Chapter 75

The two of them tidied themselves up briefly, then rode swiftly back to the city. The wind lifted the drifting snow, which danced and fluttered in the golden light of dusk. By the time they returned, twilight had already fallen. All along the streets and alleys, taverns, teahouses, and shops were hanging lanterns of various sizes before their signs, casting warm brown and orange halos that lit up the thoroughfares and winding lanes like a river of stars.

They rode side by side through the bustling city, weaving between the crowds and lanterns, the noise and lights flowing around them like fish in a current, yet at their side was always the other.

The cool night breeze brushed against them as they stopped at a roadside stall for noodles with fried bean paste. By the time they reached the Duke’s Mansion, night had fully descended. Xie Ci laughed as he took Gu Wan’s hand, pushed open the door to his grand study, and rushed inside. There, neatly folded, awaited a set of official robes and soft armor, topped with a dark red silk-bound volume.

It was an official commission.

Such a document was the formal warrant of office, used for appointments, promotions, demotions, or entry into government service. Smiling, Xie Ci handed it to her.

At that moment, the moon had risen above the treetops, and a pool of silvery light poured across the wide-open window ledge. In the study, only a single lamp glowed upon the desk, its yellowish light mingling with the vast sweep of moonlight.

Gu Wan, surprised, took the document and opened it. Inside, upon immaculate white silk, were written several lines in precise small script.

"Notice: Ni Haozhi, assistant magistrate of Linyang, has served for several years with excellent evaluations. He is hereby promoted to Vice Steward of the Grand Commandant’s Mansion, concurrently holding the post of Inspector for the Capital Prefecture, effective immediately. Ninth day of the tenth month, the forty-second year of Longqing.”

In the bottom right corner, a brilliant red seal of the Ministry of Personnel was stamped with perfect formality.

On the left page, the recipient’s physical details were recorded: "Aged twenty-seven, born in the fifteenth year of Longqing, height five feet four inches, slender build, fair skin, black hair, arched brows, eyes shaped like flattened almonds, dignified and refined, of moderate temperament, gentle and courteous."

Indeed, the description was very much like Gu Wan herself.

She was quick-witted and instantly sensed what Xie Ci intended.

Moonlight spilled over her and the commission in her hands. Xie Ci stood beside her as she read, and he said quietly, "That day, when I received Feng Kun’s message, it said, ‘I dislike your wife, Lady Gu.’"

He referred to the time he had gone to the palace to fetch her.

Though "Lady Gu of the Xie family" was the most proper title, it unsettled Xie Ci. The Xie family’s Lady Gu. Your wife, Lady Gu.

But Gu Wan was not just "Lady Gu" of a clan, nor anyone’s mere wife—she was Gu Wan, with her own name, her own identity, standing alone.

From the day they dashed hand in hand from Tieshan Monastery, she had been bold, resourceful, and free-spirited, standing tall through wind, frost, rain, and thunder. She was not anyone’s appendage—she was herself, Gu Wan, independent in her own right.

She had always handled many affairs openly, but now, constrained by the old emperor, she could no longer do so. Xie Ci was unwilling to see her confined at home or forever pretending to be one of his bodyguards.

She was so exceptional—she ought to be a figure like the founding Princess Changping, commanding troops in her own right.

The person he had chosen for the commission was truly one of their own, carefully selected after much deliberation. In this time of upheaval, he had promoted Ni Haozhi, making the Grand Commandant’s Mansion—essentially their own Duke’s Mansion—an official establishment with its own staff and rank. Xie Ci restructured internally and made a series of outside appointments, entrusting Gu Wan with the position of Vice Steward, a fourth-rank post.

It was an in-house appointment.

As for the concurrent office, Xie Ci had thought long and hard. The capital garrison at Qinguang would have been good, but a military camp was hardly suited to a woman. After careful consideration, he chose the Inspector of the Capital Prefecture—a public, external office.

He wanted more than just appearances.

In the stillness of night, under a sky like polished glass, Xie Ci spoke softly, a little pleased, a little apologetic, earnestly and with a touch of rambling: "Forgive me, you’ll still have to disguise yourself for now. But hopefully not for long—I'll work even harder."

