“Summer again.” Zheng Xi sighed.

He was at Zhù Ying’s home. The cicadas in the trees seemed to echo his sentiment. He was a rare visitor — since Zhù Ying had come to the capital at thirteen, the number of times he had visited the Zhù household could be counted on one hand.

This visit, too, was on account of Zheng Chuan. Zheng Chuan obediently followed behind his father, walking inside together with Zhù Ying.

Zhù Ying’s home was still modest compared to the Zheng estate. Zheng Xi offered a simple verdict: “Barely enough for you to live in.”

“Enough to live in is enough,” Zhù Ying replied.

Zheng Xi then asked after Zhù Da and Zhang Xiangu. Zhù Ying said, “The capital is a little unsettled — I’d rather they not be drawn into trouble.”

“Things will calm down before long,” said Zheng Xi.

Zhù Ying knew he hadn’t come for small talk, nor to inspect her living quarters, and invited him to sit in the main hall and speak at leisure. Zhù Ying and Zheng Xi faced each other at the upper seats; Zheng Chuan sat below his father.

After tea was served, Zhù Ying said, “It’s rare that you find time to come sit with me.”

“Find time?” Zheng Xi said. “The factions are making a mess of things. The Censorate arrests someone every day — how could the capital be at peace?”

“Then something has come up?”

Zheng Xi nodded and asked, “Do you still remember Peng Sijiao?”

“Ah — he had some connection to the Lu traitor’s affair. Is it his turn to be dealt with next? No wonder Wang Dafu has been holding on to those jail cells for so long without giving them back — seems it’s far from over.”

“Dàláng has been assigned to investigate him,” Zheng Xi said.

“Not too far, not too close — it’s a fitting posting,” Zhù Ying said, glancing at Zheng Chuan. “Only, setting out in this heat is a bit much.”

“I asked for it myself,” said Zheng Chuan.

“And I agreed,” said Zheng Xi. “While you’re young, you should get more done. Staying in the capital and grinding away at it isn’t good in the long run.” This came from his own experience. Because of his background and ability, he had become President of the Court of Judicial Review early in his career, and the years that followed had not been smooth at all. Looking back, he felt he had spent too little time in practical work.

What others envied as “accumulated merit” was the effort of noble families’ fathers and grandfathers. What Zheng Xi envied was personal experience. Sometimes he asked himself — if he had walked Zhù Ying’s path, would he have been willing? He thought he would not have refused it. Zhù Ying had spent more than ten years in postings away from the capital. It was hard, but absolutely worth it.

He was not willing to let his son fall into the same pit he had fallen into. Even while serving in the Censorate, he had to let his son do real work, and building some practical ability could never be wrong.

“Then there’s no problem,” said Zhù Ying.

“I have a problem,” said Zheng Xi.

“Oh?”

“Peng Sijiao — you must have looked into him.”

“I did,” said Zhù Ying. “I pulled all the files on him from the Ministry of Personnel and the Ministry of Finance. I also went through the case records submitted to the Court of Judicial Review during his tenure. I didn’t send anyone to investigate in person, but on the surface of the files, he seemed qualified. His Majesty also gave word that the rest need not be pursued further. So I had the case files sealed. If you want to use them, I can write them out from memory tonight and have them ready for you tomorrow morning.”

Without waiting for Zheng Xi to speak, Zheng Chuan rose from his seat and bowed deeply: “Many thanks, Third Brother.”

“Burn it after reading,” Zheng Xi told his son.

“Then I won’t say anything more,” said Zhù Ying. “What’s on paper and what you encounter in person will always differ somewhat — take care.”

“Yes,” said Zheng Chuan.

Zheng Xi gave a self-deprecating smile. “When you were his age, you were already heading off to Wuzhou. Now he’s leaving, and I still can’t help but worry.”

“When I went to Wuzhou, you looked after me plenty. He’s going to stir up a hornet’s nest — it’s right to be careful.”

“You’ve had some leisure these days,” Zheng Xi said. “That’s actually a good thing. I can see the Grand Council is about to do something — it won’t stay peaceful. If anyone from Wuzhou comes to you to plead their case, think it over carefully before you say anything on their behalf.”

“Wuzhou is fine,” said Zhù Ying. “Wang Chancellor isn’t overly harsh. Ji’yuan Prefecture has a few small problems, unavoidable — but not worth the court making a major move. I think he’s just ‘taking advantage of someone’s illness to finish them off’ — the Emperor is clearing out officials up front while he cleans up local customs in the rear. He’s using His Majesty to clear his path.”

