Zhao Zhen walked in a daze to Zhù Ying’s door — he had no memory of who he had passed on the way or what had been said. He drifted into the administrative room looking thoroughly unlike himself. The guards outside, quite involuntarily, reached their hands toward their belts. Two of them were Elder Sister Hu’s personal disciples, and they knit their brows with considerable uncertainty, wavering on whether or not to make Zhao Zhen — whose temperament was otherwise agreeable — into their very first act of service.
Zhao Zhen was checked by the guards and became somewhat more composed. He forced a faint smile and held up the document in his hands: “Something to report.”
The young guard let out a small breath of relief. “Wait one moment.”
One went in to announce; the other stared at Zhao Zhen with curiosity. Zhao Zhen managed another smile; the guard returned one in kind. Two exchanges of words could be heard from inside, and then the guard came back out: “Teacher, please come in.”
Zhao Zhen exhaled a lungful of murky air, took the document, and entered. Zhù Ying was reviewing the accounts that Witch Ren had sent over earlier in the morning. This year’s harvest was neither good nor poor — no pleasant surprises, nothing to worry about — but the sustained standoff against the Western Tribes had depleted a great deal. The budget figures, like those of the year before, made for unpleasant reading.
Zhù Ying knew this would happen with increasing frequency. She pulled over a blank sheet and jotted down the words “garrison farming.” Setting the brush down, she saw Zhao Zhen enter right on cue.
One look at Zhao Zhen’s face — that of a man freshly come from a funeral — and Zhù Ying knew what he was about to tell her would probably not be good news. She watched him make a strained bow and said nothing of it: “Sit down and tell me slowly.”
Zhao Zhen would not sit. He gave a bow with both hands clasped: “Teacher, I cannot sit still. Look at this — the Crown Prince has died.”
Zhù Ying gave a brief sharp intake of breath. The death of a Crown Prince ought to be a dreadful thing. Yet given the particular person who had died, it somehow didn’t seem quite so dreadful. No wonder Zhao Zhen had that expression on his face.
She said: “What do you make of it?”
Zhao Zhen smiled with bitterness: “I fear the dynasty will be thrown into turmoil again. I only hope it won’t harm the soldiers at the front.” Being in the same room as Zhù Ying and speaking of a troubling matter, Zhao Zhen found that once he’d begun speaking, he grew less panicked than when he had first entered; his train of thought came back to him, and he added a few more words: “The Crown Prince was certainly… not ideal. But since he was chosen, the Emperor and the ministers must have had measures in place to compensate for his shortcomings. Now that the Crown Prince is dead, those compensatory measures — barely begun — must all be undone. The confusion is likely to be even greater than before.”
Zhù Ying nodded with a measure of approval. For Zhao Zhen to be able to say this much was something she found rather satisfying. Seeing that he was too greatly distressed, she took a mind to offer him a few words of comfort: “The compensatory measures you speak of — even if they had been started, it hadn’t been for long, so the resulting disorder needn’t be too severe. Draft a memorial; at the very least, some condolences must be conveyed.”
The wretched boy — she couldn’t say whether his fate was good or bad, dying so young. Annan was never particularly respectful toward the capital to begin with, and so Zhù Ying issued an order for three days of no singing or dancing. That was enough.
Zhao Zhen said quietly: “There’s no knowing now who will be the new master of the Eastern Palace.”
Zhù Ying said: “That won’t be known for some time.”
The Crown Prince’s funeral would need to be seen through first, giving the Emperor time to recover, and only after that would anyone dare bring up the matter. Zhao Zhen understood this perfectly well. His sigh of feelings was nothing more than a desire to catch a phrase or two of prediction from Zhù Ying, so he might settle his heart. But Zhù Ying was Zhù Ying — not a word escaped her. Zhao Zhen had no choice but to go and draft the memorial, directing the people of Annan to conduct themselves with some restraint.
