Chapter 87

Chapter 87

The princes, though naturally imperial scions and priceless dignitaries in the capital, now held a different status after being ordered by the Emperor to observe governance in the Six Ministries.

Even when the four princes had appeared equal in the past, people would analyze which one was more favored by the Emperor based on their maternal kin, in-laws, or even their titles. Each argument sounded meticulously reasoned.

In merchant families, when the patriarch sought to groom his sons for succession, the seasoned managers and clerks would weigh the capabilities of the young masters to ensure the heir was worthy, lest a mighty sire beget a feeble heir.

And here, the "patriarch" was entrusting not just any business but a realm spanning ten thousand li, the vastest family enterprise under heaven.

Moreover, if a merchant chose the wrong successor, the elders and stewards could unite and replace the heir with relative ease. But if the throne were entrusted to the wrong man, any attempt to "replace the Emperor" would be sheer delusion.

The current Emperor was an enlightened ruler, valuing competence above all. Yet, if the next ruler had particular preferences, officials would have to adapt accordingly.

The empire did not belong solely to the imperial family, and history was no stranger to weak sovereigns and powerful ministers.

Thus, since the princes began observing governance, countless incidents had arisen in the capital, and the scrutiny upon them only intensified.

The Prince of Jin, observing at the Ministry of War, was bold and generous, treating others unfettered by trivial decorum. Yet, when it came to border defense, training, and courier networks, he was cautious and humble, refraining from offering opinions lightly. Instead, he noted his uncertainties and sought guidance from either the Minister of War or the Emperor himself.

Though the Emperor had been displeased with the Prince of Jin earlier in the year, he remained willing to instruct his eldest son. Gradually, their relationship improved.

The Prince of Chu, observing at the Ministry of Revenue, was refined and courteous, displaying a deferential attitude to scholars and an approachable manner to subordinates. He refrained from interfering in ministry affairs, spending his days reviewing archival records without noticeable action.

Just as the ministry officials began to relax, assuming the prince was merely there for prestige, the Prince of Chu astutely uncovered discrepancies in the accounts—a minor issue involving a low-ranking official who had employed petty schemes, assuming the prince wouldn’t notice.

Though the sum was small, the Prince of Chu acted impartially, immediately submitting a memorial to the Emperor. Given his status, an audience was easily granted, and no one dared intercept his report.

The Emperor’s wrath caused even Minister of Revenue Qian to suffer a loss of face, though the blame ultimately fell solely on the audacious official, sparing a wider purge.

From then on, the Ministry of Revenue remained vigilant, and the Prince of Chu quietly secured his footing, no longer relegated to the sidelines.

The Prince of Yan, assigned to the Ministry of Works, was taciturn but demonstrated remarkable initiative shortly after his arrival.

The Cold Spring Retreat, a summer retreat built during the previous reign, had fallen into disuse as the current Emperor preferred the palace’s cooler halls. However, this year, he announced plans to renovate it for summer use.

After the snow disaster, the Ministry of Works submitted an exorbitant budget, prompting the Ministry of Revenue to haggle. The dispute reached the Emperor, and before the Prince of Chu could strategize a diplomatic response that would neither anger his father nor demonstrate his princely responsibility, the Prince of Yan had already requested an imperial decree, making a military pledge. He secured 30,000 taels from the imperial coffers, selected personnel from the Ministry of Works, and immediately set off for the outskirts of the city to begin the retreat's renovation work.

It was known that the Ministry of Works' budget for various wood, stone, and lacquer materials was at least 100,000 taels, not including the labor involved.

The Prince of Yan, previously inconspicuous, stunned the capital with his sudden action. Yet, as the imperial villa was off-limits to spectators, discussions soon faded after his departure.

While his three elder brothers made waves in the capital, the Prince of Ping, assigned to the Ministry of Justice, was as silent as a gourd with its mouth sawed shut.

He made his obligatory appearances daily but spent his time reading trivial novels in the room allocated to him at the Ministry of Justice, showing no interest in judicial affairs.

Initially, some suspected an act, but after a month, it became clear: the Prince of Ping had no aspirations for the succession.

Had he even skimmed a travelogue like *Annals of Mountains and Rivers*, one might speculate about territorial ambitions. But his preference for romantic tales like *Fate in the Mirror* only invited ridicule—was his goal to charm every beauty in the realm?

Not that it mattered. As a prince, he could easily amass concubines. Yet, he remained fastidiously upright, with only a principal consort and no secondary wives, leaving his true inclinations a mystery.

