Chapter 86

Chapter 86

Winter retreated with the night, and spring arrived with the dawn. For the common folk of the capital, spring gradually announced its arrival as the heavy snow melted and the willows lining the roads began to show hints of green. For the court officials, however, spring truly began only when Pei Yue, Heir to the Duke of Dingguo, returned home, and the excessively strict controls over the imperial city were relaxed.

The Emperor had been ill for a long time and absent from court. While the capital appeared calm on the surface, undercurrents of tension had been simmering. Now, with Heir Pei’s return, it was evident that the Emperor had made a full recovery and was ready to resume court affairs. The restoration of the usual order brought a collective, heartfelt sigh of relief.

This was not to say that the Emperor wielded such overwhelming authority that all undercurrents ceased the moment his health improved. Rather, the implications for the succession were vastly different between an ailing Emperor and a healthy one.

The atmosphere of extreme tension that had pervaded the capital earlier had indeed left many officials and nobles feeling uneasy.

Before dawn, court officials eligible to attend the morning session had already prepared themselves as usual, converging from all corners of the capital toward the imperial palace.

Along the way, their order was determined by official rank. Those of higher rank traveled by carriage or palanquin, moving without pause. Those of lower rank, upon spotting the lanterns hanging from the vehicles ahead, knew whether to yield the way.

Thus, though the officials were numerous, viewed from above, their procession was perfectly orderly, resembling a flowing river of lights in the night, moving with utmost smoothness.

Grand Secretary Ming, the Minister of Rites and a Grand Secretary of Jinshen Hall, now holding a cabinet position, naturally enjoyed an unimpeded journey from the moment he left his residence until he reached the palace gates. There, he paused briefly, waiting for the guards to grant him entry before proceeding along the long avenue to the palace doors.

Here, even with his high rank, he had to dismount and proceed on foot. Grand Secretary Ming, known for his robust health, walked the long stretch from the palace gates to the grand hall without showing the slightest sign of fatigue. The Chief Grand Secretary, Minister Yu, however, was elderly and stood in the hall slightly out of breath. Fortunately, the Emperor had not yet arrived, and after a moment of quiet standing, he recovered.

The Emperor’s first court session after his recovery was naturally a grand audience. Every official who could attend stood in the hall, as still as wooden figures. Only when the Emperor took his seat on the throne and the officials paid their respects did they come to life, greeting him in unison.

From atop the Dragon Throne, the Emperor cast his gaze downward before raising a hand to signal them to rise. After listening to their praises and disposing of some routine matters, he immediately ordered an edict to be proclaimed.

No one in the hall dared to look up at the Emperor’s expression, nor could they glimpse his complexion from afar. But hearing his vigorous voice, they thought to themselves: *It seems His Majesty has indeed fully recovered, rather than merely stabilizing the situation during a brief respite from illness. Clearly, everything remains firmly under his control.*

Yet these scattered thoughts were quickly overshadowed as Chief Eunuch Wang Shen began reciting the edict line by line, completely captivating their attention.

Stripping away the formalities, the essence of the edict was clear: the Emperor commanded four imperial princes to enter the court to observe governance, each assigned responsibilities in the Ministries of War, Household, Justice, and Works.

Once the edict was issued, there was no room for doubt. Seeing that the officials had no further matters to present, the Emperor, a faint smile hidden beneath his imperial crown, dismissed the court and retired to his study to review memorials.

The departing officials inevitably gathered in small groups to discuss this unexpected decree.

The Emperor had always been in robust health. Since ascending the throne, he had steadily consolidated power, and most high-ranking officials in the court owed their positions to his direct appointments. There was little he wished to accomplish that he could not, earning him the reputation of being absolute in his authority.

His consistent good health and sharp intellect had accustomed the courtiers to working under his rule, fostering not only understanding but also mutual respect between sovereign and subjects. Thus, even as the princes grew older and the Emperor aged, sensing his aversion to discussions of succession, the officials refrained from broaching the topic.

After all, the Emperor was healthy, and just last year, a young prince had been born. If His Majesty remained in good health for another decade or two, by the time the matter of succession arose, the candidates might not even be the same.

As for private leanings—that was another matter entirely.

But then the Emperor suddenly fell ill—exhausted from handling state affairs and catching a chill—so severely that he could not attend court. He even ordered heightened security in the imperial palace, forcing the officials to reconsider their stance.

Yesterday, when Pei Yue returned home, many households kept their lamps burning late into the night.

