Mu Wanyao admitted to herself that she was selfish.

When she learned that Liu Wenji had been castrated, her first thought was not of what would happen to Liu Wenji himself, but of what would happen to Chunhua.

A chill ran through her heart, and her first thought was: Chunhua must never find out about this.

Chunhua’s unborn child could not be affected by this; Chunhua herself could not be affected by this; and above all, the Prince Jin estate could not become a variable because of this.

Her second thought was: Yan Shang must not find out.

First, it would affect Yan Shang’s ongoing civil examination. Second…

Second, the last time something like this had happened because of Chunhua, she had sent Yan Shang to mediate the conflict, and he had shot the head of the Zheng family dead with a single arrow, which set off a whole chain of events that ended in a sweeping crackdown on the powerful clans, dragging everyone into the mess.

Ever since that incident, Mu Wanyao had, in truth, become afraid of Yan Shang—afraid that he would stir up something even bigger for her to deal with.

When something like this happened, Mu Wanyao closed her eyes and took two breaths to steady her thoughts, then decided to handle the matter herself.

She spoke first, her voice cold: “Take my fish tally and send someone to Beili immediately. Find the girl that Liu Wenji was protecting. Make sure she doesn’t slip out of the city in the middle of the night.

“Before I get there, question her first—find out whether someone put her up to this. Whether someone was behind it, or it was mere coincidence, get it clear for me first!

“And also, find out exactly who castrated Liu Wenji! Whether or not they can still move, as long as they’re still in Beili, sack them in a bag and give them a beating, and then castrate every one of them who took part!”

“Where is Liu Wenji! Get a physician! Send for the imperial physician from the palace, now!”

In the middle of the night, every light in Princess Danyang’s estate had been lit.

The princess herself, dressed in fine silks, personally saw to the matter. Her guards, at her orders, scattered out from the estate to carry out her commands.

Mu Wanyao took a deep breath, thinking that she needed to resolve this before Yan Shang found out… or rather, suppress it entirely—

While Fang Tong and the other guards went to Beili to make arrests, Mu Wanyao, led by two servant boys, went to see Liu Wenji, who was drenched in blood.

The two servant boys had spent the past two months accompanying Liu Wenji, and had grown used to his drinking himself into a stupor day after day. Tonight, when it happened, they had been away, off flirting and joking with other girls.

By the time they heard the commotion and rushed over, it was too late even to invoke Princess Danyang’s name to protect him—everything had already gone past the point of no return.

The two boys, white with fear, knew they were doomed. The princess would surely kill them for this. To make up for their failure, they had immediately pulled Liu Wenji out of the pleasure house, pounded on the ward gates in the dead of night, and forced them open by invoking the privileges the princess had granted them, finally bringing him to the princess’s estate.

Liu Wenji was settled in a guest room at the estate. Mu Wanyao, sick with worry, paced outside. After a long wait, the imperial physician finally arrived from the palace—and after an even longer wait, he finally emerged.

Mu Wanyao rushed to look at him.

The physician shook his head and sighed.

Mu Wanyao’s heart sank.

The physician, clearly awkward discussing such a matter in front of a princess, said, “Fortunately he is still young, and treatment was given in time. In future he should still be able to… relieve himself normally, without leakage. His life is not in danger; he will live. If Your Highness wishes, he could remain at the estate as a eunuch attendant.”

Not a trace of a smile remained on Mu Wanyao’s face.

Of course there were eunuchs in the princess’s estate—she had teased Yan Shang about it more than once before. But this eunuch was not supposed to be Liu Wenji.

Mu Wanyao dug her sharp nails into her palms, using the pain to steady herself.

She asked the physician: “Is he… awake?”

The physician’s face showed a pained reluctance. “He has been conscious the entire time.”

Mu Wanyao froze.

She asked: “From beginning to end?”

The physician: “Yes.”

She asked: “He was aware of the entire process?”

The physician: “Yes.”

The physician sighed. “I have never seen a young man endure like this without fainting. He was drenched in sweat from head to toe, and still he kept asking me if there was any hope for him. What could I say? I could only tell him that fate deals differently to each person. After that he went silent, staring blankly up into the void, and said no more.”

Mu Wanyao gestured to the maids behind her to have the physician settled somewhere to stay in the estate. Perhaps over the next couple of days, Liu Wenji would still need him.

