Now things were really lively.
If this had happened to someone else, the incident likely wouldn’t have spread so quickly. Others’ networks were simple: a few disciples, a few friends—easy to count on one hand. But Yan Shunying was different. He had taught countless students over decades, and his reputation as a scholar was well known. Any literati willing to attach themselves to him could do so freely. Even he had lost track of how many disciples he had taken in.
As for petty opportunists, they weren’t uncommon. In a large forest, there were all kinds of birds; some brazenly used Yan’s name to swindle. But none were bold enough to challenge the Three Commissioners directly.
Yan Shunying barely paused for tea. He immediately dispatched attendants to investigate who had been arrested. With slow travel and no telephones, by the time his men returned with details, Wang Yizheng had already been locked up in the Ministry of Justice’s prison—the only place Meng Xizhao hadn’t touched.
……
Hearing the name Wang Yizheng, Yan Shunying furrowed his brow tightly.
He remembered—just a few days ago, Wang had been brought to his residence by the Assistant Minister of Personnel. Because Wang had studied at Qingshan Academy and had quietly contributed to the campaign against Nanzhao, he had merits unknown to the emperor, since Wang’s former position was too low.
Wang bowed before him, tearfully explaining that during his time at Longxing Mansion, he had opposed Meng Xizhao at every turn out of frustration. This led Meng to block him entirely, stripping him of responsibilities. In Nanzhao, if Wang hadn’t found the main army himself, Meng would have left him stranded. Returning home offered no relief—Meng Xizhao was too grudging. Even when reporting merits, everyone else’s achievements were recorded; Wang received nothing. No promotion, no restoration of his steward position—nothing.
Listening to Wang’s heartfelt confession, Yan Shunying shook his head repeatedly. Such pettiness in officialdom was dangerous. Reward appropriately, punish appropriately—only then could subordinates remain loyal. Otherwise, they would seek other patrons. Wang’s behavior today was a perfect example.
Though Meng Xizhao had no use for Wang, Yan saw potential. With his merits, a little maneuvering could appoint him magistrate of a prosperous county. After a few years, Wang returned to the capital, and his faction would grow—one more piece in the political chessboard.
As for what either would be years later, Yan didn’t care. He had made such “investments” many times—some failed, some paid off. Either way, trying cost nothing.
…… Yet he hadn’t anticipated the pitfall this person carried.
Yan Shunying fell silent.
He was torn. Should he take responsibility for Wang, or let him be?
Wang had indeed pledged loyalty, and Yan was ready to pull him under his wing. Claiming him as a disciple was not unreasonable.
Moreover, there was a prevailing saying: Once a teacher, always a father. If Yan ignored Wang and the matter became public, his reputation as a tireless, world-renowned scholar could take a hit.
Take responsibility?
But if he did, could Old Gan Rui forgive him?
Yan Shunying was deeply conflicted. Anger simmered beneath the surface.
The eternal second in command… He had always been the perpetual runner-up in the Great Qi court. Only the old Situt could match him, and the ebb and flow of victories was routine. Normally, disputes with Meng Jiuyu would mostly favor him, rarely Meng. But when faced with Grand Tutor Gan, the balance shifted—like a giant hand pressing down on his head, keeping him from rising, forcing him to yield no matter how he struggled.
Every full moon and mid-month, he would kneel sincerely in his private shrine, making a single wish: that Grand Tutor Gan would just die already.
……
But the man, nearly seventy, still wandered the palace frequently, always enjoying meals there. Eunuchs reported Gan had a hearty appetite, eating two bowls at each meal.
Hoping for an early death? Impossible. So, perhaps a little obstruction instead.
In the past, Yan Shunying wouldn’t have acted rashly—after all, as the Right Chancellor, a small move could shake the whole court. But times had changed. The Three Commissioners had just tangled with the Meng family in legal battles for a month. Meng Jiuyu’s determination was clear. Faced with this, Yan could not simply stand aside.
