The Prince of Beiliang, Xu Xiao, had already arrived at the capital ten days ago. During those ten days, Xu Xiao did not visit anyone, and no one left their visiting card at the post-station at Xu Maiwei. Logically speaking, as a non-imperial prince, Xu Xiao was not bound by the regulations governing the Imperial Clan. In the capital city, there were nearly ten thousand officials, big and small, many of whom habitually fawned upon those in power. Even the obscure, newly-minted jinshi ranked high on examination day, attracting numerous officials eager to cozy up under the pretense of shared hometowns. Yet, when it came to Xu Xiao, not a single soul showed their face.
Actually, a moment’s reflection clarified matters. Generally speaking, the imperial court was divided into several major factions: the Chief Minister Zhang leading the civilian officials, Gu Jiantang commanding the military, the Qing Party carving its own path while recruiting a host of loose affiliations, and the Eight Former Kingdoms’ old guards mutually supporting each other—clearly demarcated.
However, with the rise of a second generation—the “remnant scions”—early animosities began to fade, merging with the existing equilibrium of three major factions. Within the Eight Former Kingdoms, factions again emerged. Xishu, being closest to Qingzhou, mostly joined the Qing Party. Xichu, home to many scholars, naturally favored Premier Zhang Julu, himself hailing from Great Huangmen. On the contrary, Dongyue and other regions whose people were known for their fierceness and barbarism favored General Gu Jiantang, who found these youths, equally adept at martial prowess and literary elegance, particularly agreeable.
Thus, the older generation—elder statesmen like the elderly grand ministers—mostly did not get along with Xu Xiao. The younger generation, influenced by ancestral legacies and the aftermath of the Spring and Autumn Wars, either out of self-respect or ambitions to leverage their value, would not willingly ally themselves with the Prince of Beiliang, who was stationed in the distant frontier. Most gravitated instead toward the four main factions.
Certainly, if the Grand Commissioner himself extended his favor, no one would dare decline such a tremendous honor—wasn’t it precisely through the Grand Commissioner’s recommendation that Jin Lanting, a minor official from Yuzhou, ascended to the prestigious post of Huangmen?
This morning, Xu Xiao arrived at court on time. As he stepped out from his carriage, he already donned a deep blue brocade robe adorned with coiled five-clawed dragons. Normally, when ministers assembled for morning session, Grand Minister Zhang Julu, the earliest to arrive, would enter first. General Gu Jiantang, on the other hand, always arrived at the very last moment, closing the entrance. No one dared step out of line.
Beyond these two, subsequent arrivals generally followed hierarchical seniority and rank, though in recent years the growing factional rivalry had rendered such order increasingly arbitrary. Gu’s faction, largely composed of military men, looked down on the fallen remnants of defeated kingdoms and showed little respect toward the Qing Party. Conversely, Zhang’s faction maintained a reputation of gentle virtue and humility. Add the unpredictable variables of imperial in-laws and eunuchs, and the entire court landscape devolved into chaos and contention.
Today, most officials had heard that General Gu had left for the Two Liao Provinces two days prior, unlikely to return shortly. Many observers who had hoped to witness a fierce confrontation between the two Spring and Autumn-era generals in the Baohe Hall were deeply disappointed. Possibly due to the lack of a leader, Gu’s faction unusually opted for a low profile, refraining from their typical aggressive jostling to pass through the Zhengnan Taian Gate first, merely glaring at the old crippled man clad in blue brocade.
With Gu’s faction holding back and Premier Zhang standing at the gate with his hands clasped within his sleeves, seemingly waiting for someone, none of Zhang’s faction entered either. By his side stood Wen Shouxin, the newly appointed Wuying Hall Academician and hailed as the backbone and moral compass of Zhang’s faction. His brow sweating, he remained still beside his master, as an old hunched figure approached.
Dressed in his coiled dragon robe, Xu Xiao chuckled, “Academician Wen, why haven’t you brought your coffin to court today?”
Wen Shouxin, though not completely devoid of courage, let out a heavy snort. He ignored the mockery. Previously, Wen had had a family servant carry a coffin into court, demanding the Emperor to exchange lives for the ten grave offenses he attributed to the Prince of Beiliang. A truly bold act! Who in the capital hadn’t admired him? Even those within Zhang’s faction who had initially grumbled about Wen’s promotion to Academician gradually fell silent, accepting Premier Zhang’s calculated move. Though Zhang’s faction had the deepest roots and could afford to lose anyone, internal competition remained fierce. Surprisingly, Zhang Julu cared little about such infighting, rarely intervening unless lines were crossed. Through the years, only a rare few were expelled from Zhang’s faction, their fates grim—either exiled to the frontier or barred from service forever.
