Several guards began sharing palace gossip and secret tales, especially the absurd stories from Grand Princess’s childhood. Once they got going, the anecdotes poured out one basketful after another.
The subject of these secrets, Grand Princess Su Fengyi, was naturally unaware of them. Upon entering the palace, she headed neither to the rear palace nor the front court, but went straight to the Leopard Chamber in the Western Garden.
Everyone knew that the Emperor cared little for beauties and rarely returned to the rear palace; he also disliked court affairs and hardly ever attended court sessions. He had only two hobbies: fierce beasts and the sounds of silk and bamboo instruments. Thus, he spent most of his time lingering in the Leopard Chamber in the Western Garden—a pleasure den specially built for him by the Factory Overseer.
The Leopard Chamber housed all kinds of fierce beasts: tigers, elephants, leopards, and bears. Recently, the Emperor’s new favorite was a white tiger, a rare auspicious creature presented as tribute by King Pingliang some time ago.
King Pingliang, the male lead in the original story, was the fourth son of Grand Ancestor and the fourth uncle of both Su Fengyi and the Emperor.
Grand Ancestor was robust and vigorous, fathering twenty-two sons in his lifetime—but not a single daughter.
People always desire what they lack, and even an emperor is no exception.
With so many sons, they became less precious, while the absence of a daughter made one all the more coveted.
For years, Grand Ancestor had longed for a daughter but never succeeded. Otherwise, he would not have doted so excessively on his first granddaughter, Su Fengyi, bestowing upon her the title of Princess Ningguo the moment she was born.
In contrast, the male lead of the story, King Pingliang, received far less affection and attention from Grand Ancestor.
King Pingliang’s birth mother was merely a low-ranking concubine, not favored during Grand Ancestor’s reign. Otherwise, the male lead would not have been sent to the impoverished fief of Pingliang.
Thus, the more the Emperor indulged in pleasure and committed misdeeds, the worse his reputation became—giving King Pingliang all the more justification for rebellion.
To cater to the Emperor’s tastes and further tarnish his already notorious reputation, King Pingliang had gone to great lengths to capture this white tiger from Nanzhao.
His efforts paid off. The Emperor was overjoyed with the white tiger and even more disinclined to attend to state affairs. Recently, he had gone from hardly attending court sessions to not attending them at all.
As Su Fengyi arrived at the main gate of the Leopard Chamber, she saw several Grand Secretariat ministers blocking the entrance, arguing with the imperial guards stationed there:
“This matter is of grave importance. Was it the Emperor who issued the decree, or was it the Factory Overseer? We must see His Majesty to clarify this!”
“The Emperor is unwell and resting in seclusion. He is not receiving visitors. Please return, my lords.”
Having served the Emperor for a long time, the Imperial Guard knew full well that the Emperor retreated to the Leopard Chamber precisely to avoid disturbances—specifically, these very ministers. Naturally, they refused to let the Grand Secretariat officials enter.
These ministers were a group of frail scholars with no martial prowess whatsoever. In a fight, they would be no match for even a rooster.
But civil officials kill with their pens. Their skills in lecturing, admonishing, and even remonstrating to the death were second to none. When they started reciting rules and regulations, even the Great Sage would struggle to endure it.
The Emperor had ascended the throne in his youth, a rebellious age when he detested rules and craved excitement.
From childhood, the Emperor had grown utterly weary of the ministers’ constant lecturing about rules. Consequently, he developed a rebellious attitude toward them: whatever the ministers supported, he opposed; whatever they opposed, he endorsed. He had no desire to see the ministers or listen to a single word they said.
In comparison, the eunuchs, who always complied with his wishes and devised all sorts of ways to entertain him, naturally won the Emperor’s favor.
Seeing the entrance blocked by the ministers, Su Fengyi estimated that forcing her way through was not an option.
She was truly weary of the civil officials’ lecturing. Seeing them entangled in heated debate, she patted her horse and whispered to it:
“Little White Dragon, oh Little White Dragon, let’s quietly slip in along the edge. No loud noises, understand? We absolutely must not be discovered.”
