Chapter 81

Chapter 81

The snowmelt brought an even deeper chill than the snowy days. The Emperor, usually robust and proud of his enduring vigor, had been preoccupied with post-snow affairs, consulting ministers on disaster relief. After concluding his duties, he inadvertently caught a cold wind, developing a fever that very day.

Illness strikes like a collapsing mountain. For someone rarely afflicted, the sudden onset seemed particularly fierce. The Imperial Physicians were on round-the-clock standby, and the entire Imperial City grew tense.

Pei Yue, tasked with guarding the Imperial City, could afford some laxity in peaceful times. But now, he dared not let his guard down. He remained stationed within the city, leading his guards in strict defense. Entry and exit already required thorough inspections, but with imperial orders, the gate security became several times more stringent.

The Imperial City was the hub where political decrees from the capital and the entire realm converged and were issued—the very nerve center of Great Xia. The tension here cast a wintry chill over the late winter and early spring of the capital.

The Emperor’s illness was severe, his consciousness wavering. Yet, whenever lucid, he still worried over state affairs. Fortunately, the Grand Secretariat comprised prudent and seasoned officials who handled matters with balance, keeping everything on track despite the Emperor’s days-long absence from governance.

However, as the Emperor’s convalescence prolonged, even with everything proceeding methodically, an uncontrollable restlessness permeated the court. A sense of unease settled, with many speculating about the Emperor’s true condition.

After all, the Emperor remained secluded in the palace, unseen for so long—surely his illness was grave. And he still hadn’t named a Crown Prince…

In these extraordinary times, Pei Yue, who controlled access to and from the Imperial City, became even more prominent than usual. Countless individuals positioned themselves along his path back to the Duke’s residence, hoping for a “fateful encounter.”

To their disappointment, however, Pei Yue seemed determined to remain within the Imperial City, staying quartered with his troops for several consecutive days. Though he appeared daily before the court officials, he gave no opportunity for anyone to approach him.

—Civil and military officials rarely mingled, and the Pei family’s social circle was notoriously exclusive. Even if one encountered Pei Yue on the Imperial City streets, would they dare stop him and speak in full view of others? Witnesses couldn’t help but pity the colleague who had once suffered such treatment from Pei Yue.

Indeed, even from paces away, one could feel the awkwardness of being told by Crown Prince Pei to “speak plainly if you have something to say.”

After that incident, those hoping to extract information from Pei Yue gave up, resorting instead to other channels. Yet they found Pei Yue even more draconian in controlling access to the Imperial City. Anyone suspected of leaking information or smuggling items was detained, regardless of their patron.

Such stringent measures only fueled suspicions that the Emperor’s condition was dire. With no concrete news, the more imaginative began entertaining the treasonous speculation of a “concealed demise.”

Amidst this, Pei Yue’s movements drew even more scrutiny.

Within two days, it became clear his routine was unchanging. The only personal initiative unrelated to court affairs was his order to arrest a few rabble-rousers in the city for spreading rumors, delivering them to the Capital Prefecture.

Having already identified the culprits, the Pei family guards acted swiftly, leaving none escaped. The rumors, fabricated by those hoping to capitalize on the situation, collapsed as soon as the perpetrators were jailed. When several abbots “offhandedly” noted the Pei family’s donations during Buddhist gatherings, the gossip was promptly silenced.

The Capital Prefect understood Pei Yue’s intent to investigate thoroughly and surmised he had already uncovered the mastermind. Not daring to be remiss, the investigation soon led to the Zhang family.

When the Capital Prefect arrived at the Zhang residence, the head of the Zhang family—husband of Grand Princess Duanhua and father of Jin Princess Consort—was taken aback: he held no official post, so why was the Prefect here? Moreover, household authority largely rested with the princess.

Upon learning that a family servant had hired idlers to spread rumors about the Duke of Dingguo’s household, his countenance changed. The servant’s name revealed he was affiliated with his second brother’s camp. His second brother was usually cautious—how could he do such a thing?

The Prefect implied delicately, “This matter… Crown Prince Pei is unlikely to let it go. You’d best settle this promptly, lest he concludes this was your doing.”