Seeing Wen feign deafness, Xu Xiao patted the man’s shoulder lightly and smiled cordially: “The court needs loyal officials like you! I heard how incorruptible you were when you served as a county clerk, so clean that you even starved two daughters to death. When I first heard this in Beiliang, I wondered—how could someone so virtuous be only ranked at the eighth grade? It must’ve been Premier Zhang’s oversight. Yet before long, Wen Academician had lost two daughters and now, in the blink of an eye, became Grand Academician of the Wuying Hall! Now, how many halls and pavilions do you rank among? Perhaps Wen Academician should have a few more daughters die so you could bypass our Premier altogether? Don’t tell me even the Grand Academician of Baohe Hall wouldn’t be yours? Then again, who’s to say Premier Zhang doesn’t have his own mentors—after all, when the old Premier died, Zhang found his glory. You don’t quite match him there, do you? So, in essence, are we not saying both of you gentlemen benefited from misfortune and death? Ha, forgive my ramblings. You two are both great statesmen—broad-minded enough to let such things slide, I’m sure!”
Wen’s face turned crimson with suppressed fury, wanting to curse but not daring to speak—deeply disgraced.
Among Zhang’s faction, many feigned outrage, though truly angered hearts were rare.
Beside him, Premier Zhang Julu, past fifty yet looking youthful, was especially known for his dignified appearance, with reddish beard and green eyes, an extraordinary sight. As a child, he was fondly called the “Green-Eyed Lad,” and cherished deeply as apprentice to the old Premier. Yet the old Premier’s patience was boundless—willing to spend thirty years nurturing his protégé, resisting the urge to hasten his rise. Several opportunities for advancement, even posts as regional governors, were turned down by the mentor. Zhang, in turn, maintained patience of his own. For thirty years in the Huangmen halls, he remained unswayed, observing state affairs with a cold eye, speaking little and never rash. Upon stepping out of Huangmen, he rose swiftly like a dragon, climbing eleven ranks within two years of his master’s death, filling the vacancy left behind—and gaining even greater authority.
Xu Xiao’s barbs had failed to evoke the least reaction from Zhang Julu, whose expression remained unchanged: “Master Yang once said, ‘If one has a Buddha in one’s heart, all beings appear as Buddha; if one has filth in one’s heart, all beings appear as dung.’ I hear the Grand Commissioner was present when the Master uttered those words. I wonder whether those words reached his ears or merely lingered on his heart?”
Xu Xiao burst into hearty laughter: “What Master Yang said—well, whatever you all think, except when he spoke well of me, I took it all as nonsense.”
Zhang Julu merely smiled faintly in reply.
Behind the southern gate of the imperial palace stood the three main halls—Outer Court—and the Nine Palaces of the Inner Court. Among these, the Baohe Hall was the most esteemed, colloquially called the “Hall of Golden Splendor,” mistakenly believed to be where morning court assemblies occurred. Not so. The Baohe Hall was generally reserved for grand ceremonies. The Emperor held morning audiences either at Tianqian Palace or Yangshen Hall. However, likely to signify respect for Beiliang Prince Xu Xiao, the two morning sessions had both been convened in Baohe.
The hall’s ridge tiles, cornices, eaves, rafters, doors, windows, golden pillars, decorative ceilings, and screens were adorned with a total of eighteen thousand dragon motifs, fully embodying the grandeur of ten thousand dragons paying homage to the Emperor. This was merely one hall—the entire imperial city contained countless more dragon engravings.
The grand terrace of the Baohe Hall formed the character “Tu” (earth), facing southward from its northern foundation.
From the city’s southern entrance, the three great halls lined the central axis without a single tree planted. Approaching the Emperor’s throne, the ceremonial path stretched long. Eunuchs and guards lurked in the shadows of surrounding strict buildings, giving the illusion of solitary passage under Heaven itself—an atmosphere exuding indescribable pressure.
Thus, when Xu Xiao, blood-stained hands and all, first stood before the throne, he counted his steps to suppress his anxiety. If even Xu Xiao felt this way, how much more so must an official attending court for the first time tremble in fear? Serving the monarch was like walking alongside a tiger, especially under two successive emperors who embodied brilliance and mastery of imperial arts, none daring claim complete skill in grasping the sovereign’s will. Thus, every court official treaded lightly as if walking on thin ice.
Today, Premier Zhang, with his green eyes, deliberately gave Xu Xiao the place of first entry. Xu Xiao accepted unhesitatingly, striding first through the towering palace gates.
It seemed everyone had forgotten—except Zhang Julu—that so long as the Baohe Hall’s Grand Academician post remained unfilled, the civil officials must, by tradition, pledge allegiance to the Grand Commissioner.
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