The night shift office of the Shangshu Province was located on the eastern side inside the Longsheng Gate within the palace. Under the palace walls stood a row of low, humble tiled houses. Compared to the grand and majestic halls of the Zhongshu and Menxia Provinces, these accommodations were extremely modest. Tonight, the Chief Minister Zhang Julu himself had come to the palace for his night shift duty. Among the heads of the three provinces, the former Grand Preceptor of Western Churen, Sun Xiji, had recently been transferred out of the capital to serve as the regional governor of the former Western Churen territory. With the Zhongshu Province already vacant, two of the three top positions were now empty—an awkward situation that violated court etiquette. The court and aristocracy were all speculating about who might have the qualifications and fortune to replace Sun Xiji and ascend to prominence. Not long ago, Lu Daolin, the leader of the Jiangnan Taoist sect, had just been promoted to Minister of Rites, and now Minister of Education, Huan Wen, had become the most anticipated candidate.
Within the Shangshu Province’s office, aside from the central chamber known as “Zhang Lu,” where Zhang Julu sat, the easternmost tiled house housed Lu Daolin’s younger brother, Lu Baijie. The newly appointed Deputy Minister of War and the famed swordsman of Tangxi had also coincidentally been on duty. Although the Ministry of War was tightly controlled by Gu Jiantang, known for its impenetrability, it maintained a neutral distance from the other five ministries. Notably, the Ministry of War kept its official seal in a side room of its office, separate from the others. Even the strict and principled Zhang Julu had turned a blind eye to this, clearly indicating that Minister Gu’s authority far exceeded his rank, which was already one level higher than the other five ministries.
However, the newly arrived Lu Baijie, now part of the capital’s core political circle, showed no such hesitation. Whenever he met Zhang Julu, their interactions went beyond mere polite nods; they would stop and exchange a few words, always engaging in pleasant conversation without any pretense.
Zhang Julu was currently reading an old banned book from the former Chu region, written by a passionate scholar. Sun Xiji, who had recently been dispatched to Guangling Circuit to soothe public unrest, had even written a letter pleading for leniency for the scholar. Zhang Julu had received the letter earlier that day but had not replied immediately. Instead, he had requested a copy of the banned book from the palace archives to read carefully. As he reached a particularly troubling passage, the Chief Minister, with his blue eyes and purple beard, suddenly heard a bold, hearty laugh from outside the office. Few old officials dared to be so audacious within the inner palace grounds.
Putting the book aside, Zhang Julu glanced at the round moon hanging outside the window. Within the room, several high-ranking officials instinctively paused their work, some setting down their brushes, others closing their books. All turned their gazes toward the Chief Minister. Zhang Julu smiled and motioned for them to continue, signaling not to mind him. Unlike the previous era when the former Chief Minister presided over the Shangshu Office, the current officials, though all of fourth rank or higher, were significantly younger—most in their fifties, with few elderly men in their seventies. Even one of the Deputy Ministers of Personnel was only in his early forties.
Zhang Julu lightly stepped over two thresholds and exited the office, known unofficially as “Zhang Lu.” Outside, he saw the familiar face of Minister Huan Wen. Beside him stood Lu Daolin, the Minister of Rites, who should have been on duty at the Chonghua Palace in the western part of the palace complex. The departure of an imperial prince to govern a distant region was a matter of utmost importance, requiring coordination from the Court of Imperial Clan, the Ministry of Rites, the Zhongshu Province, and many other departments—all needing to work flawlessly without a single mistake.
Between Huan Wen and Lu Daolin stood another man, most notably clad in a bright yellow imperial robe. As Zhang Julu quickly approached and began to bow, the Son of Heaven gently supported his arm, and Zhang Julu, without feigning further humility, took note of a young eunuch nearby. The youth was only considered young in comparison to the former Grand Eunuch Han Shengxuan, who had usually accompanied the Emperor. The intricacies of the inner court’s eunuch affairs were not something Zhang Julu concerned himself with—he simply needed to understand them in his heart.
Seeing that the Emperor and his two ministers had no immediate intention of entering the room, Lu Daolin politely excused himself and entered Zhang Lu.
The Emperor waited until the Minister of Rites had entered the house before speaking with a warm smile: “Would my two esteemed ministers like to accompany Me to the Ministry of War office for a bit? I know they have excellent tea there—authentic Yushun Lake Pre-Rain Spring tea. The tea in Zhang Lu is inferior and barely drinkable.”
Zhang Julu, who was known for his informal rapport with the Emperor, chuckled: “Fine by Me. I may not like mooching off wine, but I’ll gladly sneak in a cup of tea while General Gu is away. Though I doubt Minister Huan will be too interested.”
Huan Wen glared: “Zhang Biyan, are you already setting traps for Me the moment you see the Emperor?”
