Hanzhang Hall was located on the only path from the palace gate to Mingluan Hall. Lu Lingcong saw the heavy hall door secured with a copper lock from afar. Lu Lingzhen had moved here after her coming-of-age ceremony at fifteen over eight years ago. Now, no one else set foot inside besides the sweeping eunuchs entered and exited daily. Hanzhang Hall’s mission was now to await the next princess who would become its mistress.
Lu Lingcong had come to have breakfast with his mother and children. It had rained in the middle of the night, and a chill seeped into his robes along the palace road. The sky was a hazy gray, the clouds thick and dense, showing no sign of the morning sun peeking through at all.
Previously, it was the Empress Dowager who kept Lu Shuqing and Lu Shuning from returning to the Prince’s Mansion. Now that Lu Lingzhen had left, to prevent Consort Dowager Wu from feeling lonely and distressed, Lu Lingcong did not dare to let his children return. At least the company of her grandchildren could somewhat alleviate her sorrow for her daughter.
Mingluan Hall was a somewhat secluded and cold place, and charcoal braziers were always added early in the autumn and winter. But this year the weather was unusually strange. After several shifts between cold and warm, Lady Wu was feeling slightly unwell. To avoid passing any illness to Lu Shuning, she arranged for her to move to the side hall where Lu Shuqing resided, with the two of them occupying the inner and outer chambers separately.
Lu Shuning slept early and rose just as early. She was curled up on the bed while wrapping in a quilt. A crack in the window was open, making her nose icy cold from the morning dew, giving her a perfect view of her father walking into the courtyard.
She called out, her voice as sweet and crisp as a candied orange. Lu Lingcong heard the sound but couldn’t see the person. When he approached the corridor, he finally saw her head tucked inside the quilt, staring outside brightly, like a small animal observing passersby.
“Little ancestor,” he wiped the dampness from her nose with his finger. “Aren’t you sleeping anymore?”
“I was originally a little sleepy, but no one was with me, so I couldn’t sleep. I decided to get up and wait for breakfast.”
Although the maids were always ready for the Commandery Princess’s summons, they at most slept in the warm side room outside and could not sleep in the same bed with her. On many similar late autumn mornings, her exposed skin was icy cold, and her nose felt a bit stuffed. The only person who would tuck her back into the quilt and hold her in a warm embrace before she fell back asleep was her mother.
“Are you hungry?” Lu Lingcong reached out and propped the window open a little higher. “Shall we go to the kitchen to find something to tide you over?”
Lu Shuning shook her head, “It’s cold and chilly, so no. Father also comes inside and warms up too. And while you’re at it, please help me break off two osmanthus branches to put in a vase.”
The osmanthus trees at Mingluan Hall were of the cinnabar variety. Though the season was nearly past, the branches remained full of green leaves, dotted with only a few red blossoms; yet beneath the eaves, a small spray of crimson still angled outward, vivid and striking.
Lu Lingcong snapped off a branch for her and brought it into the hall. As he passed the desk, he noticed a few scattered sheets covered in sketches; including flowers, birds, and small figures. Though they were simple doodles, they carried a lively, childlike charm.
Lu Shuning had already run out to greet him. Her dainty embroidered shoes were adorned with two pale-yellow pom-poms. The thin, light soles made barely a sound, as she carefully tempered her steps, likely afraid of waking Lu Shuqing.
“Gege sleeps a lot when the weather gets cold; if you dig a hole for him, he’ll hibernate.” Lu Shuning took the cinnabar osmanthus, replaced the hibiscus in the Yuhuchun vase in the corner, and stood on her tiptoes to pour in half a cup of slightly cool water.
The candle from the night before had yet to burn out, its soft glow casting the clear silhouette of the osmanthus branch onto the pink-and-white wall behind it, blurring for a moment the line between dusk and dawn, even between the changing seasons.
Lu Shuning turned her face to Lu Lingcong and smiled: “Father, step back and look. Doesn’t the room feel much brighter? I made sure to change it early this morning, so by the time everyone is up, even if it’s gloomy outside, it won’t feel that way inside.”
The two of them then sat lightly on the arhat couch in the outer room. Opposite them was Lu Shuqing’s bed, its curtains drawn, and faintly, they could make out the sound of steady breathing from within.
Lu Shuqing had always slept a lot and hated getting up early, especially in winter. When he was a child, he would sneak out of class to get extra sleep by quietly slipping next to Xie Jing after Lu Lingcong had already gotten up, wrapping himself like a little
Seeing no one in his room, the attendants assumed the heir apparent had gotten up early to study, and no one would think of looking for him in the main room.
