“Your Highness, the Assistant Prefect of Liangzhou and his party have entered the palace.”
Deputy General Zhang Cang cupped his hands in report.
Wenren Lin lifted his hand to indicate he understood, only then withdrawing his gaze from the slender youth beneath the veranda.
In the end, he was still somewhat unversed in worldly matters. The bandit chief of Shuchuan and the people of Prince Yong were either foolish or evil, not like him—thinking a feigned illness could let him escape unscathed.
The “benevolent” His Highness Prince Su lifted his eyes toward the distant surging ink-dark clouds, his smile cold and unreadable.
The good play had only just begun.
Beneath the palace corridor, the gathered officials showed much concern for the frail and pitiful Crown Prince before dispersing one after another.
Since the act must be carried through to the end, Zhao Yen followed along and sat down upon the beauty’s lean for a rest, suddenly a little curious.
“I pretended to be ill to deal with Zhao Yuanyu—why did you not dissuade me?”
Zhao Yen looked toward the maidservant Liuying kneeling in attendance before her, her eyes carrying a bright smile. “So cooperative, it truly feels a bit unfamiliar.”
Liuying was silent for a moment before speaking softly: “He insulted His Highness the Crown Prince.”
The “His Highness the Crown Prince” upon her lips was Zhao Yan.
Zhao Yen was rather surprised. She had thought Liuying’s heart held only commands and the greater picture, never expecting that she too had a side that understood human feelings.
But Liuying misunderstood, blaming herself: “This servant knows her mistake.”
Zhao Yen casually smoothed out the furrow that habitually gathered between Liuying’s brows, lightly laughing: “What mistake? You protect your master, I shield my kin—nothing could be better.”
The warmth upon her brow was gone in an instant. Liuying stood dazed, in those eyes that were always subdued and rational emerging faint, shattered light.
But Zhao Yen’s thoughts were already upon another matter.
The world bustled, all for profit. Those with direct conflicts of interest were most suspect. Prince Yong’s faction was rampant, like bloated rats sniffing carrion; even if they were not the culprits behind Zhao Yan’s death, they could hardly be unconnected.
The Prince of Yong spent his days intoxicated with mountains and rivers, appearing like an idle crane with sleeves of pure wind; but his son was exceedingly worrisome. Zhao Yuanyu was stupid and vicious, quick to anger when provoked. Such a man was hateful—and also most prone to exposing flaws.
Eighteen years ago, that struggle for the throne had ended in tragic carnage; eight or nine out of ten imperial sons perished. By this generation, the Zhao clan’s progeny were left thin and sparse.
In former years his father’s men had submitted memorials urging the emperor to recognize him as son, as a precaution. But his imperial uncle had deemed him reckless and lustful, refusing on grounds of being in the prime of life.
Originally, it was of little consequence. These many years the emperor had no further sons born. Once Zhao Yan died, his father could be enfeoffed as Imperial Uncle and inherit the great line, and he would be the next Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace!
Only with Zhao Yan dead could things be at ease.
It had been a matter fixed upon the board—so why had that sickly weakling appeared again safe and sound before him, even causing him to suffer such humiliation!
The more he thought, the more unwilling he became. Zhao Yuanyu struck the lacquered pillar with one furious fist.
Those who accompanied him, seeing this, cautiously advised: “Heir, please calm your anger. Today is the palace feast of the Winter Festival, and men of the Governor of Liangzhou have entered the palace for negotiations, which His Majesty greatly esteems. At such a critical juncture, it would be best not to stir up further trouble.”
Governor of Liangzhou, Shuchuan rebels…
That’s it.
Zhao Yuanyu’s eyes flickered with a trace of malice. He said to the one who had just spoken:
“Your father is the Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial. Is he not just worrying over having no candidate to send as envoy to the Liangzhou Shuchuan troops? Have him tell the Assistant Prefect of Liangzhou—this heir will strongly recommend someone.”
Having said this, he leaned close and whispered a name.
