The Emperor repeated quietly: “Coerced?”
Meng Xizhao nodded vigorously, a tear dropping to the floor tile.
The Emperor: “…Explain precisely—how did the Crown Prince coerce you?”
Meng Xizhao struggled briefly, then his expression hardened, as if throwing caution to the wind: “His Highness the Crown Prince, invoking a life-saving debt, compelled me to surrender all spoils. Upon discovering my mistake, he threatened me, saying that if I did not acknowledge his favor, he would report me to Your Majesty, letting Your Majesty decide my punishment.”
He prostrated fully, arching his backside, voice filled with grief: “After much thought, I realized I could only confess truthfully to Your Majesty. Only then can I be at peace, and Your Majesty, seeing my voluntary admission, may spare my life.”
The Emperor: “…”
What on earth… he couldn’t understand a word.
Puzzled, the Emperor asked: “Get to the point—what exactly did you do?”
Meng Xizhao straightened cautiously, glanced at the Emperor, and said in a quieter voice: “I… Your servant… took in a woman.”
The Emperor: “…”
Immediately, his gaze toward Meng Xizhao carried a certain meaning.
So, even in Nanzhao, he couldn’t resist picking up a concubine for himself.
Seeing the expression, Meng Xizhao realized the misunderstanding. He crawled forward a few steps, earnestly explaining: “It was not that Your servant was overtaken by lust! The woman was a native of Qi, with a tragic life that would move anyone to tears. With no living relatives, I could not bear it and brought her to Yingtian Prefecture. Your Majesty should know, she had once been taken by the Crown Prince of Nanzhao, Luo Mailong, into his quarters. Yet her spirit was unyielding; she would rather die than be touched. Luo Mailong, furious yet cautious, could not harm her, and after days of persuasion, the woman, taking advantage of a moment of inattention, used a hairpin to scratch his arm.”
Meng Xizhao deliberately lowered his voice, speaking as if sharing a secret. As everyone knows, quieter speech is more convincing, and his volume, though not extremely low, was clear enough for the Emperor to hear.
The Emperor leaned in, captivated. Meng Xizhao didn’t disappoint—he delivered a fully immersive story.
His gestures, intonation, and pacing were so compelling, one could easily earn a day’s wages from storytelling with such skill.
Even Qin Feimang watched intently, clearly absorbed.
“…Your Majesty should understand the temperament of the Nanzhao Emperor Zhen’an Luo. Luo Mailong, injured, heard from palace insiders and flew into a rage, killing several attendants nearby. Yet he did not harm the woman, instead hiding her in a secret chamber in the East Palace for a whole year, where only he and another Qi court servant could see her. According to the palace staff, Luo Mailong did this not only out of fear that his father would kill her, but primarily because he feared his father would take her. Your humble servant believes it was more the latter than the former.”
The Emperor’s curiosity was thoroughly piqued: “This woman… is she exceptionally beautiful?”
Meng Xizhao bowed his head, answering sincerely: “Not exceptionally, Your Majesty. A beauty of high order, but not unparalleled. Yet I cannot explain why, upon seeing her, I felt compassion, just as Luo Mailong did—unable to bear harming her.”
A question mark popped up over Emperor Tianshou’s head. Such a woman even existed?
He wasn’t exactly a man of refined manners; in his eyes, there was no woman in the world he couldn’t punish if he chose.
…
After letting Meng Xizhao’s story sink in for a moment, he raised his head slowly and said, “Come to think of it, this is not the only strange thing. Ever since Your humble servant, along with Lord Xie and two officials from the prefectural office, ascended that mountain that nearly cost us our lives, oddities kept occurring. First, one official ran back to the prefectural office in a frenzy, reporting auspicious signs on the mountain. I planned to bring more men, but inexplicably, that afternoon the office was so busy that hardly anyone could be spared. When we reached the mountain foot, the weather seemed fine, but once we ascended, it suddenly darkened, fog steaming like a pot lid, enveloping everything instantly. Only then did we realize we were lost, unable to find the way down.”
Emperor Tianshou’s heart skipped a beat as he listened.
