Yu Jiuzhou and Chi Wan were discussing the matter of appointing an heir. Neither Guiyi nor Yuyu wanted to be emperor. Chenchen, however, enjoyed state affairs and had agreed to take on the role.
The problem was how to make Chenchen, a Kun Ze, the Crown Princess.
First, Guiyi had been named Imperial Heir by the previous emperor, a fact some would surely use to argue their case.
Second, Yu Jiuzhou had ascended the throne as a Kun Ze through absolute control of power and military suppression, killing many who opposed her. It was feared that Chenchen would also face opposition if she were to succeed smoothly.
Although the two of them had already decided in their hearts that Chenchen would be the heir, certain matters still had to be discussed at the imperial court.
There are no private matters for the imperial family, but neither Chi Wan nor Yu Jiuzhou would permit outside officials to question their personal affairs, much less dictate them.
They drew a clear line between political and private matters.
Appointing an heir was a matter of state, not a private affair. The entire court of civil and military officials had to be informed. A debate would be fine; after all, they would be the ones making the final decision.
At the morning court session.
As usual, the heads of various departments prepared to step forward and give their reports. Chi Wan and Yu Jiuzhou exchanged a look, and Chi Wan immediately received the message.
“Today’s reports will be temporarily suspended. There is an issue for discussion.”
Hearing that there was an issue to discuss, the entire court of civil and military officials perked up. Grand court assemblies were typically for reports, where each department would detail its recent activities, achievements, and failures.
Reports at the grand assembly had to be truthful. Otherwise, if an investigation revealed falsehoods, someone would have to bear the responsibility. If the matter was serious, the entire department might see a change of personnel from top to bottom.
Therefore, many officials listened attentively, either to check for omissions in their own department’s report or to listen for problems in others’ reports that they could point out and address in court.
This system had been in place for many years, but issues for debate were rare. It was a good month if an issue was raised even once.
Usually, for any major decision, the Emperor, the Prince, and the Grand Secretariat would set a direction, and those below would simply carry it out.
But if an issue was raised for debate, it was bound to be of great importance, like state sacrifices or the imperial examinations—one held great symbolic significance, the other was of practical importance.
What could it be today?
Some had their suspicions. Recently, many officials had submitted memorials discussing the appointment of an heir.
During the previous emperor’s reign, some had also brought it up, but only a few, as most did not dare. The matter of succession was a sensitive topic for many emperors. No emperor would admit to growing old; if they could, they would have no need for a successor. Some even saw their heir as a competitor. Throughout history, very few crown princes had ascended the throne peacefully.
Things were better in the Great Zhou, where succession typically went to the crown prince or imperial grandson, thanks to a strict system that prioritized the legitimate and the eldest.
The main reason was the small number of children. After the founding emperor, the second emperor had only four children, and later generations had two, and then in the middle period, only one, leaving no choice.
However, since the founding emperor, the Great Zhou had established the principle of appointing the legitimate and the eldest to prevent imperial heirs from killing each other. They would rather appoint a legitimate imperial grandson than an illegitimate son.
Therefore, choosing an heir in the Great Zhou dynasty was usually not too difficult. The Shengyuan Emperor had only one Kun Ze child, which led to the three princes being summoned to the capital and the subsequent struggle for the throne.
In the end, all three princes were gone, and Her Majesty had to ascend the throne.
Some ministers understood what was happening, while others were still puzzling over what recent event could be so important as to be debated at a grand court assembly.
Chi Wan’s gaze swept across the faces of the civil and military officials. She felt like a teacher standing on a podium, able to see everything below clearly, including their expressions.
Seeing some looking thoughtful while others were still racking their brains, she announced in a loud voice, “Recently, officials have frequently submitted memorials regarding the appointment of an heir.”
As soon as those words were spoken, all the officials straightened up. The main event had arrived. Even the most idle official who just wanted to slack off pricked up their ears, afraid of missing anything.
