The news of the lunar eclipse was announced, throwing the people of the capital into unease.
“Wasn’t it the same last time? They said there’d be a solar eclipse, but what happened? The day they predicted came and went with nothing, and then it suddenly happened on another day instead – scared everyone half to death!”
“But there was a solar eclipse after all – just on the wrong day. Best to make some preparations either way; whichever day it comes, we’ll all be frightened just the same.”
Because people distrusted the Bureau of Astronomy, their fear was somewhat eased.
Though reluctant, the fifteenth day of the twelfth month arrived as scheduled. When the moon in the sky began, little by little, to darken, everyone at the Altar of Heaven let out a cry of astonishment – despite having steeled themselves for it.
At that very moment, the whole city erupted in the sound of drums and gongs.
Before bowing in worship, the Emperor glanced at the time.
Fourth quarter of the Chou hour – utterly precise!
And making the same motion was Guo Yuan, who, seeing the Emperor’s calm composure, was so overwhelmed he nearly burst into tears.
Father, your son has finally lived up to your good name!
The title of Astronomer that your son bears is no longer a joke!
Guo Yuan bent down and kowtowed in reverence.
The sound of drums and gongs filled every street, deafeningly loud – and naturally, the same could be heard at Cheng Jiao-niang’s house.
“Miss, isn’t this kind of scary?” Ban Qin couldn’t help but whisper.
“It’s not scary,” Cheng Jiao-niang said. “On the contrary, it feels rather kind.”
When the rites were finished, she stood properly beneath the corridor, hands folded, gazing at the moon that was slowly being swallowed by shadow.
“Kind?” Ban Qin asked.
“Heaven is telling people something – good things and bad alike. It’s a reminder to all. Isn’t that kind?” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
Ban Qin half understood, half didn’t.
“Heaven doesn’t deceive people – that’s not frightening,” Cheng Jiao-niang said.
“It’s people who deceive people – that’s frightening,” Ban Qin replied, delighted at her own insight, turning to look at Cheng Jiao-niang.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled gently at her.
“That too is part of Heaven’s way,” she said.
Ban Qin gave an “oh,” still not quite understanding, but nodded happily and stood beside Cheng Jiao-niang, continuing to watch the moon in the night sky.
As light appeared in the eastern sky, the fear of the celestial omen gradually faded. The heavenly hound had been driven away, the moon rescued. The drums and gongs quieted, and joy spread throughout the city.
Yet the consequences of this omen were only just beginning.
“Heavenly portents arise as a warning – such omens come from failings in governance. Your Majesty should issue a decree of self-reproach to comfort the people.”
“If the administration has lost its virtue, it is not necessarily the ruler alone who has lost virtue; when the ministers fail in their conduct, that too is a loss of virtue.”
“But if the ministers fail in their conduct, does that not mean the ruler’s commands have lacked proper caution?”
Quarrels like this had been raging in court for quite some time.
Even the First Prince, standing in the hall, couldn’t help shifting his feet out of boredom – and the Emperor himself, seated upon the throne, could no longer hide his impatience.
Look at them – every single one only knows how to blame the others; not one will admit fault. Whenever something goes wrong, all they want is for their Son of Heaven to take the blame and confess guilt!
“In the seventh year of Emperor Wen of Wei, there was a solar eclipse in the eighth month; in the eighth year, another occurred in the second month. Great stars were seen in the sky. Consulting the astronomical records from his reign, there were no fewer than eighteen solar eclipses – yet Emperor Wen governed wisely and brought order to the realm, ruling for thirty years…”
“That was because Emperor Wen was virtuous in his governance! In former times, when a star fell upon Dong Commandery, the First Emperor had the local people executed and the stone melted down – and soon after, he died. But when Duke Jing grew anxious over the planet Mars lingering in the Heart constellation, he thrice refrained from issuing orders, humbling himself before Heaven, and the star moved away three degrees.”
“After this year’s solar eclipse, our armies in the northwest won a great victory, and His Majesty’s health has been robust. How could that be Heaven’s punishment?”
These words were music to the Emperor’s ears. He couldn’t help turning to Attendant Scholar Gao with a faint smile.
There, you see? It proved it wasn’t his lack of virtue at all!
“Your Majesty, when celestial anomalies occur and the people are anxious, they must be reassured,” Attendant Scholar Gao said again, bowing low. “Since ancient times, it has been the duty of the Chief Minister to divert Heaven’s wrath by issuing a decree of self-reproach in the Emperor’s stead.”
At these words, several ministers’ expressions changed.
“To share Your Majesty’s burdens for the sake of the realm and to calm the people -such is the Chief Minister’s duty,” Attendant Scholar Gao went on, turning toward Minister Chen Shao. “Surely Master Chen will not refuse?”