Some had even drafted memorials, ready to present them in person today, urging the Emperor to establish the succession without delay.

To speak words that might cost one’s head—this time, it was merely an illness that prevented him from attending court. But what if next time, he fell gravely ill...? Given the current circumstances, the court would likely descend into chaos immediately.

Yet, the wise Emperor proved as shrewd and far-sighted as ever!

With today’s edict, the Emperor’s intention to establish an heir was practically laid bare. The only question was which prince would have the fortune to be chosen.

One official patted the memorial hidden in his sleeve as he chatted idly with a colleague, strolling down the long palace corridor. He flashed a smile at the guards at the gate, indifferent to their puzzled looks.

—How could these guards possibly grasp the magnitude of today’s events? Their duty was simply to stand their posts.

The Six Boards were all located within the imperial palace, but the Grand Secretaries’ offices were inside the palace gates, allowing them to consult with the Emperor at any time.

As the court session concluded, the Grand Secretaries naturally headed different ways to their offices from the rest. Apart from the Chief Grand Secretary, who was immediately summoned by the eunuch to meet the emperor upon exiting the hall, the remaining six Grand Secretaries naturally clustered by affinity, walking ahead or behind one another.

Since the Ming family’s daughter was now married into the Zhang family, Minister Ming and Minister Zhang were naturally closer than the others, and thus they fell behind together.

As the Minister of Justice, Minister Zhang had cultivated a stern and unsmiling demeanor. Yet now, his stern face showed a flicker of concern, and he let out a long sigh. "You’re the lucky one, my dear in-law."

Among the six ministries, only the Ministry of Personnel and the Ministry of Rites were spared from hosting observing princes.

Minister Zhang held the title of Minister of Justice. Though he rarely handled day-to-day affairs, he had final say in major judicial matters. Moreover, he had his own protégés and old acquaintances within the ministry. Now, with the Prince of Yan coming to observe governance, he couldn’t help but worry whether this royal observer might make waves.

Minister Ming smiled faintly. "The Ministry of Rites has always followed tradition to the letter. Next year is the year of the imperial examinations—minor matters won’t provide much training, and the examinations are a state affair. Naturally, His Majesty wouldn’t assign anyone to my ministry."

As for the Ministry of Personnel, its status was exceptional—even its minister bore the lofty title of "Celestial Official." Sending a prince there to observe governance was even more unthinkable.

Both men understood this well. Minister Zhang’s grumble was merely for show, not something he truly couldn’t handle. He sighed in front of his in-law, and that was the end of it.

There was, however, another matter Minister Zhang considered more pressing. Clearing his throat, he was already smiling slightly before speaking. "Dear in-law, you’re about to become a grandfather again."

Minister Ming was indeed both shocked and delighted. He even grabbed Minister Zhang’s arm, halting their steps, standing conspicuously in full view of others who had already turned to look.

"Yuanniang is with child? How far along?" Midway through his question, his joy turned to concern. "Yuanniang is not getting any younger. Now that she’s expecting, is her health well?"

Minister Zhang knew his in-law cherished his children deeply. When the eldest daughter-in-law had been pregnant, the Ming family had been extremely attentive. Thus, he found Minister Ming’s reaction perfectly natural and answered patiently, "The doctor confirmed yesterday—she’s a little over a month along, and all is well."

Then, suddenly, he looked regretful. "My wife warned me not to speak of it before the third month." He gave Minister Ming a stern look. "Please, do restrain your wife from sending gifts to our residence just yet. At least wait until the proper time."

Now that Minister Ming knew, Minister Zhang had little hope of keeping it from Mrs. Ming. It was a belated attempt at damage control.

Torn between delight and concern, Minister Ming was eager to see his eldest daughter in person. He couldn't be bothered with the in-law he’d been chatting amiably with moments ago and strode ahead, leaving him behind.

Upon reaching the door, he lifted the curtain and entered, only to find Minister of Revenue Qian sipping tea in the common area. Noticing him, Minister Qian nodded in greeting but couldn’t resist asking curiously, "Minister Ming, you’re glowing—has some happy event befallen your household?"

Despite their high status, Grand Secretaries in the palace were allotted only a modest shared courtyard, with two ministers sharing three rooms. Minister Ming, having joined the Grand Secretariat most recently, inherited the quarters of his predecessor and thus shared with Minister Qian.

Minister Qian was over a decade his senior and had passed the imperial examinations two sessions earlier. Strangely, despite decades in officialdom, their paths had rarely crossed—they knew of each other only as fellow court officials.

