Of the Emperor’s several daughters, only the eldest, Princess Mingyi, was married.
The Prince Consort assigned to assist Shi Kun was her husband, Shi Xi. Shi Xi was a member of the Shi Family — the nephew of Zhou You’s friend — and his grandfather had been the Minister Shi during the previous Emperor’s reign. With this dual background, no one at court raised any objection when the Emperor gave him this appointment. The Chief Ministers were also reasonably satisfied; the Prince Consort was young, carrying a faint scholarly air about him.
After court was dismissed, the Emperor kept the Prince Consort behind and carefully admonished him: “You must apply yourself diligently and must not be arrogant and rude on account of your status.”
In his heart, the Prince Consort felt a slight grievance. Although he and his wife had once dreamed of a position like Luo Sheng’s, they had never been set on becoming the Court of State Ceremonial Director at all costs. Some other post, slightly inferior, would have been acceptable — yet who could have foreseen that it would be flatly refused?
Shi Xi was a young man, and young men always carried a certain spirit within them. During the previous Emperor’s reign, the Shi Family had never been made to swallow such slights. And now the Emperor was telling him not to be arrogant? Had the Emperor ever given him the chance to be arrogant?
The Prince Consort answered with a wounded air: “Yes.”
The Emperor said, “Shi Kun has been a peacetime Chief Minister for twenty years. You should still listen to what he says. Learn from his manner and bearing.”
“Yes.”
The Emperor looked at his son-in-law and made him a promise: “Your grandfather was a pillar of the court; take him as your model. Do not fret over immediate gains and losses — keep your eyes fixed on the long view. For now, you must first do good work, so that no one will have a word to say against you. Only then will I feel easy entrusting you with weighty responsibilities in the future!”
Shi Xi gave his solemn assurance: “This subject will not fail His Majesty’s grace.”
“You must carry yourself properly — respect your elders, be courteous to men of talent, and others will naturally regard you with esteem.”
“Yes.”
The Emperor said, “Go and seek guidance from Chief Minister Shi.”
Shi Xi took his leave of the Emperor and made his way to the Council of State.
The Emperor drummed his fingers on the table and asked Du Shien: “Has Zheng Xi gone?”
Du Shien replied, “He has likely already left. Shall I send someone to recall him?”
“No need.” The Emperor lowered his head. Many thoughts drifted through his mind — as if he had grasped something, and then again as if he had not. A vague urgency stirred within him; he nearly spoke, then fell silent.
From that point on, Shi Xi became one of Shi Kun’s assistants — and proved even more diligent than Shi Kun himself. While Shi Kun still had government affairs to attend to, Shi Xi threw his whole heart into the construction of the Imperial Mausoleum. The previous Emperor had lived an extraordinarily long life, and while still alive had made considerable preparations for his own burial; the site had been chosen and most of the materials were already in place. The previous Emperor’s Empress had been interred first, and at that time an auspicious location with excellent geomantic properties had been selected all at once. Shi Kun had presided over the affair even then, having already built in ample reserve space.
Now that the previous Emperor had passed and funeral arrangements were underway, progress was going quite well. Shi Ji-xing had gone to the Court of Judicial Review as a Junior Minister, arriving just in time to catch the tail end of the Lu treason case and managing to claim a share of the credit by proximity. Now the Emperor had placed his son-in-law under Shi Kun’s supervision, likewise catching the tail end of the mausoleum construction — equally well-positioned to benefit by proximity.
Shi Kun thought to himself with equanimity: Such is the way of things.
It must be said that the Emperor’s arrangement was rather clever. Shi Kun had no wish to object, and resolved that going forward — whether it was tying up loose ends or anything else that was even slightly troublesome — he would send Shi Xi off to negotiate with the Emperor himself!
By his reckoning, the work would be complete in another month, after which an auspicious day would be chosen to lay the previous Emperor to rest. Just one month — if he did not put this Prince Consort to proper use, what would the man learn? He would have to work him hard!
Once the previous Emperor was interred, Shi Kun could at last retire!
