When the Late Emperor ascended the throne, the Tianyong Dynasty had just quelled its internal troubles, while several neighboring petty kingdoms grew restless and repeatedly launched invasions. In the end, it was the Late Emperor who personally led the imperial army beyond the frontier passes, earning Tianyong nearly two decades of prosperity and abundance.
If the Late Emperor was an emperor forged on horseback, then Meng Yannian was the most formidable vanguard under his command.
During wartime campaigns, Grand Secretary Meng slept in the Late Emperor’s own tent. Upon triumphant returns to the capital, he often stayed overnight in the Late Emperor’s bedchamber. Tales of the two men sharing one heart and mind, burning the midnight oil in earnest discussion, gradually became cherished stories whispered in teahouses and taverns across the realm.
Now, three years after the Late Emperor’s passing, the once-dominant Grand Secretary Meng who had wielded such influence over the court was stooped with age. With both his son and daughter absent from his side, the austere Meng Mansion felt all the more desolate and empty.
Liu Yuanxun had just stepped down from his sedan when he spotted Grand Secretary Meng waiting right at the mansion gate.
The old man sat on a stool beside the door, wrapped in a heavy cotton robe that made his frail frame look even more fragile amid the biting cold wind.
“Grand Secretary, there’s truly no need for this. I’m just a junior…” Liu Yuanxun said as he reached out to offer his arm.
A smile creased the old man’s wrinkled face. “I knew you were coming, so I’ve been waiting since dawn, badgering the servants to go check on your whereabouts. I grew tired of my own nagging and simply planted myself here at the door—that way, I’d see you the moment you arrived.”
Warmth bloomed in Liu Yuanxun’s chest at these words, but he struggled to properly support the elderly man. Luckily, a sharp-eyed page boy from nearby darted forward to steady Grand Secretary Meng from the other side, and the three of them made their way smoothly through the gate.
Grand Secretary Meng’s residence followed Tianyong’s strict architectural codes: imposing and majestic from the outside, yet stark and cheerless within. In winter especially, with flowers withered and trees stripped bare, the courtyard stretched out in bleak desolation.
In his youth, Grand Secretary Meng had been a fierce general versed in both letters and arms. Age had straightened his once-imposing stature into a rigid but diminished frame, and now he had to crane his neck slightly upward just to meet Liu Yuanxun’s eyes. “I hear you’re headed to Jiangnan.”
Liu Yuanxun nodded. “Jiangnan’s landscapes are as exquisite as its tales suggest—a fine place indeed. It’s just rather distant from the capital. With this chance in hand, I’m eager to see it sooner rather than later.”
Laughter glimmered in Grand Secretary Meng’s eyes, softening the stern lines of his face with uncharacteristic kindness. “It is a splendid place. A few years back, I managed a visit myself. But once my health failed and travel became impossible, I was left to wither away the days cooped up in this capital.”
Liu Yuanxun walked slowly at his side. “No matter Jiangnan’s charms, the Meng Family’s roots remain firmly planted here in the capital. You’re not as young as you once were, and Virtuous Consort hasn’t laid eyes on her brother in ages. Haven’t you considered broaching the matter with Imperial Brother—requesting Minister Meng’s transfer back to the capital for some long-overdue family bliss?”
Grand Secretary Meng let out a quiet sigh. “Sons and daughters must carve their own paths. If I summoned him back from Jiangnan out of pure selfishness, he’d harbor resentment toward me for it.”
Liu Yuanxun blinked in mild surprise. “A capital post still outshines any provincial one. Doesn’t Minister Meng wish to return?”
Grand Secretary Meng’s expression held a trace of helplessness. “He does, of course—but it’s far easier said than done.”
“Why is that?” Liu Yuanxun pressed.
Grand Secretary Meng replied, “The capital’s waters run deep and treacherous. A few years ago, I could have secured a stable berth for Qian’an. But now, in my dotage, I lack the strength. Even if His Majesty honors our old bonds and consents to the transfer, the current court holds no fitting place for him. Better he stays put in Jiangnan for now; should His Majesty require his services later, a summons can always follow.”
By the time their conversation wound down, they had reached the front hall.
Grand Secretary Meng drew back his arm, then clasped Liu Yuanxun’s hand instead, steering him toward the study adjacent to the hall. “Enough of that. Come with me to the study—I have something for you.”
In his campaigning days, Grand Secretary Meng had earned renown wielding a Ghost Head Saber that tipped the scales at forty jin, the constant grip leaving his palms thick with unyielding calluses. Though he had laid down his armor years ago, those calluses remained rough and unsoftened.
Liu Yuanxun trailed him to the study door, but just as they arrived, Grand Secretary Meng turned to the attendants hovering behind them. “You lot stay out here and wait at the door.”
The Meng Mansion servants bowed and murmured their assent, but the four from Liu Yuanxun’s entourage offered no reply.
Grand Secretary Meng’s gaze flicked over Ling Ting before settling briefly on Gu Lianzhao. “And this must be the ger His Highness has newly taken.”
The very word “taken” in “taking a wife or concubine” already consigned one to diminished status.
Liu Yuanxun clarified, “He’s the sole occupant of my rear courtyard—married or taken, it makes little difference.”
“Oh?” Intrigued, Grand Secretary Meng studied Gu Lianzhao at length without comment, then shifted his attention to the two eunuchs. “And these two gentlemen?”
Liu Yuanxun explained, “Dispatched by Eunuch Hong. He insisted I lacked reliable hands and loaned them to me for the time being.”
