Qiu Suming arrived at the Grand Tutor’s residence, complaining in a flurry: the central message was simple—he must go to the emperor and ensure the decree to confer a title upon Su Ruocun was rescinded!
Grand Tutor Gan: “…………”
The past incident had been Qiu Suming’s fault. Gan, stationed in Ying Tian Prefecture, knew nothing of the details; this was his first time hearing the name Su Ruocun.
Had the Crown Prince not intervened personally, Gan would certainly have helped, considering Qiu Suming was his most capable son-in-law.
However… the moment he finished speaking to the Crown Prince, claiming he had caught a chill and would see no visitors for seven days, Qiu Suming had already gone to the palace to meet the emperor. The Crown Prince would, of course, find a way to inform the emperor.
Fooling the Crown Prince was minor; fooling the emperor by pretending to be ill, just to avoid a meeting, could create serious complications.
Gan had used this tactic before: whenever the emperor did something displeasing, he feigned illness. When the emperor came to check on him, he’d lie in bed, quietly weeping, claiming he had dreamed of his deceased little daughter.
The emperor had many faults, but his poor judgment of character was almost a virtue in this case.
…
Still, poor judgment meant only that his eyesight for others was weak. If someone pressed him, he could usually figure things out.
No, no—he could not risk dropping a large watermelon just to pick up a tiny sesame seed.
Having decided on a course of action, Grand Tutor Gan advised Qiu Suming: “She is merely a drifting, fallen woman. Her parents are dead, she has no other relatives; even if she enters the palace, how could she affect you? Suming, I have warned you before—you are no longer young, so why cling to stubborn caution? Not even ten women like Su Ruocun could shake your position.”
Qiu Suming: “…But she is Su Wanjun’s daughter!”
“And? Lin Xianfei was Lin Qin’s daughter—where is she now? Where is Lin Qin?”
Qiu Suming: “…………”
He still felt uneasy. “But the emperor does not favor Lin Xianfei. Today, I saw… he seems to favor Su Ruocun greatly.”
Gan stroked his beard and chuckled. “A mere fourth-rank Jieyu, even if he likes her? Have you forgotten Chuzhao Rong in the eleventh year of Tian Shou?”
Qiu Suming paused, recalling vaguely. This Chuzhao Rong was…
A commoner girl from a respectable family, sold to the state’s entertainment quarters for training as a singer or dancer due to her appearance. How the emperor happened to see her and favor her so quickly, none could say—but upon seeing her, he immediately bestowed the title Zhaorong, her rank just below the fourth concubine, causing unease among all, fearing a repeat of Concubine Gan.
After her conferral, Chuzhao Rong vanished entirely. If not for occasional appearances during New Year celebrations with other consorts, people would have assumed she was dead.
Seeing Qiu Suming’s expression change with comprehension, Gan said calmly, “There is only one Yue Niang in this world. No other woman, even if she enters His Majesty’s eyes, will ever enter his heart. You are Yue Niang’s brother-in-law; by that alone, no one can threaten you. So, what is there to fear?”
Qiu Suming blinked. The great weight in his heart finally lifted.
Indeed, over the years, he had observed closely how Grand Tutor Gan had used Gan Jingyue to bend the emperor completely to his will. He had always believed utterly in the emperor’s obsessive devotion to Gan Jingyue.
Instantly, he smiled—but not for long. His face darkened again, replaced by anger.
“The Meng brat… what a nuisance! I must teach him a lesson. If there is any way the Grand Tutor can assist, I will gladly accept your help, father-in-law.”
Grand Tutor Gan naturally agreed. After resolving the matter, he offered Qiu Suming a meal, but Qiu, anxious to return and take charge of his household, politely declined.
Once Qiu Suming left, Gan set down his hands, mottled with age spots, and his expression softened slightly.
After all, Qiu Suming was just his son-in-law. If he didn’t even worry much about his own daughter, why would he care specially for his son-in-law?
Their apparent harmony was only because Qiu Suming was exceptionally capable of managing wealth, and Gan, in Ying Tian Prefecture, could always back him up. But if something truly beyond his control happened, there was nothing he could do.
Still, nothing of that sort should occur.
Gan reassured himself. While Qiu Suming’s punishment caused a slight unease, there were far more pressing matters. Qiu Suming’s situation hardly ranked among them.
So he quickly put the matter out of his mind and turned his attention to the Crown Prince, the Sixth Prince, and the Tian Shou Emperor.
