In the “Records of the Grand Historian: Biographies of Jesters,” there’s an excellent story called “Ximen Bao Governs Ye,” about how Ximen Bao stopped the evil custom of drowning beautiful women in the river as sacrifices to the river god. He used the excuse that the sacrificial woman wasn’t beautiful enough, claiming he needed to notify the river god that today’s woman wasn’t lovely and they would find a prettier girl.
He successively threw the chief witch, the three elders, and other key organizers of the ritual into the river to “tell the river god.” These people naturally all drowned, and from then on, no one dared mention sacrificing women again.
Hu Shanwei loved reading historical texts and learned methods of handling affairs from them. For instance, Ximen Bao’s governance of Ye taught her that if you want to solve a problem, the fastest way is to eliminate the troublemakers—things quickly quiet down.
So when Lady of Marquis Changxing ignored her advice and stubbornly insisted that the unwell Lady of Marquis Xiping “could persist a bit longer,” Hu Shanwei cut the Gordian knot and eliminated the problem-maker, decisively excluding Lady of Marquis Changxing from the grand court assembly procession as well.
Lady of Marquis Changxing couldn’t quite believe it, but the palace attendants naturally followed the female official’s instructions, enthusiastically making welcoming gestures: “Please this way, both marquis ladies. A female physician will come to examine Lady of Marquis Xiping shortly.”
Even without illness, a female physician had to come take her pulse and examine her, lest outsiders say the palace made mountains out of molehills.
During the three major annual festivals with three grand court assemblies, the standard was that every step must be flawless. Making mountains out of molehills was precisely to prevent irreversible errors.
In full public view, with the noble ladies’ procession stretching beyond sight, Lady of Marquis Changxing and Lady Geng of Marquis Xiping couldn’t possibly make a scene for face’s sake.
Lady Geng even had a flash of inspiration and pretended to faint, creating an excuse for her mother to miss court audience due to worry for her daughter. Palace attendants quickly ordered four sturdy female sedan bearers to carry Lady Geng to a side hall for rest.
Palace attendants conveyed the news to Cui Shangyi of the Court Bureau of Rites. Cui Shangyi’s heart initially leaped to her throat, but hearing that Hu Shanwei had “sent” both mother and daughter marquis ladies to the side hall for rest and requested leave for them, she immediately felt relieved, privately celebrating her decision to arrange the external support Hu Shanwei to guide this difficult group of capital noble ladies.
Only a female official like Hu Shanwei—unafraid of the powerful, quick-thinking, decisive in action, both steady and accurate, while also occupying the moral high ground—could suppress this group of arrogant noble ladies.
Indeed, choosing her was right.
Cui Shangyi said: “Understood. Tell Chief Hu to work with confidence and boldness. I’ll report to Her Majesty the Empress.”
On the day of the grand court assembly, all seven senior female officials from the six bureaus and one department gathered around Empress Ma. The Empress was having her hair arranged, with her nine-phoenix crown plus various gold and silver ornaments weighing over twenty catties—quite heavy.
Hearing Cui Shangyi’s report, Empress Ma nodded: “I already issued an edict that all weak, elderly, or pregnant noble ladies are excused from court. During New Year, household matrons are all busy. If Lady of Marquis Xiping is ill from exhaustion, grant her exemption from the Lantern Festival court audience on the fifteenth of the first month as well. Also, Xu Shangshi, properly arrange for the pharmaceutical department’s female officials to care for Lady of Marquis Xiping.”
Empress Ma’s words actually had two layers of meaning. The first was the literal meaning, the second was the implication—the real meaning: household matrons are all busy, and almost all attending court are household matrons—only you’re busy? How are the others fine? Knowing your health is poor, don’t come causing trouble. The Empress already issued an edict allowing leave—you insisted on “persisting through illness.” The imperial palace isn’t a place for melodramatic performances; it requires following rules.
Mu Ying was Empress Ma’s adopted son. Usually during Lantern Festival, he would bring his wife and children to the palace to kowtow and offer congratulations to Empress Ma. Now Lady Geng couldn’t enter the palace for Lantern Festival either—this was a form of disguised “reward”—actually bright reward but dark punishment.
Xu Shangshi quickly said: “Yes, I’ll immediately arrange for Director Ru to go examine her.”
Director Ru was highly skilled in medicine. Having a sixth-rank female official treat Lady Geng’s condition was consideration for adopted son Mu Ying’s face.
Now, Hu Shanwei dismissed the two troublesome marquis ladies to the side hall in just a few words, and the process continued. The noble ladies, knowing this young beautiful female official was not to be trifled with, were much more cooperative in subsequent procedures.
