When Meng Xizhao returned to the Chancellery office, Meng Jiuyu had not yet come out of the palace.
He had a meal with Madam Meng, then had the people move the plum tree in his courtyard out and replace it with taller magnolia trees.
Plum trees bloom in the twelfth lunar month, while magnolias bloom at the end of the twelfth month or the beginning of the first. Most households did not plant them because they were too tall and too conspicuous.
But Meng Xizhao didn’t care. For him, this courtyard was just a place to rest, not something he needed to see every day. Naturally, he could arrange it however he pleased.
By the time the servants finished digging out the plum tree, it was already close to the Shen hour, and Meng Jiuyu still had not returned.
Meng Xizhao frowned slightly. He thought that returning late was better than returning early—if he came back too soon, things would likely have gone poorly.
Yawning, he decided to take a short nap. Just as he was drifting off, half asleep, his father finally returned.
A pair of large hands still carried the cold air from outside, and without warning pressed down on him.
“Er Lang, Er Lang.”
Meng Xizhao slapped his hand away, turned over irritably, and faced away from him.
Meng Jiuyu: “…Er Lang, get up!”
Only then did Meng Xizhao slowly sit up. Looking at his father’s face, he finally came back to his senses.
“Father, did you go to court?”
Meng Jiuyu: “……”
He said angrily, “Look outside—what court are you talking about? I’ve been in the palace all day and didn’t even eat lunch. And you? Sleeping soundly here—you’ve probably forgotten what year it is.”
After being lectured, Meng Xizhao finally woke up.
“Father, you’ve worked hard. So how was it? Did His Majesty fall for your act?”
Meng Jiuyu glared.
“What do you mean ‘act’!”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
“I spoke from the heart! I sincerely wish to help the Great Qi Empire eliminate its treacherous officials!”
Meng Xizhao twitched his mouth at that and didn’t bother arguing. He only asked what he truly cared about.
“What is His Majesty’s attitude?”
At this, Meng Jiuyu’s expression darkened slightly. He sat down to the side and let out a long sigh.
“Just as you said, His Majesty harbors deep resentment toward Consort Gan. As for Gan Rui, it’s the same ‘hating the house along with the crow.’ But relying on that alone is not enough to make him resolve to uproot the Gan family entirely. Today I spoke with him at length in private. At first, he was still willing to listen. But once he realized what I was implying, he fell silent.”
Meng Xizhao paused slightly.
“Why?”
Meng Jiuyu naturally did not know the answer either; he could only guess.
“Perhaps… he still cannot let go. He has held onto that attachment for so many years—it is not something that can be changed overnight. Even if he knows in his heart that she has done wrong, when it comes to actually moving against the Gan family, he cannot bring himself to be ruthless.”
Meng Xizhao fell silent for a moment.
“If it has come to this point, whether he can be ruthless or not, it must be done.”
Meng Jiuyu nodded slowly.
With Consort Gan’s scandal now exposed, all factions had already begun moving in response to this opening. Yet the Emperor still hesitated. But others could not wait, and neither could Grand Tutor Gan.
A storm was inevitable. And when it arrived, the ones sacrificed would not be the Gan family—it would be the Meng family.
Meng Xizhao’s move had already ripped open the foundation of the Gan family. Once Grand Tutor Gan realized it, even if he did not know about the poem or that it was Meng Xizhao’s trap, he would still go mad and eliminate anyone even vaguely suspicious as the culprit—sending them straight into a death prison.
Meng Xizhao understood this. Meng Jiuyu understood it even more clearly.
So after nodding, Meng Jiuyu quickly said, “I’ll go tell your mother I won’t be coming home for dinner tonight. Speed is essential. Since the two of us alone are not enough, we need to bring in more influential people.”
Preferably those who already disliked Grand Tutor Gan intensely—people who had long dreamed of seeing him fall from his position.
Meng Xizhao and Meng Jiuyu exchanged a glance and spoke at the same time:
“Yan Shunying.”
……
Very occasionally, Meng Xizhao would feel a faint trace of guilt. He truly did not want to keep squeezing one sheep for all its wool—but this particular sheep was simply too fat and tempting to resist.