It wasn’t until Xie Jing woke up and discovered a small figure nestled under the quilt, sleeping as peacefully as almond jelly, that he had no choice but to rub him awake, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “In ancient times, wise rulers and worthy ministers rose at the crow of the rooster. Are you planning to wait until you can smell the chicken drumsticks at lunch before getting up?”
Lu Shuqing slowly offered an important opinion, “The chicken drumsticks in the kitchen taste the same as the ones in Linhai Hall. They make people uneasy. Mother, please talk to them and ask them to use a different cooking method next time.”
“Why did you suddenly start thinking about flower arranging again?” Lu Lingcong held Lu Shuning on his lap and combed her hair. Her hair was not as long as Xie Jing’s, nor as unruly as Lu Lingzhen’s. It had a slight curl, likely the lingering trace from when her bun was undone yesterday.
“After Aunt left, I’ve noticed Grandmother has been rather gloomy these days, and even the palace attendants don’t dare to laugh or joke as much. Mingluan Hall feels dull and lifeless all day long.” Lu Shuning explained. “Mother said that if we encounter continuous gloomy or rainy days, we should wear colorful clothes, put bright silk screens on the windows, and place seasonal fresh flowers inside. When people come and go and see them, they will feel lighter in their hearts.”
Lu Lingcong understood, “Did you learn these things from your mother too?”
“I don’t find learning to read or write very interesting, and Mother doesn’t care much either. But for these unorthodox skills, whatever he says, I remember clearly.”
“Unorthodox skills” was likely a general term for all of Xie Jing’s inventive ideas; for example, in flower arranging, he had specific rules for every season and festival: which flowers to use, the color combinations, quantity, and height of each arrangement, where the vases should be placed, and whether the backdrop should be a wall, a curtain, or a bamboo screen. All of these meticulous details and guidelines had been personally managed by him for many years.
This was merely the most ordinary example among the evidence of his conscientious management of Prince Zhao’s Mansion. It was a genuine elegance that felt “just ordinary at the time” and which his two children absorbed through observation.
Just now, Lu Lingcong passed the desk and saw thin ginkgo and sycamore leaves sandwiched between the pages of an open book. Small characters were inscribed on the leaves—scattered lines of verse, likely written by Lu Shuqing. This was another of Xie Jing’s teachings: before autumn ended, to gather orange, yellow, and green fallen leaves from the Prince’s Mansion’s garden, carefully press them in a book until they were as thin as cicada wings, and then, when he came across a line he liked while studying the following spring, casually copy it onto the leaf. He would save up over ten of them, string them together with silk thread, and hang them in front of the window. Sunlight would flow and melt along the clear veins of the leaves as if one were gazing into a miniature universe.
“Did you draw those drawings on the table outside too?”
Lu Shuning nodded, “Gege is busy with his homework and doesn’t have time to play with me, so I drew them to pass the time.”
“Who taught you this?” Lu Lingcong thought it couldn’t be Xie Jing. Firstly, Xie Jing wasn’t particularly skilled at painting, and secondly, he probably didn’t have the leisure time either.
Lu Shuning said, “I learned it from Grandpa Prefect’s wife in Yongzhou. The Madam Prefect is best at painting figures; she painted lots and lots of children, all lifelike and realistic. I hadn’t even finished learning before we came back.”
Lu Lingcong had never heard that his former teacher’s wife enjoyed such things and assumed she had simply taken them up in her old age out of boredom as a way to pass the time. “Prefect He and his wife have no children. They must be lonely in their later years. Your frequent visits counted as fulfilling some filial duty on my behalf.”
Lu Shuning added, “Gege got me some rare editions from the Imperial Painting Academy. I haven’t had time to look through them yet, so I’m just casually drawing some sparrows and cats to pass the time.”
Lu Lingcong kissed the top of her head between her twin buns, patted her, and let her hop down to the floor, “We have a lot of writing brushes, ink, and pigments lying idle at home, gathering dust and mold. I’ll have someone send them into the palace tomorrow for you to use.”
He had been a regular guest of various wealthy merchants in the capital for years. While socializing and moving between circles, he often saw many unique stationery items, such as letter paper printed with light gold scrollwork or inkstones shaped like cyan-green miniature landscape gardens. Whether he had to pay a price or just use his influence, he would always manage to collect them and send them back for Xie Jing to appreciate. He had accumulated several large boxes over the years, but the person who appreciated them was no longer there.
