There is no place for women in the court.
Heaven’s order drove them into the inner chambers, turning them into fragile ornaments inside crimson mansions and secluded courtyards. They were sheltered under layers of care—from ruler and minister, from father and son alike. Before marriage, they were like porcelain vases waiting to be appraised, moved about without any need for ambitions that reached the heavens.
The Empress Dowager, Hua Heyi, was born into prominence—the legitimate daughter of the powerful Hua clan. Before her coming-of-age ceremony, she had never seen the world beyond the walls; afterward, she still remained within deep courtyards. She seized the highest authority in the world from her husband’s hands, yet she never crossed that invisible line. Instead, she lowered the pearl curtain and sat carefully behind it.
Commander Qi Zhuyin was also born into prominence, the legitimate daughter of the Qi military clan. Before going to war she had already been betrothed; after going to war, no one dared marry her. She received none of the honors she deserved—only concession before the Jade Dragon Terrace. The Ministry of Rites declared she was unworthy of the privilege of having her name honored in the ancestral temple after death. Even now, Qi Zhuyin’s name was still dismissed as that of a “little girl from Qidong.” As long as Qi Shiyu’s sons proved capable, the position of Grand Commander of the armies would never fall to her.
At first, Xue Xiuzhuo had no intention of supporting Lingting. When he learned that the imperial heir was female, the extreme disappointment made him immediately change his strategy. But when he finally met Lingting, he changed his mind again.
Because Lingting resembled Emperor Guangcheng far too much.
Any older minister who had once seen Emperor Guangcheng could recognize Lingting’s origin at a glance—she was an anomaly born from the Li imperial bloodline.
During the Yongyi era, after the fall of the Eastern Palace, Emperor Guangcheng had only one reason to leave the palace: to visit the ailing Prince Qin—and the prince’s beautiful, defenseless wife. In the later years of Yongyi, Emperor Guangcheng had no favored concubines. After he fell ill, Empress Hua Heyi seized control of both the court and the inner palace, strictly preventing him from fathering any more heirs. Within those layers of walls, Emperor Guangcheng turned his gaze toward his own daughter-in-law.
Unfortunately, the Princess Consort of Qin gave birth to a girl.
Like an old lion who had exhausted every ounce of strength, when Emperor Guangcheng heard the news he did not even lift his eyelids. His ambitions were completely extinguished. The Prince of Qin may or may not have heard something of this matter; not long afterward he died of illness. Before dying, he threw Lingting out of Qudu. Yet as though it were fate, she was later picked up and raised by Xiangyun.
When Xue Xiuzhuo first found Lingting, she was crude in both behavior and speech and already in her teens. If he wanted to restore her to the position of imperial heir, it would be impossible without the determination to strip away her very bones.
At the beginning it was extremely difficult. She had wasted too much time in Xiangyun’s pleasure house. To erase those unnecessary traces required unwavering resolve. If she herself lacked determination, even Xue Xiuzhuo—powerful as he was—could accomplish nothing.
But Lingting corrected herself step by step.
She scraped away those coarse and frivolous traits piece by piece. At first she barely knew how to read, so she studied through the night. When her brushstrokes were poor, she practiced day and night without rest. It was as though Heaven had left this final fragment of strength for the Li dynasty’s realm, allowing Xue Xiuzhuo to glimpse a faint glimmer of light within a decaying situation.
Several months earlier, damp rain mist shrouded the silk trees. When Qi Huilian refused Xue Xiuzhuo in the attic, Lingting was sitting quietly at her desk writing.
She wrote with such force that she nearly tore the paper.
After finishing, she turned her head and looked at the drizzling rain. She watched for a long time, expressionless.
Later that evening, Xue Xiuzhuo came to dine with her. She sat in the lower seat, eating with perfect propriety. Xue Xiuzhuo followed the rule of silence during meals; they never spoke while eating. Afterward he would test her lessons, the most important task of the day. Lingting had to answer crisply and directly. Xue Xiuzhuo never beat or scolded her, yet he was harsher than anyone.
