Qin Zijin methodically recounted the life of Huo Guang before offering a meaningful smile. “Has Your Majesty ever wondered how Huo Guang, a mere relative of the imperial consort, was able to hold the power to appoint and depose Emperors?”
The Emperor, ever economical with his words, simply shook his head.
Qin Zijin looked at him, his voice heavy with subtext. “Your servant believes it is because Emperor Zhao was raised at Huo Guang’s knee from a young age.”
“The records state that Huo Guang ‘held the Emperor on his lap and taught him the Odes and History.’ Such a bond, akin to both father and teacher, is not something a typical relationship between ruler and subject can compare to.”
After a short pause, he continued at a measured pace. “Therefore, even after Emperor Zhao reached adulthood and took the reins of government, he still consulted Huo Guang on every matter. He was a Son of Heaven who could not be decisive, simply because he was accustomed to having Huo Guang by his side. It was this that gave Huo Guang the opportunity to monopolize absolute power.”
The Emperor understood perfectly what he was trying to say. Another lesson using the past to criticize the present—a warning to be wary of a certain someone.
Qin Zijin was about to say more when he saw the Emperor suddenly pick up a jade paperweight from the desk and tap it lightly against his palm.
The sound, crisp as a spring hitting a rock, cut him off.
The Emperor studied Qin Zijin for a moment before asking, “I have read your Treatise on Statecraft. There is a sentence within it that I do not quite understand.”
Qin Zijin was slightly startled. He bowed low. “Please, Your Majesty, enlighten me with your question.”
The Emperor traced the jade paperweight, deep in thought. “‘The Sage does not rule the world by his own will, but lets the world rule the world.’ What is the meaning of this?”
Qin Zijin straightened his back with practiced composure. “In response to Your Majesty, it means that a wise ruler does not govern based on personal whims or selfishness. Instead, he allows the world to operate according to its natural laws.”
“It is what we call ‘ruling by letting the robes fall’—doing nothing, yet leaving nothing undone.”
The Emperor stared at him with burning intensity.
Qin Zijin realized the Emperor didn’t want to talk about Gu Huaiyu anymore, so he continued, “For instance, the planting in spring and harvesting in autumn, the changing of the four seasons—these follow their own Way. A sage ruler needs only to follow nature; he need not force his interference.”
The Emperor nodded slightly in agreement, tapping the paperweight. “Your words are profound.”
He paused, his eyes showing genuine appreciation. “When did you write the Treatise on Statecraft?”
Qin Zijin lowered his head with a respectful smile. “The work was completed in the third year of the Tianxian era.”
“The third year of Tianxian…”
That was the year before Emperor Rui ascended the throne, exactly ten years ago. The Emperor looked at the young Qin Zijin. “At that time, you hadn’t even reached your twentieth year, had you?”
Qin Zijin kept his eyes on the floor. “Yes. It was a work of my youth.”
The Emperor’s gaze became dark and complicated. “To be able to write such a strategy for governance before the age of twenty… for you to be relegated to the post of Minister of State Ceremonies was an oversight on my late father’s part.”
Qin Zijin’s eyelashes fluttered as he looked down, a calm smile on his lips. “Your Majesty praises me too highly. Though the Court of State Ceremonies is small, it is still a gateway to serving the country. To be able to show my loyalty to Your Majesty is enough to satisfy my heart.”
“Raise your head.”
The Emperor suddenly leaned forward, staring directly at him.
Qin Zijin hesitated for a moment before slowly looking up. The morning sun through the palace doors fell upon his clean, elegant profile. The Emperor’s pupils shrunk slightly. There was indeed a resemblance.
In terms of physical features, Qin Zijin looked nothing like Gu Huaiyu. But that aura of noble refinement… it was exactly how the Emperor had imagined a certain person would turn out back in his childhood.
The “Huaiyu Gege” of his youth, who possessed world-shaking talent and spirited ambition, should have grown up to be exactly like Qin Zijin—a man of character.
He should have been a man of quiet pride, a brilliant young minister, a world-renowned gentleman as graceful as an iris or a jade tree.
But now…
The Emperor stared at Qin Zijin for a long time until he felt a dull throb in his palm. He had unconsciously squeezed the paperweight so hard the sharp edges left deep red marks in his skin.
Qin Zijin’s expression remained clear and open, though he looked puzzled. “Your Majesty?”
The Emperor released the paperweight, tossing it onto the desk. “I bestow upon you the Purple Gold Fish Bag and appoint you as a Hanlin Academician Reader.”
Astonishment flashed across Qin Zijin’s face. The Purple Gold Fish Bag was a badge of rank reserved for officials of the second rank and above, and a Hanlin Reader was a member of the Emperor’s inner circle.
Everyone in court knew that the Emperor and Chancellor Gu were as close as teacher and father. The “Pure Stream” faction, led by Grand Preceptor Dong, opposed the Chancellor at every turn, and thus the Emperor disliked them and kept them at arm’s length.
Qin Zijin was Grand Preceptor Dong’s prize pupil—a hardcore member of the Pure Stream. His voice trembled slightly with shock as he bowed. “Your servant… thanks Your Majesty for your immense grace.”
The Emperor’s eyes remained locked on him. “From now on, you shall attend court every three days and enter the palace to explain your Treatise on Statecraft to me.”
Qin Zijin knelt on the ground. Truly, the Emperor’s favor was as unpredictable as the heavens. He didn’t know what he had done right to deserve such rewards, but as he looked up, he couldn’t help but smile. “Your servant shall obey the imperial decree.”
