Behind the crystal-bead curtain, incense smoke rose in a slow blue haze from the golden lion censer, and the man’s voice was especially cold and sharp: “Lost them? After all this time, you can’t even find two commoners?”
The man kneeling at the foot of the steps was drenched in cold sweat, his head bowed: “Your Highness, please calm your anger. The Western Market was truly too crowded that day—a momentary carelessness on the part of my subordinates let them escape. But this pair of siblings is genuinely strange, as though someone behind them is helping conceal their tracks each time; they can disappear into thin air. At Taiyuan prefecture last time, they vanished without a trace—and for two full years there was absolutely no news of them. If it weren’t for seeing them on Vermilion Sparrow Street this time, this subordinate would have assumed they were already dead.”
Prince Wei let out a cold laugh and snapped: “Useless.”
The subordinate dared not argue back; his forehead pressed deep into the ground. Prince Wei narrowed his eyes, his fingers stroking the armrest, sinking into thought.
To escape his dragnet and remain completely hidden for two years without the slightest leak—these were no ordinary country folk. There was definitely someone of ability helping them behind the scenes.
Who could it be?
Prince Wei could not help thinking of the intelligence passed along by the two Zhang brothers. Two years ago, when the palace was investigating a theft, an old palace maid had let something slip: in the thirty-second year of the Yonghui era, during the fiercest period of the Empress’s struggle with Crown Prince Zhanghuai, the Eastern Palace had housed a Liangdi who became pregnant. At the time, Crown Prince Zhanghuai was mired in accusations of treason; seeing which way the wind was blowing, he had used medicine to induce an early labor, sent the child out of the Eastern Palace with a trusted aide, reasoning that if he met with misfortune, at least a bloodline would survive in the outside world.
Afterward, the story the Eastern Palace reported was that the Liangdi had stumbled and fallen and could not keep the child. In reality, the infant had already been sent outside the palace. Prince Wei, following the old palace maid’s account, traced the trusted aide’s destination to the Zhongnan Mountains—close to the Duke Zhenguo household’s mountain villa.
Prince Wei spent a long time covertly investigating the servants of the Ming family’s mountain villa, and pried out of them that in the thirty-second year of the Yonghui era, Duchess Wang Yulan of the Duke Zhenguo household had indeed been waiting at the villa for her confinement and given birth to a pair—a boy and a girl. Sadly, Wang Yulan suffered a fatal postpartum hemorrhage and died; Nanny Su, who had served her, announced her retirement and left the villa before dawn, departing before anyone could see her.
Interesting: the Ming family’s twin pair and Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s posthumous child were born in the same year—in fact, only one day apart.
Prince Wei never believed in coincidences in the imperial court. He immediately sent men to investigate Nanny Su, who had left so suddenly. A sudden departure was suspicious in itself—and there was more: people said that during that period, Nanny Su’s daughter-in-law had also given birth, and that Nanny Su, who had been attending Wang Yulan at the villa all along, suddenly said she had received word from home and had to go tend to her daughter-in-law. She left in such haste she did not even say farewell, as if terrified of being seen. After that, news came that her whole family had gone back to their hometown.
Two years ago, Prince Wei’s men went to Taiyuan and located that pair of siblings from the Su Family. But before he could make a move to seize them, the siblings vanished.
This only confirmed Prince Wei’s suspicion: one of these two siblings had to be Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s surviving heir—otherwise, what were they hiding from?
Prince Wei turned the matter inside out for two years and came up with nothing. He had actually been on the verge of giving it up when, on the day they entered the capital, a subordinate suddenly reported that the missing pair of siblings had been spotted in the street.
Prince Wei immediately sent men after them—but these useless fools let them escape again. Prince Wei said grimly: “Send more men and keep searching. Even if we have to dig three feet into the ground, we will dig those two out!”
The subordinate complied in terror, bowing and backing out of the room. Once he had gone, Prince Wei sat alone amid the deep, lingering fragrance of camphor incense and mused to himself: perhaps there was more than one possibility at play.
Someone had seen the older Su boy before the Li Xian affair came to a head; that young lad was definitely a farm boy with no connection to Li Xian. If the younger of the Su children was not Li Xian’s surviving heir, then among the Ming family’s twin pair, one of them had to be false.
