General Changning— Chapter 7
The young emperor said nothing.
Shu Shenhui could easily see his nephew’s dissatisfaction. He smiled. “Still unconvinced? If you have something to say, speak freely.”
“You asked me to say it!” Shu Jian muttered. “I just don’t believe it. Is Jiang Zuwang really the only man in Great Wei who can fight? Must you go to such lengths to win him over, Third Uncle?”
Shu Shenhui replied calmly: “Yes, Great Wei was founded on military strength. Once, men capable of leading armies were as numerous as the stars. I recall your grandfather, the Sacred Martial Emperor, in his final round of rewards, granted first-class titles to no fewer than ten men. Yet in barely a decade, most of those heroes fell into indulgence, their skills wasted, or grew arrogant with past merit, unfit for great use.”
“Jian’er, in these past decades, the Northern Di have produced a formidable ruler. He has imitated the Central Plains, declaring himself emperor, and with the momentum of conquering northern provinces early on, claims to command a million bowmen. Even if exaggerated, their national strength is unprecedented. Moreover, several of his princes are no fools. One, named Chishu, is extraordinary—he even drew Han men to his side. After the battle of Qingmu Plain, he took command of Yan Shuo, honored as the ‘Southern King.’ To reclaim Great Wei’s northern gateway, the final war will be a clash of nations, harder than any campaign your grandfather ever fought. Bravery alone will not suffice. The commander must be one who can plan with ease, weigh heavy matters lightly. Looking at today’s court, the man most suited to be supreme commander of the realm’s armies is Jiang Zuwang.”
At first, the young emperor’s face showed defiance. Gradually, his gaze fixed on his uncle, unblinking.
Shu Shenhui paused, then continued: “There is another matter I had not yet told you, but intended to soon. When Jiang Zuwang first entered the army, he served under Prince Gao, who promoted him and long sought to bind him close. That is why my marriage proposal unsettled Prince Gao so much. More than that—just months ago, Prince Cheng secretly sent envoys to meet Jiang Zuwang…”
In a distant corner, a spider that had fallen from its web scurried anxiously across the scripture shelves, circling aimlessly before climbing up a nearby lattice window.
The young emperor was startled. “What? Truly? Does that mean Jiang Zuwang is in league with them?”
Shu Shenhui shook his head. “Jiang Zuwang is cautious by nature. He has surely seen Prince Gao’s growing ambition and fears trouble. To my knowledge, he has not sought them out. What Prince Cheng’s envoys said is unknown, but I suspect they urged him to beware of power that threatens the throne, hoping to draw him in. Jiang Zuwang likely refused. Yet he did not report it to the court. With his experience, he cannot have missed their intent.”
The young emperor grew angry. “So he too sits on the fence, waiting to see which side prevails?”
Shu Shenhui’s expression was grave. “Perhaps out of old ties, he concealed it. But we cannot ignore the risk.”
“As I said, at such times the court must show its trust. Since ancient days, marriage has been the surest bond between families. For the throne to show favor to a minister, nothing is more effective. Whatever the future holds, today I use this proposal to convey our attitude: if he remains loyal, the court and you, Your Majesty, will place great trust in him, with no ill intent. To show sincerity, I sent your grand-uncle to propose on my behalf. Years ago, when I patrolled the frontier, I spent a few days with Jiang Zuwang. Though brief, I saw he was a man of insight. I trust he will understand my meaning and respond as he should. That is what I hope for.”
“But people’s hearts are hidden. What if he also harbors divided loyalties, waiting to see?” the young emperor asked.
Shu Shenhui smiled faintly. “That is why Prince Gao had to die. Strike the mountain to shake the tiger—let the wavering know it is not too late to correct themselves.”
“Why give such people a chance? Why not kill them all and end the threat?” the young emperor said bitterly.
“Jian’er, remember: the hardest thing to control in this world is the human heart.”
“The Way of Man is vast, rules bind all things, virtue draws men in, law restrains them. Thus, the realm is ordered, the people united. You have read this, yes?” He looked at his nephew.
“Words from the Book of Rites,” Shu Jian answered.
Shu Shenhui nodded. “Correct. A ruler will always have loyal men ready to die for him, but also those who waver. Such men cannot all be killed. Even in your grandfather’s time, do you think there were none? They simply feared his majesty too much to act. As a ruler, you must learn governance and build your authority. One day, when your majesty is strong enough, you can command all—reward and punish, and even the wavering will serve you.”
“My proposal to marry Jiang Zuwang’s daughter is not only to show favor, but also to send a message. Everyone knows he once served Prince Gao. Now Prince Gao is dead, and countless eyes watch him. Yet instead of being implicated, he is honored by the court. This shows all: as long as one is not the chief culprit, loyalty to the court will erase past ties. Do you understand, Jian’er?”
The young emperor’s eyes lit with sudden comprehension. “I see! Third Uncle, your lessons are far more interesting than Grand Tutor Ding’s. Whenever he speaks, I just want to fall asleep!”