The Crown Prince was ambitious, the Sixth Prince arrogant, and the emperor, unwilling to honor past promises, delayed repeatedly—yet even showed signs of softening toward the Crown Prince.
Foolish! Did he really think that, compared to the Sixth Prince, the Crown Prince was easier to manipulate?
Ha! His grandson, he knew, was arrogant but the Sixth Prince was truly reckless and utterly loyal to the emperor. It was his own doing—over the years, he had indoctrinated the Sixth Prince with the notion that the heir must share his ideology, causing the prince to grow twisted. Now, the prince firmly believed the Crown Prince was the target, and the emperor’s true affection for him would eventually elevate him, despite his current position.
At just over ten years old, the young lord spoke freely. The Sixth Prince, outwardly polite to other princes, princesses, and officials, subtly projected the air of a future emperor. Yet the more he did so, the more the emperor distanced himself. At the Dragon Boat Festival feast this year, the Sixth Prince instinctively tried to sit beside the emperor, only to be sent down.
And yet he remained blissfully unaware, believing he had somehow offended the emperor.
Gan: “…………”
Impossible to control—one, two… they simply couldn’t be handled.
Truly frustrating.
…
＊
For a sixth-rank consort, the investiture ceremony was simple: a senior eunuch carried the emperor’s decree, read it aloud, and distributed a few rewards.
Though the palace was said to hold three thousand beauties, only a little over a hundred held official ranks. Among them, the title of Guiren (noble lady) was the most numerous, thirty-six in total. With so many, their rank wasn’t considered especially valuable, nor worthy of a formal investiture ceremony by the emperor.
But Jieyu (fourth-rank consort) was different.
The hierarchy went: first-rank—empress; second-rank—four principal consorts; third-rank—nine pin (Zhaorong, Zhaoyi, etc.); fourth-rank—nine Jieyu. Below Jieyu were the lesser consorts and palace ladies without official rank. Jieyu formed a dividing line: above were high-ranking consorts, below were low-ranking.
Contrary to palace drama clichés, in Daqi, the path from lowest consort to highest did not hold. A low-ranking consort could at most become a Jieyu, while high-ranking consorts, if alive, would almost always reach the rank of pin.
As for the empress—most were directly married in, rarely rising from concubine status. For Su Ruocun, this path was impossible. No matter how well she acted, the emperor would never be so enamored as to marry her as empress.
Her only path: first become a high-ranking consort, then continue striving upward.
During her investiture, Su Ruocun followed the palace ladies’ instructions while thinking to herself: “Lord Meng is truly formidable. He played such a risky move and yet succeeded, letting a woman of criminal record become a high-ranking consort openly.”
Su Ruocun approached the emperor. The heavy consort robes covered her hands; she lowered her head and paid respect.
The emperor, smiling at her, helped her rise as she bent her knees and kowtowed. Having overseen countless investitures, he had grown weary of the ritual. Eager for it to end, he held Su Ruocun as they walked out. Along the way, he asked, “Beloved, can you sing?”
Shaking her head, Su Ruocun replied, “Your servant cannot sing, only compose poetry. But for Your Majesty, I will learn anything.”
The emperor encouraged her immediately: “Good, I shall assign the best singing instructors to teach you!”
Su Ruocun blushed and smiled shyly, like a newlywed. Once the emperor looked away, she quietly glanced back at the palace chamber for consort investitures.
Lord Meng had helped her reach this point; now, she had to rely on herself.
Looking at the closed doors, she smiled faintly. She knew she would return here again soon.
＊
The investiture was held on the fifth day of the seventh month. Six days had passed since Qiu Suming and Meng Xizhao’s quarrel at court.
During this time, the emperor had not held court, and Meng Xizhao had no need to attend the palace, spending every day in his office instead.
But this did not mean his feud with Qiu Suming had ended—the household steward remained detained under his authority.
…
The entire office marveled at Meng Xizhao’s intact return that day. Yet the next moment left them even more astonished.
Meng Xizhao stormed the council hall, declaring himself completely blameless. Clearly, it was Qiu Suming who had acted recklessly, yet the emperor had punished his father with a year’s salary deduction. Of course, the emperor was wise and just; whatever he said or did was correct. His father could not be at fault.
It was Qiu Suming!
Twisting the truth, reversing right and wrong—he had meant well, ready to release the men, yet was backstabbed and even reprimanded by the emperor. If not for Qiu Suming, how could he have ended up in such a situation?