He said nothing, merely continuing to hear Meng Xizhao’s bewildered narration: “It got stranger still. With the fog and man-eating beasts on the mountain, we proceeded cautiously, the others shielding me in the center. Yet always, at my ears, came rustling sounds. When I glanced toward them—ouch!”
Meng Xizhao suddenly shouted, startling both Emperor Tianshou and Qin Feimang stiff.
Then Meng Xizhao chuckled and said, “I thought it was a beast, but it turned out to be just a long shadow—probably a tree’s projection.”
The Emperor asked anxiously, “Are you sure it was a tree’s shadow?”
Meng Xizhao faltered: “Um… it looked like it, but… not exactly, because the shadow twisted strangely. If you look closely, it somewhat resembles…”
He hesitated, leaving the answer unspoken—but Emperor Tianshou supplied it for him: “…an immortal?”
Meng Xizhao’s eyes brightened, nodding vigorously: “Indeed! Your Majesty is brilliant! I saw it with my own eyes, yet you guessed it faster than I could speak!”
The Emperor proudly stroked his beard, then urged him on: “Continue.”
Meng Xizhao responded quickly: “At that moment, we sensed something unusual about the mountain. Perhaps we were caught in a ghostly illusion; if we ventured further, we might not survive. So, we decided to head toward thinner fog. Walking on, we reached a platform high on the mountain. Behind us was dense gray mist; before us, a vast expanse of sunset light. Ah! It was the most beautiful scene I’ve ever seen—danger behind, beauty ahead. Naturally, we stayed put, built a fire, hoping someone would find us the next day. But no one came; instead, in the middle of the night, the Nanzhao people arrived.”
Here, Meng Xizhao sighed dramatically: “Your Majesty, you know, that Rossa Hua faction attacked the prefectural office. I narrowly avoided them while investigating the auspicious signs. Yet despite partially avoiding danger, I was ultimately captured and taken to the Nanzhao capital!”
Emperor Tianshou, however, was not filled with indignation like Meng Xizhao. Instead, he muttered: “Being captured at the office exposed your identity. Yet on the mountain, you could operate covertly. It seems fate governs all things…”
Meng Xizhao exhaled: “Indeed! Every coincidence was too perfect. Had I not experienced it firsthand, I might have suspected someone deliberately guided me to Nanzhao.”
Lowering his head, he pondered how to lead the Emperor further, when suddenly Emperor Tianshou erupted into loud laughter from the dragon throne:
“Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
Meng Xizhao shivered in fright, looking up with Qin Feimang in alarm.
The Emperor, entirely immersed in joy, continued: “Divine manifestations, auspicious signs appear—use your hands to resolve my pressing troubles! Ha! Surely I am destined by Heaven!”
Meng Xizhao: “….”
Inside, he chuckled quietly, then composed a suitably awed expression and joined in jubilantly: “Your Majesty is truly Heaven’s chosen!”
Qin Feimang immediately knelt, as did the other courtiers, all exclaiming the same words together, elevating the Emperor’s delight for another five minutes. Only then did he calm slightly, still smiling, and asked Meng Xizhao: “During your capture, did you encounter any other strange events?”
Meng Xizhao replied: “Uh… no strange events, though there was one unusual thing.”
The Emperor, intrigued, asked: “Oh? What was it?”
Meng Xizhao answered: “The national treasure of Nanzhao. It’s said to be a heavenly stone, obtained centuries ago from a spirit by the nation’s greatest master during Nanzhao’s peak. Covered in inscrutable patterns, it possesses wondrous effects: just being near it doubles your spirit and vitality.”
The Emperor blinked: “Such a treasure exists?”
He turned to Qin Feimang: “Why wasn’t it presented earlier?”
Meng Xizhao hastened to explain: “It’s not anyone else’s fault… it was my own. After obtaining it, I toyed with it, but failed to hold it properly—the stone fell and broke a corner.”
The Emperor: “…”
Meng Xizhao’s expression immediately turned guilty: “I tried to remedy it, lingering a few more days, but seeing it was impossible to fix, I now take this opportunity to beg Your Majesty’s pardon. This is the second mistake I’ve made.”