Amid the capital’s endless gossip, Ming Tang often mused: *Truly, there are many idlers in the capital.*

Unlike her. Spring had arrived, and with it, a deluge of social obligations—birthday banquets for elderly matrons, garden parties hosted by noblewomen.

The Pei family, as an illustrious house, had countless connections. Close ties demanded personal attendance, while distant ones still required courtesy. Some events required her to accompany Mrs. Pei, which was manageable—she merely had to fulfill her daughter-in-law's duties, sipping tea behind her mother-in-law.

Others, however, were beneath Mrs. Pei’s notice, leaving Ming Tang to represent the family alone, exchanging diplomatic pleasantries with practiced grace.

With daily engagements, her wardrobe and jewelry had to be meticulously rotated to avoid repetition. Her maids, Wen He and Hong Ying, were constantly in motion, while Zhe Liu and Qing Yu, left behind at the Hall of Sincerity and Perseverance, were no less busy.

Even without outings, the Pei clan’s weddings, funerals, and matrimonial affairs demanded the family’s presence. As the future matriarch, Ming Tang had to absorb decades of clan gossip—literally drowning in hearsay.

Returning to the Hall of Sincerity and Perseverance, she collapsed onto a divan, exhaling as if her very breath carried the weight of scandal, as if she could immediately ascend to immortality.

*In the past, I had so much free time...* She sighed, then instructed Hong Ying, "A bit harder on the left."

Glancing up, she saw Pei Yue nearby, engrossed in a book, one hand idly stroking the increasingly glossy fur of the black cat, his fingers pale as jade against the dark coat.

A few steps away, Wen He approached with a familiar, hefty menu in hand.

The sigh died on her lips, transforming into a bright smile.

*A happy problem, indeed...*

Amid the bustle, the Bathing the Buddha Festival arrived.

Pei Yue, of course, was on leave. Pei Ze, attending his private nursery school at home, learned that the family would soon embark on an outing. Counting the days, he realized it fell on a school day, and his composure wavered.

But as a scholar now, he felt he couldn’t resort to childish pleading. He had to demonstrate maturity.

After dinner, as his aunt and uncle prepared to leave, he cleared his throat, hopping off his chair and solemnly inviting the elders to the main hall.

"Mr. Lu says we must honor our elders," A'Ze declared with rehearsed fluency. "Since starting school, I haven’t seen Grandmother and Mother as often. Tomorrow, I shall fulfill my filial duties!"

Ming Tang stifled a laugh, maintaining the dignified smile she wore at social functions. "A'Ze speaks wisely. Tomorrow, rise early to pay your respects. Morning and evening greetings are only proper."

Pei Ze faltered but pressed on. "When elders go out, I should attend them. How can I stay home?"

Pei Yue said flatly, "You’d only add to our burdens." Taking him would mean extra work for You Niang.

Rebuffed twice, Pei Ze turned to his grandmother. "Grandmother, can’t my day off be moved to tomorrow?"

After a pause, Mrs. Pei nodded. "Very well. But you’ll forfeit your next break and attend seven straight days of lessons."

Overjoyed, Pei Ze rushed off to pick his outfit, oblivious to Ming Tang’s pitying gaze.

*Ah, youth...* He didn’t yet know the evils of shift-swapping.

And the greater tragedy?

Mrs. Pei had already informed his classmates’ families: the nursery was closed for the festival.

*This is what happens when reconnaissance fails.* He’d begged for a trip that was already planned, costing him a day off.

As for how Pei Ze would react when he showed up to an empty school?

Ming Tang wasn’t worried. A private tutor could easily be arranged.

That night, Pei Ze tossed restlessly, his heart had already wandered beyond the manor walls. Despite his scholarly air, the lure of adventure overpowered his discipline, and he finally drifted off near midnight.

As Ming Tang watched Zhe Liu prepare the next day’s attire, she reflected.

Last year’s festival, she’d been freshly amicably divorced, weathering whispers with indifference. Now, remarried for over half a year, few dared gossip to her face.

*May every year be as this one.*

The next day brought fine weather, and since it wasn’t a formal social occasion, Ming Tang dressed simply in shades of pale green and blue, her dark hair adorned with lustrous pearls, like a muted, distant landscape painting. Were it not for her hair being fully pinned up, signaling her married status, she would have looked no different from an unmarried maiden.