Hmm…
Yan Shunying’s mind raced, his brain working furiously, leaving those nearby desperate and anxious.
“Master, what exactly are you thinking? Are we going to take responsibility for Wang Yizheng or not? Several of the gentlemen have come asking you.”
It was common for scholars to cultivate disciples or retainers, especially those who proclaimed themselves great Confucian masters. Their households often included a few private aides: some aimed to enter officialdom, others sought only a pure reputation—offering advice and handling matters without being tainted, all while earning respect.
Yan Shunying’s men performed exactly this role. Hearing the servant, he turned and instructed, “Go, invite all the gentlemen here.”
……
＊
Wang Yizheng had beaten the Drum of Petitioning in the morning, and by noon, the news had spread across Ying Tian Prefecture.
The Drum of Petitioning had existed since the Wei and Jin dynasties. Enormous and resonant, when struck, it could be heard far and wide. Even if not reaching ten li, it certainly carried for hundreds of meters.
Previously, Grand Tutor Gan and his agents had guarded carefully, seizing anyone suspicious before they could reach the drum. Waiting until it was struck would be too late—the sound alone would draw every possible troublemaker out.
Right now, the first “troublemaker,” Vice Minister Meng Jiuyu, was at the Ministry of Justice pressuring them to release Wang. He stood before the stern-faced Minister, spittle flying, arguing fiercely:
“Someone has beaten the drum to cry injustice, yet you investigate nothing, instead arresting the petitioner. The Drum of Petitioning was established by His Majesty! Minister Zhang, do you mean to claim it belongs to you rather than the emperor?”
Minister Zhang stammered, “…Vice Minister Meng, that is not what I meant. I only arrested Wang Yizheng in response to another report.”
Meng pressed, “And what crime has he committed?”
Zhang froze. How could he know? Grand Tutor Gan hadn’t said a word. In desperation, he remembered that Wang had been to Nanzhao and had served with merit. A lightbulb went off in his head, and he blurted: “He colluded with Nanzhao! There’s suspicion of treason!”
Meng Jiuyu sneered immediately. “Nanzhao is no more—who is he betraying? In my view, you’ve fabricated this out of nothing! Tell me, Zhang: will you release him or not? If not, do not blame me for acting harshly!”
Zhang, a protégé of Grand Tutor Gan, would not yield to Meng, and the two clashed, throwing the Ministry of Justice into chaos. Everyone panicked.
Meanwhile, the second “troublemaker,” Meng Xi’ang, had drafted a memorial and submitted it to his superior, Censor-General Jiang Fang.
Technically, the chief of the Censorate was the Vice Censor; the Censor-General outranked him but didn’t manage affairs directly. Meng Xi’ang bypassed the Vice Censor, surnamed Gan—Grand Tutor Gan’s son—to approach Jiang directly.
Jiang read the memorial swiftly, his expression gradually turning complex. Meng Xi’ang’s piece wasn’t merely accusing the Three Commissioners of oppressing the countryside—it framed the unrest as stemming from their corrupt rule, extorting wealth for personal gain, while the emperor bore all the blame.
He cited examples: the emperor unfit to reign, the emperor a Yama, the Three Commissioners as mischievous spirits, good officials disbelieved, treacherous ones treated like sons…
Jiang remained expressionless, though he respected Meng Xi’ang. To persuade the emperor, a simple complaint about the Three Commissioners wouldn’t suffice; the angle had to target the emperor’s concerns.
Jiang even offered Meng guidance as a teacher would a pupil. Meng Xi’ang humbly took notes, though Jiang advised removing the particularly pointed line about good officials dying unjustly and corrupt ones being treated like sons. Meng Xi’ang refused, instead revising it to: Good officials die in vain, corrupt ones laugh with glee.
Jiang blinked—at least it rhymed.
He didn’t understand the insistence—removing the line would have been safer, given the numerous other examples. But Meng Xi’ang persisted, honoring a promise to his brother to include it no matter what.
