The Lonely City Closed

Chapter 37

Hearing this, the princess couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "What's wrong with being an official in those beautiful, scenic places? Does one have to go back to the capital and argue with those old officials to be happy?"

I tugged at her sleeve, implying that it wasn't appropriate to speak at this moment. She pouted at me to show her displeasure, but then fell silent.

The Empress bowed to the Emperor and replied gently, "Shunqin may not have intended not to take up his post; perhaps it was simply fate, and there was nothing that could be done about it. Your Majesty is wise, and if Shunqin knew this in the afterlife, he would understand and be compassionate, and would be moved to tears."

The Emperor remained silent, carefully reading the poem "Prelude to Water Melody," and then asked the Empress, "Was this given to you by Lady Du? Are there any other letters?"

The Empress replied, “She entrusted someone to deliver this poem to my brother, and then my brother's wife brought it to me in the palace. There were no other letters. The person entrusted with the poem asked her if there were any other letters to be forwarded, and she said, ‘This poem alone is enough to express my feelings. My husband may be wronged in life, but he can still be redeemed in death.’”

The Emperor listened, his gaze lingering on Su Shunqin's handwriting. After pondering for a long time, he made a decision: "When Shunqin's eldest son comes of age, I will grant him an official position through hereditary privilege. In addition to the usual pension, I will also bestow some wealth upon Madam Du."

The Empress shook her head and said, "My brother once sent someone to give her money, but she refused to accept it, saying that she did not submit her will to beg for pity or money, but only hoped that Your Majesty would take a look and show more consideration to the civil officials who have been sent to the provinces, such as Fan Xianggong, Fu Yanguo, Han Zhigui, and Ouyang Yongshu. If she could also receive an epitaph from them after Zimei's burial, she would have no other desires in her life."

The emperor neither agreed nor disagreed, silently rolled up his will, and took it with him as he departed.

This is the first time I've seen the Empress discuss the affairs of her ministers before the Emperor, and I can't help but feel a little worried for her. Such a public expression of sympathy for the ministers implementing the new policies—I wonder what the Emperor, who has always been averse to the involvement of the harem in politics, will think, especially since he personally ordered the demotion and expulsion of those ministers from the capital.

But the result was completely unexpected.

The following year, the reign title was changed to "Huang?". In the first month of spring, the current emperor first bestowed the title of Vice Minister of Rites upon Fu Bi, the prefect of Qingzhou, for his meritorious service in disaster relief. Then, he simultaneously promoted Fu Bi and Han Qi, the prefect of Dingzhou, to Grand Academician of the Zizheng Hall. Subsequently, citing "favoritism towards former officials," he promoted and bestowed titles upon former high-ranking officials, including those involved in the Qingli Reforms. Fan Zhongyan, the prefect of Hangzhou, was promoted to Vice Minister of Rites, and Du Yan, who had already retired, was appointed Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince. This caused a great uproar, with censors offering their opinions, but the current emperor ignored them, saying only that this was the court's way of showing favor to former officials and that the promotions should not be treated as ordinary precedents.

The voices of opposition from the remonstrating officials flowed continuously through the eunuchs in the court to the inner palace. Eventually, even the ladies who usually did not discuss politics began to whisper among themselves: "Does His Majesty intend to bring back those new-style ministers?"

This news must have made Consort Zhang and Granny Jia uneasy again, and the people in Ninghua Palace were busy once more. Meanwhile, the relationship between the Emperor and the Empress was gradually thawing and warming up, just like the increasingly bright sky outside the window. Apart from ceremonial meetings, the number of times the two visited each other began to increase.

One day, as I passed by the small hall at the inner east gate, I recalled what Mr. Zhang had said about He Tan answering the Emperor's questioning about "offering a severed head as remonstrance" there. Suddenly, I realized that the Empress's failure to conceal Su Shunqin's dying words in front of the Emperor might have stemmed from a similar intention. Fortunately, like He Tan, she achieved a perfect outcome; her remonstrance was tactful and effective, leading the Emperor not only to "accept it with praise" but also to treat her better than before.

Lost in thought, a strange idea popped into his head: the Emperor's attitude toward the ministers of the new policies was quite similar to his attitude toward the Empress.

