Originally, when Hu Shanwei entered the palace to become a female official, she only wanted to use her talents to find a place to settle and make a living, escaping the pressure from her vicious stepmother and society’s forced marriages.
In this era, a woman who remained unmarried and childless at twenty would be pointed at and talked about, with people saying something was wrong with her. She hid in the library copying books, ignoring spring, summer, autumn and winter, but her father couldn’t withstand others’ pointing and idle gossip, always wanting to marry her off so she could live the life ordinary women should have.
However, all her beautiful dreams about marriage were connected to her fiancé—that young Centurion who would whistle and smile at her when riding past the library on horseback.
He would send a pot of sweet flag to refresh her eyes while copying books.
He would wear moon-white robes on Lantern Festival nights and climb Nanjing’s city walls with her to walk away illness, touching the door studs on the city gates, his tall frame protecting her from being pushed by crowds.
He would invite her to go spring outings in the suburbs and even taught her to ride horses.
Her heart had stirred with budding love, too shy to speak of it. Even at parting she never said the words aloud. While awaiting the northern expedition army’s victorious return, her body was like floating clouds, her heart like willow catkins, her breath like gossamer, her soul like wisps of green smoke drifting in the wind. She frequently copied characters wrong—only then did she understand this was lovesickness.
Never knowing lovesickness in life, only to learn it and be harmed by it.
But the Great Ming’s second northern expedition failed. The northern expedition army returned in crushing defeat, and the tall young man became a jar of ashes.
Having been treated with sincere gentleness by her fiancé, Shanwei could not, like others, make do with life and accept another marriage.
She remained the same gentle, kind, and quick-witted Shanwei, but no matter how many virtues and talents she possessed, simply by being a twenty-year-old spinster who repeatedly refused marriage proposals and wouldn’t marry, she became a monster and freak in worldly eyes, a family disgrace!
Take her stepmother Chen Shi—stupid, ignorant, harsh and spiteful—yet because Chen Shi had married and gotten pregnant, being a “normal” woman, she could brazenly bully her and scold her as “an old virgin who couldn’t get married even at nineteen.”
Becoming a female official freed her from worldly standards. In the Great Ming’s harem, knowledgeable people earned respect—whether one married or not didn’t matter.
This respect—Hu Shanwei hadn’t felt it since refusing marriage. Society subjected her to all manner of ridicule, mockery, and humiliation.
At this time, Hu Shanwei harbored no great ambitions. The kind of Seal Keeper female official who controlled the state seals that Mei Xiang described seemed beyond reach. She simply felt it was wonderful to be respected again—she would pass the Palace Administration’s examination and survive in the harem through her own abilities.
Hu Shanwei placed the mountain of official robes and new clothes from the canopy bed into wardrobes, with Mei Xiang helping alongside. To survive in the palace, one must understand this place where she would soon work.
Hu Shanwei asked: “Since His Majesty erected iron steles declaring that those who interfere in politics violate orders and will be executed, why did he spare that old eunuch and allow him to retire to his hometown?”
Mei Xiang bowed toward Kunning Palace: “Because Her Majesty the Empress is merciful. Remembering the old eunuch’s many years of service, she withstood His Majesty’s thunderous rage and advised him to show leniency, saying that when palace servants commit errors, the Palace Administration should punish them according to law, just as commoners and officials have laws to constrain them. If one replaces law with personal likes and dislikes, with superiors setting examples for subordinates, wouldn’t everything fall into chaos? At that time, the Palace Administration had no explicit order about executing those who interfered in harem politics, so the old eunuch saved his life. His Majesty then ordered iron steles erected on both eastern and western main streets of the harem—afterward, no one dared violate this.”
While explaining, Mei Xiang observed Hu Shanwei’s reaction to “Her Majesty the Empress.” How could a female official who had just entered the palace and not yet officially taken up her post receive shoes bestowed by the Empress? What connection did she have with the imperial family?
Unfortunately, Hu Shanwei showed no reaction. Mei Xiang thought: This girl is too shrewd—clearly she has connections to the Empress yet reveals not the slightest hint!
Mei Xiang didn’t dare ask directly, fearing Hu Shanwei would become suspicious. In the harem, the Empress was supreme. Clinging to this new female official’s coattails and warming up this cold stove might provide opportunities for advancement and a chance for elevation in the future.
Hu Shanwei didn’t notice Mei Xiang’s probing. She was thinking that the harem actually promoted rule of law—when one erred, they went to the Palace Administration to accept punishment. Even the Emperor seldom acted purely on whim, showing that palace regulations like “Several Ways to Die in the Great Ming Palace” weren’t merely warnings but also protection.
Dying with clear understanding was still better than dying in confusion.
At night, all the corridor housing was lit up—new female officials were all reading by lamplight, memorizing palace regulations.
With jeweled hair ornaments and cloud-like coiffures drooping in golden robes, delicate and graceful figures beside jade doors. New to palace prohibitions and unfamiliar with court affairs, reading by lamplight to memorize regulations.