So, he would release no one! Qiu Suming said he came to take charge of the household? Fine—then he wouldn’t come at all. That steward, and all the thugs and household guards—every single one—would be dealt with according to Daqi law: imprisoned for the time being, to be formally punished in autumn, and eventually exiled to Nanzhao.
…Nanzhao had just been reclaimed, but the naming of territories was still under discussion; formal regulations would come later. Meng Xizhao didn’t care what names the lands took—he just wanted those people sent there.
After their return, war reports and updates from Nanzhao kept coming. Among the Nanzhao people, some fled after hearing that Rosa Hua had escaped; the stubborn ones were killed outright; and those who surrendered in order to live remained in their original cities.
Except for the cities originally seized by Nanzhao, the rest had been under their rule for nearly three centuries. Daqi’s takeover was no simple task. Even Meng Xizhao could not think of an instant solution.
Only time could gradually dissolve the deep hatred between the two peoples and allow them to find a way to coexist.
That, however, was beyond Meng Xizhao. The court officials would worry over it. After recapturing the territory, some inevitable conflicts would erupt. Aside from suppression, there was no other way. Once the Nanzhao people accepted their fate, and the Daqi officials established a foothold, he could offer advice, helping them shift focus from vengeance to rebuilding daily life.
But this was a slow process—measured in decades.
That chubby steward probably wouldn’t last that long.
Meng Xizhao had a ten-year horizon in mind, but in others’ eyes, his actions seemed like a deliberate push toward the steward and guards’ deaths. Could Qiu Suming watch silently? Of course not—but he also couldn’t make a scene at the office; that would be disgraceful and ungraceful.
So he chose another approach: “You, Meng Xizhao, are determined to oppose me? Fine, then I’ll oppose your whole family.”
…
During this time, Meng Xizhao remained busy, but life was surprisingly smooth. The staff, witnessing his decisive measures and seeing him survive after angering Qiu Suming, became utterly respectful and dared not act rashly.
Meanwhile, Meng Jiuyu had the misfortune of being caught in the crossfire: first, inexplicably docked a year’s salary; then, at the palace, constantly targeted by Qiu Suming, both overtly and covertly.
Even his wife’s shop suffered under the weight of the Qiu family’s business pressure.
Could he tolerate this???
Meng Jiuyu immediately rolled up his sleeves and fought back, intercepting Qiu Suming’s requisition for transferred grain—he kept it, neither sending nor returning it, letting it lie on the corner of the desk like trash.
Qiu Suming, upon hearing this: “…………”
Otherwise, why would Grand Tutor Gan have endured such a bitter grievance?
Gan didn’t care for his own daughter, but he cared for his mother. When she had been insulted by the vile Li Tingxin, he had wanted revenge. Yet back then, Meng Jiuyu wasn’t yet Vice Minister; he had been tangled up and faced head-on resistance, enough to make him relent. The Meng family had few members—what was a few lives in the end? But the Gan family was large; he couldn’t risk it. So he had to stop and never mention it again.
Back then, Meng Jiuyu had been this wild. Now, as Vice Minister, how much wilder would he be?
Thus, when Qiu Suming asked Gan for help, Gan merely lent symbolic support—having two juniors stand behind Qiu Suming to bolster his presence—while he himself continued claiming illness. The seven-day excuse was still usable.
…
Soon, the court realized that the Three Departments’ Commissioner and Vice Minister Meng were at odds. As a result, the Commissioner refused to leave Ying Tian Prefecture, scheming on ways to oppose the Mengs.
Meng Jiuyu was naturally the main force countering Qiu Suming. When Lady Meng noticed her shop being targeted, she was initially puzzled. Meng Xizhao, busy handling the office’s affairs from early to late, had his elder brother explain the situation to her.
Lady Meng finally understood. Though she did nothing that day, the next morning she sent her shop manager, accompanied by a group of strong men, to smash the Qiu family’s most profitable gold building.
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
After all these years, I still can’t match my wife’s boldness.
This almost made Qiu Suming vomit blood.
Why? Because normally, he would report the matter to officials, having the office deal with it. But now he couldn’t—the office was under the control of that damned Meng Xizhao.
Fortunately, he could still seek the Supreme Court. Qiu Suming sent men to Dali Temple, intending to have them intervene.
The Dali Temple Minister remained Jiao Liguang, but the Commissioner’s men never saw him; they were received by a Junior Minister.
After hearing the full story, the Junior Minister nodded and said, “Please inform Lord Qiu that I will handle this impartially and apprehend this group of criminals as soon as possible.”