In Kunning Palace’s main hall, inner noble ladies stood in front, followed by the outer noble ladies procession led by Grand Lady Lan of Duke Zhengguo, guided by Hu Shanwei.
At this time, the great Ming imperial family was small in number. Countesses’, marchionesses’, and duchesses’ wives still had standing room inside the hall. When it came to the third-rank noble ladies’ procession, they had to stand outside the hall in the cold wind.
When the auspicious time arrived, civil and military officials of fourth rank and above in the front court’s Qianqing Palace, and noble ladies of third rank and above in the rear palace’s Kunning Palace, simultaneously paid respects to the Emperor and Empress.
Officials performed five bows and three kowtows; noble ladies only performed four bows without kowtowing, so no cushions were laid on the ground.
This also considered the noble ladies’ actual circumstances—all were delicate, wearing phoenix crowns weighing over twenty catties on their heads, necks nearly breaking, and it was cold weather. If they had to kowtow too, their necks probably couldn’t straighten up again.
After the four bows, Empress Ma announced the bestowal of a banquet. Noble ladies were guided by female officials to their seats for the feast, with female musicians playing and singing various court repertoires to control the banquet’s rhythm.
Court banquets weren’t a group of people eating, drinking, and toasting each other. When to raise cups, when to drink, when to toast—all had female officials providing guidance nearby.
Hu Shanwei guided Lady Lan and other noble ladies to their seats. After all noble ladies were seated, Empress Ma entered surrounded by the seven senior “Shang”-ranked female officials.
When Empress Ma entered the hall, female musicians began playing “Flying Dragon Melody.” Hu Shanwei whispered: “Rise, bow.”
The noble ladies stood and bowed to welcome Empress Ma.
Empress Ma walked very slowly—not deliberately showing off to make noble ladies bow to her, but because Cui Shangyi, who guided the ceremony, had to time it perfectly so Empress Ma would reach the phoenix chair exactly as “Flying Dragon Melody” ended.
Like flag-raising ceremonies centuries later—how embarrassing if the flag reached the top but the music wasn’t finished yet.
Empress Ma sat behind the phoenix table just as the music ended.
Female musicians began singing “Dance of Pacifying the World.” Empress Ma raised her cup. Hearing the song begin, Hu Shanwei quickly signaled the noble ladies: “Raise cups.”
All noble ladies raised cups and drank the first toast together. Two musicians and thirty-three dancers performed “Dance of World Pacification” for entertainment.
When “Song of Looking Up to Heavenly Grace” played, Hu Shanwei again said: “Raise cups.”
The noble ladies raised cups for the second communal drink. Meanwhile, the dance changed to “Dance of Pacifying the Four Barbarians”—Korean dance, Ryukyu dance, Muslim dance, and Northern Barbarian dance. Each dance featured four dancers, seventeen musicians, and two singers performing together.
When “Song of Feeling the Emperor’s Virtue” played, Hu Shanwei signaled the third communal drink while appreciating “Dance of Unified Carriages and Scripts” performed by thirty-four dancers.
Playing “Song of People’s Joyful Life” brought the fourth cup’s time, with “Dance of Displaying Righteousness to Ten Thousand States” performed by sixty-four dancers for entertainment.
After “Song of Feeling Imperial Grace” and the fifth cup—the final cup—came “Victory Dance of Whips and Tassels Over Barbarian Troops” with a full one hundred and four musicians and dancers participating, pushing the banquet to its climax.
During the above songs and dances, noble ladies from each table took turns being guided by female officials to audience with Empress Ma at the phoenix table, all getting opportunities to see the Empress up close.
For over two hundred noble ladies, without needing female officials’ whispered reminders, Empress Ma could accurately state each person’s name, asking young ones about children at home and elderly ones about their health—very intimate. Thus, Empress Ma had a reputation for virtue and worthiness.
The Empress wasn’t a temple Buddha who just needed others’ worship. Being a qualified empress required understanding these ministers’ family members. Just memorizing name lists took considerable painstaking effort.
Because she had to receive all banquet-attending noble ladies, except for drinking during each song’s toast, Empress Ma had no time to eat. The dishes on the phoenix table were merely decorative.
After all noble ladies completed their audiences and the music and dance neared conclusion, Cui Shangyi gave the musicians a meaningful look. Understanding, they switched to playing “Ten Thousand Years of Spring.”
“Ten Thousand Years of Spring” was equivalent to “An Unforgettable Evening” at Spring Festival galas five hundred years later. When this music began, all female officials knew it was ending.
Hu Shanwei whispered: “Raise cups, toast: ‘All people peaceful and joyful, the world at peace.'”