It was only because of her status as a princess that she had been able to summon a physician who normally tended to the emperor himself. Such physicians, having seen countless castrated men and having long dispensed medicine to the palace eunuchs, were unshockable, and could handle Liu Wenji’s case calmly.

No ordinary healer, however skilled, could have done better than an imperial physician—

Mu Wanyao paced outside for another quarter hour before finally pushing open the door to see the still-conscious Liu Wenji.

Before the princess entered, the two servant boys had helped Liu Wenji sit up, change his clothes, and tidy his appearance. When Mu Wanyao came in, she saw him rise, haggard, to bow to her.

She told him to lie back down and rest. In the few brief motions it took, Liu Wenji settled back against the pillows on the bed, his face utterly bloodless, pale beyond measure.

Mu Wanyao stood still for a moment, staring at this handsome young man for a long while. He was, after all, a beautiful youth, still very young—from the outside, nothing showed. And yet the feeling Liu Wenji gave off had changed once again.

If before he had seemed veiled in a layer of ash, now he seemed shrouded in a layer of frost and mist.

A cold frost had settled over his soul, making him far colder than before. It was not the same kind of coldness as Wei Shu’s youthful aloofness. Wei Shu’s chill was like snow on a stupa—the kind that made people yearn for it, cold and proud. Liu Wenji’s chill was that of a living creature buried beneath the snow after a blizzard, suffering in silent agony.

That kind of coldness, seeping from the very bone, was nothing more than a gift bestowed by fate. It was only that fate had not been kind to Liu Wenji.

After a long silence, Mu Wanyao said, “I will see to it. I will help you bring down the people who humiliated you.”

Liu Wenji looked at the princess, his voice flat. “Can you really bring them down?”

Mu Wanyao faltered slightly.

Seeing that even a princess could not offer him a real guarantee, Liu Wenji’s mouth twisted into a faint, mocking smile. He said, coldly, “This is my own affair. Your Highness only looks after me for Chunhua’s sake—you have no reason to help me beyond that. Rest assured, Your Highness, I will not stir up trouble because of this, nor cause you any difficulty.”

Mu Wanyao said nothing for a long while.

She did not know how to speak with Liu Wenji now, after all this. Should she offer sympathy? Should she weep with him in shared grief?

Her feelings for Liu Wenji had never run that deep; she could not feel for another’s suffering the way Yan Shang did. She did pity him, truly—but that was as far as it went.

She wanted to scold him, ask why he couldn’t simply drink at home instead of running off to Beili. But she also knew there was no point in saying such things.

Beili was not some forbidden place. Great Wei did not treat a place like Beili as a scourge—in the eyes of common opinion, Beili was in fact the most prosperous and celebrated place in all of Chang’an. Anyone who came to the capital and never visited Beili could hardly be said to have truly visited Chang’an at all.

She herself went there often; court officials went there often. Even Yan Shang, who kept himself scrupulously clean, went there often as well.

Anyone who claimed they never went to Beili was not praised as noble for it—people would only think them unable to fit in, putting on airs of false purity.

It was truly not a place one was forbidden to go… The tragedy was only that court officials could go there, and so could a commoner scholar like Liu Wenji. And once the two sides clashed, who would lose was decided from the very start.

Mu Wanyao said, coldly, “So what do you plan to do from here? You can forget about the imperial examinations—that path is closed to you now. If you still wish to return to Lingnan, I will give you money, and arrange a minor post in Lingnan for your father, or whichever relative you like. I will see that you live out the rest of your life there safely, in peace.”

Liu Wenji said flatly, “I cannot return to Lingnan. If I go back now, the shock alone might kill my parents outright. As a son, to fail to care for one’s parents in their old age is already unfilial. To let them learn what has happened to me on top of that—would that not carve the hearts out of two white-haired old people? I cannot let them know.”

Mu Wanyao eyed him warily. “Then what will you do? Seek revenge? You cannot afford to cross the people responsible… and besides, I already said I would help you.”

Liu Wenji looked at the princess and said, “The princess and I have no bond between us—only a servant girl connects us. How could you possibly help me beyond a certain point? If this matter grows into something larger, Your Highness would have a reason to act. But if it is merely a coincidence… I think that’s simply how it will end. Isn’t that so?”

Mu Wanyao’s expression darkened, her face falling.

What she hated most was having the truth laid bare so precisely.

