“…It’s already been five days.”
Outside the Meridian Gate, court officials who had waited through the fading darkness until early morning finally received word from the imperial messengers: “Court is dismissed today.” Many sighed and dispersed, leaving small groups whispering to one another.
“I heard His Majesty has been restless lately! Has anyone heard anything from Minister Zheng and Director Wang of the Imperial Medical Institute?”
“The Imperial Medical Institute hasn’t shown any big movements. It’s true the Emperor has a long-standing head condition, but it’s been many years, occasional episodes aren’t a major illness, are they?”
“For seventeen years since ascending the throne, the Emperor has never dismissed court for illness, yet now he neglects his duties! Could it be that our previous collective memorial displeased His Majesty, causing these consecutive days of dismissed court as a sign of dissatisfaction?” one official said, voice trembling as he held his tablet.
“That’s possible,” another replied.
“But if it’s displeasure, why hasn’t the Emperor punished us for petitioning to change the heir?”
“Likewise, those who supported the Crown Prince weren’t punished either. How to fathom His Majesty’s will, who can know?”
The officials shook their heads in frustration.
One hesitated, then said, “The Chief Eunuch Lan of the Directorate of Ceremonies serves closely beside the Emperor. Perhaps we could learn something from him.”
“Who will approach him? Lord Fan’s words are smooth as silk, perhaps you should try?”
“No, no, I recently impeached Lan Xi for taking bribes. If I go now, it would only be embarrassing.”
“Then Lord Cen? You seemed quite worked up just now; your tablet nearly broke.”
Lord Cen tucked the tablet into his sleeve and waved repeatedly. “Don’t even mention it. As for befriending eunuchs, I don’t care to do it, let whoever wants to go, go!”
—
“…Just along the road from Fengtian Gate to the Forbidden Gate, seven or eight officials approached me. I’ve never been so popular, practically a walking delicacy,” said Lan Xi in the imperial study, hunched over ink grinding, speaking softly.
Emperor Jinglong sat in a wide chair, holding the Second Prince Zhu Hezhao in his arms, guiding his tiny hand to write large characters. He chuckled lightly. “You think you are popular? It’s my thoughts that’s popular.”
“Yes, yes. But I understand very clearly, only the Emperor’s heart is decisive; others have no right to peek. They’re just muddled.”
The Emperor didn’t wish to dwell on the court officials and shifted the topic. “How do you think this child’s writing looks?”
Lan Xi examined the rice paper and praised, “His Highness, the Second Prince, is only three, yet his writing surpasses ordinary children of five or six. Truly remarkable.”
Zhu Hezhao looked at Lan Xi and said in his babyish voice, “Thank you for the compliment, Da Ban. But I’ve just started practicing; I still have to learn from Royal Father.”
Lan Xi smiled, full of wrinkles like a blossoming flower. “The Second Prince is both sharp and humble, truly a prodigy.”
The Emperor put down the brush, gently patting Zhu Hezhao’s back. “You’ve practiced nearly half an hour without complaint, much more diligent than your brother at that age. Go wash your hands and have some snacks.”
Zhu Hezhao slid off his father’s lap, and the attending palace servants guided him away. Before leaving, he bowed to the Emperor in farewell.
Watching the little figure of the Second Prince, Lan Xi couldn’t help but marvel at how composed he was, hardly like a three-year-old. “Not only does he resemble His Majesty, even his demeanor and mannerisms are remarkably similar.”
The Emperor nodded. “Luckily, not like his mother. By the way, Consort Weizhao is still at Yongning Palace?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Lan Xi reported. “I heard from Cining Palace that the Second Prince asked the Empress Dowager the other day whether his royal mother’s punishment had ended and when she could return.”
“Oh? And what did the Empress Dowager say?”
“The Empress Dowager said, ‘Grandmother will take care of you well, on behalf of your royal mother as well.’ Afterward, she had the palace maid who gossiped before the Second Prince and revealed news of Consort Weizhao beaten to death with the rod.”
The Emperor rose and washed his hands in a bronze basin beside him, saying blandly, “With Royal Mother caring for Zhao’er, I’m quite at ease. Since she doesn’t wish any other consort to raise him, let her have her way, he can be brought up in Cining Palace.”
“And… the matter the Empress Dowager mentioned earlier, about letting the Second Prince begin his studies early at Wenhua Hall?”
“Zhao’er is precocious. Starting his lessons a few years ahead of others will do no harm. Since Royal Mother has already chosen his teachers, he can enter the hall next year. Go inform Gelaos Jiao and Wang so they’ll have enough time to prepare the curriculum.”