Clarifying the heir was of monumental importance. At the very least, it could reduce internal friction, solidify the legitimate line of succession, and ensure the continuity of the dynasty’s governance.
After speaking, Chi Wan said no more, waiting for the officials to present their memorials.
“Your Majesty, since the founding of the Great Zhou, the principle has been to appoint the legitimate and the eldest. The Imperial Daughter Chengzhao is both legitimate and the eldest. She can be the Crown Princess.”
Imperial Daughter Chengzhao? They even used her name, but refused to call her the Second Imperial Daughter.
Logically, Chenchen, being a Kun Ze, should be titled a princess, while Guiyi and Yuyu, being Qian Yuan, should be imperial daughters.
Looking through the long river of history, the only one to ascend the throne from the position of a princess was Yu Jiuzhou. However, not everyone could be Yu Jiuzhou.
Therefore, Chenchen was the First Imperial Daughter, Guiyi the Second, and Yuyu the Third.
In fact, many people addressed Chenchen as “Her Highness the Eldest.” A princess was also “Her Highness,” and few would call her the First Imperial Daughter, seeking to make a distinction.
“Her Highness the Second is the legitimate eldest and was also the Imperial Heir appointed by the late Emperor. She should rightfully be the Crown Princess.”
No one mentioned anything about Qian Yuan or Kun Ze, because they had not even considered a Kun Ze. It had never crossed their minds to propose Chenchen.
Thus, when it came to appointing the legitimate eldest, only Guiyi was considered.
Yu Chengzhao—that name had been chosen for her to inherit the throne. Not to be outdone, Yu Jiuzhou had named Chenchen “Yu Zhaoyue.” The characters “Zhaoyue” carried no less weight than “Chengzhao.”
It wasn’t that Chi Wan and Yu Jiuzhou were biased; it was precisely because they were not that they chose such names.
Whether Qian Yuan or Kun Ze, they were all their children. From their names alone, they had to carry equal weight. As for the throne, they had no intention of forcing it upon Chenchen, nor did they insist on giving it to Guiyi or Yuyu.
The three sisters had a very good relationship growing up. They were clear about their own interests and had well-defined goals. The three of them had automatically divided their roles.
Chenchen excelled in politics, Guiyi in martial arts, and Yuyu in reasoning.
Chenchen was suited to be an emperor, Guiyi a great general, and Yuyu a scientist.
Since the three sisters had made their choices, as their mothers, they would naturally support them with all their might.
Many in the court held to that theory. Perhaps some among them had guessed their intentions, knowing they wanted Chenchen to be the heir.
But they simply didn’t bring it up. After all, throughout the dynasties, a Kun Ze had never been nominated as an heir. Wasn’t the choice always made from among the Qian Yuan? It was only natural. They just needed to support the legitimate eldest.
It was a clever approach, but they had all forgotten that Yu Jiuzhou was a Kun Ze. Or perhaps they hadn’t forgotten at all, but simply didn’t want another Kun Ze to rule as emperor.
A cold smile touched Chi Wan’s lips. These people’s petty thoughts were too obvious.
It didn’t matter. Among the many officials of the Great Zhou, it was impossible to ensure everyone was of one mind with them. As long as they could serve the country and its people, it was enough.
Those who were of one mind with them felt that since they were all their children, what did it matter who was appointed? They wouldn’t get involved. They were all the masters’ children, after all.
Fortunately, Chi Wan had already made arrangements. There were great scholars ready to argue the case for Chenchen.
“Appoint the legitimate and the eldest. If we speak of the legitimate eldest, Her Highness the Eldest is the true legitimate eldest.”
But Her Highness the Eldest is a Kun Ze!
Yet these people didn’t quite dare to say it. Her Majesty is also a Kun Ze, so what?
Precisely because of this, they avoided mentioning Chenchen at all. As long as she wasn’t mentioned, it was as if the issue didn’t exist. They could just directly appoint Guiyi as the heir.
Well, now she had been mentioned, and they couldn’t refute the fact. Their only point of rebuttal was that Chenchen was a Kun Ze, and a Kun Ze could not be emperor.
