Chapter 40: Calming the Waves (Part 3)
Xu He Xue extended his hand, his pale, thin fingers hesitantly reaching out and resting on the gauze screen, overlapping with the faint outline of her hand.
A light touch, cautious and restrained.
The screen couldn’t block the warmth of her hand. Perhaps she still had a fever, making her hand even warmer. His touch was fleeting, like a startled bird.
He remembered placing his hand on her forehead to cool her fever when she had first arrived at the Grand Commandant’s residence after leaving the Yin Ye Si.
He hadn’t felt anything then, so he couldn’t recall the warmth.
But tonight, despite the screen, despite the simple touch of their hands, he clutched his robe beneath the blanket, his pale lips pressed together.
As a ghost, he couldn’t feel his own heartbeat, only the shimmering dust swirling around him, seemingly joyful, then merging back into his form.
The flickering lamp silently mended his broken spirit.
“Your hand is as cold as snow. Does this make you feel warmer?” the young woman asked from behind the screen.
“You’ll get cold too,” he said.
“It’s warm in summer and cold in winter. Warmth and cold are both temperatures. I don’t see the difference,” Ni Su said, looking at his silhouette on the screen. He was like a snow-capped mountain, hidden in the shadows, seemingly unreachable, his stillness impenetrable.
But she suddenly wanted to reach him.
She pressed her hand against the screen, her fingers tracing his, their fingertips touching lightly.
He seemed startled.
She even heard a faint gasp, so soft, yet it made her ear tingle.
He quickly withdrew his hand. Ni Su saw his sleeve flicker.
Like a bird startled from its perch on a snow-capped mountain, taking flight. The sudden movement brought a flicker of life to the stillness.
Ni Su smiled, seeing him pull the blanket closer, turning his back to her.
“Are you angry?” she asked, resting her chin on the pillow.
“No,” he replied, his voice muffled by the blanket.
Ni Su knew he was good-natured, almost never getting angry, but she had asked anyway. Hearing his reply, she said, “What do you want to eat tomorrow morning?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine,” he said.
“I want sweet cakes. Shall we share?”
A moment of silence, then, “Mmm.”
They didn’t speak again that night. Ni Su’s wounds ached, but she endured the pain silently, thinking that if he never opened up to her, it was alright.
At least, while he was in the mortal realm, she wanted him to be happy.
Eating his favorite sweet cakes, visiting the Xie Chun Pavilion, finding the crooked tree where he had buried his secret stash of money.
As long as he was happy.
The sudden autumn rain in the latter half of the night washed the courtyard clean. Yu Wen quietly entered the room to open the window, startling Ni Su awake.
She looked towards the couch behind the screen. The blanket was neatly folded. He was gone.
“Miss Ni, the medicine is brewing. What would you like for breakfast?” Yu Wen asked, turning and seeing her awake. She walked over and gently wiped the sweat from Ni Su’s forehead.
“Sweet cakes,” Ni Su said, her voice hoarse.
“Alright, I’ll have someone buy some,” Yu Wen said, fetching warm water and helping Ni Su wash her face and comb her hair. After Ni Su finished her medicine, she sent a servant to buy sweet cakes.
The servant soon returned with warm, freshly made sweet cakes.
The rain had stopped, but the morning mist was thick and damp.
Ni Su handed a sweet cake to the young man sitting on the edge of the bed and took one for herself, carefully taking a bite.
She blew on her fingers.
She looked up at him. He wore a dark green robe today, the white collar of his inner robe visible against the dark fabric, accentuating the paleness of his neck and face.
The faint light glinted off the gold embroidery on his robe.
The heat of the sweet cake didn’t seem to bother him. His long eyelashes were lowered as he ate, his expression unreadable.
He seemed to be simply repeating a motion.
“Aren’t you… eating?” she asked, her gaze making him look up. He blinked, slightly uncomfortable.
“Is it good?” she asked.
“Mmm,” he nodded, taking another bite.
Perhaps it was his elegant demeanor, but Ni Su suddenly felt self-conscious, lying in bed, eating sweet cakes.
She finished her cake quickly, her mind wandering.
The day after returning from the Dengwen Drum Court, Ni Su had asked Cai Chun Xu to use some of her money to buy medicine and tonics for He Zhong Ping and the other thirty-five scholars.
Today, He Zhong Ping had arrived with gifts from himself and the others. He had only received a few lashes at the Dengwen Drum Court and had recovered enough to walk, albeit with a slight limp.
“You’re injured yourself, Master He. You should be resting. You shouldn’t have come,” Ni Su said.
Yu Wen had lowered the beaded curtain behind the screen. Ni Su saw He Zhong Ping limp into the room.
“The others are more seriously injured. I came on their behalf to see how you’re doing, Miss,” He Zhong Ping said, sitting down, then wincing and standing up abruptly.
Yu Wen, suppressing a smile, placed a cushion on the chair. “I apologize for the delay, Master He. Please, sit.”
He Zhong Ping sat down again, more comfortably this time.
“How are they doing?” Ni Su asked from behind the screen. “Seeing you all at the Dengwen Drum Court… I was truly grateful.”
“We received your medicine, Miss. They all expressed their gratitude,” He Zhong Ping said, slightly embarrassed by her words. He lowered his head. “Neither they nor I deserve your gratitude. They were there for Ji Ming, and for themselves. As for me…”
His expression turned somber. “I feel guilty towards Ji Ming.”
“If I hadn’t spoken of his essays and poems, this might not have happened. Miss Ni, your courage and devotion in seeking justice for your brother are admirable. If I remained indifferent, how could I face Ji Ming, who always treated me with kindness in Yun Jing?”
He stood up, leaning on the table, and bowed deeply towards Ni Su. “Miss Ni, I used to be afraid of everything, but now I’ve made up my mind. If Wu Ji Kang isn’t punished, I’ll continue to seek justice with you. Justice will prevail. There’s still time.”
He Zhong Ping, still injured, didn’t stay long.
Sunlight streamed through the open door.
Ni Su lay on the bed, smelling the fresh scent of rain.
She saw the dark green figure standing by the window, raindrops falling on the scroll he held. He watched a raindrop blur the ink, then gently brushed it away with his pale finger.
She felt drowsy and at peace.
***
“Are you saying the Censorate and the Hanlin Academy are fighting over nothing?” the Emperor asked, his voice weak. He was still bedridden due to his headaches.
“How would I know, Your Majesty?” Meng Yun Xian replied respectfully, standing outside the curtain, his eyes downcast. “But public sentiment is strong. People are praising Ni Su’s courage and loyalty. And those young scholars endured torture for Ni Qinglan. If Your Majesty doesn’t address the Double Ninth Festival incident soon…”
“What will happen?”
“The imperial clan might think Your Majesty isn’t committed to the new policies. After all, Wu Ji Kang’s cheating occurred during the winter examination, which Your Majesty specifically held to select talent for the new policies. The winter examination was the beginning. If the beginning is flawed, how can we expect success?”
If the beginning was weak, how could they expect the imperial clan to relinquish their wealth? If they sensed the Emperor’s hesitation, they would undermine the new policies.
How much money could they recover then?
Although Meng Yun Xian didn’t say these words aloud, the Emperor understood. He listened to the Emperor’s coughing, then said, “Take care of your health, Your Majesty.”
“I’m… truly getting old…” the Emperor sighed.
He didn’t use the imperial “we” when not in court.
“Zhang Jing and Jiang Xian Ming have both submitted memorials, opposing the Mount Tai ceremony,” the Emperor said, his tone changing. “But it seems Minister Meng disagrees with them.”
“Your Majesty’s benevolence reaches far and wide, surpassing even Mount Tai. Why shouldn’t you perform the ceremony?” Meng Yun Xian said, bowing. “Minister Zhang and Chief Censor Jiang are likely concerned about the cost, but if Your Majesty recovers the misappropriated river dredging funds, it will alleviate the financial burden.”
The Emperor looked at him for a long moment.
“I heard Minister Zhang severed ties with you at the city gate. But it seems you still consider him a friend.”
“Although we parted ways, we remain colleagues,” Meng Yun Xian replied calmly.
He mentioned “colleagues,” not “friends.” The Emperor tapped his fingers against the bedframe.
Meng Yun Xian waited patiently, listening to the tapping. The Emperor could no longer ignore the Dengwen Drum Court case.
“I’ve made my decision. You may leave, Minister Meng,” the Emperor said calmly.
“As you command, Your Majesty,” Meng Yun Xian bowed and left.
