Chapter 679: Dawn

The Hall of Virtuous Deeds housed the Diligent Study Hall, distinct from the Imperial Academy, established specifically for the scions of the Zhao imperial clan of Liyang. Since adult princes of the legitimate line, aside from the Crown Prince, were all enfeoffed to distant domains, the Diligent Study Hall became primarily the place where the children of dukes and princesses residing in the capital pursued their education. A few noble offspring who had earned their titles through merit were also permitted to enter this place, often hailed as the “Imperial Study,” considered a rare honor for their families.

The Diligent Study Hall was overseen by two senior officials, the Junior Guardian and the Junior Protector, who managed the academic affairs. Additionally, there were over twenty esteemed tutors, each responsible for teaching Confucian classics and individually appointed by the Emperor as personal mentors to specific princes and princesses. These tutors were all renowned scholars of the realm, occasionally joined by senior palace eunuchs of great learning and prestige.

The imperial descendants and noble youths entered the Diligent Study Hall in their early childhood, beginning at the hour of the Rabbit and ending at the hour of the Monkey—five unchangeable hours each day, year after year, until they reached the age of marriage or ennoblement. This tradition, established by the previous Emperor and upheld by the current Son of Heaven, had remained unchanged for twenty years. The Study Hall was governed by numerous strict regulations: students were forbidden to carry fans in summer or use charcoal heaters in winter, regardless of their status. They were required to bow respectfully to their tutors upon meeting them in the corridors. Minor infractions were punished with bamboo rods, while severe offenses could result in a demotion in their future noble ranks. The late Emperor, who had seized the empire on horseback, personally inscribed the plaque “Revere Teachers and Honor the Dao” to serve as a warning to future generations. The current Emperor penned the couplet “Upright in Character, Seek Knowledge with Clarity,” which was hung on either side of the plaque.

Except for the mysterious Prince Zhao Kai, all the Emperor’s children, including Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan and Eldest Prince Zhao Wu, had spent long years in the Diligent Study Hall. If the Yellow Gate Officials were considered the elite of the capital, destined for future high office, then the tutors of the Diligent Study Hall were the true pillars of the scholarly elite—dragons poised to ascend, bearing the honored title of “Imperial Tutors-in-Waiting.” The posts of Junior Protector and Junior Guardian were traditionally held by one real appointee and one nominal one. The two scholars of the Song family, who had dominated the literary world for thirty years, had long sought these positions in vain. The late Master Ma Rong, who had served as Junior Guardian under both the previous and current Emperors, was little known outside the capital. Yet, when he passed away four years ago, the Emperor himself, accompanied by the Empress, attended his funeral in person, donning mourning clothes and keeping vigil at his bier for an entire night.

After Ma Rong’s death, both the posts of Junior Guardian and Junior Protector remained vacant. The aristocratic circles of Tai’an City anticipated that Qi Yanglong, a newly arrived official from the provinces, would temporarily assume the role of Junior Protector as a transitional figure before rising to become the leader of the imperial bureaucracy. However, an unexpected figure emerged—an unremarkable young man whose credentials and reputation were deemed insufficient. He had passed the imperial examination at the tail end of the Yonghui era, but without the distinction of the top three ranks. He had served briefly in the Hanlin Academy and as a Yellow Gate Official, but without much fanfare. It was only after he became a Palace Scribe in the Inner Secretariat that he began to attract the attention of the capital’s elite, albeit modestly.

Yet, this unassuming scholar soon rose to prominence, quietly ascending to the position of Director of the Ministry of Personnel’s Examination Bureau. Under the guidance of Minister Zhao Youling and his former superior, the esteemed statesman Yin Maochun, he played a key role in two major political events—the Capital Inspection and the Provincial Appraisal—both of which determined the fates of officials ranked above the fourth grade in the empire. This young scholar, previously overlooked, began to astonish the court with his boldness. During the triennial Capital Inspection, he remained inconspicuous, but during the Southern Appraisal, he displayed ruthless efficiency, dismissing the governor of Pingzhou and six prefects in a single sweep. Within just three months, he was swiftly recalled to the capital, as many feared he would not survive the journey south.

