The grand morning court assembly in Tai’an City today was unprecedented in its splendor.
From the Yonghui to the Xiangfu era, the court assemblies, especially the morning sessions, served as a direct reflection of the political climate in the Liyang Dynasty. The number of attendees often acted as an intangible evaluation of certain key ministers. For instance, the arrivals of Chen Zhibao and Lu Baijie to the capital as Ministers of War, the emergence of Qi Yanglong, the Grand Sacrificial Officer of the Shangyin Academy, the departure of Grand General Gu Jiantang to govern the two Liao regions, the posthumous honors for the elderly Song family scholar and Yan Zhenchun, the first-time appearances of the renowned regional generals Lu Shengxiang, Tang Tieshuang, and Xu Gong in the capital, the promotion of Junior Guardian Chen Wang to Left Cavalier Attendant, the “exile” of former Minister of Revenue Wang Xionggui and former Minister of Rites Yuan Guo, the rise of Han Lin, the Vice Minister of Justice, and Lu Baijie’s quiet departure—all these events saw significant fluctuations in attendance.
Beyond the civil and military officials required to attend daily morning court, there were three types of people eligible but not obligated to participate: imperial relatives sharing the royal surname, hereditary nobles who had contributed to Liyang, and elderly dignitaries granted exemption by imperial grace. The more of these individuals attended, the more it signified an official’s rising prominence. Conversely, sparse attendance—such as during Wang Xionggui and Yuan Guo’s farewells or when the veteran Yang Shenxing left for the Liangdao Circuit as Military Commissioner—barely caused a ripple, with almost none of these three groups present.
Despite last night’s sudden downpour, this morning’s assembly was a gathering of the empire’s finest.
The autumn rain lingered, turning many streets in the capital muddy. In the past, officials who had to traverse half the city for court might have grumbled from horseback or inside their carriages. But today, nearly everyone arrived in high spirits, showing no signs of fatigue. Some ministers, accustomed to reading by lamplight in their carriages before court, absentmindedly flipped pages, occasionally lifting the curtain to check their location or asking their coachmen how much longer the journey would take.
The street where Left Cavalier Attendant Chen Wang resided was home to Liyang’s most prestigious nobles—aside from his father-in-law, the Commandery Prince, there were figures like Duke Yan Gao Shizhi and Marquis Huaiyang Song Daoning, retired powerbrokers who had long withdrawn from the limelight. Their silence did not mean they had lost their influence over court affairs.
Before dawn, the mansions in this district were ablaze with lights, servants readying carriages as purple-and-yellow-clad nobles gradually boarded. Amid this procession, Chen Wang’s modest carriage stood out as somewhat shabby. Yet, at a turn, a marquis ahead deliberately slowed to yield the right of way. Chen Wang lifted the curtain slightly, nodding in acknowledgment. The well-preserved marquis, nearing fifty, smiled in return before lowering the curtain, stroking his beard with a mix of pride at having exchanged pleasantries with the Left Cavalier Attendant and regret. Years ago, when the late emperor had selected brides for Chen Wang from the Zhao imperial clan and noble families, his own granddaughter had been a candidate. But back then, he had prioritized forging ties with a powerful duke. Now, though his granddaughter had entered the duke’s household, compared to Chen Wang—a true “dragon-riding” son-in-law—it felt like a missed opportunity.
Duke Yan Gao Shizhi and Marquis Huaiyang Song Daoning were close friends, yet their families had never intermarried, despite being well-matched. Duke Yan’s children, Gao Shilian and Gao Shijing, were among Tai’an City’s most outstanding youths, while Marquis Huaiyang’s numerous offspring had only grown more distinguished with time. Logically, even if not the eldest, some of the Song siblings of similar age could have married into the Gao family without it being seen as overreaching.
Today, both Duke Yan and Marquis Huaiyang attended court, sharing a spacious carriage. Though winter had yet to arrive, Duke Yan had a small, elegant stove added for his friend, who had long suffered from the cold.
Song Daoning dozed lightly, and Gao Shizhi gently tended the fire.
Song Daoning, a light sleeper, soon awoke.
