Changning General – Chapter 20.1
Nanny Zhuang finally waited until the Regent returned and hurried to serve him breakfast. She was a trusted attendant of the Dowager Consort Zhuang, having lived with her for years by the West Lake in Qiantang. Only recently had she returned to Chang’an, where Shu Shenhui told her she need not attend him daily.
But upon coming back to the capital, she heard from Zhang Bao that ever since Prince Qi had assumed the regency, he had scarcely sat down for a proper morning meal—always just a few bites before rushing off. Her heart ached at the thought. Now that she had the chance to serve him breakfast, how could she let it slip away? Smiling, she said, “Let me do it. Your Highness, please sit.”
Shu Shenhui rinsed his hands with the water basin brought by a maid, and casually asked, “Has the Princess Consort eaten?”
“She has already.”
He exhaled slowly, wiped his hands, and stepped inside. Gazing at the table laden with dishes, he thought for a moment, then smiled at Nanny Zhuang: “The court promotes frugality; I should set the example for all officials. Today, since the Princess Consort has just arrived, you were thoughtful to prepare this spread. But in the future, there’s no need. She is not one for empty displays. If I am at home, don’t worry about me—just have the kitchen prepare whatever suits her taste. I’ll follow her.”
Nanny Zhuang agreed with a smile, then hesitated, lowering her voice:
“Your Highness, this morning I prepared the honeyed duck breast. It seemed to suit the Princess Consort’s palate…”
She trailed off.
That dish was no ordinary fare. It used only the tender breast of a three‑month‑old white duck, raised from hatching on fragrant rice and young water‑shield plants, drinking only sweet spring water. The rice and spring were common enough, but the water‑shield grew only in the south. Originating from the Dowager Consort’s palace in Wuyue, the dish’s value in Chang’an had multiplied tenfold.
Years ago, Emperor Shengwu even ordered special tribute from the south to make it, until the Dowager Consort declared it too extravagant. Yet the recipe spread beyond the palace, and Chang’an’s noble households competed to serve it at banquets, spending fortunes for the prestige of authenticity. Demand created supply: certain trades arose solely to raise these ducks. Now, with spring not yet come and the southern plants unavailable, local hothouse greens were used instead. Even so, a single duck cost fifty taels of silver—enough to feed a common household for a year.
This morning, Nanny Zhuang had prepared it, finding it suited the General’s taste. But with the Regent’s words, she mentioned it cautiously.
He glanced at the table, saw no duck breast, paused, then looked again toward the bedchamber before turning back. “If she likes it, then have it made.”
“Yes.” Nanny Zhuang smiled.
After a few bites, Shu Shenhui rose and hurried back to the inner hall.
Jiang Hanyuan was already dressed in ceremonial robes for today’s ancestral rites. When he entered, she nodded politely, then turned her gaze away, knowing he did not wish to look at her. Sensibly, she stepped outside, standing on the steps before the hall, watching the remnants of snow in the courtyard. Soon, footsteps sounded behind her.
He emerged as well—clad in crimson robes, black sash and greaves, solemn from head to toe. His bearing was commanding, his expression austere.
As he passed her, he paused slightly: “Come with me.” Then he strode forward, eyes fixed ahead. Compared to the smiling face he had shown her the night before, he seemed like an entirely different man.
Yet Jiang Hanyuan felt more at ease this way. She knew well that the smile he had worn when reaching out to help her down from the bridal carriage had been nothing but a mask.
She remembered another smile—seventeen‑year‑old Prince Anle’s. When that youth smiled, his eyes shone with brilliance. She recalled him astride his horse, leaning down slightly, smiling at her as she stood beside it. In his gaze, she had seen her own reflection.
That light had once stirred the heart of thirteen‑year‑old Jiang Hanyuan, raised in the barren wilderness. She had carried it with her ever since, never forgetting.
This was nothing like the man before her now. Though his face wore a gentle smile, in his eyes there was no ripple, no movement at all. That was for the best. However, his behavior outside had nothing to do with her. Toward her, if he did not wish to smile, then he need not force one.
She followed him silently. Together they left the prince’s residence, boarded the ceremonial carriage waiting at the gates, with guards and attendants arrayed before and behind, and set out for the imperial palace.
Inside the carriage, the two sat side by side. He remained stern, sitting upright with rigid composure. She, even less inclined to speak, kept her silence. The journey passed without a word until they arrived at the ancestral temple in the southeast of the palace.
