In the first month of the fifth year of Qingli (1045), Fan Zhongyan used illness as a pretext to submit a memorial requesting to resign from his position as Vice Counselor and be stationed in Binzhou.
The Emperor did not grant the request but instead brought Fan Zhongyan into the palace to recover.
A few days later, Fan Zhongyan again used illness as an excuse to resign and return home to rest.
This time, the Emperor granted it.
Subsequently, Fan Zhongyan quietly left the capital without informing any of his friends.
It was such a desolate departure that those who heard of it shed tears upon their sleeves.
Reflecting back on the third year of Qingli, the Emperor had appointed Du Yan as Chancellor, letting the veteran of three reigns take the helm, while Fan Zhongyan, Fu Bi, and Han Qi jointly presided over the Qingli Reform.
Now, in less than two years, Du Yan had been dismissed as Chancellor, Fu Bi had been sent to a local post, and Fan Zhongyan had retired due to illness, leaving only Han Qi to struggle alone.
Han Qi’s attempts to defend Fan Zhongyan, Fu Bi, and others were fruitless. Disheartened, he also requested to be dismissed from his post as Vice Commissioner of the Bureau of Military Affairs to serve as the Prefect of Yangzhou.
The leaders of the Qingli Reform had all been expelled from the central government. The grand reform had lasted little more than a year before being declared a failure. Traveling north along the Bian River toward the capital, the uncle and nephew duo, Cao You and Cao Tun, could hear the choked sighs of literati even from their passenger boat.
In the flowery third month, the weather began to warm. The utterly dejected Han Qi prepared to head south to Yangzhou along the Bian River and the Huai-Yang Canal. Meanwhile, Cao You, holding his four-year-old nephew Cao Tun, happened to be traveling north from the Huai-Yang Canal to the Bian River to enter the capital.
Cao You was the thirteen-year-old younger brother of the current Empress Cao; his parents had passed away before he had even learned to speak. Cao Tun was the posthumous son of Empress Cao’s late brother, Cao Fu, and was currently not yet five years old. The uncle and nephew had been raised in the household of Cao You’s uncle, Cao Cong, since childhood.
Cao Tun was born during the Song-Xia War. Cao Cong had been stationed on the Song-Xia battlefield for many years, only occasionally returning to the capital to report on his duties during lulls in the fighting.
Cao Cong’s father, Cao Bin, had been granted a residence in Jiangnan during the pacification of the region. Perhaps worried that the frail Cao Tun could not withstand the cold, or perhaps fearing that the young men of the family had all left the capital and could not protect the elderly and weak, Cao Cong had his family take Cao You and Cao Tun south to the Jiangnan residence shortly after Cao Tun turned one.
Now that the Song-Xia war had ended, Cao Cong was finally able to return to the capital, taking up the post of Vice Commander of the Cavalry, one of the three offices of the Imperial Guard.
Cao You was fourteen, an age to start looking for a marriage match. Cao Tun was also at the age to find a famous teacher for his early education. Since Cao Cong had returned to the capital, the young uncle and nephew followed suit.
Throughout the journey back to the capital, the pair heard constant lamentations from fellow travelers about the “Gentlemen of Qingli.” Cao You sighed along with them, appearing deeply sympathetic.
Leaning in his young uncle’s arms, Cao Tun wore a look of confusion. He remembered that in the fifth year of Qingli, Fan Zhongyan was supposed to be sent to a local post—how did he end up resigning outright?
Whatever, he couldn’t be bothered to think about it. It had nothing to do with him anyway. Cao Tun yawned, burrowed into a more comfortable spot in his uncle’s arms, and went back to sleep.
Just as they stepped ashore from the Bian River, the people sent by Cao Cong had already been waiting for a long time.
The Cao family had always been frugal. To welcome the uncle and nephew, they had sent only three black-topped carriages: one for the pair, one for luggage, and the last for the guarding servants. Their entourage was less grand than that of the wealthy examinees on the same boat.
Among those who came to meet them was an elderly scholar wearing a black kerchief-cap and a green robe. His hair and beard were grizzled, yet he appeared spirited.