The sound of reading from the corridor rooms continued until the third watch. Hu Shanwei dreamed of reciting palace regulations.
Meanwhile, in the prestigious western district of Nanjing, in the Marquis Xiping’s mansion west of Taicang Garden where noble families gathered, the legitimate eldest son Mu Chun knelt in the ancestral hall reciting family rules.
More precisely, his page boy was reciting for him. Anyway, all young men’s voices during voice change sounded similar—hoarse and immature, like ducks playing in water.
The real Mu Chun had arranged five prayer cushions together, using family rules and genealogy as pillows, curled up like a cat sleeping.
Marquis Xiping Mu Ying was dining with the Hongwu Emperor and Empress Ma in the palace, had afternoon social obligations, and only returned home late at night.
Marchioness Xiping Geng Shi had long been waiting anxiously outside the second gate for her husband’s return. Seeing Mu Ying come home, her face lit with joy as she personally helped her husband remove his bright red court robes and heavy five-beam crown: “Hot water is prepared for you to wash away the dust.”
“No need.” Mu Ying waved his hand, putting on half-worn everyday clothes and casually picking up a whip hanging on the wall: “I’m going to the ancestral hall to see Mu Chun.”
Geng Shi gave a meaningful look to a servant woman beside her. Understanding, the woman left the main room and told a little maid: “Quickly go to the ancestral hall and tell the young master that His Lordship is coming over immediately.”
The little maid ran as fast as she could, taking shortcuts to reach the ancestral hall first, waking Mu Chun who was sleeping curled up on the prayer cushions: “Young Master! His Lordship is coming!”
The little page boy quickly yielded his place to his young master. Mu Chun changed position, kneeling and loudly reciting family rules.
Mu Ying heard the recitation from the doorway, but his deeply furrowed brows didn’t relax. He entered and immediately struck with the whip. Mu Chun reacted quick as a monkey, rolling three times on the ground to dodge his father’s first lash.
Seeing this, the little page boy’s face went white with fright. He didn’t dare intervene, telling the informant maid: “Quick, call the Marchioness! His Lordship is whipping the young master with a whip—someone will die!”
Missing his first strike, Mu Ying swung the whip again. Mu Chun leaped to hide behind an incense burner.
Mu Ying, a hero all his life, couldn’t stand his son’s cowering and skulking. He pursued, raising the third lash.
Seeing the whip chase after him as if it had eyes, Mu Chun grabbed something golden and glittering like roof tiles from the offering table, holding it over his head to block.
Crack!
The iron-wire-reinforced whip left a white mark on the “golden tile”!
Both father and son were instantly stunned.
Mu Chun thought: Father is serious—if this lash hits my face, I’ll be scarred and disfigured. How would I face the Emperor in future? How would I marry?
Mu Ying thought: This is our family’s Golden Scroll and Iron Certificate! Wastrel son!
The Golden Scroll and Iron Certificate, commonly called the death-exemption medallion, was cast in bronze with characters carved and filled with gold powder, appearing magnificent and golden. Each founding great minister had one, beginning with “Founding Assistant in Governance and Loyalty,” recording what merits Mu Ying had established and how His Majesty had enfeoffed him as Marquis Xiping with hereditary succession.
It recorded that except for treason, it could exempt Mu Ying from death three times, while Mu Ying’s sons could be exempted twice—hence also called the death-exemption medallion.
The Golden Scroll and Iron Certificate was the only legal proof of noble title, like an official’s great seal. Loss or damage was the crime of deceiving the sovereign, punishable by death.
Mu Ying dropped his whip, seized the Golden Scroll and Iron Certificate, and kicked away his wastrel son. Fortunately, it wasn’t damaged—only the gold powder filling the characters had been shaken out. Having craftsmen reapply gold powder would suffice.
Mu Ying carefully returned the Golden Scroll and Iron Certificate to the ancestral hall’s offering table, wanting to pick up his whip to continue disciplining his wastrel son, only to discover Mu Chun had been quicker, already grabbing the whip defensively.
Mu Ying laughed coldly: “What? You dare strike your father?”
Mu Chun had retreated to the ancestral hall entrance—ready to attack or retreat: “Gentlemen use words, not violence. Let’s talk properly instead of fighting immediately. I’m your son, not your enemy.”
Mu Ying said: “I’m your father, not a gentleman. Just now you nearly destroyed the Golden Scroll and Iron Certificate—why don’t you quickly kneel and apologize!”
Mu Chun smelled alcohol on his father: “You’re drunk. I won’t be foolish enough to let you beat me.”
Mu Ying cursed: “You dare run? Unfilial thing, you won’t even listen to your father anymore.”
Mu Chun laughed: “Confucius said, facing parents’ beatings, ‘accept small sticks but flee from big sticks,’ to avoid placing parents in unrighteousness. I run to preserve your reputation as a father who cherishes his children.”
