Upon the throne, the Emperor’s fingers suddenly twitched against the carvings. A sharp piece of gold leaf sliced his palm, and bright red blood began to wind its way down between his fingers, staining the bright yellow silk with spots of crimson.
The Emperor seemed completely oblivious. He let out a soft, airy laugh. “Then Minister Xie is quite confused. This poem should not be titled Ode to the Plum.”
“We shall change the name for you.” He looked down at Xie Shaoling, the depths of his eyes freezing into ice. “How does Delusional Obsession sound?”
The smile on Pei Jingyi’s lips stiffened. The wine cup in his hand let out a sharp crack as a fine fissure appeared in the porcelain.
This magnificent drama had suddenly taken a dark turn.
Xie Shaoling kept his eyes lowered and slowly prostrated himself. His tone remained neither humble nor arrogant. “I thank Your Majesty for the title.”
The moment the words “is indeed Chancellor Gu” left his mouth, he had burned his bridges.
From this day forward, the Pure Stream would no longer be his shelter. Grand Preceptor Dong would no longer be his respected mentor. All talk of “scholar’s integrity” and a “path to the clouds” had become nothing more than a mirage.
Only one path remained.
The path of a “willing dog” in the eyes of others, a “servant to a tiger” in the words of the masses—
Yet he knew that this might be the only righteous path.
He had come to this Qionglin Banquet with high hopes. The Pure Stream had entrusted him with the noble cause of “eradicating the traitor,” promising that if he impeached Gu Huaiyu before the court, he could save the nation and cleanse the government.
But now, under the gaze of thousands, he knelt before the throne to sing the praises of that “great traitor.”
He had always been puzzled by Master Plum’s identity. Such a person could never be a nobody, yet he had never seen him again—until he overheard the “heartfelt words” of the Pure Stream elders as they plotted.
Who else in the entire court possessed such foresight and understood the Pure Stream so perfectly?
Gu Huaiyu had never hidden his identity. That day, when he casually wrote the character Yu, had he not been writing his own name?
It was only because Xie Shaoling’s own eyes had been clouded that he failed to recognize the man before him.
Now that the clouds had parted, he finally saw clearly.
When he first met that man, Xie Shaoling had been abrasive and arrogant, using his poetry to mock him with biting words, even vowing to have him impeached and removed.
But Gu Huaiyu hadn’t even blinked. He had simply pulled him out of the mud and offered a casual piece of advice: “One must take the long view of things.”
If Gu Huaiyu had wanted to, he could have ensured Xie Shaoling failed the exams, was exiled, or had his house searched and his head cut off with a single memo or a single order.
But Gu Huaiyu did neither.
Xie Shaoling had still been promoted to Top Scholar. He was still able to stand in this magnificent hall and be looked up to by the masses.
It was because what a Lord Chancellor saw was never who respected or insulted him, nor who was a friend or an enemy.
What he saw was the land of Great Chen, the grand strategy of a century, the shifting hearts of the people, and the rising and falling of chess pieces.
Even when faced with a hot-headed youth who shouted about impeaching him, his first thought was: “This boy has talent; he should be used for the good of the state.”
Xie Shaoling’s eyes suddenly felt hot.
This was the true grace of a Lord Chancellor—to tolerate what the world found intolerable, and to employ those whom the world found difficult to use.
Those Pure Stream scholars spoke of “integrity” all day long, but the one who actually had the courage to promote a political rival without resentment was the very “traitor” they despised.
The atmosphere in the hall was as frozen as ice. The musicians and dancers had all retreated to the sides. Among the nearly one hundred guests, it was so quiet a needle could be heard hitting the floor.
“We are tired.” Yuan Zhuo stood up expressionless, snapped his sleeves, and turned to leave.
Eunuch Xu saw this and hurriedly stepped forward, whispering, “Your Majesty, your hand…”
“It is nothing.”
Yuan Zhuo brushed him off and stepped down the vermillion stairs, stopping in front of Xie Shaoling.
He leaned down to look at this Top Scholar he had personally selected, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Minister Xie, We almost forgot to tell you—”
“The Bureau of Astronomy checked your horoscope. Your fate dictates a great calamity is approaching; it is not suitable for you to marry early.”
Xie Shaoling bowed his head, saying nothing.
Yuan Zhuo patted his shoulder with feigned affection, the smile reaching his eyes. “Having gained such a fine minister, how could We bear to let you lose your life?”
“The matter of the marriage decree is hereby dropped.”
The blood from his palm had already soaked through his sleeve, winding down his fingers and seeping inch by inch into the fabric of Xie Shaoling’s shoulder.
Xie Shaoling’s back remained as straight as a mountain. After a long silence, he said softly, “This minister… obeys the decree.”