Prince Wei gave a short, sharp laugh, rose to his feet, swept up his cape, and headed out. Today the examination results were being posted—the first grand affair of the court since his aunt’s return to the capital. He needed to go to the palace to make a good showing, and along the way he might as well go and see Princess Taiping.
That useless weakling of a crown prince—truly beyond hope. Prince Wei genuinely could not understand why his aunt wished to pass the throne to him.
The Li family was biting onto the bone and refusing to let go; the Crown Prince, Prince Xiang, and Princess Taiping had all twisted themselves into a single cord, single-mindedly scheming to wrest the throne back from the Wu family’s hands. He would have to laugh—he wanted to see if, once the matter of secretly sheltering the deposed crown prince’s surviving heir was brought to light, those people could still keep their heads.
·
At this moment, the area outside the east wall of the Ministry of Rites was a sea of people—extraordinarily lively. Not only were the candidates’ relatives and friends waiting, but many commoners and the great noble houses were also keeping vigil by the high wall, stretching their necks to watch for the posted rankings.
Most of the commoners were there for the spectacle—Chang’an had not seen such a lively event in a long time, and the younger generation of young ladies did not even know what a new Presented Scholar’s street procession or name-inscribing at the Wild Goose Pagoda looked like. Those older Chang’an residents reminisced about the splendor of the newly graduated scholars riding through Chang’an in a single day to view all the flowers during Emperor Gaozong’s time, while eagerly anticipating the new talented young men who were about to emerge.
These were the first scholars to graduate under the Empress’s patronage since her return to the western capital—they represented the Empress’s attitude toward the old capital. Not only were the officials at court paying close attention; the commoners of Chang’an were also looking forward to a grand event, to a complete restoration of Chang’an’s former glory.
As for the great noble houses keeping their vigil—that was more a case of those closest to the water getting the moon first. Newly graduated Presented Scholars were extremely sought-after on the Chang’an marriage market, and many high officials and wealthy families liked to select sons-in-law from among the new graduates.
Especially the young, handsome, and refined young men—at the moment the rankings were posted, fights might well break out, with wealthy families’ retainers gripping their clubs and clubs and seizing whichever man they could get their hands on, no matter who he was, hauling him home to marry their young mistress first and ask questions later. Hence the practice had come to be mockingly called “snatching a husband from beneath the posting board.”
Ming Huazhang had no desire to get mixed up in such farce, but Ming Huashang had insisted and dragged him along to watch the rankings. Squeezed into the milling crowd, Ming Huazhang sighed: “After the results are posted, the court will send someone to deliver the news. What’s the rush?”
“It’s not the same.” Ming Huashang linked her arm through Ming Huazhang’s and stood on her tiptoes to peer ahead. “For something like this, only seeing it for yourself has any meaning. Hearing it from someone else feels completely different.”
Ming Huazhang exhaled softly. He very much wanted to say that at least three people on the list had been pre-selected as Presented Scholars, and that the so-called “Golden List and Inscribed Name” was rather hollow. But seeing how eagerly she was anticipating it, Ming Huazhang did not have the heart to dampen her spirits, and so he unobtrusively shielded her from the surrounding candidates and waited with her outside the wall.
It seemed as though they had reverted to their normal relationship as siblings—a younger sister clinging to her elder brother’s arm, an elder brother escorting his younger sister. Neither had brought up the conversation beneath the grapevine trellis on that evening again.
But some things had inevitably changed. Ming Huashang was very careful to keep her distance from his body, holding only his sleeve; Ming Huazhang extended a hand to shield her from the crowd at his side but also took care not to touch her shoulder.
Cautiously and calmly, they maintained the boundary between siblings. Then a crimson-robed official emerged from within the Ministry of Rites and affixed a sheet of yellow paper to the wall, on which names had been written in careful, neat strokes with an ink brush. The crowd surged forward. Ming Huashang could not push her way to the front, but from the excited cries of the people around her she already knew the top three of the examination rankings.
First place: Su Xingzhi. Second: Ming Huazhang. Third: Xie Jichuan.
There were more names after that, but Ming Huashang could no longer hear them. The crowd discussed the top three animatedly. Ming Huashang turned to look at Ming Huazhang—a little surprised.
Ming Huazhang’s dark pupils widened slightly; a look of astonishment crossed his face.
He had always known this examination was little more than a formality, and so had never paid the rankings any attention. But—he had placed second?
