The Gathering at Linde Palace
The palace banquet was set for the hour of the rooster, but shortly after the Shen hour, court officials began to arrive one after another. Civil officials occupied the eastern seats, while military generals took the western ones, all seating themselves according to their ranks.
Palace servants moved between the tables, refilling tea and pouring water with footsteps so light they were nearly silent. Charcoal braziers placed at the four corners of the hall burned brightly, dispelling the chill creeping in through the door cracks. The air was filled with the faint scent of wine and incense.
Lin Xiuxing arrived early. Clad in dark purple court robes, he sat at the head of the civil officials. He held a teacup, sipping slowly; the steam rose in swirls, blurring his eyes. He occasionally nodded in greeting to officials who came to pay their respects. His expression was calm, yet his eyes hid a deep, contemplative gaze.
Several vice ministers gathered around him, whispering about court trifles, such as vacancies, who was sending gifts, or whose son wanted a position. Lin Xiuxing listened, occasionally murmuring an acknowledgement without committing to any stance. His fingers, holding the teacup, occasionally tapped the fine porcelain like a silent, rhythmic metronome.
Zhou Xianren, the Vice Minister of Personnel, leaned in, pressing close to Lin Xiuxing’s ear. He lowered his voice: “Prime Minister, I have heard some rumors. Is it true that the Emperor has invited the person from Linhua Palace to join today? And that he has ordered a seat to be placed to the right of the throne?”
Lin Xiuxing looked up, his gaze steady. “Official Zhou, your sources are quite efficient.”
“This,” Zhou Xianren felt a chill under that calm gaze, but he braced himself. “Prime Minister, this goes against propriety. How can a male consort share a table with court officials? Moreover, he was a person left behind by the late Emperor.”
“Official Zhou.” Lin Xiuxing interrupted him. His voice was low, yet like ice beads hitting a jade plate, crisp and cold. “Watch your words. The Emperor has his own reasons for his arrangements.”
Zhou Xianren immediately fell silent, beads of cold sweat forming on his brow. “Yes, yes, this official spoke out of turn.”
Lin Xiuxing did not look at him again. He set down his teacup and scanned the hall. On the military side, the troublemaker Song Chengye had not yet arrived, and his empty seat looked particularly glaring. On the civil side, the Secondary Councilor, Lin Zexuan, had arrived and was chatting and laughing with younger officials, looking relaxed and comfortable.
Lin Zexuan wore moon-white casual clothes with cloud patterns, draped in a sable-fur cloak with silver-gray trim at the collar, which highlighted his jade-like features. He possessed a refined air, his brows clear and his eyes curving slightly at the corners when he smiled, exuding a touch of natural charm. At the moment, he was holding a white jade wine pot, pouring wine for a Hanlin Academy compiler, a gentle smile on his lips.
“Official Chen, I have read your Ode to the Snow. The line about a thousand mountains in the twilight snow, only a lone shadow on the cold river, the imagery is desolate and possesses great character.”
The compiler was flattered and quickly stood up. “Official Lin is too kind. My humble work is not worthy of such praise from the Secondary Councilor.”
“Aiya, whether an article is good or bad is in the hearts of the people; there is no need for such modesty.” Lin Zexuan smiled and waved his hand, signaling the man to sit. His gaze swept over the empty seat to the right of the throne, a hint of subtle exploration flashing in the depths of his eyes.
Just as the atmosphere seemed to lighten, a hearty, full-voiced laugh echoed from outside the hall, accompanied by the heavy thud of boots.
“Yo! Everyone has gathered quite fully! Forgive this General for being late!”
Song Chengye strode in, still wearing his black, tight-fitting military uniform, with a matching cloak draped loosely over his shoulders. His figure was tall and imposing, like an iron tower. His entrance brought with it the scent of the battlefield, leather mixed with the faint metallic tang of iron, which clashed sharply with the lavish incense of the palace.
He walked straight to the head of the military officials and sat down. Several generals immediately gathered around to greet him.
Song Chengye waved his hand dismissively. His hawk-like eyes scanned the empty seat at the throne, then settled steadily on Lin Zexuan on the eastern side.
“Secondary Councilor Lin,” he called out loudly, his voice booming over the whispers in the hall. “Dressed so plainly today, like a scholar in white, that does not look like you. What? Have you changed your ways? Or is the national treasury empty, and you must lead by example in frugality?”
This was a clear provocation. The hall fell silent.
Lin Zexuan paused, then raised his eyes to meet Song Chengye’s gaze. His smile deepened, though it did not reach his eyes. “General Song jokes. I am but a civil official; I cannot compare to the General’s heroism and cannot wear armor.”
“However, for you to attend the palace banquet in military attire, could it be that there is an urgent military emergency at the border, leaving you no time to change? If so, the Emperor and my colleagues would surely understand your loyalty.”
His words were measured but carried hidden needles, pointing out Song Chengye’s lack of decorum and subtly hinting that he might be exaggerating border crises to claim merit.
Song Chengye sneered, grabbed the wine pot, and drank directly from it. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I am accustomed to this skin; it feels secure. Wearing those silks and satins makes me feel restrained and uncomfortable. Unlike you, Councilor Lin, who look like you stepped out of a painting no matter what you wear.”
He stared at Lin Zexuan. “As for the border? It is peaceful. With me there, no petty villains dare move. It is in this court that some people’s tongues are sharper than the wind-blades of the frontier, always finding ways to make others uncomfortable.”
“General, you speak nonsense,” Lin Zexuan replied, gently swirling the amber wine in his cup. “Civil and military officials have their own duties. You guard the safety of the country, while we manage the order of the court. We are both serving the Emperor and the nation. Where does finding discomfort come from? Does the General feel that the order of this court interferes with your affairs?”
The two exchanged blows with words, hidden barbs in every sentence. The atmosphere grew more delicate; officials looked at their noses, pretending to be busy sipping tea or straightening their clothes, fearing entanglement.
Lin Xiuxing sat still as an old monk, seemingly unaware of the verbal sparring. He picked up his cold teacup, took a sip, then whispered to the trembling Vice Minister of Personnel beside him: “Go ask when the Emperor and the Empress will arrive.”
Zhou Xianren received this order like a pardon and hurried away. As he reached the hall entrance, the eunuchs’ drawn-out, high-pitched announcement echoed:
“His Majesty has arrived.”
“Her Majesty the Empress has arrived.”