The slanting sun cast long shadows of the lush green phoenix trees in Zhaohua Yuan, stretching all the way to the walls.
Under the corridor.
His Majesty had not spoken all day.
The short and wiry Four-Rat glanced at the round-eyed, youthful-faced San Mao, who then turned to the tallest and most robust Two-Dog. Finally, all three looked to their leader, Yi Ji.
Yi Ji stood motionless, his heart already in turmoil.
He had served by His Majesty’s side since the emperor was still a prince. The emperor’s moods were unpredictable, never one to hide his temper.
In all these years, there had only been two occasions when he suppressed his anger without an outburst—both times, cataclysmic events had followed.
This time…
Yi Ji hunched his shoulders, and as he pondered deeper, an autumn chill seemed to pierce through the very marrow of his bones.
“Water.”
A voice suddenly came from within the hall, causing the line of eunuchs to stir. Two-Dog darted out to fetch the silver water kettle and handed it to Yi Ji.
Yi Ji looked around; everyone else was staring at him, their eyes exchanging frantic, unspoken messages. Outnumbered, he picked up the kettle and gently pushed open the palace door.
The hall felt stifling. The young Zhaode Emperor sat on the couch, a pile of memorials scattered on the floor.
Yi Ji approached the couch with the silver kettle and poured water into the teacup.
The finest Jianning Purple Bamboo tea was kept ready for the emperor’s use at any moment—brewed pot by pot, discarded once it cooled. This alone consumed a full jin of premium tea daily in Zhaohua Yuan.
As the tea’s fragrance wafted up, His Majesty lifted his eyes.
“Fetch a brazier. Burn them all.”
“Yes!”
Yi Ji hurriedly gave the order. When he turned back, he saw His Majesty set down the teacup.
He quickly refilled it.
“Your Majesty, the fish in the West Garden have grown plump. You’ve always enjoyed San Mao’s preparation. Shall I have him bring some more?”
The emperor remained silent, his gaze fixed on the memorials being tossed into the brazier.
Yi Ji took a step back, holding his breath.
After a moment, the chief eunuch—whose slightest movement could make the entire palace tremble—trembled and knelt on the ground.
“Your Majesty! If you are angry, vent it on this servant! I am but a chicken—pluck my feathers, strip my skin, do as you please! Please, do not let your anger fester within!”
Shen Shiqing watched the practice calligraphy memorials burn to ashes. Coming to her senses, she saw a crowd kneeling from inside the hall all the way to the outside.
In that moment, she lightly raised an eyebrow.
So, this is what it feels like to be an emperor?
Zhaohua Yuan was merely a corner of the West Garden palace complex, but it was particularly favored by the Zhaode Emperor due to its proximity to the elephant garden, which housed elephants, peacocks, tigers, and leopards. Whenever he visited the West Garden, he almost always stayed here, earning it the nickname “Imperial Elephant Garden.”
Unlike the rigid formality of the Imperial City, the West Garden’s courtyards followed the natural contours of hills and water, exuding delicate, innate charm. A stone path led directly up to Pagoda Hill.
Several grand secretaries walked through the grounds, but they had no mind to appreciate the lush greenery or the pleasant autumn breeze along the way.
“By my reckoning, the men sent to arrest Chen Shouzhang should reach Dengzhou in two days on fast horses, shouldn’t they?”
Chen Shouzhang, the vice-prefect of Dengzhou, had memorialized the emperor to abolish the horse administration and reduce garrison troops, provoking the emperor’s wrath to the point of harming the Dragon Body. The affair had stirred up the court, leaving these grand secretaries uneasy.
They had circulated the memorial among themselves in the Grand Secretariat. Everyone knew that the vast sums of money poured into the northwest over the years were because His Majesty intended to resume warfare.
However, the court ministers did not share this view.
Maintaining military readiness required long-term investment—each day demanded funds, each day consumed the people’s hard-earned resources to sustain the hundreds of thousands of troops in the northwest.
Where would the money come from?
