Song Chuyi was true to her word. Upon returning, she immediately discussed the matter with Yin Yunduan. Seeing Yin Yunduan’s face showing incomprehension, she reached out to hold her hand and softly called out “Elder Sister Yin.”
This was how Song Chuyi had called her several times before her marriage. For a moment Yin Yunduan felt somewhat dazed, until her belly moved gently and she finally reacted, placing her hand on her stomach to stroke it soothingly. She looked toward Song Chuyi with an extremely gentle expression: “Elder Du was once Prince Gong’s teacher. If you do this… I’m afraid that in the eyes of those with ulterior motives, it would be an enormous weakness to exploit.”
Song Chuyi shook her hand and couldn’t help but laugh: “Mother, rest assured. This is a relative connection that takes seventeen or eighteen turns to even touch upon—what weakness could there be to speak of? If we’re going to talk this way, which family in the capital doesn’t have some distantly related connections going back three generations? If we truly speak this way, Lord Qin’s two daughters are even cousins with the late Princess Consort Duan, so wouldn’t that make Lord Qin part of Prince Duan’s faction? Yet I see that he hasn’t been dismissed or rejected by His Majesty because of this matter.”
Yin Yunduan had always known her stepdaughter’s extraordinary nature. Hearing these words, she understood that Song Chuyi had already made her decision. She complied and nodded: “Since you think it’s good, then naturally it’s good. I’ll go back and mention it to Mother.”
She actually shared the same thoughts as Old Madam Song and First Madam Song had previously—feeling that Song Chuyi choosing Ye Jingchuan would be much better, better for everyone. Given Song Yi’s temperament, if Song Chuyi became Crown Princess and he, not being particularly shrewd to begin with, once became too prominent and was schemed against by others to be used as a target against Song Chuyi, that would truly be an unwarranted disaster. There was already precedent for this—the Shen family had schemed against him before. But though she naturally thought this way, she had always been a sensible person who knew that some things were pointless to dwell on. Now that Song Chuyi was already the imperially designated Crown Princess, no matter how afraid she was, she had to accept this fact and cooperate well with Song Chuyi. Therefore, since Song Chuyi said she should accept this flattery from the Du family, she naturally had no reason to refuse. Accepting was just accepting—it wasn’t like she’d lose anything anyway. Actually, privately, she knew very well that Song Yi couldn’t compare with Song Chuyi. This girl was not an ordinary person. Rather than relying on Song Yi, it was better to rely on Song Chuyi, especially now when even if she didn’t want to rely on her, she had to—she was now the Crown Princess, after all. If something happened to her, even the Song family would suffer together with her.
Song Chuyi was crucial to the Song family’s survival or destruction. Old Master Song himself lacked this awareness. He sat across from Emperor Jianzhang, watching Emperor Jianzhang place a stone on the board, and conceded defeat without any hesitation: “This subject has lost.”
Previously, the task of playing chess with Emperor Jianzhang was always done by Chief Minister Chang. Song Chengru actually didn’t have this honor—this was the first time in these several years that Emperor Jianzhang had summoned him to play chess.
Emperor Jianzhang glanced at him, looking at the chess board before him with an expression that was neither quite a smile nor not: “I’ve heard that Old Song’s chess skills are extremely refined. Seeing for myself today, how is it not as good as the rumors suggest? You’re not deliberately letting me win, are you?”
Song Chengru replied calmly and composedly: “This subject’s chess skills are truly mediocre, inferior to Your Majesty’s.”
Emperor Jianzhang made a sound of acknowledgment, smiling as he lowered his head again: “I thought Old Song was being overly cautious and timid because you’d heard the recent rumors circulating in the capital, being so careful that you didn’t even dare display your skills.”
Here it comes! Song Chengru’s heart tightened, but his face didn’t show it. With an impassive expression, he looked respectfully at Emperor Jianzhang: “This old subject knows nothing of any rumors, only the two words ‘loyalty to the sovereign.'”
Having interacted as sovereign and subject for so many years, even though Emperor Jianzhang didn’t trust Song Chengru as intimately as he did Chief Minister Chang, he understood Song Chengru’s temperament quite well. Hearing him say this, his fingers slowly moved to the board to pick up a chess piece and change its position. Without raising his head, he asked: “Oh? Loyal to which sovereign?”
Song Chengru’s aged face finally turned white as he knelt on the ground, cupping his hands toward Emperor Jianzhang: “This old subject doesn’t understand Your Majesty’s meaning. Please enlighten me, Your Majesty.”
Emperor Jianzhang’s voice carried a trace of laziness, yet the words he spoke contained the weight of thunder: “Previously I didn’t notice, but later I heard some idle talk and originally intended to laugh it off. Yet sometimes when I think carefully about it, it does seem to make some sense. In the northwest there’s Shaoting keeping watch, in the court managing Works affairs while also holding the position of Junior Minister of the Court of Imperial Insignia is Yingshu, and you, Old Song, are also our dynasty’s only Elder who entered the Grand Secretariat with the status of Minister of Personnel…”
Even though he had prepared himself long ago and roughly anticipated this reprimand would come sooner or later, Song Chengru’s complexion still grew increasingly pale, cold sweat already faintly seeping out at his temples.
Yet Emperor Jianzhang’s words continued: “In the palace, Consort Song has a Ninth Prince, and Weizhao’s future wife is your own granddaughter. Calculating it this way, Old Song, your blessings are truly considerable.”
Song Chengru’s head had already knocked against the ground. He kowtowed deeply, then took a deep breath and looked toward Emperor Jianzhang: “Your Majesty speaks thus, leaving this old subject with no ground to stand upon…”
He knelt on the ground, his pale complexion tinged with some flush born of indignation: “This old subject is Your Majesty’s subject. In my eyes and heart, I naturally recognize only Your Majesty alone. As for other matters of wealth and status, this old subject knows nothing of them.”
Emperor Jianzhang neither confirmed nor denied this, glancing at him and smiling as he returned the chess piece to its original position: “I only hope Old Song’s heart and mouth truly match.”
Song Chengru naturally responded with righteous words, then requested leave from Emperor Jianzhang: “This old subject is aged and befuddled, unable to bear this heavy responsibility. I request Your Majesty choose another worthy person.”
“Old Song just said you only know the two words ‘loyalty to the sovereign’—why are you bringing up retirement now when things are fine?” Emperor Jianzhang’s gaze focused on the chess board, his pleasure or anger inscrutable: “If others didn’t know better, they’d think you’re unwilling to be my subject.”
Song Chengru knew that Emperor Jianzhang was indeed as Song Chuyi had predicted—he found his sons’ endless conflicts tiresome to the extreme and also deeply taboo.
The more such a time, naturally the more he himself couldn’t become flustered. Song Chengru looked frankly and directly ahead, prostrating himself on the ground to express his loyalty: “This old subject is Your Majesty’s subject and naturally loyal to Your Majesty. Although there are many rumors in the capital now, though this old subject has a clear conscience, but…”
“Since you have a clear conscience, why speak of resigning or not resigning?” Emperor Jianzhang’s face showed no pleasure or anger, his voice consistent as always: “Old Song, you’re just being too cautious.” He laughed once, seeing Song Chengru kneeling straight and rigid. Saying “rise then,” he smiled again: “But having this kind of caution is always better than not having it. I hope you’ll always maintain this caution.”
Previously he’d called him “Old Song,” now changed to “Old Song” again. Hearing this form of address, Song Chengru first secretly breathed a sigh of relief in his heart—since his resignation wasn’t accepted, this trial had finally been passed.