Shi Kun had his accounts all clearly tallied — yet another matter came along unexpectedly to delay him: Chen Yuan had died.
Chen Yuan was his predecessor as Chief Minister, a man who had wisely stepped back at the height of his career, having avoided all the subsequent troubles. His children and grandchildren had been well raised, and the grandchildren even seemed to surpass the children in capability. Chen Fang had gotten a better and earlier start than Chen Meng, and the young man also looked quite upright in person. By any measure, it was a life of fine fulfillment.
He was now of considerable age, and had died at a venerable old age — fitting enough timing, one might say.
Even so, none of this ought to have delayed Shi Kun’s retirement. The complication arose from Zhù Ying submitting a memorial arguing that, since the great sage-kings of antiquity had always been accompanied by their eminent ministers, and Chen Yuan had served as Chief Minister to the previous Emperor for so many years, it was hardly excessive to grant him a place buried alongside the Imperial Mausoleum. A figure such as the previous Emperor — how could he rest alone?
This was a proper and reasonable proposal, and the Emperor accepted it with good grace.
To be buried alongside someone meant interment near the mausoleum — and the mausoleum was still under construction! The Emperor therefore picked up his brush and, with a grand flourish, directed the Prince Consort to find a plot nearby for Chen Yuan as well and to have Chen Yuan’s tomb dug while they were at it. Chen Meng and his son were returning home to observe mourning and escort the coffin back; by the time they returned, the tomb should be nearly finished, and the burial could proceed at once.
Though the task was nominally assigned to the Prince Consort, it was still considered an adjunct to the Imperial Mausoleum, so Shi Kun had to oversee it as well — dividing the work took time, and he would be unable to leave yet.
Shi Kun could only swallow his frustration, spread open the survey map, and select a plot for Chen Yuan. When he left the office for home, he sent Shi Ji-xing to call upon the Chen household and offer Chen Meng his condolences, conveying his own grief and passing along the message: “When our old friend returns, I will come to call on him in person.”
……
When Shi Ji-xing arrived at the gate of the Chen household, he found several horses already tethered to the hitching posts. One of them he recognized immediately — it was Zhù Ying’s mount, a splendid horse of outstanding quality, the kind that was easy to remember once seen.
Chen Yuan had passed away four days earlier. The previous evening, Chen Meng had received the news — after his eldest son had taken up office, he had sent his second and third sons to remain home and attend to their grandfather. The two of them, upon seeing their grandfather pass, had gone directly to the prefectural government office that same day; the prefect had not dared to delay, and sent an urgent dispatch that arrived in the capital within three days.
Chen Meng and his son were simultaneously drafting a memorial to the Emperor to report their mourning leave, making preparations to return home to observe the funeral rites, and sending death notices to relatives and close friends in the capital. That very evening, Zhù Ying had called at the house.
At that moment Chen Meng had entirely forgotten the grievances he had harbored against his father in his younger years, weeping like a man dissolved in tears. Chen Fang had been raised by his grandfather, to whom he was deeply attached, and he wept as he spoke: “Why did it come to this? And I never got to see Grandfather in his final moments! Had I known it would end this way, I would have waited two more years before taking office, just to accompany him through his final stretch of the road. Oh, oh…”
Zhù Ying waited for the father and son to finish their most urgent round of weeping before asking them: “Are you leaving at once?”
Chen Meng said: “Yes! We are already late in setting out. In this heat, I fear they may have already gone ahead with the burial.”
Zhù Ying said, “Is that so…”
“What is it?” Chen Meng wiped at his tears. “Sanlang, if you have something to say, just say it directly.”
Zhù Ying said: “If the burial has already taken place, there will be some disturbance to him. If it has not, Chief Minister Shi is currently overseeing the construction of the previous Emperor’s mausoleum together with the Prince Consort. Your late father served the previous Emperor as a loyal old minister — they shared the bond of ruler and subject for many years. If he could be interred alongside the Imperial Mausoleum, your entire family would not need to return to the countryside to observe mourning beside a grass hut. It would be somewhat improper for you and your son to raise this matter yourselves; it would be better if someone else proposed it. If you are willing, I will memorialize the court on this matter at tomorrow’s morning audience. What do you think? If your late father’s wish was to be buried in his hometown, or if he left instructions to that effect, then consider this unsaid.”
