Su Yan glanced at the clothing rack inside the hall. A dragon robe hung there, its sleeves spread, draped neatly.
It was an ochre-yellow, cloud-shouldered, full-sleeved longlan zhishen—formal attire suitable for both auspicious occasions and attending court at the imperial gates. Two dragons, one blue and one gold, climbed over the shoulders and back, their heads turned toward each other as if playing with a pearl. The overlapping collar and the hem were embroidered with cloud-and-sea dragon patterns, dazzling in their brilliance, exuding opulence, dignity, and solemnity.
This was no replica locked behind a museum glass case in later generations—this was a real dragon robe, worn by the Son of Heaven himself. The way it hung there mirrored a scene from another lifetime, overlapping two worlds in a fleeting illusion.
Su Yan sighed and stepped forward to retrieve it, only to realize his hands were covered in medicinal ointment. Instinctively, he turned to the emperor and hesitated. “Your Majesty, my hands have ointment on them…”
Emperor Jinglong nodded. “Then you must be careful. If you stain the dragon robe, that would be an act of great disrespect—punishable by death.”
Su Yan jolted, glancing at the emperor’s calm expression. He couldn’t tell whether the remark was serious or in jest. Erring on the side of caution, he clamped the robe between his wrists, draped it over his shoulder and arm, and carefully walked back.
The emperor watched him with an amused expression, extending his arms in anticipation.
Su Yan had to be mindful not to smear ointment on the robe while also struggling to slip the emperor’s arms into the sleeves. His movements were clumsy—he fumbled more than once and had to start over several times.
Yet the emperor remained patient, arms outstretched, watching Su Yan bustle around him, drawing close and pulling away repeatedly. Even the loud, continuous recitations from outside the hall no longer seemed bothersome.
At last, Su Yan managed to slide both long sleeves on and tuck the robe’s front panel around the emperor’s ribs. But now he faced another dilemma—
The right inner panel had one pair of silk ties, while the left outer panel had two. All of them needed to be fastened securely. With his fingers rendered useless, he couldn’t even manage a simple knot, let alone a bow.
What now?
Su Yan looked up at the emperor, troubled.
Emperor Jinglong remained expressionless.
Su Yan’s gaze carried a hint of grievance.
After a long moment, the emperor, having enjoyed the spectacle enough, finally spoke mercifully: “Use your mouth.”
Why did those words sound so… wicked?
Under the emperor’s unwavering gaze, Su Yan had no choice but to kneel slightly and lower his face to the emperor’s waist, clumsily using his teeth and lips to try and tie the knots.
Unfortunately, silk ties weren’t like cherry stems—they didn’t knot easily, nor could he take them fully into his mouth. He struggled for a while, his tongue growing sore. Saliva dampened the ties before he finally managed to secure one side in a haphazard knot. The other side, however, refused to cooperate no matter how hard he tried.
The emperor looked down at the busy head moving around his waist, then idly stroked Su Yan’s neatly combed black hair. Half indulgent, half teasing, he remarked, “I told you not to dirty it, and now you’ve gone and drenched it.”
It was clear he was toying with him.
Su Yan, annoyed, spat out the silk tie and huffed, “I am incapable. Your Majesty, please punish me!”
The emperor raised an eyebrow. “Punish you for what?”
His hands? No, his hands had done their best. His teeth and tongue? That sounded strange…
Wait—I’m being led into his trap!
Realizing this, Su Yan stiffened and stubbornly declared, “I lacked the strength to complete the task—punish me for my weakness!”
The emperor burst into laughter.
Since the first time Su Yan had seen him at the imperial examination nearly a year ago, he had never witnessed Emperor Jinglong laugh so freely.
This emperor, known for his refined and graceful demeanor—Su Yan had seen his serene smiles, his reserved smiles, his satisfied smiles, his mocking smiles, his confident smiles, his enigmatic smiles… but never had he seen him laugh with such pure, unrestrained joy…
It was as if a gust of wind had swept away the dust and burdens that had clung to him for years.
Before Su Yan could fully take in the sight, the emperor had already curbed his laughter, returning to his usual dignified and elegant composure.
