Noble Consort Quan began her performance.
The phoenix flute sounded, jade vessels caught the light. What they heard was music, what they felt was emotion.
When the piece ended, Emperor Yongle bestowed a jade flute upon Noble Consort Quan, then rose and went to Rouyi Hall—where Empress Ren Xiao’s coffin was housed.
With Emperor Yongle going to accompany the empress, the imperial family members had no need to maintain appearances and dispersed one by one. When people leave, tea grows cold—in the end, only Consort Zhang remained at the grand Mid-Autumn family banquet.
Facing table after table of dishes barely touched by chopsticks, Consort Zhang began to reflect.
Did she organize Empress Ren Xiao’s funeral well?
Yes.
Did she organize the Mid-Autumn family banquet well?
Yes.
Then why was it thankless work?
She had put in so much effort, yet couldn’t compare to Empress Ren Xiao, who was dead, or even to Noble Consort Quan, who spent her days leisurely with nothing to do, just waiting for meals and drinks.
What use is this rear palace authority to me!
Less than two months in power, she had nearly offended everyone in the six bureaus and one department. The emperor wouldn’t even spare her an extra glance—truly caught between a rock and a hard place.
This couldn’t continue. Consort Zhang began self-reflection.
Same Mid-Autumn Festival
The Hu residence on the first ring road was filled with joy and harmony. A’Lei excitedly told Hu Shanwei about the magnificent spectacle of watching the Qiantang River tidal bore:
“…When a tidal wave came crashing over, it was like Mount Tai pressing down, with the momentum of a swimming dragon, like Nezha stirring up the sea, making the water boil and churn. Brother-in-law and I stood far away, but our hair and clothes were still soaked by the spray. Many brave people chased the tide head—when giant waves crashed over, they tied themselves to large trees and stone pillars. Several times we thought the giant waves had swallowed them whole. They truly risked their lives just for fun.”
Hu Shanwei smiled at A’Lei: “You describe it so well, as if I saw it myself. Not like some people who look at Leifeng Tower and only know to say ‘tall and big,’ or see the sun and only know to say ‘big and round.'”
She was referring to when she went to Hangzhou to print books years ago, and Mu Chun, after suffering domestic violence from his biological father and running away from home, followed her to Hangzhou. He had bought a golden Sichuan fan to appear cultured, climbed the tower for sightseeing, then made a fool of himself while composing poetry.
A’Lei asked curiously: “Who was that?”
Mu Chun buried his head in eating mooncakes, as if it had nothing to do with him.
Hu Shanwei smiled without answering. A’Lei asked Mu Chun: “Brother-in-law, who was sister talking about?”
Mu Chun scooped out the salted egg yolk from his mooncake for A’Lei: “That’s ancient history—who remembers? Eat, eat.”
The three chatted leisurely in the courtyard under the moon. A’Lei went to sleep at the second watch. Mu Chun carried her to the bedroom, and when he came out, he twisted his shoulders: “Sigh, after becoming a father, I can’t play like before. I used to be one of those crazy people chasing the big tide.”
Hu Shanwei helped massage his shoulders: “You don’t dare chase tides, but you dare fight wars.”
Mu Chun said: “That’s different. I’ve spent almost half my life in the Southwest. As long as there’s need, I’d fight even at seventy or eighty. I must say, after winning this battle, I feel refreshed all over, like I’m several years younger.”
Hu Shanwei felt the same: “Me too. I’ve been in the palace almost two months, immediately busy beyond measure. Fortunately, you came back to take A’Lei out, otherwise I really couldn’t manage both ends. But though busy, my energy can keep up—it’s like returning to the past, becoming young again.”
Mu Chun and Hu Shanwei’s five-year secluded life had ended. Perhaps due to their naturally competitive natures, they felt no discomfort returning to their respective battlefields, but rather found themselves more capable than before.
With A’Lei asleep, the two sat close together intimately. Mu Chun raised his chin toward their neighbor, the Mu residence: “Next door are all acquaintances. The emperor was bold giving us this house—isn’t he afraid my familiar face will be recognized? Every time I come home, I have to wear a fish glue mask. If it were at least good-looking, that would be fine, but this plain, unremarkable face really wastes my good looks.”
Hu Shanwei coaxed him: “It’s precisely this plain, unremarkable face that’s safe. If a handsome man frequently entered and left my residence, it would become the capital’s biggest scandal.”