A single drop breaking off proves the stone was fragile—hardly the marvel it was claimed to be. Fits perfectly with his preconceptions about Nanzhao.
The Emperor’s intense interest waned slightly. He recalled Meng Xizhao’s phrasing: second mistake—what was the first?
Ah, he had taken in a woman.
Hmm??
Suddenly, Emperor Tianshou sensed something amiss: “The woman you took in—also a person of misfortune—you saved her. That is a good deed. How can it be a mistake?”
Meng Xizhao looked even more guilty. “Please, Your Majesty, forgive me for my sins.”
Emperor Tianshou: “…”
He laughed at the thought. “You really overthink things. Very well, I forgive you. Now speak clearly!”
Meng Xizhao finally smiled, then replied: “Your Majesty may not know, but the woman’s background is truly tragic. The suffering she endured in the Nanzhao imperial palace was merely the tip of the iceberg. She herself is a convicted descendant of Qi—her father was Prefect Su, notorious for embezzling vast relief funds. This young lady is Prefect Su’s only daughter, Su Ruocun.”
The Emperor was momentarily taken aback. Normally, he would not remember a mid-level official from over ten years ago, but Prefect Su… he did recall him.
Hebei officials had petitioned collectively, accusing Su Wanjun of embezzling hundreds of thousands of taels of silver. Public outrage swept through Hebei; the people even raised banners claiming he was unfit to rule and deserved divine punishment.
It infuriated him. He had intended to execute Su Wanjun personally, but unexpectedly, Su Wanjun took his own life, leaving the matter unresolved and his anger unsated.
Still, it was all a decade past. Even with Empress Xie, Emperor Tianshou’s resentment had faded over the years—let alone for a mere prefect.
Now he understood why Meng Xizhao appeared so guilty. Qi had no slaves, but it did have convicted families. Such families were forbidden from leaving their assigned counties for three generations; only after three generations could they hope for pardon. Men and women alike were consigned to the hardest labor, their lives forfeit to fate, with no protection from officials.
Anyone daring to aid a convicted family faced eighty lashes and would join the ranks of the convicted.
Sigh.
The rules were strict. No matter his inclinations, the Emperor could not punish Meng Xizhao simply for sheltering a convicted woman. Su Wanjun had been dead for ten years; he left no sons. There was only this daughter, who had already suffered grievously. Making an exception to protect her was not impossible.
He only had one question: “And this Su Ruocun… did she truly possess such charm that she ensnared all of you, leaving you helpless?”
Meng Xizhao was startled and waved his hands frantically. “The one ensnared was Luo Mailong, not Your humble servant! And I am not ashamed, Your Majesty. Miss Su is like the bright moon in the heavens—pure, untouchable, and proud. Even the heads of Baohua Street could not sway her, let alone me. I harbored no impure thoughts, only wishing to secure her safely before sending her out of Yingtian Prefecture. Whether back to her hometown or given provisions, my only desire was for her to live well.”
The Emperor paused, sensing the emotion in his voice, and asked: “Does that mean she did not wish to live?”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly to himself and then recounted, with embellishment, the story of Su Ruocun and Gu Pingting.
Of course, in his retelling, their identities were swapped: one languished in the palace, weeping daily, while the other ran tirelessly, giving everything to rescue her companion. Fate, cruel as ever, struck three days before the Qi army’s arrival—Gu Pingting was discovered by Nanzhao guards and beaten to death outside the palace gates.
Even in her final moments, she struggled toward the palace, hoping to see her beloved one last time. Su Ruocun, just a wall away, remained oblivious; her final support in life was taken from her.
Not only did Emperor Tianshou feel moved, but Meng Xizhao himself nearly wept while narrating.
Though the story was fictional, the reality of being separated by life and death, relying on one another, walking alone—it was all true.
Even more tragic, one lay six feet under, while the other, incognito, abandoned herself to seek vengeance.
How heart-wrenching!
At the emotional climax, Meng Xizhao’s nose turned red. Emperor Tianshou, listening, felt his own heart ache: “A loyal maid, full of love and devotion. Such master-servant bonds—even I cannot help but be moved.”