"When you’re not at the Capital Prefecture, just let Ni Haozhi attend in your place. He’s waiting in the mansion already, clever and capable. You can meet him tomorrow. Don’t worry about the others—it’s all taken care of…"

Outside, the silver moonlight poured over the eaves, roofed pavilions, and the courtyard, shining on the window, their faces, their bodies. Xie Ci stood close, his words tinged with shy expectation, seeking approval even as he apologized.

Gu Wan gradually looked away from the commission, turned to him, the corners of her lips curving as joy sparkled in her eyes—what a gift this was.

Xie Ci spoke quietly, perhaps not even fully realizing what he expressed, but she understood at once. In his heart, she was a person complete unto herself. All his thoughts and actions came from respect for her as an individual. He saw her as she truly was—and as she ought to be.

In this era, he was like a solitary, precious candle flame—her own alone. On this silent night, Gu Wan felt what it was like to be cherished, cradled in someone’s hands. He believed she didn’t need it, yet still did everything in his power, gently and wholeheartedly, to hold her close.

Gu Wan’s feelings, in that moment, were beyond words. She was not weak, nor did she see herself as such—yet in love, she still longed to be protected, to be treasured.

Tonight, Xie Ci had given her that.

A little surprised, delighted, for the first time in their relationship, she did not hold the psychological upper hand. She was, for a moment, simply an eighteen-year-old girl, full of joy, smiling at him.

She held the commission close, whispering, "I truly love this gift."

She smiled as she said it, her arched brows and rosy lips curving, her almond eyes shining with starlight, as if overflowing with the galaxy itself.

Xie Ci’s eyes widened at her, and he smiled too. Suddenly, he felt as though he’d received something even more precious than a kiss.

Gu Wan’s laughter, crystalline, spilled out, lifting the commission in her hand—she really loved it.

Xie Ci’s spirits soared, his radiant eyes shining as he grinned wide, white teeth showing, happiness flooding his expression.

They were, simply, overjoyed.

Gu Wan, still smiling, pressed the box to her lips in a kiss, then glanced at him. Xie Ci’s ears flushed red, his lips lifting. She laughed softly, opened a hidden compartment to stow the box and the two sets of official robes, then tucked the commission into her bosom.

Hand in hand, they pushed open the door. The night was silent, moonlight streaming across the vast courtyard. Gu Wan skipped down the steps, looked up at the big, round moon, and exclaimed, "Tonight feels just like the Mid-Autumn Festival—I want to set off fireworks!"

Every Mid-Autumn of her childhood, she’d carried lanterns and set off fireworks. The memory struck her suddenly.

There were no firecrackers in the mansion, but what did it matter? The two of them ran to the side garden, where autumn maples and pines lined the paths, with even more trees in the inner courtyards, lush and evergreen through all seasons.

They searched the pine trees for dry, brittle twigs coated with resin, cleaning up the old branches and snapping them off. Then, with a tinderbox, they set them alight.

Sparks sizzled and popped at the tips, bursting now and then like miniature fireworks. Each took a branch, waving them, watching the sparks fly.

They laughed and played, running about with their flaming branches. Sometimes each grabbed two, chasing and teasing each other among the ancient pines and cypresses, their laughter echoing through the three inner courtyards.

The venerable trees, taller than the rooftops, had stood through frost and snow, witnessing Xie Ci’s whole life: his childhood, his exile, his return, his finding of love. Now, they stood silent and enduring as the couple laughed in their shade.

The north wind sighed, the trees swayed gently, steadfast and silent. The two played until midnight, when the wind grew colder. Xie Ci removed his thick blue cloak and wrapped it around Gu Wan.

The long, dark blue velvet hem trailed across the flagstones as they ascended the steps to the rear hall of the third courtyard. With a gentle creak, Xie Ci pushed open the door. Inside, a perpetual lamp burned, two points of red candlelight, three sticks of incense curling upward. Upon the yellowish boxwood altar stood four clean, dry nanmu tablets—one large, three smaller—bathed in lamplight and candle glow, standing silent, as if watching over them with gentle affection.

Before the altar were two prayer cushions. Xie Ci led Gu Wan forward, hand in hand. He lit the incense, bowed three times, then kowtowed, inserting the sticks into the brass burner.

He said softly, "Father, Eldest Brother, Second Brother, Third Brother, Wan and I have come to see you again."

The largest tablet, its characters bold and upright, seemed to hold the image of the man—once robust and stern, now with silvered hair—who watched him still, unchanged in memory. That was his father.

