The emperor was not in the main hall of Zhaohua Yuan at this moment. Li Congyuan followed Four-Rat through the covered corridor beside the side hall, exited through an archway filled with crabapple trees, and circled behind a hillside. The slope was mostly covered with pine and cypress trees, their lush verdancy contrasting sharply with the fiery red maple forest in the distance, making them appear even more vibrant and prosperous.
Ascending the stone steps, Li Congyuan finally saw the young man sitting in the pavilion. Dressed in a narrow-sleeved straight gown, the man appeared as if he had just returned from horseback riding. His expression was calm, strikingly different from his usual demeanor.
The two senior eunuchs, Yi Ji and San Mao, were attentively waiting on him.
San Mao was half-kneeling on the ground, changing the dressing on the emperor’s hand injury, speaking softly:
“Your Majesty, please consider your health. How can you hold the reins when your hand hasn’t healed yet?”
Withdrawing his hand abruptly, the emperor raised an eyebrow: “A minor injury, yet it prevents me from enjoying myself to the fullest.”
Li Congyuan immediately understood that the emperor had gone riding before his hand injury had fully healed, aggravating the wound.
Seeing Li Congyuan’s arrival, the emperor waved his hand, and San Mao withdrew with the medicine box.
Li Congyuan bowed in salute. Before he could speak, the emperor directly asked him: “Do you think Chen Shouzhang deserves to die?”
He instantly understood what the eunuch Four-Rat had meant earlier – the emperor had indeed changed. In the past, the emperor would only say “I want Chen Shouzhang dead.” The Grand Secretariat would have to make concession after concession elsewhere until the emperor was satisfied before he would reluctantly agree to withdraw the order.
Now, the emperor had changed his approach, leaving Li Congyuan somewhat disoriented about how to negotiate.
“Reporting to Your Majesty, I believe that although Chen Shouzhang may be somewhat frivolous and his words somewhat unrestrained, this is… this is due to his temperament. Ultimately, his crimes do not warrant death.”
“I think so too.”
Having been called a child prodigy at six, entering the palace to discuss the Book of Rites with the emperor, becoming a presented scholar at sixteen and joining the Hanlin Academy, his career had been smooth sailing ever since. At merely thirty-five, he became a lecturer at the Crown Prince’s palace, and now at forty-nine, he served as Minister of Personnel and concurrently held the position of Wuying Hall Grand Scholar. Having lived most of his life, Li Congyuan believed there was little in the world that could surprise him anymore. Yet at this moment, he could barely conceal the astonishment in his eyes.
What was the emperor saying?
It wasn’t that the emperor’s words were unreasonable, but… Li Congyuan vaguely remembered that the last time the emperor had been this “reasonable” was when he was eight years old, claiming he would study hard to become a virtuous prince, while in reality having someone else write his assignments while he spent the afternoon playing with crickets with the eunuchs.
At this moment, Li Congyuan could hardly resist the urge to immediately leave the palace and go to the Jinyiwei prison to check if Chen Shouzhang had already been secretly executed.
Shen Shiqing, who had adopted the emperor’s demeanor, didn’t look at Li Congyuan but instead gazed at the scroll painting before her. Earlier, she had tried horseback riding. The Zhaode Emperor himself was skilled in riding and archery, and though she had almost forgotten the riding skills her mother taught her in childhood, this body remembered how to ride. The moment she sat on the horse, her waist and abdomen naturally relaxed without any tension, her legs were strong, and her arms moved with appropriate flexibility – naturally appearing as an experienced rider.
This way, even if her riding skills were somewhat rusty, she could use the hand injury as an excuse.
Having resolved another matter, she now had the leisure to appreciate paintings. The Directorate of Imperial Accoutrements had sent several works by court painters, mostly meticulous brushwork flower-and-bird paintings. While technically masterful, they carried an excessive air of artifice. After viewing several pieces, Shen Shiqing found herself most drawn to a pine forest painting—its brushstrokes delicate yet retaining the dignified character of pines, with profound artistic conception that made it a true masterpiece.