Meng Xizhao nodded through tears, hiccupping as he continued to embellish, having already described Su Ruocun as the moon once, then twice more in private analogy.
The Emperor suspected nothing, mindful not to hint too much at once; even a fool could grasp the implication if overexposed.
Soon, Meng Xizhao steered the conversation back to the Crown Prince.
His point: the Crown Prince, bound by gratitude, leveraged the situation to pressure him. Meng Xizhao, loyal and kind-hearted, faced the dilemma. As the old saying goes, it’s difficult to reconcile loyalty and filial piety; here, replace filial piety with obligation—still impossible to fulfill both.
He stressed: no matter what, the Crown Prince saved his life. Though flawed, Meng Xizhao could not repudiate the one who saved him. Compelled by duty, he hesitated—but his heart remained with Emperor Tianshou.
Emperor Tianshou: “…”
Why did that sound so familiar?
It was as if he were hearing the same reassurances he once gave his consorts:
—When Young Consort was little, unable to leave me, I married her and must take responsibility. But virtuous Consort, do not worry. You and I, we are truly harmonious. I go to see her, yet my heart remains with you.
“….”
Indeed, the sense of déjà vu was strong.
The earlier small council had already drained the Emperor’s energy. Now, after watching Meng Xizhao’s tearful and joyful immersive performance multiple times, he was utterly fatigued. He waved his hand, instructing that the Nanzhao treasure be delivered, and that Meng Xizhao need not return again.
Meng Xizhao obediently stood, but did not immediately leave, hesitatingly asking: “Your Majesty… are you still angry with me?”
Emperor Tianshou: “…”
Answering simply yes or no would not settle Meng Xizhao’s mind. Instead, the Emperor, as he might with a consort, placated him with a tangible reward.
From the spoils transported from Nanzhao, the Emperor permitted Meng Xizhao to select three items to take home—so long as they were not the Emperor’s personal property. Whatever he desired, he could have.
Meng Xizhao immediately beamed, thanking him profusely. Only after he departed did Emperor Tianshou let out a quiet sigh.
He really did have a bit of a weak constitution—one could hardly tell whether that national treasure truly had any miraculous effect.
That day, the stone had been rather large, and Meng Xizhao hadn’t brought it inside himself, instead giving it to Qingfu to hold. At that moment, he found Qingfu outside the palace gate without pause, handed him the heavenly stone, and then, instead of seeking an audience with Emperor Tianshou again, he spoke a few polite words to the attendants outside the Kunyu Hall, requesting that Qin Feimang be summoned.
When Qin Feimang arrived before him, Meng Xizhao immediately presented the heavenly stone with utmost respect. As Qin Feimang accepted it, Meng Xizhao subtly affixed something to the bottom of the box.
Qin Feimang glanced aside and saw—it was a land deed, for a plot within the inner city.
No exaggeration, the value of this paper was fifty thousand taels of silver.
Qin Feimang smiled at Meng Xizhao: “Your humble servant has yet to offer congratulations—Chief Official Meng, your elevation is most deserved.”
With the money secured, even Qin Feimang humbly referred to himself as “your servant.”
Meng Xizhao’s face bloomed into a grin, waving his hands repeatedly: “Please, Great Official Qin, no need for such courtesy. In my heart, you are as close as an uncle. Family, how could we speak as strangers?”
Qin Feimang chuckled: “Ah, even brothers keep accounts straight. There are manners that must be observed.”
Meng Xizhao hastily cupped his hands: “Yes, yes, Great Official speaks rightly.”
With the formalities concluded, the old fox and the young fox drew a little closer. Meng Xizhao spoke of the matters he wished Qin Feimang to handle, then stepped back, bowed deeply once more, and only after Qin Feimang nodded did he turn to leave.
But Qin Feimang watched him go—he didn’t seem to be leaving the palace, but heading toward the Eastern Palace.
Qin Feimang maintained a polite smile, but inside, he felt a ripple of unease.
This Crown Prince, silent as he was, had gained Meng Xizhao’s support. With the Meng family united, and from the earlier collusion between Meng Jiuyu and his son, it was clear—they did not act separately.