Liu Wenji had changed from before. In the past he had still forced himself to hold back, not daring to speak so plainly in front of the princess. Now he had let go entirely, speaking her own inner thoughts aloud to her face. The ugly beast within her, which they both silently understood, was not a pleasant thing to have pointed out directly.

Mu Wanyao, out of pity for how pathetic his situation was, chose not to argue the point.

She said, “Then what do you want?”

His face pale, his dark, clear eyes fixed on Princess Danyang, Liu Wenji slowly pushed back the covers and, for the first time, got down from the bed. Mu Wanyao stood before him, proud and composed, watching coldly as he knelt at her feet.

Liu Wenji said quietly, “Chunhua asked Your Highness to give me an official post—I refused it. She asked you to give me money—I refused that too. Until now, I have never asked anything of you for my own sake through Chunhua’s connection. But now, I intend to exercise that right. Will Your Highness allow it?”

Mu Wanyao asked, “What do you want?”

Liu Wenji lowered his long lashes, the shadow beneath them completely veiling whatever expression lay in his eyes.

He said, “I ask the princess’s help to enter the palace and become an inner eunuch.”

Mu Wanyao, startled, looked at him. “Why? Have you… thought this through carefully? That is no good place to end up. Nor could I look after you there. The palace and the outside world cannot be mixed together through private favors. I will not break that rule and reach my hand into my father’s domain.”

Liu Wenji shook his head and said he did not need her protection. He said that if the princess only agreed to this one request, she could do whatever she wished with the matter afterward, handle it however suited her. He would never trouble her again, would never contact the princess’s estate again, and would never try to reach out to Chunhua again, so as not to ruin her.

Liu Wenji remained kneeling on the floor.

Cold, pale moonlight streamed through the window, falling over his frame, thin as snow.

Kneeling there, quietly, he said, “The more I think it over, the more it seems that everything that happened was because I had no power.”

In a place like Chang’an, to survive here, one needed power in hand; to seek revenge here, one needed power in hand.

He had had enough of living as the fish upon the chopping block, at the mercy of others… more than enough!

Time and again, fate’s cold blade struck at the heart—who could go on living in a daze after that?

Liu Wenji lifted his face, his eyes meeting Mu Wanyao’s, blazing bright, filled with bone-deep hatred.

It was unclear whether what he hated was this world that let the powerful do as they pleased, or the very person of high standing who had had him castrated—

By the next morning, word came back from Beili.

The girl in question was indeed just a timid young woman newly arrived at Beili. When the confrontation between Young Master Zhang and Liu Wenji had broken out before her eyes, she had been frightened out of her wits, knowing this was far beyond what someone like her could handle.

She had no idea how the matter would unfold, but she knew this much: even the eleventh son of the Ministry of Revenue’s household could not simply go about castrating people so recklessly—that could not be right. And if anyone learned that the whole affair had started because of a weak woman like her, she would have nowhere left to hide, not even in death.

Earlier that night, Young Master Zhang had seized her, and it was only thanks to Liu Wenji’s protection that she had escaped a worse fate. Once Liu Wenji had spoiled his mood, Young Master Zhang had lost interest in her, and she had been able to leave after pleading with him.

She had gone back and started packing her few belongings, stumbling out through the back door of the establishment where she stayed… only for Fang Tong and the other guards to burst in through that very door, blades drawn.

When the two sides collided, it took no effort at all to find out exactly who had taken part in castrating Liu Wenji.

Young Master Zhang, true to his role as ringleader of that gang, was sleeping off his drink when the alarm was raised. Several of the young men who followed him had already been castrated. One of them fled in a panic to find him, urging him to run at once: “Young Master, Young Master! Run, run! It’s Princess Danyang’s men! Whatever connection that man we castrated has to Princess Danyang, she’s sent people to castrate all of us!”

Young Master Zhang shot up out of his drunken stupor, scrambled off the bed, hastily pulled on his trousers, and clambered out the window to flee.

It was the depths of early winter, and the moment he stepped outside he was frozen through. But he knew that if he was caught by the princess’s men, he might truly be castrated as well.

Because Princess Danyang was known to act first and explain herself afterward!

Castrate first, make amends later!

Having served as a minor official for some years, he knew immediately he had caused a disaster. He had his men cover his retreat while he himself scaled a wall in terror, fled Beili, and rode desperately back home for help—

Dawn broke.