The title of royal son-in-law mattered less than the fact that his daughter was Jin Princess Consort. Though the Prefect hadn’t taken sides, given the Emperor’s uncertain intentions, it was wise to stay on good terms with all.

A discreet warning required little effort.

After a brief wait in the study, the arresting officers arrived with Second Master Zhang. Once the unwanted visitors left, the elder Zhang adopted a severe manner, frowning. “What is this? Did you act on your own?”

He had privately delighted in the gossip about the Duke’s household, but finding himself implicated was decidedly less entertaining.

Second Master Zhang was equally displeased. “Elder Brother, you misunderstand. The one taken was Rui’s foster brother!”

The elder Zhang was thunderstruck. The two exchanged glances, neither expecting a young girl in their household to be so audacious. The family had planned to marry her to a high-ranking official, with the match all but arranged. Now, doubts arose.

“What madness is this?”

If the Zhang brothers were perplexed, Jin Princess Consort was positively aghast upon hearing the news. Earlier, the family had considered betrothing her cousin to Crown Prince Pei, but before they could propose, he had already wed. During the autumn hunt, the princess noticed her cousin’s resentment over Pei’s marriage to a divorced woman and had kept her close, hoping to guide her toward a politically advantageous match for Prince of Jin.

She thought the girl had moved on, but now this disgraceful affair surfaced.

With the Emperor ill, the palace was under the Empress’s control. Royal juniors were allowed only brief daily visits, leaving them clueless about his true condition. The Emperor’s complexion seemed fine, but the severity of his illness remained unknown.

While the Imperial Medical Bureau was easier to probe than the inner palace, access was still restricted. A minor eunuch from Prince of Jin’s household had been detained—whether he’d gleaned any information was anyone’s guess.

And now, her cousin had privately slandered the Duke’s household. The princess, prone to overthinking, dreaded contemplating how insiders would view this.

Folly defied remedy! A man she was never even betrothed to—why cling to such bitterness? Her careful guidance had been for naught.

Worse, the Zhang family had few marriageable daughters left, making it hard to replace her.

With the rumors quashed, Mrs. Pei learned the culprit was Zhang Rui, an unmarried girl, and found it laughable. “No wonder it seemed so bizarre.”

Seeing it wasn’t the Zhang family’s intent, Mrs. Pei declined to pursue the matter, accepting their apologies and gifts. What the Zhangs did afterward didn’t concern her—a maiden given to such impropriety had limited prospects.

In this eventful spring, Mrs. Pei declined all invitations, instructing the household to keep quiet and maintain a low profile. Behind closed doors, they maintained a quiet household.

But tranquility didn’t mean idleness.

Pei Yue had earlier mentioned formally starting Pei Ze’s education. With few scholarly connections in the Pei family, they turned to the Ming family, generations of officials and close in-laws. Minister Ming was entrusted with finding a tutor.

Education was serious, but Pei Ze wasn’t destined for the imperial exams—he only needed to understand principles. The ideal tutor would be broad-minded and fond of history. After days of searching, Minister Ming recommended Juren Lu, a perennial exam failure.

Lu, in his forties with a sparse beard, was gentle-spoken yet carried an inexplicable air of authority.

Minister Ming explained that Lu, his former fellow examinee, had repeatedly failed the imperial exams. With his eldest son already a scholar and the family strained supporting two students, Lu had given up exams to tutor in wealthy households.

He accepted immediately—his previous employer, a retired official, had taken over teaching his grandchildren.

From group lessons to one-on-one, the pay remained the same. Lu arrived promptly, without pretension.

Pei Ze, aware he’d be getting a “teacher,” greeted the stranger without fear. “Hello, Mr. Lu~”

Lu, experienced with unruly children, was impressed. Even at this age, the boy’s manners were flawless, hinting at noble bearing.

A good first impression.

After introductions, Ming Tang rose. “I’ll show you and A Ze to the classroom.”

The Duke’s residence had ample space. A courtyard near the outer quarters had been prepared for Pei Ze’s lessons, complete with heated floors.