Chen Fang was still sobbing. Chen Meng dried his face and hiccupped: “Hic — ah, that would truly be wonderful! Hic — such an honor in death, hic…”
The higher one climbed, the more eyes were watching. Mourning rites could not be taken lightly. Returning to the hometown was an obligation, and it meant leaving the capital — and leaving power — far behind.
Chen Meng did not much dare to aspire to the Council of State for himself, but the more he watched his eldest son, the more he saw the makings of a fine official; he was unwilling to delay him by a single day. Zhù Ying’s idea was genuinely excellent. Chen Yuan would enjoy renown from his life through to his death, and the Chen Family could remain conveniently resident in the capital.
Chen Meng dropped his handkerchief and bowed deeply: “My profound gratitude!”
Zhù Ying held his arms to stop him: “No need for such ceremony. When I first came to the capital with nothing to my name, your late father gave me a generous gift. This is simply what I ought to do. You need not rush to leave first thing tomorrow morning — wait for me. Wait until I have submitted the memorial and we know the outcome before you set off.”
The Chen father and son were moved with gratitude.
The next morning, when the passing of Chen Yuan was announced at court, the Emperor declared there would be no audience the following day. Zhù Ying seized the moment to petition that Chen Yuan be granted the honor of burial alongside the previous Emperor.
Chen Yuan had been a man of smooth and accommodating disposition who had never offended the Emperor. When the Emperor ascended the throne, Chen Yuan’s congratulatory memorial had arrived promptly, written in a manner precisely suited to the Emperor’s tastes. Chen Meng was still one of the Nine Ministers, and Chen Fang had been among the guards stationed beside the previous Emperor during the palace coup.
The Emperor consented and commanded a decree to be written, which placed particular emphasis on Chen Fang’s conduct and allegiance during the palace coup.
He also turned to Leng Yun and said: “The Court of State Ceremonial must be attentive to this matter.”
Leng Yun accepted the charge with due gravity, then returned and promptly passed the matter off to Sheng Ying. It was only at this point that Leng Yun remembered — was Sheng Ying not a kinsman of Chen Yuan?
Sheng Ying accepted the task with mixed feelings and hurried straight to the Chen household after court was dismissed. Chen Meng cried another round of tears in front of him, and Sheng Ying asked: “When you escort the coffin home, will you hold the ceremonies here at this residence?”
Chen Meng said: “We also need to offer comfort to the ancestors back in the hometown.”
Sheng Ying hesitated somewhat. If the ceremonies were held in the capital it would be very convenient, but if there was also to be a ceremony held back in the hometown, would the Court of State Ceremonial need to send someone there? Would he himself have to make that journey?
Chen Meng, seeing his maternal uncle’s predicament, spoke up of his own accord: “Please remain in the capital; my son and I will return home to handle the arrangements ourselves. After we come back to the capital, and before the interment, we will hold another ceremony here.”
Sheng Ying said, “Very well. I will personally oversee all the funeral rites. The burial will be conducted with the full honors befitting his station.”
Chen Meng said, “My deepest thanks.”
Sheng Ying went off to make preparations. In the Chen household, Chen Meng changed into mourning garments and drafted a memorial of thanks to the Emperor. Zhù Ying then arrived again, arranging to send the father and son off when they departed the following day.
Chen Meng said: “You already have more than enough on your plate, and you have been thoroughly considerate of us. The most important matter has already been handled — why trouble yourself with these smaller details?”
Chen Fang also said: “Uncle has just been through that great matter, and the Court of Judicial Review is still waiting for you to set it in order. Do not let us delay your proper affairs.”
Zhù Ying said: “If the Court of Judicial Review cannot function properly after I am away for one month, then these years of work have been wasted. Tomorrow there is no morning court; I will see you off and then go in.” She also gave them some offerings for the deceased and travel funds.
The father and son accepted them generously.