Since its founding, Dayong had been locked in conflict with the northern barbarians, with victories and defeats. Victories merely reclaimed some territory, while defeats genuinely shook the nation’s foundations. Although the new emperor’s ability to reverse generations of weakness against the northern tribes and restore national prestige was commendable, everything needed moderation.
To these ministers, having fought to the point where the northern barbarians wouldn’t dare invade for five or ten years was an opportune time for the people to recuperate. The Ministry of Revenue’s funds should be allocated elsewhere—such as Yellow River water conservancy projects or seawalls in Fujian and Zhejiang.
Chen Shouzhang’s memorial served as their trial balloon. They had anticipated the Emperor’s fury but never expected it to harm the Dragon Body.
They intended to make the young Emperor on the throne uncomfortable, not to actually draw blood.
The journey proceeded in silence. Upon reaching Zhaohua Yuan, they saw officials awaiting audience gathered outside the gate, unable to enter.
With the Emperor suspending court sessions, these newly arrived or departing officials could only wait here.
The palace gates stood in eerie quiet. Several Grand Secretaries glanced around and noticed that even the cleaning eunuchs whose faces they vaguely remembered were all gone. Recalling the recent turmoil in the inner court, they fell into silent contemplation.
The Emperor’s outburst had been ferocious—Chen Shouzhang was likely facing grave danger.
“Your subject Li Congyuan.”
“Your subject Yang Zhai.”
“Your subject Liu Kangyong.”
“We have heard of Your Majesty’s slight indisposition and have come to pay our respects…”
The news of the three Grand Secretaries’ arrival at Zhaohua Yuan had reached the senior eunuchs—Yi Ji, Two-Dog, San Mao—the moment they entered the West Garden. Exchanging glances, they looked toward the Zhaode Emperor reviewing memorials at his desk. Yi Ji nodded, and Two-Dog slipped out silently.
“Scribe of Ceremonial Directorate Two-Dog pays respects to the esteemed Grand Secretaries. His Majesty has been enraged all day and only now is willing to speak a few words. Do you bring any good news?”
Good news? This year had seen favorable weather with only some flooding in Huaibei during June. Bountiful harvests everywhere had filled the granaries. Such good news arrived daily, yet it might not ease His Majesty’s displeasure.
Moreover, one source of the Emperor’s anger was the censors’ opposition to his renovation of the West Garden. Reminding him of tax revenues now would only aggravate matters.
Seeing the Grand Secretaries remain silent, Two-Dog sighed softly: “To be frank, Your Excellencies, His Majesty has spoken fewer than ten words today. In a few days, Chen Shouzhang will be escorted to the capital.”
The implication was clear: if they couldn’t calm their Emperor’s rage, only Chen Shouzhang’s blood and life would quench it.
All eyes turned to Li Congyuan—a man known for his strategic wisdom who had once served as the Emperor’s junior tutor. Since the former Grand Secretary Liu Shen was dismissed by the Zhaode Emperor, Li had quietly emerged as the cabinet’s leading figure.
After contemplation, Li Congyuan shook his head.
The assembly sighed inwardly.
“Have you considered inviting the imperial consorts to attend His Majesty?”
Two-Dog smiled bitterly: “We’ve discussed it several times, but none dare suggest it to His Majesty… The news of His Majesty’s injury remains concealed from the inner palace.”
Soon, San Mao emerged carrying stacks of memorials.
“These have all been personally reviewed by His Majesty.”
San Mao emphasized the word “personally.”
Looking at the two stacks of memorials each two feet high, the several grand secretaries were quite astonished.
Having not seen His Majesty for a day, how could he have become so diligent?
Could it be that His Majesty’s silence was actually because he had poured all his inner fire into these memorials?
The grand secretaries looked at them, not daring to take them.
How—how many of these memorials contained vermilion comments from the imperial brush with the word “Kill”?
Inside the hall, Shen Shiqing, wearing the skin of the Zhaode Emperor, finally set down her brush.
For an entire day, she had read countless memorials, both new and old. On one hand, it was to familiarize herself with the court officials and current affairs; on the other, it was to imitate the Zhaode Emperor’s vermilion comments and learn his manner of speech and conduct.