Lu eyed the long desk and bookshelves, then the boy barely reaching his waist, and wondered: Was he really here to teach basics, or groom a future scholar?

Ming Tang, sensing his confusion, patted Pei Ze’s head. “A Ze is young. This is to settle his temperament, not make him a prodigy overnight. No pressure.”

Pei Ze, knowing “prodigy” was praise, chimed in, “Mr. Lu is a big prodigy. A Ze is a small prodigy.”

The elderly Lu, flattered by a child, chuckled. Ming Tang’s words clarified: this was more play than study.

With expectations aligned, Ming Tang straightened Pei Ze’s collar, pinched his cheek, and muttered, “Still grinning as you start school?”

Leaving Pei Ze with his “kindergarten teacher,” Ming Tang waved, glancing back repeatedly before returning to her quarters, oddly bereft.

The feeling lasted seconds before she lounged with a book. A black shape leaped onto the couch, nudging her hand with a soft “meow.”

Meanwhile, Pei Ze, remembering his elders’ warnings about the importance of study, was initially excited. For days, he recounted every lesson in detail.

By the fourth day, after breakfast, he dawdled at the threshold, reluctant to leave. “Grandmother, Mother, A Ze is going to class. Don’t miss me too much when I’m gone~”

His steps slowed, hoping to hear pleas for him to stay.

"School is serious business," Mrs. Pei said sternly. "Go quickly now, don’t make the teacher wait."

Ming Tang held back a laugh and waved. "Go on, go on. Don’t worry, we won’t miss you."

In that instant, Pei Ze understood what it meant to feel as though struck by lightning. Dragging his feet the whole way, he followed the maid to the classroom. Everything in the small courtyard was just as before—even Mr. Lu looked exactly the same as the previous days—yet Pei Ze couldn’t recapture his earlier enthusiasm, his steps heavy with reluctance.

After seeing Pei Ze off, the mother- and daughter-in-law went to the parlor to handle household matters. Once the stewards had all dispersed, Mrs. Pei couldn’t help but voice her concern. "Is Juren Lu not teaching well? Why did A Ze seem so unwilling to attend class today?"

Still worried, she and Ming Tang went to the small courtyard without warning, standing outside the window to listen quietly for a while.

Mr. Lu was teaching from the most basic *Three Character Classic*, but he didn’t merely recite the text and explain its meaning. Instead, he drew from a wide range of examples, not only clarifying the allusions involved but also recounting the lives of the figures mentioned in the simplest, most entertaining way. It didn’t feel like a lesson at all—more like storytelling.

Pei Ze listened attentively, immediately asking questions whenever he didn’t understand something, waiting for Mr. Lu to explain.

The two of them went back and forth in perfect harmony, a perfect example of teacher-student harmony. Mrs. Pei was completely confused. After walking a few steps away, making sure they were out of earshot, she asked in confusion, "A Ze seems to be studying quite seriously, and he clearly respects Mr. Lu. Why would he suddenly not want to attend class all of a sudden?"

"Even your favorite food becomes tiresome after being eaten several times in a row. One must take a break from it," Ming Tang said with a laugh. "Being forced to eat something you’ve grown tired of would naturally make you resent it—especially for a child with little patience. But Mother, just a moment ago, you were calling him Juren Lu, and after listening for a while, he’s suddenly ‘Mr. Lu’ now?"

Hearing Ming Tang use food as a metaphor, Mrs. Pei couldn’t help but glance at her: the analogy was so characteristic of her daughter-in-law.

Mrs. Pei still remembered how, the day after Ming Tang married into the family, she had without hesitation sent someone to the kitchen to order dishes—clearly ones she herself wanted to eat.

Now that the two were familiar, Mrs. Pei knew this was simply Ming Tang’s way. Looking back, she didn’t think much of it. Reflecting on her own shift in how she’d addressed Mr. Lu earlier, she couldn’t help but laugh.

