The current Emperor had only two younger brothers—one was the Eighth Prince, Yuwen Huang, who was still only nine years old, and the other was Prince Xi, Yuwen Yi. The tall, imposing man standing before them could not possibly be nine years old, so he had to be Prince Xi.
Earlier, when Yuwen Jie had mentioned him, his tone hadn’t been particularly friendly, and He Chang’an had also brought him up a couple of days before—Hua Chun was quite curious about this person. So while he was speaking, she turned her head to secretly size him up.
He was about as tall as Yuwen Jie, but his looks weren’t as fine as the Emperor’s—his brows and eyes were too sharp and hard, giving off a ruthless air. His voice was somewhat low, with none of the youthfulness one would expect, as composed as a man of thirty or forty.
“This subject went out of the palace the day before yesterday, and saw that in the outskirts of Yanjing, the common people had not enough to eat or wear, so I had someone ask why. Someone answered: the harvest all went into the mouths of officials, and the people got no rice, let alone meat. This subject was deeply grieved, so I had people investigate the corruption of officials in the capital.”
The moment these words left his mouth, the faces of all the officials in the court changed.
Hua Chun raised an eyebrow, thinking to herself—was this Prince Xi some hot-blooded fool? Investigating corruption among capital officials—everyone in this court except her would be unable to escape it. Going by the principle of numbers overwhelming the few, this was bound to bring retaliation and suppression down on him, just as it had on her.
Where did he get the nerve?
Sure enough, as soon as he said this, Grand Tutor Tang beside him spoke up: “Your Highness is a prince of an enfeoffed territory, not an official of the capital. To intervene in matters of oversight—did you inform His Majesty beforehand?”
Clearly he hadn’t, otherwise Yuwen Jie up above wouldn’t be looking so displeased.
“His Majesty has always cherished the people. This matter arose suddenly; this subject’s actions carried no intent to offend or usurp power. I beg His Majesty’s forgiveness,” said Yuwen Yi.
The sovereign’s gaze rested on him deeply, his hand propped under his chin, and he said flatly, “Tell us the results of the investigation.”
“Yes.” Prince Xi cupped his hands: “There are many unclear entries in the Ministry of Finance’s accounts. A large amount of disaster relief silver, it seems, has remained stuck in the capital. This subject has a ledger here—please, Your Majesty, take a look.”
Grand Tutor Tang’s face paled slightly, and he glanced instinctively at Li Zhongtang. The latter looked perfectly calm, as if entirely unworried.
Prince Xi had been quiet in the palace all this while—who would have guessed he’d pull something like this today? Prince Xi had always had the Empress Dowager’s backing, and his fief had its own troops and finances; he wasn’t someone the court officials could easily impeach.
Quite a few faces began to turn pale, and Grand Tutor Tang regretted it more than ever. If only he’d listened to the Prime Minister and handled the disaster relief her way, he wouldn’t have been forced into this… ah!
No one knew what was written in that ledger. Everyone was secretly studying the sovereign’s expression, trying to catch some hint.
But this Emperor had a poker face—Hua Chun knew that no matter whose name was in that ledger, he wouldn’t show any particular reaction, so she might as well watch Prince Xi instead.
But perhaps her gaze had been too intense, because Prince Xi actually turned his head and looked at her, even giving her a faint smile.
Hua Chun startled, unable to stop a shiver, and looked at him uncomprehendingly.
That smile—it wasn’t exactly friendly, nor did it have anything to do with warmth. Hua Jinghua might have known Prince Xi from before; was this smile some kind of greeting?
Just as she was pondering this, Yuwen Jie closed the memorial: “This matter will be discussed after court is dismissed. Let’s move on to other matters for now.”
“Yes.” Prince Xi nodded and stepped back into the ranks beside him.
The court fell silent. Those who had been about to submit their own reports lost the mood after Prince Xi’s ledger, and everyone fell quiet on their own.
Seeing this, Eunuch Qin had no choice but to call out: “Court is dismissed, no further business!”
Everyone knelt in salute. Yuwen Jie rose but did not leave, looking down and saying: “Grand Tutor Tang, Minister Ding of the Ministry of Finance, General Li… and Prime Minister Hua, stay behind.”
Those named all felt their hearts sink. Hua Chun, however, was thoroughly baffled—why call her? Judging by the tone, this clearly had something to do with Prince Xi’s ledger, but she hadn’t taken any bribes—her sleeves were clean, hah!
Since she’d done nothing wrong, she had nothing to fear, so Hua Chun agreed quite openly, then stood in place watching those not named practically fly out of the court.
Grand Tutor Tang, sweat covering his whole face, finally worked his way over to Hua Chun’s side, and called out tremblingly, “Prime Minister Hua.”
“Hm?” Hua Chun looked at him. “Grand Tutor.”
“This old one… regrets it,” Grand Tutor Tang said quietly.
What? Hua Chun looked at him blankly. He hadn’t spoken to her in half a month, and now suddenly he says he regrets something—who knew what he was regretting?
“Third Imperial Brother.” The sovereign above spoke up: “Is everything written in this ledger true?”
“Absolutely true,” said Prince Xi. “Your Majesty may send people to search right now—the items will certainly be found at each person’s residence, there’s no escaping it.”
Below stood a dozen or so ministers, and hearing this, their faces all went pale. Seeing their reactions, Yuwen Jie knew that Yuwen Yi had not wronged anyone.
But Hua Jinghua, standing to the right, had a perfectly normal expression, even looking somewhat blankly at him.
“Prime Minister Hua.” The Emperor couldn’t help asking him one more question: “Are you not always known for your integrity? Has Prince Xi wronged you this time?”