The Zhaode Emperor was unrestrained in his actions and extremely casual with his ministers’ memorials. Most were merely circled or marked, and even for the few that dealt with important matters, his vermilion comments were highly… unconventional.
After seeing several bright red “Scram” comments, Shen Shiqing could only tell herself that she had at least grasped the essence.
Glancing once more at the memorial she had just finished commenting on, Shen Shiqing sighed softly in her heart.
Fortunately, the world was relatively peaceful at the moment, and she was temporarily acting as a peaceful emperor in this body—a willful and unruly peaceful emperor at that.
The matter of Soul Transference was shocking and unheard of. When she opened her eyes in the morning, she was startled by the unfamiliar canopy above her. Discovering that she had turned into a tall man made her feel as though she were in a bizarre dream. Luckily, seven years in the Earl of Anning’s residence had tempered her disposition into calmness and composure. Even in panic, she did not lose her composure or scream.
Hearing faint noises outside, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep inside the bed curtains. Listening to a few people whispering in hushed tones, she learned that she had actually become an emperor—and one in the midst of a furious rage.
Taking advantage of this, she pretended that her anger had not yet subsided and remained alone for a long time.
During this solitude, she practiced imitating the emperor’s handwriting while contemplating how to survive.
The chief eunuch attending to the emperor was intimately familiar with every detail of the emperor’s daily life. Afraid of making a mistake, she did not even dare to speak.
As the only daughter in her family, her father, who was well-versed in both ancient and modern knowledge, had spared no effort in teaching her everything he knew. Before her marriage, Shen Shiqing had been able to keep up with court affairs. Thanks to this, even after being confined for seven years, she was not completely unable to understand the memorials.
With the ability to comprehend the memorials and imitate others’ handwriting, Shen Shiqing’s heart settled, and she began to consider other matters.
The first step was to boldly summon the eunuchs to attend to her. Seeing how timid and fearful they were, she suddenly realized that playing the role of an emperor might be much easier than she had imagined.
Because she was an “emperor.”
She was the emperor, so she did not need to cater to others’ moods—it was others who had to gauge her emotions and act accordingly.
Her silence made others tremble with fear.
Her slightest word made others flatter and fawn.
She was the emperor, so she also did not need to worry excessively about whether her behavior differed from “before.”
“As long as I act freely and avoid feminine mannerisms, even if I am different from before, who would dare to question whether the current emperor is not the emperor?” Glancing once more at the “Scram” comment in vermilion ink, which was nearly identical to the Zhaode Emperor’s, Shen Shiqing asked herself.
The eunuchs within the palace naturally did not dare.
As for those outside the palace… Shen Shiqing was just about to test the waters.
“Who else is waiting outside?”
Hearing His Majesty suddenly speak, the attending Yi Ji quickly replied:
“Several Grand Academicians from the inner cabinet wished to see Your Majesty, but they left at a quarter past three. Now only the Investigating Censor Yao Qian remains outside.”
While speaking, Yi Ji cautiously observed His Majesty’s expression.
Investigating Censor Yao Qian was precisely the official who had led the opposition against His Majesty’s renovation of the West Garden.
Shen Shiqing remained silent.
The palace hall grew quiet again.
Yi Ji couldn’t discern His Majesty’s intention—did he wish to see him or not?
After a few breaths, he heard His Majesty say in a detached tone: “Are you suggesting I wait for him?”
San Mao, standing outside, immediately scrambled to summon Yao Qian inside.
The position of Investigating Censor was only seventh-rank. In terms of official grade alone, such minor officials were as common as stones in Yanjing, where nobility gathered everywhere. Yet they had the authority to monitor and advise everyone from the emperor down to all officials.
During the late emperor’s reign, these censors were treated with great leniency. In his thirteen years on the throne, he never built new palaces or imposed extra taxes, allowing these mere seventh-rank censors to form a considerable force at court.
Unfortunately, the one who inherited the throne was not the equally receptive Crown Prince, but the Zhaode Emperor, whose attitude toward investigating censors had always been: “You say your piece, I’ll do as I please.”
