Returning home with Meng Jiaojiao, Meng Xizhao was immediately subjected to an overwhelming welcome from all the women of the household.
By the time Meng Jiuyu and Meng Xi’ang returned, still carrying a bellyful of anger, Meng Xizhao had already eaten two full meals and enjoyed three rounds of afternoon tea. At that moment, he was reclining in the west wing of the main courtyard, being attended to by over a dozen maids.
He lay stretched out on a couch: two maids kneaded his legs, two massaged his shoulders, three fanned him gently from different angles, and another held a tray of assorted fruits—over a dozen kinds of seasonal offerings. Beside her, yet another maid picked up glistening grapes one by one and gently fed them into his mouth.
Meng Xizhao did not even need to move his neck—he simply opened his mouth. “Ah—”
The father and son who walked in on this scene of decadent indulgence: “…………”
Strangely, it only made them feel even angrier.
Hearing someone enter, Meng Xizhao looked over. When he saw the two of them, he immediately sat up in delight. “Father, Elder Brother, you’re back.”
He waved his hand, dismissing all the maids. Meng Jiuyu glanced at the one holding the fruit tray and hesitated. “Isn’t that a maid from your mother’s courtyard?”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “Yes. Mother said I must have suffered greatly traveling all this way. My own courtyard is rather empty now and lacks capable servants, so she decided to assign a few of hers to me. Sister-in-law and Jiaojiao did the same. Though honestly, I don’t need it—I’m not someone who enjoys being waited on.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
Wipe the grape juice off your chin before saying that.
After all, he had narrowly escaped death. No matter what they wanted to say, Meng Jiuyu and Meng Xi’ang had to swallow it back for now. The two men came up to him—being men, even with reddened eyes, they only gave his shoulders a firm, heavy pat.
Meng Jiuyu said hoarsely, “It’s good you’re back. Good that you’re back.”
Meng Xi’ang wrapped an arm around his shoulders, saying nothing, yet conveying everything.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
You might as well cry and say something—this is even more awkward.
Pulling his elder brother’s hand off his shoulder, Meng Xizhao knew he had worried them. So he immediately made a solemn promise. “Father, Elder Brother, don’t worry. After this, I’ve learned my lesson. From now on, I won’t run off again. I’ll stay right here in Yingtian Prefecture, by your side. Even if I cause trouble, it’ll be right under your noses—I won’t make you worry again.”
Meng Jiuyu was deeply moved. “You little rascal—can’t you just stop causing trouble altogether?!”
Meng Xi’ang quickly tried to calm him. “Father, don’t get angry. Anger harms the body. Better to just give Erlang a beating.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Before he could even flee, Meng Jiuyu turned and unleashed his frustration on Meng Xi’ang instead. “And you have the nerve to speak!”
“Neither of you is any less troublesome! If you hadn’t left a handle for others to grab onto, why would His Majesty have suddenly made things difficult today? I’ve told you countless times—don’t act on impulse, don’t act on impulse! Did you listen? Among those people, who is easy to deal with? They’re like flies—you bleed even a little, and they swarm in!”
Meng Xi’ang lowered his head under the scolding, while Meng Xizhao looked utterly confused. “What happened? Did something else occur? I thought His Majesty only stopped you from coming to meet me—was there more?”
At the mention of today’s events, Meng Jiuyu grew even angrier. Meng Xi’ang, slightly calmer, pulled Meng Xizhao to sit down and explained everything in detail.
Ever since the Southern Zhao royal family had been completely wiped out, Yingtian Prefecture had not known peace.
Although the Crown Prince and the others had not yet returned, the matter of rewards was already set in stone. Zhen Anluo, along with his sons and grandsons, had all been captured. The remaining Southern Zhao forces were like scattered sand—internal strife alone would eventually destroy them.
Everyone knew that immense fortune was about to be distributed.
And who would not want a share of it?
The civil officials submitted all sorts of memorials, each claiming they had the best methods for governing the cities of Southern Zhao. Some even added that a certain relative of theirs happened to be idle and could go over to display their talents. The military officers, on the other hand, boasted that while they couldn’t chew through the hard bones, anyone could thrash a dog in the water—so please, Your Majesty, send us!
Among the civil officials, Yan Xianggong’s faction was the most active, while among the generals, it was General Shang who shamelessly stood out.