The old scholar introduced himself as Zhu Shuo, a former staff member of Cao Tun’s father during his tenure as the Governor of Rongzhou, noting that he had received much care from Cao Tun’s father. Upon seeing Cao Tun, he became so emotional that his eyes filled with tears and his speech became incoherent. Startled, Cao Tun acted like a frightened little kitten, quickly burying his face in his uncle’s arms and trying to tuck his head into his uncle’s lapels.
Cao You patted Cao Tun’s bottom. “Tun’er, do not be rude. This is your teacher; come down and pay your respects.”
Teacher Zhu raised his sleeve to wipe his tears, barely regaining his composure. “It was my own rashness that frightened the young master. I am but a subordinate of your honorable father; there is no need for the young master to bow. Please, get into the carriage quickly so you don’t catch a cold.”
Clinging to his uncle’s lapel, Cao Tun took a deep breath. He patted Cao You’s arm and said in a muffled voice, “Little Uncle, put me down.”
Cao You gently placed the child on the ground with a cautious manner, as if the not-so-sturdy boy were made of fragile glass that couldn’t handle the slightest bump.
Cao Tun cupped his hands, his expression calm and composed, showing no trace of the child who had just been hiding in his elder’s arms. “I, Cao Tun, pay my respects to Teacher.”
“No need for such ceremony, no need for such ceremony.” Teacher Zhu was very excited, half-squatting to help Cao Tun up before the boy could even bend his waist.
Unexpectedly, Cao Tun was quite thin. When Teacher Zhu lifted him by the arms, Cao Tun’s feet left the ground.
Grabbing Teacher Zhu’s seemingly thin arms, his short legs kicked twice in the air, his eyes widening in blank confusion and helplessness.
Feeling Cao Tun’s weight in his arms, Teacher Zhu began to sob uncontrollably. “Young Master, you are so thin!”
Seeing Teacher Zhu crying again, Cao Tun’s already stoic face turned even more wooden.
He understood that the name “Zhu Shuo” was quite common, and since Teacher Zhu’s introduction was spoken and not written, it could have been any homophone. He knew the person he was thinking of could absolutely not be here as his teacher. However, the moment he associated the name with that man, seeing Teacher Zhu’s repeated emotional outbursts made things rather awkward.
Decades ago, Fan Zhongyan, the Great Lord Fan, had gone by the name “Zhu Shuo.” Most people in the world had forgotten that name; even his own well-read uncle hadn’t reacted to Teacher Zhu’s name. He suspected that the only person who would get flustered over such a common name was himself, the Transmigrator.
Lord Fan wouldn’t be holding me and wailing like this.
Seeing his nephew startled again, Cao You hurried to apologize to Teacher Zhu and pulled Cao Tun back into his arms to comfort him.
He said to the worried Teacher Zhu, “Tun’er is a bit thin, but his health has been quite good this past year. He hasn’t been sick or needed medicine. Please do not worry, Teacher. The wind is picking up; let us get into the carriage.”
“Right, right, that is good,” Teacher Zhu said, wiping his tears. “Yes, yes, into the carriage!”
Seeing that Teacher Zhu was still somewhat incoherent, Cao Tun buried his face in his uncle’s chest again, pretending to be shy. Cao You, on the other hand, had a very good impression of Teacher Zhu.
His eldest brother had been gone for over three years. As a former staff member, Teacher Zhu showed such respect and affection for Tun’er, treating him like his own young master and even shedding tears at his thinness. This showed that Teacher Zhu was a man of supreme loyalty.
Cao You had lived two lives. Though he had died because of his loyalty in his previous life, he still admired men of loyalty and noble character.
Seeing that the young master was shy, Teacher Zhu, despite having much he wanted to say, restrained himself and only spoke with Cao You.
Cao You had already learned from his uncle’s letters that Teacher Zhu was a hidden talent. He respectfully presented several scrolls of poetry and essays he had prepared.
Before finishing even one scroll, Teacher Zhu was full of inner praise for Cao You.
In Teacher Zhu’s eyes, Cao You’s literary talent was merely average—slightly better than the mediocre officials at court, enough to pass the examinations and become a Jinshi. However, what Cao You discussed regarding military strategy in his policy essays made Teacher Zhu, who had spent years managing the Northwest, feel a sense of enlightenment.