That man’s expression changed slightly, and in alarm he said: “Heir, this would not be fitting. How noble and precious is the Crown Prince’s body—how could His Majesty bear to let him enter a land of tigers and wolves? All the more, now that Prince Su serves as Grand Preceptor to the Crown Prince, for the Heir to touch someone in his favor is truly no wise plan…”
“What do you mean ‘his person’? Do you truly think Prince Su wishes to assist the Eastern Palace? He is merely sharpening his blade. I help him resolve this great difficulty, he will not have time enough to thank me!”
Seeing his companion still wished to dissuade, Zhao Yuanyu flew into a rage: “I tell you to go, so go! Do not forget whose doing it is that your father has his prospects!”
That man could only uneasily accept the command, and went down to make arrangements.
Inside the Yonglin Hall, cups and goblets crossed in endless toasts, graceful palace maids carrying fruits and fine wine streamed in one after another.
The Grand Eunuch strained his voice to announce the honored nobles attending the feast. Dukes, marquises, earls, ministers, commandery princes, and heirs all arrived in succession, each in brocaded garments, their faces glowing. At first Zhao Yen still endured to memorize them, matching names and appearances; but later her head swam and her eyes grew vacant.
With so many clansmen and great ministers, even Zhao Yan could not put all to memory, and so she simply gave up.
The Grand Eunuch’s voice, from its initial sharp clarity, gradually turned hoarse and weak. Zhao Yen quietly shifted her stiffened body; bored beyond measure, she then heard the eunuch croak out:
“Vice Minister of the Ministry of Appointments, Lord Shen, enters the hall—”
The Ministry of Appointments? Lord Shen?
The office and surname sounded familiar. Zhao Yen thought a moment—was this not the father of Shen Jingming, who had drowned?
At once Zhao Yen grew interested, following the sound with her gaze, and saw a dignified official with temples already flecked with frost.
Perhaps still not recovered from the grief of losing his son, Lord Shen’s face was worn and haggard, his eyes clouded, wholly out of place among the laughing and chatting guests.
Zhao Yen’s eyes turned, and she indicated to Liuying behind her: “Go invite that Vice Minister Shen over. I wish to speak with him.”
Vice Minister Shen quickly came.
He bent and bowed. Zhao Yen hastened to say: “Beloved subject, dispense with courtesy. This solitary summoned you concerning your son, Shen Jingming.”
At the sound of that name, Liuying standing behind felt her heart tighten.
Recalling the tender touch that had just rested upon her brow, she did not stop it, but instead, under cover of pouring wine, changed her position to keep others from approaching and disturbing.
When Vice Minister Shen heard his son’s name, the bleak grief on his face fell away, replaced with the stern bearing of a strict father, hating iron for not becoming steel.
“Many thanks for the Crown Prince’s concern.”
Suppressing his pain, Lord Shen said in a harsh voice: “Yet that son of mine was incorrigibly idle, roaming about in dissipation. To suffer such calamity was nothing but retribution he brought upon himself! He is not worthy of Your Highness’s inquiry!”
Having spoken, he bowed once more and returned to his seat, unwilling to say another word.
Zhao Yen was stunned.
She had not at all expected such a reaction from Vice Minister Shen—regarding his son’s death as a disgrace. Could it be she had thought too much, and Shen Jingming’s death had no connection at all with the Crown Prince’s death?
Empress Wei accompanied the Son of Heaven into the hall, and what she saw was precisely the retreating back of Vice Minister Shen, leaving in pain.
She turned her gaze upon her own troublesome “son,” her moth brows faintly knitting.
“Long live His Majesty, long live Her Majesty.”
From behind came a clear, resonant male voice, interrupting her thoughts.
Empress Wei turned her head, only to see a refined and handsome man in a moon-white robe entering the hall with his wife, bowing in salute.
The man was elegant and striking, with a smile lingering three parts upon his face when meeting others. His features bore some resemblance to Empress Wei; and at his side, the lady had cloudlike hair at her temples and a flowerlike face—though she wore no adornment of cosmetics, her peerless beauty could not be concealed. She seemed shrouded in a faint radiance of moonlight, dazzling to the eye.
