asked in surprise.
His attendant nodded.
“That’s what Her Highness said,” he replied.
Attendant Scholar Gao chuckled and waved his hand for the attendant to withdraw.
“I knew it – that boy’s not as carefree and thoughtless as he looks,” he said to his advisers.
“One glance and he grasped the heart of the matter, and once he decided, he acted without hesitation. That kind of clarity and resolve shouldn’t be underestimated,” one adviser remarked with a nod.
“Indeed. From the Empress Dowager’s and His Majesty’s reactions this time, it’s not hard to see that their affection for Prince Qing isn’t what it once was. Most people could read that much from their expressions. But to see it and then make such a decisive choice – that’s what’s rare,” another adviser sighed. “Even if imperial favor has cooled, he still enjoys it to some degree.”
After all, even a fading favor within the palace still meant comfort and privilege. Once one left the court, there would be no returning – and to make such a clear, resolute choice in the face of that uncertainty was something few could do.
“Rather than waiting for affection to fade, it’s better to take a step back first – in doing so, he’s actually made both the Emperor and the Empress Dowager indebted to him,” Attendant Scholar Gao said.
“Your Excellency, do you think His Majesty will agree?” one of the advisers asked. “After all, Duke Jin’an has lived in the palace for so many years – their bond is as close as that of father and son.”
“If they’re not father and son, then they’re not father and son,” Attendant Scholar Gao sneered. “Do you really think the Emperor’s affection runs that deep? He only cares about appearances – afraid the world might laugh at him for being heartless. Now that there’s an outside official who witnessed everything and can vouch for what happened, letting Duke Jin’an leave the palace becomes entirely reasonable. Why wouldn’t he agree? Remember – the duke is already nineteen. In other families, sons his age are already fathers themselves.”
He placed deliberate emphasis on the words “fathers themselves.”
The advisers nodded in understanding.
“If we’re talking about true filial feeling,” Attendant Scholar Gao added with a faint smile, “it’s the First Prince who has the real father-son bond with His Majesty. Once even he moves out to his own residence, what can the rest of the world possibly say?”
By the time Chen Shao received the news, the Emperor had already made his decision.
“The First Prince shall leave the palace to establish his own residence, be granted the title Prince of Ping, and take command as Military Commissioner of the Zhangyi Army.
Prince Qing shall also leave the palace to establish his residence and be appointed Vice Minister of the Imperial Guards. Duke Jin’an shall serve as Commandant of the Right Guard and reside in Prince Qing’s mansion. The mansion’s repairs are to begin immediately, and a date shall be chosen for their move.”
As the attendant finished reading the decree, Chen Shao, who was reviewing another memorial of petition, merely paused his brush for a moment.
“This should have been done long ago,” he said. “To raise a duke within the women’s quarters of the palace – and to heed a woman’s counsel – what sort of propriety is that?”
“At least now all the princes are moving out and setting up their own households,” one of his aides said with a grin. “Though this will surely make things tricky for the Censorate – they’ll have to find something else for their monthly reports.”
In recent years, the Censors had been filing more and more impeachments over the duke’s prolonged residence in the palace. None of those memorials had been acted upon, of course, but that never stopped them from submitting more.
Chen Shao gave a cold laugh at that.
“It isn’t only the princes who have broken precedent,” he said. “They’re not the only ones who ought to be sent out of the capital.”
There was also Attendant Scholar Gao.
As a member of the imperial clan, he too should, by rights, have been assigned to a provincial post.
Only…
“At present, the Northwest campaign has finally gone as we wished,” one aide said quietly. “It’s unlikely His Majesty will approve any further personnel changes for the time being.”
Let alone drive Attendant Scholar Gao out – for an emperor who thrived on playing the game of balance, that was unthinkable.
Chen Shao clearly knew this as well.
“They only ever chase after rumors and trifles,” he muttered, dropping the subject. He frowned at a memorial report spread open before him. “The drought in Maoping this summer has worsened again.”
“It still hasn’t eased?” the aide exclaimed in shock.
“There’s no hope for the winter harvest,” Chen Shao said, tossing the document back onto the desk, his brows knitted tight. “A major famine is certain next year. Instruct the Fiscal Commissioner’s Office to release funds and grain at once – they must get the people safely through the winter, at least until the spring sowing.”
The clerk beside him quickly acknowledged the order, gathered up the memorial, and hurried out.
At the turn of September into October, two notable events took place in the capital.