“Even an upright gentleman has his scheming side,” said Zheng Xi.

“Without scheming, where does the gentleman stand? Sleeping under the open sky, he might as well be a wild man?” Zhù Ying said with a laugh.

The three chatted on — mostly Zhù Ying and Zheng Xi, while Zheng Chuan listened. They also discussed matters within the Zheng faction. Zheng Xi and Zhù Ying deliberated whether to take the opportunity to post Shu Yan somewhere further away — with a possible promotion to go along with it.

“He’s been in Xinfeng County for a few years,” Zhù Ying said. “It’s about time he moved. Only — during this purge, can he handle the balance? Local interests are deeply entrenched. Compromise too much and he can stay put, but he can’t answer to those above him. Too heavy-handed, and the local gentry won’t just sit there and take it.”

“I can’t protect him his whole life,” said Zheng Xi.

“If he can be tempered through this, it will be a complete transformation. Those who’ve weathered hardships in the provinces think differently when they face difficult situations.”

“Then he it is,” said Zheng Xi.

The two also discussed several others in the Zheng faction. Shao Shuxin’s son was also placed. Then Zheng Xi complained, “Mu Chengzhou is also trying to plant his partisans, and the Eastern Palace is reaching out everywhere — one Lu Prince died and they’re all fighting for a share of the meat. There’s not enough to go around.”

“Then each side can rely on their own abilities,” said Zhù Ying. “You won’t come up short.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Zhù Ying then asked, “Liu Chancellor is to retire, and by the look of it, Shi Chancellor has thoughts of stepping back as well. The Grand Council will need new members, and there aren’t many people suited for it right now. You —”

Zheng Xi waved his hand, with a touch of restrained dignity, and said, “Me? I’m still just a little short.”

“I find that odd,” said Zhù Ying. “That little shortfall of yours was made good by the end of last year — why still no movement?”

“How has it been made good?”

“His Majesty’s trust,” said Zhù Ying. The capable are not necessarily made Chancellor, but those who do not have the Emperor’s trust certainly cannot be. Unless the Emperor has no choice but to bestow the nine ceremonial privileges upon someone — but that would be an entirely different story.

Zheng Xi had long cultivated ties with Prince Zhao, and when the Lu Prince staged his rebellion, Zheng Xi had been sent to escort the Crown Prince back to the palace. For the past half year he had been diligent and earnest, and had not pushed the Emperor too hard. From the Emperor’s current position, for the sake of balance, Liu Songnian represented the late Emperor’s legacy, Wang Yunhe and Shi Kun were of the scholarly lineage. Zheng Xi was of the noble families, on reasonably good terms with the Emperor — by any reckoning, bringing him into the fold made sense.

Relative to “trust,” all other considerations were less important. By Zhù Ying’s calculation, it was surely Zheng Xi’s turn to become Chancellor.

Zheng Xi smiled. “What’s the hurry? I’m managing Jingzhao just fine right now.”

Zhù Ying let the matter drop.

That day, Zhù Ying set a banquet to receive the Zheng father and son. Zheng Xi caught sight of Su Zhe and Zhù Qingjun, and hearing Zhù Qingjun’s name, he paused for a moment — then, looking at the child’s age, concluded she couldn’t quite be Zhù Ying’s daughter. Zhù Ying told him she was Huajie’s student, given her surname so that she wouldn’t be looked down upon back home.

“Soft-hearted again,” said Zheng Xi.

Zhù Ying smiled. “Elder Sister says her heart is much softer than mine.”

After learning that Zhù Qingjun was also studying medicine, Zheng Xi said, “Not bad.” He had half a mind to ask Zhù Ying about starting a family — if not a wife, at least taking a concubine would be good. In her mid-thirties, had she no thoughts of leaving an heir? The words reached his lips, and he swallowed them back down.

…

After dinner, Zheng Xi and Zheng Chuan returned home. Zhù Ying saw them to the door.

Father and son had each had a little wine, and rode the carriage home. Inside the carriage, Zheng Xi took the hot towel offered to him and wiped his face, then said to Zheng Chuan, “From now on, be even more courteous to her.”

“Yes.”

“The world cannot serve two masters at once. If you want someone to be capable, you cannot expect them to do everything you say. If you want obedience, don’t count on capability. You can only have one. Do not judge a capable person by the standard you’d use for a mediocre one.”