Gao Shizhi met his gaze. “Something on your mind?”
Song Daoning remained silent, his eyes flicking toward the heavy curtain separating them from the coachman.
Gao Shizhi asked, “Has your old coachman finally resigned?”
Song Daoning, who dreaded the cold, tightened his collar with a soft “Hmm.”
Gao Shizhi chuckled. “Then why not speak freely?”
Song Daoning’s expression was indifferent. “After all these years, it’s a habit.”
Gao Shizhi, his sworn brother, sighed softly. “In that case, we should thank that restless young prince. Otherwise, even if His Majesty wished to withdraw the Zhao Gou, it wouldn’t have happened so quickly.”
Song Daoning’s voice was hoarse. “At first, I resented the late emperor’s decision. But over time, I grew accustomed. Honestly, even knowing an imperial spy was watching, it never bothered me much. Now that His Majesty has withdrawn them… Brother Gao, what do you think?”
Gao Shizhi sneered. “Brother Song, I’m no novice in court politics. Like you, I feel uneasy—very uneasy. It was better when both sides knew but didn’t speak of it. Now, with the coachman gone, who’s to say a servant or maid won’t secretly replace him?”
Song Daoning, known for his reticence, smiled wryly. “Brother Gao, do you think this means His Majesty lacks the late emperor’s magnanimity?”
Gao Shizhi frowned. “Don’t you?”
Song Daoning shook his head. “His Majesty’s move isn’t about gratitude. He’s not so shallow. It’s more like delivering a secret edict without eunuchs as intermediaries. If you miss the deeper meaning, you’ll find no seat at the coming feast.”
The duke grew solemn. “Explain.”
Song Daoning spoke slowly. “Since the first year of Xiangfu, the capital’s political landscape has shifted dizzyingly. These changes aren’t just about promotions. Among civil officials, the northern Peng clan’s scholars have risen sharply, while the southern Lu and Yu clans surged only to fade. The Qing faction has revived. The Hanlin Academy, now independent from the Zhao family’s control, has severed ties with the Three Departments and Six Ministries. The new Hanlin academician is a true disciple of the emperor, from an ordinary scholarly family, unaffiliated with the Zhanglu or southern factions. The establishment of six new bureaus further decentralizes power. As for military figures—setting aside the old and new princes—consider those who’ve passed through the capital in recent years: former Vice Ministers of War Xu Gong and Tang Tieshuang, Ji Province’s deputy generals Yang Huchen and Han Fang, Song Li’s return to power in Guangling, the promotions of seven capital generals led by Li Chang’an, and the recent arrivals Dong Gong, Huang Tianzong, and Wei Dong.”
Gao Shizhi scoffed. “Brother Song, cut to the chase. I know all this. I grasp His Majesty’s general intent. Just give me your insight. I’m no good at circles.”
Song Daoning sighed. “Never mind. No point playing the lute for a cow. Best save my breath—it’s been years since I attended morning court. Wouldn’t want to faint from standing.”
Gao Shizhi waved a hand, laughing. “Song, don’t think your marquis title stops me from thrashing you!”
Song Daoning changed tack. “Keep Shilian and Shijing from getting too close to Yin Changgeng… Oh, and if Shijing doesn’t object, consider matching her with Zhao Youling’s youngest. The age gap isn’t ideal, but they say ‘a wife three years older brings gold.’ Minor matters.”
Gao Shizhi snorted. “Since when did you become as short-sighted as the rest? Even if Yin Maochun lags behind Zhao Youling slightly, the Three Departments and Six Ministries have more than just the Secretariat Head. Yin and Zhao can each take a post without conflict—”
He stopped abruptly.
Song Daoning smirked. “Finally see it? One of them is destined to lose badly—and it’s Yin Maochun, the long-time heir apparent?”
Gao Shizhi was baffled. “Then why marry the kids?”
Song Daoning said calmly, “Remember, Yin Changgeng and Zhao Chunyuan’s marriage was the late emperor’s idea. Yin and Zhao went along, each leaving their descendants an escape route.”
The duke clicked his tongue. “These scholars and their twisted minds!”
