Inside the Yangxin Hall, the lamps burned brightly. Emperor Jinglong was in the midst of discussing state affairs with his cabinet ministers when Lan Xi quietly entered. He leaned close and reported softly, “Your Majesty, His Highness Yu Wang has arrived by imperial summons and awaits your command outside the hall.”
Emperor Jinglong nodded. “Let him in.”
Yu Wang had been spending the afternoon in the East Market, watching street performances with his son and his son’s godfather, when the sudden summons came. He was seething with annoyance, half suspecting that the Emperor had sent someone to spy on him out of jealousy, deliberately interrupting his leisure.
But upon entering the hall and seeing the ministers all seated solemnly in their official ranks, he couldn’t help but pause in surprise.
The Emperor did not bother with small talk. “You’re here. Sit.”
After Yu Wang saluted and took his seat, he heard the Emperor say: “This time I summoned you because there is one unsettled matter—I want to hear your opinion.”
Lan Xi brought over a few sheets of paper. At a glance at the creases from being rolled up, Yu Wang realized these were military reports, and his expression grew serious. He unfolded the reports and read carefully, then frowned and asked: “The Commander of Great Tong Garrison, Geng Le, is dead? When did this happen?”
Minister Jiaoyang replied: “Three days ago. The news has just reached court.”
Three months earlier, at the end of last year, the Tatars invaded Great Tong.
The Tatar Grand Preceptor Tuohuotai personally led the troops, lying in ambush with elite soldiers at Dahu Ridge, and sent over a hundred old and weak riders as bait to lure the Great Tong General-in-Chief Lin Yue out of the city. In that battle, General Lin Yue and his deputy fell into the ambush and died in combat, and the army collapsed in defeat.
This incident had already caused a considerable stir at court, and Yu Wang knew of it. Outwardly, he feigned indifference, but that night he vented his fury by driving his long spear into the parade ground’s flagstones, carving a deep fissure. If he were still guarding the frontier, he would never have allowed Great Tong to suffer such a defeat through carelessness!
Tuohuotai’s forces slaughtered and plundered, but fortunately, before reaching Yanmen Pass, they were routed by Commander Geng Le’s troops and forced back into the northern steppes.
The court then stationed new General-in-Chief and Deputy General in Great Tong. Since both men needed time to familiarize themselves with local affairs, Geng Le was allowed to temporarily retain decision-making authority over military matters.
But Geng Le, drunk on his own achievements, delayed handing over power to the new General. Tensions grew, and after one particularly heated clash, Geng Le was accidentally killed by the new commander.
Such a ridiculous incident resulted in one of Great Tong’s top officers being slain by his own men, and the other punished under military law, demoted and banished.
Now the court was forced to dispatch yet another new General and Commander to guard Great Tong. And since the frontier was unstable, the appointments had to be made with the utmost caution. The Ministry of War, Ministry of Personnel, and the Grand Secretariat were divided in opinion, so no decision had yet been finalized.
When Emperor Jinglong looked at the proposed list of candidates, some of the names seemed familiar, others wholly strange. But even the familiar names—he could not easily judge their overall merits, nor who might be most suitable to guard Great Tong.
After all, no man is perfect. Each has strengths and weaknesses. And if a weakness happened to strike at the very heart of Great Tong’s needs, would that not produce another Geng Le?
The Emperor was hesitating, when he suddenly thought of Yu Wang.
Yu Wang had once been stationed at Great Tong, and was extremely familiar with its military affairs. Since most of the candidates were seasoned frontier generals, perhaps his fourth brother could discern which among them was truly capable.
—Only, would he be willing to lend his aid? Or would this stir old wounds, provoking him to cloak his words in sarcasm, and leave in a fit of temper?
With the mindset of “nothing to lose by trying,” the Emperor summoned Yu Wang.
Yu Wang, I know you are well-versed in strategy, and deeply familiar with military affairs…
But the Emperor’s heart stirred suddenly. In an instant, he discarded the formal, perfunctory phrasing and instead said directly: “Fourth Brother, Great Tong needs a General-in-Chief who can both attack and defend. Choose one—help me make the right decision.”
The ministers’ faces changed.
They had assumed Yu Wang was summoned merely to offer advice. They had not expected the Emperor to speak so—handing over decision-making power outright! Given His Majesty’s usual nature, this was shocking indeed.
…Could it be that he still harbored wariness toward Yu Wang’s former military role, and was deliberately testing him?
Sure enough, Yu Wang let out a lazy, cold smile, and tossed the list back onto the table: “Since whatever I say won’t count anyway, why should I waste my breath? Let Elder Brother decide as he pleases.”
The Emperor looked at him steadily and called, “Jincheng.”
Yu Wang stilled his smile, his gaze carrying a hint of provocation: “If you truly want my word, then I’ll recommend one man. Dare you use him?”