Shang Xiguan figured that no matter who was appointed as the main commander for this campaign—even if it were a pig—they would inevitably achieve a great victory. He had not led troops in years, feared hardship, feared defeat, but this time, the odds were firmly in his favor. Why wouldn’t he take the opportunity if fortune dropped into his lap?
However, because of the previous bitter rivalry with Secretary Geng, Shang Xiguan’s proposal was ruthlessly rejected by him.
In the end, the Bureau of Military Affairs was the real center of military power. As Grand General of the Cavalry, Shang Xiguan only truly experienced the joy of issuing orders when he was on the battlefield.
Attempting the normal route of self-recommendation would not work this time. So Shang Xiguan had to find a backdoor—flatter the Emperor, offer gifts, and say flattering things.
Here, it’s worth noting Shang Xiguan’s rise to power: almost every court official could flatter, but he was not among the most adept. What really tickled the Emperor’s fancy was that Shang Xiguan was particularly skilled at speaking ill of others.
Flattery is an art, but so is speaking ill; few can do it well. Overdo it, and you’re caught in scheming; do too little, and it seems you don’t understand the person. Shang Xiguan had perfect timing—stirring the pot while pretending sincerity, making it seem as if everything he said was for the Emperor’s good. The Emperor, already petty and vindictive, felt invigorated having someone rally against his enemies by his side.
Back then, by spreading ill words, Shang Xiguan solidified the Emperor’s dislike for Zhan Shenyu. When Zhan Shenyu died, Shang Xiguan naturally ascended to Grand General of the Cavalry, smugly unaware that his position had been secured through betraying friends and benefactors.
Still sharp and ambitious, Shang Xiguan now decided to find a scapegoat, and that unlucky person was none other than Meng Xizhao himself.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Is that even allowed?!
Of course it was. The Crown Prince had not returned, the Emperor was displeased, but Shang Xiguan wasn’t foolish—he wouldn’t dare speak ill of the Crown Prince; too risky. Based on the widespread knowledge among the ministers, Meng Xizhao spent every day with the Crown Prince. The Southern Zhao troops in the Da Qi palace almost treated his orders as the Crown Prince’s. So using him as a stand-in was perfect.
Originally, the Emperor’s displeasure was aimed at the Crown Prince, the true authority. But Shang Xiguan’s insinuations redirected that anger toward Meng Xizhao. Meng Jiuyu, unaware of this, was simply trying to assert his own presence at court for his son, only to be publicly scolded by the Emperor in front of all officials.
Meng Jiuyu was bewildered. The Emperor’s moods were unpredictable; sometimes angry, sometimes indifferent. He figured it was best to do nothing, acting like a compliant sheep. But his eldest son had other ideas.
Meng Xi’ang believed everything happened for a reason. He sent his circle of young bureaucrats to investigate, and when they traced the matter to Shang Xiguan, he knew this was a crucial moment. He had to disrupt Shang Xiguan, making him scramble so he wouldn’t have time to malign his younger brother.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Stunned, he shook his head violently at his elder brother. “You impeached Shang Xiguan?!”
Meng Xi’ang defended himself: “I just caused him a little trouble.”
Meng Xizhao had a bad feeling. “What kind of trouble?”
Before he could respond, Meng Jiuyu snorted. “He submitted a memorial claiming that the military strategies Shang Xiguan published years ago were ghostwritten, asking His Majesty to punish Shang Xiguan for deceiving the Emperor.”
After a pause, Meng Jiuyu’s anger flared again. “With Shang Xiguan’s brains, who doesn’t know his knowledge is as sparse as desert rain? Did you really think exposing him would bring him down? Did you see the Emperor’s reaction? He likes Shang Xiguan, so he won’t punish him. And now—you’ve been bitten back, and I got scolded too. Do you know what the Emperor asked me today? He asked whether our Meng family intended to replace the Imperial Secretariat. If so, he’d send the old eunuch Wan Huaixin to serve as our deputy. See? You’re good for nothing, a hindrance to everything!”
Meng Xi’ang lowered his head so far he could barely lift it. “I thought the Emperor would at least dislike him, if not punish him. Who knew he wouldn’t care at all…”
Meng Jiuyu glanced at his eldest son, his expression tense. Some words he left unsaid.
Normally, this could have angered the Emperor, but because of past events, he first disliked Meng Xizhao. Now, even the father and eldest son were implicated, and the Emperor’s displeasure extended to the entire Meng family.
