The Purple Forbidden City opens with auspiciousness.
The nobles, ministers, civil officials, and military generals enter one after another. Xu Fengnian finally sees the grand hall before him: yellow-tiled roof, red walls, and yellow glazed tile roofs gradually descending on both wings. The hall is built upon a white Sumeru pedestal. Underfoot, the central axis is flanked by meticulously laid sea-brick pavement. Xu Fengnian has some knowledge of feng shui and geomancy, and knows that the axis behind him stretches southward—not merely sixteen miles of imperial road, but a longer geological axis extending deep into the southern lands of the empire. The Fengshan ceremony at Mount Tai, the mountains of Huai, and the many ranges of Jiangnan form a magnificent triple screen of hills. Upon the dragon throne within the hall sits the Zhao emperor of the capital, facing south to hear the affairs of the realm.
Zhang Julu, the highest-ranking civil official, walks on the right, while Gu Jiantang, the foremost general, walks slightly to the left. Five royal princes walk slowly near Zhang Julu, except for Chen Zhibao, who walks nearly shoulder to shoulder with Gu Jiantang. Xu Fengnian, as the heir of a regional prince, should not be positioned so prominently, yet no one objects—neither the censors dare to speak nor do the eunuchs utter a word. Among the five regional princes, Prince Jing’an Zhao Xun walks behind Prince Huainan Zhao Ying, while Prince Jiaodong Zhao Sui intentionally lags slightly behind, placing himself just before Xu Fengnian without uttering a word. It is as if an old crumbling wall offers its final shelter from wind and rain for the youth. Xu Fengnian keeps his gaze lowered, silently counting his steps. When the golden dragon wall comes into view, he begins to ascend the steps. As his foot touches the white jade stair, he glances back slightly. The crowd sways, jade ornaments clinking, voices murmuring. At this slight hesitation, the aged minister behind him—who once carried a coffin to plead with the Prince of Beiliang—instinctively pulls back his foot and lets out a heavy snort, clearly displeased with the young heir’s lack of decorum. Xu Fengnian returns his gaze forward, ignoring the old minister’s veiled challenge, and continues his ascent, step by step, rising higher, entering the hall.
Inside the hall, the dragon throne is set. Before it lies the imperial platform, adorned with four sacred objects: bronze tortoise, bronze crane, sundial, and measuring vessel. Eighteen cauldrons stand upon the upper and lower terraces. When the high-ranking officials qualified to attend the audience take their places, the emperor finally appears, dressed in a bright yellow dragon robe. Several princes also enter quietly. According to tradition, the eunuch would announce the beginning of the morning court, and all officials inside and outside the hall would kneel and bow to the emperor. But this court session is clearly different from previous ones—not only is Han Diaosi replaced by Song Tanglu, but the emperor himself does not immediately take his seat. The solemn-faced Director of the Office of Internal Affairs, Song Tanglu, declares loudly: “Today, Chancellor Zhang Julu shall not kneel.”
Zhang Julu, the Prime Minister with a purple beard and green eyes, remains unmoved. He already stands at the foremost position on the right, shoulder to shoulder with several princes, who all keep their gazes lowered. Thus, none can see the expression of the current chief minister. Since the unification of the Spring and Autumn Warring States under Liyang, only a few officials have received special honors. Counting on one’s fingers, there are only three: the old Grand Chancellor, who was Zhang Julu’s mentor, was exempt from kneeling in court. The former Grand Tutor of Xichu, after being summoned to the capital and appointed as the Left Vice Chancellor of the Menxia Province, was granted the privilege of sitting on a Huanghuali armchair beneath the imperial platform, though he never once sat upon it. The third was the Prince of Beiliang, Xu Xiao, who did not kneel when meeting the emperor or listening to imperial decrees, and was even permitted to carry a sword into the hall. Among the three, Xu Xiao, who held the highest ranks in both civil and military offices, was the most unapologetic, naturally drawing criticism.
“General Gu Jiantang shall not kneel.”
Song Tanglu’s deep, un-eunuch-like voice continues.
Gu Jiantang, the Minister of War and standing at the foremost position on the left, bows his head slightly in gratitude. Throughout Liyang, while many criticize Xu Xiao’s repeated acts of disrespect, most also lament the lack of opportunity for this other great Spring and Autumn hero, who has been confined to the position of Minister of War for eighteen years. Only in recent years, after being dispatched to the northern frontier, has the court and public alike felt the emperor’s wisdom—knowing that with Gu Jiantang guarding the northern gate of the capital, Liyang can rest assured. Yet recently, rumors have been spreading from the mansions of the capital’s elite, saying that General Gu is about to resign from his post as Minister of War, causing many to worry—hoping fervently that even his military authority will not be stripped away. Now that the northern border garrisons have just begun to show promise, would the court really discard the bridge after crossing the river? That would be too ruthless indeed.
“Chen Zhibao, the Martial Sage, shall not kneel. From now on, Chen may attend court in informal attire and may carry a sword into the hall.”
