Soft noises rose from the Cheng residence in the dark of the night. Only a dim night lamp was lit in the room, casting flickering shadows of the figure inside the bed curtains.
Lady Huang sat inside the curtains, clutching her sleeping child tightly against her chest, listening nervously to the sounds outside. Soon, the faint noises faded away.
Lady Huang almost stopped breathing, holding the child even closer. The door suddenly swung open, startling her so much she nearly screamed.
“It’s me,” Fan Jianglin said.
Lady Huang let out a sigh of relief.
“Da-lang, wh-who is it?” she asked in a trembling voice.
Fan Jianglin placed the crossbow back beside the pillow.
“They’re here for our sister,” he said, pausing briefly. “They’re on our side.”
The maid pinned up her hair and opened the door, spotting Duke Jin’an under the dim light of the corridor lantern.
“Your Highness, no longer climbing walls? Now you vault right over them?” she couldn’t help but remark.
Duke Jin’an merely smiled in response, not replying, as his gaze turned toward Cheng Jiao-niang, who emerged from the inner chamber.
“My apologies for the intrusion,” he said.
Cheng Jiao-naing returned the greeting with a bow.
The maid had no choice but to step aside, watching as Duke Jin’an entered the room.
“Sister, in the middle of the night like this, is it proper for the young master not to be accompanying him?” Ban Qin whispered softly, unable to hold back her concern.
“Proper or not, what does it matter?” the maid replied. “They are betrothed, after all. There’s nothing wrong with them meeting.”
Betrothed!
Ban Qin was momentarily dazed – ah, right, she had almost forgotten about this.
“But… hasn’t the formal betrothal gift been presented yet?” she murmured.
“When the Emperor gives his word, it’s as good as the betrothal being settled,” the maid said, urging Ban Qin to go make tea.
But the Emperor was already unconscious and unresponsive. Did his word still count?
With these thoughts swirling in her mind, Ban Qin headed off to prepare the tea.
“Receiving a guest in such haste is discourteous,” Cheng Jiao-niang said, bowing in greeting.
Duke Jin’an smiled, looking at Cheng Jiao-niang under the lamplight. Dressed in simple attire, her hair had not yet been pinned up and cascaded loosely down her back.
“It is I who should apologize,” he replied.
A moment of silence settled in the room.
“Are you aware that the Empress has raised the matter of adopting an heir from the imperial clan?” Duke Jin’an asked directly.
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
Duke Jin’an’s expression darkened instantly.
So it truly was the Empress…
“It seems I have implicated you after all,” he said.
Cheng Jiao-niang smiled.
“That is not what I meant,” she replied. “I was saying it wasn’t the Empress who raised the matter – it was I.”
Duke Jin’an stared in astonishment.
Even the maid sitting by the door looked up, equally shocked – it was actually the young mistress who…
Ban Qin, who was approaching with tea, froze in her steps, startled by the expression on the maid’s face.
Duke Jin’an looked at Cheng Jiao-niang, seeming to ponder for a moment before a slight smile appeared.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I do not wish to die,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
So that was it. Once Prince Qing ascended the throne, it was highly likely that the Empress Dowager and the Gao family would seize power. While the Empress Dowager might be tolerable, the Gao family would undoubtedly seek to eliminate her – not just her, but he himself had long been on their list as well.
“In truth, things may not necessarily turn out that way in the future,” Duke Jin’an said. “Chancellor Chen and others are already containing the Gao family. If they wanted to act against you, they would not do so now – at least not for a long time after Prince Qing ascends the throne. So, we have time to avoid it – or even strike first and eliminate him.”
Cheng Jiao-niang shook her head.
“I don’t have that kind of time,” she said.
Although she did not know whether she could truly change what would happen three hundred years later, at least things had already shifted now. A new emperor had emerged, and a new historical trajectory was about to unfold. Whether or not this trajectory could extend to three hundred years later, she could not afford to let it pass by.
Her father had devoted so much effort to raising and educating her, and her clan was waiting for her. She could not die, nor could she pin her hopes on others – especially not on an uncertain future.
For her, there was only the present moment, no later. If she lived now, she would live in the future; if she died now, she would die in the future.