Among two disliked parties, he naturally struck at the one he disliked more.
Looking at the silent Meng Xizhao beside him, Meng Jiuyu sighed. “Second Son, regarding promotions and rewards, I suggest you don’t expect too much. You came back too late, and… this was the Crown Prince’s doing. With time passing, the Emperor has held a grudge. Now, it seems that grudge has been transferred to you.”
“Don’t worry. You’re still so young. Be patient. One day, you’ll surely reach the ranks of the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers.”
Meng Xizhao blinked several times, taking a long while to digest the news.
In truth, he had already anticipated this situation.
With his relationship with the Crown Prince no longer a secret, and the Crown Prince continuously achieving glory, the Emperor could no longer see him as just a young, inexperienced minister.
Meng Xizhao hadn’t thought much about which stage of life demanded what kind of behavior—he had no intention of remaining the obedient child in front of Emperor Tianshou for his entire life.
But he also couldn’t move too quickly. It’s one thing to make a petty, narrow-minded person like the Emperor like you—it’s difficult—but it’s quite another to make him dislike you, and that could happen in an instant.
He could accept that Emperor Tianshou didn’t particularly like him now, but he could not accept that the Emperor hated him. If that happened, his every action going forward would inevitably be constrained.
Meng Xizhao sank into thought, propping his chin in his hand, staring steadily in one direction. For the first time, Meng Jiuyu and Meng Xi’ang noticed this side of him, and it felt strangely novel and unfamiliar.
In that moment, this Second Son truly carried the air of a capable, high-ranking official strategizing over a campaign.
A moment later, though, he turned to them and smiled cheerfully. “Enough. Don’t worry for me. I know what I’m doing. Besides, isn’t our family already aboard the Crown Prince’s ship? As long as the Crown Prince succeeds, we won’t fall behind. What Emperor Tianshou thinks no longer matters.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
Meng Xi’ang: “…………”
And yet, he actually said that.
How many years until the Crown Prince ascends the throne? Such a bold heart, yet not fearing the possibility that their family might fall before that day even arrives!
Still, neither Meng Jiuyu nor Meng Xi’ang contradicted him when he said that their family had already aligned with the Crown Prince.
Meng Jiuyu took a deep breath and commented with some admiration, “I hadn’t realized before, because the Crown Prince had taken no action, that he’s actually so cunning. What’s most commendable is his character: upon learning you were in trouble, he immediately sought me out, disclosed everything, and promised to rescue you.”
Recalling the Crown Prince’s words, Meng Jiuyu remained moved. “He told me that Da Qi can do without Southern Zhao, but he cannot do without you. Clearly, you are as indispensable to him as his own right arm. A minister’s loyalty must be to such a person. Second Son, I misunderstood you before, but your judgment is indeed excellent.”
Meng Xizhao had no knowledge of the Crown Prince’s words. Hearing them, he froze for a moment, then lowered his head, hiding the faint blush on his cheeks.
Beside him, Meng Xi’ang’s expression was complicated. He thought, Father, perhaps stop thinking about judgment and start practicing emotional intelligence. He just delivered words of affection to your face, yet you still treat it as mere ministerial loyalty!
During the period Meng Xizhao was captured, the Meng family lived under a cloud of despair. Almost every member had more than one nightmare in their sleep.
Even knowing he was safe didn’t fully relieve their worry. Only when Meng Xizhao promised never to travel again, never to serve in other countries, did the family finally breathe easy.
Though Meng Jiaojiao seemed outwardly unconcerned about her second brother, she had cried every day while he was missing. Eventually, she realized that if she didn’t restrain herself, her parents, already burdened with worry for him, would also have to worry about her. So she endured, occasionally stepping outside to confide in Zhan Hui.
Zhan Hui’s brother, Zhan Buxiu, was also in Southern Zhao. Though not captured, war is unpredictable, and any day could have brought news of his death.
The noble girls of Yingtian Prefecture would never understand Meng Jiaojiao’s heart. Only Zhan Hui, ever gentle like an elder sister, comforted her and understood her.
Because of this, Meng Jiaojiao often sought Zhan Hui. Their meetings were not just for crying—they also talked, sometimes about serious matters, sometimes about lighter topics. At fifteen, approaching her sixteenth birthday, she had grown not just in height but in character. Overnight, she seemed to mature, no longer speaking rashly, looking down on others, or dwelling on childish romantic notions.
