Huang Qingxing cast a sidelong glance at Wang Gaoxiang — a man who bore more than a passing resemblance to himself — and was silent for a while before saying, “What would it matter if I knew? What would it matter if I did not?”
“Some things, when left unpursued and unspoken, allow one to deceive oneself and remain in peace. But once spoken openly, they only bring more anguish.” Huang Qingxing continued, “A chess piece that cannot accomplish what is asked of it — a piece that is utterly useless — is not in any position to speak of such things.”
His tone had remained calm throughout, but after a few heaving, rough breaths, Huang Qingxing abruptly erupted in fury. He flipped over the low table and screamed, “From the moment I first learned there was a Wang family in the capital, living in resplendent luxury with all the wealth and grandeur of bells and cauldrons — from the moment I laid eyes on the great and powerful Lord Wang — only then did I understand that every decade before that had been nothing but a life lived in the gutter. Was all the suffering I endured merely so that I could learn who the one above is? Learn that I am nothing but a discarded child?”
Huang Qingxing spoke one word at a time, each one deliberate: “What I want is to achieve great success and hold high and powerful office.”
After his outburst, Huang Qingxing rose, smoothed the folds of his robes, walked to the doorway, and added: “No more empty words. Assisting Prince Huai in staging a coup is the directive from the one above. Grand Protector Wang, if you have the boldness to defy that directive, you are welcome to go your own way and do as you please. If you lack that courage, I expect to see your people at the Emperor’s birthday celebrations.”
With that, he flung his sleeve and left.
Huang Qingxing’s figure quickly dissolved into the pitch-black night. Wang Gaoxiang gazed out at the doorway for a long moment, then let out a long, heavy sigh.
Ritual propriety and law — the very backbone and order of the state.
In the Great Qing dynasty, the Emperor’s birthday celebrations held equal standing with the New Year and the Winter Solstice as one of three great festivals of the year, and were regarded with the utmost importance.
With only a few days remaining before the Emperor’s birthday celebrations, craftsmen in the capital were busily at work on both sides of the central imperial avenue, decorating the length of the street with all manner of colorful paintings and colorful cloth, until it was a profusion of brilliant color.
When night fell and the lanterns were lit, the spectacle became even more festive and radiant — a sight truly worthy of being called “ten thousand households of lamplight, illuminating ten miles in all directions.”
In the new residence of the Pei family’s second branch, the family — reunited in the capital — was gathered for their evening meal.
Pei Bingsheng had barely managed a few mouthfuls before putting his bowl down, claiming there was still an urgent matter to attend to outside and that he needed to step out.
“Sit down.” Pei Jue’s voice was even and flat, yet filled with authority. He continued helping himself to dishes and asked, “It is this late in the evening — where do you think you are going?”
“It’s… it’s nothing,” said Pei Bingsheng, clearly flustered. He forced a smile and said, “Father, I only want to gather with a few old colleagues.”
“You are not permitted to go. It is unsettled times.”
Pei Bingsheng squirmed in his seat as though sitting on needles. He picked up his chopsticks and bowl again but his mind was elsewhere, and he ventured, “Father…”
He had barely gotten the word out when Pei Jue cut him off. Pei Jue slammed down his chopsticks with a loud crack and snapped, “It seems you’ve forgotten your pain now that your wound has healed.”
No one knows a son as a father does. Pei Bingsheng shifted in his seat, and that was all it took for Pei Jue to see through him completely. Pei Jue said, “Are you under the impression that now that your father has returned to the post of Minister of Personnel, he can once again clear a path for your career? Or perhaps you’ve been nursing a grievance that your talents have gone unrecognized, that you’ve languished in mediocrity for years, and that you’ve finally been given a chance to hold your head high?”
“As I suspected — you haven’t suffered enough,” Pei Jue said icily. “After only a few years, have you already forgotten the whole affair with the fish-scale registers?”