“But an adoption won’t be that simple,” Duke Jin’an said, looking at Cheng Jiao-niang earnestly. “This way, the Gao family and the Empress Dowager will certainly not step back and yield.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied.
Duke Jin’an was taken aback once again.
“Why?”
“Because the current court politics are clear,” Cheng Jiao-niang explained.
Clear court politics?
Duke Jin’an frowned slightly.
“Is this not some divine secret?” he asked, half-joking, half-serious.
Divine secrets – sometimes, they cannot be spoken.
She never told lies, but she could choose to remain silent.
A faint smile curved the corners of Cheng Jiao-niang’s lips.
In a secluded corner of Prince Qing’s residence, a hidden door opened soundlessly and then closed just as quietly.
“Your Highness.”
The advisor who had been waiting inside for some time, noticing that Duke Jin’an had not entered, went searching for him. Just as the attendant had mentioned, he found Duke Jin’an standing in the rear courtyard.
When the advisor saw Duke Jin’an gazing up at the starry sky, his heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.
“Could it truly be that Lady Cheng she…”
Duke Jin’an smiled faintly.
“Her Majesty the Empress is not someone easily swayed by a few words,” he said. “Let’s just say everyone is acting in their own self-preservation.”
Indeed. With Prince Ping dead and the Imperial Consort gone mad, from the perspective of the Empress Dowager and Gao Lingjun, both the Empress and Lady Cheng were now considered adversaries.
“So, you mean the two of them, in a moment of desperation for self-preservation, came up with this?” the advisor said, probing slightly. “Or perhaps Lady Cheng has some kind of…”
Duke Jin’an smiled again, turning his gaze from the sky to the guest.
“No,” he replied. “She merely said that the current court governance is clear.”
Not some divine mandate foreordained… A faint sense of disappointment flickered in the advisor’s heart.
Duke Jin’an began walking toward the house, and the guest hurried to follow.
“Your Highness,” the advisor said after a moment of contemplation. “She is not wrong. With the court governance clear now, the matter of adoption might truly have a chance of succeeding.”
Duke Jin’an remained silent, as if he hadn’t heard.
Gritting his teeth, the advisor stepped in front of him.
“Your Highness,” he whispered, “if the adoption does succeed, what will you do?”
Duke Jin’an halted in his tracks.
If the adoption truly succeeded, then Prince Qing would never ascend the throne.
“This is Liu Ge’er’s realm,” he said slowly.
“Your Highness,” the advisor looked up at him, “if Prince Qing truly cannot take the throne, what will you do? Will you watch as another ascends, or…”
Or will you take it yourself?
A sudden gust of wind seemed to sweep through the summer night.
…
“Brother Yuanchao, over here.”
Hearing the call, Han Yuanchao looked up. The midday sunlight was somewhat dazzling, making it difficult for him to see his colleague leaning out from the second-floor window to greet him.
“Guest, please come this way,” a waiter beckoned.
Han Yuanchao withdrew his gaze and looked at the restaurant before him, his eyes lingering on the three characters “Tai Ping Residence” inscribed on the signboard.
“Does the gentleman also admire these characters?” the waiter remarked with a smile. “Though not as exquisite as the running script at the Maoyuan Mountain Tomb, they have a distinct charm of their own.”
Han Yuanchao smiled slightly, nodded without saying a word, and stepped inside.
“Brother Yuanchao, how about treating us here? It should be enough to make up for losing the poetry contest last time, right?”
Two colleagues in the private room chuckled.
“Don’t underestimate this place just because it’s a bit out of the way. This Tai Ping Residence is no worse than those top-tier restaurants in the city.”
“And what’s more,” one of them added, “it’s not cheap either.”
Han Yuanchao simply smiled without responding and took his seat, glancing around the room. Suddenly, a burst of raucous laughter erupted from the neighboring room.
“…So it’s true that someone tried to secretly get him drunk and coax him into pounding the Dragon Throne in the court?”
“…Thank goodness he didn’t go. If he had, the Emperor couldn’t have pretended to brush it off as just drunkenness – he’d likely have been scolded by the Empress Dowager…”
“…Scolded? More like beaten, I’d say.”
“…Dragged by the hair and beaten, perhaps?”
With that remark, another round of hearty laughter followed.
Han Yuanchao and his colleagues exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of awkwardness and astonishment.
