Gu Huaiyu remained entirely unbothered. “Inappropriate. If the Three Bonds are the topic, we will only select pedantic fools who follow books blindly.”
“I also found it inappropriate. Grand Preceptor Dong and the Minister are like fire and water; he targets you at every turn.” As soon as the words left Yuan Zhuo’s mouth, his expression froze, looking annoyed that he had spoken so bluntly.
To say Grand Preceptor Dong targeted Gu Huaiyu was an understatement. This veteran official of three reigns had mentored nineteen top scholars; his pupils were everywhere. He was a man of humble habits, refusing to discard an official robe even when it was riddled with holes, and he lived so frugally that he spent his savings on soup kitchens for the poor.
In contrast, the Chancellor’s Manor spanned ten acres, filled with bridges, flowing water, and ornate pavilions. The road before its gates was constantly blocked by the carriages of officials lining up to offer gifts, all hoping for a crumb of the Chancellor’s favor. During the few days Gu Huaiyu had been “ill,” the manor had received enough ginseng and medicine to fill three warehouses. The citizens of the capital even joked that the chamber pots in the Chancellor’s Manor were made of solid gold.
Years ago, to grant the common-born Gu Huaiyu an official rank, the late Emperor had summoned him for a private palace examination. In truth, it was a mere facade; the moment it ended, Gu was showered with high rank and riches. Grand Preceptor Dong had been so furious he smashed his jade tablet in court, shouting: “A sycophant in the palace! The state shall be a state no longer!”
Now, the court was split into two undercurrents. The “Pure Stream” faction held onto their dignity as scholars, disdainful of associating with a “nepotism official” like Gu Huaiyu. On the other side were the shameless scholars who would do anything to curry favor—flatterers and lackeys acting as accomplices to a tiger. The two sides were like a pool of ink and a wall of snow—one black, one white—distinctly divided.
Gu Huaiyu had already made up his mind on the way here. His throat felt itchy, and he turned his head to cough. “In my opinion, the topic should be ‘Practical Governance.'”
“Practical Governance?”
“I want officials who can manage water, keep accounts, and understand agriculture—not pedantic scholars who only know how to kowtow.”
Before he could finish, Gu Huaiyu broke into a fit of coughing. His knuckles pressed against his lips, suppressing the metallic tang of blood rising in his throat.
Yuan Zhuo lunged forward instinctively. His hand stopped mid-air before finally, tentatively, supporting Gu’s sleeve.
Gu Huaiyu turned slightly to avoid him, his thumb carelessly wiping away the trace of blood on his lips. “Your Majesty, send the order to the Ministry of Rites. I won’t die yet.”
“I will send the decree immediately.” Yuan Zhuo stared at the jarring crimson on the other man’s lips, frowning as he whispered, “The Minister’s body cannot endure more. I am no longer a child; you do not need to exhaust yourself for every little thing. You should rest properly.”
The low coughing stopped abruptly.
Gu Huaiyu looked at him with a half-smile. This little beast hasn’t even grown his full coat of fur, and already he’s thinking of seizing power?
The moment the words left his mouth, Yuan Zhuo seemed startled by his own audacity. He instinctively took a half-step back, his back hitting the imperial desk with a muffled thud.
A faint, ghostly fragrance approached Yuan Zhuo. A hand as pale and smooth as ice-carved jade pinched his cheeks, forcing the young Emperor to lift his face.
“Your Majesty’s wings…” Gu Huaiyu leaned in close, whispering into his face, “…have they grown strong?”
“I…” Yuan Zhuo managed only a single word. His eyelashes trembled, and even his breathing became shallow and strained.
Gu Huaiyu found the sight genuinely amusing. He leaned down, his breath tickling the youth’s ear as he chuckled, asking syllable by syllable, “Why so frightened? Where is the momentum you had just now when you spoke of ruling personally?”
He tilted the Emperor’s face up with one hand, his blood-stained thumb dragging across the Emperor’s upper lip. The coercive intent in the movement was overwhelming.
Gu Huaiyu’s voice remained gentle. “I have killed many members of the Imperial Family. I wouldn’t mind one more. If Your Majesty wishes to sit firmly on the throne—”
He applied a bit of pressure, his fingertip grinding heavily against the trembling lip. “—then learn to be a bit more obedient.”
Eunuch Xu hurried in with a tray of medicinal soup, only to witness the most treasonous scene imaginable. He shuddered violently, falling to his knees with a loud thump.
“This old servant deserves death!”
Gu Huaiyu straightened up and walked over to Eunuch Xu. Though the old eunuch had nearly been scared out of his wits, not a single drop of medicine had spilled from the bowl on the tray.
He drained the soup in one gulp and slammed the bowl back onto the tray. His movements were crisp as he fastened his wolf-fur collar. “Your Majesty should stop transcribing sutras. As the Son of Heaven, the people of the world pray to you. If you are busy praying to gods and Buddhas, who are the people supposed to pray to?”
The implication was clear: Do some actual work.
If I was Yuan Zhuo I would be wetting my pants waaaaa😖 scary scary minister 👀