Chapter 71: You Like Men? Part 1

The second day after Gu Huaiyu resigned.

The sun rose just as it always did.

Steam still billowed from the wonton stalls in the city’s districts, and the civil and military officials still hurried toward their respective yamen at the sound of the dawn drum. On Zhuque Boulevard, the flow of horses and carriages remained as steady as ever, as if the storm in the Hall of Literary Virtue had never occurred. Life ticked forward, indifferent.

Yet, upon closer inspection, the fine details of the capital were beginning to fray.

The canal was eerily quiet. Groups of porters stood on the banks, looking lost and confused. Usually, at this hour, the grain transport ships would be lined up for miles outside the locks. Boatmen would be shouting signals, porters would be hollering, and the work of hauling sacks would last from dawn until dusk.

But this morning, the water was empty save for a few fishing boats rocking gently with the waves.

A few days ago, the Bureau of Military Affairs had been a chaotic hive of activity due to the war with Eastern Liao. Now, the entire staff sat in their offices, staring blankly at one another. Military reports, memorials, and tiger tallies for troop movements were piled high on the desks. No one dared to touch them.

In the Ministry of Revenue, the undercurrents were even more treacherous. Minister Cui was a sly old fox who never touched anything he couldn’t distance himself from later. Previously, even the pensions for the Northern Frontier Army required Gu Huaiyu’s personal signature. Only when someone else was willing to take the fall would that old fox move a single finger.

The state treasury was so empty it practically echoed. The accounts didn’t just show a zero; the empire was buried in debt. Salaries had long been overdue. It was only because Gu Huaiyu had shouldered the responsibility—forcing that old fox to “rob Peter to pay Paul”—that the government hadn’t collapsed.

Now that Gu Huaiyu was gone, the old fox simply sat on his hands. No matter how much others hopped with anxiety, he remained as immovable as a mountain. He would stall for as long as possible. If salaries weren’t paid or local governments came begging for funds, he simply pretended not to hear. After all, it wasn’t his stomach that was going empty.

Yesterday, Qin Zijin had been beaten by a brute.

Publicly.

In front of the entire imperial court and the Emperor himself.

He had been famous since his youth, known by every scholar under heaven for his Treatise on Statecraft. He was a man of peerless literary talent. Having become the Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonies at such a young age, he had always moved through the court with grace and poise. When had he ever suffered such an indignity?

He had intended to attend today’s court session with his bruised and swollen face to fiercely impeach Yan Zheng. Who could have guessed that the Son of Heaven wouldn’t even show up for the assembly?

Qin Zijin didn’t hesitate. He headed straight for the Censorate.

Impeaching one was the same as impeaching two! Even if Gu Huaiyu had resigned, he would still sue those remnants of the Gu Faction for their disrespect and for trampling over the court’s dignity!

However, the moment he arrived at the Censorate’s gates, he was met with a cold shoulder. Every last censor had coincidentally called in sick to recover at home.

A low-level clerk on duty told him with a fake smile, “Lord Qin might not be aware, but the memorials of our Censorate have always been sent to the Chancellor’s Estate for verification first. Only after the Lord Chancellor approved them did we dare present them for His Majesty’s review.”

“Now that the Lord Chancellor has resigned, the process is… naturally broken.”

“How would the Censor-in-Chief dare to act on his own? If we rashly submit a memorial and someone accuses us of ‘acting with arbitrary authority,’ that’s not something a single punch can settle.”

The underlying meaning was clear: You were hit by Gu Huaiyu’s man, but the only person who can actually do anything for you is Gu Huaiyu.

You used your memorials to drive him away, and now, there is no one left in this world to back you up.

You got hit? You’ll just have to suck it up.

Who told you to be such a busybody?

Qin Zijin’s face flushed a sickly shade of red and green. A metallic tang rose in his throat, and he realized he had bitten his own gums until they bled.

There was nothing he could do. With Gu Huaiyu gone, this mess involved factional politics. Who would manage it? Who dared to manage it?

He turned and left the Censorate in a rage, but the moment he reached the gates of his own residence, he heard a commotion.

Yan Zheng was there with his personal guards, blocking the entrance.

Yan Zheng wasn’t the only one “blocking doors” in the capital. The estates of Grand Preceptor Dong and the various members of the Pure Stream faction were all “bustling with activity.”

Which of the military officers hadn’t received favors from the Lord Chancellor?

Most of these warriors were crude men who didn’t understand literature. They didn’t know how to write memorials or impeachments, but their blades and their dignity had been given to them by Gu Huaiyu. When Gu Huaiyu stood at the head of the court, they were disciplined and followed the rules.

But now that Gu Huaiyu had been forced to resign, their backer was gone. Their benefactor was gone.

At the same time, the chains holding the beasts had snapped.

They chose to seek justice in the way they knew best.

If you write memorials, they show their weapons. If you use your tongue, they use their fists.

The atmosphere was thick with tension; it was the eerie calm before a devastating storm.

***

While the capital was roiling with undercurrents, the villa on Wolong Mountain was a picture of serenity and peace.

Gu Huaiyu slept deeply, not waking until the sun was high in the sky.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so soundly. Since helpers like Xie Shaoling and Dong Danyu had entered the court, the burden on his shoulders had lightened somewhat, but his mind had always been tethered to state affairs. He often woke up in the middle of the night, startled.

Morning light filtered through the gauze curtains, casting dappled shadows on the brocade quilt.

Gu Huaiyu rolled over lazily. Pei Jingyi’s bedding was empty, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

“Is the Lord Chancellor awake?”

Yun Niang entered carrying a copper basin. She smiled as she pulled back the bed curtains. “General Pei is outside practicing his archery. Everyone went to watch. I just took a look myself—he looks truly magnificent…”

Gu Huaiyu kept his eyes closed as he let her help him wash up. He thought to himself that the “dead dog” was acting like a peacock spreading its feathers again. In this remote mountain villa, there wasn’t even a proper audience. Who was he showing off for?

As Yun Niang finished combing his hair and fastened his jade hairpin, a cheer erupted from outside.

Gu Huaiyu threw on his robes and stepped out. Before he even reached the courtyard, another explosion of applause rang out, startling a flock of sparrows from the eaves.

In the courtyard, the cleaning women and servants were crowded together, standing on their tiptoes to catch a glimpse.