Mu Ying was both angry and amused: “The Imperial Academy’s chancellor complains to His Majesty every few days about your truancy. I see you’ve learned quite well—in less than a year, you can use Confucius’s words to argue with your father. Your courage grows ever greater—you even dare privately associate with female officials, giving her Empress Ma’s shoes. External ministers having private relationships with internal officials is a capital crime!”
So this was the reason.
Mu Chun found it amusing: “I grew up in the palace—how could I not understand the danger of privately associating with internal servants? I was completely above board. The Empress’s personal items—their sources and destinations are all clearly recorded by female officials in account books. I told the Empress that female official was pitiful, having no shoes and entering the palace barefoot. The Empress then bestowed a pair of boots, ordering me to deliver them to her. The Imperial Wardrobe Bureau recorded everything—it was the Empress who gave them, not me.”
Only then did Mu Ying feel relieved: “In any case, you’ve grown up now and can’t enter and exit the harem at will as before, joking and playing with female officials and palace maids. Starting tomorrow, you needn’t go to the Imperial Academy to embarrass yourself anymore—tonight I drank with Jinyiwei Commander Mao Qiang, and he wants you to report to the Jinyiwei tomorrow for assignment.”
Mu Chun was very disappointed: “Father, the Jinyiwei in the imperial palace are just gatekeepers, or honor guards when His Majesty travels. As long as you’re good-looking with decent birth, that’s enough. What accomplishment could there be? I won’t do it—I want to go to the frontier, I want to protect home and defend the country.”
“You understand nothing—going to war now would be sending you to die.” Mu Ying had a headache and was too lazy to argue with his son: “Imperial Academy or Jinyiwei—choose one.”
Mu Chun thought it over—choosing the lesser of two evils: “Fine, I’ll go find Mao Qiang at the Jinyiwei tomorrow.”
“That’s Commander Mao.” Mu Ying said: “Don’t be disrespectful—whatever Commander Mao tells you to do, you do it.”
Mu Chun agreed and, fearing his father would strike again, fled like smoke.
As soon as Mu Chun left, Marchioness Xiping Geng Shi arrived, crying loudly from afar: “Don’t beat him anymore! If you want to beat him to death, beat me first! As his mother, it’s all my fault—if the son isn’t taught, it’s the mother’s failure. I didn’t discipline him properly, leading to this great mistake…”
Geng Shi entered the ancestral hall weeping and wailing, tears and snot covering her face, only to discover her stepson wasn’t there—only her husband was offering incense to ancestors alone.
Geng Shi felt somewhat embarrassed, unsure whether to stop crying or continue.
Then a fragrant breeze approached as a group of beauties also reached the ancestral hall. But as concubines, they weren’t qualified to enter the ancestral hall, standing outside calling sweetly: “My lord, you’ve returned.”
These were Marquis Xiping’s mansion’s concubines.
Mu Ying had no other hobbies except loving beautiful women.
His first wife Feng Shi, Mu Chun’s mother, was of noble birth—the legitimate eldest daughter of Duke Yingguo Feng Guoyong. With a proud temperament, she forbade her husband from taking concubines. Historical records even state that Feng Shi subjected servant girls who became pregnant after offering themselves to her husband to “severe punishment and forced abortion.”
Harming offspring violated one of the seven grounds for divorce and warranted repudiation. But Feng Shi’s father Feng Guoying had died young, killed in battle at thirty-six. The Hongwu Emperor and Empress Ma pitied Feng Shi as a poor orphaned daughter and forbade Mu Ying from divorcing her.
Moreover, Feng Shi’s uncle—her father’s own younger brother—was Duke Songguo Feng Sheng, who was still alive and well. Duke Songguo’s mansion was Feng Shi’s second maternal home, a major support.
With the Feng family producing two dukes, Mu Ying didn’t dare move against Feng Shi and could only endure.
The couple grew estranged, becoming bitter spouses. After Feng Shi gave birth to Mu Chun, she was depressed daily and died of illness before finishing her confinement month.
Mu Ying was only in his early twenties—a talented young man who quickly married Geng Shi, legitimate eldest daughter of Marquis Changxing Geng Bingwen.
Geng Shi learned from her predecessor Feng Shi’s lesson, no longer obstructing her husband from taking concubines. She became a virtuous wife and good mother who could tolerate anything, even recommending beauties to her husband.
Mu Ying offered incense to ancestors and left the ancestral hall, seeing Beauty Li’s slender waist and pitiful appearance, then Beauty Zhang’s spring-filled eyes and delicate beauty. Whom should he choose tonight?
Wealthy, powerful men with energy never needed to make choices. Taking advantage of his wine-induced mood, Mu Ying took Beauty Li’s and Beauty Zhang’s hands, heading together to their silk curtained bed.
Marchioness Xiping Geng Shi lay alone with sleepless pillow.