Yao Qian had transferred from the Hanlin Academy to the Censorate five years ago. For five years, he had made admonishing His Majesty his daily duty, and today he came for the same purpose.
Entering Zhaohua Yuan, while passing several phoenix trees when no one was watching, the eunuch San Mao glanced at him and whispered:
“His Majesty is injured and must not be agitated. As a court official, Censor Yao surely knows better than I how to help His Majesty preserve the Dragon Body.”
Yao Qian, who always looked down on these eunuchs, snorted noncommittally.
“Your subject, Investigating Censor Yao Qian, petitions: As ruler of the nation, Your Majesty should preserve the Dragon Body…”
Yi Ji, standing nearby mixing cinnabar, felt his heart turn cold.
This Censor Yao! His Majesty is already this angered—why can’t he say something pleasant?!
Zhaohua Yuan had no elevated imperial throne, only a large desk placed before several shelves of curios. Compared to the dazzling array of glass trinkets, Persian-inscribed double-eared golden vases, and precious swords, whips, and crossbows hanging on the walls, the tall stacks of memorials on the desk appeared rather out of place.
After stating his admonishment, Yao Qian waited for His Majesty to lose his temper with him as usual.
His Majesty’s wrath was itself a symbol of these censors’ unyielding integrity.
But he waited a long time, and the hall remained just as quiet.
After finishing another memorial, the young emperor opened a new one, glanced at it, and drew a large cross over it with his cinnabar brush.
The memorial was casually tossed aside.
Yao Qian unconsciously swallowed.
Why hasn’t His Majesty grown angry yet?
He wanted to ask, but didn’t dare.
The sound of the water clock outside drifted in. Yao Qian’s heart stirred, only then realizing his back was soaked with sweat.
Silence and stillness are formless things, yet the more formless they are, the more they permeate everything.
Standing motionless, Yao Qian slightly raised his head to look at His Majesty.
Today, His Majesty seemed different from usual.
Yet Yao Qian couldn’t pinpoint exactly how he was different.
In the minds of these officials, as the ruler of Dayong, His Majesty should emulate the late emperor by welcoming candid advice, diligently attending to state affairs, practicing frugality, and cherishing his people. Yet the emperor indulged in extravagance and pleasure-seeking, like a tree that had grown crooked. When these censors spoke privately, each believed it was their duty to guide His Majesty back to the right path, often harboring considerable disrespect toward him.
But that was in private.
Even if they cursed the emperor as an incompetent son while drafting memorials, he remained the emperor.
The power of life and death rested entirely in his hands.
The palace halls were permeated with a faint fragrance. The chief eunuch, with a solemn expression, organized memorials and ground cinnabar ink. Palace attendants moved about in utter silence, while the occasional sound of the water clock outside the window seemed to strike directly at one’s heart.
The person before him, reviewing memorials, was the current sovereign—the master of the realm.
In an instant, Yao Qian’s mind went blank.
He still held the memorial criticizing the emperor for failing to value his own well-being, yet the words he had once believed to be resolute and forceful now felt frivolous and disrespectful.
Drip-drip went the water clock.
The grinding of ink was soft and continuous.
In the suffocating silence, his guilt grew steadily.
He had always prided himself on being unyielding and principled, yet the autumn breeze blowing in from outside seemed to strip something away from within him.
“Censor Yao, His Majesty is retiring for the day. You may leave the palace as well.”
“Yes!” Perhaps after what felt like half a lifetime, this sudden reprieve overwhelmed Yao Qian with excitement. He hurriedly bowed, not daring to lift his head or mention his memorial and admonitions again, and hastily retreated from Zhaohua Yuan.
In the lamplight glowing behind him, the young “Zhaode Emperor” looked up and watched his retreating figure.
Indeed, an emperor who did nothing was already fearsome enough.
“His Majesty” lifted his brush and wrote a single character—”principle”—with vigorous strokes on a blank sheet of paper.
Shen Shiqing, twenty-two years old, originally a useless woman on the verge of being divorced from the Ning’an Lord Manor, had gained some insight on the very first day she unexpectedly became Zhaode Emperor Zhao Su Rui:
The emperor is the embodiment of heavenly principle.