Chen Zhibao remains expressionless.
But within the hall, the pillars and nobles of the court draw sharp breaths. Some younger ministers, who had only heard from elders about how the current emperor esteems the “Little Butcher,” had not taken it seriously—until today, when they truly witnessed it. Chen currently holds no princely title nor official position, so the emperor simply bestows upon him the title of “Martial Sage” before the entire court! This title carries even greater weight than the privilege of not kneeling before the emperor. Clearly, Chen Zhibao is to Liyang’s unification what Ye Baikui, one of the Thirteen Masters of the Spring and Autumn period, was to Xichu. Previously, when the five princes visited the capital, the emperor offered no special courtesies. Only when the “White Horse, White Robe, and West Shu Plum Wine” arrived was the emperor himself present to welcome him! Now, he is even permitted to attend court in informal attire and with a sword—becoming the fourth person after Xu Xiao, the old Grand Chancellor, and Sun Xiji! The honors bestowed upon Chen Zhibao are truly unparalleled.
“Prince Yanchi Zhao Bing shall not kneel.”
Prince Yanchi bows slightly and murmurs, “I thank the emperor for his great grace.”
“Minister of the National Academy, Huan Wen, shall not kneel.”
The thin, elderly Huan Wen smiles freely and accepts the honor calmly. Huan Wen is a rare exception in the Liyang court, known for his non-contentious nature. One act of restraint is not remarkable, but Huan Wen has maintained this non-contentiousness for most of his life. Among the favored disciples of the old Grand Chancellor, Huan was widely believed to surpass even Zhang Julu in poetic talent. Before his death, the old Chancellor was to grant a position in the Hanlin Academy to one of his disciples as a favor, and it was said that Huan Wen gave this opportunity to the “Green-Eyed One” (Zhang Julu), then sneaked out of the capital to serve as a minor local official, steadily climbing the ranks without arrogance or impatience. Later, when he returned to the capital, the emperor originally intended to appoint him as Minister of Personnel or of Rites, but both positions were desired by his close friends, so Huan Wen instead chose the quiet and uneventful post of Director of the National Academy, devoting himself to scholarly pursuits. Among the senior officials, few could rival Huan Wen’s reputation for integrity, except perhaps the late-reputation-tarnished Master Song and the current Minister of Rites, Lu Daolin.
“Yao Baifeng of Xiongzhou shall not kneel.”
A dignified elder, standing further back, bows slightly in response, neither humble nor arrogant. Yao Baifeng has always been a free-spirited and reclusive scholar in the Liyang dynasty, a top-tier master of Neo-Confucianism. The “Five Heroes of the Yao Family” rival the former “Three Heroes of the Song School” in renown, and their family scholarship even challenges the private teachings of Qi Yanglong, the head of the Shangyin Academy. Zhang Julu, in his youth, sought advice from Yao Baifeng multiple times. When the “Green-Eyed One” (Zhang Julu) came of age and set out on his scholarly journey, the first place he visited was the Wenzhi Tower of the Yao Family in Xiongzhou. Yao Baifeng has devoted his life to transforming the essence of Neo-Confucianism—such as the study of things to gain knowledge—into national learning, leaving behind countless students. His attendance at court today would have drawn much attention, had it not been overshadowed by the gathering of five princes and Chen Zhibao’s solitary arrival. In ordinary times, Yao Baifeng’s visit would never have been so quietly received.
“Xu Fengnian, the heir of Beiliang, shall not kneel.”
When Eunuch Song Tanglu speaks these words, the hall finally erupts in murmurs, with officials exchanging glances.
But what follows is even more shocking: “He may carry the Beiliang saber into the hall and may enter and exit the palace in informal attire at will.”
Countless courtiers sigh inwardly—this is clearly the court laying the groundwork for this young rascal to inherit the title of Prince of Beiliang.
What a formidable Beiliang.
Among the seven exemptions from kneeling, there are clear gradations. Zhang Julu, Gu Jiantang, Zhao Bing, Huan Wen, and Yao Baifeng—these five are exempt only for today’s court session; in future audiences, they will not enjoy the same privilege. However, Chen Zhibao and Xu Fengnian, both from Beiliang, are different. Whether they will kneel in the future is not even the issue—Chen has already been granted the privilege of carrying a sword into the hall, while Xu may wear informal attire and carry a saber into the palace. This implies that as long as neither commits treason, this honor will be passed down through generations. Each time they attend court, their prestige grows further, unspoken yet undeniable. As for Chen Zhibao, already hailed by the emperor as the “White-Robed War Immortal,” the courtiers are somewhat prepared. Yao Baifeng, a renowned scholar of the age, receiving this honor is also acceptable. But this heir of Beiliang, Xu Fengnian—what virtue or merit does he possess?! Several ministers who despise Beiliang and fear the “Butcher,” glance sideways at the young man with hair as white as an old man’s, and silently curse: if he’s already gone gray, why not just die already? A white-haired man mourning another white-haired man in Beiliang—now that would be a cause for national celebration!