One was that half of the grand residence belonging to the Li family – powerful merchants dealing in fireworks and firecrackers – burned down, throwing half the city into chaos. Fortunately, the Lis were wealthy and generous; afterward, they paid a large sum to rebuild the homes of those affected and even turned in the young master of their household who had caused the fire. With that, the matter was quickly settled.
The other event was that two princes and the “child-bringer” Duke – the young Duke Jin’an – all left the palace to establish their own households.
That meant the imperial princes’ marriages would soon become the next order of business.
“…They say the matchmakers are already about to trample down the palace gates…”
“…As if the imperial gates were as easy to trample as your own front door…”
“…I wonder which young lady will become Princess Consort of Ping. I heard His Majesty favors the Kang family in Wanping…”
“…Oh, please. As if the Kangs would ever agree. They’ve been eager to restore their family’s old glory in court since Minister Kang’s time. To marry into the imperial house would only cut off their political future.”
Across the capital, teahouses and wine shops buzzed with lively gossip.
Although the past month had its share of ups and downs, overall, it seemed that everyone had more or less achieved a satisfactory outcome.
The Emperor, though he had lost some face by yielding to public sentiment, had gained powerful new weaponry and secured several successive victories. Chen Shao, despite losing Zhou Fengxiang, had at last seized full control of both the military and civil administration of the Northwest. Attendant Scholar Gao, though forced into a humiliating retreat during the recent events, had nonetheless achieved his wish of driving Duke Jin’an out of the palace – not a total loss by any means.
By that reckoning, it seemed only Duke Jin’an had finally reached the point of being deemed useless – and discarded.
At nineteen, he could hardly continue to be called the “child-bringer.” If the title lingered any longer, it would begin to take on an awkward meaning.
Though the Empress and the imperial consorts were all reluctant to see the princes leave the palace, the residences chosen for them were in the inner city – the closest possible distance to the palace itself.
Compared to the First Prince, who remained serenely within his mansion studying, untroubled by worldly affairs, Duke Jin’an – who had no need for scholarly duties – was far busier. Every few days he went out to inspect the renovation work at the new prince’s residence being overseen by the capital’s public works office.
“…This is quite nice – I can finally go out freely now,” Duke Jin’an said with a hint of pride, strolling aimlessly through the new residence with his close attendants.
Ahead of him, the official from the city works office in charge of the renovations walked carefully and respectfully, explaining details as he led the way. Hearing the duke’s words, however, he couldn’t help but curl his lips inwardly.
No wonder people said this duke was all looks and no sense – handsome, but empty-headed.
Clearly, a child shouldn’t be raised entirely under others’ care – it only spoiled them.
“…There mustn’t be a pond here. Fill in all the water,” Duke Jin’an instructed. “If he can’t be watched for even a moment, it could be dangerous – he doesn’t understand how deep it is.”
The official quickly bowed in acknowledgment.
Duke Jin’an made a full circuit around the residence, pointing here and there, nitpicking as he went.
“People say the houses you officials build collapse with a single gust of wind – I’d rather not have a prince’s mansion built the same way,” he remarked.
Even if it was true, one shouldn’t say such things aloud – not when even the Emperor himself gave them face. Was this duke merely a simple-hearted youth who spoke without thinking, or a reckless rogue who said and did whatever he pleased?
The official’s face darkened, and he hastily replied, “I wouldn’t dare, Your Highness.”
Only then did Duke Jin’an leave with his attendants. Standing at the gates of the residence, he looked around to either side.
“Shall we return to the palace, Your Highness?” his attendant asked.
“Return? What for?” Duke Jin’an said with a smile. “From now on, I’ll do whatever I please.”
His gaze turned toward one direction. “I’m going to pay her a visit.”
The attendant looked at his smile and sighed softly.
That was all the comfort the young duke seemed to have left.
When the sound of knocking came again from the top of the wall, everyone in the courtyard jumped in fright.
“Is the neighbor over there repairing their wall?” Lady Huang said as she held her child. But before she could finish speaking, a man’s head appeared above the wall.
Lady Huang let out a terrified scream.
“Hit him!” she shouted to the servants.
A maid who had just come out of the house took one look and sighed helplessly.
“Madam, that one… can’t be hit,” she said, curtseying toward the man on the wall. “Greetings to His Highness, the Duke.”
Duke?
Lady Huang was even more stunned. She stared blankly at the young man smiling brightly atop the wall.
So this was how the nobles in the capital made their visits?
