On the way back from Linhua Palace to the Yangxin Palace, Yan Linyuan’s pace was slower than usual.
Wang Shunde followed half a pace behind, lowering his eyes as he pondered the Emperor’s remark from earlier: “There is no need to summon Consort Li.”
There was much to read into that single sentence. He recalled that Consort Li’s father was the Vice Minister of Personnel and that the Lin family held some influence in the former imperial court, yet the Emperor had decided to discard her without hesitation.
He had returned to serve before the Emperor only because he had proven his loyalty by handing over the East Depot to the Emperor, thereby protecting himself and his foster son, Wang Sheng.
Viewed in this light, the Emperor was likely about to take action against Lin Xiuheng.
Unlike the late Emperor, Yan Linyuan’s style of governance was reckless of consequences; he preferred direct suppression.
If it were not for the fact that the military power was not yet entirely in his hands, half of the courtiers in the imperial court would likely have lost their heads by now.
Yan Linyuan spoke up suddenly: “Wang Shunde.”
“This old servant is here.”
“Did you see the clothes Yun Biechen was wearing today?”
Wang Shunde paused, recalling the morning. “Replying to Your Majesty, Young Master Yun was wearing moon-white casual wear.”
“The fabric is mediocre,” Yan Linyuan remarked. “Go to the treasury and pick out some better pieces. Use the new tribute of cloud silk from Jiangnan this year. The colors should be plain and the patterns simple.”
“Understood.” Wang Shunde acknowledged, then tentatively asked, “Should I have someone from the Imperial Wardrobe Bureau come to take his measurements?”
“No need,” Yan Linyuan waved his hand. “He would likely find it bothersome. Have the tailors make them based on their estimation; make them loose and comfortable.”
The instructions were given so naturally, as if he had already completely grasped Yun Biechen’s temperament. Wang Shunde sighed inwardly again.
What place did the Emperor truly hold for Young Master Yun now?
Yan Linyuan loved treasures; he cherished everything that was perfect and eye-catching.
Inside Linhua Palace, Yun Biechen had slept until the end of the Shen hour.
When he woke up, it was already dark, and the lamps in the palace had been lit. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and saw Wang Sheng squatting by the charcoal brazier, adding more coal.
“Young Master is awake?” Wang Sheng turned around. “Dinner is prepared; shall we serve it now?”
Yun Biechen got off the lounge and sat at the table. Dinner was simpler than lunch: a bowl of chicken soup, two small side dishes, and a bamboo steamer of crystal dumplings. He took a sip of the soup; the taste was savory, but not spicy enough.
“Tell the Imperial Kitchen to make it spicier tomorrow,” he said.
Wang Sheng quickly agreed and then carefully added, “Young Master, the Emperor sent over a large amount of fabric this afternoon, saying it was for making new clothes for you. I inspected them; they are top-quality cloud silk with very elegant colors.”
Yun Biechen grunted a response and continued drinking his soup.
“Also,” Wang Sheng reached into his robe and produced a small wooden box. “This was sent by Eunuch Wang just now; he said it is a reward from the Emperor.”
Yun Biechen set down his spoon and opened the box. Inside was a pair of mutton-fat jade peace buckles. The jade was warm and moist, without any intricate carvings, just two simple circles.
He picked them up, examined them, and put them back. “Put them away.”
Wang Sheng took the box and hesitated. “Young Master, should you not express your gratitude?”
“How should I express it?” Yun Biechen looked up at him. “Should I go to the Qian’an Palace and kowtow?”
Wang Sheng was choked for words. He knew the Young Master would not go, but accepting a reward without acknowledging it was ultimately improper.
Yun Biechen was already indifferent to the matter. After finishing dinner, he walked to the window and pushed it open. The night wind, carrying a chill, blew in and dispersed the warmth of the room. The white plum tree in the courtyard stood quietly under the moonlight, with a few more buds blossoming on its branches.
He watched for a while, closed the window, and returned to the lounge to continue sleeping.
The next day, Yan Linyuan did not come for lunch.