“Understood. Once I have the case files tomorrow, I’d like to come once more before I leave to ask a few more questions — may I?”

Zheng Xi smiled. “I’ve already managed you too much. You don’t need to ask about every little thing. If you want to do something, go and do it.”

“Yes.”

The father and son talked all the way home, and soon arrived at the estate.

Meanwhile, Zhù Ying returned inside and transcribed the general contents of Peng Sijiao’s file from memory. Peng Sijiao was the same man the Crown Prince had once sighed over during his visit to the Court of Judicial Review — capable, but unlucky enough to back the wrong side.

The next morning, she handed what she had written to Zheng Xi, and Zheng Xi went off to send his son on his way.

After offices let out, she hurried over to Wang Yunhe’s home.

Wang Yunhe was busier than ever. When told Zhù Ying had come, he said, “Nothing urgent at the Court of Judicial Review lately? Show her in.”

Zhù Ying entered Wang Yunhe’s study again. It had changed a little from before — one wall now bore a map with several circles marked on it.

Zhù Ying glanced at the map. Wang Yunhe made no effort to conceal it and asked, “What do you think?”

“Playing mind games in front of you would only embarrass me,” said Zhù Ying. “These are good locations. You want to seize the moment while His Majesty acts — take the opportunity to do something. Are you planning a reform?”

“Nonsense,” said Wang Yunhe. “How is it a reform? It’s a rectification.”

“Then this matter of yours won’t go well — it’s easy to lose control.”

Wang Yunhe asked earnestly, “How so?”

“Someone has already seen through your intentions.”

“So what? It still has to be done.”

Because it was Zhù Ying, Wang Yunhe gave her a bit more explanation: “Things are worse than you think. We don’t have much time. These past two years, tax revenues have been lower than in previous years, while reports of disaster from various regions have increased. The borders are not entirely settled either — the south is all right, but the Western Tribes and the northern peoples have ideas. Doing it now can still be gradual. Delay any further, and we’ll have no choice but to use drastic measures — and then the situation will be even worse.”

“What exactly is your plan? Swapping out officials one region at a time? That risks everything dying with the official who carries it. Only if it becomes an institution will it last. I don’t believe you don’t know this.”

Wang Yunhe flashed a crafty smile. “If you’re hoping I’ll lay out some grand manifesto on governing the realm, you won’t get it. That kind of document, once produced, is a declaration of war. I won’t speak — I’ll only act. Try something, see if it holds, take half a step back, and after a while, take another step forward. The realm cannot be thrown into chaos.”

“You’re keeping secrets,” said Zhù Ying. “Use His Majesty to clear the path, suppress land annexation, clean up the administration — that’s your plan, and it feels like something is missing.”

If it were someone else doing this, Zhù Ying would have said they were ambitious. But coming from Wang Yunhe, she felt he should be aiming at something more.

“Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish,” Wang Yunhe said.

“Better to start with something visible,” said Zhù Ying. “Take this opportunity to hold examinations every year — make it a regular practice.”

“How many people are studying in the capital seeking office, and how many are lined up outside the Ministry of Personnel waiting to fill posts?” Wang Yunhe replied. “Even if they pass, they’re still queuing. Why? Do you know?”

Zhù Ying was quiet for a moment, then said, “On that, you know better than I do. Each department is often undermanned too — the waters run deep.”

At present, the numbers of officials recommended and of sons elevated through hereditary privilege were quite substantial. There were only so many positions, and they were already occupied. Getting those people to give them up would inevitably invite backlash.

Old men died, but the new generation of their clans never numbered only one — there would always be more. It would only grow. Officials couldn’t even fill their own ranks. Every dynasty, the longer it went on, the more redundant posts accumulated, compounding its afflictions.

“Didn’t you already trial this in Wuzhou’s government school?” said Wang Yunhe. “Most of the people you recommend now have already sat an examination once — there’s simply one extra step of recommendation on top.”

Zhù Ying said, “Then combine the tribute scholars with the civil examinations — or… every three years? One official term is three years, after all. Set a division: how many of the vacancies each year are filled by hereditary privilege or recommendation, and how many by examination. Keep cultivating this culture of study.” Advancing through study beat advancing through one’s father, any day.

Wang Yunhe pulled out a notebook. “Take a look.”

Zhù Ying scanned it quickly and said, “We think alike. So you weren’t without a plan.”