Zhang Julu shot him a wry glance: “You think I can’t smell that wine? You’re getting off easy—just shut up and drink it. And don’t start causing trouble when you’re tipsy.”
Huan Wen, having been teased by his old friend, burst into laughter. The Emperor, too, was in high spirits. Together with these two pillars of the nation, he walked toward the eastern wing office of the Ministry of War. This place was often seen as a rival to Zhang Lu, with the term “Gu Lu” being used in jest. The Emperor, hearing these harmless jabs, merely smiled and even occasionally made light-hearted remarks in front of both Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang.
Stepping across the threshold, the officials of the Ministry of War, both inside and outside the office, rushed out and knelt in unison. Lu Baijie knelt at the front, his voice the most fervent and resonant. The Emperor bade them rise and told them to return to their duties, but he kept Lu Baijie behind. The Emperor held Lu in high esteem, often summoning him to discuss state affairs and even entrusting him with teaching swordsmanship to the imperial grandsons. This favor elevated Lu Baijie’s status in the capital, ensuring that no one dared to slight him.
On the wall of the outer chamber hung a massive painting of the nation’s landscapes. The Emperor allowed the three ministers to sit and enjoy their tea and wine while he stood before the painting, holding a slender sandalwood rod, not yet gesturing toward the map.
Zhang Julu took a sip of the Spring God Bi Luo tea—famed for a poem—and whispered to Huan Wen, who sat beside him: “Move a little farther away with that wine. It’s overpowering the tea’s aroma.”
Huan Wen retorted: “The room’s not that big, and the wine’s that good. Where do you expect Me to go?”
He then asked the attendant for another small cup from the Quan kiln and handed it to Lu Baijie with a grin: “Tangxi Sword Immortal, let’s drink together—two against one. If anyone should leave, it should be Zhang Biyan.”
Lu Baijie, with the demeanor of a scholarly general, accepted the cup with a smile: “I’ll drink. But as for whose side I’m on, Minister Huan, I’m afraid I can’t say.”
Zhang Julu laughed in mock frustration: “You two are slippery as eels. The ‘Wind and Moon’ Minister Huan? The ‘Generous and Frank’ Sword Immortal Lu? Why do you both change when you’re here?”
The Emperor, who had come out at night and left his attendants and eunuchs behind, turned and smiled: “Julu, tell Me again about the Northern and Southern Examination Lists and the regional selection system. I’ve read the memorials, and though I recognize every character, there’s much I don’t understand. Especially regarding the argument that while a drastic measure may cure the problem now, it could lead to factionalism in the future. That memorial was vague and incomplete. Tonight, let’s focus on that. Huan and Lu, don’t be shy—speak your minds. Tea or wine, I’ll provide plenty. But if you can’t explain it clearly before dawn, don’t blame Me for being stingy. I’ll charge you for every cup you’ve had, at market price—no discounts!”
Zhang Julu turned to Huan Wen and Lu Baijie with a grin: “Well? Who’s unreasonable—Me or the Emperor?”
Both nodded: “The Emperor more so.”
The Emperor laughed heartily: “If it were anyone else, wouldn’t they be praising My frugality to the heavens by now?”
With a wave, the Emperor dismissed the attendants into the inner room and shut the door. He chose an intricately crafted, luxurious chair and sat down, still holding the sandalwood rod on his knee. Lu Baijie handed him a cup of tea to clear his mind.
And so, they talked until the first light of dawn, with no sign of weariness among the four men, their conversation still lively.
In terms of diligence in governance, this Zhao Emperor could indeed rank among the top three emperors in history.
Though some finer points remained unspoken, the Emperor rose, stretched his limbs, and walked to the map. Facing away from the others, he traced a curve with the rod where Beiliang, Xishu, and Xiyu converged: “Are they all there?”
Zhang Julu replied solemnly: “Sixty thousand riders. Another twenty thousand are on the road.”
The Emperor smiled, tapping the rod: “Whether it’s sixty thousand or eighty thousand, the difference is small—unless it’s six hundred thousand.”
Zhang Julu nodded.
The Emperor tossed the rod aside and reached for a porcelain cup whose tea had long gone cold, though he did not lift it—perhaps he had no desire to drink, or perhaps he feared his ministers might notice his trembling hand.
He gazed at the cup and murmured: “Will it happen?”
Zhang Julu answered calmly: “No, Your Majesty. It won’t come to war.”
Receiving this clear assurance, the Emperor smiled, left the untouched cup, and looked up: “You all should rest early.”
After respectfully seeing the Emperor off, Lu Baijie and the two elder ministers returned to the room. Unintentionally, Lu’s eyes fell upon the table.
There was still a slight ripple in the cup.
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