The Chancellor’s Estate sat prominently on Donghua Street, a sprawling residence behind vermillion gates, guarded by heavy security. In the deep of night, the lanterns hanging beneath the eaves burned as bright as day.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves shattered the silence. A young man dressed in dark green official robes reined in his horse, dismounting with a practiced, fluid motion.
Before he could speak, the guards at the gate stepped forward and bowed. “Lord Shen.”
Shen Jun gave a curt nod and strode directly into the estate, his robes carrying the chill of the autumn night.
The butler, Liu Erlang, hurried to meet him with a fawning smile. “Lord Shen, coming so late… Do you have urgent business with the Lord Chancellor?”
Shen Jun didn’t slow his pace. “Has he retired for the night?”
Liu Erlang sighed. “His Lordship is still in the study reviewing memorials. The imperial physician said his cold hasn’t broken yet, and now he’s added the stress of urgent matters. If he keeps pushing himself like this…”
Shen Jun interrupted him. “Lead the way.”
There was a saying that a servant of the Chancellor was equivalent to a seventh-rank official, and Liu Erlang was no ordinary servant. However, Shen Jun was the Chancellor’s sole confidant; he was the only one allowed to speak with such bluntness.
Shen Jun followed Liu Erlang through a series of moon gates. After several twists and turns through the winding corridors, they finally approached Gu Huaiyu’s study.
His pace was steady as he crossed the veranda, but the moment he stepped into the courtyard of the study, he suddenly quickened his stride. The golden wings on either side of his official cap trembled, catching the lantern light and casting flickering glints of gold.
Bang!
As he pushed open the study door, he seemed to trip over the hem of his robe, stumbling forward. His official cap flew off, rolling across the blue brick floor until it finally came to a stop in front of a soft daybed—resting right against Gu Huaiyu’s bare feet.
Though it was late autumn, the floor heaters in the room were burning hot, and the charcoal in the brazier crackled softly.
Gu Huaiyu was leaning against a desk, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak as he reviewed memorials. He glanced down at the official cap by his feet. “What’s the panic?”
Shen Jun remained in a half-kneeling position, unmoving. “The Zhao Prison was raided. Zhou Ruian has been rescued.”
Gu Huaiyu let out a feigned “Oh?” of surprise. He leaned back against the daybed, his snowy-white toes carelessly toyed with the golden wings of the official cap. “How could that happen?”
Shen Jun’s eyes remained fixed on that graceful movement beneath the desk. He suddenly lowered his gaze, his voice calm and certain. “Zhou Ruian has many old acquaintances in the capital. I suspect one of them orchestrated the jailbreak. The guards have already sealed the major intersections; a city-wide manhunt is underway.”
Gu Huaiyu looked down at him, scanning him from a height.
Facing this former confidant—his most capable subordinate—his heart felt… uncomfortable.
As the Chancellor who once held the court in the palm of his hand, his future was one of total collapse. His ultimate downfall, aside from the overwhelming “protagonist aura” of Pei Jingyi, was largely thanks to two people: one was the current Emperor, and the other was this confidant standing before him.
Two years from now, this man, whom Gu Huaiyu had personally elevated, would turn on him, delivering a fatal blow from behind.
The righteous officials of the court called Shen Jun a “lapdog” who had fallen from grace, but in reality, he was a hero enduring humiliation to gather evidence of Gu Huaiyu’s crimes. Shen Jun didn’t care for power or wealth; all his suffering and restraint were for one purpose: to bring the treacherous minister who destabilized the Great Chen Dynasty to justice.
He allowed himself to be spat upon by scholars and cursed by the court, walking alone through the long, dark night, waiting for that single ray of dawn.
Seeing that Gu Huaiyu hadn’t responded, Shen Jun bowed his head again. “Rest assured, My Lord. I will not allow this matter to cause further waves.”
Gu Huaiyu sighed inwardly. He hooked his toe under the cap and gave it a light kick, sending it rolling back to Shen Jun’s knees. “Look at you. Is this any way for the Director of the Secretariat to behave?”
Shen Jun wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but the fragrance in the room seemed so thick it made his throat tighten. He leaned down to pick up his cap, his movements measured. “I lost my composure.”
Gu Huaiyu tilted his chin, signaling for him to stand. He asked pointedly, “How long have you been with me?”
Shen Jun stood and replied, “Since the third year of Yongzhen. Exactly seven years.”
Gu Huaiyu gave a faint, imperceptible hum.
Shen Jun paused, then continued, “Back then, because my palace examination essay offended His Majesty, my name was nearly struck from the records. It was My Lord who intervened. If not for you, I would likely still be in a remote corner of Huazhou, far removed from the storms of the capital.”
Huazhou was a desolate place, far from the capital. The county he had been assigned to was impoverished and the people were unruly. For a son of a prestigious noble family—a man who had been the Third Scholar(Tanhua) in the imperial exams—to end up there was to be a “plucked phoenix worse than a chicken.” His career should have ended then.
At that time, Gu Huaiyu was only the Director of the Privy Council, but he was already “renowned.” Because of his ruthless nature and cruel methods, anyone who crossed him would find themselves in the Zhao Prison the next day, tortured to death under some flimsy pretext.
The late Emperor had valued beauty over the state. With Consort Gu whispering in his ear, the Emperor ignored the misdeeds of his brother-in-law. Even when Chancellor Gu sold official titles and embezzled funds, the late Emperor turned a blind eye. If anyone dared to impeach Gu Huaiyu, their memorial wouldn’t even reach the Emperor’s desk before they “committed suicide.” For a time, the court was silenced; no one dared to speak.