Wang Sheng returned after making inquiries outside and whispered to Yun Biechen, “Young Master, there were courtiers impeaching General Song during the morning court session today. The Emperor was very angry and is still discussing matters in the Yangxin Palace.”
Yun Biechen was holding a bowl of sweet soup, sipping it slowly. Upon hearing this, he simply said, “Oh.”
“The Emperor sent word that he would not come for lunch and that you should dine on your own,” Wang Sheng said, pushing the spicy diced chicken on the table toward him. “Young Master, have a bit more. This dish was prepared by the head of the Imperial Kitchen personally; he said it was improved according to a recipe from Jiangnan.”
Yun Biechen took a bite, and his eyes narrowed slightly. It was indeed spicy enough; there was plenty of Sichuan peppercorn, and the numbing, fragrant flavor was authentic.
He ate slowly, taking nearly half an hour to finish the bowl of sweet soup and half a dish of spicy chicken. Just as he was wiping his mouth, someone arrived outside.
It was Wang Shunde, followed by two young eunuchs carrying a box.
“Young Master Yun.” Wang Shunde bowed. “The Emperor ordered this old servant to bring some books for you to pass the time.”
The box was opened, revealing dozens of thread-bound books. There were poetry anthologies, travelogues, and miscellaneous historical anecdotes. The books were not new, but they were well-preserved; the pages were yellowed, yet they still retained the faint scent of ink.
Yun Biechen walked over and picked one up to flip through it. It was a travelogue of landscape and scenery, recording the customs of Jiangnan. He read two pages, set it down, and picked up another.
“The Emperor said if you do not like these, he will exchange them for a different batch tomorrow,” Wang Shunde said.
Yun Biechen shook his head. “No need to exchange them.”
He took the books out one by one, arranged them on the table, picked the thinnest one, and returned to the lounge to lean back and read. Seeing this, Wang Shunde signaled the young eunuchs to put the remaining books on the bookshelf and quietly retreated.
Wang Sheng stood by, preparing ink and paper, though Yun Biechen did not use them. He saw the Young Master looking at the book quietly; his eyelashes were lowered, his fingers turned the pages gently, and occasionally he would stop, staring at something, lost in thought.
At the beginning of the Shen hour, Yan Linyuan arrived.
When he entered, he was still carrying the chill of the outdoors. He had not changed out of his formal court robes, and there was a hint of weariness between his brows. Seeing Yun Biechen reading on the lounge, he paused.
Yun Biechen heard the movement and looked up.
They stared at each other for a moment before Yan Linyuan spoke first: “What book are you reading?”
Yun Biechen closed the book and handed it to him with the cover facing out. It was The Nanke Record, a story about dreams.
Yan Linyuan took it and flipped through it. “You like reading these?”
“Just flipping through them,” Yun Biechen said. “Are you finished with your work?”
“No,” Yan Linyuan sat down on the edge of the lounge. “Stealing a moment of leisure.”
He took an oil-paper parcel from his robe and opened it. Inside were several pastries. They were not particularly exquisite in appearance, but they smelled delicious.
“Passing by the Imperial Kitchen, I smelled this and thought you might like it,” Yan Linyuan pushed the oil-paper parcel toward him. “Try it.”
Yun Biechen picked one up and took a bite. It was filled with red date paste; it was sweet but not cloying, and the crust was crisp.
“Tasty,” he said.
Yan Linyuan watched him eat, the weariness between his brows dissipating somewhat. After Yun Biechen finished one, he said, “Someone impeached Song Chengye in court today, claiming he is hoarding military power and harboring treasonous intent.”
Yun Biechen picked up another piece of pastry and did not respond.
“What do you think?” Yan Linyuan asked.
Yun Biechen looked up at him. “Why ask me?”
“Just asking.”
“I do not know,” Yun Biechen said. “I do not understand court politics. I do not even know this person.”
He said it frankly, but Yan Linyuan smiled. “That is true.”
However, Yan Linyuan found it strange in his heart. If Yun Biechen did not know Song Chengye, then why did the Noble Consort give him the dossier?
To this day, he had never seen Yun Biechen mention the dossier. Did Yun Biechen truly know nothing, or was he pretending to be ignorant of court affairs?