Meng Xizhao spoke unceasingly, just as the emperor had anticipated—all to throw the Three Commissioner into trouble.
This was nothing unusual. The feud between their two families had already spread to neighboring villages; had Meng Xizhao pleaded for Qiu Suming, people would have been utterly confused.
The emperor, shocked by the “ten years of treasury revenue,” twisted his thoughts in several turns. When he came to his senses, he realized that every word Meng Xizhao spoke pressed him to punish the Three Commissioner—confiscate his property, execute him, exile the entire clan. At times of Meng Xizhao’s gloating, he even requested to personally oversee the confiscations.
Emperor Tian Shou: “…………”
It was as obvious as day—everyone could see Meng Xizhao’s intentions.
Of course, the emperor didn’t give him a friendly expression. Halfway through, he had him thrown out. When Su Ruocun returned carrying the sweet dessert, Tian Shou’s face was still dark—but he didn’t take it out on her. Instead, he ate more than half of the dessert, spoonful by spoonful.
Su Ruocun didn’t mention anything else; she focused entirely on serving him. Seeing her so obedient, the emperor’s anger eased slightly.
But that was only during the day.
At night, with no interest in other matters, he sent Su Ruocun back and lay alone in bed. His mind, like a broken record, kept repeating one thought:
Ten years of treasury revenue…
Ten years of treasury revenue…
Actually, the Daqi treasury was still quite full. Earlier in the year, they had purchased a large amount of supplies from the Xiongnu. Since he didn’t need them himself, the Ministry of Revenue redistributed the goods to several imperial merchants, who sold them to the people. For example, beef and mutton—almost every tavern in Yingtian Prefecture advertised “Xiongnu Beef,” claiming it enhanced strength.
The empire didn’t forbid people from eating beef, but it was still extremely expensive, even seven or eight times more than pork. The Xiongnu didn’t farm; they raised cattle solely for meat. Their prices were much lower than Daqi’s, but merchants made profits by selling them domestically at higher prices—sometimes even more expensive than local beef due to transport costs.
Technically, the court could intervene—but, ironically, the court itself was the biggest supplier. Why would they reduce prices voluntarily?
Selling cattle and sheep brought in one profit, plundering Nanzhao’s palace brought another. Meng Xizhao had proposed demanding ransom from the Nanzhao emperor; the entire court agreed it was brilliant, drafted an extortion letter, and planned to have Ding Chun deliver it to the remaining Nanzhao forces. Once the letter reached Rosa Hua, it would generate yet another windfall.
All these sums combined had the Minister of Revenue practically bursting with joy. This was probably the richest year since Tian Shou’s ascension!
But… with so much money, the emperor began to entertain other thoughts.
For instance, Dali—mountainous, scenic, talented, and fertile—was home to more immortals than Nanzhao.
Previously, he wouldn’t have considered this. But now, after a victorious war and a full treasury, he almost wished to send Zhan Shenyu’s son to continue campaigns. He knew no one would support this idea.
Dali backing Tibet, endless warfare, suffering people… I don’t care. I should strike while the iron is hot, expand the territory, and cement my legacy as a lasting emperor.
He reasoned: as long as the supplies were ready, competent generals appointed, and farmers recruited as auxiliary troops, all preparations were in place.
“What if we lose?” he thought. Then it’s the general’s fault—replace him with someone capable.
Of course, for now, these were just thoughts. Experienced as he was, he knew patience was necessary. At the very least, the Nanzhao campaign needed to conclude before considering Dali.
Yet he could start preparations immediately.
Ten years… Qiu Suming alone equaled ten Daqi treasuries. How could he not be tempted?
Still, Qiu Suming had served him loyally for so many years. Honestly, Tian Shou felt a pang of reluctance at the thought of moving against him.
Anxious, irritated, and greedy all at once, he lay awake, unable to sleep. Habitually, he reached for the celestial stone beside his pillow and fiddled with it.
The stone was truly remarkable. Initially dormant, it now enhanced his vitality immensely. The effect was so strong that, even past midnight, he had no desire to close his eyes.