Pleased with this assurance, Qiu Suming expected the culprits to be caught that very day. Yet three days passed with no news.
He sent men to inquire again, and the Junior Minister, stern-faced, replied, “I am still searching. Please allow me more time, Lord Qiu.”
Qiu Suming: “……”
What was there to search for? They were right there, inside the Meng family’s shop!
Qiu Suming’s veins bulged on his forehead. It wasn’t until his second steward went to inquire that he learned the Junior Minister’s name was Xie You, the elder brother of Empress Xie.
“……”
Immediately, his anger was stifled.
Given the relationship between Empress Xie and Consort Gan, it was perfectly normal that Xie You wouldn’t take action for him. And he didn’t dare go confront him—no matter how much the emperor disliked Empress Xie, the Xie family was not something he could casually undermine.
The Supreme Court was a dead end. Qiu Suming didn’t give up; he turned to the Imperial City Office.
Although the Imperial City Office served the emperor, princes and nobility could approach them too.
There shouldn’t be any Xie or Meng family members inside. Qiu Suming thought this time there would be no problem.
And he didn’t send an envoy this time—he went personally to see the Deputy Director of the office. Wan Huaixin, upon hearing of his arrival, greeted him with a radiant smile.
He knew Qiu Suming was wealthy—not just wealthy, but a major client approaching!
However, once Wan Huaixin heard Qiu Suming’s request, his smile froze instantly.
Hearing the name Meng Xizhao brought back memories of those two solid slaps…
Now, Wan Huaixin had a psychological shadow. He feared apprehending someone from Meng Xizhao’s family would draw Meng Xizhao himself—and if Meng Xizhao got angry, he might deliver two more slaps.
Cough, cough—forget it. He was already fat enough; no need to pretend bigger.
He politely refused Qiu Suming’s request. Even at the sight of silver, he remained unmoved. When Qiu Suming left the Imperial City Office, he was left thoroughly bewildered.
How long had he been away from Ying Tian Prefecture?
Why did it seem that now everyone dared not offend Meng Xizhao?!
…
＊
On the fifth day of the seventh lunar month, all officials had a day off to spend the festival with their wives and daughters.
Because of the incidents Meng Xizhao had stirred up, Lady Meng had been busy with commercial battles and wasn’t as strict with Meng Jiaojiao. For the first time in years, she allowed her daughter to go celebrate the Qiqiao Festival at another household.
Where could Meng Jiaojiao go? Naturally, to the Zhan family.
With his younger sister out for the festival, his mother engaged in battles outside, and his elder brother accompanying his elder sister-in-law, Meng Xizhao was alone. Though the festival wasn’t prepared for him, he didn’t want to be idle, so early that morning, he went to the Eastern Palace.
He could afford to stay longer today; everyone was busy preparing for the festival anyway. The Qiqiao Festival was also the day the emperor first met Consort Gan, so Meng Xizhao locked himself in his room all day, ensuring no one had to worry about his sudden whims or visits to his ministers and sons.
…
Outside, the streets were alive with reds and greens, festive as ever. The Eastern Palace, however, was quietly empty, vast and echoing.
Staring at the pool below, Meng Xizhao’s expression was tense.
Cui Ye stood silently beside him, watching for a moment before glancing at Meng Xizhao.
Seeing him remain unmoving, Cui Ye turned back. A short while later, unable to resist, he looked again.
“…Second Master, if you can’t do it, perhaps we should go back.”
How could a man hear someone say he couldn’t do it?
Meng Xizhao immediately snapped his head up. “Who said I can’t?! I can, I definitely can!”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He stifled a laugh. “So, are you going in the water?”
The pool had long been in the Eastern Palace. Though intended for bathing, it was enormous—roughly a quarter the size of an indoor swimming pool. Small for learning to swim, but sufficient for overcoming a fear of water and attempting to float.
This idea had come from Meng Xizhao himself; he had insisted on practicing. Yet, with the water ready, he stood frozen at the edge of the pool.
He knew he looked ridiculous, but fear wasn’t something easily overcome.
He gripped his fingers tightly. “Wait a moment.”
He needed time to prepare mentally.
Cui Ye didn’t rush him, merely standing there patiently.
After a while, Cui Ye, staring at the water’s gentle ripples, asked, “What if I go in with you?”
Meng Xizhao paused. Their eyes met, and Cui Ye smiled lightly, asking, “Would it be better with me by your side?”