He lifted the dampened silk tie at his waist and, without the slightest sign of disgust, tied it himself. Once finished, he donned a black gauze wingshan crown adorned with twin jade dragons. In an instant, he was once again the imposing Son of Heaven.
He sat down in a rosewood chair beside a square table and gestured toward the seat across from him, signaling for Su Yan to sit as well.
Su Yan thanked him and took his seat, knowing it was time for serious discussion.
The sound of recitations outside continued unabated. Seeing that the emperor had no intention of stopping them, Su Yan took the initiative to speak up. “The weather is cold, and it’s snowing. His Highness, the Crown Prince, has been standing outside—he may catch a chill. Perhaps Your Majesty should allow him to return to the Eastern Palace?”
The emperor glanced at the hall doors and raised an eyebrow. “Even if I order him back, he won’t go. If he insists on reciting, let him. He’s been a troublemaker since childhood—sturdy enough to endure a little cold. He won’t fall ill so easily.”
Hearing the emperor speak of his son like an ordinary father, Su Yan couldn’t help but smile.
Outside, a dozen palace attendants surrounded the Crown Prince, acting as a human windscreen. Cheng Sheng wrapped a fox-fur cloak around him, while Fu Bao handed him a bowl of red date ginger tea. Zhu Helin, his voice hoarse from reciting, took a quick sip of the tea before continuing loudly—he wouldn’t stop until he had recited Su Yan safely out of the emperor’s bedchamber.
Inside, Su Yan methodically and concisely reported his findings and actions during his mission to Shaanxi.
The emperor listened attentively, not interrupting until Su Yan had finished. Then, he pointed out several concerns, prompting Su Yan to address them one by one.
Their discussion lasted for an hour, culminating in a decision: the new policies would continue in Shaanxi for the next few years. If results proved promising, they would gradually extend to the capital, Shanxi, and Liaodong, fully reforming the two-temple official pastures system.
If, in the future, these pastures could supply enough warhorses, they could abolish the burdensome civilian pastures tax on commoners—a prospect that would significantly reduce opposition from court officials. Even the staunchest conservatives clinging to ancestral traditions would eventually bow to overwhelming national interests.
By Su Yan’s estimate, Shaanxi’s reforms could achieve their goals within five to eight years. The subsequent national implementation would take roughly a decade.
That is, provided the emperor’s support remained unwavering.
Otherwise, Su Yan would meet the same fate as Wang Anshi.
He left that last thought unsaid, but Emperor Jinglong understood.
The emperor’s expression turned solemn. “As long as I am on the throne, I will be your pillar of support. Even when I am gone, I will ensure these policies are inscribed in my edict, so my successor must carry them on.”
“Your Majesty’s long life and prosperity—what kind of talk is this? Pah, pah!” Su Yan, recalling the ominous prophecy, felt his heart pound wildly and blurted out, forgetting proper court etiquette.
The Emperor did not reprimand him for his lack of decorum. Instead, he shook his head and said, “I am getting old.”
Su Yan muttered under his breath, “According to the age classifications set by the United Nations World Health Organization, anyone between 15 and 44 is still considered young. Your Majesty is right in the middle of that range—how is that old?”
This was the prime age for a man’s charm. A successful bachelor in his thirties or forties would be considered a “golden bachelor” or “diamond elite” in later times. From Su Yan’s perspective, if Emperor Jinglong lived in the modern era, he’d easily top the diamond bachelor rankings.
The Emperor did not question which “foreign nation” the so-called “United Nations” belonged to. He simply found the word “young” quite pleasing to the ear and smiled slightly. With a sigh, he said, “To live to seventy is rare throughout history. If seventy is the limit, then by next year’s February 14th Wan Shou Festival, I will have lived more than half my years.”
The Wan Shou Festival was the Emperor’s birthday, a grand celebration observed throughout the empire. Su Yan thought for a moment and said, “I had originally planned to go to Shaanxi after the new year and spend some time reinforcing the new policies. That way, when Your Majesty appoints another Imperial Censor or a new Governor to take over, things will be more stable. In that case, I will wait until March, after Wan Shou Festival, to depart.”
The Emperor said lightly, “Early March is still quite chilly. Why not leave in April instead?”