The bells and drums sounded, one wave after another.

At the residence of the Director of the Ministry of Revenue, Director Zhang, the household had just woken.

Director Zhang was not due at court that day. He rose at his leisure, went through a set of exercises in the back garden, exchanged a few idle words with his wife and concubines over breakfast, and then retired to his study to read. He planned to spend the morning at home reading, then go to the ministry in the afternoon to check on official business.

Just as it seemed like an ordinary, peaceful day, there came a violent pounding on his study door.

His son’s voice cried out miserably from outside: “Father, Father! Save me! If you don’t save me, I’m as good as dead!”

Director Zhang, already furious, recognized the voice as his eleventh son’s. The boy had barely been at the ministry a few days before he started skipping his duties, always making excuses. And now he was crying about being “as good as dead.”

Scowling, Director Zhang opened the door, ready to scold his son for not applying himself—but he was shocked to see his son in a wretched state, his clothes in disarray, the skin of his neck bruised purple with cold, his whole body trembling.

Shiyi Lang threw himself at his father’s legs, sobbing. “Father, Father, save me! Princess Danyang means to castrate me! She’ll come to the door any moment now, Father, save me!”

Director Zhang said, “Nonsense! Don’t worry, I work alongside Princess Danyang on the Crown Prince’s affairs—”

His son cut him off, wailing, “It’s not like that, Father! Last night I stayed in Beili, and I fought a man over a girl. I lost my temper and had him castrated. Later in the night, Princess Danyang’s guards went door to door through every house in Beili… The man I castrated—what if he’s her little lover, the one she’s fond of! She won’t let this go—she means to castrate your son too!

“Father, Father, save me!”

The Director of the Ministry of Revenue felt a chill run through him, instantly grasping the severity of the situation—his son had brought disaster down on him.

He was furious, but looking down at his son, sobbing snot and tears, his anger gave way to anxious worry. The boy was still his own flesh and blood; how could he not save him?

Director Zhang gritted his teeth. “Someone, get Shiyi Lang into a servant’s clothes! Shiyi Lang, from this moment, you flee Chang’an and go take shelter with your mother’s family. Do not return to Chang’an until this matter is settled! Only when I have negotiated with Princess Danyang and satisfied her demands may you come back!”

Shiyi Lang wiped his tears hastily. “Yes! Father, you must save me…”

Director Zhang, still furious, snapped, “I don’t even know if I’ll keep my own position after this—being allowed to keep your life is already more than you deserve!”

Less than an hour later, a servant came to report that Princess Danyang had arrived.

Director Zhang had already put on his official robes and went out, composed, to receive her.

By then, Shiyi Lang had already fled the city… at least his life was safe.

That meant Director Zhang could now negotiate with Princess Danyang without worry over his son’s safety.

And Director Zhang, ever the shrewd one, went straight to the point—upon seeing the princess, he admitted his son’s fault at once, offering to resign his post in atonement.

Mu Wanyao frowned, inwardly cursing the old fox for his cunning—

No one in the officialdom was a fool.

Director Zhang had held his post at the Ministry of Revenue for a decade. If he resigned, there truly was no one ready to take his place.

And to atone for his son’s crime, Director Zhang offered money, fertile land, even official posts, all as compensation.

In the end, the matter was bound to be brought before the Crown Prince.

And what the Crown Prince cared about most, at present, was the year-end ceremonies. His most valuable asset in hand was the Ministry of Revenue.

How could the Crown Prince allow anything to go wrong with the Ministry of Revenue?

This “removing the firewood from under the cauldron” tactic from the Director left Mu Wanyao seething with quiet resentment.

At this point, Mu Wanyao almost wished this whole affair had been a trap set by Prince Qing or Prince Jin—then she would have had far more room to maneuver. But unfortunately, after Fang Tong’s guards had investigated through the night, it turned out no one else had been involved at all.

No one had ever paid Liu Wenji any attention.

The matter concerning Chunhua had already ended.

Prince Qing had never known of Liu Wenji’s existence at all, and Prince Jin likely didn’t either… a nobody like Liu Wenji, even if he had fallen into their schemes somehow, would not have registered in their memory at all.

Mu Wanyao patted her own cheeks, forcing herself to stay calm. Next, she would have to fight a hard battle at the Eastern Palace—

Yan Shang, that day, was still occupied with his civil examination. When the exam ended in the evening and he stepped out of the Ministry of Personnel, he ran into several other candidates awaiting appointment, and also encountered Chancellor Liu.