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The Emperor's brother-in-law, Li Yonghe, was ill, and his condition worsened at the end of the eighth year of the Qingli era. The Emperor personally visited him at his residence and further promoted him in rank and title, but the brother-in-law's illness remained unresolved, fluctuating between improvement and relapse. In the early spring of the first year of the Qingli era, Consort Miao heard that the brother-in-law was not well again, so she prepared some tonics and medicines and ordered me to send them to him.

That day, the Emperor's brother-in-law looked extremely unwell, coughing so badly he could barely breathe. Seeing this, I hurried back to the palace and summoned the imperial physician to examine him. During the examination and treatment, I stood by his side the entire time, afraid that something might go wrong, and dared not leave without permission. When the Emperor's brother-in-law's condition gradually stabilized and his complexion improved, I realized that it was getting late, and the palace gates had already closed.

Left with no other choice, I had to accept the suggestion of the Empress Dowager Yang, and rest at the Li residence until the next morning.

She warmly prepared a guest room for me, but I had no desire to sleep. This was the first time I had spent the night away from home since entering the palace, and I was filled with anxiety, wanting only to return as soon as possible. The palace gates opened at the fourth watch, and I got up just after the third watch, washed up, and hurried to the palace.

The main gate of the Imperial Palace, Xuande Tower, has five gates, all with gold nails and vermilion lacquer. The walls are made of brick and stone, engraved with dragons, phoenixes, and flying clouds. Every day at the fourth watch, the gates are opened to allow officials to enter for the morning court. Most officials in the capital arrive on horseback, hence the folk song in the capital that goes, "At the fourth watch, the horses move, and the officials arrive."

Officials entering the palace had to do so in order of their rank and position. Because it was still dark at the fourth watch of the night, officials below the rank of prime minister would each use a paper lantern with a long handle placed in front of their horses, and write their official rank and name on the lantern paper. Before entering the city, the officials would gather in order outside the palace gate, and hundreds of lanterns would flicker like a galaxy in front of their horses, a sight known as the "City of Fire."

Outside the palace, there was a "Waiting Courtyard" for princes, their sons-in-law, and high-ranking officials who arrived early to rest. But now, I was clearly too early. The palace gates had not yet opened, and I had not seen the grand spectacle of the city under fire. The Waiting Courtyard was also deserted. Only a single light could be seen in front of the palace gate, where an official on a white horse was silently waiting under the carved eaves and painted beams of the Xuande Tower.

I moved slightly closer to him and saw that he was wearing a dark black shirt to protect himself from the wind and dust, with a scarlet robe and a scarlet skirt underneath, and a white silk square collar. He wore a silver sword and silver rings, and white silk shoes and black leather shoes. This was the attire of a third-rank official.

He had been facing away from the palace gate, but as if sensing my approach, he slowly turned his head, revealing a handsome face beneath his rhinoceros horn hairpin and three-beam crown.

He wasn't very young, about thirty years old, but he had an extraordinary figure. He stood on his horse against the backdrop of the curved tower and the red railings, letting the quiet night breeze blow through his wide sleeves and cool robe. A touch of melancholy lingered between his brows, and he exuded a dignified and aloof air, like a banished immortal.

In the palace, I often saw high-ranking officials and ministers. I didn't know many officials below the third rank, so I didn't know who he was. However, since we were face to face, I didn't dare to forget the proper etiquette and immediately bowed deeply to him.

He smiled faintly, bowed slightly on his horse in return, and looked at me with gentle eyes.

After that, there was silence between them. I was still guessing his identity when I saw the white paper candle in front of his horse's head slowly swaying and turning towards me. I stared at it intently, dumbfounded.

His official title and name were written on it: Wang Gongchen, Vice Minister of Rites and Prefect of Yingzhou.

If this name had been mentioned five years ago, most listeners would have asked, "Isn't that the top scholar who passed the imperial examination at the age of nineteen?"

But five years later, the interpretation of this name has changed. The first reaction of many people—including myself—is: "Is it that villain who framed Su Zimei?"

Before the Jinzouyuan Incident, Wang Gongchen was a model of a poor scholar who had diligently studied and risen to a position of nobility, often mentioned with admiration and envy. He lost his father at a young age and was raised by his widowed mother, with several younger siblings; his family was extremely poor. Fortunately, he was intelligent and studious, and in the eighth year of the Tiansheng era, he passed the imperial examination with top honors at the young age of nineteen, becoming the youngest Zhuangyuan (top scholar) in the history of the dynasty. The current emperor appointed him as the Zhuangyuan, but he declined in court, saying that he had recently studied the questions for the palace examination and that the exam was not something he could perform on the spot, therefore he dared not steal the title of Zhuangyuan. The emperor, upon hearing this, praised his integrity and insisted on making him the Zhuangyuan, bestowing upon him great favor for many years thereafter.