Su Yan blinked. “By April, all the flowers will have fallen. If I delay any further, it will be summer. The sooner I go, the sooner I can return.”
The Emperor gazed at his face in silence, which could be considered tacit approval.
Suddenly recalling something, Su Yan asked, “Was there some issue at court this morning?” Otherwise, why would the Emperor have such a severe headache right after court adjourned?
Emperor Jinglong’s expression darkened.
Su Yan speculated, “Is it about the Oirat… the Kunle Prince incident? Has Hu Kuoli run out of patience and is preparing to invade?”
“The Oirat envoy agreed to wait for a month. I have decreed an investigation in Shaanxi to clarify the case before giving them a satisfactory response,” the Emperor said. “However, there was a secret report from the Great Tong border garrison. They recently clashed with Tatar cavalry and captured a group of prisoners, only to discover something suspicious about their identities. After a thorough investigation by the Shanxi Commander-in-Chief, it turns out these prisoners are not Tatars at all, but Oirat men.”
The Emperor let out a cold snort. “On the surface, the Oirat tribe is eager to form an alliance with the Great Ming. Their leader, Hu Kuoli, spoke fervently about the Tatars’ transgressions against his people and addressed me in his letters with the loyalty of a vassal. But behind the scenes, he has already colluded with the Tatars. His ambitions are clear! What a cunning plan.”
Su Yan suddenly understood. “So that’s what’s going on!”
The Emperor was somewhat surprised. “Qinghe, you know of this matter as well?”
“Not only do I know, but I suspect this is part of an even deeper scheme.”
Su Yan explained the matter of the fake tattoos and the Heiduo High Priest. Emperor Jinglong also sensed a possible connection between the two and mused, “If that’s the case, then the Oirat leader may either be part of the conspiracy or an unwitting pawn deceived by Heiduo. The question is—who is backing Heiduo, and what is their true objective?”
“I can’t guess that yet,” Su Yan admitted. “But the most pressing issue is the fate of Prince Kunle. If he truly died at Heiduo’s hands, how can we convince Hu Kuoli of the truth?”
The Emperor nodded. “I will send another envoy with a secret letter to meet Hu Kuoli privately. As for the official diplomatic response delivered via the Oirat envoy, I will carefully craft my words to mislead Heiduo into believing his plan is working.”
Su Yan hesitated before finally asking, “What does Your Majesty intend to do with Yan Chengxue and Huo Dun?”
Emperor Jinglong replied, “Escort them back to the capital and imprison them in the Imperial Prison.”
From the Emperor’s expression, Su Yan could not discern a clear stance. Perhaps the Emperor believed Yan and Huo were innocent in this particular case but intended to hold them accountable for other crimes in the future. Or perhaps he saw them as pawns to be sacrificed in exchange for greater national interests.
At this moment, Su Yan could not make a definitive judgment, so he had no grounds to offer advice. He merely nodded silently, choosing to observe and wait for a clearer picture.
In the courtyard, the sound of someone reciting suddenly broke off, followed by a distinct crack in their voice and a fit of violent coughing, as if their throat had been seized by the cold wind.
Su Yan instinctively turned toward the hall doors and noticed that Emperor Jinglong did the same. The two of them exchanged faintly amused glances.
The coughing persisted for some time before the recitation resumed, albeit with difficulty. Su Yan sighed and cupped his hands. “I should take my leave, lest His Highness the Crown Prince catches cold.”
Emperor Jinglong had originally planned to keep Su Yan for dinner, but seeing his stubborn son braving the wind and snow outside, he knew it would be futile. He nodded instead. “Go ahead. You’ve traveled far and must be exhausted—get some proper rest.”
Su Yan rose to leave. As he stepped out of the hall, he turned his head and caught sight of Lan Xi standing steadfastly outside the door. The sight amused him—this old eunuch was still worrying himself sick over the Emperor’s concerns!
Truly, the saying holds: “The Emperor remains calm while the eunuch frets to death.”
Lan Xi swiftly scanned Su Yan up and down but refrained from making any unnecessary remarks. With a flick of his dust whisk, he intoned, “Lord Su, take care on your way.”
The Crown Prince, still coughing from the cold, finally saw Su Yan exit and immediately sprang up from his chair, rushing forward.