After offering them some words of encouragement, Chancellor Liu collected a note.

He glanced at Yan Shang with an inscrutable half-smile.

Chancellor Liu said, leisurely, “You candidates all did well on the papers I’ve just reviewed. As it happens, my wife is cooking dinner herself today—why don’t you all come dine at my home?”

When the Chancellor himself extended an invitation, who would dare refuse?

Once at Chancellor Liu’s residence, he had them drink. Yan Shang did not drink, and Chancellor Liu glanced at him several times over it. But regardless, this whole group of candidates, thoroughly plied with wine by their host, were all bound to spend the night at his estate.

Yan Shang, always one to keep a low profile, was never one to draw attention to himself by being different. Since the others were staying the night at Chancellor Liu’s estate, of course he stayed too.

Still, worried that Mu Wanyao might be anxious about him if two days passed without word, Yan Shang sent his servant boy Yun Shu to deliver a note to the princess’s estate, telling her not to worry.

Everything that happened at Chancellor Liu’s residence, however, was known to the Chancellor himself.

While playing a game of chess with his granddaughter, Liu Ruozhu, Chancellor Liu learned that Yan Shang had sent his servant boy to deliver a message to the princess’s estate. He stroked his beard, deep in thought.

His granddaughter knelt across from him, her heart entirely occupied with thoughts of the striking, elegant Yan Erlang.

Liu Ruozhu had assumed her grandfather had invited Yan Erlang to stay the night in order to create an opportunity for her. But seeing her grandfather’s expression now, she asked, in a coy tone laced with suspicion, “Grandfather, are you up to something? Are you giving Yan Erlang a hard time?”

Chancellor Liu laughed and scolded her, “What do you mean, up to something? I’m protecting him! There’s a great deal of excitement at the Eastern Palace today… it’s best he stays out of it.”

Liu Ruozhu lowered her eyes, pondering just what this could mean.

She then heard her grandfather murmur to himself, “But why would Yan Erlang send word to Princess Danyang’s estate? It suggests he has done work for the princess before—but if he’s merely a retainer or advisor, does he really need to report his comings and goings to her? Rather strange.”

Liu Ruozhu said, “That’s simply the bond between lord and subject, Grandfather—why must you read something sinister into it?”

Chancellor Liu laughed heartily. “Yes, yes. None can match my Ruozhu for her fair and impartial heart, favoring no one.”

Liu Ruozhu blushed at her grandfather’s teasing, feeling quite flustered.

She jumped up, pouting, “I’m not talking to you anymore—I’m going to check on Mother. She’s making a sobering broth for our guests. I’ll help her bring a bowl to Yan Erlang too.”

Chancellor Liu eyed her sidelong. “Su Chen hasn’t had any wine, you know.”

Liu Ruozhu stamped her foot, indignant. “Then I’ll bring him some other kind of broth! Honestly, Grandfather, why must you be so stingy about a single bowl of soup?”—

That night, the Eastern Palace was once again lit up bright.

Only Yang Si, who was usually a fixture there, was absent.

Because his grandmother had fallen ill, Yang Sanlang and his cousin had left Chang’an to visit her. The Crown Prince had, naturally, granted him leave.

That night, the ones facing off at the Eastern Palace were Mu Wanyao and Director Zhang.

Because of the matter of Liu Wenji’s castration, Director Zhang wished to resign his post. Mu Wanyao said the Crown Prince could keep him if he wished, but in exchange, she demanded that the year-end grand ceremony be placed under her charge as compensation.

The Crown Prince fell into thought.

He waved a hand. “The two of you, stop arguing for now. Director Zhang, step out. Danyang and I need to talk.”

Once Director Zhang had left, the Crown Prince asked Mu Wanyao, “What is this really about? A commoner scholar got castrated, and it’s come all the way to me as a complaint? From what I’ve gathered listening to the two of you argue, this Liu Wenji apparently knew you back in Lingnan and earned your regard somehow. But is that really worth going to such lengths over?

“If he’s castrated, he’s castrated. He’s only a commoner.”

Had Liu Wenji truly been nothing more than a commoner scholar, perhaps Mu Wanyao would have shared the Crown Prince’s indifference. But even as cold-hearted as she was, hearing her brother dismiss it so casually with “if he’s castrated, he’s castrated” still made her pause.

