Ever since entering the palace, her experiences had repeatedly changed Hu Shanwei’s understanding of women. She realized that women were not born merely to serve husbands and educate children, pinning all their hopes for happiness on husbands and sons, with their minds filled only with jewelry and clothing, needles and thread, daily necessities, and romantic sentiments.
Women could serve as officials and have careers; they could establish rules and implement systems; they could become physicians, practicing medicine to heal the world and demonstrate medical skills; they could write prose and poetry, displaying literary talent; they could learn from ancient scholars who carved holes in walls to steal light, studying diligently and striving for advancement; they could ride horses and wield swords with both courage and strategy, proving that women were no less capable than men.
She gradually came to know the most outstanding group of women in the Great Ming Empire and took pride in this knowledge. Her ambitions were expanding—she hoped to learn their strengths, join their ranks, and earn her place among them.
Princess Yan gave her the greatest shock. Her heroic figure galloping on horseback filled Hu Shanwei with endless longing. Learning martial arts and having a strong body were also advantages. For this reason, Hu Shanwei picked up again the basic self-defense techniques and Five Animal Play exercises that her former fiancé had once taught her for physical fitness, practicing them morning and evening.
During her early morning boxing practice, Mu Chun, who had just entered the palace for guard duty rotation, brought her a military staff—this was something Hu Shanwei had asked him to help with yesterday.
Hu Shanwei shouldered the staff and performed a beautiful opening stance.
Mu Chun teased, “You have no power behind that—it’s all show. This is just the most basic introductory military staff technique used to teach new recruits who’ve just entered the army.”
Hu Shanwei seriously practiced with the staff. “Whatever I learn will eventually be useful. When I was hiding, didn’t I use a door bar to drive away the head eunuch of Yanxi Palace?”
Mu Chun disliked seeing Hu Shanwei practice these techniques—for no other reason than that they were all taught by her former fiancé. He didn’t know why, but whenever he thought of that person teaching Sister Shanwei hand-to-hand, repeatedly correcting her posture, he felt very uncomfortable.
So Mu Chun poured cold water on her enthusiasm: “Don’t think Princess Yan is so impressive just because of this. She’s a tiger daughter from a military family, the eldest legitimate daughter of her household. Her education was naturally different from others. She started practicing basic skills at three or four years old and began archery at five, all personally taught by her father, Duke Weiguo Xu Da. Her equestrian and archery skills are sufficient to compete with the skilled Prince Yan. And you? You come from a family of scribes, used to holding pen holders. Without a foundation in martial training, practicing randomly like this, you could easily injure yourself…”
Amid Mu Chun’s incessant chatter, Hu Shanwei practiced a complete staff routine. Due to his interference, she nearly lost her grip during consecutive lifting strikes, once again feeling that Mu Chun was most adorable when silent.
Hu Shanwei deliberately changed the subject. “After you returned to the capital these past days, haven’t your father and uncle caused you any trouble?”
Previously, the celebration banquet had turned into a trap, with Uncle Feng Cheng beating Mu Ying into a bloody mess, causing a storm throughout the city.
Mu Chun laughed, “After returning to the capital, when I’m on duty I sleep in the palace duty rooms, and when I’m off duty I go to the memorial house near my mother’s tomb on Zhong Mountain, living together with the tomb keepers. With my mother watching from underground, Uncle and Father won’t cause me trouble…”
The Hongwu Emperor had selected his imperial mausoleum site at Zhong Mountain, currently under construction. To show imperial grace, the Hongwu Emperor granted the auspicious feng shui sites near Zhong Mountain to various founding ministers as ancestral burial grounds, making them rulers and subjects for generations to come.
Being granted burial at Zhong Mountain was an enormous honor.
Mu Chun’s mother, Feng Shi, was buried there. Near the tomb were memorial fields and a memorial house, supporting a household of tomb keepers. Mu Chun lived in the main room, gaining both peace and a reputation for filial piety.
It should be noted that Mu Chun previously had only the bad reputation of being a spoiled wastrel. Now he had become a filial son, and combined with his military achievements at Jiangxi’s Guaishi Ridge in suppressing bandits, Mu Chun earned praise as a prodigal son who had reformed.
Mu Chun said, “I no longer want to compete for the position of heir to Marquis Xiping. Just because I’m not the heir doesn’t mean I have no future prospects. Look at those Guaishi Ridge bandits—even they could become centurions after surrendering. In the future, I’ll establish my own household and earn myself a marquis title.”
Hu Shanwei was very happy for him. “You succeeded in your first battle. Your future achievements will certainly match your father’s.”