＊
Meng Jiuyu went to visit Grand Secretary Yan to “reminisce,” while Meng Xizhao felt it would be inappropriate to just sit idle.
So he skipped dinner, left a message behind, and returned to his own residence. He then sent someone to deliver a message to the Crown Prince, asking him to also lend a hand and add fuel to the fire.
When Meng Xizhao had been abducted by people from Nanzhao, the Crown Prince had been forced into a corner and had gone to seek help from Minister Sima. Minister Sima had never shown any particular closeness to the Crown Prince, yet he had indeed provided significant assistance at that time.
Now, once again at a critical juncture, the Crown Prince visited him again. Minister Sima was not surprised. After hearing the request, however, he became noticeably more silent than before.
The Crown Prince did not press him for an answer on the spot. Instead, he formally bowed as a student would. For the heir to the throne to display such humility was indeed rare.
Yet as Minister Sima looked at him, what he thought was: once this young man is no longer in a position of isolation and helplessness, would he still maintain this same respectful attitude?
While he was deep in thought at home, a servant soon reported that Minister Jiang had arrived.
Jiang Fang and Minister Sima were closer. Without waiting for formalities, Jiang Fang walked straight in—and as soon as he entered, he brought up the same matter.
The Emperor was furious with Grand Tutor Gan. Meng Jiuyu and Yan Shunying were joining forces, preparing to strike against him.
It was still only an unconfirmed matter, yet Jiang Fang spoke of it with absolute certainty.
Sima Huan looked at him silently and asked,
“Was this told to you by that boy from the Meng family?”
Jiang Fang hesitated.
“…It was Meng Da.”
After a pause, he added, “Meng Da has good character. He is much better than the rest of the Meng family.”
Sima Huan: “……”
Two or three years ago, he had already considered returning to his hometown. First, the Emperor did not permit it; second, he was somewhat worried about his students and old friends.
Take Jiang Fang, for example—despite being a once-in-a-generation talent, he was so poor at dealing with people that he was less reliable than a monkey.
As for Meng Xixang, whom Jiang Fang favored, Sima Huan had met him only a few times. Even from those brief encounters, he could see clearly that what attracted Jiang Fang was not Meng Xixang’s character, but rather his reckless, headlong nature—like a young man who charged forward without thinking, reminding Jiang Fang of his own youth.
And it wasn’t just that Meng Xixang was “better than the rest of the Meng family.” In Sima Huan’s eyes, he might very well be the worst among them.
Meng Jiuyu aside—someone who had stood alone in court and still survived intact until now—that alone already proved his ability.
And then there was his younger son. That seemingly foolish, domineering young man who appeared to be nothing but a reckless tyrant… Sima Huan found him deeply unsettling.
Everyone thought of him as an empty-headed bully. Yet everything placed in his hands was completed flawlessly. People only noticed his arrogance and his habit of looking down on everyone, but they failed to remember that he had repeatedly earned great merits—each one significant enough to be celebrated for a lifetime. And yet, he never advertised them. In fact, he deliberately made people forget them.
Was he trying to keep a low profile?
No. Anyone who could argue all the way to the Emperor in a dispute with the Three Judicial Offices was completely incompatible with the idea of “low profile.” If not that, then why?
Why would someone willingly forgo fame that could last for generations, and instead choose to accumulate a reputation for bad behavior?
Unless… he was plotting something far greater. Temporary fame meant nothing to him. And he understood that time was on his side—his youth was his greatest advantage. He could use it to act now, and later use it again to quietly build even more.
The Third Prince. Huruqia. Zhen’anluo. Qiu Suming. And now, Gan Rui.
Sima Huan fell silent.
Some things were dangerous to think about too deeply. Yet once he began to reflect, he realized a pattern had already formed.
Wherever Meng Xizhao went, someone of great power and influence would eventually fall.
And all of those people, without exception, had posed a threat to the Great Qi dynasty and its people.