The first day passed without incident. Only Emperor Tian Shou remained awake complaining about his insomnia. Meanwhile, across the city, almost every high-ranking official stayed up, studying by lamplight, preparing for the next day’s political battles.
The next day was a regular court session. Civil and military officials were expected to attend. Even without court, Yan Shunying wouldn’t stay home quietly; when he appeared, he had to secure advantages for his faction.
Tian Shou knew he couldn’t skip court today. His energy was high, and he didn’t resist attending. Moreover, he was curious to see what the ministers would argue, hoping a decision—whether release or punishment—would emerge. Leaving Qiu Suming in prison indefinitely would be useless.
Thus, the court erupted in heated debate over whether the Three Commissioner was guilty and how he should be judged.
The main combatants were Yan Shunying, Meng Jiuyu, and Grand Tutor Gan, each rallying their own faction.
Meng Xizhao was present but barely spoke. Instead, his father and elder brother argued fiercely, particularly the elder brother, who was passionate and eloquent, painting Qiu Suming as though he had stolen from their own household.
At the height of his speech, he pointed fingers at heaven and earth, declaring Qiu Suming the greatest corrupt official since the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.
Grand Tutor Gan’s heart ached at Meng Xizhao’s audacity.
Are you really such a righteous man?
Meng Xizhao noticed Gan’s angry gaze but didn’t flinch, standing tall as if to say: I’m not wrong.
He hated corrupt officials! Why, he thought, did he earn nothing at the Qing Shui office, while Qiu Suming casually amassed hundreds of thousands of taels in one move?!
“I can’t pocket the money, so neither can you! Spit it out—everything, now!!”
…
If Meng Xizhao had known his elder brother’s fury stemmed from this, he might have spewed blood on the spot. But since he didn’t, though puzzled, he mostly felt a sense of satisfaction.
After this incident, his elder brother’s reputation as an upright official was likely cemented.
Not easy at all—finally, someone in the Meng family earned a good name in officialdom.
While speaking, Lord Yan even brought up Wang Yizheng, who was currently detained in the Ministry of Justice prison. Since Meng Jiuyu had made a scene, the ministry staff didn’t dare act against him—they simply held him in confinement. His official papers had been confiscated, but it didn’t matter; Yan Shunying had his people in the ministry, and he reported the situation to Emperor Tian Shou, implicating the Minister of Justice as well.
The minister, unable to earn money for the emperor, drew no favor. Hearing that he had acted improperly for personal gain, Tian Shou didn’t even spare a glance—he waved his hand and ordered the guards to drag him out.
No more official hat for him.
Grand Tutor Gan watched this unfold, a chill creeping up his spine.
From yesterday to today, the emperor’s attitude toward him had remained close and familiar. He even reminded Gan not to speak to Qiu Suming, showing he bore no grudge against him.
But that was all. Yesterday, Tian Shou still seemed to hesitate over protecting Qiu Suming; today, he remained silent, pretending not to hear.
What did this mean? Tian Shou’s thoughts had shifted.
Gan didn’t understand why. By all rights, Qiu Suming was indispensable to the emperor—there was no reason he would be questioned!
Meng Xizhao watched his own actions carefully. Occasionally, he glanced at Grand Tutor Gan, seeing his face a mixture of shock and confusion. He chuckled quietly before lowering his eyes again.
The Crown Prince, standing above, caught Meng Xizhao’s slyly triumphant expression and couldn’t help the faintest curl of his lips.
…
The emperor’s stance was a signal. Initially, only half the court condemned Qiu Suming. Today, observing Tian Shou’s apparent lack of protection, another quarter of officials switched sides to join the condemnation.
The remaining quarter split evenly: half were loyalists of Gan and Qiu, the other half seasoned officials who never expressed opinions, regardless of circumstances.
The tide had turned; nearly everyone was against him. Qiu Suming had no hope of redemption.
The accusations poured forth: from exploiting rural villages, to heavy taxation, then allowing retainers to commit violence, forcibly seizing wealthy estates, meddling with marriage arrangements, helping subordinates commit financial ruin, and even framing subordinates in literary cases—all for the sake of family heirlooms… and more.
