The palace disturbance did not spread beyond its walls, and the shocking confinement did not even last until sunset.
Grand Tutor Gan, upon hearing the news, rushed into the palace to rescue the situation. No one knew exactly what he said to Emperor Tian Shou, but in the end, the Sixth Prince was released—and, as compensation, the Emperor agreed to bring him along on the hunting trip.
When Meng Xizhao heard about this: “……”
For a ruler, the greatest taboo is changing orders repeatedly, yet for Emperor Tian Shou, it had clearly become his defining trait.
At times, Meng Xizhao truly found it puzzling—how could a man govern in such a manner, yet only have two or three officials like Zhan Buxiu and Guan You even considering rebellion? It was nothing short of a miracle.
……
The Sixth Prince’s personal name was Cui Yin. When Meng Xizhao first saw the character, he fell silent for a long time because he could not recognize it. Only with Cui Yi’s patient explanation did he learn that it was pronounced “Yin,” meaning cold.
Although he was Emperor Tian Shou’s most favored child, he was extremely arrogant and had been raised with excessive protection. As a free prince, he rarely left the palace. When he was young, he was not permitted to attend court; now that he was of age, the Emperor still did not mention bringing him into government affairs.
Because Emperor Tian Shou simply did not care about his children, almost every prince—from the eldest Cui Yi onward—had become a model of idleness. When they came of age, they were granted princely titles, but no real authority. With the Crown Prince as precedent, none dared to ask for more. And since even the Crown Prince had no such privileges, the others assumed it was normal.
Now reality struck him like a heavy slap across the face.
As for what kind of shock this caused the Sixth Prince, or what new trouble he would cause next, neither Meng Xizhao nor Cui Yi cared.
In their eyes, the Sixth Prince was nothing more than a spoiled child—a useless one at that. To put it harshly, he was a mindless, dangerous dog. There was no need to pay him attention.
Meng Xizhao had never cared about him, and he would not care in the future. In his mind, the Sixth Prince was merely an extra attached to Noble Consort Gan. He only needed to deal with the main target; why bother with a bonus item?
……
Inside a smoky side room, Meng Xizhao sat with a cloth mask tightly wrapped around his face, covering his mouth and nose completely in a bizarre appearance.
On the floor was a large charcoal brazier, using a smoldering method that produced no visible flames—only faint wisps of smoke drifting upward. Above it was a metal mesh frame.
For convenience, it was simply called a “wire mesh,” though in truth it was another byproduct of the Imperial Armory’s research. Compared to the wire mesh Meng Xizhao remembered, this version was crude and brittle; large pieces bent easily, and anything over three chi long and two chi wide could not even hold a simple medicine pot without warping.
Still, it should be fine for roasting meat.
…Somehow, the thought had gone in the wrong direction again.
Meng Xizhao sighed heavily, picked up a bamboo tool, and carefully flipped the slowly heating sheets of paper.
Cui Yi sat opposite him, also wearing a makeshift mask to endure the smoke. He quietly used a fire poker to stir the charcoal below, preventing it from flaring up.
The two worked in coordination. The sheets of paper on the wire mesh were already beginning to turn slightly yellow.
Cui Yi could not help asking, “How will you deal with the smell?”
They could not possibly present it like this. Anyone who saw it would think the paper had been smoked in some foreign barbecue shop.
Without lifting his head, Meng Xizhao replied, “White vinegar mixed with water. Dip a cloth in it, gently wipe the surface of the paper, then let it air dry. Repeat several times, and the smell will disappear.”
Cui Yi blinked and sincerely praised him, “Second Young Master truly knows so much.”
Meng Xizhao said, “Just some unorthodox tricks.”
He looked up and smiled faintly at Cui Yi. “Most people in this world pride themselves on being upright gentlemen, but they do not realize that gentlemen are often constrained. It is people like me—villains of convenience—who act without hesitation and find everything easier.”
Cui Yi looked at him and smiled as well, though his expression carried a deeper meaning than Meng Xizhao’s.
“To use the name of a petty villain to accomplish the deeds of a gentleman—within my eyes, there is only one person in this world who truly deserves to be called a gentleman, and that is you.”
His tone was entirely serious.