So Meng Xizhao’s allegiance to the Crown Prince effectively meant the entire Meng clan aligned with him.
The emperor, focused only on whether Meng Xizhao might betray him, failed to notice that the movement of one man equated to the movement of a significant faction at court.
Moreover, Xie Yuan, being the Crown Prince’s cousin, had previously shared life and death with Meng Xizhao and remained his subordinate—their relationship was clearly not ordinary. And Zhan Buxiu, observing Meng Xizhao frequently in court, clearly had a relationship where words were not necessary.
Others might see these details as trivial, but Qin Feimang knew Meng Xizhao’s cunning—every seemingly inexplicable detail carried significant meaning.
As Emperor Tianshou’s most trusted eunuch, Qin Feimang was unwilling to meddle in the struggle for the throne.
Mainly because it was far too dangerous; one misstep, and he would be finished.
Even if he stayed completely uninvolved, his chances of a favorable outcome were slim to none.
A new emperor would always purge those loyal to the previous one first—and eunuchs close to the late emperor were always the first target.
Qin Feimang had originally thought he had lived long enough, earned enough wealth, and reached the limits of his position. The life of luxury had begun to tire him. He figured he might as well live day by day, and when his time came, descend to the Yellow Springs and continue serving the Grand Princess.
But when Meng Xizhao presented him with a painting, it soothed some of his lingering regrets. Moreover, it became clear that his future might not be as predetermined as he had assumed.
Lowering his gaze, Qin Feimang lightly touched the thin land deed.
Turning, he carried the heavenly stone back to the Kunyu Hall.
At that time, Meng Xizhao had already arrived at the Eastern Palace. This was his first time seeing the palace—it bore little difference from Emperor Tianshou’s residence, except in the details, which were more elegant and serene.
The number of people here was roughly half that outside, and most were busy outside the hall. The guards led Meng Xizhao inside, and upon hearing of his arrival, Cui Ye immediately set down his brush and hurried out.
Seeing Meng Xizhao, Cui Ye’s expression shifted slightly, betraying a hint of emotion he could not fully suppress.
Meng Xizhao stood calmly in place and smiled faintly.
Only then did Cui Ye regain composure, waving the guards away. He asked: “So, it’s done?”
Meng Xizhao could no longer restrain himself, smiling until his eyes narrowed: “It is done. Before you now stands the Crown Prince’s Director of Affairs, concurrently Chief Official of Yingtian Prefecture.”
Cui Ye froze: “Chief Official of Yingtian Prefecture?”
Hearing it for the first time, Meng Xizhao himself felt as if a pie had fallen from the sky. Yet on reflection, the post assigned by Emperor Tianshou was reasonable.
A compensatory position should neither be too high nor too low—third rank or senior fourth rank. Within third rank, the highest were scholars, which Meng Xizhao could never become. As for Vice Censor-in-Chief, he could not attain that either. If placed in the Censorate, what would stop them from colluding?
Emperor Tianshou had firmly decided not to let him enter the Three Departments or the Six Ministries. The only remaining choice was to make him Chief Official of Yingtian Prefecture.
At one time, Meng Xizhao had longed to serve in the Dali Court. Only three positions held comparable authority: Dali Court, the Imperial City Office, and Yingtian Prefecture.
The second was unattainable to him—he was neither eunuch nor guard. As for the third, he had self-awareness enough to know it was a hub for talent; he had never imagined it.
Truly, thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—who would have thought he would become the head of a place he never dared to dream of?
Meng Xizhao was extremely satisfied. Cui Ye, however, looked at him with some concern: “Yingtian Prefecture is immensely busy. Second Master, you’ll grow thin again.”
Meng Xizhao sat beside him and, hearing this, kissed Cui Ye’s cheek: “No matter how busy, I will always come to see my beautiful lady.”
Cui Ye pressed his lips together. He had never liked others complimenting his appearance—it felt invasive—but hearing Meng Xizhao say it, he felt shy in an endearing way.
