“In the sound of firecrackers, the old year passes; the warm spring breeze carries in the new.”
For the officials of Da Qing, the first month of the year was the period with the most holidays. First came seven days off for the Spring Festival, and then, at the Lantern Festival, another seven days could be taken.
The court was so generous to the capital’s officials because their regular “ten-day rest” had long since become little more than a formality — when things were busy, it was common to go months without a single day off.
Officials cherished their first-month holidays greatly. Even the censors, who spent ordinary days in endless complaint, had the good sense to hold their tongues during this time.
Silver flowers of fire blazed across the nine heavens; day and night alike, every household rang with festivity and cheer.
The Eastern Palace was the same — lanterns and festive decorations filled every corner. Crown Prince Yan Youzheng was obsessed with pavilions, towers, and halls, but held no particular fascination for feminine beauty. Abiding by ancestral practice, his inner court consisted of no more than one Primary Consort, two Secondary Consorts, and two Selection Attendants.
On the fifth day of the first month, the Crown Prince found himself at leisure and went to the small courtyard in the northwest corner — his “woodstore,” piled high with components for architectural models, all carved from various types of timber.
These had been gathered by his wet nurse Ke Shi and her two sons, then brought inside the palace under the pretext of procurement.
With these components, the Crown Prince’s architectural designs — which could not be built in reality — could at least be assembled as models to satisfy his longing.
The Crown Prince had barely assembled half a structure when an attendant came to report that Minister Wang of the Board of Rites was waiting in the Left Hall of the Palace Secretariat, requesting an audience. No reason was given, but someone who would enter the palace on the fifth day of the first month must surely have urgent business.
The half-assembled “roof ridge” was left unfinished. The Crown Prince gave a quiet, hollow sigh, set down the components, brushed the wood shavings from his robes, and walked out of the courtyard.
Yet the scent of pine wood that had settled on him lingered, and had not faded.
In the main hall of the Left Hall of the Palace Secretariat, the visitor was not Wang Gaoxiang alone — Grand Secretary Hu Qi was there as well. The two had evidently already joined forces.
“Your Highness — if we do not act preemptively and suppress the two Pei brothers before they gain further influence, by the time they have truly come into their own, it will be too late!” As he spoke, Wang Gaoxiang’s agitation was evident. His normally drooping, narrow eyes widened, brows arched high — like a fox that had opened its eyes.
Hu Qi added his voice in support, speaking with grave weight: “This old minister serves in the Grand Secretariat and ordinarily would not do well to draw too close to Your Highness, lest it arouse the Emperor’s suspicion… Yet the planet Mars grows ever brighter. Its radiance is beginning to outshine the North Star — an omen of treacherous ministers descending upon the realm, seizing power over the court, and bringing chaos to the land. For the sake of Da Qing’s dynasty and the security of the realm, this old minister had no choice but to come here with Grand Tutor Wang on this occasion.”
Mars was considered an ill-omened star. “Mars menacing the heart” was the most inauspicious of all celestial signs, portending the fall of the Son of Heaven and chaos under heaven.
Though the Crown Prince was no expert in statecraft, he could hear clearly enough that Hu Qi was slandering the Pei family to serve his own ambitions. If there had truly been a celestial sign of “Mars menacing the heart,” the Imperial Astronomical Bureau would have reported it long ago. Having been summoned to the Palace Secretariat on the fifth day of the first month was itself unwelcome enough — and now, being made to sit through this web of petty politics was giving him a headache. His irritation grew sharper.
“The two gentlemen are looking at things with too narrow a view. The Pei brothers are far from being in positions of great power. Promoting the new evaluation system serves only to select capable ministers for the court.” The Crown Prince said. “I believe there is truly no need to invoke the ill omen of Mars.”
In his heart, he harbored a certain envy toward the Pei brothers and did not particularly favor them — yet he could not be said to hate them with any desire to see them destroyed.
He also added: “If the two gentlemen have something to say, please speak plainly. If there is nothing further, I shall take my leave.”
“Has Your Highness also been swayed by Pei Boyuan?” Hu Qi asked.
That one word — “also” — made Wang Gaoxiang rush to cut off Grand Secretary Hu’s words. He softened his tone and served as mediator, saying: “Your Highness, what Grand Secretary Hu says is based not only on celestial observations, but also on the state of the court. Were it not for urgent necessity burning in our hearts, would we dare trouble Your Highness at a time like this?” As Grand Tutor, he had spent long enough with the Crown Prince to understand his temperament clearly.
