Changning General — Chapter 19
It was just past the fifth watch of the night.
When the Regent resided in his palace, he usually rose at this hour. And on this morning, as newlyweds, he and his bride were expected to go early to the ancestral temple for rites. Thus, in the corridors outside, Li Xiangchun, Zhang Bao, and Nanny Zhuang—an attendant long in service to the Regent’s mother—waited with maids already prepared. When the Regent opened the door and stepped out, they entered to assist with his washing. Yet the new princess consort was nowhere to be seen.
“She was weary last night and is still asleep. Nanny, you may come later,” Shu Shenhui said, noticing Nanny Zhuang’s glance toward the inner chamber. But before his words had faded, footsteps sounded behind him. He turned—and saw her already emerging.
Truth be told, he had not yet recovered from the great mishap of the previous night. Instinctively, he avoided facing her, let alone meeting her eyes. When she looked his way, he managed only a brief nod before turning aside, silently attending to his washing.
The Dowager Consort was not in the capital and no longer concerned herself with palace affairs. Her only care in Chang’an was the Regent. Months earlier, upon learning he intended to marry the lady general, she had sent Nanny Zhuang—her trusted attendant of many years—to serve the future princess consort.
The lady general was no ordinary woman. The impression from last night confirmed it—difficult to approach, formidable. Nanny Zhuang worried how the Regent had fared with her. Hearing his excuse just now, and seeing the faint shadows under his eyes, she assumed he had not slept well, and misread it as youthful indulgence with his bride. Relieved, she turned—only to see the princess consort herself appear.
Looking at the pair, Nanny Zhuang grew puzzled. The lady general was composed, but the Regent seemed strangely wooden, his expression blank. Their eyes barely met. Nothing about them resembled a couple who had just shared a wedding bed. She kept her doubts hidden, however, and quietly attended the princess consort’s washing.
Meanwhile, Shu Shenhui finished dressing. Li Xiangchun reported: “General Lan has arrived, waiting in Qingyun Hall.”
The Regent was indeed on his way to meet Lan Rong. Pausing, he turned to Jiang Hanyuan: “I must go. Do not wait for me—take breakfast first.”
As he spoke, his eyes fixed not on hers but on her lips. Then he left.
Zhang Bao hurried after him with a cup: “Your Highness, the morning is cold and your stomach empty—please drink some water to warm yourself.” But the Regent waved him off without turning, striding quickly down the steps, vanishing into the dark winter dawn.
Jiang Hanyuan, long hungry, did not wait. She sat to eat, attended by Nanny Zhuang and the maids.
She did not know these people. The middle-aged woman before her was of medium build, fair-faced, hair neatly combed, brisk yet kindly in manner, treating her with great respect. Judging by her age and the deference shown her, Jiang Hanyuan guessed she held some standing. When Nanny Zhuang herself offered food, Jiang Hanyuan demurred.
The woman smiled: “I bear the surname of His Highness’s mother. You may call me Nanny Zhuang. To serve you, Princess Consort, is my honor. Command me as you wish.”
She added: “I once studied cookery for a time. I can prepare a few small dishes. I did not know your tastes, so I made several at random. Please try them. If you dislike any, I will change them next time.”
The table was laden, enough for ten people. Alongside the usual Chang’an breakfast fare were a dozen delicate dishes, exquisitely presented—clearly Nanny Zhuang’s own work. Closest to Jiang Hanyuan was a plate of what looked like slices of meat, gleaming red under the lamplight, enticing. She picked one up. To her surprise, it was sweet.
Years in the army had accustomed her to coarse fare—food meant only to stave off hunger and cold. Even meat was boiled in large salty chunks. Sweet meat she had never tasted. Expecting it to be cloying, she found instead a crisp exterior, tender flesh that melted in the mouth, leaving a lingering fragrance of osmanthus.
She liked it.
The plate was small, only seven or eight slices in all—like bird food, gone in a few bites.