He held out no hope that this memorial would have much effect. First, because Zhù Ying had never held the Eastern Palace in great respect, and anything she didn’t care about, Annan’s people would not put their heart into. Second, the autumn harvest had just ended, and every clan was celebrating their harvest festival — by custom, this was practically the various clans’ new year. How could anyone possibly forgo harvest celebrations for the sake of someone a thousand miles away who had left no impression on them whatsoever?
Within Zhao Zhen’s heart there was not a shred of outrage. He drafted and issued the memorial in due order, then wrote out a note of things to report, so he could summarize the day’s work at the next morning’s meeting. The ink on the note had not yet dried when another visitor arrived — He Yueming.
He Yueming’s hair was done up in a married woman’s style, and her clothes were still those she had brought from her hometown. The style made Zhao Zhen feel a pang of warm familiarity. Not just Annan — even Fulu County’s clothing was colored and cut with the influence of the various clans, carrying a very different flavor. He Yueming’s garments and embellishments were still in the style of the old home.
Zhao Zhen felt a wave of feeling at the sight.
He Yueming, however, paid no attention to Zhao Zhen’s mood. From the very first time she had met him, she’d known this fellow was the sort of “unhappy” that no amount of cheering up would cure, and she simply went about her own business. Zhao Zhen was still meticulous enough in his work.
She came in smiling: “Sorry to disturb you — I’ve come to ask a favor.”
Zhao Zhen blew on the note, set it aside, and said: “What is it? Please sit down.”
He Yueming said: “Our Bozhou school needs books. You know how it is — everywhere in Annan is short of them. The printing houses and paper mills are doing their best, and it’s still not enough. If it were just a shortage of writing supplies, I’d cover that with my own money. But for books…”
Books were a coveted thing everywhere — and expensive. To this day, many people still copied books by hand to read. Though Zhù Ying had set up paper mills and printing houses, the supply couldn’t keep up with demand.
Zhao Zhen said: “I see there are printing houses in each prefecture. How can they still be insufficient?”
He Yueming said: “We want children who are roughly at the same level all to have books to read! And this isn’t up north — there, if you can’t afford to read, you just don’t read, and you work like livestock. Here it’s different.”
In Annan, at the very least, a basic reading primer was given to every child — and when you calculated that quantity, it was staggering.
Zhao Zhen was momentarily taken aback, and said: “By your reasoning, there are shortfalls everywhere.”
He Yueming said: “I’m not asking you to take from someone else and give to me. Just print a little extra for me. I’ll pay for the labor!”
Not to mention others — if she dared take what belonged to someone else, Zhù Chonghua would come to her door in fury; Zhao Su was not to be trifled with, either. Zhù Qingjun, though she no longer presided over Pu’an Prefecture, had a secretary who was very good at making a fuss.
Zhao Zhen could only say: “The printing houses are already working hard.”
The two of them negotiated back and forth for quite some time before He Yueming left with a reasonably satisfying answer. Zhao Zhen pinched his temple, tired, and leaned back. He Yueming was so relentlessly optimistic. The women of the entire administration seemed to have endless energy. Even the most soft-spoken of them — like Huajie, who spoke gently and quietly — was never hesitant in action. He couldn’t understand how these women could be so carefree, so unburdened.
He felt half-dead with worry. He had a persistent sense that more major events were yet to come!
Major events came quickly enough.
In the days following the arrival of the Crown Prince’s obituary, the administration had indeed remained quiet for three days. Three days passed — and Zhù Ying suddenly called everyone to the deliberation hall for a meeting.
The deliberation hall was not often used. The place where Zhù Ying most commonly met with people was the administrative room or her study. The deliberation hall was reserved for moments of greater significance.
Everyone headed for the deliberation hall with puzzled expressions. Meeting people along the way, each found that the other hadn’t heard anything and couldn’t be asked. Zhao Su and Su Zhe questioned each other and found that neither knew a thing. Huajie would ordinarily have been the best person to ask, but her lips were always sealed, and she said “I don’t know” as well.
When everyone had assembled in the deliberation hall, no one knew what was coming — not until Zhù Ying arrived.