If they dared to say that, they would be daring to die.
The question was, would dying change the outcome? No.
Of course, there were those who did not fear death. Such people had their own thoughts. The current emperor was a Kun Ze, but was the Great Zhou not doing well now? It was a hundred, a thousand times better than during the Shengyuan era.
The nation was strong, the people were prosperous, and all nations came to pay tribute. What was there to argue about?
It wasn’t that there were no stubborn people who didn’t fear death, but standing in the imperial court, their stubbornness was not about a Kun Ze being emperor. Rather, they had their own principles. They supported the appointment of an heir, and as for who to appoint, there was precedent.
The precedent was that Yu Jiuzhou, a Kun Ze, had become emperor and created a golden age.
In short, arguing from the angle of her being a Kun Ze was probably a dead end.
That left one other line of argument, one that was also very difficult to refute.
“But Her Highness the Second was personally appointed as the Imperial Heir by the late Emperor. Now that Your Majesty has ascended the throne, the Imperial Heir should logically become the Crown Princess.”
“The late Emperor appointed the Imperial Heir to stabilize the court while he went south to recuperate. But the late Emperor knew that a young ruler would lead to a precarious state, so he appointed Your Majesty as emperor instead. The status of Imperial Heir naturally no longer counts.”
“It was reported to the ancestral temple and announced to the ancestors. How can you say it doesn’t count just like that?”
“So what? Many appointed heirs have been deposed.”
“The Imperial Heir has committed no fault. Why should she be deposed?”
“But the Imperial Heir was only the Imperial Heir of the Shengyuan era. In the Zhengtong era, there is no Imperial Heir.”
Listening to the arguments below, Chi Wan raised an eyebrow. Although they were all arguing over her daughters, had any of them considered that the person in question might not want the position?
Guiyi didn’t want to be emperor. She wanted to go to war, to sail the seas, to expand the empire’s territory. She said that in the future, the lands and seas of the Great Zhou would expand in her hands.
As for Yuyu, she was still so young. Chi Wan had taught her all the theories she could; any more and she wouldn’t be able to absorb it. After all, Chi Wan had studied Chinese medicine. She was fine with researching pharmaceuticals, but asking her to become a scientist who made weapons—she could only say that different fields were worlds apart.
But her theories were non-existent in this world, and the artisans of this world were also very skilled. What they lacked was a broader way of thinking, an inability to imagine so much.
What Chi Wan had to do was write down the theories she knew and the related books she had read for Yuyu’s reference, to show her what true advanced technology was.
Whether it could be built would depend on the artisans of the Great Zhou.
A school of technology would have to be established sooner or later, but Chi Wan’s energy was limited, and she was only a dabbler herself. Of course, she couldn’t teach. She could only write down the theoretical knowledge.
In any case, despite Yuyu’s young age, her fundamentals were solid.
Yuyu was immersed in her scientific research. Forget being emperor; it was hard enough to get her out of the factory or laboratory.
Her days, aside from studying language, mathematics, and foreign languages, as well as various theories of physics and chemistry, were spent putting her learned knowledge into practice. Her hands-on skills were very strong.
If she continued to develop like this, the Great Zhou would likely have its first scientist.
In any case, the civil and military officials in the court chattered on, completely ignoring the fact that the person in question did not want to be emperor.
But today’s morning court was not without its gains. At least Chenchen was not ignored and had gained a spot in the competition.
One court session was certainly not enough to settle the matter. They would discuss it again next time. In the interim, many people would surely submit memorials to express their opinions. It was best to let things develop for a while.
It was necessary to let people know Yu Jiuzhou and Chi Wan’s attitude. Their attitude could change many people’s minds.
Immediately after, Chun Gui announced the end of the court session, to be reconvened later.
After court, Chi Wan toyed with the mutton-fat jade thumb ring in her hand. “Sister, although we arranged for someone to include Chenchen on the list of candidates, many people are still clinging to the fact that Guiyi was once appointed Imperial Heir.”