Wang Gaoxiang spoke with heavy sorrow: “Your Highness, the people below are truly without heart for the festival — they are all wholeheartedly at their duties. After the evaluation, it is unknown how many of them will be permitted to remain…”
By “the people below,” he meant the Crown Prince’s faction.
The Crown Prince had always been soft-eared and kind-hearted toward officials who served him. After a moment of reflection, he said: “If they are truly wholeheartedly at their duties, I will speak on their behalf before the Emperor.”
“And what of the future?” Wang Gaoxiang asked. “Does Your Highness still remember what this subject once mentioned — that passage about ‘Cao Pi hosting a banquet for his ministers’ from the Annals of Bing Yuan?”
The Annals of Bing Yuan record that when Cao Pi was still Heir Apparent, he hosted a banquet for his meritorious officials. At the feast, he posed this question: “If your lord and your father were each gravely ill, and there was a single pill that could save only one — would you save your lord, or your father?”
Ruler or father — whom to save? What a deadly riddle to pose to a minister.
Yet Bing Yuan was unafraid. He declared outright: “My father.”
Why was Bing Yuan unafraid? Because at the end of the Eastern Han dynasty, rulers were dependent on powerful ministers and aristocratic clans.
The Crown Prince’s expression shifted slightly upon hearing this.
Seeing this, Wang Gaoxiang pressed forward and let several more sharp words enter his voice: “The Emperor trusts the Pei brothers beyond measure — their imperial favor is unmatched by anyone in court. If the Pei brothers were to use that imperial favor to cultivate contacts above and below, gather loyal followers, and hold power in their hands — if they became so unafraid of the imperial authority that they stood in the hall and cried out ‘My father’ — what then could Your Highness do against them? A minister with no regard for ruler or father — Da Qing would return to the chaos of ‘the Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm.’ Is this what Your Highness wishes to see?”
He continued: “And if the Emperor were to act on a moment of rage, how would Your Highness face the word ‘filial piety’? No matter how enlightened, the Emperor is still capable of rash judgments on occasion. Your Highness must be the eyes behind the Emperor’s back.”
The Crown Prince neither accepted nor refused, yet sat upright without leaving — which was evidence that he was taking this in.
Hu Qi found his foothold in Wang Gaoxiang’s words and added to the persuasion: “The Nanping Earl’s residence controls the cotton weaving workshops — year after year they solicit winter clothing donations to win the hearts of the frontier troops. The Lin family and the Lu family hold the horse administration in their hands — every horse in the court passes through them. And then there is the Pei family’s father and sons opening up maritime trade, purchasing food grain on a vast scale… Case after case — is this not enough for Your Highness to be on guard? Once the evaluation passes, with the court in disarray, it will truly be too late.” What he called “disarray” simply meant that anyone who was not one of their people — no matter how talented — was unfit.
Cloth, horses, grain, and officials. If all four of these were tied to the Pei family, then truly one had to guard against them.
This was practically a sign of impending rebellion.
Even if it fell short of outright rebellion, it still bore every mark of a clan growing into a powerful aristocratic faction. The Pei family dominant, marriage alliances spreading through the court — was that not monopolizing power over the entire realm? Which fit perfectly with the celestial omen Hu Qi had spoken of — “Mars growing bright.”
The Crown Prince deliberated for a long while, then said: “Let the two gentlemen return for now. I will think it over further.”
Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang having achieved their aim, rose and took their leave.
The side courtyard of the Eastern Palace still had several unopened crates of components. The Crown Prince had no heart for them now. He sat alone in the great hall, which made him look rather solitary.
He had lost his birth mother when young. The Emperor had first been occupied with the struggle for the throne, then consumed by affairs of state. As time passed, he had come to find that when difficulties arose, he no longer knew whom to ask or whom to trust. The status of firstborn son by the Empress had granted him dignity, but had also surrounded him with people seeking to ride on his coattails.
The Crown Prince suddenly recalled that this very morning, his eldest son Yan Chen had said he intended to come to the Left Hall of the Palace Secretariat to practice his calligraphy. He took quiet steps to the side door of the main hall and suddenly pushed open the study door.
The young boy inside was startled and quickly returned to his seat, pretending to continue reading — though his eyes kept sneaking glances outward.
The boy was about twelve years old, dressed in a dark-purple round-collared robe, with embroidered flame-treading qilins at his shoulders. Born to the imperial family, the boy nonetheless carried an honest and earnest look about him. People often said that grandchildren resemble their grandparents — and indeed he bore some resemblance to the Emperor, looking guileless when he smiled and formidable when he was displeased.