Like thieves, the woman and her horse held their breath, tiptoeing with delicate, tapping steps, preparing to sneak silently through the gate.
But a sharp-eyed minister spotted her and shouted:
“It’s the Grand Princess!”
Another cried out:
“Stop the Grand Princess! Don’t let her get away!”
Damn it!
Su Fengyi urged her horse to flee, but it was already too late.
The Second Grand Secretary, Minister Song, stood at the forefront, spreading his arms wide to block the way. He stood before the gate and asked clearly:
“Is the Grand Princess planning to enter the Leopard Chamber to see the Emperor?”
Ever since Chief Grand Secretary Elder Minister Yang was angered into a stroke by the Emperor three years ago, court affairs had been upheld by Second Grand Secretary Minister Song.
Burdened with both urging the Emperor to improve and contending with the Nine Thousand-Year-Old Eunuch, the nearly seventy-year-old Minister Song had exhausted his mind and energy. He appeared extremely frail—his hair had turned white, his body had grown thin, and his court robes hung loosely on his frame, as if a gust of wind could blow him over.
Su Fengyi dared to have her horse kick Eunuch Gao, but she dared not treat Minister Song the same way. She truly feared that even the slightest touch of a hoof might end the old minister’s life.
Stopped by Minister Song, Su Fengyi could only laugh awkwardly and play dumb:
“The Emperor is resting in seclusion, so even I cannot see him. The lotus flowers in the Leopard Chamber have bloomed, and I’m just going to admire them. You all carry on with your business; no need to mind me.”
Upon hearing this, Minister Song strode forward. Without caring whether the Grand Princess was willing or not, he took hold of Su Fengyi’s reins and addressed the assembled officials:
“You all may return first. Her Highness is in a refined mood; allow this humble minister to accompany her in admiring the lotuses.”
With that, he led Su Fengyi’s Little White Dragon toward the Leopard Chamber.
It is known that the Emperor had issued an order forbidding ministers from entering the Leopard Chamber.
It is also known that the Grand Ancestor had decreed that within the imperial palace, the Grand Princess may go wherever she pleases without obstruction.
So, the question arises: Should Minister Song and the Grand Princess be stopped from entering the Leopard Chamber or not?
The guards calculated back and forth, but they simply could not solve this problem. They exchanged bewildered glances, utterly unsure of what to do, and could only watch helplessly as Minister Song, leveraging the Grand Princess’s authority over the guards, led her horse into the Leopard Chamber.
Minister Song led Little White Dragon all the way to the lakeside, as if he truly intended to accompany Su Fengyi in admiring the lotus flowers.
When they reached an open area by the lake, seeing no one around, Minister Song released Little White Dragon’s reins. He looked at Su Fengyi, his eyes reddening, then performed a full Kowtow Ceremony, prostrating himself on the ground and weeping bitterly:
“Your Highness, oh Your Highness, my dear Your Highness…”
His mournful sobs continued without end; anyone unaware might have thought Su Fengyi had died.
Su Fengyi was utterly speechless. Such a grand ceremony—what kind of major trouble was he about to land her in!
Her own affairs were not yet settled; General Shen’s life still hung in the balance. She really did not want to get involved in Minister Song’s matters.
But it was no solution to let this nearly seventy-year-old man continue crying like this. Given his frail constitution, Su Fengyi worried he might cry himself to death.
Su Fengyi dismounted and stood two steps away from him, sighing as she asked:
“Speak, what is the matter?”
Minister Song did not answer, continuing to wail prostrate on the ground:
“Your Highness, oh Your Highness, the Late Emperor, oh the Late Emperor…”
Since leaving the palace and establishing her own residence, Su Fengyi had stopped her studies and had little interaction with these ministers. She was unaware that the officials had now changed their tactics—from admonishing people to weeping over them.
Minister Song’s crying skills were truly formidable, and Su Fengyi was genuinely driven to headache by the incessant weeping. Unable to endure it any longer, she asked:
“You cry day and night, lamenting heaven and earth, weeping to the heavens above and the soil below. How can you possibly accomplish anything just by crying?
Alright, tell me what it is. If it can be done, I will help you.”