He had no idea what Meng Xizhao had done behind the scenes, nor did he know why the Tianshou Emperor had flown into a rage at Grand Preceptor Gan—but that did not stop him from believing the matter was inseparable from Meng Xizhao.
Even Gan Rui… was he, too, being pushed toward a dead end by Meng Xizhao’s arrangements?
Situ Huan was old now, half his hair already white. In this day and age, he was the sort of man with one foot already in the grave. Passion, ambition—none of that had anything to do with him anymore. The downfall of the Gan family signified the end of an era, yet even upon hearing it, he felt little agitation.
Not even the possibility that Meng Xizhao was the mastermind behind it all could truly shock him.
The only thing that gave him a strange, subtle feeling was this: he did not believe that old man Gan Rui was the final piece in Meng Xizhao’s plan.
After all, everyone knew perfectly well that the greatest threat to the Great Qi dynasty was not Gan Rui, who had once wielded such power, but the one who had given him the opportunity to wield it in the first place…
This time, Situ Huan reacted. He paused, then quickly forced the thought out of his mind.
Better not to think about it. No matter what the answer was, he did not wish to know.
Jiang Fang watched him suspiciously. Situ Huan had been silent for a long time, and he did not dare disturb him. After a moment, the Grand Chancellor lifted his head. Seeing Jiang Fang’s conflicted expression, he raised a brow. “What is it?”
Censor Jiang hesitated. “Grand Chancellor Situ, I…”
Situ Huan seemed to know what he was about to say. He gave a soft sigh and said, “Jiang Fang, the road beneath your feet is yours to walk. If you believe the path ahead is smooth, then go on. There is no need to take a step, stop, and ask this old man every time. The world that lies ahead belongs to you young people.”
Jiang Fang froze.
Two years ago, he had already known that the Grand Chancellor wished to retire. At the time, he had tried to stop him—partly out of genuine regret, partly out of his own selfish motives.
But now, two years had passed, and Jiang Fang’s mindset had changed.
Moreover, he had played a role in bringing down Qiu Sumin earlier. That outcome—one that allowed everyone to vent their anger—had greatly strengthened his confidence…
Jiang Fang stood up and gave Situ Huan a student’s bow. It was the second such bow he had offered that night. The first had been solemn; the second, every movement carried force.
Taking a deep breath, Jiang Fang said, “This student will not disgrace my teacher’s honored name!”
Situ Huan looked at him and gave a faint nod.
…………
That night, many people did not sleep.
Grand Preceptor Gan was still formidable. Through a mix of threats and bribes, he actually managed to find out that the Emperor had ordered all of Consort Gan’s belongings—those that used to follow him wherever he went, kept in the Western Warm Pavilion—to be taken out and burned.
Burned…
Burned.
That news struck Grand Preceptor Gan like a bolt from the blue.
Not even when he had learned of Consort Gan’s death years ago, nor when he had stood by his own mother’s sickbed watching her life ebb away, had he felt such a sky-collapsing despair.
But now, he did.
Once the lingering influence of Consort Gan disappeared—and in such a merciless, resentful manner at that—the Gan family would become like rats scurrying through the street, fit for anyone to trample.
Grand Preceptor Gan was like an ant on a hot pan. Unable to make sense of anything, he hurried to dispel the Emperor’s suspicions. He even brought along a handkerchief Consort Gan had embroidered in her youth, hoping it might stir the Emperor’s feelings.
Who would have thought—upon seeing the carefully stitched pattern, the Tianshou Emperor instantly turned into a wrathful demon, as if he wanted to devour him alive. He had Qin Feimang take the handkerchief, then personally tore it into rags and threw it to the ground, stomping on it several times.
While Grand Preceptor Gan was still in shock, the Emperor pointed at his nose and cursed him, saying he had raised such a fine daughter, that this was the kind of upbringing their family had—utterly disgusting.
Only then did he understand: the Emperor believed Consort Gan had done something revolting, which was why he was so enraged. Yet no matter how he thought about it, he could not believe his daughter had committed adultery. Still, he knew her well—aside from adultery, there was little she would not dare to do.
