Chapter 39

Chapter 39

“Your Majesty,” Prime Minister Yan knelt before the throne the moment he entered. “This old minister heard that Grand Tutor Zhang was imprisoned in the Zhao Dungeon last night for offending Your Majesty?”

Pei Xingjian rested his hands on his knees, his expression serene. “What is the Prime Minister implying?”

Prime Minister Yan’s beard trembled slightly. Raising his eyes, he saw the emperor’s displeased face and felt a tremor of unease. “May this old minister humbly ask, how exactly did the Grand Tutor offend Your Majesty?”

As soon as he spoke, the atmosphere in the room turned abruptly cold.

Prime Minister Yan’s fear intensified.

After a long silence, Pei Xingjian spoke. “You wish to know?”

Prime Minister Yan froze, daring neither to move nor to speak.

Pei Xingjian’s gaze suddenly shifted to the side. At that moment, Lin Ting was seated at a desk in the corner, and from his angle, he could clearly see the brush dancing across the paper, forming symbols he couldn’t decipher.

Pei Xingjian’s brow twitched. What on earth was he writing?

The Emperor remained silent for a long while, and the prime minister, curious, followed his gaze. He saw Lord Lin leaning over the desk, engrossed in writing something—though from his angle, he couldn't see clearly.

“Lord Lin?” Prime Minister Yan called out cautiously, seeing how absorbed the other man was.

Lin Ting looked up, only to find everyone in the room staring at him. Bewildered, he asked, “What? Why is everyone looking at me?” He hadn’t done anything wrong today.

Pei Xingjian’s eyes swept over the paper in front of Lin Ting.

Suddenly understanding the emperor’s unreadable expression, Lin Ting hastily gathered the open sheet against his chest and smiled sheepishly. “This servant will put it away first, to spare Your Majesty’s eyes.”

Pei Xingjian replied indifferently, “Too late. This emperor’s eyes have already been sullied.”

Lin Ting: “...No need to be so blunt.”

“Then shall I help Your Majesty cleanse your eyes?”

Pei Xingjian glanced at him sidelong. “No need. I fear Minister Lin might accidentally pluck out my eyeballs.”

Lin Ting thought to himself: *When have I ever been that careless?*

Then Pei Xingjian jerked his chin toward him. “Minister Lin was with this emperor last night. You may ask him.”

Prime Minister Yan immediately turned to Lin Ting with curiosity.

Lin Ting’s fingers trembled slightly, unable to believe Pei Xingjian had pushed the matter onto him.

How was he supposed to explain this? Strictly speaking, it could be construed as an illicit affair between a consort and an outsider, damaging to both their reputations and harmful to the imperial family’s dignity.

“Uh,” Lin Ting stammered, choosing his words carefully, “last night was late, and this servant was behind and didn’t see clearly. Your Majesty had the better view. Prime Minister Yan should ask His Majesty instead.” He deftly tossed the question back.

Prime Minister Yan’s anxiety mounted. Just how serious was this offense that both of them were so reluctant to speak? It couldn't possibly be... *that*.

He immediately dismissed the thought. Grand Tutor Zhang was devoted to scholarship—he would never commit such a mistake.

He pondered, recalling the scene he had witnessed on his way to court that morning, and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, with the imperial examinations underway, the capital is teeming with scholars. On my way to court, I passed the Chongwen Hall and saw a crowd of scholars gathered in protest, swearing they wouldn’t budge until Grand Tutor Zhang is released.”

His tone was earnest. “The Capital Prefect doesn’t know how to handle the situation.”

Just then, a eunuch’s voice announced from outside: “The Marquis of Anding requests an audience.”

Pei Xingjian’s eyes narrowed. “Let him in.”

Moments later, the Marquis of Anding entered. Spotting Prime Minister Yan already kneeling inside, he smiled. “Oh, Prime Minister Yan is already here.”

Prime Minister Yan snorted disdainfully.

The air grew thick with tension.

Lin Ting immediately set down his brush, craning his neck to observe. His inner gossipmonger was ablaze.