Meng Xizhao glanced at him, his ears turning faintly red. He lowered his head in a hurry to hide it and continued carefully turning the paper over.
Cui Yi knew he was embarrassed and gave a silent smile. He lowered his gaze as well, leaving the quiet of the room to Meng Xizhao so he could gradually regain his composure.
This smoke-based aging method had already been going on for several days. It was slow, and extremely sensitive to heat control. In a previous attempt, the fire had been too strong, and the paper had not looked naturally yellowed at all—it looked instead like it had been salvaged from a fire scene, its edges burned a deep reddish-brown. With no other choice, Meng Xizhao had rolled up his sleeves and done it himself, spending nearly all his spare time in this cramped utility room.
In truth, proper aging techniques involved dyeing paper. But here, there was neither coffee nor tea that could produce an authentic aged tone, so they had no choice but to rely on this crude method.
At first, Meng Xizhao had even considered hiring fraudsters from outside—antique dealers who might know how to fake aging. However, he soon discovered that this world was still too early in its development: paper had only become widely used for about a century. Written documents were not yet considered “true antiques,” and thus had little market value. The fraudsters had never even developed such a skill set.
……
When the paper seemed ready, Meng Xizhao selected a sheet with slightly uneven coloration and placed it near the airflow to cool. Once it had stabilized, he stood up and handed it to Cui Yi, asking him to try writing on it to test the effect.
Cui Yi complied. The two precious scrolls left behind by Noble Consort Gan had already been returned two days earlier. Fortunately, Cui Yi had an excellent memory—anything he had once seen, he could hardly forget. If there were any discrepancies, he would notice immediately.
Having practiced repeatedly on ordinary paper, he now paused only briefly before writing fluently in one continuous motion.
When he finished, Meng Xizhao leaned over. Cui Yi stepped aside, and Meng Xizhao carefully lifted the sheet, blowing gently on the still-wet ink before studying it closely.
This was not yet the finished product. The true final version required wiping with vinegar-water and then being left to dry in full sunlight for a full day.
What he was assessing now was simply whether the written text produced the intended effect.
Noble Consort Gan had been well-read, though her creative ability was… average at best. Still, in moments of emotional intensity and self-pity, her work could reach a higher level. The poem drafted by Meng Xizhao and refined with Cui Yi’s assistance, in his own opinion, was perhaps a bit too direct.
He hesitated, then asked, “Should we make it more subtle?”
After all, people of this era tended to prefer subtlety.
Cui Yi looked at him in silence. “If Lady Gan truly had such thoughts, and even went so far as to write such a love poem to that Ping Sanlang, then having already reached that point—why would she still need to hide or feign modesty?”
…That made sense.
If one was going to pursue excitement, one might as well go all the way.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He forcefully pushed the famous modern meme from his mind and turned to Cui Yi with sudden enthusiasm. “Then is one poem still not enough? Should we add a pair of silk stockings? No—an undergarment? No, both silk stockings and an undergarment!”
Cui Yi: “…………”
In the end, he still managed to dissuade Meng Xizhao from the idea.
Poems could be fabricated—but silk stockings and undergarments… where would two men even find Consort Gan’s personal belongings? If they obtained the wrong items and Emperor Tian Shou noticed something off, the entire plan would be ruined.
Besides, Cui Yi genuinely felt that this single poem was already more than enough to shatter Emperor Tian Shou’s spirit completely.
Although Meng Xizhao, the one who devised the plan, did not have such confidence and kept refining it layer by layer for maximum effect, when he asked Cui Yi why he was so certain, Cui Yi did not answer.
Because he was too embarrassed—and also afraid.
How could he admit that he could only be so certain because he had unconsciously imagined it from Emperor Tian Shou’s perspective?
If the person who had written that poem was Meng Xizhao—if he had been the one who embraced him daily, only to later turn and pour out his affection for someone else, and that someone else was the one he truly loved—
Just the thought made Cui Yi’s internal organs twist. It felt as if his heart had been pierced by a red-hot needle, forcing him to close his eyes immediately and drive the image out of his mind.
If he thought any longer, he feared the residual poison would come surging back and drag him straight to the underworld in a celebratory procession.
……
Even imagining it was unbearable.