Naturally, Grand Preceptor Gan knelt to beg the Emperor to calm his anger, and at the same time pleaded guilty on behalf of his daughter. But after so many years without incident, why had it been exposed now? He was certain someone was manipulating things behind the scenes.
And that someone had to be Meng Xizhao.
He thought so—and said so on the spot. However, the Tianshou Emperor had long since been primed by Meng Xizhao to guard against exactly this. So upon hearing it, he did not grow suspicious—he flew into a rage.
Just as Meng Xizhao had said—you bear him a grudge, so you slander him!
Could Meng Xizhao compose such a poem? Could he contact Ping Sanlang, who had long been buried? Could he persuade a prince to present that poem before me?
Not to mention, you previously sought revenge against the Meng family by throwing the young lord of the Duke’s residence into the Imperial City Bureau. If not for Meng Xizhao uncovering evidence, Li Huai would already be a corpse beneath the executioner’s blade!
You, Gan Rui—trying to drive a wedge between Duke Wu and me! Trying to make Jiu Yu resent me!
You—and that daughter you raised, Gan Jingyue—are both venomous at heart!
The days of repeated “conditioning” had proven quite effective. It did not push the Emperor to execute Grand Preceptor Gan, but that did not matter. At the very least, it kept him in a state of deep displeasure toward the man, preventing him from softening after a few tearful appeals.
Once again thoroughly berated, and because he had entered the palace without permission—violating the Emperor’s order of house arrest—Grand Preceptor Gan was escorted back under guard. The entire Gan household was placed under watch. This time, getting out again would not be so easy.
It was at that moment that various factions, seeing an opportunity, sprang into action.
In an instant, memorials flooded into the Secretariat and Chancellery like falling snow—most impeaching Grand Preceptor Gan, and some targeting his descendants as well.
The main force naturally came from Grand Chancellor Yan’s disciples. Last time, when dealing with Qiu Sumin, he had not exerted himself so fully. But this time, it was tied to the dream of his entire life—he threw himself into it with everything he had, determined to drag Grand Preceptor Gan down.
Meng Xizhao blended in among them and submitted a memorial as well. Compared to the others, his was utterly inconspicuous. Even as he wrote it, he never truly expected it to have any effect.
Because, in truth, it was nothing more than his own twisted sense of amusement.
In the original storyline, the original host had been thrown into prison for abducting a civilian woman and forcing her into prostitution. By sheer coincidence, one of Grand Preceptor Gan’s grandsons held a post in the Directorate of Imperial Entertainments. Publicly, he was known for his love of poetry and painting—but in reality, he was a complete lecher. Having taken a liking to a certain woman, he intended to take her as a concubine, not knowing she was already betrothed.
But he was the Grand Preceptor’s own grandson—why would he care about something like that? He tossed out a few hundred taels of silver and treated it as if he had simply purchased her.
Yet not everyone cared only for money. The woman’s fiancé wanted nothing but his wife. So he went to demand her back—and was beaten and thrown out, left unconscious.
His family refused to accept this and brought the case to the Ying Tian Prefecture. But given the sensitive timing, the officials below did not know how to handle it, so it was reported up to Meng Xizhao.
The moment Meng Xizhao saw the case, it felt eerily familiar. Raising a brow, he refrained from passing judgment. Instead, he turned it into a memorial and submitted it.
The Tianshou Emperor had not been attending court, but as his health improved, the two Grand Chancellors and Meng Xizhao’s father would still bring state matters for his review. Most of the time, he could not be bothered to read them, simply letting them decide.
But recently, there had been too many memorials impeaching the Gan family. The two Grand Chancellors did not dare make the call—so they sent everything to the Emperor.
Even with the calming effects of the “heavenly stone,” the Emperor’s anger kept climbing.
In the past, such memorials were not unheard of. But Grand Preceptor Gan had always acted as a human filter, intercepting anything unfavorable to his family. After filtering them out, he would retaliate, ensuring that the accuser either dared not speak again—or could not.
Now that he was confined and powerless, and with the two Grand Chancellors subtly allowing things to proceed, the current overwhelming flood of accusations had taken shape.