The Marquis of Anding got right to business. “Your Majesty, the Capital Prefect reports that a large number of scholars have surrounded the prefecture office, disrupting official business. I recommend the City Patrol should be dispatched immediately to arrest the troublemakers and subject them to harsh questioning. The ringleaders must be punished severely.”

Pei Xingjian glanced at him coolly. “How does Prime Minister Yan suggest we handle this?”

“Out of the question,” Prime Minister Yan countered. “Those scholars have always looked up to Grand Tutor Zhang as a role model. Now that he has been imprisoned without explanation, their outrage is justified. This subject believes the reason should be clarified to appease them.”

“Ha!” the Marquis of Anding scoffed. “The court has been too lenient with those scholars, making them forget who truly rules this land.”

“Marquis of Anding, governing by violence is inherently flawed.”

“It’s you literati with your flowery words, always indecisive...”

“You brute...”

...

Though there were just two of them arguing, Lin Ting felt as if he were in a bustling marketplace.

As their quarrel escalated, on the verge of coming to blows, Lin Ting glanced at Pei Xingjian—the emperor was pressing his fingers to his nose bridge, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes faintly reddened.

Yet the two quarreling ministers remained oblivious, their shouting fit to raise the roof.

*Tsk*, no wonder the emperor looked exhausted. These two had no sense of decorum. If this continued, no one in the room would be leaving anytime soon.

Lin Ting took a sip of water to clear his throat, then stood and wedged himself between the two officials, pushing them apart with each hand. “Gentlemen, that’s enough, that’s enough.”

By now, they’d started pulling hair and beards—the Marquis of Anding tugging the prime minister’s beard, the prime minister yanking the marquis’ hair, neither willing to relent.

“Let go.”

“You old fool, you let go first—”

“Don’t even think—”

Lin Ting hesitated, thrown off balance, then continued mediating. “Gentlemen, look at me—look me in the eye.” Raising his voice, he finally drew their attention.

“How old are you two?” Lin Ting glanced left, then right. “Combined, your ages far surpass mine. At your age, shouldn’t you be more mature and composed? Take a page from my book—calm down.”

Prime Minister Yan and the Marquis of Anding twitched their beards, wanting to retort but holding back.

“We’re all colleagues here. Shouldn’t we strive for unity, friendship, and mutual support?”

“Come now, listen to me. When I say three, both of you let go at the same time, alright?”

The two men remained silent.

“One, two, three.”

With a swift motion, all three released their grip. Finally separating them, Lin Ting clapped his hands. “There we go.” Then he turned to Pei Xingjian. “Your Majesty, I have an idea.”

Pei Xingjian shot him a look, “Speak.”

“I believe we should balance carrot and stick—on one hand, offer gentle persuasion, and on the other, make an example of the protest ringleaders.”

In other words, a blend of the two methods proposed by his two advisors.

Having said that, Lin Ting turned back to look at them, “Do either of you have any objections?”

The Marquis of Anding snorted coldly, while Prime Minister Yan looked hesitant.

Trouble was brewing.

“Is there anything else you’re dissatisfied with?” A voice like ice cut through the air from behind him.

Pei Xingjian suddenly stood up, his narrow eyes fixed intently on the two men, bloodshot eyes promising violence, daring them to challenge him.

Prime Minister Yan and the Marquis of Anding were all too familiar with that look and immediately complied, “Satisfied.” “This old minister is entirely satisfied.”

Pei Xingjian drawled, “Get out.”

Prime Minister Yan and the Marquis of Anding fled in a scramble.

Once everyone had left, Lin Ting sidled up behind Pei Xingjian’s chair and began massaging his shoulders.

After about fifteen minutes, Pei Xingjian brushed him off.

The room fell into silence. Lin Ting wet his lips, “May I—” *take the afternoon off?*

“Have you finished three pages of calligraphy?” came the icy reply.

Lin Ting’s fingers stiffened.

*Shit*. He’d been too busy caught up in the show earlier—not a single page was done.

Lin Ting muttered, “I write slowly. Slow and steady wins the race, after all.”