Of course, Emperor Tian Shou’s feelings for Noble Consort Gan could not compare to his own for Meng Xizhao—but the Emperor’s decade-long devotion was well known. Such a method of emotional destruction… Cui Yi even worried that the Emperor might die of rage upon reading the poem.
That would be far too convenient.
As for why he could not say any of this to Meng Xizhao—it was his own private logic at work. He did not believe in gods or ghosts, yet in certain matters he was stubbornly superstitious: some things, once spoken aloud, might come true.
So better to let them rot inside the stomach.
The young calf fears no tiger. But when the calf grows up and has something it wishes to keep, its courage naturally becomes more restrained.
—
The next day arrived: the hunting expedition.
Emperor Tian Shou joyfully suspended court sessions and led the civil and military officials straight toward Zhong Mountain.
Now flush with funds and eager for a long-missed grand event, he even permitted officials to bring their families along.
When Meng Xizhao saw that Meng Jiaojiao had also come, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Most officials brought their sons; very few brought daughters. After all, most noble young ladies were better suited to embroidery and poetry. They were not willing to come to an event like this, where there was bloodshed.
The county princess had been unwell recently, so Madam Meng stayed at home to take care of her, and Meng Xixiao also remained at home and did not come along. Meng Jiaojiao came alone, without even a proper attendant accompanying her.
Seeing this, Meng Xizhao immediately pulled her over to his side. “How could Father agree to let you come out? What are you doing here as a young lady?!”
Meng Jiaojiao muttered, “Who said I’m alone? My aunt is with me.”
Behind the Meng family carriage, the Shizi Madam, who had been jolted until she felt half her organs had shifted out of place, staggered down. Her face was pale, but she still forced herself to smile kindly at her nephew and niece.
“……”
Meng Xizhao could not bring himself to expose Meng Jiaojiao’s scheme in front of the Shizi Madam. She must have known that Xie Yuan would also be participating in this hunt, which was why she had eagerly followed along. And the poor Shizi Madam was likely dragged here by Meng Jiaojiao—after all, without an elder present, Madam Meng would never have allowed her to come out.
…Forget it.
Meng Xizhao could see it clearly now. In terms of scheming, his younger sister was not inferior to him at all.
Not wanting to argue further, since the Shizi Madam was here, Meng Xizhao no longer needed to worry about her. Just before leaving, however, he paused and asked Meng Jiaojiao, “Is Miss Zhan here today?”
He had only thought of it casually and asked without much expectation. Given Zhan Hui’s personality, she probably would not come. Unexpectedly, Meng Jiaojiao nodded.
“She came. I made plans with her a few days ago. Later, my aunt will bring us along so we can travel together and enjoy ourselves. Second Brother, will you also be accompanying General Zhan?”
Meng Xizhao was still digesting the shock that Zhan Hui would actually appear in such a place when he merely gave a distracted “Mm” and replied perfunctorily, “Probably not.”
Meng Jiaojiao smiled. “That’s good then. Second Brother, with your small frame, if you went with General Zhan, you’d probably just drag him down.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
After speaking, Meng Jiaojiao, lifting her veil and looking around, spotted the Zhan family carriage arriving. Her eyes lit up and she immediately abandoned her second brother, walking briskly toward it. The Shizi Madam, seeing this, was also supported by her maid and hurried after Meng Jiaojiao, who was impossible to hold onto.
With a vein twitching at his temple, Meng Xizhao ultimately endured it in silence. Then he turned around and went to find his own companions.
Not the Crown Prince, not Xie Yuan, not Zhan Bushou—but Zang He.
Zang He was a complete scholar. Although he was a Confucian scholar, he was no longer like the scholars of ancient times who carried swords wherever they went. Even riding a horse, he had only learned on the day of the street parade. Naturally, for today’s hunt, he could only count as participating in name only.
This aligned perfectly with Meng Xizhao’s own plan. Today, he intended to treat it as an outing—stroll around, drink some wine, watch others hunt, and then head home.
Zang He gladly agreed when Meng Xizhao came over on his own initiative, and the two of them strolled leisurely together. Before long, Lu Fengqiu also joined them.