Naturally, the green pigment blended from green salt and premium malachite also greatly pleased Shen Shiqing, who was well-versed in painting materials. The materials alone for this painting were worth several taels of silver—truly, court painters spared no expense in their supplies.
“I don’t wish to execute Chen Shouzhang, because I don’t want a court where no one dares speak of the people’s suffering.”
Li Congyuan paused before responding gravely, “Your Majesty is most sagacious.”
Sagacious?
Shen Shiqing glanced at Li Congyuan before returning her gaze to the painting.
“I have dispatched the Jinyiwei to Dengzhou to thoroughly investigate Chen Shouzhang’s claims. We shall decide his punishment after obtaining results. I summoned you here to ask about another matter.”
Though the young sovereign seated on the stone bench spoke amiably, Li Congyuan felt his tension rise again.
Since His Majesty’s accession to the throne, this consultative tone had only preceded three matters: executions, warfare, and palace construction—each more troubling than the last. With this preliminary summons and the declaration about sparing Chen Shouzhang, he likely intended for his Grand Academician to shield him from the censure of imperial censors.
Very well. If it meant preserving Chen Shouzhang, what did it matter if he conceded ground to His Majesty and endured some criticism?
The deeply shrewd Grand Academician Li, Minister Li, secretly steadied himself for another impact from his emperor, only to hear His Majesty inquire:
“Zhang Qi has served as a fourth-rank general for less than two years, yet has amassed a fortune of tens of thousands of silver taels. Where did this wealth come from?”
This was what puzzled Shen Shiqing after reviewing the Jinyiwei’s memorial.
According to Great Yong Dynasty military regulations, Zhang Qi’s actual position was Assistant Commander of Pengcheng Garrison, serving under a full commander. With Pengcheng Garrison having just over five thousand troops, and the commander—knowing his popularity among soldiers—assigning him two thousand men to manage, even two years’ worth of allocated funds and provisions couldn’t match his embezzled gains. How could he possibly accumulate such wealth even if he squeezed every last coin from those two thousand soldiers?
She looked toward Li Congyuan, only to find him staring at her in astonishment.
Yi Ji nearby promptly whispered, “Minister Li? His Majesty is asking you.”
“Ah…” Conscious of his impropriety, Li Congyuan quickly lowered his head and adjusted his sleeves to conceal it. “Zhang Qi obtained his wealth partly by embezzling military pay for personal enrichment, and partly through seizure of military farmland…”
Seeing His Majesty listening quietly with fixed attention, Li Congyuan felt a surge of gratification and elaborated further—from the military system established at the dynasty’s founding to the current predicament where garrison farms nationwide were being seized, making them difficult to sustain.
His exposition continued endlessly. The conversation between sovereign and minister moved from the Heart-Cleansing Pavilion to a side hall in Zhaohua Yuan, where they even shared an evening meal. Li Congyuan’s nature contained elements of untrammeled eccentricity—seeing the Emperor listening so attentively, he eventually unfolded maps to explain the entire distribution of Great Yong garrisons.
Possessing vast knowledge and photographic memory, he retained every document he had seen and could recite all regional revenue and expenditure figures with flawless fluency and coherence.
By the time he had finally spoken his fill, the lanterns in Zhaohua Yuan were already lit.
“Thank you, Minister Li.”
The “Zhaode Emperor” wore a faint smile and even expressed gratitude to him.
Li Congyuan sensed no perfunctory tone in this, and once again felt the comforting pride of an elder, wishing he could immediately take up residence in the palace to seize this rare moment of the emperor’s studiousness and impart all the lessons left untaught before.
While he was prepared to devote himself entirely, Shen Shiqing had no intention of letting a future Grand Secretary exhaust himself to death in the West Garden. As Li Congyuan bowed to take his leave, the brilliant lamplight illuminated the traces of white hair at his temples.
Shen Shiqing’s heart stirred faintly with the candlelight.
“Minister Li.”
Hearing the emperor’s call, Li Congyuan halted his retreating steps.
Here it comes! After enduring his temperament all day to play the model student, what kind of trouble was His Majesty about to stir up now?
In that instant, Li Congyuan even began considering submitting a memorial to request retirement.