Seven exemptions from kneeling—no more, no less.
After the Director’s announcement, the thousand officials inside and outside the hall slowly kneel, like a tide rushing from south to north.
Not counting those officials outside the square who cannot see the emperor’s face, the more than three hundred ministers kneeling on the imperial platform can only glimpse the emperor’s feet.
Among the seven exempt from kneeling, most—including Yao Baifeng—lower their heads. Old Huan Wen, however, looks left and right. In the eyes of this old man, nicknamed “Old Old Man Tantan (Old Old Man Tantan),” the distant figure of Chen Zhibao, no longer in white robes, is a tall and dignified man, a rare gem wherever he goes. Huan Wen holds this young man, who has enjoyed early fame and fortune, in high regard, placing him on the same level as Minister of War Gu Jiantang.
Then Huan Wen sees the figure before him, clad in white dragon robes—still younger than Chen Zhibao. Their reputations, however, are worlds apart. The “White-Robed Martial Sage” entered the city with plum wine, drawing crowds into the streets, with the emperor himself coming to greet him. But this white-haired eldest son of the Butcher, whose hair turned white for no apparent reason, is a far cry from that. It is said that even the officials of the Ministry of Rites cannot bear to see his face, and the entire ministry is seething with frustration. If not for the relationship between Minister Lu Daolin and the Xu family, they would have cursed him openly in the office long ago.
Huan Wen nearly bursts into laughter. This young man—whether foolishly calm or unnervingly composed—now lifts his head to gaze at the carved coffered ceiling above the hall, where the Xuanyuan mirror hangs. Huan Wen follows his gaze upward. A scholar of great learning and ancient knowledge, Huan Wen is known in literary circles as a man who knows everything. He not only knows that there is a peach-wood talisman for warding off evil spirits in the place Xu Fengnian is looking at, but even knows the inscriptions on both sides of the talisman. Originally, the Liyang dynasty honored both Daoism and Buddhism, with Daoism first and Buddhism second. Thus, this protective talisman bears Daoist “Three Purities Secret Method Talisman for Protecting the Nation” and the Taiji symbol on the front, and on the back, the “Great Auspicious Eight-Syllable Mantra of the Buddha” from the Liangchan Temple, along with the Eight-Treasure Umbrella and Avalokiteshvara Mantra. Yet in Huan Wen’s view, since the beginning of the persecution of Buddhism, this talisman should have been replaced with a new one, just like the Fuwen Memorial Archway (Fuwen Archway).
Thus, Huan Wen gazes intently at the young man’s back, pondering some hidden implications. Yang Taishui, the “Sick Tiger,” felt remorse over the case of the White Robe (White Robe) in the capital, and in recent years, his condition has deteriorated, his cultivation declining. He could not resist the rising power of Chancellor Zhao Danping, the “Ink-Chanting Chancellor,” and only hoped to quietly erect a pillar against the tide of Buddhist persecution before his death. But fate had other plans—his death in the pass outside Jiange, combined with the passing of the Holy Monk Longshu in Beiman and the refusal of Li Dangxin to leave the Liangchan Temple, sealed Buddhism’s decline. Huan Wen is among the few scholars who openly advocate the unification of the three teachings (Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism), yet even he knows the difficulties faced by the “Green-Eyed One” (Zhang Julu) and refrains from adding to his burdens.
The emperor’s voice—“All beloved ministers, rise”—interrupts Huan Wen’s thoughts.
Huan Wen collects his emotions and begins to doze with closed eyes. The shocking news of this morning’s court has already reached him in bits and pieces, so he feels no particular anticipation. Though he is personally involved, Huan Wen has long reached the age of understanding fate and no longer finds anything strange.
No one dares to speak out of turn today—only listening attentively.
One decree after another is issued.
Judging from the expressions of the civil and military officials, a great storm is about to sweep through the court and the nation.
“Promote Huan Wen, the Director of the Left Sacrificial Hall of the National Academy, to the Left Vice Chancellor of the Menxia Province, and bestow upon him the title of Grand Scholar of the Wentin Pavilion.”
“Promote Yao Baifeng to the Director of the Left Sacrificial Hall of the National Academy.”
“Promote Jin Lanting to the Director of the Right Sacrificial Hall of the National Academy.”
“Gu Jiantang shall resign from his post as Minister of War, and be granted the title of Grand Column of the State, overseeing military and administrative affairs in the north.”
“Promote Lu Shengxiang to Deputy Minister of War.”
“Bestow upon Yan Jie the title of Grand Scholar of the Yuanquan Pavilion.”
…
The final decree reads: “Chen Zhibao shall assume the post of Minister of War. In the future, even if he is assigned elsewhere, he may still hold the title remotely.”
At the conclusion of the reading, Chen Zhibao turns his gaze to the right, just as another figure looks left toward him.
Above, seated upon the dragon throne, the emperor’s eyes gleam with amusement.
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