In a gathering like this, the Crown Prince could not participate; he stayed by His Majesty Tian Shou Emperor’s side. After the hunting grounds were set up, he sat in the foremost position with the emperor, watching music and dance performances and waiting for the ministers to return.
Meng Xizhao glanced over in that direction and could not help but twitch his mouth.
So the emperor Tian Shou was not going to hunt himself after all. He was simply here to watch others hunt and call out praises for whoever brought in the most game.
Not only that, but even performers from the Court of Music had been brought along. Was this really a hunting expedition, or just a change of scenery for watching song and dance performances? In the deep autumn, the sky was overcast and cold winds were blowing. While the emperor and officials were dressed warmly, the dancers were exposing their legs and shoulders. Meng Xizhao fell silent, deeply worried that after today, they would all end up with chronic rheumatism…
The favored ministers all gathered around Tian Shou Emperor. Several consorts were also brought along, though they had their own seating area with curtains in front, so outsiders could not see them.
Meng Xizhao knew that Su Ruocun was among them, but he never looked in that direction. Su Ruocun did the same—even if they could see each other, they would pretend not to.
……
The prey on Mount Zhong had all been raised in advance and then released inside. There were no truly fierce beasts here. As a result, almost everyone who went out managed to bring back some game. The one with the greatest harvest, naturally, was the foremost among the generals—Zhan Bushou.
Shang Xiguan sat beside the emperor. Seeing Zhan Bushou return leisurely on horseback with a mountain-like pile of prey, his face twitched slightly before he forced out a flawless smile.
When Elder Minister Geng Wenjin saw this, he asked mockingly, “General Shang is still as formidable as ever. Why not go down and show your skills yourself, instead of letting the younger generation steal the spotlight?”
Shang Xiguan chuckled. “The young man you speak of is also a loyal and capable servant of His Majesty. Why would I compete for merit with a junior?”
Geng Wenjin smiled without warmth. “Afraid you would lose, perhaps?”
Sitting on the other side, Yan Shunying listened to the two of them trading barbs, feeling contempt in his heart, though his expression remained unchanged. He simply poured himself more wine and watched the dancers below continue their spirited performance.
Si Tu Han had taken sick leave today and did not come. Without his usual sparring opponent, he strangely felt a sense of loneliness, as though life itself had become dull and empty.
With Si Tu Han absent, the seat beside him was filled by Grand Tutor Gan and Meng Jiuyu. Meng Jiuyu would occasionally glance at Grand Tutor Gan, while Grand Tutor Gan’s gaze was mostly fixed on the Sixth Prince.
The Sixth Prince had finally managed to calm Tian Shou Emperor’s anger, but upon arriving here, he discovered that he was not the only one sitting beside the emperor—the Crown Prince was also present. He had never considered that such events were rare, and that in the past, whenever the Crown Prince heard of such outings, he would voluntarily step aside. Otherwise, as long as he came, he would always be seated here.
Failing to understand this, he only felt that Cui Ye was deliberately flaunting authority. Thinking of Cui Ye’s frail health, and knowing he would not go down to participate, the Sixth Prince steeled himself, determined to take action personally and hunt a great tiger to present to his father—so that His Majesty could see clearly who was truly the worthy son of a mighty father.
We have no idea whether his brain was missing a few parts or his filter was just that thick. The Emperor Tianshou’s abilities were practically on par with Shang Xiguan’s, yet he could still praise him as a “tiger of a father.”
The Sixth Prince wanted to stand out, and Grand Tutor Gan, afraid something might happen to him, naturally tried to stop him. But he couldn’t, so he had no choice but to follow along. The grounds were lively, full of spectacle everywhere. The family members were seated separately from them. While Meng Xizhao was chatting with Zang He, he glanced around, not sure where Meng Jiaojiao and the others had gone. Just as he was about to look back, his peripheral vision caught Xie Yuan—once again drinking alone in silence.
But unlike at the Qionglin Banquet, where he drank in lonely austerity, today he drank with a flushed face, lost in thought.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
For some reason, a faint sense of sympathy rose within him.
Although Meng Jiaojiao was his younger sister, to be fair—being set upon by Meng Jiaojiao was about the same as being targeted by a black widow.