For the first time, she caught a glimpse of the depth of the Crown Prince’s ruthless detachment.

Displeased, Mu Wanyao said, “Even for a common person, it’s not something to be dismissed so lightly. Tomorrow, the Censorate is sure to file a complaint against Director Zhang in court—I doubt even Elder Brother could protect him then. It would be better to demote Director Zhang by one rank. Let him remain in the ministry, but no longer as Director—his conduct no longer merits the position, and he’s lost the respect of his peers.”

The Crown Prince nodded. “…That will do, I suppose.”

Seeing the Crown Prince’s rather indifferent attitude, Mu Wanyao relaxed, realizing he did not care so much about a mere Director of the Ministry of Revenue after all. She had feared he might care too much and dismiss her opinion entirely.

Mu Wanyao bit her lip and continued, “And I want to send Liu Wenji into the palace. He has already been castrated—the palace is the best place left for him.”

A flicker crossed the Crown Prince’s eyes as he looked at her.

Mu Wanyao added quickly, “It’s not to place someone of mine in the palace. He isn’t my man, and he won’t be reporting palace matters to me in future. Don’t worry, Elder Brother, I’m not scheming anything—I simply wish to make it up to him.”

The Crown Prince said, curious, “Since your return from the marriage alliance abroad, I’ve felt you’d grown much colder. And yet here you are, so kind-hearted after all? Yaoyao, someone too kind-hearted can hardly play the game of politics well.”

Mu Wanyao said, plainly, “It isn’t kindness. I’m doing this only because, though Liu Wenji holds no official post, he is Yan Erlang’s longtime close friend.”

The Crown Prince paused, then turned serious.

He hadn’t cared about a mere Liu Wenji—but factor in Yan Shang, and it was another matter entirely. The Crown Prince was in the midst of courting Yan Shang’s loyalty; he had no wish to alienate him over something so trivial.

The Crown Prince said, “You’ve handled this correctly. We mustn’t let Yan Erlang grow disheartened over a mere Liu Wenji. Arrange things as you see fit—soothing Yan Erlang’s feelings is what matters most here. He went to sit his civil examination today, didn’t he? In the future, he will be a great asset to us… this is no time to let anything go wrong.”

Mu Wanyao agreed.

But privately, she thought that no matter how she tried to make amends, Yan Shang was unlikely to be pleased by any of it.

How troublesome, indeed—

The next day, the group of candidates awaiting appointment left Chancellor Liu’s residence, and Yan Shang went to take his leave as well.

Chancellor Liu was in his study, leafing through a scroll, while Yan Shang stood, hands folded, waiting off to the side. After waiting a long while, Chancellor Liu still had not dismissed him.

Liu Ruozhu, as it happened, was also in the study, hidden behind a screen in the inner chamber. Watching her grandfather give Yan Shang such a hard time, she grew anxious on his behalf. She quietly made a small noise, the faint sound of pages turning drifting into earshot.

Yan Shang, puzzled, at first paid it no mind, but when the sound continued, he finally glanced over. He saw a young woman of marriageable age hiding behind the screen, gesturing to him with her hand. Before he could wonder how a young lady came to be hiding in the Chancellor’s study, he followed the direction of her pointing finger toward the scroll in the Chancellor’s hands.

He wondered—was something wrong with that scroll?

Yan Shang looked closer, and froze slightly.

Because he suddenly realized… the scroll in Chancellor Liu’s hands was his own examination paper.

Chancellor Liu, of course, knew that his granddaughter had secretly helped Yan Shang. With a helpless sigh, he set down the scroll. “Only just noticed now?”

Yan Shang composed himself and lowered his eyes. “…Yes.”

Chancellor Liu sighed. “I’ve held your paper for the time it takes an incense stick to burn, and only now do you notice. Yan Su Chen, Yan Su Chen—you are fine in every respect, but you are far too cautious, unwilling to take even a single misstep. Yet how can one who governs always stick so rigidly to the rules, never once stepping beyond the line?”

Yan Shang answered, “I shall remember your teaching, my lord.”

Chancellor Liu, observing his ever-mild manner, had no idea how much of it Yan Shang had actually taken to heart. He tossed the scroll aside with a wry twist of his mouth, guessing that very little of it had sunk in.