Now, sharing a room, they had formed a working relationship. Minister Ming smiled slightly at the question and nodded. "Indeed."

But he offered no further details. With a slight cupped-hand salute, he turned and entered his room on the western side, leaving a somewhat bewildered Minister Qian behind. After a moment’s reflection, Minister Qian recalled that Ministers Ming and Zhang had indeed lingered behind the others.

A happy family matter involving the Zhangs... Could it be that the Mings, having already married one daughter into the Zhang family, now intended to send a granddaughter as well?

The bond between these two families seemed deeper than most imagined. Setting down his teacup, Minister Qian returned to his eastern room, idly toying with a paperweight as he pondered.

Noble families often favored intermarriage, building extensive networks where nearly every household could claim some connection. He knew the Zhang and Ming families were linked by marriage, but he’d thought little of it.

Marriages were commonplace—his own eldest grandson was currently negotiating a match, with his wife favoring a young lady from an illustrious family. But did a marriage alliance necessarily shift one’s political stance?

Yet, when families like the Zhangs and Mings grew this close, it was a different matter altogether.

Among the seven Grand Secretaries, in the current political climate, and with the Prince of Chu soon to observe governance in the Ministry of Revenue... Minister Qian’s mind buzzed with countless threads. Yet his brush never faltered as he handled affairs, summoning attendants now and then to relay messages, keeping himself thoroughly occupied.

On the other side of the shared wall, Minister Ming, though equally busy with paperwork, was eager to return home. The moment his duties concluded, he rose immediately and vanished in an instant.

Rushing back, he found Mrs. Ming waiting in the main hall as usual, her eyes sparkling with knowing amusement. She stood to greet him, then resumed her seat, watching with a smile as maids helped him shed his outer robes and change into lighter attire.

The couple had always been close, attuned to each other’s moods. His delighted expression spoke volumes, and both silently wondered: *Who had been so quick to spread the news?*

As Minister Ming sat down, the two spoke in unison: "You've already heard?"

Exchanging a glance, Mrs. Ming glanced out the window. "What keen ears you have."

Not to be outdone, Minister Ming replied, "And you are well-informed, my lady. Minister Zhang specifically warned me this morning not to tell you, yet it seems you didn't even need me—before I could even speak, you already knew."

Mrs. Ming’s brow twitched. "Youngest Daughter returned home today—what does Minister Zhang have to do with it?"

The moment she spoke, she realized something was amiss and immediately pressed further: "What did he warn you about? Is something wrong with our eldest daughter, Yuan Niang? What matter can't this mother be told?"

To her surprise, Minister Ming was also distracted by another point, grumbling, "Why didn't anyone send word ahead that Youngest Daughter was coming home? At least then I could've prepared. Even if it wasn't a rest day, I could've returned earlier without issue."

The last time he had seen Ming Tang was when he saw off Ming Li and Ming Rang’s families as they left the capital.

The younger ones had all followed their parents to their provincial posts, while the older ones, Ming Xia and Ming Zuo, had gone to study at the academy outside the city and rarely returned home. Now, only the eldest granddaughter, Ming Wan, remained in the residence.

Though the granddaughter was dutiful, paying respects morning and evening and keeping her grandparents company, Minister Ming still felt the household had grown much quieter. It was rare for his daughter to return, yet his wife hadn’t sent word ahead, causing him to miss her visit—Minister Ming couldn’t help but feel a little resentful.

Mrs. Ming shot him a sidelong glance. "Youngest Daughter merely came home on a whim—why send word? Must she submit a formal request to the illustrious Minister's household and await permission before stepping through the door? If you must blame anyone, blame the fact that today wasn't your rest day."

"His Majesty has just recovered and held court today—how could I take leave?" At this point, Minister Ming had no choice but to concede defeat and changed the subject. "Still, she should've stayed for dinner—at least shared a meal with me before leaving. The Pei residence is so close; she could’ve gone back anytime."

Of course, if she had felt it was too late to travel, staying a couple of nights would’ve been even better. The Peaceful Residence (Anle Ju), Ming Tang's childhood quarters, was still perfectly intact—no need to even tidy up.

"Why wouldn't I have asked her to stay?" Mrs. Ming countered, her smile deepening. "Her husband came with her. I said there was no one at home to entertain him and suggested he return later to fetch her, but he refused outright—as if he couldn't bear to be apart from her for even a moment. He just sat in Youngest Daughter’s Peaceful Residence reading for leisure. I suppose he’d finally gotten time off, and I didn’t want to play the meddling mother-in-law, so I had no choice but to let them go."