A decree of self-reproach? Chen Shao was not the sort of man to take that upon himself!
Once such a decree was issued, the people would take it as an admission of guilt – who would willingly bear such infamy for no reason?
Given Chen Shao’s temperament, he would insist that the Emperor himself issue the decree and would never admit fault on his own.
Yet the court had already proclaimed that all was auspicious – that Heaven was not punishing the Emperor.
So if Chen Shao still pressed His Majesty to confess guilt, what motive could he have but ill intent?
And if, by some ruthless resolve, he did accept the blame – so much the better. In the future, that stain could always be used against him.
After all, what right would a minister who had once confessed to misgovernance have to remain in high office?
Laughter filled Attendant Scholar Gao’s eyes, but within that laughter gleamed a chill.
Celestial omens were indeed frightening – but more often than not, their fright was meant to frighten others. Just like the Chief Minister Zhai Fangjin, executed by Emperor Cheng of Han.
Everything in the world was nothing more than an opportunity.
Master Chen, Attendant Scholar Gao thought with silent satisfaction, my apologies – but this time, the opportunity is mine.
“I cannot!”
As expected, Chen Shao’s firm, ringing voice echoed through the great hall.
“I bear no blame! An empty apology from me cannot soothe the realm. This is the result of Your Majesty’s failure in governance!”
The Emperor’s expression darkened; Attendant Scholar Gao’s face took on a look of anger – but inside, his joy only deepened.
“Report!”
Just then, Wan Liufang, the Supervisor of the Imperial City Guard, shouted from outside the palace doors, bowing low.
“Your Majesty, there is an uprising among the commoners in Maoping, Jingnan Route!”
The words sent a shock through the entire hall; the Emperor rose abruptly from his throne.
“Wan Liufang – what did you say?” he demanded in disbelief.
Wan Liufang stumbled into the hall, half crawling, holding a document high above his head.
“Your Majesty, Liu Xiaotong of Maoping, Jingnan, has rebelled!”
Rebelled…
Attendant Scholar Gao’s face turned instantly ashen.
“This summer, Maoping suffered a drought, leaving the people destitute. By winter, a seven-day blizzard struck, causing countless deaths and injuries – cries of grief now fill the land.”
As the Emperor read the memorial, his hands trembled uncontrollably; shock on his face turned swiftly to rage.
“These matters – why did I know nothing of them?!”
With a furious shout, he slammed the memorial down.
“Your Majesty,” an official stepped forward, “it was just discovered that the petition for disaster relief sent from Maoping half a month ago was intercepted and suppressed.”
“Who dared?” the Emperor roared.
“By order of the Council of State – Attendant Scholar Gao,” the official declared loudly.
Standing to the side, Attendant Scholar Gao no longer had the slightest trace of a smile on his face.
How could this be? What was going on?
He had known about the snow disaster in Maoping – but seeing how His Majesty had lately been surrounded by one joyous event after another, and with the year’s end approaching, he had thought to delay reporting it for a bit. Besides, the memorial he’d read hadn’t described the situation as serious at all – certainly not enough to spark a rebellion.
If it truly had been that severe, he, Gao Lingjun, wasn’t such a fool as to suppress it!
No, no – something was wrong.
The problem had to be with the memorial that reached his hands!
The document must have been incomplete!
The full, detailed report on the disaster must have been in the hands of Chen Shao and the others.
They had done this on purpose!
In an instant, enlightenment struck Attendant Scholar Gao like a jolt of cold clarity.
He lifted his head toward Chen Shao – and saw that Chen Shao was already looking at him.
In the eyes of that ever-composed minister flickered a trace of cold amusement.
No wonder Chen Shao had insisted so stubbornly that the celestial omen was Heaven’s punishment, pressing the Emperor to issue a decree of self-reproach. He hadn’t been trying to make the Emperor take the blame at all – he’d had the same intention as Attendant Scholar Gao himself: to use the omen as a pretext to eliminate his rivals!
But who else was involved?
Attendant Scholar Gao’s gaze fell upon Wan Liufang, who had already withdrawn to the doorway.
A report of such urgency – how could it possibly have been delivered by a mere eunuch of the Imperial City Guard?
For a palace eunuch to intercept and meddle in official memorials was a grave taboo!
If Wan Liufang wasn’t mad, then he must have been tempted by an offer great enough to risk everything.
Attendant Scholar Gao clenched his teeth.
Chen Shao!
A paragon of virtue, and yet you stoop to such underhanded tricks?
Where is Heaven’s justice in this?
Fury surged through him, blood pounding in his head; the Emperor’s voice reached his ears faintly, as though from far away.
But even now – he could not, must not, admit defeat.