Mu Chun pulled his wife into his embrace: “Having a scandal with your own wife—that’s more thrilling than chasing tides at Qiantang River…”
The family of three stayed home behind closed doors, having a perfect holiday. The Hu residence was staffed entirely with trained official slaves under Eunuch Sanbao’s jurisdiction—hereditary official slaves whose entire families’ lives were in Eunuch Sanbao’s hands. When a strange man suddenly appeared in the Hu residence, and his face changed like the moon—practically getting cosmetic surgery daily—the official slaves had long grown accustomed to it, turning a blind eye as if Mu Chun were invisible. No one dared reveal a single word.
The man behind a three-reign Palace Lady couldn’t be ordinary. It was better not to know such things—the more one knew, the faster one died, and it would implicate family members. Official slaves simply couldn’t escape.
Before entering the capital, Hu Shanwei had repeatedly instructed A’Lei on the road that she and Mu Chun had a secret marriage. In the capital, besides the Emperor and Empress, the Eastern Palace Crown Prince and Crown Princess, Zhu Zhanji, Han Prince’s household’s Zhu Zhanhe, Eunuch Sanbao, and Jinyiwei Commander Ji Gang—those involved in intelligence work—no one else knew. Palace female officials could be unmarried or widows who had borne children, but couldn’t have living husbands—dead ones didn’t matter. So Hu Shanwei must publicly appear unmarried.
A’Lei swore to heaven that she remembered and would absolutely never let anything slip.
The one-day holiday passed quickly. Hu Shanwei rose at the fourth watch. Mu Chun was sleeping soundly, so to avoid disturbing him, she tiptoed to the adjacent room to wash and dress. Before leaving, she went to A’Lei’s room to cover her with the blanket she had kicked off.
Due to her special status, Palace Lady Hu’s commute was no less grand than a first-rank court minister’s, with Jinyiwei cavalry escort, gong clearing the way, and eunuchs and palace maids surrounding her.
The iron tablet rules established during the Hongwu reign stated that inner court officials must not interfere in government affairs or associate with outer court officials. Except for neighborly courtesy with those living nearby, Hu Shanwei kept her doors closed to visitors and associated with no other households. Even when speaking with noble ladies, she limited this to within the palace—outside the palace, she spoke not a word.
Even so, as a female official living outside the palace and commuting daily, Hu Shanwei angered many officials who submitted memorials saying palace rules were lax, with female officials entering and leaving palace gates daily, parading through streets—what kind of propriety was this?
Hu Shanwei didn’t want such grandeur. The daily escort for her commute included Jinyiwei, palace inner officials, and Court Bureau of Rites female officials—three departments in joint law enforcement. This was surveillance, but also protection. If anyone slandered her for associating with outer court officials or plotting irregularities, these three departments were witnesses who could prove her innocence, unless all three were bought off.
However, these three departments were backed respectively by Ji Gang, Eunuch Sanbao, and the Court Bureau of Rites. The probability of them conspiring against her was essentially zero.
Emperor Yongle ignored these overfed memorials, giving them cold treatment.
Who knew these officials, not daring to touch the hard stone that was Emperor Yongle, would squeeze the soft persimmon that was Hu Shanwei. Taking advantage of her daily commute, they stood roadside cursing Hu Shanwei for parading through streets without shame.
Before they could curse to their heart’s content, they were silenced by Jinyiwei, arrested to prison on charges of harassing female officials. Ji Gang applied slight methods, and after release, they all behaved.
Ji Gang waved his hand grandly, adding another hundred Jinyiwei escorts in the name of protecting Hu Shanwei, making the procession even grander…
Hu Shanwei found Ji Gang: “Quickly withdraw those hundred Jinyiwei. Even the six ministry senior ministers don’t have such grandeur when attending court. You’re not protecting me—you’re drawing hatred toward me. Living outside the palace, there will naturally be dissatisfaction at first. I was prepared to endure scolding. Given time, when people grow accustomed to it, it will pass. Why make such a big show?”
Having experienced all kinds of storms over the years, especially court situations where forces rise and fall, great households taking turns on stage—more than just vicissitudes of life? Time can change many things—no need to rush momentarily.
But Ji Gang disagreed: “You did nothing wrong—why should you be pointed at and scolded? I’m not dead as Jinyiwei Commander, watching you get mudslinging while standing by. To avoid being cursed to your face, either become a universally revered saint whom others can’t find fault with, or become a ruthless person whom others fear and dread—regardless of what they think inside, they won’t dare be rude to your face and might even cater to and flatter you.”
“As for saints, only one Confucius appears in millennia—that path is closed. Be realistic—become ruthless, make others fear you, and your ears will be quiet.”
In recent years holding high position, Ji Gang’s temperament had greatly changed. Still a beauty, but sometimes when Hu Shanwei looked at him, she often superimposed another person’s face—Ji Gang increasingly resembled Hongwu reign’s Mao Qiang in temperament.