After final adjustments, both memorials—one from Meng Xi’ang, one from Jiang—were submitted. All memorials first reached the Right Chancellor, Yan Shunying, who was already waiting. His servant ran back and forth like stagehands:
“Master, Vice Minister Meng and Minister Zhang are clashing!”
“Master, the whole city is talking about it—everyone treats the Three Commissioners like they’re watching monkeys!”
“Master, the Three Commissioners have gone to Grand Tutor Gan’s residence!”
“Master, Grand Tutor Gan has entered the palace!”
Yan Shunying was examining the memorials from Jiang and Meng Xi’ang. Meng Xi’ang’s intervention didn’t surprise him, but Jiang’s participation did. Then he reconsidered—perhaps it wasn’t so surprising after all.
Jiang Fang was under the protection of Situ Han. Single-minded, talented but blunt, he had never been rewarded as he deserved. Now, having risen to Censor-General—a position with little opportunity for corruption—he acted with integrity, fully backed by Situ Han’s recommendation.
Unlike Yan Shunying, the disciples of Situ Shang Gong were genuine pupils—their loyalty and affection could not be compared.
Yan Shunying stared at Jiang Fang’s handwriting, then slammed his hand on the table and laughed heartily.
The gentlemen below were utterly bewildered.
They didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter—Yan Shunying understood, and that was enough.
The memorials had yet to reach Emperor Tian Shou, and Grand Tutor Gan had only just entered the palace. Though the affair had flared up, it had not yet escalated fully. Outsiders might have heard the news and chuckled, thinking it inconsequential. But Yan Shunying, high-ranking and accustomed to observing all directions, listening to all channels, saw it as a golden opportunity.
The opening move had appeared, and with the Meng family and Jiang Fang stubbornly holding their positions, the balance of power seemed wobbly but stable—so long as no additional weight was added.
If not now, when?
If the Three Commissioners fell, their positions would be vacant. Replacing them with his own allies would be perfect.
The situation clarified, Yan Shunying donned his official robe with a smile, sending messages to his trusted aides as he made his way to the palace, thinking privately: Qiu Suming, you’ve occupied the Three Commissioners’ seat for many years—better step aside this time!
＊
Outside, the city was bustling, but the Eastern Palace was like a secluded paradise, tranquil and quiet.
Meng Xizhao and Cui Ye sat together, each holding a bowl, spooning sweet soup.
Cui Ye commented, “This dessert is delightfully refreshing.”
Meng Xizhao smiled around his spoon. “It’s called Qing Bu Liang—refreshing in summer, nourishing for the body, and very tasty.” He sighed regretfully. “A shame there’s no liangfen. I wouldn’t know how to make it, but if added, it would be even better.”
Cui Ye asked, “Liangfen?”
Meng Xizhao explained, “A food recorded in old texts… hmm, I think it’s made with wood ash. I don’t remember the other steps. Never mind—I’ll study it properly when I have time.”
He lowered his head to continue eating. Cui Ye watched him, smiling faintly. “Second Young Master always enjoys experimenting with curious things. Each creation benefits the country and the people.”
Meng Xizhao replied, “And it benefits you too. If you didn’t like sweets, I wouldn’t have remembered to make this.”
Cui Ye blinked, meeting his gaze. “Indeed, I have a sweet tooth.”
Meng Xizhao caught the implication, paused in curiosity, then realized and laughed softly. He set down the porcelain bowl, slid onto Cui Ye’s lap, cupped his face, lowered his head, and gently licked away the remaining sweetness on his lips. Then he looked up, meeting Cui Ye’s dark, deep eyes. His pupils dilated slightly, his breath more uneven than usual.
Meng Xizhao curved his lips. “Your Highness, remember, a gentleman must avoid arrogance and rashness.”
Cui Ye raised an eyebrow. “Second Young Master knows well. I have never been a gentleman—I am a libertine.”