“Ah.” Grand Secretary Meng nodded, then added, “If His Highness doesn’t object, why not have these three join the servants for some rest?”
Grand Secretary Meng’s private study was no place for casual visitors, and with Gu Lianzhao right there, Liu Yuanxun felt no qualms about his own safety. He smiled agreeably. “Not at all.”
With that, he turned to Ling Ting, his tone gentle. “Go along with the Meng Mansion folk.”
Once the extraneous company had withdrawn, only four remained before the study door.
The page boy attending Grand Secretary Meng swung the door open and stepped aside deferentially. Liu Yuanxun entered first, followed by the page boy supporting his master, with Gu Lianzhao at the rear.
The study was spacious and well-lit, infused with the quiet patina of lived-in comfort. The sandalwood desk glowed with a warm, jade-smooth sheen— the result of over a decade of meticulous care.
“Come, sit.” Grand Secretary Meng guided Liu Yuanxun to a chair by the hand. Once the page boy had brewed and served tea, the old man made his way slowly to the inner recesses of the bookshelves. “I have something to give you.”
“What might that be?”
Grand Secretary Meng chuckled. “You’ll know when you see it.”
Liu Yuanxun watched the old man’s retreating figure vanish behind the shelves, then let his eyes wander over the room.
Like the mansion itself, the study exuded simple unpretentiousness. Even the brushes arrayed on the holder were everyday wolf-hair varieties, devoid of rarities or treasures.
Behind the reading chair hung three scrolls of calligraphy and two paintings: the Late Emperor’s own imperial hand, authentic masterpieces from renowned artists, and…
Grand Secretary Meng emerged to find Liu Yuanxun transfixed by a painting mounted on the wall. He smiled warmly. “Does that one strike His Highness as particularly familiar?”
Liu Yuanxun ventured uncertainly, “It looks… like something I painted.”
“It is indeed yours.” Grand Secretary Meng followed his gaze to the portrait. “His Highness created it at the age of thirteen. Your subject and the Late Emperor were conferring on matters of state right here in this study. Bored with our discussion, you climbed into the Late Emperor’s lap, then wandered to a side table to sketch. Afterward, this was presented to this old minister.”
The figures depicted were Grand Secretary Meng and the Late Emperor from a decade past. Commoners held no right to portray the sovereign—even princes and official portraitists required explicit imperial sanction before lifting brush to paper.
Yet Liu Yuanxun, ever the Late Emperor’s favorite, painted without a second thought. His Majesty merely laughed, commended the boy’s precocious skill, and— noting both men clad in informal robes rather than court dress—bestowed the work upon Meng Yannian.
The frame bore clear marks of age, but the painting itself gleamed with pristine preservation. The uninitiated might praise its quality, yet at thirteen, Liu Yuanxun’s strokes carried the inevitable awkwardness of youth. Displaying it thus in a statesman’s sanctum seemed, at first blush, rather playful.
Liu Yuanxun turned to Grand Secretary Meng. “You accepted the painting—that should have sufficed. Hanging it here in the study, cheek by jowl with works by the great masters… aren’t you concerned others will mock you?”
Grand Secretary Meng stood motionless, lost in reminiscence. After a long pause, he murmured, “For one of this old minister’s standing, sharing a canvas alone with His Majesty is a lifetime’s rare fortune— penned by a prince’s hand and granted by imperial decree. To hang it in my study is the least of it; I’d take it to my grave.”
So saying, he approached Liu Yuanxun and proffered a porcelain bottle sealed with wax. “This comes from the Bai Family Old Brand, left behind by Old Master Bai on his deathbed. Eight pills to a bottle—keep them to nourish your vitality.”
Liu Yuanxun demurred. “Far too precious, Grand Secretary. You should keep it for yourself.”
The Bai Family had served as imperial physicians for eight generations since Tianyong’s founding, safeguarding several ancestral secret recipes. Foremost among them was the Nourishing Body Pill. Alas, Old Master Bai later botched a prescription, causing a fatal mishap, and the family faded into obscurity.
No panacea, to be sure, but the Nourishing Body Pill ranked among medicinal treasures—and with Old Master Bai gone and his formulas untransmitted, its scarcity only grew.
Grand Secretary Meng settled into the chair beside Liu Yuanxun and nudged the bottle insistently closer. “I’m but a sack of old bones; no tonic holds sway over me now. Refuse it, and you scorn this old minister. If its value troubles you, regard it as my gift for your birthday.”
With such insistence, Liu Yuanxun could do naught but accept.
Seeing the bottle vanish into his sleeve pocket, a grin softened Grand Secretary Meng’s mock-severe features. “There now. My mind’s at ease. The journey to Jiangnan is arduous; should discomfort arise, pop them like sugar plums for swift relief.”
Liu Yuanxun laughed. “You speak of such a rarity as if it were peddled sweets from a street vendor.”
Grand Secretary Meng’s hoarse chuckle dissolved into coughs. The page boy swiftly patted his back, and it took some moments for the old man to catch his breath.
Sipping his tea to steady himself, Grand Secretary Meng continued, “This old minister offers little aid, but Jiangnan at least has Qian’an posted there. Speak freely with him, task him as needed. I’ve penned him a personal letter—deliver it on my behalf, and he’ll heed you without question.”
Liu Yuanxun replied, “The letter goes without saying, but such directives I dare not issue to Minister Meng. Imperial envoy though I am, court affairs seldom cross my path; better I heed his counsel.”