As for Meng Xizhao’s memorial, buried among charges of excessive taxation, literary inquisitions, coercing officials into selling their homes, and private torture, the crime of abducting a civilian woman barely registered. Even Yan Shunying, who skimmed through them, did not think much of it.
Yet the Tianshou Emperor singled out this one memorial—and read it for a long time.
The protagonist in the memorial was ranked fifth in the Gan family, known as Gan Wu. His act of forcibly separating a couple made him nothing short of a scoundrel.
And that reminded the Emperor that, in the eyes of Consort Gan and Ping Sanlang, he himself had been just such a scoundrel.
After regaining consciousness, he had ordered Wen Shiji to investigate what Ping Sanlang had looked like. The result? A fairly handsome face—but otherwise no different from any other man. A pretty boy.
He had no fewer than eight concubines in his household.
And what about himself? For Gan Jingyue, he had even abandoned his lawful wife!
As for the fact that he himself had hundreds of concubines… he chose, quite strategically, to ignore that.
…
Meng Xizhao had never intended to make a big issue out of this. He had merely followed the principle of “try it and see if it works,” tossing it in for good measure. Who could have expected it to strike a nerve with the Emperor?
Every word of condemnation he had written against Gan Wu—the Emperor took it all and applied it to himself.
And then—he exploded.
Gan Wu was thrown into prison and sentenced to execution. It was already late that day, so the execution would be carried out the next—without a single day’s delay. At noon, the sentence would be carried out immediately.
The speed surpassed even the execution of Zhan Shenyu in years past.
Gan Wu’s father was Grand Preceptor Gan’s favorite son—second master of the Gan family—who remained in Ying Tian Prefecture holding a high office: the Vice Censor-in-Chief who was always at odds with Meng Xi’ang.
Naturally, he could not stand by and watch his son be beheaded. With his father unable to help, he had to rely on himself. In his panic, he abandoned all sense of strategy. He attempted to pull his son out—and if that failed, he would substitute another person to die in his place.
Had Grand Preceptor Gan been present, he would never have allowed such a thing. But… he was under confinement.
Thus, it did not take long for Grand Chancellor Yan’s faction to seize upon this ready-made piece of evidence.
Under the Son of Heaven’s very nose, swapping out a death-row prisoner—this could not even be described merely as deceiving the Emperor. It was outright treating him as a fool.
And so, where previously only Gan Wu had been in prison, now his entire branch of the family joined him there.
The rest of the Gan clan might have wanted to distance themselves—but once a breach had appeared, the court officials would never let it close so easily. Whether dredging up old accusations or presenting new evidence, the entire court revealed its predatory nature.
On the day the imperial edict was issued, snow fell again over Ying Tian Prefecture.
This time it was heavier than before. Soon, everything in sight was blanketed in white. Meng Xizhao sat beneath the corridor, watching the green tiles and red plum blossoms. Holding a hand warmer, his legs swung idly, never quite still.
Yinliu, bundled in thick winter clothes, stepped over. There were many fine fabrics in Meng Xizhao’s residence—some bestowed as rewards, others sent by Madam Meng. The ones suitable for men he kept for himself; the women’s fabrics all went to his three maids. Now, Yinliu looked no different from a young lady of a noble family.
She stood beside him, watching the falling snow for a while before speaking softly, “Young Master, an edict has come from the palace. All of Grand Preceptor Gan’s official posts have been stripped, his title revoked, and he has been demoted to a commoner. He is ordered to depart today with his wife for their hometown in Caizhou. They may bring only two attendants—no wealth—and are forbidden from ever returning to the capital.”
Meng Xizhao gave a soft hum.
“So they spared his life, after all.”
If Consort Gan were still alive, would she have received such treatment?
After all these years of being a respected father-in-law, even now, the Emperor could still show him a trace of mercy.
But two elderly people, returning to their hometown in such disgrace—what was once fame known to every household had now become blades turned against him.
Whether that was mercy or suffering… depended entirely on how Grand Preceptor Gan chose to see it.