When he was unexpectedly appointed as the Junior Protector of the Diligent Study Hall, most were left in stunned disbelief. His career path had been so obscure and unconventional that no one had anticipated his rise. It was known that he had married a relatively unknown princess a few years prior, making him a minor imperial relative, but he had never taken sides in factional disputes, nor had he cultivated ties with either civil or military officials. He had no connections with palace eunuchs and had never been seen frequenting pleasure houses.

A few perceptive individuals who delved deeper into his background were left even more bewildered upon discovering the truth—this man was from Beiliang! The court had already been astonished by the meteoric rise of Jin Sanlang, but this young man’s ascent was even more remarkable. Unlike Jin Lanting, whose rise had been tainted by dubious means—reportedly aided by a recommendation letter from the late Prince of Liang and his mastery of Lanting paper—this man’s path had been clean and honorable. Despite marrying into the imperial family, no whispers of him relying on his wife’s status had ever surfaced. His career, from his brief stint as a Yellow Gate Official in the Hanlin Academy to his long tenure as a Palace Lecturer and his brief role as a Palace Scribe, had always kept him close to the imperial household. Even if he were to proclaim himself a spy from Beiliang in the streets, no one would believe him.

He was a scholar from a humble family in Beiliang—Chen Wang.

Of course, in the capital today, he was respectfully addressed as “Vice Minister Chen.”

On this day at the Diligent Study Hall, before the third watch of the Rabbit Hour, the sky still dark, the halls were already filled with the sound of recitation. The Diligent Study Hall was divided into three sections: Lower, Middle, and Upper. Children aged six to nine studied in the Lower Hall, those aged ten to fifteen in the Middle Hall, and those over fifteen in the Upper Hall. Girls were categorized separately and remained until marriage or until their tutors deemed them ready to graduate.

It was a Confucian day, and each section was led by an elder tutor in reciting the classics of Master Zhang, the Confucian sage, with varying levels of difficulty. Outside the Lower Hall stood a young scholar clad in a purple robe and a jade belt bestowed by the Emperor. He watched the young children, their heads swaying as they recited their lessons with all their might. According to the late Emperor’s decree, no furs or warm hats were allowed inside the halls, even in the bitter cold of winter. Inside, only a small copper stove sat beneath the tutor’s desk. The children, mostly born into families bearing the imperial surname, looked no different from poor village scholars—cheeks flushed red, limbs shivering. They seized every moment between the tutor’s readings to huddle their frozen hands and breathe warmth into them.

Outside, besides the unusually dressed scholar, stood an elderly palace eunuch in a crimson robe, watching carefully. The old eunuch, lost in thought, had not noticed the scholar’s arrival. It was understandable—his duty was to guard the Diligent Study Hall, and he had stood there for over a decade, changing robes seven or eight times. Over the years, the palace had remained orderly and disciplined—what danger could there be? No matter how arrogant or unruly the imperial descendants became after leaving the Study Hall, while inside, they were as respectful and obedient as he was, standing quietly while the children sat and studied diligently. Even Prince Zhao Wu and Princess Zhao Fengya, known for their fiery tempers, became meek as lambs once seated in the Diligent Study Hall.

The old eunuch glanced at the courtyard, where a large red lantern had been hung on a branch for the winter. He sighed quietly. He had heard that outside the palace, things were not peaceful. In the Guangling Circuit, some rebels had found a young girl surnamed Jiang and declared her the ruler of a restored kingdom, causing panic among the elderly palace servants who had fled the Western Chu palace decades ago. Even their quiet drinking had ceased, for fear of being mistaken for mourners of a lost dynasty.

To the west, the barbarians were also stirring. The Great Barbarians of Beimang were causing trouble, and the smaller ones of Beiliang followed suit. The old eunuch had seen many storms in his lifetime, yet he could not understand why these people would not enjoy peace and instead choose to sow chaos. Even the Chief Minister had lost his senses—how could a man like Bi Yanye, younger than a mere eunuch, have risen so high and still not be content? It was plainly a path to ruin. The old eunuch thought of the courtyard’s flowers and trees and sighed again. Life was not like grass and trees, which could bloom anew each spring after withering in winter.