“Teacher,” Lingting paused when she lowered her head. “Will I be changing teachers?”
Xue Xiuzhuo organized the booklets in front of him and said indifferently, “That is not something you need to consider.”
Lingting fell silent. Supporting herself with one hand, she listened as Xue Xiuzhuo stood and walked toward the door. Suddenly she turned her face and looked at him.
“Is it because I am a woman?”
Xue Xiuzhuo stopped and turned back, meeting her gaze. Lingting’s eyes did not evade his. Her composure was exactly like Xue Xiuzhuo’s own.
“I am a woman,” Lingting said. “If the new teacher refuses to teach me for that reason, then I request to meet him once.”
Xue Xiuzhuo turned away again and changed his shoes. The rain outside grew heavier.
“That is not the reason,” he said. “You simply have no teacher–student fate with him. I will continue teaching you myself.”
“Fate is the least thing that can be forced. A true master is difficult to find. I do not wish to miss such a teacher,” Lingting said as she rose to her feet. “Teacher.”
But Xue Xiuzhuo ignored her and did not answer. He lifted the curtain. The servant waiting outside hurried forward with an umbrella. Xue Xiuzhuo refused to let anyone carry his books and stepped down the stairs, leaving.
Lingting remained where she was. Through the gap in the curtain she watched his figure sway a few times before disappearing into the rain. She knew this was Xue Xiuzhuo’s silent refusal.
No matter how others judged Xue Xiuzhuo, in Lingting’s eyes beneath his gentle and refined mask lay extreme calm. He even possessed a touch of arrogance. He would not be manipulated, and it was difficult for him to listen to anyone.
Lingting could only give up. She sat back down and opened the policy essay Xue Xiuzhuo had left behind, copying his handwriting.
But she could never imitate it. She did not know how to round off and soften her strokes. Her brush lines were like sharpened steel—never bending, never curving.
Several months later, the blazing sun scorched the Jade Dragon Terrace. Ministers knelt there in dense rows—the poor-born officials led by Hai Liangyi.
After June, Han Cheng brought back a boy from his own clan and declared that this child was a surviving descendant of the Li imperial line.
Hai Liangyi’s illness had improved somewhat under Yao Wenyu’s careful care. The first thing he did upon returning to court was reject Han Cheng’s memorial as Grand Secretary of the cabinet. He demanded that the child’s identity be verified publicly.
But all the Li emperors were dead, and even the Empress Dowager could not confirm whether the boy truly carried Li blood. The two sides fell into a deadlock, neither willing to give way.
“During the Yongyi era I served as Vice Commander of the Eight Camps and was also the foremost general under Emperor Guangcheng. I hold a private letter of entrustment from him,” Han Cheng said. Recently empowered, he even dared to rebut Hai Liangyi openly in court. “Grand Secretary, is that still not enough?”
After his illness, Hai Liangyi’s strength was greatly diminished. Standing for even a short while left him anxious and trembling. He stepped forward and said, “Words alone prove nothing. If the Commander is willing to reveal the letter publicly and submit it to the cabinet for examination, then we would not need to engage in such arguments in court.”
Han Cheng sneered inwardly. With no heir to the throne, the empty imperial seat should have been Hai Liangyi’s greatest concern. Yet he refused to yield—clearly he had already selected his own candidate.
“The throne has been vacant for more than a month,” Han Cheng said. “What exactly is the Grand Secretary waiting for? The cabinet keeps discussing matters endlessly—have you still not reached a conclusion?”
Sweat covered Hai Liangyi’s body. His chest felt tight, so he paused to catch his breath before answering.
“We have reexamined the imperial genealogy. We found that the second son of the concubine-born grandson of Prince Yan is still alive in Huaizhou. This is a traceable bloodline of the Li family. According to precedent, the choice for crown prince must be him.”