Second was one thing, but the person ranked above him was actually Su Xingzhi?
Ming Huazhang’s expression went cold. He was not a sore loser—he of course knew there were people in the world with greater talent and learning than his own—but having it announced in front of Ming Huashang that he had lost to Su Xingzhi, of all people, instantly shattered Ming Huazhang’s good mood.
All the more so when he heard Ming Huashang say, in a tone full of delighted surprise: “I never expected Su Xingzhi’s scholarship to be this outstanding. It’s truly no small achievement. Congratulations to him.”
Ming Huazhang’s expression turned completely dark.
When Ming Huashang first saw the rankings, she had genuinely been surprised—she had assumed the top spot would be contested between Ming Huazhang and Xie Jichuan, but it turned out that Su Xingzhi had surpassed both powerful rivals to stand alone at the summit.
Ming Huashang was sincerely happy for Su Xingzhi. Her two elder brothers were both outstanding talents of the highest order, sweeping the top two places between them. As the useless younger sister, she certainly shared in their glory!
She was delighted for a moment, then realized something felt off—why had Ming Huazhang not said a word? She carefully looked up and found Ming Huazhang’s face stern and cool, his pupils dark and bright, like a fire burning on an ice plain—vast, silent, and blazing all at once.
Ming Huashang felt a little uneasy and said softly: “Second Elder Brother, what’s the matter?”
Ming Huazhang’s voice carried deliberately suppressed coldness; he said lightly: “Nothing. Let’s go home.”
Ming Huazhang turned and walked away. Ming Huashang hurried after him and said quietly: “I haven’t yet congratulated you on your name on the Golden List—congratulations, Second Elder Brother.”
Ming Huazhang responded with a brief, cold laugh: “Second place only. What is there to celebrate?”
“You can’t say it that way.” Ming Huashang thought Ming Huazhang had been accustomed to winning first place all his life and could not bear suddenly being below someone else, and she earnestly consoled him: “Second Elder Brother, second place is actually quite good. There are so many people taking the examination—it could truly be called ten thousand soldiers fighting over a single plank bridge. That you made it onto the list at all already puts you in a class of one in ten thousand.”
“And Su Xingzhi?”
Ming Huashang paused, then evenly held the scales level: “Elder Brother Su is also one in ten thousand.”
Very well—even calling him “Elder Brother” now. Ming Huazhang felt as though a nameless fire was burning inside him. Ming Huashang quietly watched his expression and asked: “Second Elder Brother, are you unhappy?”
It was only a first-place title, after all. Did he really care so much about it?
Ming Huazhang was presently making a strenuous effort to maintain his composure. He said flatly: “I need to enter the palace shortly to express gratitude to the Empress. I’ll have someone escort you home first.”
Ming Huashang actually had no desire to go home, but she very earnestly and convincingly deceived Ming Huazhang, nodding obediently: “All right.”
The hottest topic of the day was the posting of the new Presented Scholars’ rankings. The common people were gossiping about it with relish, and the royal sons and princesses had entered the palace early to catch a glimpse of the new graduates ahead of time.
When Prince Wei entered the hall, Princess Taiping was leaning against the Empress and chatting and laughing with her. Prince Liang and Prince Xiang sat nearby; Prince Xiang was extremely quiet, but his son, the Prince of Linzi, seized every opening and from time to time managed to chime in with a remark or two.
Prince Xiang had once been confined in the palace as a candidate for the imperial succession, and those days could not have been said to be good ones. But his children had at least grown up under the Empress’s watchful eye, and had developed some measure of a grandparent-grandchild bond with her. The Prince of Linzi in particular was talented in many areas and had a gift for conversation; the Empress was quite fond of him. With the Prince of Linzi there to ease the atmosphere, Prince Xiang managed to keep up appearances. Princess Taiping was a daughter, which gave her a natural advantage; with the Prince of Linzi on Prince Xiang’s side to keep the mood light, and Prince Liang himself calling the Empress “Aunt” in each breath and keeping her laughing without stop, the Crown Prince’s family, by comparison, stood there like blocks of wood, completely out of place.
The Crown Prince was afraid of his mother and dared not say much. His children had all grown up under confinement, and they genuinely could not warm up to this grandmother who had nearly had them all killed. Even the youngest and most doted-upon, Li Cui’er, dared not act spoiled and coy.
