At today’s court assembly, Jin Lanting, the low-profile Vice Minister of Rites who had remained inconspicuous throughout the second year of the Xiangfu era, suddenly became the loudest voice in the imperial court, even overshadowing Tang Tieshuang from the Ministry of War.
Under Jin Lanting’s proposals, the court swiftly passed a series of policies without even convening a minor assembly. Among them, Xu Gong, the Vice Minister of War who had previously assisted the Grand Pillar of the State, Gu Jiantang, in securing military achievements during the emperor’s border inspection of the two Liao regions, was finally allowed to leave the political exile of Liaodong. Not only did he successfully return from beyond the passes, but he also led 20,000 elite troops from the capital region southward to reinforce Lu Shengxiang. The newly promoted general Li Chang’an served as Xu Gong’s deputy, while young officials from the Ministry of War, such as Gao Tingshu and Kong Zhenrong, followed the two high-ranking officials out of the capital for field experience, finally gaining a chance to distinguish themselves.
Yuan Tingshan, the general of Jizhou, led 10,000 cavalry and infantry away from the border, entering the Central Plains through the Jizi Pass and advancing side by side with Xu Gong’s army. Additionally, an imperial decree was sent to Western Shu, ordering the Shu King, Chen Zhibao, to dispatch another 10,000 elite troops from Shu to suppress the rebellion in Guangling. This force would be jointly commanded by Xu Gong and Chen Zhibao.
Compared to Jin Lanting’s unwavering loyalty and tireless efforts to resolve the court’s troubles, the proposal by Yao Baifeng, the Left Sacrificial Wine of the Imperial Academy, at the end of the assembly instantly plunged the already tense court into dead silence. The renowned Neo-Confucian scholar from the northwest suggested that regarding canal transportation matters, since the newly appointed Jing’an Circuit Administrator, Wen Taiyi, was already overwhelmed with local governance, the specifics should be delegated to officials within the canal administration, leaving Wen to oversee the broader picture.
In the past, countless civil and military officials would have immediately refuted the Left Sacrificial Wine without waiting for the emperor’s intervention. But today, the young emperor sat silently on the lofty throne, his gaze wandering. Yet wherever his eyes fell, he saw only bowed heads and silent ministers—not a single official stepped forward with bold words.
Eventually, the young emperor slowly withdrew his gaze, lingering briefly on the high-ranking officials of the Six Ministries before someone finally stepped forward—Chen Wang from the Chancellery. Rather than outright rejecting Yao Baifeng’s suggestion, Chen proposed a compromise: the Ministry of Personnel would first rigorously review the backgrounds of key canal officials, and once the court finalized the candidates, Administrator Wen could then relinquish his duties. Meanwhile, Guangling’s canal affairs would remain under Wen’s full authority for the time being.
After the assembly, the emperor showed no intention of convening a minor court session, so all officials withdrew from the grand hall and dispersed to their respective offices.
Jin Lanting, who had become a laughingstock in officialdom by the end of last year, finally regained his pride today. It was no surprise that officials who had “forgotten” to pay New Year visits due to “busy schedules” would now flock to his residence, lining up outside with lavish gifts.
Yao Baifeng, now without the usual entourage of officials, remained unperturbed. Instead of hurrying down the steps, he gazed absently at the imperial path stretching beyond the grand gate, lost in thought.
A young voice sounded beside him, “Left Sacrificial Wine, your stove has gone cold. It’ll be hard to relight the fire from now on.”
Without turning, the old man knew who it was—few in the court dared to address their elders with such irreverence, and even fewer among those qualified to attend the assembly. It was Sun Yin, the once-disgraced scholar from the Northern Liang who had already experienced the ups and downs of the capital’s political scene despite his youth.
Sun Yin continued teasing, “Master Yao, you’re truly a scholar at heart, choosing now to play the loyal minister. No wonder you’re left out in the cold.”
The old man chuckled self-deprecatingly, “Does loyalty require perfect timing?”
Sun Yin nodded solemnly, “Of course. One must consult the almanac before stepping out.”