His eldest brother, most like their father, whom he and the second and third brothers would tease for growing into an old man before his time, though in truth he was a heroic youth, tall and steady, a true eldest brother, fatherly in all but name.

His second brother, whose gentle smile could dazzle the world, was always kind as water to his family.

His third brother, mischievous and sly, always teasing Xie Ci with a grin—later, so dignified and proper after passing the highest civil exam and taking office elsewhere. Xie Ci would never admit it, but he missed him, even when his letters made him want to strangle him.

Kneeling side by side, Xie Ci gripped Gu Wan’s hand, his expression gentle, then, after a moment, grew solemn. Clenching his fist, he declared in earnest, "Father, brothers, I will see your injustice redressed before the world!"

Why should such upright men as his father and brothers carry the burden of false guilt and shame all their lives? He would never allow it!

After paying their respects and speaking to his loved ones, Xie Ci led Gu Wan out, quietly closing the door behind them.

It was now deep into the night; distant sounds faded, and the long hours grew still. They stepped outside into a sky glittering with stars, the world hushed and clear.

The excitement of their makeshift fireworks faded, leaving a peaceful calm as they sat together on the steps, gazing at the stars.

Her dark green coat and his deep blue cloak brushed against the black armor at their sides, their shoulders leaning together. Xie Ci smiled, glancing at her serene profile, then rested his head on her shoulder, feeling utterly content.

But after a moment, he sensed something amiss—had their roles reversed? Hastily, he sat up straighter, sneaking a look at Gu Wan, then sidled closer, adjusting her head with his hand.

She tilted her head toward him. Though he was taller, with some effort they managed to fit together.

"Ha!" Gu Wan burst into laughter, unable to contain herself.

Her clear laughter rang out over the courtyard, and the guards outside exchanged knowing smiles. When her laughter subsided, she leaned against him—fine, let him have his moment of triumph, she thought, still laughing.

The old Duke’s mansion was filled with joy and laughter deep into the night, though outside, the atmosphere was anything but.

The city was tense, the wind carried a sense of dread.

In the year of Xuzi, at the infamous Throat-Slitting Incident in the capital camp, two high-ranking officials sent by the emperor were assassinated in broad daylight, their throats cut by sharp iron arrows. Xue Rong’an’s screams of agony echoed as he and his warhorse sprayed blood over a hundred paces, a scene of utter horror.

And this happened within the cloud-shrouded barracks outside the capital.

The resulting power struggles and bloody intrigues brought a storm to the entire city. Even the main streets grew quiet as the court’s turmoil rippled outward.

Imperial City. Jade Spring Palace.

Tonight, the stars and moon shone brilliantly, but the vast palace was eerily silent. Even the armored guards of the Golden Watch moved more quietly than usual, especially when passing beneath the Jade Spring Palace.

Inside, only half the lanterns were lit. The painted ceilings and intricate patterns vanished into shadow. For days the palace had been shrouded in a suffocating gloom. Servants and eunuchs scarcely dared to breathe, cowering in corners.

Below the jade steps, chaos reigned—the writing stands, inkstones, incense burners, cups, and other objects were all swept to the floor, smashed to pieces.

The old emperor, draped in imperial yellow, stood above the steps, his face twisted in rage and shadow, almost monstrous.

Feng Kun! Lin Dongyang! Xie Ci! Li Yi!

The weeks of political upheaval had left his eyes bloodshot, his expression fierce, voice grinding out the last two names with a palpable taste of blood.

With the Crown Prince’s faction exposed, Xie Ci dropped his previous disguise, and after some deliberation, Li Yi did the same. Feng Kun, together with these two and Grand Preceptor Lin, tore apart the fragile peace in a battle that saved Yu Miaofeng and others.

But was that the end?

Far from it. It was only the beginning of a bloody storm.

On that icy night of first snow, the old emperor’s hair stood on end. After forty years of factional struggle—against his own father, the former crown prince, his brothers, and the powerful ministers who propped up their own sons—he had fought his way to a bitter victory. Now, in his old age, he sensed, with animal instinct, the scent of blood.

No one had expected, before the Throat-Slitting Incident, that the two rival factions would dare to draw blades and kill in the open. Not even Feng Kun or Grand Preceptor Lin had ever gone so far.