Mu Chun boasted shamelessly, “Of course! My father doesn’t like me, so I’m even more determined to achieve success, making him cover his ears but still hear news of my victories, watching me rise steadily in rank.”
Mu Chun’s prediction proved accurate. The Hongwu Emperor felt that his adopted grandson understood how to use filial duty at the tomb to resolve being caught between two sides. This prodigal son’s return, combined with his previous military achievements, deserved an opportunity. The emperor appointed him as Assistant Commander of the Rear Army Commander-in-Chief’s Office—not a nominal position but a real post, also commanding the Eagle Guard under the Rear Army Commander-in-Chief’s Office, responsible for protecting the capital’s security.
Assistant Commander was a second-rank military official.
The court officials were in uproar. Even his biological father Mu Ying couldn’t stand it, requesting during a great court session that Mu Chun first serve in a probationary role before being officially appointed, lest his son “hold a position without fulfilling duties, disappointing imperial grace.”
Uncle Feng Cheng rolled his eyes upon hearing this: What kind of father talks about his own son like that? Isn’t that being overly modest?
But the Hongwu Emperor said, “This child is my family member—no probation needed.”
The meaning was clear: this child is my family, no trial period required.
Thus the appointment was made, and Mu Chun rose from a lowly Embroidered Uniform Guard soldier to a second-rank Assistant Commander.
The happiest person about Mu Chun’s appointment was Embroidered Uniform Guard Commander Mao Qiang: finally, this plague god was gone!
So on the day Mu Chun departed, the Embroidered Uniform Guard office was filled with gongs and drums, firecrackers exploding—seeing off the plague god.
Mu Chun was deeply moved: “Commander Mao, you’re too kind. I’ll come back to visit often.”
Mao Qiang quickly said, “No need. New officials have three fires to start. You need to focus on controlling those monkeys in Eagle Guard. Also…”
Mao Qiang pushed forward the eight bandit centurions that Mu Chun had personally recruited at Jiangxi’s Guaishi Ridge: “They’re too talented for the Embroidered Uniform Guard—we don’t have suitable positions. Take them to your new post to shine. As a newcomer, you need to cultivate some trusted subordinates, and I think they have great potential.”
Mu Chun was moved to tears: “Commander Mao, you think of everything. You’re so good to me!”
Mu Chun left the Embroidered Uniform Guard office with his eight bandit-turned-centurions. Ji Gang quickly slammed the door shut with a bang.
After walking a few steps, Mu Chun turned back to knock on the door: “Commander Mao, I left the bow my uncle gave me in the office. I need to get it—it’s my grandfather’s relic.”
Mao Qiang refused to open the door, telling Ji Gang, “Go look in the duty room.”
Ji Gang found the longbow, wrapped it in a bedsheet, and threw it over the wall: “Catch!”
Mu Chun, carrying the longbow and leading his eight newly reformed bandit centurions, went to report to Eagle Guard, one of the imperial guard units.
Eagle Guard was almost entirely composed of military second-generation members with good backgrounds. This place gathered all kinds of difficult-to-manage dandies, troublemakers, rogues, and wastrels from the capital, plus a few geniuses who had inherited their elders’ military talents. It was truly a case of “when the forest is large, it has all kinds of birds”—every one of them looked down on others, and ordinary people couldn’t control them.
But Mu Chun was no ordinary person.
He had nobler birth, was more of a dandy, more troublesome, and more shameless than these people.
So Mu Chun to Eagle Guard was like Hu Shanwei to the Treasury—a perfect professional match, seamless integration. The Hongwu Emperor had planned this carefully; he hadn’t made a random pairing and intended to cultivate Mu Chun.
Indeed, Eagle Guard immediately gave their new Assistant Commander a show of force: the garrison gates were tightly closed, not letting him enter.
Mu Chun was shut out and asked his eight bandit centurions, “Who knows how to open doors?”
They were all skilled in petty crimes—picking locks and climbing walls was child’s play for them.
“Let this subordinate try,” said a thin, monkey-like centurion, taking a bear claw-shaped iron hook from his waist with a long rope attached. The centurion threw the iron claw toward the wooden watchtower above the gate, caught a wooden beam, then climbed the rope and reached the gate.
Besides the door bar, there was also a lock.
The centurion pulled a bronze ear-pick hairpin from his topknot, gently probed the lock, and it opened.
The centurion threw away the lock, opened the door, and let Mu Chun and the others enter.
What greeted Mu Chun was complete silence. Mu Chun struck the war drums on the training ground, summoning Eagle Guard’s twelve hundred soldiers.