Yao Baifeng dismissed it with a smile, “That kind of loyalty isn’t for me.”
Sun Yin smirked, “Master Yao’s thoughts of retirement are actually a good thing. I, Sun Yin, fell in the Imperial Academy and have been waiting for a chance to rise again. With your seat empty, I might finally get my opportunity. For that alone, I should thank you in person.”
Surprisingly, the old man wasn’t angered. Instead, he nodded, “Perhaps it’s for the best if you take over the Imperial Academy. I’ve come to realize it’s no longer a place for teaching—it hasn’t been a place for true learning for a long time.”
Sun Yin raised an eyebrow, “Master Yao, don’t tell me you’re planning to resign and return home?”
The old man laughed, “I’m not that foolish. How could I leave now? After slapping the court once, should I do it again? How many lives do I have?”
Sun Yin clicked his tongue, “So Master Yao hasn’t completely lost touch with worldly affairs. There’s still hope for you.”
The usually stern old man unexpectedly joked, “Rare to find someone willing to flatter me now. I thank you.”
Sun Yin waved a hand, “Don’t just say it—remember to put in a good word for me when you submit your resignation.”
The old man neither agreed nor refused, merely sighing, “Yuan Tingshan of Jizhou enters the Central Plains through the Jizi Pass… Hah. Though I’m just a pedant who can’t even strategize on paper, even I know those 20,000 troops aren’t heading to Guangling to quell rebellion—they’re meant to intercept the Northern Liang cavalry. By the time Jizhou’s forces are wiped out, the 10,000 Shu troops will likely reach northern Guangling, and Vice Minister Xu’s military orders should arrive around the same time. One link after another—quite the elaborate scheme for a Vice Minister of Rites to meddle in military affairs. Even more impressive that his proposals were all approved.”
Sun Yin lowered his voice, “Master Yao, do you really think this was Jin Lanting’s idea? Do you truly believe Xu Gong leaving the two Liao regions to lead troops south is a good thing?”
The old man turned with a smile, “Such matters are beyond this scholar’s understanding. Is there more to it?”
Sun Yin grinned, “I heard Master Yao has some fine wine stored at home?”
The old man paused, then tugged Sun Yin’s sleeve as they descended the steps, whispering, “Green Ant Wine? I drank it all last year after hearing the outcome of the Liang-Mang war.”
Sun Yin smiled knowingly.
Unable to match Sun Yin’s thick-skinned persistence, the old man relented, “There are only two or three jars left—spare them, won’t you? I’ll treat you to any other fine wine, no matter the cost.”
Sun Yin scoffed in disdain.
As they walked out the gate side by side, Sun Yin suddenly dropped his playful act and said quietly, “Jin Lanting has connected with Tang Tieshuang. That’s why Xu Gong is being sent to clash with the Northern Liang cavalry.”
The old man was stunned, then sighed deeply. Looking around, he finally accepted that this was no longer a place where he could teach and enlighten.
Sun Yin turned to leave, laughing, “Master Yao probably won’t even receive a posthumous title now. I won’t add insult to injury by drinking your Green Ant Wine.”
After a few steps, Sun Yin suddenly turned back and lightly patted his chest, “There’s a bow of respect I couldn’t offer you publicly, but it remains in my heart.”
—
Twenty years later, in the height of summer, Sun Yin had just become the second Minister of Personnel of the new Liyang dynasty, a powerful second-rank official.
One day, a visitor arrived at the bustling Sun residence, claiming to be a descendant of the Yao family. The overwhelmed gatekeeper initially paid no attention—until dusk, when the residence was about to close its doors, the travel-worn young man still refused to leave. Finally, he revealed his grandfather’s name. Though the gatekeeper was a well-connected native of the capital, he couldn’t recall any prominent official named Yao Baifeng in Liyang’s history. Only after much thought did he vaguely remember a Left Sacrificial Wine from the Imperial Academy decades ago.
With the Yao scholar’s works long forgotten over twenty years, his reputation likely paled compared to newly appointed officials in the current Hanlin Academy. Yet, taking pity on the young man’s long journey, the gatekeeper broke protocol and reported to the Minister.