He pressed Meng Xizhao’s nape, making him bow slightly. Summer was drawing to an end, and Cui Ye, long on medication, no longer used an ice basin. Warmth rose, clinging to their closely pressed skin, thin sweat forming—but no one minded.
If every summer could be this joyful, Cui Ye wished all seasons to feel like summer.
……
Yu Fulan returned and found the hall doors closed. Zhang Shuo Gong stood guard along the corridor; Yu Fulan wasn’t surprised. He walked over and waited by him.
Zhang Shuo Gong glanced at him. “How is it?”
Yu Fulan shook his head. “No conclusion yet. Yan Shunying brought the memorials before His Majesty. Upon reading, the emperor flew into a rage and imprisoned the Three Commissioners. Grand Tutor Gan pleaded, saying there must be something unusual and demanded a thorough investigation. Yan Shunying naturally disagreed, while Vice Minister Meng insisted the evidence was sufficient and no review was needed. Yet, regardless of their quarrels, the emperor said nothing. In my opinion, he still leans toward the Three Commissioners, intending to give him a chance.”
Zhang Shuo Gong frowned. “But after this, surely the Three Commissioners cannot continue?”
Normally, yes.
But their emperor was far from normal.
So Yu Fulan was uncertain. He shook his head again, exchanging a look with Zhang Shuo Gong. No sighs were needed—the silence said enough.
……
Yu Fulan’s timing was fortunate. Soon, Meng Xizhao emerged from inside, and upon seeing him, his face lit up. “Commander Yu, any news from Kunyu Hall?”
Yu Fulan relayed what he had learned, but Meng Xizhao showed no disappointment. Instead, he nodded happily. “After all, the Three Commissioners—years of bond with the emperor, delivering countless gifts. The emperor is human, and even he has a shred of conscience.”
Yu Fulan: “…………”
Thank you for trusting the Eastern Palace walls to be impenetrable.
Meng Xizhao straightened his sleeves. “I’ll have my evening meal here. Commander Yu, please make a few more inquiries. Once everyone has left, report back to me.”
Yu Fulan agreed, then asked curiously, “What do you intend to do, Lord Meng?”
Meng Xizhao waved him off. “Nothing. Just show my face. Such a big matter—I cannot remain hidden.”
Yu Fulan: “……”
Fair enough.
＊
Emperor Tian Shou was furious today.
Reading the memorials from Meng Xi’ang and Jiang Fang nearly made his temples throb. Yan Shunying and Grand Tutor Gan clashed—neither yielding—which made him even more irritable.
As for Qiu Suming…
Incompetent! With so many corrupt officials in the realm, why was it only him causing the people to cry out? If he had been more discreet, today’s incident could have been avoided altogether.
And that person who beat the drum to announce grievances—he was just idling, looking for a reason to file a complaint. If he wanted to sue, he could have gone straight to the Yingtian Prefecture office. Why make a scene with drumbeats? Now, though, it was unavoidable—everyone had to get involved!
Speaking of Yingtian Prefecture, Emperor Tian Shou suddenly realized: why hadn’t Meng Xizhao come today? Normally, he shouldn’t have missed this.
Just as he was thinking this, an attendant reported, “The Prefect of the Meng Mansion requests an audience.”
Emperor Tian Shou: “…Do not see him!”
The attendant looked troubled, hesitated, and was about to withdraw, when Su Ruocun, fanning the emperor nearby, suddenly stood and bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, I’ve prepared a sweet summer dessert for you. It should be ready—I shall bring it immediately.”
The emperor asked, “You made it yourself?”
Su Ruocun smiled lightly. “Yes, Your Majesty. I used a recipe from Nanzhao. You know, their summers are far hotter than here. During the summer, they rely on this recipe to relieve heat and toxins.”
The emperor, like all rulers, feared death—and the Cui royal clan… well, their lifespans were notoriously short. So Tian Shou, more than most emperors, was keen on longevity. At the mention of health, he immediately waved her on to fetch the dessert.