Meng Xizhao was astonished. It turned out evidence wasn’t lacking; it had been concealed. So long as the Three Commissioner remained unpunished, everyone pretended ignorance. But now, with him caught, the full extent of his misdeeds spilled out.
Emperor Tian Shou’s face darkened as he listened.
He knew Qiu Suming was corrupt, but he had no idea that, behind the scenes, he ruled like a petty tyrant. Seeing all these messes—especially the meddling with marriage arrangements, which the emperor detested most of all—infuriated him.
In an instant, Tian Shou stripped Qiu Suming of his position as Three Commissioner, his title as Duke, and numerous honorary offices. He threw down the decree with force: “Execution after the autumn harvest!” Then he swept from the hall.
He left with righteous indignation, yet with such swiftness—whether from anger or fear of intercession—no one could say.
With his departure, the hall fell silent. Led by Lord Yan, everyone knelt in unison, shouting: “His Majesty is enlightened!”
Grand Tutor Gan did not kneel. He hurried after the emperor, his aged legs straining. Seeing this, Yan Shunying was furious.
Think you can petition the emperor to reverse the decree? Not a chance!
Still, he knew that with “execution after the autumn harvest,” there was room for maneuver. Given time, Gan might exploit a loophole, reminding the emperor of Qiu Suming’s past merits—perhaps eventually nullifying the sentence.
Lord Yan rose to discuss further plans with his loyalists, while Meng Xizhao stayed, waiting for his father to join him before returning home together.
As he waited, he glanced up and met the Crown Prince’s gaze. The prince offered the faintest smile, then turned toward the rear hall.
Meng Xizhao felt reassured, lowered his eyes, and was lost in thought when a hand tapped his shoulder.
Turning, he saw his elder brother—exuberant and triumphant that day—say, “What are you staring at? Let’s go, back to the mansion.”
＊
Meanwhile, Qiu Suming sat in the Ministry of Justice prison, just a few cells away from Wang Yizheng. Though the Minister of Justice was his man and he had a single-cell arrangement with all necessary items, his heart raced.
Why? Because the emperor had genuinely imprisoned him!
Qiu Suming had only ever sent others to jail; he had never been confined himself. High and mighty for so long, this was his first real panic.
Especially as no emissary from Grand Tutor Gan came to brief him, his anxiety worsened.
Time in the cell was meaningless; he had no sense of the hour. Suddenly, the guards’ treatment stiffened—they no longer bowed or nodded. Even when he called, they responded with blank expressions, performing their duties without connection.
Qiu Suming panicked, commanding the jailers to fetch his family, promising gold and silver. The jailer shrugged, unwilling to take such a perilous task. Frustrated and fearful, Qiu Suming scowled, attempting to assert his authority as Three Commissioner—but with no effect.
The jailer, seeing this, no longer held back: “What do you need your family for? To collect your body? We’re here to do proper work—we don’t touch your bribes. Besides, your money burns hot in my hands; I’d be afraid that if your household gets ransacked later, the clerk will come asking me to return it!”
Qiu Suming was completely dumbfounded. Seeing his reaction, the jailer felt a rare sense of satisfaction. On his way back, he passed Wang Yizheng’s cell. Remembering the instructions from above, he guessed this man would soon be released, so he offered him a couple of reminders and asked if he was hungry or thirsty, telling him to speak up if he needed anything.
Wang Yizheng didn’t dare trouble him and declined politely. Once the jailer left, he quietly moved to the eastern side, gripping the wooden bars, straining to see Qiu Suming’s cell.
He couldn’t see him, but he could hear him.
Finally, Qiu Suming reacted, wildly shaking the bars and screaming for Grand Tutor Gan, demanding to see his family—but the jailer no longer came.
Wang Yizheng felt a pang of unease and instinctively stepped back a few paces.
He sensed that the Three Commissioner’s current state was, in some way, because of him. Yet, looking at the complaint documents, every word dripped with blood and tears. Each line was shocking; though plain in language, it left a lasting impression.
It wasn’t him—it was Qiu Suming himself who had led to this disaster.
With that realization, Wang Yizheng calmed a little. He also let Qiu Suming’s desperate shouting serve as a cautionary bell for himself.