At that moment, a small, stealthy figure crept into the courtyard, crouching low as he ran. But upon seeing the stern old eunuch at the gate, his face fell. The old man could only smile inwardly. This child was the grandson of Duke Feng, not the eldest heir but still doted upon. Yet in the Lower Hall, he was often bullied. Though the title of Duke Feng carried weight outside the palace, it held little sway here. The boy was frail and timid, too frightened to complain to his elders even when his new boots were trampled into old ones by the other children. The old eunuch had seen him more than once, hiding behind the courtyard walls, his face streaked with tears.

Looking at the child’s pale, sickly face and the way he stifled his coughs with trembling hands, the old eunuch felt a pang of pity. But the late Emperor’s rules were clear—late once, bamboo punishment; twice, demotion in rank; thrice, further demotion. If no rank remained, the child would be expelled from the Diligent Study Hall. A decade ago, the only son of a rebellious prince—brother to the late Emperor and uncle to the current Son of Heaven—had been stripped of his title and cast out.

The old eunuch stopped the sweating child and said sternly, “If I’m not mistaken, this is your second offense. Go inside. I’ll record it and send it to the Ministry of Imperial Clan Affairs.”

The child, coughing weakly, stammered, “Master Liu, I didn’t mean to be late… I’ve caught a chill…”

The old eunuch waved him off, unwilling to hear excuses. In the palace, even the smallest matter was a matter of imperial concern—a lesson drilled into generations of eunuchs by their predecessors. He was but a servant—why invite trouble?

Just then, the old eunuch noticed a flash of purple beside him. Startled, he turned and saw the scholar in the purple robe. Bowing deeply, the old eunuch bent low. The scholar approached the child, took his icy hand, and gently pried open his fingers. Blood streaked his palm.

The scholar looked at the tearful child, smiled gently, patted his head, and led him across the threshold of the Lower Hall. Inside, an elderly tutor, a renowned scholar from the Hanlin Academy, paused his lesson. Glancing at the purple robe and the late child, he frowned but dared not ignore the scholar’s presence. He set down his bamboo rod and said sternly, “Zhao Li, step forward.”

As the child hesitated, the scholar, still young but calm, said gently, “Master Han, Zhao Li was not late out of mischief. He has caught a chill and is coughing blood. He came despite his illness. The demotion in rank is unavoidable, but perhaps the bamboo punishment can be spared?”

Master Han scoffed, “Spare the punishment? What precedent would that set?!”

The scholar smiled faintly. “Law must not ignore human sentiment.”

The old scholar glared at the younger man, who had risen so swiftly. “Even Grand Sacrificial Official Qi would not dare to answer such a question. Tell me, Vice Minister Chen, from which school of thought do you hail?”

Chen Wang, destined to become the first Junior Protector of the Xiangfu era, replied calmly, “I am self-taught, with no formal master. But I believe that truth belongs to all—be they emperor or commoner.”

Master Han sneered, “Then tell me, who can prove their truth to be true?”

Chen Wang smiled gently. “Heaven and earth, and the conscience within. Heaven is just, Earth is merciful. Man is not a tree, nor a beast. He must feel.”

Master Han’s face darkened, gripping the bamboo rod that had disciplined countless princes and princesses. He cared little for the rising star of Beiliang.

As he prepared to lash out, a figure in a golden-yellow robe appeared at the door. The tutor hastily set down his rod and bowed. The children scrambled to their feet, shouting, “Your Highness, Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan!”

The Crown Prince laughed, “My apologies for interrupting your lesson, Master Han. The delay was my fault—I detained young Zhao Li for a chat on the way. I shall inform the Ministry myself. As for the bamboo punishment, if you fear breaking tradition, I shall take it in his stead. Besides, the child is gravely chilled. I must ask for leave from your lesson. Learning is important, but health comes first. We must not let reading become a matter of life and death.”

The Crown Prince’s words hung in the air like a warm breeze, softening the cold winter morning.

Han Yusheng hurriedly smiled and said, “Your Highness flatters me, flatters me indeed.”

With the Crown Prince himself pleading on his behalf, how could Han Yusheng dare to quibble or hold a grudge? He didn’t feel he had acted inappropriately, convinced that even Master Zhang, were he alive, would have acted the same.

Indeed, hadn’t Young Lord Chen once said, “Law cannot override human sentiment?”

Prince Zhao Zhuan gently ruffled Zhao Li’s hair, smiling as he said, “Don’t forget to go find your aunt later for some candy,” before ordering the old eunuch to lead Zhao Li to a royal physician. Walking with Chen Wang along a dimly lit path, after a brief silence, he teased, “Chen Wang, it seems your tenure as Young Lord Protector hasn’t been smooth sailing.”

Chen Wang merely smiled.

Zhao Zhuan halted, gazing at him earnestly and asking, “They say a land shapes its people. You and our unbending Jin Sanlang both hail from Beiliang, so why are you so different?”

Chen Wang hesitated, then shook his head with self-deprecating humor. “Even within the same land, there are differences. While Right Sacrificial Libationer was already pondering how to develop superior Xuan paper, I was merely practicing calligraphy in the snow with firewood sticks.”

Zhao Zhuan sighed helplessly, “With that temperament of yours, who would dare appoint you as a local official?”

The “who” was obviously not a general reference, but specifically pointed to the Crown Prince himself, who in theory could even act as regent.

Chen Wang chuckled, “If I were appointed, I’d barely manage a minor county magistrate. A larger hat, and I’d surely wear it crooked.”

Zhao Zhuan patted his shoulder, “Do you think I’m foolish enough to waste such talent?”

Chen Wang did not respond.

Suddenly, Zhao Zhuan asked, “What’s your opinion of the Chief Minister and Master Qi?”

Without hesitation, Chen Wang replied, “Minister Zhang is strict and formidable, like the scorching summer sun. Master Qi is gentle and endearing, like a warm winter day. In both governance and personal integrity, they are nearly sages. It is my honor to serve alongside them.”

Zhao Zhuan sighed, “A pity that one mountain cannot hold two tigers.”

He quickly added with a smile, “Minister of Revenue Wang Xionggui may soon be appointed as the Regional Governor of Guangling. Do you have any interest in that position? Young Master Yin Maocun would certainly not deign to take such a minor post, so you needn’t worry about competing with him.”

Ministers of Personnel Zhao Youling, Rites Bai Guo, and Revenue Wang Xionggui, along with potential successor Yin Maocun—all had once been esteemed disciples of Chief Minister Zhang Julu and Elder Tantai. Upon reflection, only Wang Xionggui, regarded as the least accomplished among the famed Yonghui Quartet, remained to uphold the legacy of the Zhang household.

It seemed even Wang Xionggui would soon depart, appointed to the absurd post of Regional Governor of Guangling. The court’s implication was clear enough for even a blind man to see.

To slay the flying tiger, first sever its wings!

Chen Wang simply shook his head in silence.

Zhao Zhuan murmured, “I suppose I acted too hastily. Instead of helping, I might have made you the target of all arrows. As the saying goes, the last ten percent of a ninety-mile journey is the hardest.”

He muttered as if to himself, “Father secretly inspects the borders, and with these delays, missing court sessions—it doesn’t seem quite right.”

Chen Wang, once praised by Ma Rong as “of upright and proper bearing,” did not utter those two words.

Yet as Zhao Zhuan gazed at the eastern sky turning pale with dawn, his eyes burned with quiet intensity.

Regency.

After withdrawing his gaze, Zhao Zhuan resumed his gentle, refined demeanor as Crown Prince, smiling, “I heard that Master Yuan’s recent travels across the land were accompanied by someone.”

Chen Wang asked, “May I speak of it?”