Minister Ming sighed heavily. "Truly unwelcome." Any previous satisfaction he'd felt toward Pei Yue vanished in that moment, and he turned his attention to the reason for Ming Tang’s visit.

"The Duchess of Yu had someone convey word the other day, inquiring about our Wan'er (Ah Wan)." Mrs. Ming shot her husband a look to silence him before continuing, "A noble family like that—I wouldn’t have considered them before, as we’ve had little interaction and know little about them. But now we have Youngest Daughter, don’t we? Our family isn’t familiar with the Duke of Yu, but our in-laws naturally know more about his household affairs, especially since that third son serves under our son-in-law."

"Naturally, once my son-in-law got leave, Youngest Daughter hurried back to tell me as soon as she learned the news."

Of course, she didn’t mention to her husband that after half an hour of discussion, they’d ordered a feast and spent the rest of the day playing cards with her daughter and granddaughter, thoroughly enjoying themselves.

After listening, Minister Ming frowned slightly. "Why would the Duchess of Yu take an interest in our Wan'er?"

Ming Wan (Ah Wan) had just turned fourteen at the New Year and hadn’t yet reached her coming-of-age ceremony (ji li). Discussing marriage now wasn’t too early, but the Mings and the Yus had never interacted before—this sudden "inquiry" left Minister Ming puzzled.

If he recalled correctly, that third son of the Yu family was still two years from his capping ceremony (guan li), three or four years older than Wan'er. Had he not yet been betrothed?

Such matters had always been Mrs. Ming’s domain, and she had personally met the intermediary the Duchess of Yu had sent. Now, she elaborated: "They say a monk once read his fortune years ago and declared that the third son shouldn’t marry young—it’s best to wait until after his capping ceremony. The Duchess of Yu had considered arranging a betrothal in advance, but the boy was still childish and often threw tantrums, refusing outright. Out of affection, she indulged him."

"Last autumn during the hunt, the third son was given duties, and the Duchess of Yu saw how much he’d matured. Unlike before, he no longer protested marriage, so she brought it up again. Perhaps she’d met our Youngest Daughter and admired her character, thinking ‘a daughter takes after her aunt.’ Knowing our Wan'er is of a suitable age, she came to make inquiries."

Minister Ming shook his head. "The Duke of Yu has always been prudent, and his heir is steady. If the third son is decent, a marriage alliance wouldn’t be out of the question." He glanced at Mrs. Ming and added quietly, "But next year is the spring imperial examinations..."

The moment he mentioned the exams, Mrs. Ming slapped the table—not too hard, but the sound was sharp in the empty chamber. "Don’t you dare bring up young scholars to me again!"

Seeing Minister Ming lower his gaze and fall silent, she reined in her temper and mused, "Well, a desirable match has many suitors. When I took Wan'er out before, some hinted at interest, but their intentions weren’t clear enough for me to consider. The Duchess of Yu acts decisively—who knows when she took a fancy to Wan'er, but she immediately sent someone to inquire, beating others to it."

"At any rate, Wan'er is still young. We won’t agree to anything just because we’ve heard about this third son. Once I let a few hints slip, we’ll reconsider."

Now that the emperor had recovered and spring had arrived, there would be no shortage of garden parties and outings. A few social gatherings with Ming Wan in tow, and the matter would sort itself out.

Minister Ming nodded repeatedly, deeply impressed. Feigning caution, he refilled Mrs. Ming’s teacup and sighed. "All household affairs rely on your efforts, my lady."

Seeing the venerable Minister in such a state, Mrs. Ming couldn’t help but laugh, her earlier irritation fading. She took a sip of tea, then remembered Minister Ming’s earlier words and frowned again. "You still haven’t told me what’s going on with Yuan Niang!"

Minister Ming’s face immediately brightened, and he stroked his beard with a smile. "Yuan Niang, our eldest daughter in the Zhang family, is with child—a month along."

Mrs. Ming was instantly furious. "Such important news, and you waited until now to tell me?!"

She stood abruptly, her sleeve knocking over the teacup—precisely the one Minister Ming had just refilled. The water was still warm, soaking through her clothes and scalding her skin...

The clatter and Mrs. Ming’s startled cry brought the maids rushing in despite the lack of summons. They helped her change, applied ointment, and tidied the mess before withdrawing.