Caught with his thoughts laid bare, Pei Bingsheng looked embarrassed and said, “That business happened so long ago, and I’ve acknowledged my wrongdoing. Why must you keep bringing it up over and over?”
“If you had truly acknowledged your wrongdoing, you wouldn’t be thinking of going out tonight to make common cause with certain people. Do you really think the business with the fish-scale registers is truly over and done with? Have you never stopped to think — when the fish-scale registers were tampered with, Prince Chu’s estates multiplied several times over in recorded size, so where did the grain from all those estates actually go? And after the affair was exposed, why was Prince Chu killed by his eldest son under such strange and murky circumstances? You, and only you, gave no thought to causes and consequences — you assumed that the recompilation of the fish-scale registers was the end of the matter. What staggering foolishness.” Pei Jue’s eyes were like knives — his anger was genuine. The others at the table all urged Pei Bingsheng to admit his fault.
In Pei Jue’s estimation, Prince Chu had likely also been a piece on someone’s board — only he had gone wrong midway, been rendered useless, and had accordingly been discarded.
Rather than admit his fault, Pei Bingsheng actually grew bolder, determined to go ahead with what he had in mind. He said: “Father, the times have changed — your way of doing things should change with them. These days every official in court is looking for a way out, looking for a powerful backer, and yet here you are, still trying to hold me back. How many years did the household of the Earl of Jingying enjoy prosperity? Just because they didn’t attach themselves to the right people, they’ve come to a sorry state, with a desolate and cheerless household.”
Pei Jue’s chest heaved with fury. He had no patience left for further argument, and with a sharp command declared: “Steward Cao — go and find someone to tie this unfilial son up for me.”
The Second Elder Madam, Pei Shaowen, and others all tried to intervene and smooth things over, but Pei Jue had his mind firmly made up today — he was going to discipline Pei Bingsheng once and for all.
Very quickly, Pei Bingsheng was bound to a chair by the servants, unable to resist.
Everyone assumed Pei Jue was simply going to administer a routine household punishment with a rattan cane. But to their shock, Pei Jue instead fetched a thick wooden cudgel as wide around as a bowl, walked up to stand before Pei Bingsheng, and said: “When you committed that grave offense years ago, I — as your father — destroyed my own son’s future and came close to preventing Shaowen from being allowed to sit for the examinations. By rights, I should have broken one of your legs then. Now, just as Shaowen’s career is showing signs of progress and the whole family has returned to the capital, you are plotting to involve yourself in the struggle over the imperial succession and put your family in danger — and for this, I should break your other leg. Since you have shown no intention of reforming, old debts and new will be settled together today.”
Knowing full well that the old master never made idle threats and always followed through on his words, Pei Bingsheng finally showed his fear. He shook his head frantically and cried in panic: “I know I was wrong — Father, please don’t do it, please don’t break my legs — your son doesn’t want to be a cripple!”
Before anyone had a chance to rush forward and intervene, the sound of two agonized screams rang out — followed by a dry crack like the snapping of dead branches — and the legs of Pei Bingsheng, still bound to the chair, were shattered and twisted out of shape.
Pei Jue, a few white hairs now disheveled and loose, leaned wearily on the cudgel as though it were a staff, and looked at his son — whose face was contorted in agony — and said, “I, Pei Jue, would sooner have an incapacitated son than a mediocre, incapable, and arrogant one.”
He gave an order: “Unbind him. If he still wants to go out, let him crawl out the door.”
The cudgel dropped to the ground with a resounding clang. Pei Jue, supporting his lower back, walked with a slight limp out of the main hall. Halfway across, he reached up and pulled open the false stand-up collar he had worn around his neck for so many years, and threw it to the ground. Compared to an eldest son he could not educate into a decent person, what was this scar on his neck worth mentioning?
Before the storm, the trees stir first.