This was the advantage of a dead emperor. No matter how incompetent the Shengyuan Emperor was, Yu Jiuzhou had technically inherited his position. Thus, the late emperor became ancestral law, and the Imperial Heir he appointed was the legitimate one.
That Shengyuan Emperor, even in death, was still causing them trouble.
Yu Jiuzhou sat at her desk, looking at the memorial in her hand. “No matter. As long as Chenchen is on the list of candidates, the principle of appointing the legitimate and the eldest cannot bypass her.”
They had other plans, but the number of people who stood up in court to object was greater than they had imagined.
Even the ministers loyal to them might not necessarily want another Kun Ze empress to take the throne.
Qian Yuan had ruled for thousands of years. They knew how to secure benefits for themselves.
However, their opinions didn’t count. But for the sake of Chenchen’s legitimacy as heir, a clear conclusion had to be reached through debate. If it was debated after she took the throne, it wouldn’t be a debate, but a struggle for succession.
Sometimes, even if the children didn’t fight, some ministers would form their own factions and contend. A struggle for succession was too draining. The Great Zhou had not yet reached the ideal state they envisioned; how could it afford to be consumed by internal strife now?
What they needed to do was show the officials their attitude.
The next day, an imperial edict changed many people’s views on the matter of the heir.
Yu Jiuzhou and Chi Wan were going to stay at the imperial villa for two days, leaving Chenchen to oversee the state.
Overseeing the state again. Despite Chenchen’s young age, she had acted as regent several times. Doing so again at such a critical juncture, when there was no urgent matter, made the intentions of Her Majesty and the Prince abundantly clear.
Her Majesty and the Prince wanted to appoint Her Highness the Eldest as the heir.
After the first court session placed Her Highness the Eldest among the candidates for heir, and this clear statement of their attitude the next day, more than half the court would likely change their stance.
When Her Majesty and the Prince returned, the matter of appointing an heir would be discussed again in court. With the support of so many, Her Majesty could immediately make the final decision.
Although Her Majesty could have made the decision regardless of opposition, she still went through these steps. Wasn’t it all to ensure that Her Highness the Eldest could secure her position as heir?
Those who understood would naturally understand. The objectors would continue to lobby each other, wondering if there was still a chance to change things.
At the imperial villa, Chi Wan, upon hearing the news from the capital, threw down her fishing rod. She had been fishing for an hour without even seeing the shadow of a fish.
No, that wasn’t right. She had seen one. A fish had even surfaced, flicked its tail at her, as if in mockery.
In front of Yu Jiuzhou was a Go board. She was playing against herself, quite engrossed.
But Chi Wan, having been mocked by a fish, tossed her rod to the ground. “I’m done fishing.”
She sat down opposite Yu Jiuzhou. “Sister, let’s play Go.”
Another day of catching nothing.
Yu Jiuzhou glanced at her with amusement. “Wash your hands first and have some tea.”
Chi Wan obediently went to wash her hands. She poured a cup of tea and had just brought it to her lips when she heard Xia Qu, who was standing by the river, exclaim, “A bite!”
She saw Yuyu holding the discarded fishing rod, having just pulled up a silver carp.
What? Do the fish only let Yuyu catch them?
Chi Wan felt like she had been slapped in the face. An hour of fishing was worth less than a child fishing for a moment.
With a sullen expression, she sat down opposite Yu Jiuzhou again. Anything she might say would sound like an excuse for her own incompetence.
“I think it’s beginner’s luck.”
After a long pause, that was all she could come up with.
Yu Jiuzhou couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Perhaps it is.”
“Sister!”
Chi Wan was indicating that she was angry, very angry. She had failed at fishing, been shown up by her daughter, and now her wife was laughing at her. This life was impossible.
“I’m not laughing,” Yu Jiuzhou said, composing her expression and explaining earnestly.
“Hah!” She had laughed out loud and still claimed she wasn’t laughing.