Song Daoning mused, “Scholars scheme, generals resist control. His Majesty has had a hard time since ascending the throne. Remarkably, he’s done well.”
Gao Shizhi studied his friend. “You’ve decided? To help His Majesty balance the factions?”
Song Daoning took a deep breath. “Though our noble neighbors have been stifled by ‘Green-Eyes’ for years, we can’t deny the difference his presence made. Now that he’s gone, if not for the empire, at least let’s honor our ancestors’ tablets.”
Gao Shizhi stretched. “I’ll follow your lead. No need to overthink it.”
Song Daoning suddenly smiled. “Remember our youth?”
Gao Shizhi blinked. “Which part? We had plenty of exploits. Compared to today’s brats like Wang Yuanran, we were leagues ahead!”
Song Daoning rubbed his chest, then pointed at the duke’s face.
The latter flushed crimson, cursing as his bravado vanished.
Song Daoning laughed heartily—a rare sight.
Years ago, the young Marquis Song and his friend Gao, with their retinues, had ridden to the capital’s outskirts, where they encountered a woman of breathtaking beauty. Before they could speak, a rustic with a Liaodong accent intervened. A brawl ensued—two against one, yet they lost. Though outnumbered, they chased the scoundrel, who, despite his skills, hurled endless insults. Far from heroic, it was a farce of rival lechers.
Then…
Then Song was kicked back twenty feet by the sword-bearing woman, and Gao was sent spinning through the air with a slap.
The Liaodong youth, grinning through pain, grabbed her hand, declaring, “You’re my wife, Xu Xiao! Kill me or marry me!”
※※※
In the past, Tai’an City was never dull with Xu Xiao around.
Now, with his son here, it seems just as lively.
※※※
Duke Yan, Marquis Huaiyang, and other elusive magnates were sorely disappointed—the young prince who’d stirred up such a storm was absent from today’s court.
In contrast, another piece of news mildly intrigued the officials: Wu Zhongxuan, the former top southern general under Prince Yanchi Zhao Bing, had secretly left Guangling for the capital, suddenly appearing in court as the new Minister of War. He was to return south immediately as Campaigning General, remotely overseeing the ministry until the rebellion was quelled.
At dawn, a carriage halted before the old Ministry of War site, a stone’s throw from Zhao Jia Weng. Decades ago, when Liyang was scorned as northern barbarians, the Ministry of War had held unparalleled prestige—even the heads of the Three Departments would yield to a mere ministry clerk. Now, the vermilion gates saw scant traffic, the building reduced to a lowly armory office.
A drowsy clerk, Huang Qianshan, stepped out, rubbing his eyes at the sight of a black-gold python robe—unheard of in the capital, where even minor dress breaches were unthinkable.
Frozen, he dared neither advance nor retreat.
A gruff voice barked behind him, “Huang Qianshan! Off to report to Minister Hong! What, your boots stuck in shit?”
Huang gulped. “Sir Yang, there’s someone…”
The tall man peered past him, then bolted inside without a word.
Huang, left with no escape, hurried down the steps, bowing. “Might I ask…” He faltered, realizing he hadn’t noted the robe’s details to determine the proper address.
The young man smiled. “This prince is merely visiting. No need to report.”
*This prince.*
Huang’s legs nearly gave way. In all Liyang, only a handful could claim that title—and the young ones were even fewer.
“B-Bei… Beiliang Prince,” he stammered, “how may this lowly one serve?”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Didn’t Sir Yang tell you to go to the ministry?”
Sweating, Huang stammered, “N-no urgency… Your Highness’s presence honors our humble office…”
Xu Fengnian waved him off. “Go.”
As Huang turned to flee, the prince added softly, “Huang Qianshan, before leaving, announce loudly: ‘Official premises. Unauthorized persons barred without ministry approval.'”
Obediently, Huang shouted the words, only realizing later the implications. Terrified, he leaned against a wall, trembling.
*Am I courting death?*
But further on, he paused, looking back at the still figure of the young prince—the very man he’d once mocked with colleagues.
His fear faded, replaced by an inexplicable pang.
A minor clerk, forever barred from court, walked on, his heart unsettled.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage