Since the end of the Yonghui era, the bureaucratic landscape of the three provinces and six ministries in Liyang has been in constant flux, with flags changing atop the city walls. Veteran officials such as Chief Grand Secretary Zhang Julu, Minister of War Gu Jiantang, and the venerable scholar of the Song family either met their demise or departed from the imperial capital. Meanwhile, a new cohort led by the Secretariat Director Qi Yanglong ascended to high positions within the court. Among them were seasoned figures like Chen Wang, the Left Imperial Censor of the Chancellery, as well as younger scholars such as Li Jifu, Wu Congxian, and Gao Tingshu, who rose to prominence during the imperial examinations of the Xiangfu era, their qualifications far inferior to those of Junior Guardian Chen. Additionally, Tang Tieshuang and Xu Gong were appointed as vice-ministers from regional posts. Even among the existing cabinet members, significant changes occurred, with many Yonghui-era officials like Zhao Youling and Yin Maochun swapping their official seats, while figures such as Yuan Guo, Han Lin, and Wang Xionggui were all reassigned to provincial posts, becoming nominal regional overlords.
Amidst this upheaval, Huan Wen stood as an anomaly. A senior statesman who had served three dynasties, he remained steadfast in his position within the Chancellery, regardless of the ever-shifting tides of bureaucracy. Though rumors circulated about his declining health and the potential succession by either Zhao Youling, the second-in-command of the Secretariat, or Yin Maochun, the Minister of Personnel, for the seasoned officials of Tai’an City, as long as the emperor had not issued an explicit decree, Huan Wen remained the influential figure who held sway over the court. Even if he were to retire, as the last surviving elder statesman and literary leader of the Liyang dynasty, his counsel would still be sought in state affairs—a testament to his revered status as the “National Treasure” by the late emperor. It was no wonder that Tai’an City jested that “Huan’s household never lacks warmth.”
As autumn approached that year, the emperor ordered the Imperial Household Department to craft over forty inkstones inscribed with “Xiangfu Imperial Use” to bestow upon his ministers. While recipients treasured these gifts, Huan Wen alone received three, whereas Qi Yanglong, Yan Jiexi, and Chen Wang each received only two. Moreover, Huan Wen was also granted a ginseng of unparalleled quality from Liaodong and a jar of Chunling wine. These honors swiftly dispelled whispers that the “Unswerving Elder” might not survive the second year of Xiangfu.
With the decline of the Zhanglu and Gulu factions, the rise of the Secretariat and Chancellery, the relocation of the Hanlin Academy, and the establishment of six new pavilions that siphoned off numerous key officials, the once-thriving Zhao Family Enclosure no longer boasted the glory of housing “all the court’s dignitaries.”
On the day of the Autumn Begins festival, the emperor opened the grandest and most scenic of the four imperial gardens, the Golden Autumn Garden, to host a lavish banquet for his ministers. Before the feast began, the young and spirited emperor established a new Liyang tradition for welcoming autumn. He had the Director of the Ceremonial Directorate, Song Tanglu, bring forth a potted phoenix tree. At the appointed hour, Chen Wang was temporarily appointed as the “Grand Historian” to proclaim, “Autumn has arrived!” The emperor then plucked a phoenix leaf, symbolizing the ruler announcing autumn to the heavens on behalf of his people. In this unprecedented ceremonial act, Chen Wang, as Liyang’s first “Autumn Herald,” became the center of attention. Empress Yan Dongwu, standing beside her younger brother Yan Chiji, whispered to the newly prominent Hanlin scholar, “You must strive to be next year’s herald.”
Yan Chiji, who dreaded the spotlight, groaned, “Sister, what’s the point of competing for this? And I’m hardly qualified. With Junior Guardian Chen setting the precedent, next year’s herald will likely be either Vice-Minister of Rites Jin Lanting or the new Hanlin Academy Chancellor. Even Song Keli and Fan Changhou would be more fitting candidates than me.”
Yan Dongwu scanned the crowd of officials with varying expressions. Elder statesmen like Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen, already at the pinnacle of power, viewed the matter with detachment, leaving the honor to younger men. Middle-aged power brokers like Zhao Youling and Yin Maochun, though envious, refrained from competing. Meanwhile, rising stars like Gao Tingshu and Wu Congxian burned with ambition. Jin Lanting, who had flourished in Tai’an’s political scene, appeared serene, as if next year’s role was already his.
With regal poise, Yan Dongwu spoke dispassionately, “Your brother-in-law needs you to strive for this. He won’t say it outright, but he would be pleased if you showed initiative.”
Yan Chiji sighed in resignation. “Very well, I’ll do my best.”
Yan Dongwu glanced at their father, Yan Jiexi, the Grand Academician of the Dongyuan Pavilion, who was conversing jovially with other high-ranking officials. Her tone turned firm. “Father has already paved the way for you. The six grand academicians of the pavilions, along with the six newly appointed academicians of the libraries, will form the elite of our court. You’re still young and lack seniority, so I don’t expect our Yan family to hold two grand academician titles. But within ten to twenty years, you can easily become a library academician. Moreover, grand academician titles are honorary, like the ‘Pillar of State,’ and aren’t revoked upon retirement. Father will likely ascend from library to pavilion in a few years, making our family ‘one house, two grand academicians’—he the face, you the substance. Together, you’ll secure the Yan family’s prosperity for at least three generations.”
Yan Chiji hesitated. “Sister, as imperial in-laws, shouldn’t we avoid drawing attention…?”
Yan Dongwu turned sharply, her eyes flashing with anger. “Can’t you see the undercurrents in the court?! If even you, his brother-in-law, won’t support him, who will? Those increasingly cunning civil officials?”
Yan Chiji bowed his head in silent admission of fault.
The emperor approached the siblings, amused by Yan Chiji’s discomfort. “What’s this? Scolded by your sister again? Grand Academician Yan often speaks of you with pride, yet your sister berates you relentlessly. It makes me want to defend you! Fear not—if your sister won’t dote on you, I will. Come to me whenever you need solace, and we’ll share a drink to lift your spirits.”
Yan Dongwu smiled sweetly. “What troubles does Your Majesty need solace from?”
Caught off guard, the young emperor faltered, much to Yan Chiji’s amusement. Pointing at his gleeful brother-in-law, the emperor feigned indignation. “Ungrateful! I walked into this fire to save you!”
Most officials would tremble at being called “ungrateful” by the emperor, but Yan Chiji, either oblivious or unflappable, merely smiled apologetically. Though the emperor huffed in mock displeasure, inwardly, he relished Yan Chiji’s casual familiarity—a rare comfort for a ruler who, though styled “the Solitary One,” despised true loneliness.
Yan Dongwu suddenly murmured, “Your Majesty, the selection of palace maidens can no longer be delayed.”
The emperor hastily excused himself, claiming urgent state matters to discuss with the Secretariat Director.
After the banquet, the emperor permitted his ministers to stroll freely through the Golden Autumn Garden. Officials dispersed in small groups, their movements laden with unspoken significance. Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen walked side by side, unattended, while Zhao Youling, now resigned as Minister of Personnel, gathered several ministry officials around him. Yin Maochun, the current Minister, chatted amiably with senior Hanlin scholars. The newly appointed library academicians, lacking firm footing, naturally banded together. The six ministers of the defunct Department of State Affairs, leaderless since the death of the “Blue-Eyed One,” clung to their respective factions. The Zhao clan’s nobility stuck together, and Vice-Minister of War Tang Tieshu accompanied two elder generals, one being the long-retired Zhao Wei, the other the recently disgraced Yang Shenxin. Meanwhile, Minister of War Lu Baijie mingled with young officials from Jiangnan. Even the once-divided Qing faction, including Vice-Minister of Personnel Wen Taiyi and the newly recalled former Qingzhou General Hong Lingshu, who had sworn eternal estrangement, now reunited in apparent harmony—sparking speculation of a Qing resurgence. The northern Liaodong clans, represented by the Peng and Liu families, also congregated in tacit unity.
Despite their age, Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen walked briskly, soon distancing themselves from the crowd. They arrived at the garden’s famed Spring God Hill, a miniature mountain crafted from nearly a hundred prized Spring God Lake stones. Though long admired by Jiangnan literati, these stones had only gained widespread acclaim in the past five years, their transport from lakebeds to imperial gardens culminating in this hill’s overnight fame. Valued for their slender, perforated, and wrinkled textures, the finest Spring God stones were said to be worth their weight in gold.
Huan Wen halted dozens of paces from the hill, gazing at the reputedly mystical mound where mist coiled on cloudy days, rain whispered in showers, and wind howled like conch shells. Qi Yanglong, noting his companion’s disinterest in climbing, remained by his side. The current Liyang court was far more relaxed than during the tense standoffs between the Zhanglu and Gulu factions, when officials trembled under the stern gazes of Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang. Now, under the genial leadership of Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen, and with the young, unseasoned Emperor Zhao Zhuan, even veteran officials jested that the Xiangfu-era newcomers had it easy compared to the Yonghui old guard.