As Cui Ye looked at him, about to draw closer for some intimacy, Meng Xizhao suddenly asked: “Where is Yudu Head? I don’t see him.”
Cui Ye: “…I don’t know either. Do you want to see him?”
Cui Ye subtly gave Meng Xizhao a look, silently saying: Right now, when it’s just the two of us, you want to summon an outsider?
Meng Xizhao blinked, fully acknowledging the hint with a decisive nod: “Yes, I want to see him. Go and fetch him quickly.”
Cui Ye: “……….”
Yu Fulan was training when called over, looking puzzled. But upon entering the hall and seeing the Crown Prince’s expressionless gaze, his heart skipped a beat—he thought he had said something wrong again.
…Yes, after realizing the true relationship between these two, the head of Yu family, Yu Fulan, painfully reflected on his past carelessness with his words. He resolved to practice silent meditation, determined not to speak unnecessarily until the Crown Prince forgot about it all.
While anxiously recalling what he might have said, a voice beside him made him notice that Meng Xizhao was also present.
“Yu Dutou, you and the commander of the Hall Guard—are you acquainted?”
Yu Fulan froze, hesitated for a moment, then replied: “Wen Shiji was once a subordinate of my father. I have met him, but we are not truly acquainted.”
Meng Xizhao made an “oh” sound.
Mention of the past stirred an indescribable expression on Yu Fulan’s face.
Yu Fulan’s father, Yu Nian, hailed from a proper Three Dukes, Nine Ministers family. Yu Nian had served as Crown Prince’s tutor in his teenage years.
He was Emperor Tianshou’s true childhood friend, but growing up together didn’t mean their feelings were close. Yu Nian disagreed with the emperor on many matters and respected the Empress greatly, so his relationship with Tianshou became increasingly indifferent.
After Tianshou ascended the throne, Yu Nian became the head of the Hall Guard. He carried out his duties formally, and the emperor, remembering their shared childhood, did not make things difficult. However, in the year the Crown Prince was appointed, Yu Nian frequently overstepped his authority to care for the unattended prince and reprimanded others. When reported to the emperor, he was dismissed, replaced by Wen Shiji, Yu Nian’s most trusted subordinate.
At that time, Yu Fulan was just over ten years old. He had once resented Wen Shiji for this, only later realizing it wasn’t Wen Shiji’s doing. The emperor had promoted him simply to vex Yu Nian, but eventually recognized Wen Shiji’s competence and kept him in his post.
Yu Fulan had only just reconciled quietly with Wen Shiji when he discovered something else.
This Wen Shiji… was a diehard loyalist to Emperor Tianshou.
He was strong in combat, excellent at his duties, yet utterly consumed by loyalty. Unlike Grand Tutor Gan, who harbored personal motives toward the emperor, Commander Wen had none—he was unconditionally devoted.
…Yu Fulan found this even harder to accept than betrayal of his own father.
He could not stand the man, finding even mention of him unlucky. And now Meng Xizhao said: “Then you should catch up with him a bit.”
Yu Fulan gaped: “Why me?!”
Meng Xizhao: “Because only you have a connection with him. If I go, with no past bond, why would he pay attention to me? After all, he’s the head of the Hall Guard, commanding a hundred thousand palace troops. Some interaction can’t hurt.”
Yu Fulan: “…Sir Meng, could you send someone else? I also have past ties with the deputy commander—his wife is my grandmother’s niece.”
Meng Xizhao coldly shook his head: “No, if you’re going to visit, visit the principal. The deputy is irrelevant.”
Yu Fulan wanted to argue further, but at that moment the Crown Prince lifted his eyelids and looked at him.
Yu Fulan shivered, immediately responding: “Yes, subordinate will comply.”
Meng Xizhao raised an eyebrow as Yu Fulan left, his expression sour. At last, with no outsiders present, the Crown Prince sat down, massaging the reddened corner of his eye from his earlier feigned crying, and asked: “Why did you have him visit Wen Shiji?”
Meng Xizhao, feeling a bit lazy, reclined backward, immediately caught in Cui Ye’s embrace.
He smiled lightly: “I don’t know myself. Just being prudent. One never knows when this person might come in handy.”