At this point, Yu Xiaozai bowed his head, choked with emotion, and could not continue. For the literati of his generation, entering public service meant either aspiring to be like Qi Huilian—a man of unwavering loyalty willing to sacrifice his very life—or like Hai Liangyi—one who could steady the ship in a crisis and stabilize the realm. Yet now, this precarious edifice, buffeted by wind and rain, was emitting the thunderous sound of its collapse. Overnight, it shattered the soaring ambitions of tens of millions, leaving the entire Great Zhou in a state of collective wailing.
Shen Zechuan silently turned his head, listening to the watchman’s cries beyond the courtyard walls.
It was unclear how much time had passed before Yu Xiaozai stopped sobbing. He pressed a warm cloth to his face and, after a long moment, said, “ The Grand Tutor died while pleading for justice, and Chancellor Han was driven to the brink of despair, yet he refused to give up. At the time, the Imperial Academy was in an uproar; Chancellor Han’s palanquin was blocked on Shenwu Street as he left court, and the students smashed it to pieces. The Eight Great Garrisons sealed off the Imperial Academy, arrested several student ringleaders and sent them to the Imperial Prison, and cut off the students’ food supplies, so the students went on a hunger strike to demonstrate their resolve.”
Yu Xiaozai could not help himself and began to weep again.
“I had thought the literati of the realm would perish entirely, but that night, I saw flickering lights of learning amidst the mountains of the Imperial Academy and realized the Grand Tutor’s intentions were far-reaching. The fire had already spread like wildfire. To quell the anger of the scholars, the Empress Dowager once again demanded the private letter entrusting the heir from Minister Han and expelled the Han boy—who had falsely claimed to be the imperial heir—from the palace. Chancellor Han had no choice but to retreat; he promised to publicly verify the private letter in three days.”
“The forged letter lacked Emperor Guangcheng’s personal seal, and the Cabinet rejected Chancellor Han’s proposal for a crown prince on that basis. Seeing this, the Empress Dowager agreed to meet with the descendants of the Prince of Yan from Huai Prefecture to determine the heir apparent. However, Huai Prefecture lay far from Kuan Capital. As Han Cheng had previously noted, the second son of the Prince of Yan’s illegitimate grandson was already well past seventy. Exhausted by the arduous journey and having endured both profound grief and joy, he passed away before even reaching Kuan Capital.”
“The matter of selecting a crown prince had reached a complete impasse. Chancellor Han, with ulterior motives, relied on the might of the Eight Great Garrisons to coerce the Cabinet. He submitted another memorial, requesting that the Eight Garrisons assist in governance and urging the Empress Dowager to establish a new ‘Council of State,’ with every nominee being an official from a prominent clan. The Empress Dowager withheld the memorial from circulation. Minister Bo Ran, upholding the late Prime Minister’s will, submitted a memorial endorsing the original plan for the ‘Council of State,’ but demanded that Han Cheng’s military authority be stripped, arguing that civil officials should not interfere with military affairs—an attempt to dismantle Han Cheng’s Eight Great Camps. However, Han Cheng refused, and the Cabinet refused to approve the proposal, leading to yet another failed round of negotiations.”
The lack of a successor to enthrone is the fatal flaw in Kuidu’s predicament. The cabinet members led by Kong Qiu, in the face of the proposal for the Eight Cities to assist in governance, made concessions—a strategy inherited from Hai Liangyi’s policy of appeasement. They had no troops; Qidong was controlled by the Empress Dowager, and since Xiao Chiyě’s departure, Libei no longer heeded Kedu’s commands. Kong Qiu could only choose the lesser of two evils and make concessions. His final red line was to strip Han Cheng of his military authority—even if it could not fall into their hands, it must no longer be entrusted to the aristocratic clans to manage Kedu’s patrols as before.
“Just then, Xue Xiuzhuo submitted his memorial,” Yu Xiaozai offered a faint, wry smile in the dim light. “He’s stirred up a storm… It couldn’t have come at a better time.”
Upon hearing Xue Xiuzhuo’s name, Xiao Chiyě shifted his gaze slightly toward Shen Zechuan. Shen Zechuan remained silent for a moment, then tilted his head back slightly to look out the window, his brow furrowed. After a brief pause, he said, “You were right all along—this man is truly formidable. News of the Crown Prince’s affair leaked to us all too easily, stirring us both into a frenzy. After I arrived at Zhongbo, I initially suspected that Han Cheng was the one who killed those boys. But now it seems Han Cheng is merely a pawn like Xi Hongxuan—both are disposable pieces manipulated by Xue Xiuzhuo. One wrong move, and the entire game is lost. I was too hasty and underestimated the enemy.”