Nanny Zhuang’s eyes lit up, noting it carefully. When Jiang finished, she said with delight: “So the Princess Consort shares His Highness’s taste! This dish, honeyed duck breast, is from the Dowager’s southern homeland. As a child, His Highness loved it most. Tender duck breast, marinated in flower honey—orchid in spring, lotus in summer, plum in winter—each season with its own fragrance. Today I used osmanthus, making it osmanthus-honey duck. Since you enjoy it, I will prepare more next time.”
Jiang Hanyuan, once hungry, now felt oddly overfull, regretting she had eaten it. Her appetite gone, she finished a few more bites and rose to return to her room.
The Regent, meanwhile, unaware that his favorite sweet meat had spoiled the general’s appetite, went straight to Qingyun Hall, where Lan Rong awaited with the Imperial Physician to report.
Lan Rong was a man of upright bearing, tall and well-built, with a dignified presence. In earlier years, he had held only a minor, idle post as a *Sanqi Changshi* (Gentleman Cavalier Attendant). Because of Princess Lan, he was later granted the title of Count of a county with five hundred households—neither powerless, yet not prominent. Being modest and reserved, he seldom sought attention, and among the nobles of Chang’an he was not particularly noticeable. But in recent years, fortune had shifted, and he gradually rose to prominence. First, as maternal uncle to the Crown Prince, and second, because he was genuinely capable—when given opportunity, he proved himself, never once erring in his duties. More admirable still, even after the young emperor ascended the throne, Lan Rong did not grow arrogant with his elevated position. On the contrary, his conduct became more cautious, earning him much praise.
A few months earlier, when Prince Gao’s sudden death shook the capital’s political world, Lan Rong and Prince Consort Chen Lun were each entrusted with command of two newly established bureaus in Chang’an. Thus, Lan Rong truly held real power, becoming one of the Regent’s closest and most trusted aides.
The previous night, he had been instructed not to report immediately, but to wait until morning. He understood—it was the Regent’s wedding night with the lady general. So at dawn he came, quietly waiting in Qingyun Hall without disturbing the Regent. After some time, he saw lantern light flicker outside, and a figure appeared in the dim courtyard.
The Regent had arrived. Lan Rong hurried forward, bowed deeply, “Forgive me, Your Highness! I have disturbed your rest—”
Shu Shenhui looked vigorous, entered the hall, and sat. He gestured for Lan Rong to sit as well.
Lan Rong declined, remaining standing. He first reported on the aftermath of the assassination attempt: the Earth Gate Bureau, together with the Heaven Gate Bureau, had conducted an urgent overnight sweep of all key locations in the city. No new suspicious activity had been found. In the coming days, his bureau would continue working with Chen Lun’s men to expand security, with both open inspections and covert surveillance to eliminate hidden threats.
The Regent nodded, then asked for details of Lan Rong’s visit to Prince Gao’s residence the previous night.
Lan Rong recounted everything. He had gone with three imperial physicians to Prince Gao’s residence. The entire household was shrouded in grief.
“When I arrived, Prince Ling Shou’s eyes were vacant, his mouth gagged to prevent speech. I ordered it removed, and he began raving…”
Lan Rong paused, glancing cautiously at the Regent. “Forgive me, Your Highness—I dare not repeat his words.”
“Speak plainly,” Shu Shenhui said.
Lan Rong obeyed: “At first he gnashed his teeth, saying Your Highness was hypocritical—better to kill him outright than leave him to this torment, worse than death. His grandson panicked, tried to defend him, while the whole family knelt, begging him to stop. Suddenly, he broke down, weeping, kowtowing until his forehead bled, crying that he was innocent, that someone sought to frame him, and pleading for Your Highness’s mercy…”
The scene had been disgraceful. Lan Rong finished, holding his breath, but the Regent’s expression remained calm. “What did the physicians say?”
Relieved, Lan Rong replied: “They examined him repeatedly, diagnosing phlegm obstructing the heart. It did not appear feigned. To be safe, I had brought three physicians—Imperial Physician Hu Ming and two deputies. This morning I also brought Hu Ming here. He waits outside, should Your Highness wish to question him directly.”