By the midpoint of the banquet, those who were capable had mostly returned. Even Zhan Buxiu had washed off the dust and reentered the feast with bold, unrestrained confidence. There were few military generals in court these days; once he sat down, everyone realized that among the ranks of martial officials, he was actually near the top.
At the very least, far ahead of Meng Xizhao, who was mixed in among the scholars.
The Emperor Tianshou, slightly drunk, watched as beauties danced gracefully before him. Surrounded by a liveliness and joy he had not felt in years, the alcohol began to take hold. Heat surged to his head, and he blurted out:
“A vast Great Qi—there is no shortage of fine men who can take to the battlefield! Now we also have Zhan, who can drive back the Xiongnu bandits and shoot down the young emperor of Nanzhao. With such a general, let alone conquering Nanzhao—marching on Dali would be as easy as reaching into a bag and taking what we want!”
In an instant, the entire hall fell silent.
Fueled by drink, his voice had already been loud. And just then, the dance happened to end; the musicians were in the middle of changing shifts. As silence settled, all that could be heard was the fierce northern wind and the rustling fall of autumn leaves.
A single yellow leaf even spiraled down from above and landed on the emperor’s table.
The Emperor Tianshou: “…………”
He had meant to use this moment to test his officials. Who would have thought they would give him no face at all—not a single person spoke. The more they remained silent, the more he lost face. The awkward tension thickened, and because of that, no one was willing to be the first to speak.
Meng Xizhao sat among the crowd, quietly lowering his head to minimize his presence. Zang He beside him did the same. As the emperor’s expression grew increasingly unpleasant, Meng Jiuyu’s heart stirred—this was an opportunity.
He chuckled lightly and offered the emperor a way out:
“General Zhan is loyal and courageous, both brave and resourceful—a truly upright man. I’ve heard he is about to reach his coming-of-age, yet is still unmarried. Has his family made any arrangements?”
With a single sentence, Meng Jiuyu deflected the emperor’s test and shifted everyone’s attention to Zhan Buxiu’s unmarried status. Marriage had always been the perfect topic to open conversation—harmless and safe. Soon, others joined in, chatting over one another. Some even joked, asking whether Meng Jiuyu intended to marry his only daughter to Zhan Buxiu. Meng Jiuyu brushed it off lightly, drawing laughter from the crowd.
But he did not notice that Xie Yuan, seated below, suddenly froze, then stared straight at Zhan Buxiu.
The latter: “…”
He didn’t notice Xie Yuan’s gaze at all. All he felt was that his luck was absolutely terrible—if he had known, he wouldn’t have come today.
Aside from Xie Yuan, there was one more person who couldn’t laugh: the Emperor Tianshou himself, whose test had yielded deeply unsatisfactory results.
He drank with a cold expression. Though he didn’t bring it up again, he clearly hadn’t abandoned the plan. He intended to continue probing in the future. After all, he was the emperor—whether to fight or not was his decision. If the ministers accepted it, fine; if not, he didn’t care.
Having learned from the turmoil surrounding the deposed empress years ago, he had grown more cautious. He would no longer state things outright, but instead gradually guide the court into accepting the idea. Meanwhile, Ding Chun was still campaigning in Nanzhao. According to Geng Wenjin, it would take about two more months for Ding Chun to return. So in two months’ time, he would formally raise the matter again.
Thinking back to Meng Jiuyu’s earlier suggestion—to reward the soldiers generously so they would gain both fame and fortune—the emperor had initially found it troublesome. Even if it didn’t cost much, land and estates were still his property. Besides, he himself had only one imperial shrine, and it hadn’t even been completed after Qiu Suming’s death. Why should Ding Chun and the others surpass him?
At the time, he hadn’t wanted to agree.
But now, he had changed his mind.
Only by richly rewarding those who distinguished themselves in Nanzhao would they be more willing to risk their lives for him in Dali.
With that thought, a plan formed in his mind, and he felt quite pleased with himself.
Meanwhile, Meng Xizhao watched the faint smile slowly rise on the emperor’s lips—and let out a quiet, ambiguous chuckle of his own.
Zang He heard it and looked up, but by then Meng Xizhao had already returned to normal. He raised his wine cup; seeing this, Zang He quickly did the same.
The two clinked cups warmly, like the best of brothers.