Such an exceptional and well-matched couple, Zhao Yen could never forget in this lifetime—her maternal uncle, Marquis Ningyang Wei Yan, and her aunt, Rong Fuyue.
When at the Huayang Palace, Zhao Yen had once heard her grandmother the Empress Dowager speak of the past of the Wei clan.
Back then, when her maternal grandparents passed away, the Marquisate of Ningyang had already withered into decline, leaving only a ruinous burden of debts. Her uncle Wei Yan became head of the household at only fourteen years of age, while her mother Wei Ling was but sixteen. Wherever the siblings went, none took them seriously, and they endured much neglect and mockery.
From that time, the brother and sister vowed to revive their family’s standing. Thus Wei Ling, relying on the reputation of being “descendant of a heroic martyr,” entered the palace, and from an obscure beauty rose step by step to the position of empress, mother of the realm.
Meanwhile, Wei Yan, outside the palace, devoted himself to arduous study, cultivating wide friendships with worthy men. In ten years’ time, he transformed from a scorned, impoverished youth into a celebrated Marquis Ningyang whose voice carried weight and whose call drew multitudes.
In terms of family foundation and connections, the Wei clan of today was luxuriant in branches and leaves, undeniably the foremost of the capital’s noble lineages.
Yet judging from his bearing alone, who could imagine that such a storm-dominating figure was in truth a gentle, easygoing man, utterly devoted to his wife?
They all said nephews resemble their uncles. Zhao Yan’s good temper, as though carved of clay, was indeed the very likeness of Marquis Ningyang Wei Yan.
Empress Wei, however, held high station, and was not warm toward her younger brother. She gave a slight nod, then proceeded to the phoenix seat above to sit in majesty.
Wei Yan turned his gaze upon Zhao Yen, asking: “This subject, with A’yue, went to recuperate in the suburbs of the capital, and only returned yesterday, not yet having called upon His Highness the Crown Prince. Has Your Highness’s illness much improved?”
In the past, while Zhao Yen was still in the palace, though her aunt was aloof and quiet, she would always bring her some treats; and her uncle had once laughingly carried her on his shoulders to play. Though in these recent years they had lost contact, Zhao Yen still held a fondness toward them.
So she rose to return the courtesy, saying: “Many thanks to Uncle for his concern. This solitary is much better now.”
Wei Yan replied in a warm voice: “That is good.”
Before they had spoken more than a few words, from outside the hall the eunuch’s sharp, drawn-out cry suddenly came:
“Assistant Prefect of Liangzhou enters the hall—”
The lively atmosphere within the hall instantly froze.
Who did not know that the so-called Assistant Prefect of Liangzhou, ostensibly come to negotiate pacification with the court, was in truth a pawn sent by the rebel chiefs to test the waters?
Wei Yan too slightly straightened his demeanor, no longer exchanging courtesies, and took his seat with his beloved wife.
A short and thin man in a loose green sixth-rank official robe shuffled into the hall with a face full of obsequious flattery, nodding and bowing toward the princes and ministers on either side with varied expressions—a born lackey’s posture.
The court’s dispatch of such a weathercock to supervise and assist the Governor of Liangzhou—no wonder Liangzhou had rebelled.
A burly general with a face full of ferocity followed close behind. He entered the hall clad in armor, the plates scarred with sword and saber marks, his gaze fierce and cruel. At a glance one could tell he was no good sort. He was likely the household general under the Governor of Liangzhou, He Hu.
The banquet was rife with undercurrents.
This year, in the capital, the cold was severe. The rebels of Shuchuan appeared menacing, yet in truth their supplies were exhausted; after the heavy snows, countless soldiers were frostbitten. But though Great Xuan clearly had the chance to strike back, the state treasury had run deficits year after year, the army’s morale unstable, and thus they too avoided battle passively.