The Emperor seemed to know what he implied, but his tone stayed calm: “Among the generals of the court, you may recommend whomever you deem most suitable—save for one.”
Yourself.
Yu Wang gave a thoroughly disrespectful snort. From the fruit platter at hand, he picked out a candied fruit and flicked it onto the table.
The sweet rolled and rolled, finally stopping atop the list, perfectly covering one of the names. Yu Wang clapped his hands and said: “Heaven’s will—it’s this fellow then! Let me see…” He blew the sugar dust off the page. “Li Ziyang! That is my recommendation. Elder Brother, you just gave your golden word—will you keep it, or not?”
The Emperor’s face did not change, but the ministers beside him could no longer sit still. Even the famously mild-tempered “Conciliator Grand Secretary,” Xie Shiyan, could not help but shake his head and sigh.
Jiaoyang, being a stubborn man with a loud voice, suddenly stood and rebuked: “Military affairs concern the fate of the realm—how can Your Highness, Yu Wang, treat them as a jest!” He then turned and bowed to the Emperor: “Yu Wang openly mocks Your Majesty and us, his ministers. It seems absurd, yet in truth it is but to vent his inner resentments. Your Majesty must not tolerate him again and again. He should be punished for contempt toward his sovereign!”
Minister Wang Qianhe, an ally of Jiaoyang’s, quickly joined in. The two were always of one mind. He knew Jiaoyang was not as righteously indignant as he appeared.
The truth was that Jiaoyang had recently tried to curry favor with the Empress Dowager, but she had shown him no warmth. Now he sought to seize upon Yu Wang, making a show in court, to prove his influence over the Emperor—hoping this would change her mind and draw her to his side.
Thus Wang Qianhe added: “On ordinary days, Yu Wang’s frivolity may be overlooked. But military matters concern the very safety of the state. How can he willfully stir mischief? May His Majesty see clearly!”
Yu Wang cast them both a glance, then slanted his eyes at the other two ministers: “And you two, do you mean to scold me as well?”
Xie Shiyan gave an awkward smile, raised his teacup and hid half his face behind his sleeve, unable to put the cup down.
Yang Ting frowned, clearly disagreeing, but only shook his head and said nothing.
Grand Chancellor Li Chengfeng had long been gravely ill, and was absent on extended leave.
Seeing the ministers—some scolding, some dissenting—Yu Wang turned back to the Emperor: “So, does Elder Brother also think me absurd? All the better. I still have a juggling show left unfinished. I’ll take my leave and go watch it.”
He rose, gave a perfunctory bow, and prepared to leave.
Li Ziyang… Li Ziyang… Emperor Jinglong silently repeated the name, a faint light flickering in his mind, yet slipping beyond grasp. As Yu Wang neared the doors of the hall, the Emperor, moved by some impulse he could not explain, suddenly spoke out: “Come back!”
Yu Wang’s steps faltered for a moment, but he kept walking.
The Emperor said in a deep voice: “I told you to come back!”
Yu Wang turned unwillingly and returned to the hall.
“Tell me your reason for recommending this man,” the Emperor said.
Yu Wang sneered: “This man and I share old ties. Out of personal feeling, I recommended him.”
The ministers, hearing this, were all the more scornful and indignant—only Yang Ting seemed to sense something unusual, quietly scrutinizing Yu Wang’s expression.
The Emperor stared at him for a long while, then suddenly gave a faint smile: “Very well. Let it be him.”
The ministers were greatly shocked. One after another, they rose from their seats, knelt, and urged the Emperor to retract the decree, not to indulge Yu Wang’s willful nonsense.
A flash of surprise passed through Yu Wang’s eyes. He looked straight at the Emperor, his expression somewhat complicated.
One brother sat upon the dragon throne, the other stood in the hall. With the ministers’ endless remonstrations between them, the two stared at each other for a long time. After a while, Yu Wang turned his head toward Jiaoyang—the loudest protester—and said: “Li Ziyang comes from a line of generals. His courage and skill in battle need not be spoken of. What is rare is his steadfast nature—neither arrogant nor rash. His father, the former General-in-Chief of Liaodong, was assassinated by a Blood-Eye killer. Yet he did not sink into hatred, nor did he seek to inherit his father’s shadow. Instead, he rose step by step from a junior officer, building merit upon merit. He once clashed with the Tatars several times at Yuquan Camp in Ningxia, winning every battle, yet never recklessly venturing deep into enemy territory. Such a man—measured in advance and retreat, well-versed in the northern frontier’s military situation—is more than capable of serving as General-in-Chief of Great Tong.”
“‘Comrades of several lifetimes become new ghosts, yet still laugh and jest facing the blades.’ I have never met this man. But to judge a man does not always require meeting him face to face. From his deeds, his battle record, even the poetry and essays he has written, one may glimpse his character. That is my explanation. Are you satisfied, my lords?”