A young talent like Yan Shang naturally carried some pride in his heart. Having come to Chang’an and advanced steadily, without much hardship along the way, of course he did not yet believe that excessive caution was not always the right path.

Chancellor Liu continued, “The Ministry of Personnel is reviewing your answers now, but what they hold is a copy transcribed overnight—this scroll in my hands is your original.

“I’ve looked back at your paper from your earlier examination too. Hm. In half a year, your handwriting has grown far more elegant.”

Yan Shang, sleeves lowered, listened respectfully.

As Chancellor Liu rambled on at length, Yan Shang grew increasingly unsure of what the man was truly getting at. At last, Chancellor Liu said, “I intend to arrange for you to serve in the Secretariat. What do you think?”

When a chancellor arranged a posting, when had a subordinate’s opinion ever mattered? Yet Chancellor Liu’s amiable manner touched Yan Shang, letting him know how much regard the man held for him.

He bowed deeply in thanks, naturally deferring entirely to the Chancellor’s arrangement. A posting to the Secretariat, such a fine placement—what reason would he have to object?

Chancellor Liu studied him for a long while. After listening to Yan Shang’s string of gracious, grateful words, he still had not heard the one thing he wished to hear. His expression turned cool. “What, Yan Su Chen. After all I’ve done for you, you still won’t grant me the title of teacher?”

Yan Shang said, “It’s only that I already have a teacher…”

Chancellor Liu said, flatly, “Yan Su Chen, courtesy is a fine thing—but not always. When someone of higher standing wants your honest answer, and you keep deflecting like this, it only breeds displeasure. If I were displeased enough, I could have you charged with ‘flattery and duplicity’ without even needing to have you killed—it would be no trouble at all.”

Yan Shang’s expression grew grave.

He felt a weight of pressure settle over him.

It could be said that in all his time in Chang’an, this was the first time Chancellor Liu had made him feel this way—the sense of being firmly outmatched, of having all his conduct laid utterly bare.

Before an elder of such standing, cleverness only seemed childish.

Yan Shang, his face reddening with shame, lowered his hands and bowed again, speaking honestly this time. “…It is only that I did not wish to pick a side so soon after entering court. Until now, I have followed the princess’s arrangements in all things… to do so now would raise suspicion of betraying the Crown Prince, and I feared it might put Her Highness in a difficult position.”

Chancellor Liu gave a faint scoffing laugh.

Behind the screen, Liu Ruozhu pouted, thinking her grandfather was being far too hard on Yan Erlang. The young man was barely past his teens—why must Grandfather push him so?

Chancellor Liu said, “There’s no such suspicion here. The Secretariat is not under the Crown Prince’s control, nor can anyone sway several chancellors into taking sides. You refuse to take me as a teacher—do you think that the teacher you had before, a mere academy instructor, could have taught you everything you need to know? Very well, let me ask you this: why do you wish to become an official at all?”

Yan Shang answered honestly: “For the people. For righteousness. For goodness. For benevolence.”

Chancellor Liu nodded. “Very well, let us call it righteousness and benevolence, then. Let me ask you this: whose righteousness and benevolence do you serve? Is the righteousness and benevolence of this world truly absolute? Is it something you, Yan Su Chen, control?

“Can you be certain that what you do is right, and that others are wrong? Can you be certain your position is correct, and that those who oppose you are simply mistaken?

“You wish to speak for the common people, to be their voice. How laughable! Do you know that, since ancient times, the governance of this world has always sought counsel from the worthy, never from the masses! Only the worthy are consulted—never the common people! You may disagree, but that has been the principle since ancient times.”

Yan Shang argued, “And yet it is a truth known to all under heaven that water may carry the boat, but it may also capsize it.”

Chancellor Liu countered, “You would use an extreme example to argue against ordinary governance? Yes, the common people rise up when pushed to the brink of ruin… but throughout history, every such moment has spelled the fall of a dynasty. If you live to see even one such moment in your lifetime, both you and I will already have lost our lives—there would be no need to sit here discussing how to govern at all!”

Yan Shang was left speechless, his face flushed with a mix of shame at his own lack of foresight and a pale, cold dread at having his innermost thoughts struck through so directly. He stared at Chancellor Liu, unblinking, forgetting even the proper etiquette of the moment.

For the first time, an elder had taught him something that shattered everything he had believed until now.