“It’s been half a year since we came to Jinling, and I haven’t been back home even once.” Lu Shuning grabbed a handful of rose walnut shortbread from the low table and shared it with Lu Lingcong. “Mother talks about the home garden in endless detail, going on about it from morning till night. I can’t see it, and I don’t really remember it, but it still makes my heart feel restless and faintly uneasy.”
“Very soon,” Lu Lingcong promised her. “We will definitely take you home to celebrate your brother’s birthday.”
“I heard that,” Lu Shuqing, who had woken up at some point, slowly pushed aside the curtains and put on his shoes. “A promise made cannot be taken back, Father. You must not break your word.”
After eating and making sure Imperial Physician Qin had checked Lady Wu’s pulse and she had taken her medicine, Lu Lingcong took Lu Shuqing to his morning studies on his way out of the palace.
The emperor had specially designated an inner chamber within the Imperial Library for the heir apparent’s studies, which was quiet and convenient. It was still early, and Grand Tutor Zhang had not arrived yet. Just as he was settling Lu Shuqing and preparing to leave, he heard him say, “Father, wait a moment!”
Lu Lingcong sat down across from him: “What is it?”
Lu Shuqing dismissed the palace attendants who had been serving tea outside the door. From the many scrolls and papers on the desk, he picked out a sheet and pushed it in front of Lu Lingcong. “Fifteen minutes, keep it brief. Tell me what’s really going on, Father.”
Lu Lingcong focused his gaze and saw that it was clearly a map of Great Qi, though not the standard version sold in the market. It was densely filled with fine annotations, carefully marking the names, backgrounds, and affiliations of the chief officials in the military, administrative, financial, and judicial systems across various provinces and counties.
When Lu Shuqing drew this map, the handwriting he used was the standard bureaucratic script that anyone in court could write. Even if it were lost and seen by others, it would not be easily traced back to him.
“I went to Hanzhang Hall. Aunt wouldn’t tell me much, but I guess she’s gone to guard the northern frontier provinces this winter.” He looked up at Lu Lingcong. “But I also think that since Aunt is going personally, one reason is that she cannot be restrained, and the other is that the situation is truly urgent, or at least it cannot wait for Mother and the various uncles to slowly build up a force comparable to the Tiger Division. In the end, Aunt’s trip north is to ensure that if the Northern Desert seizes the opportunity to stir trouble, it won’t disrupt the outcome of the uprising in the capital.”
“So,” he concluded in a low voice, “is it happening this winter?”
Lu Lingcong was silent for a moment, “Don’t you want your mother to come home sooner?”
Lu Shuqing shook his head, “Of course I do. I just thought it would take at least a year or two.”
At first, Lu Lingcong and Xie Jing also predicted this, but plans cannot keep up with changes.
It was predictable that it would be extremely difficult for Xie Jing to gain the true trust of the Prime Minister’s Mansion. But for the first point, they did not anticipate that Cui Shushi would offer a helping hand, nor did they anticipate the pivotal position Cui Shushi held within the Prime Minister’s lineage.
With Madam Cui’s assistance, many of the restrictions Xie Jing faced when dealing with the Wang family could be eased or even eliminated.
Of course, this also required a price, the flesh-stripping strings on Xie Jing’s arm being one example, it was just that Lu Lingcong was unaware of it.
The second factor was the timing provided by nature, which was even harder for humans to predict. The three years since Lu Lingzhang ascended the throne were largely peaceful and stable because of favorable weather, and agriculture faced no major issues. This year, it was clearly going to be a harsh, severe winter. The last time the court faced a situation like this was nearly twenty years ago. Since then, most of the relevant officials had already changed, and whether they could handle it, and to what extent, was entirely uncertain.
In Jiangnan, where winter vegetables and fruit are cultivated and the region lies close to the capital, the common people might face reduced harvests, but they would not necessarily starve. However, if the vast grain-producing fields north of the Yangtze River were affected, it would shake the very foundation of livelihoods.
After enduring the snow disaster and next year’s spring flooding, it would seem like a moment for relief and recovery, yet this is precisely the moment when people’s morale is most easily shaken, leading to instability and rebellion.
Lu Lingcong had never told Lu Shuqing that “children shouldn’t concern themselves with such matters.” After a moment of thought, he tried to explain it to him in simpler, more direct terms:
“After the disaster and flooding, the court would inevitably need to carry out reforms and restructuring alongside relief efforts in order to revive all industries. However, the various aristocratic clans would never allow those reforms to encroach upon their own family interests. Moreover, the one primarily overseeing the reforms is likely Wang Chu himself, so there is no need to expect a thorough cure. The areas that could actually be changed were extremely limited, while the parts that could not be altered were like a tumor; ugly, conspicuous, and stubborn. The stark contrast between the two would naturally stir widespread public resentment.”