The political stalemate lasted less than half a month. The wave of criticism against Han Cheng at the Imperial Academy had shifted to the Eight Cities’ testimony. Countless passionate students grew increasingly dissatisfied with Kong Qiu’s conservative policies. As they wrote eulogies for Hai Liangyi, they also mourned Qi Huilian; the Grand Tutor they envisioned was not the man Kong Qiu had become.
The Empress Dowager’s concession regarding the Han family’s young heir had shown the scholars across the realm the power of uniting to form a faction. They were like droplets of water converging from all directions, destined to form a vast ocean. They believed their collective strength could topple that high wall, and the opportunity to reform the ills of the aristocratic clans was right before their eyes.
Because Kong Qiu endorsed Han Cheng’s proposal backed by the eight cities’ testimony, the mood at the Imperial Academy shifted as abruptly as the weather in April. First, scathing articles were posted outside the Kong family’s gates; then, the very criticisms once directed at Han Cheng were now leveled at Kong Qiu. The students became increasingly convinced that it was precisely because the scholars from humble backgrounds, led by Kong Qiu, were too weak that Hai Liangyi had been left isolated and helpless within the Cabinet, ultimately forcing him to choose such a drastic method to present his memorial. They compiled a list of court officials from the Minglie and Yongyi eras and systematically investigated whether each had ties to officials from the aristocratic clans. News that Cen Yu had hosted a banquet for Han Cheng spread like wildfire, instantly inflaming the students’ passions. They branded Cen Yu, Kong Qiu, and even Minister of War Chen Zhen as “hypocrites.”
Cen Yu’s palanquin was smashed as he made his way to court. Standing at the palace gates with blood streaming down his face, he pointed to the heavens and declared he had never compromised with the aristocratic clans—only to have filthy excrement thrown all over him. Cen Yu could not believe these were the same students from just a short time ago. In his twenty years at the Board of Censors, he had impeached countless officials, and had even dared to impeach Emperor Guangcheng himself. Yet he had never imagined that one day he would be reviled as a petty, scheming villain.
Originally, the Yao family had long been a paragon of integrity. With three imperial tutors from a single family, their glory was unparalleled. Even after the Xian De era, when they held no official posts, their influence far surpassed that of other clans, and they were widely respected by both aristocratic and commoner families. Both veteran and new court officials—such as Hai Liangyi, Qi Huilian, and Kong Qiu—had all received guidance from the Yao family. The flourishing of the Imperial Academy during the Yongyi Revival was also inseparable from the Yao patriarch’s broad recruitment of talent. But now, the Yao family’s ancestral hall at the eastern end of Kuan City had its doors and windows smashed. Had Kong Qiu not dispatched men to guard it, it would likely have gone up in flames that very night.
This fire has even spread to Yao Wenyu. As a student of Hai Liangyi, he refused to enter official service. During the last upheaval at the Imperial Academy, when Pan Ruguai was denounced, he was nowhere to be seen. With old and new grievances piling up, they tore apart the very essays they had once praised, branding Yao Wenyu a thief—a thief from a distinguished family who had stolen Hai Liangyi’s practical teachings for governing the world.
The capital descended into utter chaos. Whenever the Eight Great Garrisons threatened to deploy troops to suppress the unrest, the students would respond with hunger strikes; four or five had already starved to death, and Han Cheng dared not act rashly. Even Qi Zhuyin, who was busy with border affairs in distant Qidong, could not escape the turmoil. With the Hua-Qi marriage set for the following month, those fiery, impassioned essays rained down on Qidong like snowflakes. The Grand Marshal, who had long suffered from insomnia, now had Qi Wei read them to her whenever she needed to rest at her desk; the more scathing the criticism, the more soundly she slept.
The flames of the Great Zhou rebellion had indeed ignited, but not in the way Hai Liangyi had anticipated. In the darkness, flaming arrows flew everywhere, drawing a clear line between friend and foe. Their demands were harsh, their morality black and white—there was no middle ground, only a struggle to the death.