“Your Majesty, the memorial I received did not describe the disaster as being this severe,” Attendant Scholar Gao said, drawing a deep breath and forcing steadiness into his voice.
He knew full well that at this moment, whatever he said was meaningless – but some things still had to be said.
“The severity of the disaster,” the Emperor shouted, “is for me to determine!”
“We are guilty,” the court chorused in unison.
‘We are guilty, we are guilty’ – so now, at last, you’re willing to admit guilt!
“First a solar eclipse, and now a lunar one – yet you still refuse to admit your guilt, insisting instead on laying the blame upon me, accusing me of misrule and moral failure!”
The Emperor stood tall, his tone laced with icy laughter.
“Such a great calamity, and you kept it hidden from me! You forced even Heaven itself to send down omens! Truly, what loyal ministers you are to me!”
Chen Shao bowed deeply, holding his tablet upright before him.
“Your Majesty,” he said loudly, “I request punishment for Gao Lingjun, who has deceived Your Majesty and provoked Heaven’s wrath. As for the failure in virtuous governance that went unnoticed, I beg Your Majesty to issue a decree of pardon and invite remonstrance.”
The Emperor looked over the assembled court, his expression cold and severe.
“When the people suffer and calamities strike one after another – when sun and moon are eclipsed together – these are Heaven’s punishments. How could I not feel fear? I shall confess before Heaven and issue a decree of pardon.”
He spoke the words slowly, each one echoing through the hall.
Attendant Scholar Gao let out a silent sigh in his heart.
Now that the Emperor himself had agreed to issue a decree of self-reproach, how could the minister who had driven him to such a point possibly escape punishment?
The hunter of geese has had his eyes pecked out by one today!
Very well then – we’ll see who laughs last!
“I am guilty,” he said aloud.
With the Emperor’s decree of repentance, Attendant Scholar Gao’s own confession and resignation, and the spreading news of the Maoping blizzard and peasant uprising, the turmoil over the celestial omens gradually subsided.
The strange changes in the heavens were now seen as corresponding to the Maoping disaster and rebellion.
Though the thought still inspired awe, the people’s panic began to fade.
What the people feared most was the unknown – and now that they knew what the heavenly signs had foretold, it was as if a great stone had finally fallen from their hearts.
“This is the payment.”
At the Cheng residence by Yudai Bridge, Duke Jin’an watched as his attendants set a chest of money down beneath the corridor.
“One thousand strings of cash. Lady Cheng, please have it counted.”
Ban Qin and the maid covered their mouths, laughing.
Cheng Jiao-niang too allowed herself a small smile.
So she was pleased after all – this deliberate loss had worked just as he’d hoped.
With a hint of pride, Duke Jin’an stepped into the main hall.
“It’s just a pity,” he said, “that no one knows it was actually you who predicted it. Still, His Majesty knows.”
“How can that be called my prediction?” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “The way of Heaven follows its own order – it does not revolve around me.”
Duke Jin’an laughed.
“That boy Guo Yuan from the Bureau of Astronomy really had a stroke of luck. He’s already been promoted to Junior Supervisor, now in charge of celestial calculations, and even granted a residence – no more renting that shabby little house outside the city,” he said with a grin. “Everyone’s calling him the reincarnation of Li Chunfeng, yet they don’t realize the real Li Chunfeng is right here.”
“You jests,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Duke Jin’an chuckled.
“Yes, yes, I’m joking,” he said, turning his head toward her. “But – did you laugh?”
Ban Qin covered her mouth, laughing softly; the maid beside her also smiled, but then her brow furrowed ever so slightly as she looked at the Duke, lost in thought.
Seated comfortably in the main hall, Duke Jin’an wore an air of relaxed pride.
This time, he had both warned the Emperor in advance – allowing proper preparations – and quietly ensured that Cheng Jiao-niang’s contributions were known to His Majesty without stirring public commotion. Truly, he’d killed two birds with one stone.
“It feels great to finally do something on my own,” he said cheerfully. “If I’d known how good it felt, I would’ve taken Liu Ge’er out of the palace to live earlier.”
“Your Highness believes you can make your own decisions now?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
The Duke paused for a moment – it sounded familiar.
Yes, she’d said something like that before, when his marriage had been brought up.
What was she getting at this time?
“Of course I can,” he replied, arching an eyebrow with feigned ease. “Don’t tell me you’re about to propose a match for me too?”
“No,” Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head, looking steadily at him. “I was only thinking -Your Highness believe that using someone else as a shield meant acting on your own will.”
Duke Jin’an froze.
“And how long,” Cheng Jiao-niang continued softly, “does Your Highness intend to keep using Prince Qing as your protection? For a lifetime?”