After drumming for a long time, forget about soldiers—even the sparrows watching the show in the trees were startled away by the drum sounds.
The eight centurions returned to report: “Sir, we’ve checked—they’re all napping in the barracks.”
Mu Chun gave the thin monkey a piece of broken silver: “Go to the market and buy a cartload of firecrackers.”
When the firecrackers returned, Mu Chun distributed them evenly, throwing at least five strings of lit double-crackers into each barracks, then nailing the doors shut so no one could escape.
Mu Chun listened to the crackling of firecrackers and various screams from the barracks, finally feeling he’d vented his anger. He ordered his subordinates to wait until the firecrackers finished before drumming again.
When the drums sounded, all twelve hundred soldiers assembled—wanting to beat up Mu Chun.
Mu Chun began his speech: “From now on, when the drums sound, you must come assemble immediately. Those who don’t come will face punishment. Firecrackers are just a small matter—next time I’ll set off fireworks for your entertainment.”
A soldier with an injured leg from the explosions cursed: “You only got your position because of your marquis father! I don’t accept this!”
“I don’t accept it either!”
“None of us accept it!”
Mu Chun laughed: “You could enter Eagle Guard—wasn’t that also because of your fathers’ or grandfathers’ military achievements? You have the face to curse me? When you’ve also killed ten thousand rebels, then come curse at me!”
Mu Chun’s words and actions again aroused everyone’s anger.
Someone cursed: “Jiangxi is so far away, who knows if it’s true? The military respects martial prowess. Look at your pretty boy appearance—can you even fight?”
Mu Chun beckoned to that person: “Whether I can fight or not, you’ll know if you try.”
The man spat: “I won’t fall for that trick. Assaulting a superior officer, insubordination—that gets you a beating with military rods.”
Mu Chun said: “I pardon you from punishment! Do you dare?”
“What’s there not to dare!” The man jumped onto the platform: “Swords, spears, staffs, clubs—what shall we compete with?”
Mu Chun caught him off guard and kicked him off the platform: “Blades and swords have no eyes—let’s just compete with fists and feet!”
The man fell from the platform and cursed loudly: “You didn’t even say start! You cheated!”
Mu Chun laughed: “All’s fair in war—cheating is exactly right!”
Mao Qiang reported Eagle Guard’s recent situation to the emperor and empress: “…Commands are basically conveyed by shouting, training soldiers basically by scolding, drilling basically by mutual fighting, and authority basically by fists. There’s no hierarchy of superior and subordinate, no military discipline or rules, and no one respects him.”
The emperor and empress exchanged glances.
Mao Qiang added: “However, they all respect his fists.”
Soon it was the eighth day of the eighth month, Empress Ma’s forty-ninth birthday, the Thousand Autumn Festival. The court held a great banquet, and Mu Chun entered the palace to offer birthday congratulations, telling the emperor and empress that everything was going incredibly smoothly in his new post.
The emperor and empress deliberately ignored Mu Chun’s black eyes and swollen face covered with powder, and his slightly limping left leg, repeatedly praising him and commending his progress.
By the Mid-Autumn Festival on the fifteenth day of the eighth month, Hu Shanwei had completed her task of explaining the imperial bestowed books to the imperial family and relatives by marriage. With Princess Yan’s powerful intervention persuading her younger brother to quit gambling, actively responding to Empress Ma’s campaign to rectify family traditions and family law, who among the imperial relatives had more authority than Princess Yan?
Moreover, news of the Hongwu Emperor’s emphasis on hanging hundreds of iron plaques in the rear palace had spread outside the palace. Everyone was in danger, and no one dared to act against the wind or interfere with Hu Shanwei’s book explanation mission.
Fan Gongzheng secretly sighed that Hu Shanwei was a person with good fortune. The first time she undertook such a major task, she encountered noble assistance and successfully completed her mission—truly a case of circumstances creating heroes.
At the end of August, Zhou Sizan, who had gone far away to Prince Jin’s mansion in Taiyuan to deliver books, returned travel-worn. Hu Shanwei kept her promise and sent a jar of self-brewed chrysanthemum wine, waiting for Liu Siyan to return from Prince Qin’s mansion in Xi’an so they could feast together.
But by the end of September at the Frost Descent solar term, Liu Siyan’s group still had no news. They seemed to have vanished from the world—even all the post stations along the route said they hadn’t seen Liu Siyan’s group.
Shanggong Cao summoned Hu Shanwei to the Palace Administration Bureau, glaring coldly: “Liu Siyan is my person. She does things meticulously and couldn’t possibly disappear without reason. She went on this distant assignment because of your affairs. You must find her and bring her back to me.”