Pei Yue had grown accustomed in recent days to watching Ming Tang slowly coil her long hair into a bun each morning, embellishing it with various exquisite hairpieces before stepping out with dignified grace to attend banquets. Seeing her so fresh and unadorned now felt oddly unfamiliar, and his gaze lingered unconsciously for a few extra moments, making the maids behind him stifle giggles.

When they arrived at Jinghua Hall and saw Pei Ze, both Pei Yue and Ming Tang couldn’t help but laugh.

—The child’s memory was oddly precise; he was wearing the tiny riding outfit made for him during last autumn’s hunt.

The garment, tailored in late autumn, had been cut loosely to accommodate layered inner wear. Months later, though Pei Ze had grown taller, it still fit him well—only the riot of colors was downright garish.

Early spring was still a suitable season for such attire, and since Pei Ze insisted on wearing it, Mrs. Pei indulged him. Noticing her son and daughter-in-law’s amusement, she even defended him: "It’s the season for mismatched layers—let him be."

Pei Ze nodded in agreement nearby, casting a sympathetic glance at Pei Yue’s subdued ‘sky-water jade’ robes. Once inside the carriage and shielded from Pei Yue’s gaze, he immediately scooted closer to Ming Tang and blurted out the question he’d been holding back: "Why isn’t Uncle wearing something nicer?"

Little Lord Pei was certain that his uncle owned quite a few outfits that aligned with his own aesthetic preferences.

Mrs. Pei glanced at Ming Tang, her tone meaningful: "Your taste doesn’t factor into this."

As a diligent scholar who had just begun his education, Pei Ze’s schooling hadn’t yet equipped him to grasp the deeper implications of his grandmother’s words. All he understood was that she deemed his opinion unimportant. With a soft huff, he secretly lifted the carriage curtain and watched the bustling streets outside with eager excitement.

Since the start of the year, unexpected snowfall had been followed by the emperor’s illness. Now, with winter finally giving way to spring, the capital was rife with unease among many, from high officials to commoners. Devotion to superstitious rites had swelled compared to the previous year, as people hoped to dispel ill fortune through the blessings of the Bathing Buddha Festival and pray for peace in the months ahead. The streets were even more crowded than last year.

Mrs. Pei glanced through the gap in the curtain at the teeming crowds and couldn’t help but recall the events of the previous year. She turned to Ming Tang with a smile: "Last year during the Bathing Buddha Festival, I ached to meet you, but chance kept us apart. Little did I know we’d share such a bond now."

The memory of last year’s unexpected incident on the road—resolved by Ming Tang’s intervention—still felt vivid. Back then, seated in her carriage, she had mused that a woman capable of securing a divorce must be remarkably resilient and wondered if they would ever cross paths.

A year had passed in the blink of an eye, and now that resilient woman was her daughter-in-law, in marital harmony with A-Yue, sitting beside her in the carriage as they traveled together to Qixia Temple to listen to the abbot’s sermon.

Truly, the twists and turns of life were unpredictable. Back then, her two sons had been so different—Pei Jun, steady and commanding, and Pei Yue, lively and sharp-witted. Who could have foreseen that Pei Jun would perish in battle, his wife passing away soon after giving birth to Pei Ze? She, a mother with white hair, had buried her son in his prime—nearly four years had passed since then.

Ming Tang hadn’t known that Mrs. Pei had wanted to meet her back then. Noticing the sorrow in her expression, she smiled warmly to lighten the mood: "Outcomes hinge on actions. Without the events that followed, mere ‘fate’ alone would never have brought You Niang into this carriage with Mother today—nor would we be hearing Mother speak of ‘fate’ now."

Mrs. Pei paused, then laughed in agreement: "Indeed, outcomes hinge on actions."

Had she refused, the two would never have married, no matter how deep their unspoken affections ran. What ‘fate’ could there have been?

Perhaps learning from last year’s mishaps, this year constables patrolled the route to manage the crowds, ensuring no obstructions. The carriage proceeded smoothly, and amid conversation and laughter, they soon passed through the gates of Qixia Temple.

The capital’s noble ladies converged around the same time and were directed to the same courtyard to dismount before proceeding together to the same prayer hall. Naturally, they encountered many familiar faces along the way.

Ming Tang helped Mrs. Pei alight from the carriage and, scanning the surroundings, immediately spotted Mrs. Ming and Ming Wan not far away. She beamed at them before turning to search for her elder sister.

Since they had met, it was only proper to walk together. After exchanging pleasantries with her mother, Ming Tang asked, "I just saw Mrs. Zhang—why didn’t Eldest Sister come with her? Do you know why, Mother?"