The ritual officers and attendants were already in place, waiting. Amidst the solemn atmosphere, Jiang Hanyuan accompanied the man at her side to pay homage. What began at dawn dragged on until a full hour later, the sun now high in the sky—yet the duties were not finished. They were required to enter the inner palace once more.
Given Shu Shenhui’s rank, Jiang Hanyuan needed only a half‑bow before Empress Dowager Lan, for they were of equal generation. Their entry was not to pay respects to the young emperor or the dowager herself; such protocol did not exist.
The one they were to honor was Lady Li of the former Emperor Shengwu’s reign, formally titled the Dowager Consort of Dunyì.
When Emperor Ming was still a child, his mother had passed away, and it was this aunt, Dowager Consort Li, who raised him. Gentle in character and sister to the late empress, she held great weight in the harem during Emperor Shengwu’s time, second only to Prince Anle’s mother. After Emperor Ming ascended the throne, he treated her with the full honors of an empress dowager. With Consort Zhuang long retired due to illness, Dowager Consort Li naturally became the most revered matron in the palace, her position akin to that of a Grand Empress Dowager.
The Regent’s relationship with Dowager Consort Li was close. Though burdened with affairs of state, he often visited her. Now, on the occasion of his marriage, it was only proper to bring his new consort to pay respects.
Dowager Consort Li resided in the Dunyì Palace, named for her title. At this moment, she sat at the head seat, flanked by Empress Dowager Lan, Princess Royal Nankang, and a dozen other noblewomen of princely rank. Below Dowager Consort Li should have been Empress Dowager Lan, but since the old consort of Prince Xian had also come, Empress Dowager Lan insisted she take the seat. The elder consort declined repeatedly, but after much back‑and‑forth, Dowager Consort Li herself ordered two seats to be set, one on each side. Only then did the elder consort accept, apologizing as she sat.
Once the seating was settled, word arrived from the eunuchs outside: the Regent and his consort had finished their temple rites and were on their way to Dunyì Palace. They would arrive shortly.
It was then that everyone noticed something amiss—the seat reserved for the young emperor was still empty. He had not come!
The hall fell into uneasy silence, glances exchanged all around.
The boy’s temperament was well known. In his youth, as an ordinary prince, he had not been subjected to the strict discipline of a crown prince, and his mischief was tolerated. But now he was emperor. Last autumn, during Empress Dowager Lan’s birthday return procession, his conduct had been scandalous—so much so that the censors denounced him mercilessly, and Grand Tutor Ding was stricken with grief. Even Empress Dowager Lan’s attempts to soothe matters failed. Grand Tutor Ding submitted three memorials to the Regent, blaming himself and begging to resign, unwilling to occupy the post unworthily.
The Regent, already overwhelmed with Prince Gao’s funeral, had to personally visit Grand Tutor Ding three times to persuade him to remain. Only then was the storm calmed. And yet—how little time had passed since then!
Princess Royal oNankang turned to Lady Li with a smile: “Dowager Consort, do you know where His Majesty has gone? The Regent and his consort will be here soon. If His Majesty is absent, it may be rather improper.”
She was the youngest daughter of the late emperor, still in her forties, youthful in appearance thanks to her pampered life, but of the highest seniority—equal to Lady Li, her aunt by marriage. Thus, her manner was casual rather than deferential.
Dowager Consort Li did not answer, only looked toward Empress Dowager Lan.
Empress Dowager Lan, having been distracted earlier with seating arrangements, suddenly realized her son was missing.
The other consorts might have overlooked it, but Princess Royal Nankang, smiling with lifted lips, clearly took pleasure in the situation.
Empress Dowager Lan knew well that her sister‑in‑law despised her, mocking her in private as a “cheaply gained dowager.” Yet she could do nothing about it.
Princess Royal Nankang’s status and position needed no explanation, and the husband chosen for this imperial younger sister by Emperor Shengwu was no ordinary man. Chen Heng’s grandfather had been a founding minister of Wei, ennobled as Grand Tutor. Chen Heng himself was not only striking in appearance, but also unlike those idle noble sons who relied on inherited favor for rank. In his youth, he had served as commander of Emperor Shengwu’s personal guard, later ennobled as Marquis of Guangping, and married to Princess Royal Nankang by imperial decree.
For reasons unknown, he eventually fell from favor, was dismissed from the capital, and lived in obscurity for years. Yet now, under the Regent’s patronage, he had risen again, appointed governor of Bingzhou—one of the empire’s most important provinces—holding real power in his hands.