Hiccuping from the banquet’s wine, Huan Wen turned to Qi Yanglong. “Grand Secretariat Director, do you know the origin of my nickname, the ‘Unswerving Elder’?”
Qi Yanglong smiled and shook his head.
Huan Wen laughed. “Originally, it wasn’t ‘Unswerving Elder.’ Someone once called me the ‘Wine Gourd,’ and if I annoyed him, he’d scold me as a ‘drunken fool.’ The ‘Unswerving Elder’ came much later. Once, while on duty in the palace with that fellow, I sneaked a drink and was caught by the late emperor, who was reviewing memorials overnight. Drunk and uninhibited, I declared, ‘As long as Huan Wen has wine in his belly, his heart remains unswerving. But if Your Majesty ever cuts off my supply, I’ll be full of grievances.’ The emperor, amused, had the eunuch Han Shengxuan fetch several jars. That night, even the teetotaler ‘Blue-Eyed One’ broke his rule, turning red as a monkey’s rear. I teased him to drop ‘Blue-Eyed’ for ‘Red-Faced.’ He retorted, ‘Hold your tongue and be your unswerving elder.’ From then on, the name stuck. Many assume it refers to my survival through court upheavals, like a wobbling but un-toppled doll.”
Qi Yanglong sighed. “The Unswerving Elder has never acted against his conscience in life or office. I fall far short of such integrity.”
Huan Wen rolled his eyes. “Grand Secretariat Director, that’s excessive flattery. From anyone else, I’d take it as an insult.”
Qi Yanglong smiled wordlessly. As head of the long-neglected Secretariat, he knew his role was transitional—to usher in successors like Yin Maochun and Zhao Youling before stepping aside. Huan Wen, however, enjoyed the trust of both the late and current emperors as a mentor figure. The recent rumors of his retirement were, in truth, his own doing, hence the imperial gifts affirming his enduring value.
Huan Wen mused, “The young should be busy, lest idleness breeds frivolity. The old should be at leisure, to savor their remaining years.”
Qi Yanglong countered gravely, “Now is when the court can least spare you. With unrest in Guangling, Liangliang, and the northern borders, your counsel is vital. Even your silent presence steadies hearts. ‘An elder at home is a household’s treasure’—that’s you.”
Huan Wen gazed at the hill, then turned with a smile. “By age and seniority, you and my mentor belong to the same generation…”
Qi Yanglong waved him off. “Spare me. Your mentor and I famously clashed over Confucian-Legalist debates. I’m grateful you’ve spared the Directorate of Education and the Secretariat since my arrival.”
Dropping formalities, Huan Wen said earnestly, “Though you and my mentor disagreed politically, he deeply admired your scholarship. Most who claim ‘better a commoner than a bungling official’ are either jaded or hypocritical. Few match your blend of erudition and statesmanship.”
Qi Yanglong chuckled. “Here we are, two old men flattering each other with no audience to immortalize our words.” He added wryly, “In youth, I read history and was stirred by tales of heroism. Later, I realized most were vanity projects—their authors’ hearts were vile.”
Huan Wen laughed. “Well said! I felt the same in my youth.”
Qi Yanglong sighed unexpectedly. “The writers of old… the readers of tomorrow…”
Huan Wen echoed his sigh, then asked abruptly, “Have you never met Xu Fengnian?”
Qi Yanglong shook his head. “The Prince of Northern Liang once visited the Shangyin Academy, but we didn’t cross paths.”
Huan Wen grinned. “My mentor often traded barbs with the old Prince. I’ve met the young one twice—experiences best left untold.”
Qi Yanglong snorted. “And this is worth boasting?”
Huan Wen’s grin widened impishly. “Do you know my two favorite pastimes since joining the court?”
“Do tell.”
The Unswerving Elder mimed a sleeve flourish with his left arm, then tapped the air with two right fingers. “At morning assemblies, I watch officials come and go—a dazzling parade. And I listen to the chime of jade pendants at their waists. Never tiresome.”
Qi Yanglong smiled. “I’ll pay attention from now on.”
Huan Wen gazed skyward. “Heaven and earth form a great jade plate. Pearls large and small fall upon it—shattering, dying.”
Qi Yanglong closed his eyes, tilting his head as if listening. “Yes… the brightest pearl in the northwest is about to shatter. You, I, and those behind us in gold and purple—we’re the culprits.”
Huan Wen smiled. “We scholars who’ve failed the classics.”
Qi Yanglong, eyes still shut, murmured, “So the true scholars… are those who don’t read.”
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