“Change everything all at once — how could that ever work?” Wang Yunhe said with a wry smile. “It has to be done piece by piece. Compared to surveying the land across the entire country, this is the easier task. Without first building up people you can depend on, a national land survey is impossible. Acting too hastily will cause disorder. First prepare the people, then do the work. I alone may not succeed — you must all carry this forward.”

Zhù Ying said tentatively, “When I conducted that hidden-land census years ago, the students I used did well enough — some of them even received official posts. But after they became officials, the amount of land in their own households grew too. Isn’t that funny? We set out wanting to suppress land annexation, and yet annexation just started up again. Even I myself — without intentionally running estates or properties — am worlds away from my younger years.”

“The sages and ancients — how many of their ideals survived?” said Wang Yunhe. “The well-field system — was it good? Yet it was abolished. All I can do is keep the water from boiling over. Stirring it is still better than not stirring at all. Suppressing land annexation — there’s no permanent fix for it.

“It’s like the law. There are those who break it — do you enforce it? Even if you do, others will break it again — and then enforce it again. That’s all! Some will break the law, but there will always be those who uphold it. Some will annex land, but there is still you and me. A gentleman’s grace lasts five generations before it is spent — there’s no need for such pessimism. Just do it.

“Those who read the words of the sages — they know shame, they hold to righteousness, and compared to those who act only for their own household’s benefit, they are altogether more reliable.”

“Then His Majesty cannot be too hands-off,” said Zhù Ying. “But once he is too hands-on, the consequences are…”

Her thinking was the same as everyone else’s: she had no particular fondness for this new Emperor, and was willing to help but did not want to help too much. Help him build authority and absolute power — and how would she manage for herself? At the very least, she did not want to help him too much.

Yet every ruler yearned for words that carried absolute weight. And precisely because he could not always have that, if pushed too hard, he could turn petulant. He had the “mandate of heaven” — if he went to extremes, it would be impossible to rein in.

Wang Yunhe now found himself in a dilemma.

A too-soft Emperor gave him no support. A too-strong one made life intolerable for the officials.

Without a sage ruler, the late Emperor’s kind was just right.

“I will have a good talk with His Majesty,” said Wang Yunhe.

Zhù Ying asked no more and rose to take her leave. On some matters, her thinking aligned closely with Wang Yunhe’s, but on others, she had more radical solutions she could not speak of.

…

The next day, Zhù Ying had Xiang Le send a message to Lan De’s household, inquiring whether the business of supplying sugar to the palace would continue.

Changes in the inner court happened far more quickly than at court. While Zhù Ying was still hearing the Lu Prince’s case, the Emperor learned the name Luo Yuan, and with a single word had Luo Yuan and his entire clique beaten to death with canes.

Now, Lan Xing and Lan De were still in the palace, but it was already plain that their influence was no match for Du Shi’en’s. That was beyond their control. Eunuchs were not officials — they had no protections.

That very evening, a calling card arrived at the door — Lan Xing himself had come.

When Zhù Ying heard it was him, she went to the gate to receive him personally. Lan Xing showed no airs; he stepped forward briskly: “My respects to the Court President.”

Zhù Ying returned the courtesy with equal politeness. “Chief Eunuch. Why have you come in person?”

“That boy is too busy to get away, and it wouldn’t be proper for him to come and go either. The two of us, father and son, are in a difficult position these days. I thought to myself — sending a child to deliver a message is disrespectful to you — better I come myself.”

“Let’s speak inside.”

Once host and guest were seated, the air was gone from Lan Xing. His tone became exceedingly humble and gentle. “All these years I’ve been in your care. Without you, the two of us wouldn’t have had such comfortable circumstances.”

“What are you saying? It’s not as if you were short on such things. I’m only concerned that Du Chief Eunuch is capable of big things, and your son hasn’t quite come into his own yet. There are no walls without gaps — if you wait until he settles accounts with you, it’ll be too late.”

“You’re right,” said Lan Xing. “I’ll go back and have De transfer that share of the business over to Du Shi’en. Let’s see who he sends to negotiate the price with you.”

Zhù Ying waved a hand. “What I mean is — let the guild’s people go back to the palace to renegotiate. Have the guild give up half a portion of profit, and on your end, give up another half — together they add up to one full portion, and offer that to him. The south is remote and poor; any more than that and they simply can’t afford it. If you can get Wuzhou to raise the price a little, then that full portion can come entirely from the guild. What do you think?”

This was far better than Lan Xing had expected. He had thought it would be a case of walls collapsing with everyone pushing. Knowing Zhù Ying’s way of doing things, Zhù Ying always acted from a position of certainty — being squeezed like this, Lan Xing’s mood could not help but suffer.