“It sounds like a group of scholars in the next room,” one colleague whispered, keeping his voice low.
“Truly reckless,” another shook his head.
To joke about court affairs and even the Empress Dowager in such a manner!
“Yet it is precisely because there are vulnerabilities that people find things to talk about,” Han Yuanchao remarked.
Hearing this, his two colleagues immediately waved their hands in caution.
“Brother Yuanchao, we are no longer reckless youths,” they said. “We must choose our words carefully.”
“Careful actions precede careful words,” Han Yuanchao replied. “If there is reckless conduct in the court, naturally, we will have reckless words among ourselves.”
The two colleagues exchanged a glance.
“So, Brother Yuanchao, do you side with Master Jiangzhou?” they asked in hushed tones.
“I simply follow the way of virtue,” Han Yuanchao replied.
His colleagues chuckled.
“Royal succession is not determined by virtue,” they said with a smile. “Especially when there’s only one heir…”
Before they could finish, voices from the neighboring room rose sharply and spilled over.
“…Why can’t an heir be adopted? Why must it be Prince Qing? Aren’t all the descendants of the Great Ancestor part of the imperial clan? Why should others be excluded?”
“…If we truly speak of bloodline, the line of Prince Xiu is the most direct descendant of the Great Ancestor…”
Upon hearing this, the faces of his two colleagues turned pale with fear, and they immediately stood up.
Scholars and students of the literati often enjoy commenting on court affairs and criticizing officials in power – this is neither uncommon nor entirely forbidden. After all, it’s mostly just talk and rarely escalates to the point of causing political chaos. If even such discussions were to be suppressed, wouldn’t that lead to a harsh, oppressive regime where people fear to speak openly?
No emperor or minister would willingly bear such a reputation, especially not the current Emperor, who places great importance on appearances.
But listening to these reckless scholars delve into increasingly outrageous topics – even questioning the Emperor’s lineage – was truly more than they could tolerate.
“Let’s go,” they said. “We can’t stay here any longer.”
Han Yuanchao smiled faintly and rose to follow them.
Once outside Tai Ping Residence, the two colleagues felt somewhat disheartened.
“If I’d known earlier, I’d have brought ingredients and enjoyed myself under a tree out here in the wild,” one said, gesturing toward the roadside.
The other had no appetite left for food or drink.
“To think discussions have already reached this point,” his companion sighed. “It seems the matter of designating an heir won’t be settled anytime soon.”
Even the colleague who initially wanted to avoid the topic couldn’t resist chiming in.
“I heard Chancellor Chen is also wavering on this matter,” he whispered, sharing the secret news he’d acquired.
“What?”
“Isn’t Chancellor Chen firmly supporting Prince Qing?” Han Yuanchao couldn’t help asking in surprise.
The colleague wore a faintly proud expression.
“Originally, he was,” he said. “But Master Jiangzhou made a statement.”
“What did he say?” Han Yuanchao pressed.
“To elevate Prince Qing is akin to the Sima Emperors,” the colleague replied with an enigmatic smile. “Who among you dare compare His Majesty to them? What do you intend by this? And what does it imply about the present era?”
A prince of limited mental capacity ascending to become Crown Prince and Emperor – history does have precedents of emperors with intellectual impairments. However, those two mentally deficient emperors came to power because imperial authority had weakened and court ministers manipulated power for their own ends. After they ascended, court governance became unstable, rebellions erupted frequently, and the dynasty’s vitality was exhausted.
“So, Master Jiangzhou is essentially saying that whoever supports Prince Qing is implicitly comparing His Majesty to Emperor Xiaowu of Jin…”
The emperor who was killed by a concubine over drunken, careless remarks…
What emperor would ever want to be compared to such a figure of eternal ridicule!
“Whoever supports Prince Qing is a minister scheming for power; whoever supports Prince Qing is a minister cursing the Great Zhou’s fate to perish.”
“Who in their right mind would dare do that? Master Jiangzhou’s rebuke is truly vicious!”
In contrast to his colleague’s stunned expression, Han Yuanchao laughed heartily and clapped his hands.
“This is precisely why I say our court’s governance is clear. How could such a thing happen?” he declared. “What face would court officials and scholars have to show to the sages or to the common people!”