Accompanied by “Ten Thousand Years of Spring,” the noble ladies raised cups under female officials’ guidance and said in unison: “All people peaceful and joyful, the world at peace!”
The noble ladies drank this cup together, then performed four bows to thank Empress Ma for the banquet. The elaborate banquet formally ended.
Everyone stood to respectfully send off Empress Ma.
After Empress Ma left, female officials guided their respective processions out of Kunning Palace in the same order they had arrived, with only Lady Lan still riding the phoenix sedan bestowed by Empress Ma.
According to custom, female officials only escorted noble ladies to the Inner Palace Bureau—their task was then complete.
Grand Lady Lan of Duke Zhengguo first thanked Hu Shanwei: “Chief Hu worked hard today.”
Lady Lan was the wife of Chang Yuchun, who massacred Suzhou. Due to her mother’s death, Hu Shanwei found it difficult to feel favorably toward Lady Lan. She struggled to suppress old painful wounds in her heart and spoke perfunctorily: “I accepted Cui Shangyi’s commission to guide you all in the grand court assembly. Thank you all for your cooperation—I finally didn’t disgrace my mission.”
The noble ladies looked at each other: She was the legendary Hu Shanwei? The Hu Shanwei who had caused even noble consorts and imperial princes to stumble?
Hu Shanwei was a female official of the Palace Administration Bureau. Everyone knew that guiding noble ladies for palace audiences was the Court Bureau of Rites’ responsibility. The noble ladies hadn’t expected Palace Administration Bureau’s Hu Shanwei to come guide them.
No wonder this female official settled Lady of Marquis Changxing and Lady of Marquis Xiping in just a few words—she was the legendary Hu Shanwei!
This mother-daughter pair were blind, kicking the iron plate that was Hu Shanwei—their misfortune. And Lady Lan was Empress Ma’s in-law, the Crown Prince’s mother-in-law—naturally she could identify Hu Shanwei’s name and position…
All noble ladies looked at Hu Shanwei, memorizing this face. Previously, through book compilation and bestowal, Hu Shanwei had only gained fame among inner noble ladies. Now she also left her name among outer noble ladies.
Countless gazes focused on Hu Shanwei’s face. She didn’t retreat but magnanimously accepted everyone’s “attention ceremony,” saying: “Little eunuchs will guide you all out of the palace shortly. I have other matters—I’ll take my leave first.”
Hu Shanwei was still concerned about the door bolt on her roof.
The noble ladies bid farewell and made way for Hu Shanwei to pass through.
Having completed her task, Hu Shanwei walked home. Just entering her courtyard gate, she was stunned by the scene before her: her house roof had collapsed by more than half, with yellow glazed tiles smashed into the house or scattered throughout the courtyard—a complete mess.
“What happened?” Hu Shanwei asked the apologetic Huang Weide.
Before Huang Weide could speak, a person covered in dust and soot limped out of the house stepping on broken glazed tiles.
That person held a handful of snow to clean his face—it was the flower-like beautiful Ji Gang.
It turned out that after Hu Shanwei left, Huang Weide had little eunuchs fetch ladders from storage to climb the roof and retrieve the door bolt.
Ji Gang happened to be on duty today. Having experienced life and death with Hu Shanwei in Zhouzhi County, they had turned swords into plowshares and become friends.
Ji Gang volunteered enthusiastically to help. Huang Weide felt that Ji Gang’s high martial arts skills and training made him more suitable for such work than little eunuchs, so he agreed.
Initially everything went smoothly. Ji Gang climbed the ladder onto the roof, picked up the door bolt, and threw it into the courtyard. But he discovered several glazed tiles on the ridge were cracked by the door bolt and would leak rain, so he ordered subordinates to bring replacement tiles.
Ji Gang thought changing tiles was simple, but after installation, he couldn’t fit them properly—always leaving gaps or having half a tile left over.
Ji Gang simply removed surrounding tiles to reassemble them—Ji Gang was a person of unlimited creativity but very limited wisdom.
The result was more and more glazed tiles removed, the roof hole growing bigger and bigger, completely impossible to reassemble.
Not only that, Ji Gang felt embarrassed. In his anxiety, with ice and snow frozen on the roof, his feet slipped and he fell, crashing down with tiles directly onto Hu Shanwei’s bed.
The thick bedding saved Ji Gang’s life, though his left leg was struck by a beam and somewhat injured.
“…That’s what happened.” Ji Gang forced a smile. “Broken pieces mean safety—this is a good omen!”
Three days without beating, and he’d climb up to remove roof tiles. Hu Shanwei laughed angrily: “Thank you, Director Ji. Tonight I can sleep while gazing at the moon—how wonderful.”