“We have heard that renowned scholars in the capital often gather at Zhezhu Terrace to compose poetry and couplets, with their literary works being compiled into collections. Have you ever visited?”
Zhezhu Terrace?
Li Congyuan sighed: “What Your Majesty speaks of regarding Zhezhu Terrace is already a matter from ten years ago. I haven’t heard its name mentioned in ages. Back then, several old friends and I, young and impetuous, believed we could revolutionize the world of literature, and thus produced something called ‘Zhezhu Terrace Collection of Virtuous Writings’.”
After speaking, he chuckled lightly.
The emperor, seated upright by the desk, lowered his gaze and said slowly:
“Several old friends? To be friends with Minister Li, they must have been pillars of their time.”
Pillars of their time?
Some had been dismissed and returned home, others exiled to the frontiers. Some who were once high-spirited now moved through life wearily, while another, despite peerless talent, had long been buried in an unknown grave. Only he remained at court, all to repay the imperial favor of successive emperors.
Countless memories flooded Li Congyuan’s heart, his smile tinged with bitterness:
“The vicissitudes of life are unpredictable, gatherings and partings but momentary. In my youth, I too believed ‘All things blend into one principle, why distinguish between long and short life?’ Now I understand that only by living through a day can one truly count it, and only by living through a day can one accomplish a day’s work.”
After speaking, Li Congyuan bowed again: “Your Majesty, is there anything else you wish to command?”
The young emperor blinked, then suddenly smiled and said: “Nothing more. Minister Li, return home early and rest.”
Really nothing more?
Li Congyuan bowed and retreated from the hall, ultimately not hearing the emperor call him back again.
Turning around, his peripheral vision caught the eunuchs standing attendance on both sides. Li Congyuan suddenly remembered what the eunuch Four-Rat had said to him that afternoon.
His Majesty is different from before?
His Majesty… perhaps, maybe, possibly… truly is different from before?
Inside Zhaohua Hall, Shen Shiqing raised a hand to support her cheek.
When she was twelve, her father had her dress as a boy, claiming she was his nephew, and took her by the hand to Zhezhu Terrace.
At Zhezhu Terrace, a group of scholars in blue robes and white garments, regardless of official rank or age, spoke their minds freely and discussed state affairs, greatly broadening her young horizons.
Some drummed and recited poetry with unrestrained joy, others wrote elegant script in the refined cabinet style. One looked at her painting and said with a laugh, “This lad will surely become a master in time.” Another held her in his arms, happier than if he himself had received praise.
She still remembered Li Congyuan from ten years ago—neither composing poetry nor writing essays, but drinking first until fully satisfied, then taking up his brush to write poems, all in wild cursive script.
Li Congyuan had aged.
Her father was dead.
As she was lost in thought, San Mao entered carrying a tray:
“Your Majesty, the new tassels are ready. Would you like to choose one? This humble servant will reattach your seal for you.”
Shen Shiqing looked up and saw over a dozen tassels adorned with different gemstones arranged on the tray, alongside a white jade seal about an inch in size.
The seal was plain white in color, its jade texture exceptionally fine and smooth – clearly it had been frequently handled and fondled in someone’s palm.
She picked up the seal and turning it over, immediately understood that it must have been soiled before. Not only had the tassel been replaced, but the entire seal had been cleaned and then nourished for several days with Longquan ink paste.
“A gentleman is not a tool.”
Looking at the characters on the seal, she inexplicably recalled the white jade hairpin her father had left her.
Though these two jade pieces differed in shape and size, their texture was remarkably similar, as if they had been carved from the same piece of jade.
San Mao nearby said in a self-congratulatory tone: “The gemstones tribute from Burma this year are of excellent quality. Your Majesty, don’t you think this red tassel matches the seal perfectly?”
Looking at the Zhaode Emperor’s injured hand, Shen Shiqing suddenly understood how the seal had become soiled.
Her mind flashed back to the scene in the small Buddhist chapel where she had stabbed herself with the silver hairpin.
Clutching the seal tightly in her hand, she commanded: “We shall not wear it for now. Find a box and store this seal properly.”