Amid the flurry, Mrs. Ming’s anger cooled slightly. Seeing Minister Ming’s guilty expression, her heart softened, and she asked, "Did our in-law tell you?"

Seizing the chance to make amends, Minister Ming sat beside her and nodded. "They consulted a physician yesterday—everything’s fine."

Mrs. Ming herself had borne Ming Tang after turning thirty—how could she not understand what pregnancy at that age felt like? Anxiety flared anew, and she summoned maids and elder servants, urgently ordering the storeroom opened to gather medicines and other supplies. She then instructed someone to deliver a note to the Zhang residence, requesting a visit the day after tomorrow.

Though overjoyed at his eldest daughter’s pregnancy, Minister Ming recalled Minister Zhang’s words and gently intervened. "It’s the middle of the night—opening the storeroom is too much trouble. Besides, Yuan Niang has just conceived. If you visit immediately, it might be seen as inauspicious, and you’d only burden her with hosting you. Why not ask that Doctor Dou—or his disciple—to check on her at the Zhang residence? That would be more prudent than sending assorted remedies."

Doctor Dou was the physician who had attended Mrs. Ming during her pregnancy with Ming Tang. His clan included members serving in the Imperial Medical Bureau.

Out of gratitude for his care back then, the Ming household never forgot to send New Year’s gifts to the Dou family—nothing extravagant, just a token of appreciation.

Mrs. Ming handled the gifts personally and knew Doctor Dou was still alive, though he rarely practiced now. His son, however, trained under him and had surpassed his father’s skill.

Normally, Mrs. Ming would’ve been just as prudent, but the news had startled her into momentary disarray. After listening to her husband, she gradually regained her composure, quickly piecing together the Dou family’s situation. She nodded in agreement and sighed. "I truly never expected this."

In her lifetime, she’d had two daughters. The elder took after her, still able to conceive at thirty, while the younger—whether by ill fortune or otherwise—struggled with infertility, making her marriage rocky.

Now that all was well, Mrs. Ming couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret. If not for the fact that the eldest Chen child was nearly half a year old, she might’ve wondered whose "problem" it had been.

A spring breeze drifted through the window, carrying Mrs. Ming’s doubts elsewhere—to another person voicing the same question: "Miss, should we call a physician to examine the young master?"

Eldest Miss Wu’s menses had arrived on schedule again, leaving her in low spirits, but she couldn’t muster the energy for anger. "What’s the rush?" she said languidly.

It had only been a few months.

She’d since come to accept: her husband was healthy, and she was fertile—a child would come in time. Her focus now was elsewhere. "Did Lady Chen go to the back street again today?"

The maid hesitated before nodding. "Yes. She stayed there half the day—went after noon and only returned by dinnertime."

Eldest Miss Wu snorted. "Low-born types—utterly clueless. Treating a concubine-born son like treasure, running about with no sense of propriety. And she dares act superior in front of me."

Master and servant united in their disdain, taking turns to vilify Lady Chen until they’d vented their frustrations.

Having aired her grievances and feeling the fatigue of her condition, Eldest Miss Wu found her mind wandering to someone long since irrelevant: *I wonder what that Ming woman is up to now?*

That Mrs. Pei had such an imposing presence that standing before her left one speechless, let alone daring to talk back.

For someone like Ming Tang to be Mrs. Pei’s daughter-in-law—she probably wouldn’t dare utter a complaint in private, would she?

Not like her, who could answer back without repercussion.

Amused by the mental image of Ming Tang cowering in fear, Eldest Miss Wu laughed before instructing her maid, "Tell Master Chen I’m unwell tonight—he may rest in the men's quarters. And have the kitchen prepare a meal sent to his study."

Even without her saying so, Chen Wenyao had no intention of returning to sleep—ever since the emperor’s edict had been announced that morning, his duties had multiplied.

Officially, he served as an advisor. Now that his patron, Prince of Chu, could openly participate in governance, the day had been filled with tasks.

As a censor, his sources were naturally sharper than most. With his former brother-in-law—who’d always disapproved of him—somehow transferred out of the capital, he now felt like a fish in water, poised to demonstrate his value. Tonight, he’d be working through the night in his study—no time for idle chatter with Wu Shi.

Her message about being "unwell" was perfectly timed.

Chen Wenyao was full of ambition, his brush moving fluidly, as if ready to take flight.

And tonight, in the capital, there were many more just like him.