Chi Wan glared without a word. A woman in her thirties, she looked as petulant as a child. It seemed even the youngest, Yuyu, was more mature than her.
“Alright, be good.”
Yu Jiuzhou stroked her face. She never treated her children this way, but with Chi Wan, it was as if she were coaxing a child.
Yuyu walked over quickly, carrying the silver carp in her hand. “Mother, Mama, look what I caught.”
Chi Wan’s heart was stabbed once more. Yu Jiuzhou could barely hold back her laughter. This side of Chi Wan was both adorable and amusing.
“Then we’ll have this fish for lunch,” Yu Jiuzhou said, ruffling Yuyu’s hair.
“Okay.”
“Where’s Guiyi?” Chi Wan looked around but couldn’t find her.
“Her Highness the Second is riding.”
Every day, Guiyi was either riding, practicing archery, or training in mounted combat. All her time outside of her studies was spent on these activities.
Chi Wan had long ago taught the three of them the internal energy cultivation method she practiced. All three were skilled in both literary and martial arts.
However, Guiyi preferred martial arts and archery, so she practiced more and was thus more proficient. She also studied military strategy and would go to the capital garrisons to train with them whenever she had time. She was increasingly taking on the bearing of a soldier.
It was a pity Chenchen couldn’t come, but that couldn’t be helped. That was the life of a future emperor—very little free time. Fortunately, they wouldn’t be staying at the villa for too long.
Three days later.
The group returned to the capital and convened a second court session.
They hadn’t intended to return so soon, but the Imperial City Division had discovered that someone was attempting to assassinate Chenchen.
How dare they! They had only been away from the capital for two or three days, and someone had dared to make a move on their child. Did they really think that just because they had killed fewer people in recent years, they had forgotten how?
Both Chi Wan and Yu Jiuzhou were seething with rage.
Although the culprits were discovered by the Imperial City Division before they could act and had been arrested, some thoughts were not even allowed to be thought.
The children got along well, were not fighting amongst themselves, and had all found their own goals. To think that even this couldn’t prevent a struggle for succession, that someone would try to create a succession crisis by going after an imperial daughter—how audacious.
At the court session, a cold aura emanated from Yu Jiuzhou, and Chi Wan’s face was grim. Many who didn’t know what had happened kept their heads bowed, afraid of catching their attention.
No department came forward to report. Everyone knew this court session was to finalize the appointment of the heir.
At that moment, Huang Yuecheng, the Commander of the Imperial City Division, stepped forward. Since Chi Wan had stepped down, Huang Yuecheng had taken over as commander.
Seeing her step out, some officials thought she lacked tact. Was today the time for reports? Today was the court session to choose the heir.
But to their surprise, Huang Yuecheng’s opening words were a bombshell. “Your Majesty, the Imperial City Division yesterday captured a group of villains who intended to assassinate Her Highness the Eldest. They have confessed and implicated several ministers. The evidence is conclusive. I await Your Majesty’s command.”
“Kill them,” Yu Jiuzhou uttered the single word coldly.
Attempting to assassinate an imperial daughter. Although they were discovered before they could act, these people had formulated a plan and even obtained firearms. They were just waiting for an opportunity to kill Chenchen.
As long as Chenchen stayed in the palace, she was safe. But if she were to leave, wouldn’t she be in danger?
Yu Jiuzhou’s icy gaze swept over the ministers below. She continued, “For all participants, execute every adult Qian Yuan in their entire clan.”
This was already showing mercy. Otherwise, it would have been the execution of the entire clan, leaving no one alive.
She was going to kill all the Qian Yuan in their clans. Weren’t they against a Kun Ze taking the throne? Then their Qian Yuan could just die.
To resort to any means to achieve their goal, even assassination—having their entire clan executed was what they deserved.
As soon as Yu Jiuzhou finished speaking, someone stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, since the act was not carried out, I implore Your Majesty to show mercy.”