Zhù Ying sat at the head and looked out over the room below. At this moment the deliberation hall was filled with heads — all the outstanding figures of Annan. Zhù Ying said: “Now that everyone’s here, let’s get to the real matter. The Crown Prince has died — you all know that, I take it?”
“Yes.” The answer carried a note of puzzlement. They had all gone three days without gathering to discuss it — what was there still to say? The new Crown Prince?
Zhù Ying said: “If the Emperor fails to select a suitable person, there will certainly be future trouble. Annan is not like the dynasty — it can even less afford turmoil. There is a matter I have been contemplating for quite some time, and it’s time to give everyone an explanation.”
The keen minds were already on alert. Zhù Ying continued: “The question of into whose hands Annan will eventually be passed, and how it is to continue, must have a settled plan. Annan’s customs differ greatly from those of the central plains, and one cannot follow the dynasty’s statutes wholesale — there must be adjustments. Now it is time to be candid and let everyone have a clear picture.”
The sound of breathing in the room grew louder!
Many could not help thinking of Zhù Qingjun, still not back: Can it not be her? Then who could it be?
Zhù Ying said: “The regulations and codes are too numerous to speak of in full at once. Let the Rites Department assign several copyists, transcribe a few copies, and while everyone is still here, check whether anything needs to be cut or adjusted. As for Annan’s method for selecting officials, I have already reached a conclusion.”
For selecting Annan officials: first, one’s household must be in Annan; second, one must have served as a local official and must have a record of achievement. There were no restrictions on background, but there was a limit on age — if over seventy, it was time to step down. These conditions applied equally to the military commissioner. Furthermore, a military commissioner must not only have meritorious accomplishments — more than half of all officials must also endorse the appointment.
Annan’s military commissioner must be determined first by an internal process within Annan, and then reported to the dynasty. One appointed directly by the dynasty would not be recognized.
At the same time, Zhù Ying established provisions for those stepping down from their posts. They were to be given “dignity” — not merely in the sense of continued salary, but in the sense of a “natural end.” Only in this way could transitions be made as peacefully as possible.
Listening to this, people felt vaguely that this was not a “ruler” but something more like an “executive leader.” On careful reflection, no one found grounds to object.
Zhù Ying said: “Then it is settled.”
Zhao Zhen, holding no official position, found that this actually freed him to speak more plainly: “Teacher, whom do you have in mind? When the Emperor selects a Crown Prince, the Eastern Palace is provided with subordinate staff so the heir may grow familiar with governance. Since you have already formed this intention, you should tell us whom you have in mind, so that person may be given the opportunity to learn and develop.”
Zhù Ying said: “Everyone wants to know, and I expect everyone has already guessed. I won’t conceal it from you: it’s Qingjun.”
The stone of uncertainty in everyone’s heart fell to earth — and at the same time there was a certain wistfulness. Among those present were people like Su Zhe, who had perhaps thought herself a possibility; there was also Zhao Su, who had known his chances were slim, yet still felt a pang of loss when it was confirmed not to be him. There was Zhù Chonghua, who privately felt Zhù Lian would have been a fine choice.
Zhù Ying took in all of their reactions and said slowly: “Annan is not safe. We need someone who, in a moment of crisis, can command the respect of all parties.”
Everyone found themselves nodding. Zhù Qingjun’s capabilities were one thing; the fact that aside from Zhù Ying, no one could command her was another. Whoever became military commissioner — with the exception of Huajie — would find it impossible to deploy Zhù Qingjun. Though civil administration was equally important, for Annan with the Western Tribes as neighbors, the military commissioner absolutely had to be someone who could use troops.
The reasoning was sound. The only problem was that Zhù Qingjun herself was not there.
Zhù Ying said: “I will petition the dynasty to grant her a formal title. With her here in future, everyone can carry out their work with an easier mind.”
The replies came in somewhat uneven, but everyone ultimately assented. When they raised their heads again, their faces all carried a trace of a smile. Lu Danqing was genuinely happy for Zhù Qingjun: “She has labored hard in campaigns for so long — this is a well-deserved honor.”