Pei Xingjian, however, wasn’t having it. “Bring me what you’ve practiced so far.”

*Aaaargh!* Lin Ting screamed inside his head. What emperor in his right mind insisted on supervising his subject’s calligraphy practice? Weren’t there memorials to review?

Defeated, Lin Ting picked up the pathetic half-page and hesitated before handing it over. “With all due respect, I think Your Majesty shouldn’t look.”

Seeing Pei Xingjian’s puzzled expression, he mustered his courage. “I’m afraid it might trigger Your Majesty’s headache again.”

Pei Xingjian yanked the sheet and said flatly, “Don’t worry. Thanks to Minister Lin’s help, my pain threshold has increased recently.”

...

Though he’d braced himself, Pei Xingjian’s brow still convulsed at the sight of the chicken scratches. After a brief glance, he handed it back.

“Forget it. Spare me the agony.”

Lin Ting sulked. He thought his writing wasn’t that bad. After all, Great Yong’s script was nothing like modern writing, and managing this much in such a short time was already impressive.

Crumpling the evidence into his sleeve, Lin Ting stood dutifully beside Pei Xingjian as human furniture.

Striving for excellence probably wasn’t for him. Lounging around was his true destiny.

He wondered when he could retire.

Glancing at Pei Xingjian, he noticed that the emperor’s headaches seemed less frequent lately. Did that mean he was one step closer to success?

“What are you looking at?” Pei Xingjian’s sharp gaze caught him, those bottomless black eyes locking onto him. Lin Ting’s heart skipped, and he quickly averted his eyes.

“I was admiring Your Majesty’s excellent penmanship.”

“Would you like to learn it?” Pei Xingjian suddenly tempted.

Lin Ting: “...*Walked right into that one.*”

“Your Majesty’s script is a royal prerogative. Best not.” Not that he’d dare forge imperial edicts.

“No need. Others can’t, but you’re special.”

Lin Ting choked. What did that mean, “he could”? Was it a taunt that he’d never learn no matter how hard he tried?

...

Shell-shocked, Lin Ting walked out of Chonghua Palace’s gates.

Eunuch Zhao, waiting by the entrance, smiled and approached. “Lord Lin, leaving so early today?” Though Lord Lin served as the emperor’s guard under the Tianxuan Guard, he wasn’t bound by their rules—his schedule depended entirely on the emperor’s word.

Only when he drew closer did he notice Lord Lin’s bewildered expression and the scrolls of paper clutched in his hand.

“Good heavens, what’s wrong, Lord Lin?” Why did he look so lost?

As he passed by, he faintly heard Lord Lin muttering, “Fifty pages of calligraphy, fifty pages...”

A glance at the papers revealed penmanship drills.

Zhao Dehai understood—the emperor was teaching Lord Lin calligraphy.

Well, learning calligraphy wasn't easy. Lord Lin still had a long way to go.

Zhao Dehai watched as Lin Ting departed.

Lin Ting staggered from the palace. The Lin family carriage was already waiting at the gate.

He climbed in and ordered the coachman, “To Dengxian Tower. I want their roast goose.” Only food could soothe his bruised ego.

The carriage headed straight for the main street.

After seven or eight minutes, a roar of protest erupted outside.

Lin Ting lifted the curtain and peeked out—a crowd of students had surrounded the Jingzhao Prefecture, protesting and blocking the entrance.

“Are these all examination candidates?”

The coachman answered, “They say Grand Tutor Zhang was suddenly imprisoned after last night’s palace banquet. The students are demanding an explanation from the court.”

Lin Ting studied the noisy crowd, spotting a few familiar faces.

He asked, “How many students are in the capital?”

“The storytellers at the tavern say tens of thousands arrived this year—the highest number in a decade.”

“Not just here. The Chongwen Pavilion near the palace, taverns, and river barges are all packed with students. But the exams are soon—this won’t last.”

“Perhaps not.” Lin Ting lowered the curtain, deep in thought.

Yesterday’s incident had been hushed up. If not for the Marquis of Anding’s sudden appearance, the Grand Tutor might still be free.

Was there someone behind this organized protest?