Zhù Ying said: “You are busy; I will not impose further.”
Chen Meng said: “Since you are still coming back, there is no rush anymore. The fuss was because of all the arrangements that needed to be made for returning home to observe mourning in a grass hut — but now that is no longer necessary. Now, at last…now I actually have the time to feel my grief.”
The two of them exchanged some domestic conversation. Chen Meng mentioned that going forward the whole family would move to the capital, with a few people left back home to look after the property, and so on. He also mentioned that Chen Fang was no longer young, and that originally a marriage had been planned for him — to allow Chen Yuan to see four generations under one roof — but it had been postponed on account of the national mourning period, and now would have to be deferred even further.
Chen Fang, hearing this, was overcome with another wave of sorrow.
Zhù Ying asked: “Which family’s daughter?”
Chen Meng said: “We were still seeking the previous elder’s guidance on the matter, and nothing had been decided yet. Who could have anticipated…”
Zhù Ying said: “Do not be anxious. Your late father will eventually rest in eternal sleep in the capital. Once the mourning period is over, coming with a new bride to pay respects at the grave will be both timely and fitting.”
Seeing Chen Meng settle back into composure, Zhù Ying took her leave and, on her way out, encountered Shi Ji-xing.
The two of them had crossed paths at the Court of Judicial Review by day, and were now crossing paths at the Chen household by night. Meeting face to face, both involuntarily smiled.
Zhù Ying said: “The father and son are in there sorting their luggage. Go in and see them soon. They are doing well to have you come today — tomorrow they will be gone. I have arranged to see them off tomorrow; please help cover the official duties.”
Shi Ji-xing said: “Understood.”
……—
The following day, the Emperor held no court. Zhù Ying escorted the Chen father and son out of the capital.
Not many people had come to see them off; most intended to call at the Chen household upon their return to offer condolences in person. A few fellow townspeople had come as well, and the reunion brought a particular kind of sorrow.
Zhù Ying returned from outside the city gates and had only just entered the imperial city when a young attendant of Du Shien’s was waiting at the gate: “You have finally arrived — His Majesty summons you.”
Zhù Ying dared not tarry and followed him at a pace all the way to the Emperor’s presence. The young attendant arrived breathless and gasping; Zhù Ying’s own breathing had only quickened slightly. She steadied it quickly, then made a deep bow before the Emperor.
The Emperor said: “You went to see Chen Meng off?”
“Yes.”
“You share the same hometown, so it is fitting to be close.”
Zhù Ying said: “It is not only because of our shared hometown. While Chief Minister Chen was alive, he never looked down on those younger than himself. The bearing of a true Chief Minister.”
“And you have not failed him,” the Emperor said, offering a brief appraisal, then asked Zhù Ying what she had been occupied with.
On this point, Zhù Ying had long been prepared. The Emperor had been on the throne for most of a year, and his every attempt to act had been blocked. He could hardly be content with that.
Zhù Ying said: “I had intended to submit this tomorrow.”
“Bring it here.”
Zhù Ying produced a memorial and first summarized the key point: “This subject requests Your Majesty’s decree to conduct a review of certain long-standing unjust cases.”
The Emperor raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Zhù Ying said: “This subject has only just taken charge of the Court of Judicial Review, and being young, I have been on edge every single day, fearing only that I might fail Your Majesty’s grace. Therefore, once the Lu treason case was concluded, I directed them to go through the recent old archives one more time. There are a few cases with some questionable points. As it happens, the localities involved have all recently undergone a change in principal administrators; the handover has consumed considerable time, and it is difficult to attend to these matters in the short term. They cannot see to it, and they have no hands free — so let the Court of Judicial Review take the lead on this.”
The Emperor said: “Which localities…oh!”
Zhù Ying said: “In this subject’s modest experience, for any given locality, the fastest way to establish credibility and authority is to clear out old unresolved cases and rectify unjust verdicts. I request a decree from Your Majesty, so that the common people may know of Your Majesty’s care for all under Heaven.”
The Emperor nodded: “Very good! But is this truly feasible at this time?”