On the night before the Emperor’s birthday celebrations, in the third watch of the night, a carriage pulled up before the door of Scholar Zhang’s home. The scholar, approaching sixty years of age, felt no suspicion at all — on the contrary, he felt himself to be highly regarded by an important personage, and swelled with a sense of grandeur that left him somewhat lightheaded with anticipation.
Yet even so, as he prepared to board the carriage, Scholar Zhang hesitated for a moment and asked with curiosity: “Good officer, what is it that your master has arranged for us to do?”
The several men who had come to collect him were each tall and powerfully built. Though it was nighttime, they kept their helmets on and had not removed them. The one leading the group said: “Don’t ask what you’re not supposed to ask.”
“Surely I must know what I’m being asked to do before I dare get in the carriage?”
The man gave a few cold laughs and said with contempt: “You and the heir of the Earl of Jingying of the Pei family are brothers-in-law — you’ve presumably heard something of what has become of his two sons. The Lin family and the Pei family can’t even look after themselves right now. There’s an opportunity right in front of you, and you’re still being this finicky about it? No wonder a man your age is still looked down upon by everyone.”
This Scholar Zhang was none other than the husband of the elder sister of Lin Shi — a man of no real ability who nonetheless held himself in very high regard.
The man urged further: “If we didn’t know you had some talent and ability about you, do you think an achievement like this — the glory of having rallied to a new ruler from the very beginning, the prospect of being a close confidant of a future emperor — would be within the reach of a mere scholar like you? If you have your reservations, let’s drop the matter entirely right now and call it a wasted trip on our part.”
“No, no — don’t say that!” Scholar Zhang hastily grabbed at the hem of his robe and scrambled up into the carriage in a flurry of panic, terrified of letting the opportunity slip by.
Once inside the carriage, the man stuffed a thick, sturdy jujube-wood staff into Scholar Zhang’s hands. Scholar Zhang didn’t dare accept it and stammered, “I… I am nothing but a man of letters — what would you have me do with a jujube-wood club, good officer?”
“We’re not counting on you for any fighting or killing. The club is for your own protection — take it,” the man said. “That said, if you manage to give that traitorous ringleader a good knock on the head, that would count as your first and greatest achievement.”
Scholar Zhang took hold of the club and asked: “How am I supposed to recognize which one is the traitorous ringleader?”
“The one everyone is guarding, the one dressed in fine brocade — naturally that’s the traitorous ringleader.”
After getting out of the carriage, Scholar Zhang found himself in total darkness — not a trace of light was visible anywhere. He gripped the jujube-wood staff tightly in his hand and followed along with the group as they made their way forward in the dark. Pushed and prodded from behind, he had no thought for anything except keeping his feet moving forward — he had not the faintest idea where he had passed through, or where he was headed.
On the day of the Emperor’s birthday celebrations, the melodious sound of bronze chimes and the dense rolling of drums rang out from before the Hall of Supreme Harmony. The officials, dressed in their court attire, filed in through the east and west side gates in proper order, after which the ceremonial music “The Melody of Sacred Tranquility” began to play, its lyrics proclaiming: “Heaven and Earth, sun and moon shine bright — all eight directions and four seas rejoice in great peace. Within dragon towers and phoenix pavilions, the fans are spread open, the curtains roll back, and the sovereign’s majesty rises…”
All the officials had already taken their places. Yet when the music concluded, the Emperor had still not appeared to ascend the throne.
By protocol, the Emperor should by this time have been seated on the dragon throne in full ceremonial regalia, receiving the congratulatory memorials presented by the assembled officials.
The sound of the bronze chimes carried far. Those outside the palace walls who heard them assumed the grand ceremony of the Emperor’s birthday celebrations was proceeding as usual.
In the detention cells of the Southern Garrison Brocade-Garment Guard, a row of prison gates opened one after another in succession, leading directly to the small courtyard. Yan Chengzhao, dressed in his flying-fish patterned robe and carrying his embroidered spring blade, strode quickly into the courtyard and said to Pei Shaohuai: “The rats have all come out.”