Hu Shanwei said: “I don’t care what others think of me. Twenty-some years ago when I entered the palace, people already called me a sycophantic minister who only sought to please superiors. Mouths grow on others’ heads, ears are my own—I can choose not to hear. Do my own work well. If I couldn’t bear slight dissent and finger-pointing, insisting on shouting for violence to suppress it, I wouldn’t be today’s Hu Shanwei.”
“I don’t need you telling me how to be an official. Starting from leaving the palace today, I don’t want to see those extra hundred Jinyiwei.”
Hu Shanwei issued an ultimatum. Ji Gang was so angry his face went white: “Good intentions treated as ill will.”
Angry as he was, when evening came and palace gates closed, as Hu Shanwei left the palace, the Jinyiwei waiting outside Xi’an Gate to escort her home had indeed decreased by one hundred.
The officials Ji Gang had invited to prison for tea successively met with incidents—though none related to memorializing about Hu Shanwei’s external residence. Some were reported for corruption and bribery; some had improper family conduct with relatives committing crimes while acting as protective umbrellas; some were even caught in bed with prostitutes—all with solid evidence, ultimately losing their positions.
Thus, Hu Shanwei’s commute route became completely peaceful, with no one daring to provoke trouble.
Regardless of whether Ji Gang’s methods were correct, the results were fast and accurate, quickly achieving the objective.
Speaking of the Rear Palace
On Mid-Autumn night, Emperor Yongle went to Rouyi Hall and sat through the night facing Empress Ren Xiao’s coffin. Consort Zhang also suffered insomnia that night.
The next day, Consort Zhang immediately richly rewarded the Imperial Kitchen Bureau, summoning all female officials and female scholars to Yanxi Palace for a celebration. Even kitchen staff and procurement personnel—lowly servants who couldn’t normally enter Yanxi Palace—received rewards. Everyone got something from Consort Zhang.
Chen Er’mei shook the bracelet on her wrist, curved like jade-green water: “This quality isn’t bad. Consort Zhang understands combining grace with authority—there’s progress.”
Hu Shanwei laughed: “You’re easily appeased—one bracelet and your anger disappears.”
Chen Er’mei had such an optimistic nature: “Working in the palace, give each other face-saving steps and call it even. Why make things unpleasant? Can I freely leave the palace like you? We’re all people who must spend our lives in the palace.”
Remembering Empress Ren Xiao’s deathbed entrustment, Consort Zhang’s performance was within Hu Shanwei’s expectations. A noble family daughter—proud, impatient—her advantage was that once in position, she could immediately intimidate the rear palace and control the situation.
Her disadvantage was wanting to swallow everything at once, opening her mouth too wide and breaking her teeth. After a few more attempts, she’d learn proper measure.
Who could achieve perfection immediately? Not causing incidents was already good enough.
While they were chatting, Tu Ya from Yanxi Palace came requesting Hu Shanwei’s audience.
Consort Zhang granted a seat. Her previously aloof expression had switched to pleasant countenance: “I am young and previously had little involvement in palace affairs. Thanks to Palace Lady Hu leading the six bureaus and one department in assistance, I can barely manage to support things now. I’m naturally competitive—when in my maiden home, whether horseback archery or reading and writing, I had to do everything best, never losing to anyone.”
“Later, reaching marriageable age, I swore to marry the world’s most outstanding man, otherwise I’d rather remain a spinster at home—our Zhang family could afford to support an old maid anyway. Later… I met His Majesty.”
Consort Zhang’s cheeks flew red. Combined with her curvaceous figure, Emperor Yongle was truly blessed with beauty: “I dare not compare myself with Empress Ren Xiao. I only want to be the best consort in the rear palace, to share His Majesty’s worries and let him live comfortably in the rear palace, gradually emerging from sorrow. I feel I’ve worked very hard, but contrary to expectations, my efforts haven’t been effective. Palace Lady Hu, you’re a three-reign Palace Lady with extensive experience. Could you guide me on how to satisfy His Majesty and become the rear palace’s best consort?”
Hu Shanwei said: “Since Consort has asked, I’ll speak honestly. You’re not lacking effort or excellence—you just directed your efforts wrongly. The palace once had a consort with similar background, similar circumstances, even similar setbacks. I think if Consort learned more about how this consort later responded, it would be like looking in a mirror—you’d see yourself clearly.”
Consort Zhang asked: “Who? Please instruct me, Palace Lady Hu.”
Hu Shanwei said: “Noble Consort Duanjing Lady Guo from the Hongwu reign.”
Hu Shanwei ordered someone to bring the Palace Lady Bureau’s collection of “Noble Consort Duanjing’s Daily Records” to Yanxi Palace for Consort Zhang’s self-examination.