All of Great Sheng knew that Chen Baoxiang’s power and prestige had grown to rival the throne. The Crown Princess, who was about to ascend, was naturally well aware of this too.

She knelt beside her mother Emperor’s bed, and asked quietly: “A public execution, or a quiet one?”

Her mother Emperor cuffed her lightly on the head: “Do you think you can hold this realm together on your own? The four neighboring kingdoms are watching like wolves — for all these years, the only reason they’ve sent tribute every season and kept to their own borders is because Chen Baoxiang has been here. Do you understand that?”

The Crown Princess’s eyes cleared at once: “Then… how should Your Majesty have me reward her?”

Her mother Emperor shook her head: “No need for that either. She holds no ambitions of her own — but she is too conspicuous for comfort. Someone will always try to stir trouble by using her name to unsettle the court. Just send her a chest of silver every now and then. She has no other vices — that’s the one thing she loves.”

The Crown Princess nodded thoughtfully: “And what of her personal affairs?”

Her mother Emperor shook her head again: “Don’t go meddling in her household. Zhang Fengqing has never been someone to trifle with.”

A while back, she had entertained that idea herself — after all, it had been so many years together, and even the most beloved meal loses its novelty eventually. So she had found a young man of exceptional looks and sent him to Chen Baoxiang as an attendant.

That same night, Chen Baoxiang had fled to the palace and turned up hugging a pillow, looking utterly woeful: “Your Majesty, save me.”

“What’s happened?”

“The young man came to the door and said his name was Xiao Chu. I didn’t think anything of it and just repeated the name — Xiao Chu.” Chen Baoxiang’s expression was one of pure misery. “Zhang Fengqing overheard.”

So what if he overheard? It wasn’t as though Zhang Fengqing was going to abandon her over a name. Li Bingsheng was puzzled.

Chen Baoxiang continued, miming it out: “And so for the entire rest of that day — I asked Fengqing what he wanted for dinner, and he said, ‘Xiao Chu~.’ I asked Fengqing what he was busy with, and he said, ‘Busy watching Xiao Chu~.’ We were lying together perfectly peacefully, and he suddenly sat bolt upright, stared into thin air, and called out in the most pointed tone, ‘Xiao Chu~.'”

“I truly cannot bear it anymore. Your Majesty, please save me.”

Li Bingsheng thought through every difficult thing that had happened to her recently before she managed to keep herself from bursting out laughing.

She also understood Chen Baoxiang’s meaning: that household of hers had no room for anyone else.

So Li Bingsheng let the matter go, and recalled the young man.

The following day, after court was dismissed, she called Zhang Fengqing over for a casual word or two.

Zhang Fengqing clasped his hands together and said: “Xiao Chu is here.”

Li Bingsheng: “……”

What a remarkably petty man!

“Zhang Fengqing’s merits are his reliability, his deep command of law and governance, and his willingness to work for the good of the realm.” Li Bingsheng said with great solemnity to her Crown Princess. “But once he takes offense in matters of the heart — he can hold a grudge for months.”

The Crown Princess blinked: “Everyone says he is steady and composed.”

“In the court, yes.” Li Bingsheng said drily. “But have you ever seen a man who calls himself ‘Xiao Chu~’ before an Emperor for three solid months?”

The Crown Princess said nothing further, and added this crucial note to her personal handbook on managing her ministers.

And so when the Crown Princess later ascended to the throne, the gift she bestowed upon the Marquess Manor was a full-length portrait — Chen Marquess and Master Zhang standing side by side, she the picture of valor, he of refined brilliance.

In gratitude for the new Emperor’s favor, Zhang Fengqing went against the objections of the court and saw to it that the person she most loved was admitted into the palace.

The new Emperor sighed in quiet admiration: “My mother Emperor did not mislead me.”

Zhang Fengqing was like a bad-tempered cat — beautiful to behold, very good at catching mice — but one must never stroke him against the grain.

Master this principle, and the new Emperor found she governed him with ease.

When she wished to root out a corrupt official: she praised Chen Baoxiang lavishly, then sent Zhang Zhixu to handle it.

When she wished to extend the realm’s borders: she praised Zhang Zhixu lavishly, then sent Chen Baoxiang to handle it.

It never failed.

There were moments of difficulty, of course. In the third year of her reign, someone filed a complaint accusing Chen Baoxiang of commanding her own army and plotting to seize the throne.

She was still uncertain whether to believe it when Chen Baoxiang executed the accuser, walked into the palace, and surrendered her marshal’s seal and military tallies on the spot.

The new Emperor recognized the truth of what her mother Emperor had said: Chen Baoxiang did not have a single trace of treacherous intent — she was transparent and straightforward, untouched by any desire to cling to power.

What some called her flaw — the love of money — was, more accurately, a convenience left deliberately for whoever sat on the throne: one side provided funds, the other delivered results. Reliable, unwaveringly loyal. What Emperor would not want such a general?

There were still moments of unease, and the new Emperor had considered bringing one of the Chen family’s young sons into the palace.

But when Chen Baoxiang led in a string of little boys barely past the new Emperor’s waist and sincerely invited her to take her pick, she found she hadn’t the heart.

Great Sheng had no more great clans. No enemies threatened from without; no strife troubled within. Her throne was secure, the realm flourished, harvests were plentiful. Things were already very good — what more was there to reach for?

Chen Marquess fell ill in her eighty-second year, and did not recover. She did not linger long, and passed from the world quietly.

Master Zhang cared for his wife with great tenderness until the very end, and saw her buried with full honors beside the tomb of the loyal minister Ye Qiongxin.

Everyone assumed he would be all right — at their age, after so many decades together, surely there was nothing left undone. Surely there were no regrets.

But the very next morning, Master Zhang dressed himself neatly and completely, and sat down beneath the plaque his wife had written in her own hand — and, without a word, followed her.

Their children grieved, but at such an age, in Great Sheng, this was counted a peaceful and fortunate passing.

The new Emperor went in person to attend the joint burial rites.

Chen Baoxiang’s burial goods were many: the suit of armor passed down from the time of Ye Qiongxin; the swords and sabers that had accompanied her across half the world; the iron certificate of exemption bestowed by the Emperor herself; and great quantities of gold and silver.

“And what are these?” She pointed at two pieces of wood, worn smooth and faded beyond all recognition, and turned to ask.

“Perhaps some kind of ancestral keepsake — a family Buddha figure or something of the sort,” a young eunuch ventured. “Whatever Chen Marquess asked for personally to be buried with her must surely be of great value.”

A wooden figure, one arm outstretched — the gold leaf on its surface nearly worn away entirely. It did not look, at first glance, like much of anything.

But everyone knew Chen Baoxiang had loved fine and costly things all her life. Whatever she had chosen to hold in her hands must have been priceless — in its own way.

(The End)