Were these words an explanation for the ministers—or for his imperial brother? Emperor Jinglong remained silent.
The ministers also fell briefly silent. Yang Ting cupped his hands: “This is a weighty matter. May Your Majesty make the final decision.”
The Emperor asked only one question: “And the Great Tong Garrison Commander?”
“Whoever among the rest of the list gets along with Li Ziyang—let it be him!” Yu Wang laughed loudly, flicked his sleeve, and strode off.
Yu Wang’s recommendation left the ministers split: two in favor, two opposed. But the Grand Secretariat’s opinion was only for reference. The power of decision lay with the Emperor.
After the court dispersed, Lan Xi stepped forward and began to massage the Emperor’s temples, softly saying: “It is late, Majesty. Shall you change clothes and rest?”
The Emperor closed his eyes, enduring the dull ache from a day of heavy deliberation. At those words, that fleeting spark of insight flared again in his mind. He abruptly opened his eyes and said, almost involuntarily: “Change clothes.”
Lan Xi quickly summoned attendants to help change robes.
But the Emperor waved them away: “Change clothes… I remember now.”
Last year in June, on Su Yan’s birthday, it was here in Yangxin Hall that he had personally held the capping ceremony of “three changes of cap and robe.” Because of the Heavenly Water incense, the two had nearly crossed the line. Half-drunk, half-dazed, Su Yan had leaned against his chest and murmured vaguely:
“Is this the battlefield? The war drums beat so tightly, the situation must be dire… Don’t worry. I’ll help you find talents—Qi Jingtang, Li Ziyang, Wang Anming… and Yu Chezhi… oh, he’s already in the Ministry of War. All of them are generals of both pen and sword. They can surely aid you, lead troops to drive out the Tatars, and defend the Ming realm…”
Thinking of it now, Su Yan must have sensed his heart’s forbidden desire and deliberately spoke those words, to remind him that the nation came first.
Then—of the names he mentioned, apart from Yu Chezhi who now served as Left Shilang of the Ministry of War, were the others truly drunken nonsense?
At least Li Ziyang was not!
But then came the troubling thought: it was no surprise that a soldier-born Yu Wang would know of such an obscure officer. But how could a bookish young scholar like Su Yan know? And not only know—he had called them “talents,” “great generals versed in both civil and military arts.” How was that possible?
Emperor Jinglong pondered for a moment, then ordered Lan Xi: “Write down these two names—Qi Jingtang, Wang Anming. Have the Embroidered Guards investigate their identities and origins. Start with the army.”
Lan Xi found it strange, but did not ask further. He recorded the names carefully and sent the guards to inquire.
Even after changing into his night robes and lying on the dragon bed, the Emperor, though weary and head aching, continued silently turning over the matter in his mind.
Lan Xi was just about to draw down the bed-curtain from the jade hooks when he froze, his expression tight with suppressed fear. His voice trembled: “Your Majesty…”
“What is it?” The Emperor had barely spoken when a warm trickle flowed from beneath his nose. He touched it instinctively—his fingers came away scarlet.
Lan Xi hurriedly pressed a brocade handkerchief against it: “Your Majesty is bleeding! I must call the Imperial Physicians—”
The Emperor seized his wrist and said in a low voice: “No need.”
“But—”
“The spring winds stir up dust. An occasional nosebleed is no matter. Do not make a fuss. Bring me warm water to wash.”
Lan Xi was uneasy, but could not go against the imperial command. He fetched water. The bleeding, fortunately, stopped after a while, though the handkerchief was soaked and the basin of water stained red—a disturbing sight.
The Emperor lowered his gaze on the pale red water and, quite calmly, instructed: “Brew the ‘Decoction to Unblock and Disperse’ that Mister Yingxu prescribed. Bring it here.”
Lan Xi assented, then hesitated: “Should we summon Mister Yingxu into the palace, to examine you in person?”
The Emperor said nothing, only cast him a sidelong glance.
From that glance, Lan Xi felt a chilling dread. He hastily bowed: “It was presumptuous of me! I’ll have the medicine decocted at once.”
The Emperor lay back down, propping the pillow higher, closing his eyes in feigned sleep.
Slowly, he recalled every word Su Yan had ever spoken to him since that first meeting at the palace examination—searching among tall grass for scattered pearls.
That night.
Yu Wang, having failed to find his man in the Eastern Market, returned to his residence. Seeing his shizi sleeping like a little pig, he was filled with vexation.
Shen Qi and Su Yan lay on the rooftop ridge, gazing at the stars, treasuring every passing second of their time together before parting.
The Emperor, after drinking the medicine, tossed and turned for a long while. His head throbbed less. Before sleep, he instructed Lan Xi: if he overslept, he must be awakened before the hour of Mao.
The next day’s court assembly was postponed until the third quarter of the hour of Si.
Two hours were enough time for farewell between ruler and subject, yet far from enough between lovers.