“Of course. We start with these localities. At any rate, things cannot get any worse. Reviewing serious cases in all localities is already within the proper jurisdiction of the Court of Judicial Review — it is simply what ought to be done.”
The Emperor said: “Approved!”
“Then I must also ask Your Majesty to consult with the Council of State, and to issue a decree making it known throughout the realm.”
The Emperor was gradually coming to understand the implication: he, the Emperor, had ascended the throne, and was now overturning unjust cases that had been handled by the Lu Wang faction! Building his reputation!
The Emperor quickly summoned Wang Yunhe and Liu Songnian. Shi Kun was rather unlucky — he was still out of the city inspecting burial plots. Ever since Zhù Ying had petitioned to have Chen Yuan buried alongside the previous Emperor, Shi Kun had had a premonition that in the coming days, many others would also want to be buried there! He had to go out early and make arrangements — and to dig Chen Yuan’s burial chamber and make his escape before any newly deceased turned up!
The two men arrived before the Emperor, and upon seeing that Zhù Ying was already on her feet waiting for them, they knew this matter involved her.
The Emperor was still somewhat lacking in confidence; even his manner of speaking was uncertain. He tentatively conveyed Zhù Ying’s proposal: “The Court of Judicial Review says that in reviewing the old archives, several cases were found to have been improperly decided, and they wish to conduct a thorough investigation of old cases. I feel we must not proceed too hastily; let us start with a few localities. What is the opinion of the Chief Ministers?”
Liu Songnian normally paid little attention to routine administrative affairs, yet he was the first to ask: “Which localities, precisely?”
On this point the Emperor was well prepared — he rattled off several place names with practiced ease.
Wang Yunhe understood at once. This pairing was remarkably well-suited. He had wanted to suppress the unlawful seizure of land in several of those exact localities; Zhù Ying was bringing the case review right to those same places, incidentally dealing with a few local bullies and corrupt gentry along the way — advantageous for suppressing land seizures and at the same time cleansing local governance.
This was something Zhù Ying could raise but that he himself could not conveniently raise. Naturally he could have privately instructed Zhù Ying to do so, but he had not felt comfortable broaching it directly — Zhù Ying was not a disciple under his tutelage, after all.
This work also required capable people to execute it. Even the finest plan, in the hands of a foolish executor, could be ruined. How to use a case to bring down a local bully without disrupting the local area — without implicating the innocent, without causing upstanding village elders to live in terror — was something that demanded genuine ability.
He had formerly used the Emperor to clear his path, and now Zhù Ying was in turn making use of the Emperor, extending the reach of the Court of Judicial Review to act on his behalf. Suppressing land seizures would invariably meet with resistance from local gentry; a local official going in would find it hard to open up the situation at once. Right at the moment of deadlock, a hand reaching out of nowhere to haul away the opposing party — perfect.
Wang Yunhe cast a somewhat sympathetic glance at the Emperor, who was still smiling contentedly. He also felt a measure of appreciation for Zhù Ying, this young person — she applied herself earnestly to real work, knew how to operate through the Emperor, and sought no particular credit or glory, handling affairs on his behalf that he himself could not conveniently handle.
Wang Yunhe promptly said: “Your Majesty is wise.”
Liu Songnian also gave a nod of agreement.
The Emperor said with pleasure: “Then it shall be so! Zhù Ying, this matter is in your hands — see that it is handled well.”
“This subject receives the decree.”
……—
Zhù Ying left the imperial presence and returned to the Court of Judicial Review to look for the old archives.
She had previously already directed the Court of Judicial Review to reorganize the old archives. Now she selected several cases and brought them to the Council of State, letting Wang Yunhe make the final selection.
Liu Songnian cradled a teacup: “Someone is going to be in trouble!”
Zhù Ying said: “What kind of talk is that? I am helping them find their way back from a wrong path, saving them from sinking in ever deeper. The merit from this alone is surely enough to spare me this year’s incense offerings.”
Wang Yunhe selected two of the cases: “These two locations are the critical ones.”
Zhù Ying said: “Understood. I will send capable people to these two places, and mix in a few other cases alongside them.”