After a long pause, Yan Chen finally set down the book he had been using as cover and said: “Father…”
The Crown Prince did not express anger. He simply closed the door behind him, and asked in a gentle voice: “Did you hear all of that?” He had always treated his children with great warmth.
Yan Chen nodded.
At twelve years old, he was no longer small. The Crown Prince asked: “What do you make of it?”
The imperial household forges precocity in the young; its children are never ordinary. Young Yan Chen, for all his earnest appearance, carried genuine composure. He answered: “‘The Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm’ is indeed something to be guarded against. Yet I have two uncertainties.”
“What uncertainties?”
“Knowing Imperial Grandfather’s temperament — how could he be unaware of ‘the Wang family and the Sima family sharing the realm,’ and fail to take precautions against it? If the Pei family has any ambition to ‘share the realm,’ then what of Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang? If one must guard, surely one cannot only guard against the Pei family.” Yan Chen said. “This phrase about ‘sharing the realm’ sounds profound, but it is actually the most fundamental of principles: when the ruler is strong, the ministers are weak; when the ruler is weak, the ministers grow strong. If both ruler and ministers are strong, then all the world falls under Da Qing’s dominion.”
Seeing his son stand and speak with such fluency — his stature now nearly matching his own — the Crown Prince felt a flash of both pride and a faint sense of loss. He dimly recalled how many years ago, when he himself was still a youth, there had been a scene just like this one. When the Emperor had tested him in those days, there had always been a look of expectation in his eyes.
But that expectation had been worn away, day by day, in disappointment after disappointment. Afterward, the Emperor more often taught him — the questions had come to feel more like checking on assigned work.
Perhaps what the Emperor had once hoped for was exactly this — the kind of fluent, well-reasoned speech that Yan Chen was showing now.
He himself had let the Emperor down.
“Father?”
The Crown Prince came back to himself and said: “You spoke very well.”
“A ruler cannot seal off his ministers completely, nor obsess over keeping them in check. If Father does not know the Pei brothers well enough, why not make their acquaintance first, and decide from there? In any case, at present they are the ones in the weaker position, and they are the ones who have shown their hand first.” Yan Chen offered his suggestion.
Yan Chen was still a little brash in his youth — fortunately, the Crown Prince was not the sort of father who was wary of his own son.
……
Meanwhile, outside the gates of the Palace Secretariat, Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang emerged one after the other through two different exits.
The New Year’s holiday meant the palace was sparsely staffed, and the Palace Secretariat was among the quieter spots — very few people passed through.
Yet Xiao Jin happened to see them from a distance. The Emperor had that day been reading a fine book and had sent Xiao Jin on an errand to the Eastern Palace to summon the Imperial Eldest Grandson Yan Chen — and the Palace Secretariat lay right along the way.
Xiao Jin had sharp eyes. Judging by the two men’s gait and bearing, he quickly identified them.
He stopped in his tracks. His heart lurched, and in an instant he was both anxious and troubled. Coming to the Palace Secretariat on the fifth day of the first month — it was not hard to guess what Hu Qi and Wang Gaoxiang were up to.
Xiao Jin walked toward the Palace Secretariat, nearly reaching the gate — then suddenly turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. He gave a sharp “Hmph” under his breath to release some of the anger in his chest, and muttered inwardly: “Truly insufferable, those narrow eyes — always leading people into dead ends.”
So consumed was he with this matter and his worry that the Crown Prince might take a wrong step, Xiao Jin entirely forgot the Emperor’s errand. He had forgotten his purpose for coming here altogether.
It was not until he returned to Qianqing Palace that the Emperor, seeing him arrive with only a whisk in hand and a distracted expression, asked: “Where is Yan Chen?”
Xiao Jin snapped back to himself, not having caught the Emperor’s words, and asked: “What was Your Majesty’s instruction?”
The Emperor laughed out loud and repeated himself: “I sent you to bring Yan Chen here. Where is he?”
“Oh my, this old servant deserves punishment — I forgot Your Majesty’s instruction entirely…” Xiao Jin said. “Allow this old servant to make the trip again.”
“Come back, come back.” The Emperor gestured, and laughed: “Just send a younger one to make the trip. You need not handle everything yourself.”
“This old servant obeys.”
The Emperor was clearly being considerate of him — yet Chief Eunuch Xiao could not help but feel a quiet, lingering sense of something lost.