"We were only testing this Juren Lu. If he didn’t teach well, naturally we’d find someone else—it’s not as though we’d keep him in the household for no reason." Mrs. Pei’s approach to hiring had always been straightforward: if they had merit, they stayed; if not, they left.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, she remembered that this Juren Lu had been recommended by her in-laws. Worried about damaging relations with the Ming family, she quickly amended, "If he has nowhere else to go, we could always keep him after finding a new teacher for A Ze—as someone to chat with, if that’s what it takes."

The change in attitude was so obvious that even the attendants had to lower their heads to hide their smiles.

Ming Tang, too, felt a warmth in her heart. Looping her arm through Mrs. Pei’s, she teased, "I thought we’d just decided to keep Mr. Lu. Why does it sound now like he’s not teaching well after all?"

Laughing and chatting, they returned to Jinghua Hall, where Ming Tang stayed to play a card game with Mrs. Pei and a few maids to make up the numbers.

By the time Pei Ze returned to the main courtyard after class, the card game had just ended, but the room was still buzzing. Mrs. Pei was still lamenting, "I shouldn’t have played that card."

"Too late for regrets now—the silver’s already in my pocket," Ming Tang said cheerfully, shaking her purse.

Pei Ze crossed the threshold and followed the voices, looking around in disbelief to confirm that his grandmother and aunt truly hadn’t missed him at all. The grievance from that morning resurfaced, and he ran over to stand between them, waving his arms for attention. "I’m back!" he announced loudly.

Only when they stopped talking and looked at him did he seem satisfied. Straightening his posture, he declared solemnly, "You’re fickle. That’s not good."

Ming Tang pretended to be surprised. "You even know idioms now? It seems Mr. Lu really is teaching you well."

Mrs. Pei nodded in agreement beside her.

Children were sensitive to tone, and Pei Ze immediately understood: his grandmother and aunt were both very pleased with Mr. Lu and had no intention of letting him go. He shook his head hastily. "No, no! Mr. Lu doesn’t teach well. He teaches with his mouth."

From morning till evening, he talked so much that even after leaving the classroom, Pei Ze could still hear Mr. Lu’s voice in his head—on and on and on.

Not that the stories weren’t interesting... At least they were better than Auntie’s stories, which always put him to sleep. Still, he couldn’t help feeling resistant.

Had he just spoken badly of Mr. Lu? Would Grandmother and Auntie make him leave? The thought made him instantly regret it. If Mr. Lu left, who would tell him stories then?

Lost in thought, his expression shifted through a range of emotions, completely oblivious to the laughter around him.

Snapping back to reality, he looked at Mrs. Pei and Ming Tang’s smiling faces, confused and even more aggrieved. Burying his face against Ming Tang’s knee, he mumbled, "A Ze is so tired. So, so tired. I don’t want to go to class."

Ming Tang stroked the unruly hair at the back of his head, sympathetically. "Auntie understands." Back in her day, she’d started school at three and didn’t finish until twenty-four, when she’d finally earned her master’s degree—an educational marathon with countless moments of wanting to quit.

Honestly, Pei Ze had it easier. Since he didn’t have to take the civil service exams, he’d only have to study until he came of age before being freed.

With that thought, Ming Tang withdrew her sympathy and mussed his hair again. "It’s fine. You can come cry to Auntie about not wanting to go to class as often as you like. I’ll always have time to listen."

The moment Ming Tang said she "understood," Pei Ze had looked up with hopeful expectation—only to be utterly devastated. He straightened abruptly, taking three steps back, his face the picture of disbelief.

Staring at Ming Tang for a long moment, confirming she had no intention of taking it back, he twisted away and threw himself into Mrs. Pei’s arms instead, switching targets for his plea. "Grandmother~ A Ze doesn’t want to go to class. It’s really too tiring."

But even Mrs. Pei, who had always indulged him before, wouldn’t give in this time. In the same gentle but firm tone as Ming Tang, she said, "Rowing against the current is naturally exhausting. You must persevere, A Ze, so you can grow into a stand-up man—like your father and uncle."

Thwarted at every turn, Pei Ze lifted his head again, scrutinizing them carefully to confirm these were indeed his grandmother and aunt. Turning to Nanny Zhou, he asked plaintively, "What’s wrong with Grandmother and Mother?"

They used to love spending time with A Ze.