It wasn’t raining today, but puddles remained in the palace. Meng Yun Xian walked towards the Hall of State Affairs, ignoring his wet shoes.
The hall was almost empty, most officials having gone for their meal. Meng Yun Xian saw an attendant organizing a pile of books. “What are those?” he asked.
“Minister Meng,” the attendant bowed, “these are the records Minister Zhang requested, the annual performance evaluations of officials from the Zheng Yuan era.”
“What does he need those for?” Meng Yun Xian asked, puzzled.
The attendant shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll take them,” Meng Yun Xian said, carrying the books to the back hall.
Zhang Jing disliked crowds and hadn’t joined the other officials for their meal. He Tong had brought him a food box, and he was eating alone in the back hall.
“You’re still unwell? Why are you eating such simple fare?” Meng Yun Xian asked, looking at the plain porridge and dishes on the table.
Zhang Jing looked up, noticing the books in his arms. He paused, then continued eating his porridge. “I’m used to this. Richer food upsets my stomach.”
“What do you need these for?” Meng Yun Xian placed the books on the table. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to rectify official conduct again?”
“You’re taking a gentle approach with the new policies. Can’t I use stronger medicine?” Zhang Jing said, without looking up.
“Now is not the time,” Meng Yun Xian said, taking a sip of the cold tea on the table, having hurried back from the palace.
“Then when is the right time?” Zhang Jing asked, eating his porridge. “Meng Zhuo, it seems your demotion has softened you. The Emperor wants to perform the Mount Tai ceremony, so you find the money for him. You’ve become quite the politician.”
Meng Yun Xian sighed. “The Emperor is far more determined to perform the ceremony than to implement the new policies. I mentioned the ceremony that day to make him address the winter examination case. Chief Censor Jiang was present, but he didn’t object then, instead submitting a separate memorial later. He’s the only close advisor the Emperor tolerates. And you, Chong Zhi? You’ve just returned, and the Emperor is still suspicious of you. Why antagonize him with such a memorial?”
Zhang Jing’s hand tightened around his spoon, trembling slightly, as Meng Yun Xian said, “He’s the only close advisor the Emperor tolerates.”
He looked up at Meng Yun Xian. “You know how he became a close advisor.”
Meng Yun Xian paused.
Of course he knew.
The year General Xu He Xue died was the year Jiang Xian Ming’s career took off.
“Just because the Emperor only tolerates him, does that mean the rest of us can’t speak the truth? Is that how we should conduct ourselves as officials? The thirteen northern provinces haven’t been recovered, and the Great Qi is paying tribute to the barbarians who stole our land! Banditry is rampant despite our efforts to suppress it! And in this situation, the Emperor wants to waste resources on the Mount Tai ceremony?”
Zhang Jing put down his spoon and stood up. “Meng Zhuo, I ask you, if no one dares to speak the truth, how can we maintain order and protect the nation?”
“I’m not saying you can’t speak the truth, but the timing is wrong!” Meng Yun Xian frowned.
“How is it wrong? Did the Emperor ask for your opinion today in the Qing He Palace? You spoke up for me, didn’t you? What was your stance?”
Meng Yun Xian opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry as he met Zhang Jing’s gaze.
Colleagues, not friends.
The Emperor didn’t want them to be friends. It was better for them to be at odds, so he wouldn’t have to worry about them plotting together.
“You have no stance. You shouldn’t have spoken up for me,” Zhang Jing said, understanding Meng Yun Xian’s position. “What I do is none of your concern. I’m a servant of the Emperor, and a servant of the Great Qi. I serve the Emperor, but I also serve the nation. I can’t be like you, saying only what the Emperor wants to hear.”
“Zhang Chong Zhi!” Meng Yun Xian had feared these words. The word “colleagues” stung. He had learned to control his temper during his fourteen years of demotion, but facing his old friend, his control wavered. “Fourteen years ago, my attempt to rectify official conduct resulted in our falling out, in you losing your wife and son, in your injuries… I haven’t changed. I’ve just learned some things. Some things can’t be rushed.”
He looked at Zhang Jing, then closed his eyes and said something almost treasonous. “Chong Zhi, only a benevolent ruler deserves honest ministers.”
Only when the ruler was benevolent would ministers dare to speak the truth.
If the ruler wasn’t benevolent, then even honest ministers were useless.