She had been born on the road into exile, and had grown up without ever having laid eyes on her grandmother. Now that she found herself face to face with the Empress—serene and imposing without even a hint of anger—just managing not to embarrass herself was already an achievement. How could she dare to make demands the way she did with her parents?
Prince Wei paused at the entrance of the hall and observed the scene before him from the outside, a detached spectator. Shangguan Wan’er led a group of female officials forward, bowed gracefully, and said warmly: “Prince Wei.”
Prince Wei swept a glance over her and said with a smile: “What have I done to deserve being attended by the esteemed Inner Secretary Shangguan?”
Shangguan Wan’er smiled: “Your Highness, please don’t tease this servant. The Empress has been asking after you for some time now. Please come this way, Your Highness.”
Prince Wei removed his cape; Shangguan Wan’er took it personally and folded it with care. Prince Wei strode into the palace hall and called out in a bold voice: “Aunt, your nephew has arrived late—please do punish him.”
Prince Liang caught sight of Prince Wei and said: “Brother, you’ve finally come. The new Presented Scholars have already entered the palace, and here you are strolling in late—what kind of example is that to set for the officials?”
“It was wrong of me. I’ll take three cups of self-imposed penalty at the banquet.”
“That’s enough.” The Empress spoke, in a cool and light tone. “Move the imperial procession to Hanyuan Hall. Summon the new Presented Scholars.”
Everyone in the hall rose and bowed. Shangguan Wan’er quickly stepped forward to support the Empress as she walked out. The various princes and palace attendants followed behind. Prince Liang moved to Prince Wei’s side, his expression somewhat displeased: “What have you been doing? You know perfectly well how much weight the Empress places on this examination—how did you come to be so late?”
Prince Wei could hardly say he had been delayed because he suspected he had tracked down Crown Prince Zhanghuai’s surviving heir. Prince Wei smiled: “Some affairs held me up before I could leave. Elder Brother, which candidates placed at the top this year?”
Prince Liang gave Prince Wei a sidelong look: “You’re really something. You didn’t even have time to hear the list on your way here?”
Prince Wei laughed: “That’s why I have Elder Brother. My ears and eyes are weak—I rely entirely on Elder Brother to keep me informed.”
Prince Liang looked at Prince Wei and said nothing. Prince Wei’s ears and eyes were weak? That was a real laugh.
In truth, they were rivals. Prince Liang was the son of the Empress’s eldest brother; Prince Wei was the heir of the second house. As cousins at some remove, their blood ties with the Empress were neither close nor distant; if she were to pass the throne to the Wu family, she would not necessarily choose either of them.
But compared to the Li family, they were natural allies—no matter what, the Li family had to be toppled first, and then the brothers could compete for the throne. With the bigger picture in mind, Prince Liang refrained from tripping Prince Wei up, and said: “This year, the Empress personally selected twelve Presented Scholars. First place: Su Xingzhi. Second: Ming Huazhang. Third: Xie Jichuan.”
Aside from the first name, the remaining two were very familiar. Prince Wei frowned: “That would be Ming Huazhang of the Duke Zhenguo household and Xie Jichuan of the Xie family of Chenjun?”
“Correct.”
Prince Wei raised an eyebrow—more puzzled than ever: “I’ve heard of these two. They have both distinguished lineage and notable reputations for talent. What kind of background does the first-place winner have, to outrank both of them?”
This was something Prince Liang himself could not puzzle out—the Empress’s intentions were truly difficult to fathom. Prince Liang said: “His origins still aren’t entirely clear, but I’ve heard he’s from Taiyuan prefecture and his family are farmers—he came from humble beginnings.”
Taiyuan. Farming. Surnamed Su. Prince Wei’s eyelid gave a twitch, and something suddenly clicked into blazing clarity in his mind.
He had known the name Su Xingzhi rang strangely in his ears—and now he remembered: his subordinates had mentioned it to him. The old woman who had carried the child out of the Duke Zhenguo household had a grandson by the name of Su Xingzhi!
And it was a remarkable coincidence: the Duke of Zhenguo’s son, Ming Huazhang, also appeared on today’s list of graduates. Truly, one wears out his iron shoes searching, only to find the thing without any effort at all. He had spent two years searching in vain—and now, by walking into the palace on a whim, he had seen both of them at once!