Hu Ming was summoned. He bowed, then gave a detailed account of his and his colleagues’ findings, confirming the prince’s madness was genuine.
Hu Ming’s teacher had been a famed master physician, retired years ago due to illness. Having inherited his skills, Hu Ming’s judgment was highly reliable.
The Regent dismissed him, then turned back to Lan Rong: “What is your view of last night’s events?”*
Lan Rong hesitated, then respectfully answered: “Since Your Highness asks, I will speak plainly. In my humble opinion, that prince and his family were never truly capable—merely bullies hiding behind power. Now they are terrified, shaken by Prince Gao’s sudden death. Even if they resent Your Highness, they would not dare act so soon. As for Prince Cheng’s faction, even if some remnants remain, they are too busy hiding to risk such a brazen crime.”
“If not them, then who?” the Regent asked.
Lan Rong paused, then said: “It may be the remnants of the fallen Jin dynasty’s royal clan. The sixth prince of Di, Chi Shu, has established a Southern Palace in Youzhou, ruling in imitation of our Han system, recruiting Han followers. When Jin fell, its last emperor and heirs died at the hands of rebel troops. Yet one respected royal uncle vanished, rumored to have fled north with retainers. If true, then in Youyan—his homeland—he could easily ally with Chi Shu. The Jin royals surely hate our Wei to the bone, dreaming only of revenge. Your Highness would be their prime target. It is possible spies of theirs have infiltrated.”
“These are but my humble thoughts. With Your Highness’s wisdom, you surely see more clearly. Please correct me.”
Shu Shenhui pondered, then nodded: “Your words have merit. You worked hard last night.” He glanced at the whitening dawn outside, then smiled:
“You came early. Have you eaten? If not, join me.”
Lan Rong, quick to read the moment, bowed: “I thank Your Highness, but I dare not intrude. That such danger marred Your Highness’s wedding night, disturbing you and the Princess Consort, is already my great failure. I must not trouble you further. Permit me to withdraw.”
The Regent smiled and ordered an attendant to escort him out. As he prepared to return to the main hall, he paused, then instructed that Imperial Physician Hu Ming remain.
Hu Ming was brought back. Shu Shenhui glanced at Li Xiangchun, who understood and withdrew with the other attendants, leaving the Regent and Hu Ming alone.
Hu Ming, uneasy, did not know what the Regent wished to ask. He bowed, silent. But the Regent’s face was gentle, smiling, telling him not to be formal. Relieved, Hu Ming listened.
“Sit, speak freely,” the Regent said kindly.
Hu Ming dared not sit, but stood respectfully: “What does Your Highness require of me?”
The Regent did not answer at once. He seemed lost in thought, silent for a long time, his face calm as water. Hu Ming waited, not daring to press. At last, the Regent looked up: “What I wish to ask is no great matter. Seeing you here this morning reminded me—so I thought to inquire.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please speak.”
“It is not truly my own matter,” the Regent said, “but rather a friend of mine—one with whom I share everything. A few days ago, he came to me privately and said that he…”
Hu Ming understood at once. Surely the Regent was asking on behalf of this friend. Relieved, he listened attentively. But the Regent, having begun, suddenly stopped.
“Your Highness, does your friend suffer some difficult illness? If so, please speak plainly. I will do my utmost to advise,” Hu Ming pressed gently after a pause.
The Regent hesitated again, then waved his hand, smiling once more:
“Never mind. It is a small matter. Better that he consult you himself. I have nothing further—go now.”
Hu Ming was bewildered, but seeing the Regent speak so, he dared not ask more. He bowed and withdrew.
The Regent lingered outside the Zhaoge Hall for a moment longer. Raising his eyes, he saw the sky had grown brighter than before. Time pressed; he could not remain. Suppressing his restless thoughts, he turned back quickly toward the Fanzhi Garden.