His official career was originally smooth sailing, almost the dream of every scholar: passing the imperial examination at nineteen, becoming a drafter of imperial edicts at twenty-eight, and a Hanlin Academician at thirty—these "two-tiered" official positions, considered by scholars to best showcase their status and honor, were all relinquished by the age of thirty. At thirty-one, he became the highest-ranking official in the Censorate—the Vice Censor-in-Chief. Had it not been for the Su Shunqin case, he would likely have continued his meteoric rise. Unfortunately, although he later removed Su Shunqin and a large number of talented scholars from the Imperial Academy, and caused Du Yan to be dismissed as prime minister, he was also viewed unfavorably by public opinion. The current emperor probably also had a different view of him, and on some pretext, he was transferred to Zhengzhou as prefect, and later to Chanzhou and Yingzhou. For the past few years, he has been unable to return to the capital. Although he came to court today, his official title remained unchanged; he was probably just returning to the capital to report on his duties.

It is said that after banishing Su Shunqin and other renowned scholars from the imperial academy, he gleefully exclaimed, "I have wiped them all out in one fell swoop!" Previously, I had only heard of him but never seen him, because his actions were so disgraceful. In my imagination, he must have looked like Xia Song, with eyes filled with wine, women, and malice, or even like Wang Zhi, with a weasel-like face and a sleazy expression. Now, it is truly difficult to reconcile the refined and gentle scholar before me with that triumphant statement of "wiping them all out in one fell swoop."

But the name still erased the slight admiration I felt when I first saw his demeanor. I silently stepped back, keeping a distance, and stood guard on either side of the palace gate with him, continuing to wait.

Afterwards, officials kept riding in, and before lining up in order, they would usually gather in twos and threes to exchange pleasantries and laughter, but they did not talk to Wang Gongchen, and few even went to greet him. I watched quietly for a long time before I saw someone go over and say a few words to him with a smile. I looked closely and found that it was Wang Zhi.

More and more candlelight lanterns gathered before the palace gates, dancing like fireflies and shimmering like starlight. At the fourth watch, all the officials were lined up, and only then did the prime ministers and other high-ranking officials leisurely lead their horses in. Once the horses reached the main gate, the forbidden gate opened, and the officials, in order of rank, entered the palace.

I waited by the side until all the officials had entered the city before I went over. With nothing to do, my gaze often lingered on Wang Gongchen.

Finally, it was his turn to move forward. He led his horse forward, but behind him, a fourth-rank official on a tall, chestnut horse rushed forward to cut in front of him. The two horses collided, and Wang Gongchen's mount staggered, almost throwing him to the ground. He pulled on the reins and managed to steady the horse, but the official tablet he carried in his sleeve slipped out and fell off the horse.

I think that fourth-rank official did it on purpose, because he only turned his head slightly, smiled at Wang Gongchen and said, "Sorry." Then he left leisurely.

Wang Gongchen reined in his horse and stood silently in place. People around him were watching; some glanced sideways as they passed by, while others simply stopped, patiently waiting to see how he would dismount and pick up his official tablet. No one offered any assistance in defusing the awkward situation.

He simply lowered his eyes in silence, as if frozen on his horse, remaining motionless for a long time.

I knew that for him, dismounting to pick up the tablet was a difficult task. Feeling some sympathy for his situation, I went over, picked up the tablet from under his horse, and presented it to him with both hands.

He looked at me with surprise, slightly moved, and accepted it with both hands, smiling and saying, "Thank you, Your Excellency."

I replied with a smile, "It was nothing, Vice Minister, please don't mind."

He then bowed slightly and asked, "May I ask your honorable name, Your Excellency?"

I said, "I am a lowly person and would not dare to offend Your Excellency's ears."

Then I stepped back to let him go. He didn't ask any more questions, cupped his hands in farewell, and under everyone's watchful eyes, quickly regained his composure and calmly rode his horse into the city. No matter how much the people behind him whispered, he didn't look back even once.

(to be continued)