Now that Zhù Ying had laid out the conditions openly, without trying to cut him out entirely — only wanting to “cultivate ties” with Du Shi’en — that was acceptable. After all, if both sides together pushed him out, there was nothing he could do about it. Plenty of similar things had already happened in the palace, and he had no strength to settle those accounts one by one. He could only curse “a tiger fallen to the plain” beneath his breath.

“You still look after me so well,” said Lan Xing. “I’ll have to rely on your care in the future.”

“What are you saying? They know this isn’t quite proper — they were too embarrassed to raise it with you directly and asked me to step in. What could I do? There’s some history between us; leaving you out entirely would be too heartless.”

“That’s true, that’s true.”

The two chatted quite congenially. Zhù Ying assured him again and again that as long as Lan Xing remained, the business would not dry up. Lan Xing also promised that he would arrange for Zhù Ying to meet Du Shi’en shortly.

Du Shi’en was a man of few words. He looked down on Lan De’s flightiness, but still held a measure of respect for Lan Xing.

Lan Xing spoke with him and the two waited a full five days before finding an opportunity to leave the palace together.

Again at Zhù Ying’s home, Zhù Ying said, “It’s rather a nuisance — a trifling matter that neither of us would ordinarily bother with, yet here we are going to all this trouble just to avoid misunderstandings.”

She had already arranged everything. Both sides would communicate their information — what the palace’s quoted price was, what the guild was offering. The arrangement was the same as before: she would not involve herself in whatever inflated accounts were run inside the palace. She would only keep track of the official palace price, and if anyone asked, she would never let slip that the eunuchs were skimming a margin.

In return, Du Shi’en had to guarantee that the guild would receive its payments on time, with no delays.

It was settled on the spot, with nothing put in writing — to avoid anyone using it against them later.

Lan Xing made a show of declining: “I’m going to retire to my hometown before long. In the future I won’t be in the capital, so I won’t need so much money — why not split my share between the two of you?”

“How could the palace do without our elder here?” said Du Shi’en.

“Old elders we may be — we should know when to step back. Even the Chancellors have their day of retirement; how much more so for those of us who are servants? As long as you, younger brother, can put in a good word for me before His Majesty and send me off early — that would be enough.”

The two made a show of brotherly affection; Lan Xing entrusted Du Shi’en with an implied parting request, and Zhù Ying played the part of mediator.

The guild was represented by Xiang Le and Wang Xiao-niangzi. Once the three parties had settled the terms, the smile on Du Shi’en’s face deepened a fraction — he was newly risen, and it would be dishonest to say he was entirely indifferent to this sum.

Not many days after the agreement was reached, Lan Xing was let go from the palace. Rather than returning to his hometown at once, he took up residence in his capital estate.

On the fifth day of the fifth month — the Dragon Boat Festival — the palace still sent him sticky rice dumplings as a gift.

The gifts Zhù Ying received that festival were beyond all comparison with those of her first year in the capital. The whole household had their fill of dumplings, along with new fabric sent by the Emperor.

The Zheng estate, the Leng estate, and others also sent her appropriate festival items. Zheng Xi did not send a card summoning her over for drinks as he once had.

Zhù Ying’s Dragon Boat Festival was quite at ease. Together with Zhao Su’s household, Zhao Zhen, and others, they all ate dumplings in the estate, tied five-colored threads, and drank realgar wine — or rather, the others drank while Zhù Ying, who did not drink, still wore a fragrant sachet.

Over the meal everyone traded amusing stories. Zhao Zhen was astonished — since when could Zhao Su tell jokes?

While each household was laughing and celebrating the festival, a company of people quietly entered the capital. At the front, a prison cart held several men; behind, a few small carriages followed with their families.

The prison cart headed straight for the Imperial City, but the small carriages were stopped: “You are only being asked about the criminal official’s corruption and misconduct. The rest of you, go home and await your sentence.”

Duan Shi’s eyes were red as embers. Home — did she still have one?

The man at the front of the prison cart was Bian Xing, followed by his son and trusted subordinates. This was not a crime of collective punishment, so Bian Xing’s daughter-in-law, Duan Shi, had not been shackled and arrested. She was a married-out daughter, and though her father and brothers had participated in treason, that would not be extended to her. Both her natal family and her husband’s family had committed crimes, yet she herself remained unscathed.

But where could she go?