Pei Xia told her, in brief, what had passed between him and the emperor in Zichen Palace.
In short, the emperor had gone back on his word.
Shen Yujiao wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, he was the emperor.
And the human heart is always partial.
To make a clumsy comparison, if she were the emperor, and her own brother had done wrong, she would scold him, punish him, even strike him… but to truly order his death? She doubted she could bring herself to do it.
After all, blood is blood.
But for Pei Xia to resign and withdraw from court over this…
Shen Yujiao pressed her lips together, hesitated, then said quietly, “Perhaps… just let it be.”
How could one contend against the supreme power of the throne?
Besides, they had family, a child. Even for their sake, she thought, they could only swallow their anger and endure.
Pei Xia looked at her. “Once I resign, we can travel together, see the mountains and rivers, the beauty of the land.”
He paused. “Or… we could have a daughter.”
Shen Yujiao: “…?”
A moment ago he had been grave and thoughtful and now this?
She gave him a sidelong glare. “I’m talking about serious matters.”
Pei Xia replied, utterly serious, “Raising a daughter is a serious matter.”
Now that Di Ge’er was over four, and her health had fully recovered, there was no reason not to. Her sister-in-law, Madam Cheng, was pregnant again; even Pei Yi and Wang Huanwen, who married two years after them, already had two daughters.
Just last month, they’d attended the full-month celebration for the younger one, such a soft, pink little baby, adorable as a kitten.
Pei Xia had looked at her with unmistakable longing.
He had wanted to have a daughter for some time, but with official duties keeping him busy, he hadn’t felt free to manage it.
Now, freed from court service, with nothing to occupy him, he could finally devote himself to family life.
Pei Xia had already imagined their days of quiet leisure ahead.
Shen Yujiao gave his fingers a light squeeze, her cheeks faintly pink. Then, pretending to be stern, she said, “And what about your grand ambitions, serving the nation, upholding the realm? With all that talent for governing, wouldn’t it be a pity to spend it all just keeping me company on our travels?”
When she said this, she sighed again. “Besides, even if you wish to resign, do you think His Majesty will truly let you go? When the birds are gone, the fine bow is put away; when the cunning hare dies, the hound is cooked. From ancient times, emperors have always been the coldest and most heartless of men…”
Pei Xia’s jaw tightened slightly.
That, too, was his worry.
“Langjun, it’s not worth it to go against His Majesty over this,” Shen Yujiao said, turning her hand to clasp his.
Seeing the quiet resignation and tolerance between her brows, Pei Xia felt as though a row of fine ice thorns pierced straight into his heart, sharp and unrelenting.
His long fingers brushed gently over her eyelids, his voice hoarse. “How laughable that I, Pei Shouzhen, full of strategies to bring peace to the nation, cannot even win justice for my own wife.”
Shen Yujiao’s lashes trembled, lightly grazing his fingertips. “In this world, there is no such thing as absolute justice.”
Justice lies in people’s hearts but once a ruler’s heart is biased toward his own kin, reasoning becomes meaningless.
Pei Xia understood her meaning.
After a long moment, he drew her into his arms, pressing his jaw against her forehead and closing his eyes. “We’ll see.”
In this world, once any bond develops cracks, if one does not mend it but lets it widen, greater conflict will surely follow.
Between ruler and minister, husband and wife, parent and child, it is all the same.
Pei Xia had known from the beginning that Sima Jin was not the wise sovereign he desired.
Bound together by mutual interests, he could only comfort himself: at least Sima Jin “listened.”
As long as he could “listen,” Pei Xia believed he could keep him secure on the throne and the realm at peace.
But because of the matter with Shouan, even though Pei Xia did not end up resigning, as both Empress Dowager Yang and Shen Yujiao persuaded them to take a step back and restore the appearance of harmony between monarch and minister, they both knew there was no going back.
Once mistrust grows between ruler and minister, it is more terrifying than any other rift because it involves life and death. One thought brings glory; another, ruin.