The shirtless Minister, lounging under a melon trellis, leapt from his chair and nearly ran barefoot to the gate—but stopped short. Calmly, he instructed the stunned steward to simply accept whatever the visitor brought, without hospitality. If the young man showed even a hint of resentment, the items weren’t to be brought inside.
In the end, the steward carefully delivered a cloth bundle to the courtyard.
The Minister smiled brightly.
Since the old man’s descendant wasn’t seeking political advancement, all was well—very well.
At dusk, two dust-covered jars of Green Ant Wine sat on the stone table. Surprisingly, Sun Yin couldn’t bring himself to open them.
The next day at court, a long-forgotten scholar from the previous dynasty suddenly became famous again.
Yao Baifeng, of Northern Liang Dao, posthumously titled “Cultivated Integrity.”
Even as a high-ranking minister notorious for his unbridled demeanor, Sun Yin stood solemnly at the top of the palace steps after court, then walked alone to a spot by the imperial path where—despite no one being present—he bowed deeply in respect. The incident quickly became one of the capital’s strangest tales.
—
For reasons unknown, the Liyang emperor not only skipped the minor court session but returned to the grand hall, where the Eunuch Director of Ceremonial, Song Tanglu, stood guard alone outside.
The young emperor stood near the throne, the golden bricks beneath him reflecting the dawn light filtering through the papered windows, keeping the hall from utter darkness.
Flanking the throne stood four symbolic ornaments: the treasure elephant, the mythical luduan, the crane, and the incense burner—emblems of the eternal sovereignty all rulers coveted.
Descending the steps, the emperor stood upon the so-called golden bricks—not actual gold, but tribute tiles from Guangling’s workshops, famed for their silent steps and jade-like chime when struck.
Zhao Zhan gazed at the hall’s pillars, crafted from nanmu timber hewn from the deep mountains of Nanzhao. Early in Liyang’s history, censors had lamented, “A thousand enter the mountains, half return.” Later, under his father’s reign, the palace pillars were replaced with easier-to-harvest Liaodong pine.
Approaching a pillar, the emperor traced its gilded dragon motifs and murmured, “Father, you had Zhang Julu with his piercing eyes, Yuan Benxi with his silver tongue, and Han Shengxuan, the ‘Human Cat.’ And I? Just a dragon robe, a throne, and this hall?”
“Can this empire not grant me even a moment to govern wisely? Ten years—no, just five! I could reduce Northern Liang, the southern borders, and the northern deserts to ashes! Leave no foothold for traitors, bring eternal peace to Liyang’s people.”
“Father, now I trust no one—not Qi Yanglong or Huan Wen in court, nor Gu Jiantang or Lu Shengxiang outside it. Even the young talents you suppressed for me to promote—Song Li, Sun Yin—I trust none.”
“Only Chen Wang remains, but he’s too young, lacking prestige and military connections. Even if he wished to turn the tide, he lacks the means.”
Suddenly, Zhao Zhan recoiled, his face contorted. He clenched his fist and slammed it against the pillar.
Panting, the young emperor glared at the pillar, his hand throbbing.
“You destroyed my Zhao lineage’s fortune at the Imperial Observatory,” he seethed, “and just because I had two lackeys harass your grain shipments, you dare openly march on Guangling?! How is this not rebellion?!”
Another bloody fist struck the pillar. “Do you truly believe my Liyang won’t fight you to the death?!”
Collapsing onto the hall’s floor, the emperor stared at the coiled golden dragon on the ceiling’s central caisson, its head lowered, clutching a massive pearl in its jaws.
The giant pearl inexplicably reminded him of his sister, the Sui Pearl Princess Zhao Fengya.
The Liyang Zhao’s Sui Pearl Princess was dead—but Zhao Fengya lived.
Perhaps this was the only act by that young man from the Xu family of Northern Liang that Zhao Zhan didn’t utterly despise.
Exhausted, the young emperor closed his eyes, thinking of the foolish parrot his empress kept.
So even the exalted Son of Heaven was but a caged bird.
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