The grand court assembly of Great Chu today was shrouded in gloom, leaving many mid-ranking officials—who were temporarily unqualified to enter the main hall—utterly bewildered. Particularly striking was the absence of the three prominent figures from the Song family, who had once dominated the court like the midday sun. Not only that, but it was said that over a dozen high-ranking nobles, including the Minister of Personnel and the Vice Minister of Rites, had all pleaded illness and resigned. It was the newly empowered Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guards, Qi Su—who had long been sidelined—whom the Emperor ordered to lead troops to the mansions of these dignitaries and “invite” them to attend today’s assembly. As a result, these influential figures from various factions arrived late, making a conspicuous entrance together.
Most had heard whispers of yesterday’s upheaval in the capital, though the turmoil had been confined within the imperial city and swiftly followed by a city-wide lockdown. The fragmented rumors circulating among officials were unreliable, but one thing was certain: the Northern Liang Prince had stirred up no small commotion. His final, brazen declaration, heard across the city, had left many stunned, bewildered, and furious. Even among the younger, promising officials of Great Chu gathered in the court today, few could suppress their indignation.
When everyone finally entered the hall, they noticed that even the Chief Eunuch of the Ceremonial Directorate had been replaced by a fresh face. And the Emperor, who should have entered later, was already seated on the dragon throne, her icy gaze making many courtiers feel her majesty for the first time.
High-ranking officials like Yuan Shanhong, the Minister of Personnel, and Guo Xi, the Vice Minister of Rites standing slightly to his right, instinctively lowered their heads, unable to meet the young woman’s gaze.
In the past, almost all civil and military officials in the capital who attended court assemblies had treated these daily gatherings as delightful affairs, regardless of weather or season. The reason was simple: their Emperor was not only a young woman in the prime of her life but also one of the four legendary beauties on the “Rouge Ranking.” Even a fleeting glance at her seated on the throne in imperial robes was enough to lift one’s spirits.
Last year, at the height of Great Chu’s power, a refined joke had circulated: a young general, who had risen to fame overnight after distinguishing himself in battles against the two great generals of Liyang, Yang Shenxing and Yan Zhenchun, had turned red-faced and speechless during a routine audience with the Emperor, eliciting laughter from the entire court. If not for the timely intervention of the Grand Chancellor, Sun Xiji, the laughter might have echoed far beyond the hall.
Today’s assembly, however, was devoid of such harmonious exchanges. Many officials in the back rows craned their necks, scrutinizing the Grand Chancellor, who sat with his eyes closed, trying to glean some hint from the face of this elder statesman—the most experienced official in the realm. But to their disappointment, the old man showed no expression other than sitting rigidly upright, unlike his usual relaxed posture.
Compared to the nervous civil officials, the sparse ranks of military officers remained composed. He Taisheng, who had enjoyed a smooth career in Great Chu’s bureaucracy, had vanished. His family had sought information, even visiting the influential Song family, but the Song residence remained tightly shut. Another deputy commander with military authority had also failed to return home last night, though some news had leaked from the palace, suggesting he might avoid dismissal or imprisonment.
In any case, with two of the twenty or so high-ranking military positions in the capital and its garrisons suddenly vacant, many saw an opportunity for advancement—a silver lining.
Now, holding a higher office, even if the Western Chu regime were to collapse someday, could mean a better chance of survival. A minor official, like a low-ranking clerk in one of the Six Ministries, would be of little consequence. When the reckoning came, those without significant titles or status would be the first to fall—executed without so much as a word to the imperial family or the Ministry of Justice.
The Chief Eunuch of the Ceremonial Directorate should have announced, “Those with matters to report, step forward.” But the newly appointed eunuch, who should have been basking in his promotion, remained stone-faced and silent.
The Empress of Great Chu sat on her throne. Once perceived as somewhat restless, she now exuded an air of towering authority, like a ruler who had governed for years and accumulated immense prestige.
She spoke bluntly: “Since my ascension, I have listened to all of you speak endlessly. Today, you will listen to me. You need not say a word.”
Some officials began to shrink back, swallowing hard.
So stunned were they that no one remembered to kneel.
The Vice Minister of Personnel, standing behind Yuan Shanhong, noticed the minister’s legs trembling. Was this the same Yuan Lianhua, renowned as the “foremost conversationalist south of the Yangtze”? The same high-ranking official who had boldly challenged the frontline commander Xie Xichui in court?
Jiang Shi, the first female emperor in Central Plains history, gazed down at her officials, a sea of high-ranking purple and yellow robes. Outside the hall, some who had knelt belatedly now rose awkwardly, their faces blank as they looked toward the throne—and at her—before quickly lowering their heads under her gaze.