The court soon noticed that the Chancellor was falling ill and absent from court more and more often.
Even when he did attend, he rarely spoke.
The emperor would still, out of habit, ask during discussions, “What does Chancellor Shouzhen think?”
In the past, regardless of whether the ministers’ proposals were sound, Pei Xia would always analyze them calmly and thoroughly.
Good or bad, his reasoning convinced both emperor and officials alike, ensuring harmony in court and peace in the realm.
But now, the Chancellor merely folded his sleeves, lowered his eyes, and said softly, “Your Majesty’s judgment will suffice.”
At first, Emperor Chunqing liked this docility. He felt that he had won.
Pei Xia, Pei Shouzhen, had at last bowed his head, submitting before him.
But later, suspicion gnawed at him. Was this humility merely resentment disguised?
Did Pei Xia still harbor a grudge over the Shouan affair?
In the emperor’s eyes, Pei Xia’s obedience began to feel like mockery, another form of defiance, or perhaps simple contempt.
Such thoughts flickered incessantly through Emperor Chunqing’s mind. The suspicion of a ruler, like venomous weeds, grew wildly in the rift between them, spreading without restraint.
The trust that once bound them frayed, like a hemp rope rubbing against a boulder, thinner and thinner, on the verge of snapping.
The second quarrel between ruler and minister came three months later.
That summer was exceptionally long and scorching. The three western towns of Anxi suffered a severe drought, followed by a massive locust plague. In Ningzhou, General Huo Xiao was ambushed and gravely wounded by river bandits. Without a leader, the Ningzhou army lost morale and suffered several crushing defeats.
When the war report reached the capital, Emperor Chunqing flew into a rage and immediately ordered troops to suppress the bandits.
As it concerned national defense, Pei Xia could not remain silent. He advised again, “Ningzhou does not lack soldiers, it lacks a commander capable of leading them.”
As before, he recommended several generals, and even volunteered himself: “If Your Majesty does not trust them, this minister is willing to go.”
But Emperor Chunqing gave no reply.
While Pei Xia’s mind was filled with the suffering of the Ningzhou people, the emperor recalled something his chief eunuch Rong Qing had whispered: “They say, back when the Crown Prince’s household was accused of witchcraft, the late emperor ordered Chancellor Pei to deliver a cup of poisoned wine to the Crown Prince’s son. But Chancellor Pei secretly switched the wine and smuggled the boy out of the palace.”
In truth, Emperor Chunqing already knew of this.
During that witchcraft affair, though Duke Ying’s household had started it, both he and Pei Xia had played a role in fanning the flames.
In a struggle for the throne, no one’s hands remain clean.
The emperor was guilty, and so was Pei Xia.
He remembered how brutally the Crown Prince’s family had perished and how the young Crown Prince’s son would still bow and call him “Second Uncle.”
Back then, the second prince, the future Emperor Chunqing, had been far softer of heart.
When he thought of that poor child being ordered to death, he had asked Pei Xia if there was any way to save him.
Pei Xia, learned in both medicine and strategy, had known of a drug that could feign death.
So they used that method, replacing the body and smuggling the boy out of prison.
Pei Xia oversaw every detail. Everything went smoothly except that once the Crown Prince’s grandson awoke, he vanished.
At the time, Pei Xia had told him, “The boy is clever. When he woke, he slipped away from the guards sent to watch over him.”
Back then, Emperor Chunqing trusted Pei Shouzhen completely. He only sighed, “Xuan’er has always been intelligent and cautious. After such an ordeal, he likely won’t trust anyone again, that’s why he ran away.”
So be it, he had thought then. As long as the child lives, it’s enough.
But now, whenever Emperor Chunqing thought of that child still being alive, it was like a thorn in his back, a bone stuck in his throat.
He could not help but suspect, did the boy really escape? Or had Pei Xia hidden him away? Otherwise, how could his “escape” have happened so conveniently?
Later, he questioned Pei Xia again.
Pei Xia gave the same answer as before: “His whereabouts are unknown.”
Emperor Chunqing felt certain Pei Xia was lying. Perhaps this was Pei Xia’s hidden card —
If Pei Xia could help Sima Jin ascend the throne, then why couldn’t he one day help Sima Xuan ascend it as well?
Emperor Chunqing rejected Pei Xia’s request to personally lead troops to Ningzhou, and he dared not employ any of the generals Pei Xia had recommended.
He no longer trusted Pei Xia, not at all.
Yet he did not dare release him either.
He wanted to keep Pei Xia right under his watchful eyes, trapped within his court, even if Pei Xia no longer wished to serve him, he must not be allowed to serve anyone else.
—
When Pei Xia learned of how Emperor Chunqing had dispatched generals to Ningzhou, his fury was boundless.
“Your Majesty treats the lives of the tens of thousands of soldiers and civilians in Ningzhou as a child’s game!”
The always-gentle, refined Pei Xia rarely lost his composure, but now his face flushed red. Though he did not utter a harsh word, the icy gleam in his eyes seemed to point straight at the emperor’s nose and scold him, You fool.
Emperor Chunqing’s face darkened. “Pei Shouzhen, you overstep.”
A minister’s duty was to assist his ruler, not to instruct him.
From the emperor’s tone, Pei Xia finally understood completely, he had lost his sovereign’s trust, and worse, his sovereign now feared him.
That was the gravest taboo for any subject.
If the turmoil in Ningzhou marked the second great quarrel between ruler and minister, then when the matter of relief funds came, the treasury empty from drought and famine, and Emperor Chunqing, swayed by slanderous courtiers, withheld the annual million-tael allocation for the Yanbei Army, that marked the third and fiercest conflict between them.
“Your Majesty has truly lost his judgment! Yan Wang guards our northern borders, even if the treasury is strained, remit Anxi’s taxes if you must, or raise Jiangnan’s levies by thirty percent, but you must never cut the Yanbei Army’s funding!”
“The tribes of Rong and Di always raid the borders most fiercely in summer and autumn. In past years, armor, horses, grain, and supplies were sent north by the fifth month. This year, because of Anxi’s drought and locusts, they’re already two months late — that’s bad enough. If the funds and provisions aren’t sent soon, then once the snows fall and the northern lands freeze over, how will three hundred thousand border troops in Yanbei survive the winter?”
“And if the Rong and Di attack while our borders are unprepared — with what weapons, with what armor, will our soldiers defend against their fierce cavalry?”
Over in Ningzhou, though the wrong commander had been appointed, at least old General Huo was there to keep an eye on things; no great disaster would come of it.
But in Yanbei, if anything went wrong, it would mean the very gates of the nation being breached, cities and land lost, a calamity of the highest order.
In the past, no matter how much Emperor Zhaoning clashed with Yan Wang, he had never withheld military funds from the Yanbei army. But Emperor Chunqing had done exactly that.
And not only did he do it, he even thought it was no big deal. “Don’t be such a worrier,” he said. “You’re just frightening yourself. Yan Wang is guarding the northern territories; the Rong and Di tribes haven’t dared to invade for nearly ten years. Why would they choose now to do so? Besides, I’m not cutting off their funds, just delaying them for two months. Once Ningzhou wins a major victory and the treasury loosens up, I’ll immediately send the funds to Yanbei.”
Pei Xia felt a heavy, suffocating anger clogging his chest, neither rising nor subsiding.
When he returned home, he shut himself inside his study, forbidding anyone to disturb him.
When Shen Yujiao went looking for him, the sound of a qin drifted out from within the study, clear and resonant.
The opening notes surged like rivers and mountains, fierce and impassioned. Then, suddenly, the tone shifted, vast, desolate, and sorrowful.
She recognized the piece he was playing: “Chu Song.”