As Su Ruocun left, the hall seemed less crowded. The attendant remained at the door, and Qin Feimang suggested, “Your Majesty, perhaps you might summon Prefect Meng in this interval? There may be urgent matters.”
Tian Shou thought: what urgent matter could there be? Surely just to throw mud. But he was a little idle. Since Qin Feimang said so, he nodded. “Bring Meng Xizhao in.”
The attendant immediately relaxed and went to fetch him.
Shortly after, Meng Xizhao arrived at Kunyu Hall. Upon entering, he smiled broadly, showing eight teeth, so exuberant it was almost unbearable to watch.
Qin Feimang: “…You don’t need to make your joy so obvious.”
Emperor Tian Shou, clearly seeing Meng Xizhao’s smug delight, darkened at once. I’m at my wits’ end, and you act as if it’s New Year’s! What crime do you deserve?!
Before the emperor could question him, Meng Xizhao stepped forward, reached the proper spot, and suddenly bowed deeply. “Congratulations, Your Majesty! This year is truly excellent! Granaries full, the nation peaceful and prosperous!”
Tian Shou: “…?”
He was momentarily stunned, confused. “What do you mean?”
Meng Xizhao straightened. “Your servant has heard that someone came with grievances to petition, accusing the Three Commissioners. Your Majesty, upon hearing, must have been full of rage. The Three Commissioners were appointed by Your Majesty himself, yet he repaid kindness with cruelty—not only harming the people but even causing Your Majesty to lose the hearts of your subjects. Such a villain deserves death! Your servant knows Your Majesty’s heart is troubled, and it is my responsibility. I failed to serve properly, and thus Your Majesty is vexed. So, I have come to relieve Your Majesty of this worry.”
The emperor stared, expressionless. “Get to the point.”
Meng Xizhao chuckled lightly and continued briskly.
“Yes. Your Majesty, all land under heaven belongs to the king; all people under heaven are your subjects. What the Three Commissioners appear to harm is in fact your own household staff, your own servants. The people toil diligently, farming and weaving, for what? To pay taxes, serve in your armies, enrich the kingdom, and fill your treasury. Yet the Three Commissioners seize money that rightfully belongs to Your Majesty, hoarding it as his own. Your Majesty, perhaps you’ve not heard, but it’s widely known in Yingtian Prefecture that he is not filial at all. Every year on Grand Tutor Gan’s birthday, he sends a gift—worth hundreds of thousands of taels, a staggering sum.”
Meng Xizhao’s tone was full of astonishment. Tian Shou’s mood shifted subtly. So that’s why he gave Grand Tutor Gan gifts of such magnitude… The emperor couldn’t help but compare them to his own received gifts. Seems about the same…
Meng Xizhao continued: “Ordinarily, such gifts would be considered supremely filial. Ha! But in Yingtian Prefecture, everyone laughs at it, because it’s well known the Three Commissioner’s fortune far exceeds a few hundred thousand taels. His personal wealth equals ten years of the entire Daqi treasury. Hundreds of thousands of taels? A mere trifle! Like an ordinary person offering a single tael for a birthday present. Your Majesty, do you call that filial?”
At that point, Tian Shou barely registered the rest. He only remembered the earlier phrase. Fixating on Meng Xizhao, his voice drifted: “…Ten years of the treasury’s total revenue?”
Meng Xizhao scratched his head. “That’s what people say—I haven’t calculated it myself. By the way, Your Majesty, how much does Daqi’s treasury bring in per year?”
Tian Shou: “…?”
He wasn’t certain. Over the past two years, whenever the Minister of Revenue reported, he had been distracted. In earlier years, he remembered—about forty million taels annually. Back then, he’d been angry and sleepless since buying horses from the Xiongnu cost a tenth of that.
Meng Xizhao claimed that Qiu Suming’s fortune could equal ten years of the treasury.
That would be… four hundred million taels?!
Could there really be so much?!
By the heavens, even he had never seen such wealth. If Qiu Suming truly had this much, then all the small gifts he annually sent were indeed trifles.