Wang Yunhe said: “You are thoughtful.”
Zhù Ying grinned: “Nothing else to do anyway. It is not as if the idea was beyond you — it is simply that a gentleman has to observe certain boundaries, and that puts him at a disadvantage. I am different; I can play loose.”
Liu Songnian tossed an orange at her; Zhù Ying caught it deftly with one hand, and walked out while peeling and eating it: “Hmm, the flavor is only so-so. Nothing beats fresh oranges from Fulu County.”
Liu Songnian spat at her retreating back.
Zhù Ying returned and assigned the work. Shi Ji-xing looked over the cases and asked quietly: “Was this again because His Majesty…”
Zhù Ying said: “Reviewing serious cases throughout the localities is already within the jurisdiction of the Court of Judicial Review. We just do it.”
“Fair enough.”
While the Court of Judicial Review pressed forward with the cases, Chen Meng meanwhile made the journey there and back, and at last brought Chen Yuan back to the capital. In the fierce summer heat, Chen Meng had his father cremated at a temple; the ashes were placed in a cinerary urn, while the coffin held a set of Chen Yuan’s formal garments. Accompanying them with wife, children, and servants, everyone arrived with lips pale with exhaustion.
It was exactly the time of the previous Emperor’s interment.
The Chen father and son joined the great procession of court officials escorting the funeral, first seeing the previous Emperor into the underground burial chamber, watching the mausoleum sealed shut, and only then returning to attend to their own father’s burial rites.
The day on which the Emperor had suspended court had long since passed; with the previous Emperor completely laid to rest, he resumed holding court.
On that very day’s morning audience, Liu Songnian produced his second memorial petitioning to retire. He argued that the previous Emperor had now been laid to rest, that if he did not leave soon the first year of the new reign would come to an end, and his word would then count for nothing.
The Emperor still would not permit it: “Why such haste? I still have matters on which I wish to consult the Chief Minister.”
Liu Songnian said: “This subject is by nature a wandering cloud and untethered crane, who stumbled by accident into the halls of power.”
The Emperor said: “Since you are here, settle in.”
“I cannot settle.”
The Emperor set aside Liu Songnian’s memorial and commanded a decree to be drafted in praise and entreaty — if you leave, what becomes of the people who serve under your household?
Liu Songnian submitted a third memorial, insisting on retirement. He told the Emperor that if these men had talent, the Emperor should simply select and make use of them himself — they were not his “personal retainers”!
The Emperor this time personally wrote out a decree in his own hand, expressing his reluctance to part with him. He granted Liu Songnian retirement with his full salary intact, and further bestowed upon him a wheeled carriage cushioned with rush matting, a staff with armrests, and other such gifts, along with a country estate for his old age.
Shi Kun, clutching his own unsubmitted memorial requesting retirement, stood speechless for a long while — Old Liu had bolted! Even faster than him!
Two Chief Ministers requesting retirement in succession — the second one would look a bit unseemly. Shi Kun had no choice but to wait a few more days. First he would go to the Chen household to offer his condolences.
The Chen household had set up a mourning hall, and Sheng Ying from the Court of State Ceremonial personally brought people over to help with the arrangements. From the palace, the Emperor also sent out additional money and silk to assist with the memorial offerings.
All of Chen Yuan’s relatives, former associates, students, and those whose lives he had touched came to pay their respects.
Shi Kun remarked with feeling: “If when I die I could have this, it would truly be a life with no regrets.”
Chen Meng quickly said: “Chief Minister, what can you mean? You have been a peacetime Chancellor for twenty years — everyone looks upon you with admiration.”
Shi Kun only smiled and said nothing, then glanced at Zhù Ying, thinking to himself: Chen Yuan had a sharp eye!
Zhù Ying’s face showed little grief, yet she had done Chen Yuan a great service. Who could see that and not offer a word of praise?
Shi Kun also looked at his own son, and at last finding some trace of warmth between them, patted his son on the shoulder and resolved to let this son go, to let him make his own way in the Court of Judicial Review.