Lan Xi received the order and withdrew from the imperial study.
—
“…Have you heard? The Second Prince is to begin studying at Wenhua Hall next year, under Gelaos Jiao and Wang.”
“Next year? So soon?”
“Yes, normally children begin schooling at six or seven, but the Second Prince is said to be gifted. They say His Majesty personally teaches him to write.”
“Of late, morning court has been held less and less, once daily reduced to three times every ten days. Sometimes the Emperor doesn’t appear for several days in a row. The palace servants say he’s been low on energy and spends most of his time resting in the East and West Gardens.”
“His Majesty’s head ailment…”
“Gelao Jiao is hosting a banquet tomorrow…”
“The Empress Dowager’s birthday is coming up…”
Within the Office of Transmission, Cui Jinping, serving as a councillor, held a stack of newly compiled memorials in his arms and walked straight past the group of officials idly gossiping in the courtyard, eyes fixed ahead.
“Councillor Cui, ” someone called out.
Another interrupted, “Leave him be. The top scholar’s too proud, looks down on us common sorts. Let him ‘leap like a dragon and shine like a golden scale’ all by himself, eh?”
Everyone burst into laughter.
Cui Jinping ignored the jeers behind him, went straight into his study, and placed the memorials on the table.
The Office of Transmission was responsible for compiling memorials submitted by various ministries and local offices, sorting and categorizing them before passing them to the Grand Secretariat, or, upon the eunuchs’ notice, submitting them directly to the Emperor, bypassing the Secretariat.
Flipping through the memorials, Cui Jinping found a letter addressed to him, tucked among those sent by the Ministry of Rites in Nanjing.
He tore it open eagerly.
The letter was written in Su Yan’s own hand.
Since the end of last year, Cui Jinping had resolved to throw himself into the increasingly heated political struggle.
Just as he had once declared to Su Yan: “Why should I remain aloof and untainted? I’d rather stir the clouds and summon the rain. Without wind and waves, how can my abilities be proven?”
Ever since he’d printed the Crown Prince’s elegy in the court gazette, helping Su Yan win the public opinion battle following the Kunning Palace fire, Cui Jinping had already chosen the side he would stand on.
Over the past half-year, watching the rising calls in court to depose the heir, Cui Jinping saw clearly that this was not a debate of virtue or legitimacy, it was a battle of factions and interests.
He chose the Crown Prince partly out of pragmatism: only by serving the right master could he one day rise high and realize his ambitions, instead of toiling forever as a lowly scribe. But it was also out of trust, in his friend’s character and judgment. With Su Yan’s close relationship to the Crown Prince, Cui believed that if the Crown Prince rose to power, Su Yan would surely help elevate him as well.
Thus, at considerable risk, he privately passed the list of officials joining the depose-the-heir faction to Lan Xi, betting that Emperor Jinglong would not abolish the Crown Prince. He even mentioned this in his private letter to Su Yan, hoping it would reach the Crown Prince’s ears.
Judging from Su Yan’s reply, his efforts hadn’t been in vain.
Su Yan conveyed the Crown Prince’s gratitude and warned him not to speak too boldly in public, lest he offend the two Gelaos.
But to this sharp-tongued, glory-loving top scholar, not being bold was impossible.
Especially now that Li Chengfeng, after tendering his resignation six times, had finally succeeded, resigning from all his posts as Gelao, Minister of Personnel, Scholar of Zhongji Hall, and Grand Preceptor to the Crown Prince, returning home with his frail, ailing body. With his departure, the Grand Secretariat’s five chief ministers were reduced to four.
Without Li Chengfeng’s fiery temper and senior authority holding things down, Yang Ting was being squeezed out by the combined power of Jiao Yang and Wang Qianhe, barely able to keep his footing.
Though Yang Ting wished to support the Crown Prince, he was too soft-hearted. He had neither guile nor cunning, he couldn’t even raise his voice in an argument.
Xie Shiyan, who was good at smoothing things over, had long acted as the mediator in the Secretariat, but now that the tide was clearly turning toward Jiao and Wang, he had begun to lean their way as well.
Cui Jinping could only sigh, what the Grand Secretariat lacked now was precisely someone like him, Cui Pingshan: brilliant, decisive, and unafraid of battle.
So he began moving behind the scenes. He recommended himself as Yang Ting’s confidant, contacted Censor Chu Qiu and other “orthodox loyalists,” and took every chance to raise the banner of legitimacy and primogeniture, speaking out in court above his rank again and again.
Such high-profile behavior naturally drew the depose-the-heir faction’s ire. On Jiao Yang’s orders, Cui was soon targeted everywhere, his superiors nitpicking at his work, his colleagues ostracizing him, even within the Office of Transmission.