According to The Supplemented Collection of the Grand Sounds of Xingzhuang, the story went: When Xiang Yu of Chu was surrounded at Gaixia and heard the Chu song echoing from all sides, he rose in the night, drank in his tent, and sang the song “My might once moved mountains, my spirit covered the world” in farewell to Yu Ji. At dawn, he killed himself by the Wu River. Later generations grieved for him and thus composed this melody. Some say it was by Liu Hou, later embellished by others.
Pei Xia, who had always cultivated calm restraint, rarely listened to such passionate, turbulent pieces, much less played them himself.
Shen Yujiao stood at the doorway, entranced by the music, when suddenly there came a sharp “twang.”
A string had snapped.
Her heart dropped with it.
Without waiting for permission to enter, she pushed the door open. “Langjun.”
The room was unlit, dusky gold light spilling in from the window over the couch where Pei Xia sat cross-legged. The qin before him had two broken strings.
His slender, pale fingers bore a deep cut, and blood was trickling down.
Shen Yujiao’s face changed. “How did it end up like this?”
Seeing her, the coldness between his brows quickly softened. He hid his hand under his sleeve and said, “It’s nothing. I just haven’t played in too long, my fingers are out of practice.”
Shen Yujiao drew out a clean handkerchief from her sleeve and went to take his hand.
He hesitated for a moment, but let her.
“The cut’s so deep…” she murmured. Just how angry must he be?
“It’s just a small injury.”
“Small? Look at it.”
As she bandaged his hand, her fine brows drew together, and she sighed. “Brother Shouzhen, you’re already a father.”
Pei Xia froze for a moment, then gave a hoarse laugh.
In the past, when he teased her, he’d always say, “You’re already a mother.”
Now she was turning his own words back on him.
That little flash of wifely reproach made the heaviness in his chest ease a little.
Once Shen Yujiao finished wrapping the wound, she could guess well enough—he must have been brooding over the affairs of court.
Over the past six months or so, Emperor Chunqing had become like an untamed horse, deliberately opposing Pei Xia in everything, throwing the court into chaos. In the past, when ruler and minister were of one mind, flatterers and schemers had no room to act. But now that a rift had formed between them, all kinds of wicked and opportunistic people had begun to crawl out of the shadows, it was truly worrisome.
“If Langjun doesn’t mind,” Shen Yujiao said softly, “tell me about it. I may not be able to ease your worries, but speaking out, having someone to listen, is always better than keeping it all inside.”
Pei Xia was silent for a long while. In the end, he could not resist his wife’s clear and gentle gaze, and finally spoke of how Emperor Chunqing had withheld the military funds for Yanbei.
Even as a woman of the inner chambers, Shen Yujiao knew the border defenses were a matter of utmost importance.
She now understood why Pei Xia had been so angry, this concerned the safety of the realm itself.
“The Emperor suspects you now,” she said after a moment’s thought. “Even if your advice is utterly loyal and sound, he likely won’t hear it.”
She gently took his hand. “Tomorrow, when I enter the palace to pay my respects to the Empress Dowager, she is wise and broad-minded, perhaps I can persuade her to speak to His Majesty.”
Pei Xia’s heart softened. “I’ll trouble you, then.”
Shen Yujiao smiled faintly. “We’re husband and wife. Why speak of trouble?”
Pei Xia froze for a moment, then reached out and pulled her into his arms. His tall nose buried itself in the curve of her neck, and only then did he feel a rare moment of peace.
—
Meanwhile, at the Yanzhou military camp—
“That useless fool! Still no funds?! Does he want my three hundred thousand border troops to drink the northwest wind for sustenance?!”
Yan Wang’s face was cold as he hurled the imperial document dispatched two months ago but only delivered today onto the ground.
A general in a crimson robe rose from below and bent to pick up the letter.
“Godfather, don’t be angry,” he said. “Not worth losing your temper over those dogs in the capital.”
Seeing the familiar handwriting on the paper, the man’s thick brows lifted, and the smiling peach-blossom eyes darkened a shade. “Give them one more month. If they still don’t send the funds, your son will go collect the debt myself.”
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