Zhao Zhuan smiled with slight resignation, “What is there we cannot share? The one accompanying him is none other than the Song family’s young prodigy, Song Keli, now fallen from grace like a phoenix out of luck.”

Chen Wang expressed surprise, “But isn’t Song Keli currently serving as a county deputy in an upper-tier county north of Guangling? His achievements in bandit suppression have been remarkable, though deliberately suppressed by higher authorities.”

Zhao Zhuan gave Chen Wang a long look, then laughed until his eyes narrowed, pointing at the man whose lips were as tightly sealed as a fortress, “Pretend, keep pretending. Others may not grasp Master Yuan’s schemes, but you, Chen Wang, would surely catch the crux. The Song family’s sudden fall—how it appeared publicly versus what transpired behind the scenes—most of the old foxes in the first few rows of court already saw ‘one Chu,’ but few truly saw ‘the second.’ Chief Minister and Yin Maocun certainly did, and if only one other remains, it must be you, Chen Wang.”

Chen Wang neither confirmed nor denied.

Zhao Zhuan softly mused, “Yin Maocun, Bai Guo, and Song Dongming were all once considered hidden successors by Master Yuan. Even though the latter two eventually fell out, Yin Maocun should have clearly become the next Chief Minister. No one expected Song Keli to quietly take it all.”

After a pause, Chen Wang said calmly, “Master Yuan chose Song Keli, but the Chief Minister made his own choice.”

Zhao Zhuan was genuinely intrigued, asking curiously, “It’s definitely not Wang Xionggui or Zhao Youling. Then who could it be?”

Chen Wang replied evenly, “Minister of Rites Bai Guo.”

Zhao Zhuan instinctively laughed aloud, clearly disbelieving the absurd claim, “Bai Guo? Impossible, impossible. Although Bai Guo enjoys an excellent reputation throughout the court and beyond, especially among The Imperial Capital officials who all hold him dear, and I myself greatly admire this free-spirited and talented Minister of Rites—still, you expect me to believe that after more than a decade of careful selection, Zhang Julu finally chose Bai Guo, someone he had once abandoned, to become the next head of the Gu household? Not in this lifetime!”

Chen Wang replied calmly, “I cannot literally kill off Your Highness.”

Zhao Zhuan was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter. In his mind, Chen Wang was always a solemn old scholar who never joked—this remark truly broadened his perspective. Yet after the laughter faded, Zhao Zhuan fell into deep thought.

His father had schemed tirelessly to pave his way, and the most troubling and painful part of that effort was undoubtedly the blue-eyed minister, Biyan. Zhao Zhuan himself acknowledged the Chief Minister’s contributions but harbored absolutely no affection for Zhang Julu. As the fourth prince before becoming Crown Prince, Zhao Zhuan had always deeply feared this Chief Minister—though wielding immense power, Zhang Julu had no personal desires. If he had merely been a Confucian sage devoted to scholarship, the court could have made a statue of him and placed it beside Master Zhang’s on a pedestal. But Zhang Julu was different—he valued deeds over learning, a classic example of a powerful chancellor. Deep inside, Zhao Zhuan saw Zhang Julu as a lifeless corpse, someone he would rather avoid entirely.

If, as Chen Wang suggested, Zhang Julu had indeed chosen his former favorite disciple, Bai Guo, as his posthumous “guardian,” then Zhao Zhuan would need to carefully weigh the pros and cons.

A Song Keli who needed many years to grow his wings would be easy enough for Zhao Zhuan to handle, no matter how lacking in skill he himself might be.

That was merely a distant concern.

After all, no new emperor feared new ministers; their fears lay with the old ones.

Clearly, Bai Guo might become an imminent and dangerous threat.

That was the immediate concern.

Chen Wang did not disturb the Crown Prince’s thoughts. After waiting a while and seeing Zhao Zhuan still lost in thought, he quietly turned and walked away.

A long time later, Zhao Zhuan stretched his arms and yawned comfortably, glancing around—Chen Wang was nowhere to be seen.

Zhao Zhuan departed alone.

The sky had brightened.