“Prince Yan ruled Huaizhou during the Wanxuan era,” Han Cheng said with a laugh. “His direct line died at Luoxia Pass. The surviving branches are all collateral relatives. How can that truly be called Li blood? And the second son of that concubine-born grandson is already nearly seventy years old. How could he possibly govern? The journey here is long and rough. How could an old man endure such hardship? Grand Secretary, this matter cannot even be discussed seriously!”
The two sides argued without end. Outside, students from the Imperial Academy were also kneeling.
After listening behind the pearl curtain for some time, the Empress Dowager finally spoke.
“This matter is urgent, but there is still room for discussion. Grand Secretary, the cabinet assists in governing the state. I have never handled any matter carelessly. If you have objections, you may come to the Hall of Clarity to speak with me directly. Let the students disperse.”
Her voice was soft and gentle, but Hai Liangyi heard the displeasure beneath it.
Although Han Cheng strongly promoted the boy, he always did so under his former title as Vice Commander of the Eight Camps. He had not allowed the aristocratic officials to support the proposal openly.
There were two reasons.
First, if the plan succeeded, the Han family would become the new emperor’s sole pillar of support.
Second—more importantly—it was to avoid suspicion.
Avoiding suspicion was crucial.
Hua Siqian and Pan Rugu had both fallen because they failed to understand this. Forming factions for personal gain was the greatest taboo in court. The Empress Dowager had ruled again for quite some time. She was now effectively the emperor. What she disliked most was seeing officials unite into a force capable of pressuring her decisions.
Thus she had not promoted poor-born officials to win favor, nor had she elevated aristocratic families to strengthen her power. It seemed she had realized that the Great Zhou had reached a turning point. Rather than place hope in puppets as in years past, she had chosen to rely on herself.
Hai Liangyi had been ill for two months. During that time, the poor-born officials were as anxious as startled birds. Led by Kong Qiu and Cen Yu, they held private discussions and repeatedly petitioned the Empress Dowager to allow Hai Liangyi to return to court. Even the Imperial Academy students dared discuss state affairs openly. By June, rumors had already begun to spread that the Empress Dowager intended to seize the throne herself.
The Empress Dowager did not confront Hai Liangyi directly, but she increased the number of palace eunuchs sent to visit him. It was a form of silent urging. Thus, when June arrived and Hai Liangyi’s illness had only just improved, he returned to court.
Although for decades he had insisted that he formed no factions and belonged to no party, he had already become the banner for scholars across the land. Whether he wished to admit it or not, he had become a powerful political force.
When Hai Liangyi fell ill, the entire realm grew uneasy.
He rejected Han Cheng’s proposal. Before the Empress Dowager could respond, the officials and students had already knelt for an entire day.
Without realizing it, Hai Liangyi had become the Empress Dowager’s greatest concern—far more than the overbearing Han Cheng.
Struggling to remain standing, Hai Liangyi said, “Students of the Imperial Academy are meant to discuss state affairs. The court is watched by the entire realm. Only through discussion can policy arise. Your Majesty now governs with diligence, personally overseeing every matter. But officials exist precisely to share the burdens of the throne and to administer affairs for the people. Their concern for the state is a blessing for the Great Zhou. Moreover, the matter of choosing the heir is not a family affair. In my opinion, letting them remain here will allow open discussion of the new emperor.”
The hall itself was not hot. Bamboo curtains hung everywhere, cooling the room with blocks of ice. For Hai Liangyi, it even felt somewhat cold.
After speaking, he lowered his head and stood quietly. Behind the pearl curtain the Empress Dowager remained silent for a long while. Only when Hai Liangyi’s legs had begun to ache did she answer slowly.
“What the Grand Secretary says is reasonable. I will listen to you. As for the matter of the second son of Prince Yan’s concubine-born grandson, I have not yet seen the genealogy and cannot make a decision. But Han Cheng’s candidate has already arrived. Should the investigation be handled by the Court of Judicial Review or by the Ministry of Justice? I will follow your decision.”