Hua Chun frowned and looked up to ask: “Is my name written in the ledger?”
Yuwen Jie nodded.
“Why?” Hua Chun, puzzled, looked toward Prince Xi: “Since I became an official, I have never once accepted a gift from anyone, nor have I ever taken a bribe—my sleeves are clean, heaven and earth can attest. May I ask, Your Highness, what have I embezzled?”
“Thirty thousand taels of silver,” said Yuwen Yi. “It’s from this round of disaster relief funds. I traced where it went, and it flowed to the Hua residence, no mistake.”
Thirty thousand taels! Hua Jinghua’s monthly salary was only thirty taels. If she’d really taken such a huge sum, why would she still be slaving away serving at the Emperor’s side with her head on the line—why not just take the money and flee?
Rolling her eyes earnestly, Hua Chun said, “Your Majesty, I stake my life on it—I know nothing of this matter.”
“Catch the thief with the goods in hand,” said Prince Xi. “None of you need rush to argue. Just stay here in the Xuanzheng Hall for a day, and let His Majesty send people to search your residences. Once we find the amounts missing from the accounts and the wealth that doesn’t belong to you, we can discuss the rest.”
Corruption was far too common a thing. Although the laws of Great Liang punished corruption quite severely, with demotion and exile, under the protective umbrella of “the law does not punish the masses,” the court was essentially riddled with corruption from top to bottom—it was only a matter of how much and how obvious.
If it had been someone else who brought this before the Emperor, the Emperor might well have suppressed it—after all, wiping out this many officials at once would hurt the court’s foundations and throw many things into chaos.
But it was Prince Xi who had submitted this—Prince Xi, who was outwardly close to the Emperor but secretly competing with him. If Yuwen Jie didn’t punish this severely, rumors of “the Emperor shielding corrupt officials” would inevitably spread through Great Liang, and the loss of public trust would be even more terrifying than the loss of officials.
So even though many of those below were veteran ministers and men of great importance in the court, Yuwen Jie could only order Huo Zichong to take men out of the palace and search each residence according to the list in the ledger.
“Third Imperial Brother, come with me,” said Yuwen Jie.
Prince Xi nodded and followed the Emperor out of Xuanzheng Hall. Soon after, palace attendants brought in chairs so each minister could sit, and then heavy guards surrounded the place outside—not even a fly could get out.
These officials, thirty, forty, fifty years old, sat trembling in their chairs, looking no different from chickens about to be slaughtered. A full two hours passed sitting like this, with not a sound from outside.
Grand Tutor Tang sat thinking for a long while, and gradually his initial panic turned into calm and confusion.
“Prime Minister,” he said, “this old one suddenly feels something is off.”
“Hm?” Hua Chun, sitting bored out of her mind, was already yawning.
“If this old one’s name were in that ledger, Li Zhongtang surely couldn’t have escaped it either,” Grand Tutor Tang frowned. “Yet strangely, only Minister Ding and I are here—not Li Zhongtang or General Meng and the others.”
Hua Chun raised an eyebrow, and it came back to her too. These old ministers had always been of one faction—united when supporting her, united when excluding her. So why had only Grand Tutor Tang and Minister Ding caught Prince Xi’s attention this time?
Could it be… internal strife?
Grand Tutor Tang’s eyes kept darting about, his expression growing more and more tense, and he grabbed Hua Chun’s sleeve: “No matter what happens after this, Prime Minister, please stay wary of Li Zhongtang and the others.”
These words sent a chill down her spine, and Hua Chun shrank her shoulders. Li Zhongtang and the others had only ever opposed her over the disaster relief matter—the rest of the time they’d seemed decent enough. Hadn’t they even helped carry her out of the palace before? Why would Grand Tutor Tang say such a thing?
Well, better safe than sorry—that saying held true anywhere. Hua Chun nodded obediently anyway.
Then Grand Tutor Tang said nothing more, sinking into his own thoughts.
Noon came, and palace attendants brought in the midday meal. Many tried to pry information from the attendants about what was happening outside, but the attendants knew nothing, only saying that the Emperor and the Prince had gone out of the palace together and had not yet returned.
Dark clouds pressed over Xuanzheng Hall and would not disperse. This group of people was perhaps living through one of the hardest stretches of their lives; some were already close to breaking down, wanting to turn themselves in.
“Worst case it’s exile—there’s no need to torment us like this!” one rather minor official from the Six Ministries said, clutching his own hair. “I want to get out of here!”
The atmosphere here was far too oppressive. Yuwen Jie really was ruthless, Hua Chun thought, shaking her head—fortunately she had no guilty conscience to speak of.
By evening, the Emperor and Prince Xi finally returned.
“Draft the edict,” said Yuwen Jie the moment he entered Xuanzheng Hall, not even glancing at the crowd kneeling before him, walking straight to the throne. “Handle it however the law dictates.”
“Yes!” Prince Xi answered with a smile, turning to sweep his gaze over the kneeling crowd.
Hua Chun alone raised her head, looking curiously at the Emperor: “What did Your Majesty find at the Hua residence?”
Yuwen Jie lowered his head, gazing at her deeply: “Thirty thousand taels of silver, a fair amount of gold, silver, and jewels, and a number of antiques—priceless.”
“Those would be wedding gifts, wouldn’t they?” Hua Chun said with a wry laugh. “This subject’s wedding only just happened, and I haven’t had time yet to sort through the congratulatory gifts sent by all the ministers—I didn’t expect there to be so much. Are all of those to be counted as my corruption?”