Pei Shaohuai, knowing this day would be critical, was dressed in a simple, close-fitting garment. He asked, “How many have come in?”
“Six thousand, one hundred and eighty-two.”
Pei Shaohuai was somewhat in awe of Yan Chengzhao’s capabilities — in the pitch dark of the night, he had still managed to count the number of the enemy with such precision.
Yan Chengzhao continued: “In the fourth watch of last night, the rebels climbed the northern hill. Someone inside the palace received them as planned, opening the Gate of Martial Valor to welcome them in, and the rebels quickly sealed off the Hall of Great Goodness and the three great halls of the central axis. Among them, one unit of rebel troops also went to the Eastern Palace.”
Just as Pei Shaohuai had earlier surmised, the rebels had launched their coup by infiltrating from the northern side.
“When Prince Huai came to the capital, didn’t he only bring some two thousand private troops in secret?” Pei Shaohuai asked.
Yan Chengzhao replied, “The additional four thousand either had been laying low in the capital for some time, or had slipped into the capital from the direction of the Shanhai Pass.”
Pei Shaohuai understood at once. No wonder the opposing side had needed to eliminate Prince Chu — to create a diversion and attempt to tie Yan Chengzhao down in Wuchang Prefecture. It was clear they had been plotting this coup for a very long time.
In all likelihood, Prince Huai himself did not know that more than half of the men helping him launch this coup had come from the northeast.
Launching a coup was not the same as inciting a popular uprising or raising an army — it did not rely on massed troops storming through city walls and seizing the imperial palace. Rather, it depended on arranging elite forces to slip covertly inside the palace walls and, by sealing off the forbidden city and exploiting the gap in information between those inside and outside the palace, achieve the objective of holding the sovereign hostage.
What Prince Huai wanted was not the destruction of the palace and the deaths of everyone inside. What he wanted was to compel the Emperor to issue an imperial decree changing the succession — to transfer the imperial throne to him.
Under severe coercion, so long as the Emperor relented even slightly — and with the support of certain ministers — the coup would be half-successful.
Since this was a scheme that had been deliberately laid, naturally there was a plan for breaking through it. Yan Chengzhao said: “Twenty thousand soldiers of the Garrison Brocade-Garment Guard and the Divine Mechanism Battalion are already in ambush outside all the major gates of the palace walls, awaiting a single command from His Majesty to annihilate the rebels.”
Pei Shaohuai asked Wu Jianqing to remain in the small courtyard for the time being and not go out. He then left the detention cells with Yan Chengzhao, heading first to the Ministry of War to capture the lurking conspirators.
Throughout history, the first step of a coup has been to seize control of the palace and coerce the Emperor. The second step is to obtain the military tallies and take command of the hundreds of thousands of garrison troops stationed around the capital.
What Prince Huai wanted was the imperial throne. What the opposing side wanted was, in all likelihood, the military tallies controlling the garrison troops.
The palace had been sealed off, with the Hall of Great Goodness sealed most completely of all — Prince Huai’s men were everywhere.
Outside the imperial study, Prince Huai paced back and forth in wait. At this moment, one of Prince Huai’s trusted subordinates came over in a state of visible agitation. Prince Huai, assuming the man was simply timid and easily frightened, thought nothing of it — he even clapped the subordinate on the shoulder and said, “Take courage.”
Prince Huai asked: “What is the situation at the Eastern Palace?”
The subordinate replied, “It has… it has been taken care of.”
“Taken care of” meant the obstacle blocking Prince Huai’s path had finally been cleared away. He could not help revealing a trace of satisfaction, then asked: “And the officials before the Hall of Supreme Harmony?”
“Those who have submitted have been kept standing before the hall. Those who resisted have been temporarily locked into the inner palace corridors to await your command.”
Prince Huai was very pleased with this outcome. He dismissed his subordinate and with one hand flung open the doors of the imperial study.
Inside, the Emperor, Yan Ze, was seated on the throne in full ceremonial regalia, eyes closed. There was no one else in the room.