When he eventually became a county magistrate, he must not be greedy. A small gift from a wealthy citizen was enough; the people’s money, he would not touch—otherwise, he feared Meng Xizhao might dig a pit and bury him too.
…
Some time later, Qiu Suming, leaning against the wall, accidentally fell asleep. A voice roused him, and upon waking, he saw his second steward, eyes brimming with tears.
Qiu Suming’s heart sank at the sight.
Second Steward: “Master, His Majesty is truly enraged. You’ve been demoted to commoner, your estates confiscated. Your wife, sons, and ladies-in-waiting are all imprisoned, slated for exile. As for you… you…”
Qiu Suming shouted: “Speak quickly!”
The steward, grief-stricken, continued: “You’ve been sentenced to the noose. In six days, the execution will be carried out outside Donghua Gate.”
July had yet to pass, and the weather remained sweltering, but Qiu Suming felt as if he were plunged into an ice pit, every ounce of warmth gone.
He muttered: “Impossible… the emperor cannot be so heartless toward me…”
The steward wiped his tears and said bitterly: “Originally, the Grand Tutor had interceded to save you from death. But… but the Crown Prince, for reasons unknown, brought up your embezzlement of disaster relief funds long ago and requested an investigation. Lord Yan and the others, who had long scrutinized your misdeeds, were only too happy to cooperate. That matter… that matter could not withstand inquiry. When His Majesty discovered all the funds were embezzled by you, not Su Wanjun, he immediately ordered your execution. Now, he won’t even see the Grand Tutor…”
The steward’s grief was overwhelming. If Qiu Suming died, he too would likely meet a terrible fate. Today, he was there to see his master one last time; whether he himself could survive, he could not know.
He cried inconsolably, thinking the Crown Prince’s interference was for show, to curry favor with Lord Yan. For now, Lord Yan’s closeness with the prince had increased slightly, and they celebrated, unaware that one day they too might suffer the same fate as their master.
All he could do was cry, while Qiu Suming stared blankly, absorbing the words, feeling a sudden, inevitable finality.
From the moment he heard the name Su Ruocun, unease had filled him. Now, all his fears were confirmed.
The Crown Prince? It was clearly that wretched Su Ruocun, setting him up from behind!
To die by that woman’s hand… he could not accept it!
He seized the second steward’s hand, as if clinging to the last lifeline, demanding that all his remaining wealth be sent immediately to Grand Tutor Gan’s residence. The confiscation of his estates hadn’t yet occurred—there was still a chance. Now, the only one who could save him was Gan.
Seeing his master like this, the steward panicked, then slowly resigned to helplessness.
What Qiu Suming didn’t know was that not only would the emperor no longer see Gan, but Gan, realizing the emperor would not meet him, had feigned illness and refused all visitors. The steward, having served Qiu Suming for years, knew to appeal to Gan—but Gan refused!
When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter. Never had the steward so painfully understood those words.
In times of need, Qiu Suming had been Three Commissioner, the emperor’s closest son-in-law. In times of misfortune, he became a criminal, untouchable, a stinking carcass.
The steward’s heart ached, but he nodded, sparing his master the cruel truth, preserving a sliver of hope while he still lived.
…
Anger had accumulated bit by bit, and hints of treachery had grown gradually. Since Su Ruocun entered the palace, the Su family’s affairs were already noted by Emperor Tian Shou. He knew there was a problem, though he never outwardly showed anger. Yet, now that Qiu Suming was no longer his favored minister, what reason did he have to shield him?
Moreover, he considered himself a victim too. He had known something was amiss but hadn’t realized that all one million nine hundred fifty thousand taels were embezzled solely by Qiu Suming.
Upon discovering the truth, he immediately ordered Qiu Suming’s execution, even parading him out past Donghua Gate, where the citizens could witness the punishment of a corrupt official. Surely, they would be satisfied.
Tian Shou’s strategy was meticulous—but from the very thoroughness of his actions, it was clear he also felt a pang of guilt.
He had no concern for the suffering of the people. Su Wanjun had been wrongfully executed, yet he could not simply smile heartlessly and move on.
