“Weren’t we told he only gained Emperor Rui’s favor because his sister was the Empress?”
During tea breaks and after-dinner chats, these whispers circulated through the Six Ministries.
Few officials in the capital were fools. Everyone knew what kind of man Emperor Rui had been. He wasn’t exactly a tyrant, but he was certainly a faint-hearted and incompetent ruler.
Previously, everyone assumed Gu Huaiyu was favored because of his “nepotism” as the Emperor’s brother-in-law. They thought Emperor Rui had given him high offices out of love for the Empress.
But now, as they thought about it carefully, Emperor Rui had treated Gu Huaiyu differently—not with the affection a man shows his brother-in-law, but with… the desperation of a drowning man grabbing at a life-saving straw.
“Does anyone remember the Yellow River flood in the third year of Yongzhen? Chancellor Gu was only eighteen then, and the Late Emperor gave him full authority to handle it…”
“And the year of the southwest drought? Plague was rampant. The governors of three provinces were begging to flee the disaster. The Late Emperor only said one thing: ‘Send Gu Huaiyu.'”
“And the salt taxes in Jianghuai, the border military funds… which of those wasn’t a death trap of a job?”
The officials suddenly realized that over the years, Gu Huaiyu had only ever been given the “hot potatoes”—the impossible tasks.
Emperor Rui hadn’t been “spoiling” him; he had been using him as a universal fixer, throwing him into the fire time and time again whenever things got dire.
If that were true, everything that seemed illogical in the court over the years finally made sense—
Why would the Late Emperor, knowing Gu Huaiyu’s power overshadowed the throne, still appoint him Chancellor on his deathbed?
Why could a young man from a consort family stand alone in this complex political web, suppressing the Pure Stream faction, noble families, and the royal clan alike?
And why would the Grand Empress Dowager be willing to expose the Yuan family’s scandals and the Late Emperor’s shame just to back this “relative by marriage” to the end?
The answer was obvious.
Gu Huaiyu was never a sycophant who rose through his sister’s skirts.
He was the “scapegoat” pushed forward to take the blame when the Yuan dynasty was crumbling.
He was the “Sky-Mender” of a broken empire.
But these remained mere speculations. No one dared to look the Emperor in the eye and ask, “Was your father a scoundrel?”
Nor could they run to the Chancellor and ask how many debts he had paid on behalf of the Yuan family.
The truth behind those old accounts, hidden away from official records, could only be pieced together from fragments. People couldn’t fully believe it, nor did they dare to.
Until one morning, Nie Jin, the “Iron-Faced Judge” of the Court of Judicial Review, did something that shocked the entire court—
He posted a “Document of Vindication” on the announcement wall of Zhuque Boulevard. The fresh, snow-white paper bore the vibrant red seal of the Court of Judicial Review.
Nie Jin had done this alone, in the name of the empire’s justice.
Nie Jin had initially thought it would be extremely difficult to clear the name of the current Chancellor.
Old records were hard to find, and witnesses were difficult to question. Especially regarding the things Gu Huaiyu had been involved in; which of them hadn’t been “legally” recorded as a crime?
He had even prepared to spend years digging through the archives, case by case.
He hadn’t expected that in the very first step, he would easily obtain the key evidence—
It was the ledger that Wei Qingya had voluntarily surrendered.
It wasn’t the original from the Ministry of Revenue, but a ledger Wei Qingya had personally copied and re-calculated. It was spread out before his eyes.
It detailed Emperor Rui’s expenditures for every year. Every act of squandering was listed: from rewards given to courtiers to the construction of palaces, from private expenses to secret bounties.
At the bottom, a clear note read: Should have been paid by the Private Imperial Treasury, but the treasury was empty. The Chancellor advanced the funds personally, and later recovered the deficit through the ‘Recommendation of the Virtuous’ method.
The so-called “selling of offices and titles” was actually a temporary measure Gu Huaiyu had used to fill the black hole of the Late Emperor’s extravagance.
The so-called “persecution of loyal officials” was merely those “loyalists” angering the Emperor with their advice; Emperor Rui had personally ordered their arrest, and Gu Huaiyu had simply followed the decree.
Every single case had evidence to back it up.
Nie Jin took these facts and posted them on the bulletin boards of Zhuque Boulevard without changing a single word. He let the citizens of the capital see it. He let the scholars of the world see it.
He let them see it all, clearly and undeniably.
***
In the suburbs of the capital, Gu Huaiyu received the news from the Iron Eagle Guard immediately.
“Wei Qingya gave the ledgers to Nie Jin?!”
He was so shocked that he sat bolt upright from his reclining chair, oblivious to the tea splashing onto his knees.
He was usually the most composed of men, but in this moment, he truly lost his color.
“Foolish! If this is exposed now, and the world knows the Late Emperor was such a decadent ruler, won’t the people’s hearts be even more scattered?”
Gu Huaiyu’s temples throbbed. For a moment, his mind was in a whirl. Though the tide of public opinion was currently surging in his favor, he saw a deeper crisis—
With the war against Eastern Liao looming, he had yet to find the one person who could unite Great Chen.
Yuan Zhuo was too green and lacked stability, and Pei Jingyi was too sharp. Now that the Late Emperor’s reputation was in the gutter, who would be left to hold this fractured land together?