Zhao Zhen thought: Is this because the Crown Prince’s death alarmed her, and so she is making preparations? Zhù Qingjun is indeed capable in military matters — I just don’t know how she fares in civil administration.
The others were thinking of things he was not. Aside from Zhù Qingjun, what occupied their minds more was: If it is not hereditary, will my own sons and daughters one day be eligible? Some were exchanging meaningful glances with one another; some were already scheming to gather privately later and settle the matter among themselves.
Zhù Ying knew that there would be meetings and alliances afterward, yet she made no move to stop them. She simply continued reviewing the legal codes. Outside her room, spreading outward from the administration compound, there was an atmosphere of celebration — the leadership of Annan for the next several decades had been decided. Inside the room, there was still quiet.
Zhao Su, Su Zhe, and the others gathered together — all those with real authority in Annan. They had not invited Huajie or anyone else, nor had they invited Zhao Zhen. The two from the Jiang family and Zhou Na were also absent, which gave the gathering a subtly distinctive character.
Everyone’s expressions were somewhat composed. Zhù Lian was a little anxious: “Shouldn’t we ask her to come back? The front lines are dangerous.”
Su Zhe said hesitatingly: “Dangerous — certainly. But aside from her, who can we say for certain would be able to hold the front stable right now? I hear the Mistress has been cultivating a few impressive children in recent years among her students, but unfortunately they’re all still too young — not yet as tall as a horse. It won’t do; there’s no one who can go and replace her.”
Zhao Su said: “Let’s ask the Mistress to send more people to protect her.”
The group reached a consensus on this, and then moved on to talk about administrative affairs and the question of the next successor. Zhù Lian said: “For civil administration, we have all of us. And she’s not entirely inexperienced in governance either. As long as it’s like the Mistress now — managing only the major decisions and not getting things wrong — that will be enough.”
As for the next successor after that — the group fell silent.
Zhao Su cleared his throat: “Annan is not safe; we need an executive who is capable…”
“Father!”
Zhao Su stopped. “Who? Who else would you be?”
Zhao Ji said glumly: “Who else would I be? Why are none of you at the administration compound?”
Zhao Su rose and opened the door. “What is it?”
“That, um — you know Chief Counselor Liu? He — the old gentleman has passed away. And, um, a few of his descendants — General Su sent a letter saying that several of them have already arrived at the Northern Pass, and are currently being escorted here.”
Both Su Zhe and Lin Feng shot out at once. They flanked Zhao Su, one on either side — then found him in the way, and each with one hand shoved him to the back. Both their faces turned on Zhao Ji: “What did you say?! Which Chief Counselor Liu?! Which descendants?!”
Su Zhe’s mind moved faster than Lin Feng’s, and she fired off questions like a volley: “Is the news reliable? How is it that there’s no official circular, and Su Sheng heard of it first? And these ‘descendants’ — exactly which ones?”
Both of them had been placed by Zhù Ying to spend time at Liu Songnian’s chancellery during their days in the capital. Liu Songnian had run his chancellorship in a rather grand, hands-off manner — rarely involving himself in government affairs — which gave him ample time to discipline the junior staff placed under him. Zhù Ying had always been busy, and with the children she was keeping close, she could carve out little time in a day to actually spend with them. But when the two of them were at the Liu chancellery, they would see Liu Songnian for the better part of any given day.
At that time, Lin Feng had been most afraid of being disciplined by him. Now her eyes brimmed with tears at the news.
Zhao Ji said: “The Supreme Literary Luminary of the Realm — how could there be any mistake? There’s genuinely been no official circular, but General Su’s official seal and credentials are beyond question.”
The two each gave Zhao Ji one-handed shove, clearing him out of the way, and ran back to the administration compound at full tilt!
They needed to confirm the news.
Su Zhe ran and thought: Who’s coming? We should make some arrangements… Liu Songnian’s sons and grandsons are also in office — and not in insignificant positions. How is it they’ve ended up coming to Annan? Have they run into some trouble? Do we need to handle something on their behalf? Whatever the situation, the connections must be honored…