Chapter 63: Are There Really This Many Deviants? Part 2

The Pure Stream Faction were all learned men; they understood that the power of a Chancellor during wartime was absolute. Raising armies, levying taxes, and appointing or dismissing officials—all would be decided by his word alone.

If Gu Huaiyu tasted that level of power, reclaiming it would be harder than ascending to the heavens.

Yet, if they opposed the war, they risked being branded as cowards who feared the enemy.

The irony was stifling. Years ago, they mocked him for selling the country; now, they had to worry he was being too patriotic.

The morning wind swept over the jade steps of Zichen Hall. The sky was just beginning to pale in the distance, and the palace doors remained shut.

Grand Preceptor Dong stood beneath the vermilion steps, his expression solemn, sighing heavily from time to time.

Beside him stood Qin Zijin. He hadn’t slept a wink since receiving notice of the assembly. Faint dark circles hung beneath his eyes, yet his demeanor remained as refined and elegant as ever.

Behind them stood the old guard of the Pure Stream—Directors from various ministries, Censors, and Lectors. These were men who usually spoke with grand eloquence and high spirits, but now, every one of them looked deeply troubled.

The silence was as heavy as iron.

Everyone knew that once the doors opened, the boy emperor on the Dragon Throne would not speak for them. Seventy to eighty percent of the officials in their purple and crimson robes now belonged to Gu.

Even the veteran Pure Stream leader, Cao Can, had received favors from Gu Huaiyu and now refused to see his old allies.

The scales of the court had tipped entirely toward the Gu Faction. The opposition was left with only a handful of men.

However, they had already discussed how to deal with Gu Huaiyu the night before. Inside the Grand Preceptor’s brightly lit estate, the core members of the faction had held a secret meeting.

They had formulated a watertight strategy: a comprehensive ambush to surround and suppress Gu Huaiyu in Zichen Hall.

As the light grew stronger, Grand Preceptor Dong asked, “Does everyone remember what to say?”

The officials nodded one after another.

Last time in Zichen Hall, they had argued that Great Chen was a land of benevolence and should keep its promises to the barbarians. Gu Huaiyu had scolded them so thoroughly they had nearly withered in shame. They couldn’t use that tactic again.

Instead, they prepared a three-pronged attack:

First: The Emperor is newly enthroned and his foundation is unstable. This is a time for rest and recuperation. Gu Huaiyu’s push for war is a move to ruin the nation.

Second: Gu Huaiyu has destroyed ancestral systems, first by abolishing the distinction between civil and military, and now by inciting conflict. Is he even a subject of Great Chen anymore? Does he have any respect for imperial authority?

Third: The personal card.

Last night, Qin Zijin had smiled faintly, saying softly, “I have an old acquaintance from Jiangnan who shares a clan name with the Chancellor. Do you all know why the Chancellor is so hell-bent on fighting Eastern Liao?”

It was a heartbreaking story. In the thirteenth year of Longping—nearly twenty years ago—the Khan of Eastern Liao had swept south. Half of Great Chen’s territory fell, and nearly a million soldiers and civilians perished.

Among those millions was a pair of Jiangnan merchants traveling north with their young son and daughter. They were caught in the chaos; the parents’ bodies were never recovered, leaving two children to wander the wilderness, starving and homeless.

Who would have thought that the little boy, once led by his sister’s hand as a beggar, would now be the one holding a blade to the throat of the Eastern Liao Iron Cavalry?

Of course he wanted this war. It wasn’t for the country; it was for a personal vendetta.

***

Inside Zichen Hall, the lights were ablaze even before the morning mist had scattered.

Today was different. Gu Huaiyu had issued a decree summoning every official in the capital, from the fifth rank down to the ninth.

The hall was so crowded it couldn’t hold them all. Lines of officials spilled out onto the exterior steps, the side halls, and the corridors.

Beneath the gilded dragon pillars, palace attendants held their breath.

There were only two chairs in the entire hall.

One was the Imperial Throne, carved with five-clawed dragons. The Emperor sat upon it, his gaze fixed intently on the back of one man.

The other chair sat beneath the imperial steps, facing the assembled officials. Its back was draped in snow-leopard fur.

Gu Huaiyu reclined in it, holding a bowl of almond curd. He ate slowly, as if he were having breakfast in his own backyard, seemingly indifferent to the storm brewing in the room.

The officials couldn’t help but steal glances in one direction. The general who had once “cleared Mount Wu with three arrows” looked “extraordinary” today.

Pfft…

Suppressed laughter erupted from the military ranks.

Yan Zheng’s face was beet-red as he tried to hold it in, while the shoulders of several other generals shook violently.