Teacher Zhu recalled Cao Cong’s evaluation of Cao You. Among the third generation of the Cao family, the only one capable of earning a posthumous title and not tarnishing the name of their grandfather Cao Bin, “The Great Song’s Foremost General,” was Cao You.
“Even I cannot compare,” Cao Cong, a second-generation Cao general, had said with a mix of lament and pride. “He is a hero like my fourth brother.”
Teacher Zhu thought of Cao Bin, who had served as Commissioner of the Bureau of Military Affairs during the reigns of Emperors Taizu, Taizong, and Zhenzong, and Cao Cong, who remained trusted by the current Emperor even when the Cao family was being suppressed.
The Cao family had produced famous generals for three generations. Truly remarkable.
He looked at the steady and poised Cao You, then at the young master nestled in Cao You’s arms like a precious pearl, his expression kind and gratified.
Good, this is truly good!
Teacher Zhu’s unease regarding the Emperor’s absurd actions finally dissipated a bit after confirming Cao You’s talent and seeing the close bond between the uncle and nephew.
Cao Tun thought he was just being imaginative, but that “Zhu Shuo” from the introduction really was Fan Zhongyan’s “Zhu Shuo.”
That day, when Fan Zhongyan was invited into the palace to recover, the Emperor and his minister had a heart-to-heart talk.
The Emperor’s young son, Zhao Xi, had passed away in the third year of Qingli. Since then, all three sons the Emperor had fathered had died young. The thirty-four-year-old Emperor still had no heir, a fact that worried the ministers more than the factional struggles between the New and Old parties.
When Zhao Xi died, the ministers requested that the Emperor choose an heir from the imperial clan. For instance, Zhao Zongshi, who had been raised in the Empress’s palace and then sent back out after the Emperor’s biological son was born, was a good candidate.
But the Emperor used the excuse that he was still in his prime and might have a biological son in the future to suppress the ministers’ requests once again.
Now, the Emperor told Fan Zhongyan that he actually did have a son—a legitimate son born of Empress Cao—who was currently being raised in Cao Cong’s household.
Fan Zhongyan’s reforms had incited the wrath of the officials. Ouyang Xiu’s “On Factions,” which bluntly stated that the Gentlemen of Qingli were indeed forming a faction in court, had only added fuel to the fire. The Emperor hoped Fan Zhongyan would take a step back to avoid the storm and resign to become the tutor for his Crown Prince.
Fan Zhongyan: “Huh?”
Fan Zhongyan: “HUH?!!”
At that moment, the bitterness Fan Zhongyan felt over his political failure was nearly eclipsed by the shock of the Emperor’s absurdity.
Your Majesty, if you are worried about your son dying in the palace and choose to raise the Crown Prince in a minister’s home, I have no objection. There are precedents for this.
But how could you hide the fact that you even HAVE a Crown Prince from all the ministers?! And how on earth did Empress Cao give birth to a son without anyone noticing?!
As a confidant of the Emperor, this was the first time Fan Zhongyan learned that there was actually a son between the Emperor and the cold Empress Cao.
Absurd! Simply too absurd!!
Fan Zhongyan’s health was already poor, having fallen ill from the depression of the failed reforms. He was so shocked his vision went dark, and he nearly passed away right then and there.
Fortunately, his loyalty to the Emperor and the Great Song allowed Fan Zhongyan to endure.
After a few days of treatment by imperial physicians, as soon as his health showed a slight improvement, he immediately dragged his sickly body to resign. He first sneaked out of the capital, then sneaked back in following Cao Cong, using his old name from decades ago as an alias to become the Cao family’s Teacher Zhu.
Hearing that his friends were weeping over his resignation and his departure without a word of goodbye, Fan Zhongyan felt guilty but remained firm.
He stared at the back of the little Crown Prince’s head, his heart surging with emotion.
Forgive me, my dear friends, but the Crown Prince is more important.
Guide to the story:
Emphasizing again: please read the synopsis and character tags. Like my previous historical novels, the writing style is simple, the plot is focused on daily life, there’s no complex logic, and I refuse rigorous historical scrutiny; historical figures all have severe historical limitations. Fans of specific historical figures should enter with caution. If you don’t mind, I wish you a happy read.