It was unprecedented.

Yet this very breach of all convention allowed the old emperor to sense the root of Feng Kun’s audacity.

—To shatter the rules so brazenly was a sign: the game was over, and nothing was off-limits. A hidden, deadly intent hung in the air.

Feng Kun had reached the pinnacle of power.

One step further—

Usurpation, regicide, a coup?

In his fury, the old emperor’s mind was icy clear, more lucid than ever before.

He calmed himself, sat back on his throne.

In the half-lit gloom, his face was unreadable, but when he spoke, his rage was gone, replaced by an eerie calm.

After a long silence, he ordered, "Lu Haide, summon Grand Preceptor Lin to the palace."

"And send word to Grand Tutor Wen—I am ill and wish to see my teacher. Also, call in Wu Boyi and Zhang Yuanrang."

Duke Qi’s Mansion.

In Feng Kun’s library, behind a great desk of rosewood, Feng Kun sat in a master’s chair with crimson brocade cushions, dressed in an embroidered blue silk robe with golden belt, dragons and phoenixes contending above sea and cliff motifs. His eyes were half-closed.

Before the desk, Huang Xin reported, "The emperor has summoned Grand Preceptor Lin to the palace overnight. Then Lu Haide went to Grand Tutor Wen’s residence. His Majesty claims illness. Grand Tutor Wen at first refused, but by afternoon, he had entered the palace."

Feng Kun slowly opened his striking, sharp eyes. His lips curled, but the smile never reached his eyes. He said coldly, "It seems our emperor is not yet decrepit."

Like a great white shark, he had instantly sensed the scent of blood and responded with the strongest, swiftest measures.

The room fell silent. Yin Luo returned, kneeling to report, "Prime Minister, Kou Chong has escaped and vanished. We have searched for days, but found no trace."

Feng Kun’s face darkened at once.

He was ruthless, but rewarded loyalty well, and his followers were many. Betrayal was what he hated most. Yet now, Kou Chong had turned traitor.

But whose man was Kou Chong in the end—Grand Preceptor Lin’s? Xie Ci’s? Or Li Yi’s? Yin Luo hesitated. "Prime Minister, do you think Xie Ci is with us or not…?" The Crown Prince’s faction, after the upheaval, ultimately came under Feng Kun’s control, but only with Xie Ci standing in the way.

Was that truly Feng Kun’s power? Not entirely.

Xie Ci’s recovery of the Crown Prince’s forces was too swift and decisive—even Feng Kun took notice.

Feng Kun lowered his gaze, his sharp eyes shadowed. Reclined in the master’s chair, his delicate features radiated a sense of latent threat.

Was it truly coincidence?

He laughed coldly, the sound devoid of humor. He never believed in coincidence.

Without ability, no one could have broken the deadlock or toppled the Crown Prince’s clique; but those with ability always brought their own risks and consequences.

A sharp knife always has two edges.

Still—one must be capable.

In the past, Feng Kun would have eliminated Xie Ci without hesitation. But now, Grand Preceptor Lin was drawn to the emperor’s side, and Grand Tutor Wen had returned—a pillar of the loyalist and neutral factions. With both at court, the balance had shifted.

Feng Kun’s eyes flashed—hesitation between elimination and restraint was pointless. With bow drawn against the emperor, there would be no second chance.

That was what mattered most.

Now, to the previous night.

After Grand Preceptor Lin entered the palace and paid his respects, the old emperor glared at him for a long time, then threw down a transfer of succession.

"I will not pass the throne to Li Rong."

Li Rong, the Fourth Prince, was the one who, upon discovering the secret affair between Consort Mu and Feng Kun, had exposed it to the emperor, dealing Feng Kun a blow he never recovered from. Grand Preceptor Lin knew this well.

The edict was clear: after the emperor’s death, the throne would pass to the Fourth Prince, Li Yi. Signed in black ink on white silk, sealed with the imperial jade. Three copies: one in Jade Spring Palace, one with the successor, one given to Grand Preceptor Lin.

It was entirely formal.

Grand Preceptor Lin was overjoyed and immediately knelt, bowing: "Your minister accepts the edict with gratitude. As ruler and minister, I pledge my life to Your Majesty’s service!"

In the palace, with the imperial edict in hand, Grand Preceptor Lin paid homage without the slightest hesitation.