“Mercy?” Chi Wan sneered. “They showed no intention of mercy toward my daughter. Since they dared to plot an assassination, I will kill them until they don’t even dare to think of it.”
“Huang Yuecheng, all personnel involved, no matter who they are, as long as the evidence is conclusive, kill them without exception. Be they a Grand Secretary, a prince, or a noble, leave none alive.”
“Yes!”
Looking at the cold Yu Jiuzhou and the murderous Chi Wan, no one dared to say another word.
Then, Chi Wan suddenly smiled. “Alright, the matter of the heir was not settled at the last court session. We shall discuss it again today.”
After they had left and made Chenchen regent, revealing their attitude, and coupled with today’s mass executions, everyone knew the matter was settled, with absolutely no room for change.
“Your Majesty, by the principle of appointing the legitimate and the eldest, Her Highness the Eldest is the legitimate eldest and should be the Crown Princess.”
“This subject seconds the motion.”
“This subject seconds the motion.”
More than half the officials in the court stepped forward, expressing their support for appointing Chenchen as the heir.
Before anyone could object, Yu Jiuzhou said directly, “So be it. As the ministers wish, the Imperial Daughter Zhaoyue is appointed Crown Princess. Prepare the edict.”
Chun Gui produced a pre-written edict. The officials knew then that they could not stop it. The edict was already written, showing the determination of Her Majesty and the Prince.
“The Emperor of Great Zhou commands…”
There was no mention of the Mandate of Heaven, just a simple “The Emperor of Great Zhou commands.” Yu Jiuzhou wanted to tell the world that even Heaven and the gods must obey her command.
“Since I ascended the throne, I have ruled over the myriad nations…”
As always, it began by listing Yu Jiuzhou’s achievements as emperor, a standard template.
“The First Imperial Daughter, Zhaoyue, is gentle, respectful, benevolent, and filial. She has overseen the state on multiple occasions, earning praise each time…”
This part praised Chenchen and mentioned her contributions over the years.
“Her conduct, talent, and strategy… Therefore, she is hereby specially invested as the Crown Princess, granted the golden patent and golden seal, and will take up residence in the Eastern Palace.”
“The First Imperial Daughter Zhaoyue, in her capacity as Crown Princess, shall participate in the governance of the state…”
Finally, with Chun Gui’s declaration of “So let it be known,” the matter was settled.
Standing before the officials were three young women: Chenchen, Guiyi, and Yuyu.
As the edict was read, Chenchen stepped forward to receive it. After she took the edict, all the officials knelt in unison. “Long live the Crown Princess, long, long live.”
“You may rise.”
A simple ceremony of greeting was completed. The subsequent investiture ceremony would be grand, one of the most magnificent ceremonies in the Great Zhou.
The emperor’s coronation was the grandest, followed by the investiture of the Crown Prince, the Empress, and so on.
The Zhengtong era had no Empress. Yu Jiuzhou had originally wanted a joint reign of two sovereigns, but Chi Wan had refused. She was not particularly keen on power. Besides, the military forces of the Great Zhou were in her hands, and no one dared to provoke her.
A joint reign was possible, but not necessary.
Next came the edicts of ennoblement. Guiyi was made Prince of Chu, and Yuyu was made Prince of Yue.
Being named after a state was more prestigious. A title like Prince Ying, with a single character, was far less distinguished than a state name. The most prestigious was Prince of Qin, usually reserved for the future heir, but that was no longer necessary.
Starting from the Zhengtong era, princes had no fiefdoms, only salaries. This was to prevent rebellions by vassal princes. After all, no one could guarantee the future. Of the previous princes, the smart ones had voluntarily surrendered their fiefdoms. There were reluctant ones, but they couldn’t hold out for long. Reducing the power of the princes was inevitable. Otherwise, no matter how wealthy the Great Zhou became, it would be dragged down by the numerous members of the imperial clan.
Finally, the matter of succession was settled. Yu Jiuzhou and Chi Wan could rest easy, saving themselves from officials who might use this issue to stir up trouble in the future.
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