What the common people perceive is the most immediate reality: where life is better and where there are fewer displaced people will naturally become the primary target of their resentment.
And the court’s current mouthpiece—the Wang clan of Langya; had, since the Jin court’s southward migration, had their extensive estates concentrated precisely in the fertile, prosperous lands of Zhedong, Kuaiji, and Shaoxing.
“Wang Chu, as Prime Minister, is not incompetent or idle. He has not committed any blatant acts that squander resources or harm the people. But fundamentally, the people he cares about are only that small fraction sheltered under the wing of the Wang clan. Outside of that, there are still millions and millions of unprotected people across the lands of Great Qi.”
“This is a fundamental difference between power resting with a minister and power resting with the emperor—Wang Chu only acknowledges the tenants on the Wang family estates as “the people.” In truth, if any other clan were placed in that position—even your mother’s Xie family of Chen Commandery—so long as they were acting in their own family’s interest, it would be no different. But as the saying goes, ‘All land under heaven belongs to the king, and all who live upon it are his subjects.’ Grandfather, Uncle, Aunt, you, and I; we must, and we are bound to, bear responsibility for all living beings within the four corners of the realm.”
“I can understand,” Lu Shuqing recited softly, “what happened to the Six Dynasties[mfn]“Six Dynasties” refers to a historical period in China when six successive regimes ruled from Jiankang (modern-day Nanjing). It’s not six unified dynasties in a row for all of China, but six southern courts during an age of division.[/mfn]? It all came down to private scheming for one’s clan.”
“When the common people clearly see that, in times of hardship, the court is not truly protecting those it ought to protect, then the Wang family’s strongest and most unassailable foundation over the years—the support of the people is bound to fracture.”
Lu Shuqing knew that if they were to launch an uprising, it could only be under the pretext of ‘purging the ruler’s entourage’, and history served as a warning that gaining and maintaining popular support was crucial to solidifying this excuse.
Of course, his father could choose to ignore his reputation and seize the throne outright; after all, history is written by the victors, and the winner can embellish the records as they please. But the significance of Prince Zhao’s Mansion’s uprising went beyond that—it was also to clear the names of his mother, his maternal family, and the Xie clan of Chen Commandery. The justice and legitimacy of this action could not afford even the slightest blemish.
“After the Wang clan gained power, your grandfather intentionally cultivated military families like the Cui clan to share control of military affairs. This is why the Wang clan formed marriage alliances with the Cui clan back then, and after Grand Commandant Cui passed away, they frequently extended their influence into the army. Although many senior officials in the Four Grand Camps and the Yulin Guards now come from the Prime Minister’s Mansion, they lack actual combat experience among the ranks, and it’s very difficult to win over the hearts of the soldiers in just three years.”
“Military power is the Prime Minister’s Mansion’s weakness, while popular support is its strength. What I did during the three years I was away from the capital was actually very simple: I used military force everywhere to buy the people’s support, using my own strength to appropriate that of my opponents.”
“So, Father allowed the Tiger Division to be split up after returning to the capital?” Lu Shuqing realized.
Lu Ling nodded, “The effort wasn’t concentrated in the capital, but outside it. Nor was it focused on the Tiger Division as a single unit, but on every individual soldier. You will understand the underlying reality when the time comes.”
“Controlling military power while waiting for the Wang family’s popular support to waver is the most opportune moment for us. So, it isn’t actually this winter, but next spring; or perhaps even as late as early summer?” Lu Shuqing asked.
Lu Lingcong smiled approvingly, then sighed, “Even with the right timing, location, and popular support, it is still too fast and outside our expectations. On this matter, neither your mother nor I can compare to your aunt. Keeping the Northern Desert in check is a prerequisite for the success of the uprising in the capital, and she was the first to have the courage to make this do-or-die move.”
After hearing this, Lu Shuqing lowered his eyes, staring blankly at the leg of the table. If one had to find a feature that was completely identical in the appearances of Xie Jing, Lu Shuqing, and Lu Shuning, it could only be their bright, lychee-like eyes, which made people reluctant to see any sorrow or resentment in them, wishing only for them to remain clear and joyful forever.
Lu Lingcong heard the palace attendants outside escorting Grand Tutor Zhang toward the inner hall. He stood up, patted Lu Shuqing’s head, and rolled up the map before tucking it into his sleeve, “Focus on your studies. Father will come to pick you up later.”