She declared coldly: “Deputy Commander of the Imperial Guards He Taisheng has been executed for capital crimes. Former Deputy Commander Gu Sui is reassigned as deputy general of the Southern Capital Garrison.”
He Taisheng was dead.
Though senior officials in the front rows had pieced together clues, hearing the news still left them shocked and fearful. Was it sympathy for the fallen? No—He Taisheng’s fate mattered little. What truly terrified them was the implication that the mighty Song family, which had dominated Great Chu’s court, had truly fallen.
If even the Song family—with its three dukes—had lost power, who in this court could hope for longevity? Most terrifying of all, Grand Chancellor Sun Xiji, long allied with the Songs, showed no surprise, his eyes still closed.
The Gu family, though slightly less influential than the Songs, remained a deeply entrenched power in Great Chu. Gu Sui, the former deputy commander, was the eldest grandson of Gu Yang, the Right Vice Director of the Chancellery. The Gu family had been criticized for three of its members who had served in Liyang for years, failing to rise in the Jiangnan Circuit. When Western Chu was restored, none of these minor officials returned, even sending letters severing ties. Under Gu Yang’s orders, they were struck from the family registry. Many officials had mocked the Gu family’s disgrace—until Liyang’s armies surrounded them on four fronts, and the truth dawned on all.
Hearing that his eldest grandson had merely been laterally transferred, Gu Yang kept his head bowed, his expression unreadable.
But the young emperor’s next words struck like thunder.
“Left Vice Director of the Chancellery, Song Wenfeng, is sentenced to death.”
Gu Yang, who had just breathed a sigh of relief, was startled. Had the word “left” been “right,” it would have been his name. Horrified, he couldn’t help but wonder: if he were the one condemned, what would he do? What would his family do?
After exchanging glances, a renowned third-rank civil official stepped forward, holding his jade tablet, and asked solemnly: “This humble official dares to ask Your Majesty: why has Song Wenfeng been sentenced to death? And what is his crime?”
After these nearly insolent questions, the minister—whose family had intermarried with the Songs for generations—raised his head and stared at the emperor, adding: “This official has one final question: the late Emperor granted the Song family an ironclad edict, publicly promising that the Songs would share the empire with the Jiang clan of Great Chu for generations!”
Following this open defiance, almost every official in the hall nodded vigorously, their indignation plain.
The minister took a step forward, disregarding his earlier claim of a “final question,” and posed a fourth, righteous and bold: “Dare I ask Your Majesty: are you not of the Jiang lineage of Great Chu? How else could you defy the late Emperor? If this humble official recalls correctly, that ironclad edict grants the Song family four pardons from death!”
By now, no one noticed whether Grand Chancellor Sun Xiji’s eyes were open or closed.
The old man, seated in his chair, clutched its edges with withered hands, his breathing labored.
Empress Jiang Shi showed no panic, smiling faintly. “The ironclad edict bestowed by the late Emperor? Of course I remember. But perhaps you all have forgotten: our founding Emperor declared that anyone guilty of treason must die!”
The minister was momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter, looking around as if deranged. “How laughable! In Great Chu’s 320-year history, no recipient of an ironclad edict has ever been executed. How fortunate we are to witness such a precedent-setting emperor!”
The refined Hanlin Academician, known for his grace, suddenly raised his jade tablet high and smashed it onto the floor, shattering it to pieces.
The sound was like the mournful cry of a dragon and phoenix.
Startling nearly everyone, the academician proclaimed loudly: “Such a subject, I refuse to be!”
As he turned to leave the hall, the aged Grand Preceptor Sun Xiji slammed his chair’s armrest and roared: “What insolence! Li Changji, even if you resign, you must wait until the assembly ends before leaving! Otherwise, march straight to the prison—no trial needed!”
The Hanlin Academician froze, then snorted coldly. Though unafraid, he ultimately swaggered back to his place among the courtiers.
With Li Changji as their vanguard, the officials—who usually concealed daggers in their sleeves but maintained surface harmony—felt their spines stiffen. The young empress’s inexplicable madness began to seem like a farce.
Indeed, with the entire court united—backed by powerful families that weathered dynastic storms—why fear a young woman without Cao Changqing’s support? And judging by the Grand Preceptor’s restrained reaction, even he seemed to disapprove of her rash actions.
Jiang Shi glanced at the Hanlin Academician, who carried himself like an undefeated general, and sneered: “Li Changji, I’ve heard you boast that you can judge the quality of any literary work with a mere sniff. Is that so?”
Just as Li Changji flushed with anger and prepared to retort, an unexpected figure stepped forward: Cheng Wen
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