“Brother?” A voice that still carried a trace of youthfulness — not far, not close — rang out.
The Crown Prince returned to his senses. The moment he saw Luo Jia, he stood up. “Why have you come over? Is there something you need to see me about?”
He immediately answered his own question. “Right — it’s been some time since I’ve gone back to visit. I should go.”
Luo Jia felt a little sad at heart, and said softly, “That’s not it — grandmother and mother came to see me a couple of days ago. And I’m not a child anymore, always needing to see my parents. You?”
“Mm?” The Crown Prince raised an eyebrow.
Luo Jia said, “Did something difficult happen to you?”
The Crown Prince smiled. “Don’t worry — I can still manage.”
Luo Jia gave a soft “oh,” and looked a little crestfallen. She knew there was a slight difference in age between herself and this cousin, and that he cared for her — but also still regarded her as a child. And yet…
“Children always grow up,” Luo Jia said.
The Crown Prince looked at her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. He wanted to say something, but had no idea where to begin. Teach her? He would have liked to, but where would one even start? He himself was still looking at a tangle of loose threads right in front of him. Even his father — that sovereign of supreme rank — had nothing he could teach his own son.
How he resented that his grandfather had left too hastily!
A thousand words — in the end all collapsed into one sentence. “Human experience is a very mysterious thing. When you’re not paying attention to something, it’s as though it doesn’t exist. But once there’s a moment when you become aware of its existence, it comes crashing down on you from every direction, and from then on you can’t escape it no matter how you try.”
“Ah?”
The Crown Prince walked over, raised his hand, and ruffled his younger cousin’s soft hair. “It doesn’t matter. For now — read your books, practice your characters, walk around the palace, go to your mother’s quarters. That is how one grows up. There are certain things: the older you get, the more naturally you’ll come to understand them.”
“Oh.”
The Crown Prince had Lan De attend Luo Jia back — “it’s cold, don’t let her catch a chill, make sure she holds her hand warmer properly” — and ceased sitting alone in his room. Even a young girl like Luo Jia had noticed he was troubled; if he kept brooding like this, who knows what rumors might start.
The Crown Prince paced slowly through the courtyard and stopped beneath a flowering tree. It was well into winter; the branches were piled with accumulated snow. The Crown Prince had no heart for appreciating scenery, and let eunuchs drape a cloak over his shoulders as his thoughts flew back to court affairs.
He had not been humoring Luo Jia — what he had just said was his genuine feeling from these past few days.
Ever since that long conversation with “Lu Su,” it was as though the black cloth that had been covering his eyes had been pulled away, and he seemed to see the political landscape clearly again.
In court, the ministers once favored by the late Emperor were one by one “retiring,” “reassigned,” “impeached”… and so on — gradually fading from the center of power. To this day only two or three remained. The fact that Yao Zhen was still able to remain as Secretariat Director of the Ministry of Personnel was thanks to Mu Chengzhou’s competence being genuinely poor enough to embarrass even his own nephew.
The Mu family’s background was not bad, but in the late Emperor’s reign, compared to the Crown Prince Consort’s family, or the Consort of the Prince Lu’s family, or other powerful families of those ties, they had been far too marginal. Perhaps because they had been suppressed so severely then, Mu Chengzhou became very keen on accepting gifts in exchange for favors. Using that leverage to select corrupt and incapable men — well, who doesn’t need to acknowledge certain human debts? But one should at least also select some who were genuinely capable!
Because of Mu Chengzhou’s muddling through, Yao Zhen had managed to continue in his post.
The late Emperor’s favorites were gradually being replaced by new men — old retainers from the Prince’s residence and officials of the Eastern Palace were successively appointed to high positions. But they were newly arrived, and for the moment couldn’t be of great use; their daily business was following the Emperor’s instructions to handle affairs. And his own “father the Emperor” — alas, the man still hadn’t figured things out himself.
At daily morning court, what the Crown Prince could see with some clarity were the crimson and violet robes — and the heads wearing them were getting younger and more presentable. The Crown Prince knew that a portion of these had been recommended by Zheng Xi, and were mostly sons of noble families.
In the second month, Wang Yunhe had mustered his resolve and petitioned the Emperor to formalize the civil examination system for selecting officials, holding exams every year to fill posts. The scholarly community responded with enthusiasm; court, however, was thrown into a boiling confusion. Those who opposed it were many, and among them, Marquis Leng’s views were the most reasoned.
Marquis Leng argued: if no examinations were held, it was one thing — ordinary people study, they study for their own pleasure, and they harbor no such ambitions. But once you open this channel, and have people sit examinations every year, and there are ranked results — and yet no official posts are given out — it is easy for those people to nurse resentment, building year after year. That could cause trouble.
Wang Yunhe’s side countered by citing officials from the Prince Lu’s faction as examples — many of whom had been appointed without any selection process, simply by going through the Prince Lu’s connections. The result: oppression of the common people. Bian Xing, having once been targeted by Leng Yun, was especially singled out and had his case rehashed before everyone’s eyes.
With the dispute deadlocked, Zheng Xi also put forward a proposal — there were plenty of people who held shadow-appointment status and had only a nominal titular rank without a substantive post. If an examination was to be held, why not start by selecting from these? Then afterward test the others.
Each person was calculating for their own door and family!
A bird landed on a branch overhead, dislodging some loose snow which scattered and fluttered down, landing on his face — cold and ticklish. The Crown Prince reached up and brushed the scattered snowflakes away.
If it had only been this, things wouldn’t be too troublesome. Wang Yunhe and Zheng Xi were neither of them rigid in their thinking; between the two of them they eventually worked out a result. The civil examination system was formalized — held once every two years, selecting thirty candidates each time, to be held ready for the Ministry of Personnel to assign when making appointments. For the hereditary appointment holders, those who could demonstrate mastery of at least one classic and pass an examination could also queue for selection. Other matters — recommendations, direct imperial appointments, candidates with outstanding merit from the Imperial Academy — had not yet been discussed.
Then in the summer came news that the northern tribes had raided the border. The Crown Prince also wanted to arrange for one of his “own people” to go to the frontier and gain experience. He had just opened his mouth when he suddenly realized he had no understanding whatsoever of military matters. Setting aside training and deploying troops, even when it came to the court’s military commanders, he had very little knowledge. What he did know had been picked up by accident during his years as the young lord of the Prince’s residence.
He went to ask Xian Jing.
Xian Jing cautioned him, “A Crown Prince forming connections with generals must be done with great care.”
In truth, Xian Jing was not very well versed in military matters either. But he understood this: a Crown Prince who got entangled with military power would normally face enormous trouble. As it happened, the Emperor was also not particularly well versed in military matters — but the Emperor knew to dispatch troops in support, knew to ensure logistics and supply were maintained. He could also call on Marquis Zheng, Marquis Leng, and others to consult, and ask who would be suitable to send.
After considerable effort a force was dispatched, but then the logistics ran into a small problem — a legacy of years of decay in the northern regions. Given that every incoming official had to clean up the mess left by their predecessors, after several decades the accounts looked balanced on paper, but the actual contents of the storehouses were a shambles.
The previous time southern reserves had been redirected north was an emergency measure. Now that fighting had come again, the southern prefectures and counties were unwilling. They were saying they also faced great hardship — that the north had suffered disasters, but the south was not entirely at peace either. They began crying poverty and claiming credit.
The Secretariat Council spent considerable effort patching things over.
The army marched north, but the outcome was somewhat anticlimactic. One battle was fought with the northern tribes, with casualties on both sides. Before a decisive engagement could happen, Kun Da Chi led his troops in withdrawing — having raided the border zone, he pulled back!
This campaign fortunately had not suddenly concentrated too many troops, otherwise the logistics situation would have been torn into an even greater hole.
The Crown Prince could now see it plainly: the problems had always been there, only they had never been brought to his attention, and so he hadn’t known. Wang Yunhe was right — this nation had grown bloated and sluggish. Now was the time to shed some deadweight, select capable and sharp officials, and restore the spirit of the administration. The court also needed to contest with the regions over finances — local areas could not be allowed to retain too much; resources had to flow back for central allocation…
Speaking of selecting people, Wang Yunhe’s method was excellent — selection directly by the court, and naturally for the court’s own benefit. Regrettably, it was very hard to carry out in practice.
From there, the Crown Prince’s thoughts drifted to Zhù Ying — to that sparse little birthday celebration at the beginning of the year.
All southerners!
Was she, having seen the deadlock of the court, trying to open a new path by bringing in another usable force? So that she would not be of the Zheng camp, nor be Wang Yunhe’s person? By drawing on the southern scholars — what could she actually accomplish? Bringing in yet another force to the mix — what good would it do? Wouldn’t it only make things more chaotic?
The Crown Prince sneezed. The eunuchs were thrown into a flurry of alarm. “Your Highness, it’s cold outside — please go inside!”
……
Zhù Ying also rarely encountered a problem she found genuinely difficult to work out.
At this moment, she, Leng Yun, Li Yanqing, Marquis Leng’s elder kinsman, a nephew of Grand General Ruan, Secretariat Director Dou, and several others had been summoned by the Chief Minister before the Emperor, to discuss with the Emperor the matter of the northern tribal border raids.
Marquis Leng’s kinsman, General Leng, was the commanding general who had been dispatched to resist the raiders; General Ruan was the deputy general. Leng Yun was idle and careless; General Leng, by contrast, appeared to be a cold and dependable commander — tall and broad-chested, with a long beard and a full belly. General Ruan was twenty years younger than General Leng, still something of a young man, and full of a sharp, keyed-up energy.
Leng Yun and Li Yanqing had been pulled in because they were from the Court of Diplomatic Reception, and needed to fill in details about the northern tribespeople.
Zhù Ying was there because when these two spoke of tribal affairs, the details were unclear. Zheng Xi had suggested, “On the last occasion when Kun Da Chi came as an envoy, neither the current head of the Court of Diplomatic Reception nor the Junior Prefect had met him personally, so some understandable lack of detail is excusable. The head of the court at that time was Luo Sheng — perhaps he could be invited to come.” The Emperor said, “He would know even less. Summon Zhù Ying — she understands it better than the others.”
So Zhù Ying was dragged into this mess. She understood the tribal situation from the time when she had observed them moving toward transformation — she also knew some of the customs and basic facts. But when the discussion turned to the deployment of troops, she was completely at a loss.
All she could do was listen to General Leng say without the slightest softening, “Battle is a matter of morale. When soldiers and officers have empty stomachs and threadbare clothing, there is no morale.”
Secretariat Director Dou was furious too. “They went to fight a war, not to live like young lords! What we gave them was not little!”
Everyone knew that somewhere in the middle, certainly, someone had been skimming. Yet General Ruan still had to say, “Long-distance transport always has losses.” To smooth things over somewhat.
General Leng also said that soldiers who had performed meritorious deeds deserved reward. Secretariat Director Dou said an allotment had already been made — to ask for more was excessive, given that the north was still in ruins and the court had to keep reserves. Secretariat Director Dou was also full of fury — the accounts on paper looked fine, but when the time came to actually use resources, you found the stocks had been hollowed out. He couldn’t go himself and inspect every granary — there was far too much room for fraud.
Secretariat Director Dou said through gritted teeth, “Local governance is a mess — it must be rectified!”
Wang Yunhe said, “That is quite right. It was rectified once already — and the effect, it seems, was insufficient.”
In the cold weather, the discussion had everyone sweating through their headgear.
The Emperor then asked those who had not yet spoken, “What do you think? Judicial Review — you speak.”
In the Emperor’s mind, Zhù Ying was capable — and even having left the Court of Diplomatic Reception, she must still have a thorough understanding of the four neighboring peoples. But in truth Zhù Ying was a person with no expertise in military matters whatsoever!
Neither the Court of Judicial Review, nor the Court of Diplomatic Reception, nor local government had ever required her to understand military affairs. Now that she had risen to the Nine Ministers, taking an interest in “military power” would be genuinely dangerous.
Even the Crown Prince still had people willing to teach him a little. In this domain, Zhù Ying was actually below the Crown Prince.
She was better than the Crown Prince only in that her time in Wuzhou had involved fighting the Suoning family. But that campaign had won chiefly on strategy — and on the premise of freeing the serfs first, then borrowing troops. The northern plains and the southwestern mountain forests were completely different situations!
What could she possibly say?
She could only grit her teeth and say, “Your subject knows nothing of military affairs. However, I would think — throughout history, when two nations go to war, it is not only a contest at the battlefield. As the Secretariat Director has noted the matter of logistics and provisions, and as the General has mentioned the tribal chieftain’s reforms — can they be so different that they face none of these considerations? And is it known whether their internal ranks are solid as iron?”
General Ruan said, “If only we had detained that tribal chieftain when he was here as an envoy!”
Zhù Ying said, “In that case, this year’s battle would have started the year before last. At that time the north had just suffered a great disaster — the supply of provisions to the front would have been even more strained.”
The Emperor looked at Leng Yun, then at General Leng, and said, “I have also read some military texts. The path to victory is certainly not only on the front lines. You two write up a proposal — find ways to ensure the tribal chieftain’s reforms do not succeed.”
General Leng only needed Secretariat Director Dou to first give him adequate grain and silver; the task itself he was willing to accept. He and Leng Yun both agreed. Zhù Ying did not have great confidence in the two of them — this kind of operation was very difficult, and those two might not be capable of it.
She had a mind to volunteer herself proactively, but feared it would be seen as overstepping — so she resolved that if there was ever another military situation, she would find an excuse to request assignment to the northern frontier. The title of Chief Justice of the Court of Judicial Review sounded no small rank, and the power was no small matter — but spending all her time in the capital, watching this molasses-thick court, she was finding it more and more tiresome.
Better to go to the regions and do some real work. And if she went to the regions, she could arrange for Zhù Qingjun to take over many things in her place, rather than just wandering around the capital streets of the Capital Prefecture. Many of those who followed her would also have room to exercise their abilities. The two “prized students” of Qi Tai, for example, could start apprenticing in local accounts and finances. Here in the capital, there was truly nothing interesting.
Zhù Ying stood there with mounting tedium, glancing over at Wang Yunhe. The old man looked plump and haggard. Zhù Ying inwardly sighed — doing things the gentlemanly way truly was difficult. Where was this one commanding cry that would have the world respond? Those in the scholarly community who liked the idea were one thing — in the imperial court, a good many were opposed.
So be it. Endure another two years, handle a few big cases on his behalf, and give a sound thrashing to those who were tripping him up.
At the sound of the Emperor saying, “The matter of the northern frontier — Seven, you keep a watch on it too. We are adjourned,” Zhù Ying followed the others out, still lost in thought.
……
Inside the imperial city, the atmosphere remained light. It was again the time of year when regional governors arrived in the capital, and there was no shortage of tribute gifts — everyone was in high spirits.
Zhù Ying strolled slowly. Zheng Xi also slowed his pace and asked her, “What’s that look about? Is there a big case?”
Zhù Ying smiled. “No — nothing of the sort these days. Whatever comes along gets handled on the spot.”
Zheng Xi said, “On the spot, is it? Or by design?” As he spoke, he glanced at Wang Yunhe’s plump retreating figure.
Zhù Ying was momentarily at a loss for words. Zheng Xi said, “Someone told me that all you do is help him purge his political rivals. If you truly mean to side with him, don’t let him earn a reputation for factionalism. He has benevolence, but he also cannot let it go too far.”
Zhù Ying said, “I believe you can see that some things need to be dealt with — otherwise it only gets harder later.”
Zheng Xi said, “Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish — handle it gently.”
“He’s been careful enough.”
“And you?”
Zhù Ying smiled slightly. “I understand now.”
Zheng Xi said, “He is worthy of admiration. But what he has not grasped is — whose realm is this, when all is said and done? He too is only a minister governing on the sovereign’s behalf.”
Zhù Ying said, “When you put it that way, I have no way to respond — I can only feel that I myself don’t measure up.”
Zheng Xi said seriously, “Why not measure up? You are exceptional — exceptional people deserve to be there! Those who are somewhere in the middling range — they would do better to let it be. You — you still need to blend in and not stand out so sharply.”
Zhù Ying said, “I seem to recall that you dislike incapable members of the noble class.”
Zheng Xi said, “And you yourself said ‘incapable.’ The children of noble families are steeped from birth in the way things work — they always understand certain principles better than those who have no idea of any of this. And those with a family and a fortune at stake under the court — they serve the court if not for the realm, then for themselves. Whereas some who come from nothing — already possessing nothing, a free spirit with no roots anywhere — if they make a mistake, the court and the people suffer, while they themselves face nothing worse than paying for it with their own person. How can that be acceptable?”
Zhù Ying said nothing.
Zheng Xi continued, “At present the court has its troubles — like a sick person, you might think. Don’t attend to him, and he can still barely scrape along. Administer a drastic remedy, and he might just die from it! It’s better to adjust things gradually and steadily. No one can conjure a whole new system out of thin air! Not even him.”
Zhù Ying also looked at Wang Yunhe’s retreating figure, and slowly nodded. In her heart she thought: you and I will never truly be aligned — but he is still one shade better than you.
Zheng Xi, having said his piece, felt he had made himself clear, and that with Zhù Ying settling down he could have a better conversation with Wang Yunhe about terms. Proper rectification was needed — but not in this manner.
What he did not expect was that the next day, Wang Yunhe submitted yet another proposal: to restructure the military and reinforce the frontier. This “restructuring” was not a matter of deploying troops, but of reorganizing the armies from the inside.
Both Zheng Xi and Zhù Ying were taken aback.