He was a man of great ability, skilled in governing the people, managing supplies, and calculating provisions. He was praised as possessing the talent of Xiao He. Should the court one day launch a northern campaign, it was clear: Jiang Zuwang would lead the army in the field, while Chen Heng would secure the rear. Neither could be spared. Thus, Princess Royal Nankang’s own prestige was greatly enhanced alongside him.
And now, in such a grand setting, Empress Dowager Lan’s son had failed to appear. She felt utterly humiliated, yet forced herself to remain composed, covering for him with a smile: “His Majesty said this morning he felt slightly unwell. I told him to rest a while longer. Perhaps that is why he is delayed.”
Dowager Consort Li, who had raised Emperor Ming, naturally cherished the young emperor and anxiously asked for details. The other consorts showed concern. Empress Dowager Lan reassured them with a smile: “Dowager Consort, do not worry. I am sure he is already better. I will send someone to check at once.”
As she spoke, her gaze flicked toward Princess Royal Nankang, whose expression was openly mocking. Empress Dowager Lan’s heart filled with resentment.
On the day of her birthday last year, while returning from the celebration, Empress Dowager Lan had been riding ahead, lost in her own thoughts, and failed to notice what was happening behind her. That blunder caused a great scandal. Since then, she had stationed her own people in the young emperor’s palace, ordering them to watch him closely and report everything to her at once.
Now, setting aside her feud with Princess Royal Nankang, she turned her gaze toward an old palace servant waiting near the hall doors. The servant, one of her own, caught her signal and was about to go search for the emperor—when suddenly, a noisy procession swept in from outside. At its head was a boy, crowned with a beaded diadem, dressed in a robe embroidered with twelve emblems, and wearing red cloud‑patterned shoes. Who else could it be but the young emperor?
He bounded up the palace steps, the twelve strings of beads on his crown swinging wildly, tangling together, the colored pearls slapping against his face with sharp little cracks. It must have stung, for he bared his teeth briefly, then rushed forward in one breath. Just as he was about to stride into the hall, he seemed to recall the dignity expected of a sovereign. Abruptly, he pulled back his foot mid‑step, stood firm, untangled the beads before his eyes, straightened the ornaments at his waist, and only once everything was in order did he clasp his hands behind his back, lift his chin, and march inside with solemn composure.
At that moment, the person Empress Dowager Lan least wished to see was her son—and yet here he was, appearing so suddenly. Before he could speak, she quickly rose, turning her back to the assembly, flashing him a warning glance to keep silent so she could cover for him.
But Shu Jian (the young emperor) did not notice her signal at all. Without hesitation, he declared: “Dowager Consort above! Mother Empress above! I rose early today and went to the study to review my lessons. I lost track of time and arrived late. I beg the Dowager Consort and Mother Empress to punish me!”
Then, smiling brightly, he turned to the elder consort of Prince Xian, calling her “Royal Grandmother,” and to Princess Royal Nankang, addressing her as “Royal Aunt.”
The Dowager Consort merely glanced at Empress Dowager Lan, then smiled at the boy and beckoned him to sit near her. The elder consort praised his diligence in study, and the others followed with words of admiration, as though they had forgotten Empress Dowager Lan’s earlier excuse.
Only Princess Royal Nankang looked sidelong at Empress Dowager Lan’s tense expression and laughed: “His Majesty is indeed diligent! Even while unwell, he does not neglect his studies. Grand Tutor Ding will surely be gratified.”
Shu Jian, puzzled, asked, “Unwell?”
Princess Royal Nankang waved her hand with a smile: “Just a casual remark. It is good that Your Majesty is well—then your grandmother can be at ease.”
Empress Dowager Lan forced a smile, swallowing her anger: “Perhaps His Majesty recovered later and went to the study, forgetting the time.” She shot her son a sharp look.
Princess Royal Nankang chuckled softly. Though her voice was low, in the vast hall it was clear to all. Even Empress Dowager Lan, skilled at diplomacy, could not contain the situation; her face grew dark.
Everyone assumed the emperor was lying about studying, even his mother, believing he had been idling elsewhere. Yet in truth, this time they were all mistaken. Shu Jian had indeed gone to the study, driven by a small scheme of his own. Quick‑witted by nature, he realized only belatedly what had happened. Seeing his mother and Princess Royal Nankang sparring like two fighting cocks, he guessed the cause: his lateness had forced Empress Dowager Lan to invent an excuse, which clashed with his own words, provoking the princess royal’s mockery.