Zhù Ying met Shi Kun’s eyes and bowed to him; Shi Kun returned half a bow: “I am old, and cannot bear the sight of partings and funerals — I will take my leave first. You young people can stay on a while longer.”
“Please go at your leisure.”
A parting and funeral? Zhù Ying looked at the Chen father and son. A month had passed, and the grief of the Chen father and son had softened somewhat — Chen Fang no longer dissolved into tears at every turn. It was not so desolate as all that.
When the funeral rites were concluded and the man interred in his tomb, Chen Meng invited Zhù Ying to his own home and produced a large box.
Zhù Ying said: “What is this?”
Chen Meng said: “For you.”
“Oh?”
Chen Yuan had left Zhù Ying a large box of things, inside which were a belt that Chen Yuan had used, a letter addressed to Zhù Ying, and some gold — all sealed by Chen Yuan’s own hand.
Zhù Ying accepted it, returned home, broke the seal, and looked over the contents, not quite understanding why gold had been left for her.
She opened the letter and read it. It said that his own children and grandchildren would likely not go as far as Zhù Ying in life, which was why this belt was still left to Zhù Ying; as for the children and grandchildren, he entrusted them to her care in her leisure time.
The final two pages spoke of the gold: “The people who wrote those two books must be of some unusual background. Shen and Feng were both fools — foolish and cruel, without any understanding of the human heart. My son is muddled and timid; he understands in his heart but does not dare to think deeply. I know that they are well cared for under you. This gold is a token of my regard — please give it to them as a contribution to their wedding funds. If you feel it is inappropriate, or that it might disturb them, then donate it on my behalf to a temple or convent.”
Chen Yuan had truly become a man of penetrating wisdom!
Zhù Ying packed away the entire box of items. Donate it to a temple? Very well — the Cihui Convent, then.
Members of the household who knew that she and the Chen Family had been on fairly close terms refrained from disturbing her at this time, unaware that she was in fact feeling very little grief. And so, when a calling card arrived from the Zheng household inviting her to visit, Su Zhe came personally to deliver it, inquiring with careful hesitation: “Grandfather? Will you go?”
Zhù Ying took the calling card and looked it over, then said: “I will go.”
“Oh?”
Zhù Ying ruffled the child’s head. Poor thing — Liu Songnian had not yet left the capital, but the various associates in the household had already begun to seek their own futures. Su Zhe and Lin Feng, owing to the particular circumstances of their backgrounds, were awkward for the Ministry of Personnel to place; both were currently idle at home.
Zhù Ying arrived at the Office of the Capital Prefecture, where only Zheng Xi was waiting for her, a small serving boy nearby tending a kettle of tea over a fire.
A bright moon hung high in the sky. A gentle breeze stirred in early autumn. A small clay brazier glowed red.
“Sit.”
Zhù Ying sat across from him and said: “You seem to be in good spirits. Good news?”
Zheng Xi asked: “In your opinion, who is suited to be the Capital Prefect now?”
Zhù Ying said: “My congratulations.”
Zheng Xi smiled with measured dignity: “I knew you would figure it out.”
“The only thing I cannot figure out is why you waited until now.”
Zheng Xi said: “It was not a matter of waiting, actually. I told His Majesty that someone needed to hold the Capital Prefecture firm for him. After a period of upheaval, the Capital Prefecture must not be lightly moved, and the imperial guards must not be rashly deployed.”
Zhù Ying said: “So who would be suitable?”
“When I could not be moved last year, the situation called for waiting; now that time has passed, the moment is ripe. What do you think — who is suitable?”
Zhù Ying said: “Someone steady whom you trust will do. The capital region is an important stronghold — the powerful and noble are plentiful here, and His Majesty tends toward magnanimity. The Capital Prefect cannot turn a blind eye to everything; one must be able to hold the position with firm authority.”
“If only you were a few years older.”
Zhù Ying smiled. She herself had no wish to leave the Court of Judicial Review just yet. She asked: “What do you need from me?”
Zheng Xi said: “To share a cup of tea in peace and quiet with me. Days as serene as this will likely be hard to come by in the future!”