“Grand Tutor Ding’s learning and scholarship far surpass mine. You must not be disrespectful!”
“Yes, I understand.” The young emperor answered obediently, then looked at Shu Shenhui with hesitation. At last, as if making a difficult decision, he clenched his teeth and declared with a solemn, tragic air:
“Third Uncle, if Jiang’s daughter must be married, it need not be you! I can do it! I will marry her!”
Shu Shenhui had not expected such words from him. Surprised, he studied the boy. “You? Just now you were scorning that lady general, saying she was unworthy.”
Shu Jian flushed red. “Third Uncle, don’t think I’m too young. I know everything! That Wen family lady who left just now—you and she clearly have feelings for each other! She must have learned you intend to marry Jiang’s daughter, and that’s why she was so sad. I know your heart must ache as well—”
He straightened his chest, face set with heroic resolve. “Third Uncle, you are sacrificing for Great Wei, for the court! But I am the emperor! Such sacrifice is my duty as sovereign, not yours. You have already labored enough for me!”
He paused. “If I am too young to marry immediately, then let the betrothal be made now, and when I come of age, the wedding ceremony can be held. Wouldn’t that serve the same purpose?”
Hearing such words from his nephew, seeing his determined expression, Shu Shenhui felt a sudden urge to laugh, but more than that, he was deeply moved.
The young emperor’s nature was spirited, resistant to restraint, and often a cause of concern for Shu Shenhui. He wondered when the boy would grow steady, truly grasping that with supreme power came supreme responsibility. Yet at this moment, though still childish, his words revealed genuine intent.
Shu Shenhui said: “Jian’er, listen well. First, this marriage is no sacrifice for me—it is my own design. Second, she is closer to my age. In time, there will be more suitable women for you.”
“But Third Uncle, you and Lady Wen are a perfect match! I cannot bear to see you parted from the one you love—”
“Jian’er!” Shu Shenhui cut him off sharply, then, after a pause, said: “She and I only knew each other since childhood because of the Grand Tutor. Nothing more. Do not repeat such words that could harm a woman’s reputation.”
The young emperor clearly did not believe him, muttering under his breath: “…It’s not just me. Everyone says she has remained unmarried all these years, waiting for you…”
Shu Shenhui frowned. The boy, seeing his uncle’s displeasure, quickly fell silent.
“Jian’er, remember this.” Shu Shenhui’s tone grew solemn. “Grand General Jiang is one of Great Wei’s finest commanders. As for his daughter, though I have not met her, she is no ordinary woman. She must not be treated lightly. However you treat me, you must treat her the same. Not a trace of disrespect is allowed.”
“I understand…” the young emperor mumbled.
Shu Shenhui looked up at the sun’s shadow. “It is time. I must return to the city, and you to the palace. Let us go.”
The boy was reluctant, but he knew today was no ordinary day. With such grave events in the morning, the regent truly had to return.
As they lingered, a group rushed in. At the front was Liu Xiang, followed by imperial guards.
Seeing the young emperor with the Regent, Liu Xiang exhaled in relief, steadied himself, and hurried forward to kneel. “Your Majesty, I failed to guard you. Please forgive me, Your Majesty, Regent Prince!”
Earlier, he had followed the imperial carriage. The young emperor had stepped down briefly, then returned. After some distance, Liu Xiang noticed one attendant missing. Remembering the boy’s mischievous habits, he grew suspicious, approached the carriage, and tested with a question. Silence answered him. Alarmed, he stopped the carriage, opened it—and found no emperor inside, only a terrified attendant dressed in imperial robes.
The officials erupted in panic. Liu Xiang reported to Empress Dowager Lan, who, furious, ordered the imposter executed. Liu Xiang pleaded that on her birthday, bloodshed was inauspicious, and the boy’s life was spared. The Empress Dowager was escorted back to the palace, while Liu Xiang rushed to search.
Though the emperor was safe, Liu Xiang had twice failed gravely in one morning. His shame was immense.
Fortunately, the Regent did not rebuke him. When the Empress Dowager had threatened to kill the attendant, Shu Shenhui had only glanced at the emperor.
The boy lowered his head.
“Your Majesty, please return to the city,” the Regent said respectfully.
This time, Shu Jian did not resist. He stepped forward reluctantly. Shu Shenhui followed, and Liu Xiang scrambled up to join them with his men.
The group departed, footsteps fading into silence.
Autumn wind swept through the southern window. A yellow leaf drifted down, lonely upon the ground.
In the northwest corner of the loft, the spider struggled upward, climbing back to the shelf from which it had fallen. The broken thread swayed in the wind. Again and again the spider reached, only to grasp at emptiness, refusing to give up.
Suddenly, a hand appeared, waiting beside the tiny creature. When it crawled onto the fingertip, the hand lifted it gently, placing it back upon the broken thread.
The spider seized the chance, clung tightly, and hurried upward, returning to its web. Settling for only a moment, it resumed its endless labor, spinning silk without pause.