As for Grand Tutor Wen—

The wheels of his carriage rolled through the palace gates and across the marble plaza, coming to a stop before the Jade Spring Palace. Only after the curtain was lifted did the white-haired old man descend.

Lu Haide and a group of eunuchs were waiting, along with Pang Huai. He looked up, met Grand Tutor Wen’s eyes, and bowed. Wu Boyi, Zhang Yuanrang, and Yi Zhongling, who had arrived earlier, greeted him at the entrance.

Grand Tutor Wen, now over eighty, had once been appointed by the late Emperor Yingzong—the old emperor’s grandfather—as a guardian of the throne. After Yingzong’s death, the previous emperor had deposed the old emperor as crown prince and installed another. That the current emperor survived and accepted the Empress Yuan’s clan’s allegiance was thanks to Grand Tutor Wen’s support. His accession was also due to Wen’s efforts.

Grand Tutor Wen led the neutral loyalists and the loyalist party as a whole. There was a significant faction who wanted no part in court struggles—the so-called neutralists. After the disgrace and execution of Xie Xinchong and his sons, these officials had fallen silent. But now, after long hesitation, Grand Tutor Wen had returned, climbing the steps of the Jade Spring Palace.

Inside, the old emperor was no longer fierce. Much of the palace’s gold and jade finery had been removed. He lay on the great dragon bed, face sallow, a white cloth bound about his head. At the sight of his teacher, he struggled to rise. "Teacher! Teacher—"

Tears streamed down his aged face, and he was visibly abashed—an emotion seldom seen.

Since the deaths of Xie Xinchong and his sons, Grand Tutor Wen had refused all summons, claiming illness and refusing even the emperor’s personal visits. Years had passed without a meeting. Now, the old emperor wept, clutching Wen’s hand.

He was indeed playing for sympathy, but his illness was real—blind in one eye, unable to walk, worn out by years of toil. He had recently spat blood from fury at Xie Ci. His skin was flushed and feverish, his body shrunken and stooped with age.

He wept bitterly, "I—I, Teacher, I was wrong! I should never have doubted my loyal ministers! But now—now, you cannot know what those traitors have…"

Behind him, Wu Boyi, Zhang Yuanrang, Yi Zhongling, and the loyalist defenders, moved by the scene, knelt immediately. The emperor’s sorrow brought tears to them all; Pang Huai and the others accompanying Wen bowed in silence.

A pall of grief and anger hung over the inner palace.

Grand Tutor Wen took three deep breaths. Confronted with the weeping emperor, he finally gripped his hand and declared, "Emperor, you must promise me—after this, you must change! Never repeat your mistakes!"

He doubted the emperor would change, or survive many more years—those withered hands were colder and older than his own.

But in the end, Grand Tutor Wen returned to the fray.

As a pillar of three reigns, he was the empire’s anchor—his intervention brought stability to all.

With Grand Tutor Wen leading, the loyalist hardliners and neutrals united, determined and swift, vowing to uproot Feng Kun and his faction.

Grand Preceptor Lin quickly aligned with the emperor.

On the other side stood Feng Kun, now almost surpassing Grand Preceptor Lin, with Xie Ci and Li Yi beneath him. The two sides now faced off in open confrontation.

Back at the Duke of Qi’s mansion, in the great library, faint incense drifted from a golden crane burner. The vast room was tense. Feng Kun sat at the head, with Xie Ci and Li Yi to his left and right. Though the room was full, silence reigned. With the short winter days, the sun had already set, and no servant dared enter to light the lamps.

Feng Kun’s expression was icy, but not surprised—the situation had unfolded as he had foreseen.

They were discussing Prince Tang.

Prince Tang—Prince of Tangshan—was the old emperor’s own brother, a major power in the imperial court. Feng Kun had chosen to confront Grand Preceptor Lin and Grand Tutor Wen directly, intending to bring Li Yi with him.

As for Prince Tang, he meant to leave that to Xie Ci.

This had been his plan from the start.

Feng Kun’s lips twitched as he looked at Xie Ci, leaning in, his voice magnetic, cold, and sharp. "Do you know by whose hand your father and brothers died?"

The execution was not public—it took place in the inner yard of the Eastern Prison. As for the executioner?

Xie Ci sat quietly in his chair. "I know. It was Prince Tang."