Kong Qiu insisted on not taking sick leave, but attending court had gradually become a dangerous affair. One day, as he left his home exhausted, he was still deep within the courtyard when a stranger emerged, brandishing a sword and shouting at everyone around him, demanding that Kong Qiu atone with his life. As a dignified cabinet minister, he had often received visiting students in the past, so his home had never been guarded. Yet now, to be confronted by a sword—it was nothing short of a laughingstock, utterly absurd!
It was at this very moment that Xue Xiuzhuo’s three memorials were submitted. Their content was like a colossal wave from the heavens, instantly extinguishing the “crackling” inferno and transforming it into a surging tide, instantly becoming the focal point of all scholars across the land.
In his memorials, he stated that after enduring countless hardships, he had finally located the Emperor Guangcheng’s princess who had been living in exile. Not only did he possess the Prince of Qin’s private seal as evidence, but he also had relevant eyewitnesses to confirm the girl’s lineage beyond doubt, and he requested an on-the-spot public verification.
A woman as sovereign is like an imbalance of yin and yang, a reversal of the sun and moon—something that has not occurred in hundreds of years. Xue Xiuzhuo’s memorial sent shockwaves through the court, and even Kong Qiu vehemently rejected it.
Xue Xiuzhuo immediately submitted a second memorial.
In it, he revealed that the girl had ended up in a peasant family in Kuidu, but because she had been exceptionally intelligent from a young age, she was deeply loved by her family. Though the family was poor, they still allowed her elder brother to teach her to read and write. As a descendant of Emperor Guangcheng, she was naturally extraordinary. Her family frequently witnessed rainbows in the morning dew and purple clouds shrouding their home, which led them to cherish her all the more and treat her with the utmost care. This young woman was not only intelligent but also kind-hearted. When neighbors faced hardship or the elderly went hungry, she would save her own food to personally serve them. Villages near and far spoke highly of her, and there are witnesses to these deeds. As for her bearing and demeanor, let the nobles bear witness when she appears before the throne.
This memorial has already spread throughout the realm; it was posted at the Imperial Academy and has reached every street and alley in Kuandu. Royal daughters are rare and precious; in the Great Zhou, the only one of such status today is Miss Hua San, who serves at the Empress Dowager’s side. When compared, this only deepens the common people’s compassion for this royal daughter. Storytellers have appeared in teahouses and taverns, specializing in recounting the legend of this royal daughter who has fallen among the common folk, portraying her extraordinary gifts as if she were a divine being descended from heaven. Having come from the common people, her family had been farmers for generations. She bore many similarities to the current students at the Imperial Academy, yet she was deeply principled, kind to her neighbors, and fully understood the hardships of the common folk. For a time, even the students looked up to her with great admiration.
It was at this very moment that Xue Xiuzhuo submitted his third and most crucial memorial.
He explained that the Princess’s elder brother had also been a scholar from a humble background who had come to the capital in the first year of the Xiande era, but had failed to pass the imperial examinations due to prejudice against his social status. He returned home and eventually died of depression. The Princess had been deeply attached to her brother, and his death had become a source of deep sorrow for her. On the journey to the capital, she had repeatedly asked him about the condition of Grand Secretary Hai. He mentioned how tirelessly Grand Secretary Hai had labored for the state, and upon hearing this, the Princess actually shed tears, saying, “If I were a man, how could I have allowed the Grand Secretary to endure such hardship?” He himself was the illegitimate son of a distinguished family and had also suffered harsh treatment due to his status as a non-legitimate child, yet he lacked the Princess’s magnanimity and felt deeply ashamed of this.
Finally, Xue Xiuzhuo said, “Since there is no law in the realm that mandates prioritizing legitimate sons or family lineage when selecting court officials, then there is also no ancestral precedent stating that a male must be chosen first when selecting a crown prince—especially since the Great Zhou has reached this point and has no other choice.”
The students were elated; they had finally found a suitable candidate. Prejudices regarding legitimacy and family background had long hindered their ambitions, and they saw themselves as kindred spirits with the Princess. Li Jianheng was an emperor raised in luxury and opulence; he had no understanding of hardship. His indulgence in frivolous pursuits had led to repeated censures by the Censorate. But how different was this heavenly-sent princess! She seemed to be the most beautiful woman in the world, possessing a heart that pitied the poor scholars of the realm. She was the Bodhisattva of Compassion, descended to save all sentient beings.
Amid the overnight uproar of public debate, Xue Xiuzhuo—who had remained a hidden gem—emerged victorious.