Prince Huai would not harm the Emperor — at least not before his objective had been achieved. Throughout history, whether it was a son seizing power from a father, a younger brother from an elder brother, or an uncle from a nephew, no one, after taking control of the palace, would kill the Emperor as their very first act — because to kill the Emperor would immediately expose the illegitimacy of their claim. Only after the imperial edict had been secured could the Emperor conveniently die of illness — that was the “proper procedure.”
Prince Huai went through the elaborate motions of a formal bow and said with insincere reverence: “Your son pays his respects to Imperial Father. Long live, long live, long live the Emperor.” He then rose without being told to and suggested: “This year, Your Majesty’s birthday celebrations will find the Crown Prince unable to lead the civil and military officials in presenting the congratulatory memorials. In future years, I’m afraid it will be the same. Imperial Father — why not allow your son to take the Crown Prince’s place and lead the assembled officials in presenting the memorials and offering birthday felicitations? How does Your Majesty find this proposal?”
The Emperor did not open his eyes to watch Prince Huai’s performance, and simply replied: “Don’t even think about it.”
“At this point in time, why must Imperial Father remain so stubbornly fixed in his convictions?” Prince Huai smiled with a knife concealed behind his smile, threatening: “If Imperial Father relents sooner, my elder brother the Crown Prince might still be left with his life. But if Imperial Father insists on refusing, then the legitimate eldest son of the Empress falling to an assassin’s blow, with the legitimate second son rising to take his place, could still be said to accord with the principle of legitimate succession.”
The Emperor’s eyes snapped open in sudden fury and he roared: “You dare!”
Prince Huai’s smile became even more unbridled and arrogant. He said: “Since your son dares to do what was done this day, how could one more step make any difference?”
“You would kill your own brother and raise your hand against your own father?”
“Killing my brother and raising my hand against my father — you drove me to it!” Prince Huai cried out, his voice raw and breaking, “A good-for-nothing who buried his head in carpentry from the time he was small — you treat him as if he were a precious treasure, while no matter how hard I strive, no matter how distinguished I make myself, you pay me no heed whatsoever. You would sooner hand all under Heaven to a carpenter than to me — how utterly humiliating.”
He then sneered: “Besides, Imperial Father — didn’t you yourself seize your own throne through struggle and contention? In that sense, your son is merely following in your footsteps.”
“I was the eldest legitimate son of the Empress — my succession was rightful and proper.” The Emperor gazed with cold contempt at his second son standing in the middle of the hall, and felt a deep sense of sorrow. Between his two legitimate sons, one was excessively soft-hearted, and the other excessively ruthless.
It was not that he had paid no attention to Prince Huai. If Prince Huai had the qualities of an enlightened ruler — if he had a generous and broad-minded spirit — if, after ascending the throne, he could have tolerated and accommodated the elder brother’s family — the Emperor would hardly have given him no consideration at all.
It was simply that the path taken by the Empress and Prince Huai had veered further and further astray.
The Emperor said: “Even though I did struggle and contend for it, I never held a blade to the late Emperor’s neck and forced him to pass the throne to me.”
“It seems Imperial Father still has not yet thought matters through clearly.” Prince Huai lowered his head and smoothed the lapels of his imperial robe embroidered with the five-clawed dragon and nine-Chuan Cheng – Chapter pattern, and said: “The Crown Prince has been struck down by an assassin’s hand. Imperial Father, upon hearing the news, has fallen gravely ill and taken to his bed. Your son will temporarily oversee the administration of state affairs in Imperial Father’s stead. The civil and military officials are still waiting before the Hall of Supreme Harmony for your son. Your son will not disturb Imperial Father’s recuperation here — I will come again in a few days to ask for Imperial Father’s opinion.”
With that, he left the Hall of Great Goodness, mounted his palanquin, and set off toward the Hall of Supreme Harmony — full of high spirits and elated confidence.