Gritting his teeth, Cui told himself, “Heaven is testing the man destined for great duty.” But heavens, the test had lasted far too long, from last year’s end to this year’s spring, then from spring to early summer.
Now autumn was coming again, yet that “great duty” still hadn’t descended, and his salary was about to hit rock bottom from all the penalties he’d been dealt.
Unable to help himself, he wrote to Su Yan again: Brother, are you sure your judgment is sound? Don’t let me be the one to get buried here!
Su Yan’s reply, light as a feather, deflected the weight like four taels against a thousand: “Dearest, you must believe that evil cannot prevail over good. Light will always triumph over darkness.”
Cui Jinping wrote back: Brother! I don’t know if light will triumph, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be buried in darkness soon! They even dug up my old exam paper from the metropolitan exams, going over it with a magnifying glass looking for flaws, trying to slap me with a cheating scandal and ruin my name!”
Su Yan: “Honey! Believe in your own brilliance. Let them dig, true gold fears no fire. Not like me! I’m not worried at all about my embarrassing old paper being dragged out into the light.”
Cui Jinping: I beg you, virtuous brother, please return to court soon. If you don’t come back… foolish older brother may have to switch sides.
—
In the mausoleum cottage at the foot of Bell Mountain, Su Yan shook out the letter Cui Jinping had written, sighed with amusement and helplessness.
Zhu Helin grabbed it and scanned it at a glance, snorting, “Opportunist.”
“Don’t pick up a new word from me and go using it everywhere,” Su Yan said.
Zhu Helin replied, “Isn’t it true? I don’t think Cui Jinping genuinely supports This Highness; he’s just a good bird choosing a good tree.”
Su Yan smiled. “My Young Lord, who in this world will support and care without expecting anything in return? Perhaps only parents or lovers. Between others, colleagues, friends, even the most intimate ruler-and-minister, there will always be mixed interests and calculations. That’s human nature; there’s no need to be overly harsh. It’s enough if people share a stance and it’s mutually beneficial.”
Zhu Helin’s eyes brightened with a sly smile as he stared at him. “Then you, why do you care so completely for this Young Lord? Out of kinship, or out of love?”
Su Yan was momentarily choked off, and after a few sputters found his composure. “I consider you the son of my lover, unless you’d like to call me ‘uncle’?”
Zhu Helin’s face went black as the bottom of a pot. He angrily pinned Su Yan to the mat and rubbed him, calling Lihua over to join in the crushing “Mount Tai” torture.
“Someday… one day…” the Crown Prince ground his teeth, panting, “I’ll make that mouth of yours only say the things I like to hear!”
Su Yan wailed for mercy. “Young Lord, don’t press on my belly, I’m going to vomit… Lihua! Don’t step on my chest!”
The three of them, two men and a cat, played until exhausted. Zhu Helin, deflated, collapsed onto Su Yan with a low, muffled voice: “Even Cui Jinping in court is beginning to think of defecting. You can see how adverse the capital’s situation has become for this Young Master. Don’t think I don’t want to return to court! But Royal Father… how long does he plan to neglect me? Has he really begun to consider replacing the heir?”
Su Yan still felt it unlikely, but when pressed to produce concrete evidence proving that it was unlikely, he could not.
He once again thought of that brocade pouch and hesitated over whether to tell the Crown Prince about it, whether to open it now.
—for some reason, perhaps intuition, he still felt the time had not yet come.
Zhu Helin wiped his face, rolled over, sat beside Su Yan, and forced a smile. “This Young Lord knows he’s just being gloomy. Saying such things won’t help; it only adds worry.”
Su Yan, aching at the pressure the boy carried at an age he shouldn’t have such burdens, moved his head to rest on the Young Lord’s calf, and lifted up Lihua, the cat that had been stomping on his chest, waving its little pink paws at the Young Lord. “Why not wait a little longer? You came to Nanjing last Winter Solstice, let’s wait for the one-year anniversary and play ‘let’s see what happens’ together.”
—-
They did not get to wait until the Winter Solstice.
After Mid-Autumn came the Empress Dowager’s birthday; the officials all paid their respects, a grand and solemn affair.
After the Empress Dowager’s birthday, the year-long brewing dispute over changing the succession finally condensed into a huge storm that swept across the Fengtian Gate morning court.
Can’t wait until next week to see more? Want to show your support? Come to my Patreon where you can get 5 or more chapters of The Reincarnation of a Powerful Minister right away ! Or go donate at Paypal or Ko-fi to show your appreciation! :)