To be honest, he disliked his sharp‑tongued, domineering aunt, and he was weary of his mother’s constant nagging—one face in public, another in private. He had no wish to deal with either of them. Proud by temperament, he chose not to explain, letting the misunderstanding stand, and played the fool in silence.
Dowager Consort Li glanced toward the Princess Consort Xian.
Princess Consort Xian knew that Princess Royal Nankang often showed little respect even toward Dowager Consort Li, and that Dowager Consort Li herself did not favor her. With such an awkward scene unfolding, and the emperor’s dignity at stake, Dowager Consort Li’s look was a signal for her to smooth things over. So the old consort smiled and said: “His Majesty is here, that is well. Please take your seat. Your third uncle and aunt should be arriving soon.”
Princess Royal Nankang, giving some face to the old consort, let the matter drop.
Shu Jian turned his head toward the doorway, then sat down. Empress Dowager Lan steadied herself, suppressing her shame and anger, and resumed her seat. The other consorts and noblewomen acted as though nothing had happened. The embarrassment passed—for the moment.
Just then, word came from outside: the Regent and his consort had arrived.
At once, everyone except the Dowager Consort, Empress Dowager Lan, and the emperor rose to greet them—even Princess Royal Nankang could not remain seated.
Empress Dowager Lan felt her stifled anger ease slightly. Hearing the footsteps approach, she looked up and saw two figures entering under the guidance of the palace officials.
From the Regent’s welcoming of the general’s daughter yesterday, to the shocking incident at the prince’s gate, to the emperor’s midnight departure, and even the events at Prince Gao’s residence—though confined within the palace, Empress Dowager Lan had heard of them all. And now, she had also learned from her attendants that the famed general’s daughter was not the fearsome “she‑devil” of rumor. Yet even so, when she saw her in person at this moment, she could not help but feel surprised.
Empress Dowager Lan was not the only one surprised.
Jiang Hanyuan’s attire mirrored that of the man beside her: a plain silk inner robe, with outer garments of black and crimson, embroidered with fine insignia along the shoulders and cuffs. His clothing was predominantly black with crimson accents; hers was the reverse—entirely crimson, with black only at the collar, cuffs, and waist.
Under the gaze of all present, she entered and stood firmly, her bearing calm and unrestrained. On her face, there was not the slightest trace of a new bride’s shyness or unease. Her figure was steady, immovable, as though even a storm of sand and waves could not shake her. She and her dignified, noble crimson robes seemed fused into one—like heaven meeting the sea, mountains meeting rivers—perfectly matched, as if destined.
Ordinarily, wherever the Regent appeared, he was the center of attention. But today, in this moment, no one looked at him. Every gaze turned instead to the general’s daughter at his side.
The hall fell silent until the Regent’s voice broke the stillness. He led his new consort forward to bow before Dowager Consort Li.
True to her title, Dowager Consort Li was gracious and kind, smiling warmly as she excused them from formal bows. She immediately asked about the attempted assassination the previous night. The Regent replied, “It was nothing but reckless thieves. I am unharmed. Dowager Consort need not worry.” She cursed the traitors and urged him to take greater care in the future, to which he assented.
Dowager Consort Li studied Jiang Hanyuan for a moment, then turned to Princess Consort Xian with a smile: “Last year, when the Regent visited me, I worried he had not yet married, that endless affairs of state might delay his life’s happiness. I urged him then, and learned he admired the general’s daughter of the Jiang family. Now his wish is fulfilled—it is truly a match made in heaven. We, elders, may rest easy.”
The old consort laughed in agreement: “Indeed, Dowager Consort speaks rightly. Prince Xian, upon returning to the capital, praised the Princess Consort endlessly before me. He said her martial renown spread far, that soldiers and civilians at the frontier revered her. Hearing this, I longed to meet her.
“Now that I see her, I believe it all. What does it mean for a woman to equal men? It means being like General Changning! Our Great Wei, with General Jiang and his daughter as loyal servants, is truly blessed.”
The Dowager Consort praised the words, and the others nodded and smiled, voices rising in admiration, harmony filling the hall.
Jiang Hanyuan bowed: “I dare not accept such praise from the Dowager Consort and Princess Consort Xian. It is undeserved.” Then she turned toward Empress Dowager Lan.