After all, he knew Su Wanjun, and he had married Su Wanjun’s daughter. This person was far too close to him, and he feared that Su Wanjun’s restless spirit might not let him go.
Because of this, he didn’t even want to see Su Ruocun—but she had sought him out herself.
Upon entering, she knelt at his feet, weeping silently in the most humble posture. Startled, he bent down to lift her, and she immediately pressed herself tightly against Emperor Tian Shou, holding him as if she were embracing her entire world.
She sobbed uncontrollably, speaking only words of gratitude: “Thank you, Your Majesty, for clearing my father’s name. Thank you for giving Ruocun the chance to live honorably. Father has not failed Your Majesty’s expectations… it’s truly wonderful… truly wonderful…”
Emperor Tian Shou: “…”
At that moment, he could not help but be moved.
He could barely recall what Su Wanjun had been like, yet Su Ruocun gave him the illusion that her father’s loyalty and trust were embodied in her. Even facing death, that loyalty and trust remained unshakable.
That was how this father-daughter pair was.
Deeply touched, Emperor Tian Shou immediately issued another decree: exhume Su Wanjun from the shabby grave and return him home, giving him a proper burial with the rites of a Duke of Far West.
He then posthumously ennobled Su Wanjun as Duke of Far West, Grand Master of the Golden Purple Light Ministry, First Rank Protector, and so on.
Of course, the man was dead, so posthumous honors meant little. There were no other heirs, and the only daughter had become a concubine in the palace. Any rewards were now returned to the imperial treasury.
To outsiders, these gestures seemed meaningless, but to Su Ruocun, her heart skipped a beat.
The deceased was dead, but the living could still enjoy the benefits of his legacy. Dukes, Grand Masters, First Rank Protectors—all the four consorts were well provided for. Yet she was still merely a concubine. Wasn’t that somewhat unreasonable?
Sure enough, Su Ruocun waited a moment longer, then heard Emperor Tian Shou pause, his gaze full of pity and affection. He spoke to her: “My beloved consort, you have suffered these years. Given your family background, it is indeed a hardship for you to remain a concubine. From today onward, I elevate you to Shuyi. What say you?”
Su Ruocun was stunned for a moment. Tears welled up again, but instead of continuing to cry, she laughed through her tears. Emperor Tian Shou, seeing this, exhaled in relief—once she smiled, there was no need for further coaxing.
……
On the day of Qiu Suming’s execution, Meng Xizhao happened to be moving into a new residence.
His mansion was complete. Lord Jian had been considerate, providing both the hard furnishings and generous soft furnishings, enough to move in immediately.
Yet moving was not simple in the old ways. Choosing the date and time was a meticulous process, almost as complicated as a wedding.
Meng Xizhao came today to inspect the place. Servants bustled about while he circled the mansion.
Meng Xizhao’s younger brother, Meng Xiang, accompanied him, initially intending to find faults. Yet as he looked around, envy crept in. “This residence is really fine. Every aspect of the feng shui has been carefully inspected. Lord Minister of Works has been thoughtful.”
Meng Xizhao, unfamiliar with feng shui, simply appreciated the space. Satisfied, he smiled and told his elder brother: “See? My choice was right. I had foresight. If I had chosen a place near the palace, as you suggested, there wouldn’t have been space like this.”
Meng Xiang: “…”
You’re living alone—what do you need such a huge place for? The Crown Prince isn’t going to humble himself to squeeze in with you in this little doghouse.
He glanced around and reluctantly corrected his words:
Alright, a big doghouse.
Shaking his head, Meng Xiang asked: “When do you plan to send invitations? Have your mother send them for relatives. For colleagues and friends, that’s up to you.”
Meng Xizhao waved him off: “Don’t ask me; I’m not handling it. My two stewardesses will act as my surrogate wives from today onward.”
Hearing this, Meng Xiang looked in astonishment at Jin Zhu and Yin Liu, who had accompanied them. The two young women smiled broadly and saluted him with a polite bow.
Then, in unison, they said: “Pardon our boldness, Eldest Young Master.”
Meng Xiang: “…………”
I am not laughing.
Heh, I naturally don’t like to smile.