Both sides required a respite. But how to negotiate—that was the question.
The Shuchuan side clearly could not easily relinquish such fat morsels at their lips. If a full assault could not succeed, then they would still insist on biting off a piece, flesh and bone alike.
He Hu was not satisfied with the terms Great Xuan proposed. With a cold snort he said: “We brothers, following Lord Governor, have swept away bandits all along the road, drinking blood, gnawing flesh, living and dying. For the emperor to fob him off with but a single title of nobility—this is far too lacking in sincerity, is it not?”
At these words, Zhao Yen let out a cold sneer.
What “sweeping away bandits all along the road”? The Governor of Liangzhou, under the banner of “aiding the throne,” had seized cities and lands, leading two hundred thousand Shuchuan troops to encircle the capital and exert pressure. His disloyal heart was plain as day—he himself was the greatest bandit!
The emperor showed no expression: “What is it you desire?”
He Hu said: “The pay for this whole campaign, the compensation for the brothers who died in battle—will the emperor not make restitution?”
In the dead silence, among the ministers some muttered evasively, some watched from the wall, but more still were filled with the indignation of being treated as fish on the chopping block.
They had risen in rebellion against Great Xuan, yet now demanded money from Great Xuan—how could there be such brazen shamelessness in the world!
Seeing the emperor remain silent, He Hu said roughly: “Since the emperor lacks sincerity, then we can only continue to hold the city outside.”
“There is sincerity, there is sincerity.”
The Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial, wiping cold sweat, smoothed things over, casting a glance toward the Assistant Prefect of Liangzhou who sat beside him drinking wine.
The Assistant Prefect understood, set down his cup and rose.
“To show the sincerity of our Great Xuan in offering pacification, this subject has a proposal.”
The Liangzhou Assistant Prefect stepped forth and bowed, his pair of rat eyes glancing toward the Crown Prince’s seat: “The Crown Prince, noble as heir apparent, is the second most exalted person of Great Xuan, and best able to represent His Majesty’s majesty. If His Highness the Crown Prince were to personally enter the camp to deliver the reply to the Governor of Liangzhou, to show Great Xuan’s heart of honoring worthies and humbling itself, the Governor would surely be moved by His Majesty’s sincerity and gladly assent.”
At these words, the entire hall was shaken.
Zhao Yen lifted her weary eyes, slowly straightening her body.
She had come merely to be a decoration, never expecting that in watching the play, it would land upon her own head.
Across from her, Zhao Yuanyu tossed a dried fruit into his mouth, eyes full of gloating schadenfreude.
It seemed this scheme had no small share of credit belonging to the Heir of Prince Yong.
Very well, she would remember this.
He Hu, in league with him, quickly turned the thought around: to seize in hand Great Xuan’s sole surviving heir as hostage—was this not more useful than a paltry sum of gold and silver?
At once he slapped the table: “It is settled then, let the young Crown Prince come with us!”
“Your Majesty, absolutely not!”
Empress Wei’s face changed with sternness, her voice trembling slightly.
Wenren Lin stood with hands clasped behind his back beneath the side hall’s door, his finger gently stroking the black-iron ring, listening clearly to the stirrings within.
Zhang Cang wiped sweat from his brow, unable to hold back a curse: “Your Highness, what gall that cur thief has! Even the one you set eyes upon, he dares to scheme for!”
Wenren Lin slanted his gaze over, eyes like black ice.
“…This humble servant has misspoken.”
Zhang Cang shrank back, subdued, though muttering ceaselessly in his heart: But it is so! The master’s amusement with the little Crown Prince had even surpassed that with the wild cats in the palace. Why, when spoken aloud, should he take displeasure…
Seeing the tension in the hall grow ever fiercer, Zhang Cang could not help but whisper again: “Will Your Highness not step forth to suppress that cur thief?”
“No rush.”
Wenren Lin’s expression was faint, as though the one now writhing in torment within the fiery pit was not the student by his side morning and night.
He would see, this time, in what posture the Crown Prince would faint.
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