But these changes were internal; outwardly, she still appeared the lively girl Meng Xizhao had known, so he did not notice them at first.
At the family meals, conversations went on as usual. They learned that Meng Xizhao would no longer be sent abroad, and also about Meng Xi’ang’s mishap with Shang Xiguan, which had backfired spectacularly.
The county lady, accustomed to this family atmosphere, occasionally joined in the discussions.
“General Shang has the Emperor’s favor. Big Brother, you really acted impulsively this time.”
Meng Xi’ang sighed. “Yes, I had grown too used to my prior successes and acted without caution. I forgot for a moment that the Emperor’s favor outweighs any evidence I hold.”
Madam Meng frowned. “Eat properly. Why speak of these things? It ruins one’s appetite.”
Meng Jiaojiao, chewing on her chopsticks, suddenly turned to Meng Xizhao, who had been silently eating. “Second Brother, if the Emperor dislikes you, will he punish you?”
Meng Xizhao paused, surprised that she had begun to worry about such matters. Swallowing his food, he shook his head and reassured her. “No. The Emperor is just a little angry with me for the moment. Once he calms down, it will be fine. Besides, our family still has the Crown Prince’s help.”
Meng Jiaojiao blinked, nodded softly, and lowered her head, asking no more.
The next day, the Emperor had yet to summon Meng Xizhao. He wasn’t anxious and went out to meet friends.
He invited Zang He for a meal to express his thanks.
In truth, he and Zang He were not close. After Meng Xizhao went to Longxing Mansion, they had not communicated until Ningren Mansion fell. Observing the court situation, Zang He had sent him a letter.
Though it might have been meant to curry favor, it nonetheless involved personal risk, and Meng Xizhao accepted it gratefully.
Zang He began by inquiring after him, then shared some amusing stories. Only when half the meal remained did Zang He tentatively ask, “I’ve heard, Lord Meng, that you and the Crown Prince are quite close now?”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him and smiled. “How do you figure that? The Crown Prince and I both serve His Majesty. In Southern Zhao, where military matters dominate, there are few civil officials. If His Highness wants capable men, I am simply the available choice. To say we are particularly close is an exaggeration.”
Zang He smiled in return. “Lord Meng, I consider myself your friend. We are of the same age and on the same path. When the court is shrouded in chaos and hope seems absent, people muddle along for self-preservation. But when hope becomes visible, one should rise and seize it tightly. The glimmer of hope I see comes from you. You needn’t hedge in front of me.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He looked at Zang He oddly. He truly felt they weren’t that familiar—so why did Zang He act as if they were close?
After a pause, Meng Xizhao said, “Since you speak so frankly, I will too. The Crown Prince saved my life, and we have worked together twice. I won’t hide it—he is indeed somewhat fond of me. But in my heart…”
Zang He understood the unspoken rest. Normally meticulous, he would weigh every option carefully before choosing a side.
Zang He himself had similar concerns. Young as he was, with Emperor Tianshou aging, he wanted to think long-term. He didn’t want to serve the Emperor endlessly—once the Emperor died, he would be a minister of the former ruler and might gain no favor under the new sovereign.
Thus, he hoped to make a notable achievement by supporting a rising star, ideally one unnoticed by others. Failing that, he could align himself with a proven talent, letting the mentor take the credit while he shared in the benefits.
But Zang He, like many scholars, had a flaw: he believed he was the best in the world. The only person who could truly impress him was Meng Xizhao—and Meng Xizhao’s hesitation left him in a state of uncertainty.
They continued drinking and talking, covering almost everything—from court affairs to the latest trends in Yingtian Prefecture. Once sated, they parted ways.
Back in his carriage, Meng Xizhao lowered the curtain and let out a soft chuckle.
Zang He, a man previously unremarkable in the records, was now ambitious, seeking to serve a new sovereign.
His own subtle influence had, after all, borne some fruit.
Leaning back, Meng Xizhao allowed himself a moment of clarity. Then he drew the curtain aside and instructed outside, “Take me to Miss Su’s place.”
Zhang Fu groaned but climbed up and drove the carriage off.
Meanwhile, inside the palace…
Emperor Tianshou had visited his nemesis earlier. Seeing his rival humiliated, the Dragon Emperor was immensely pleased, even eating an extra bowl of rice at lunch. By afternoon, he wanted to provoke Zhen Anluo again. But then a palace servant reported that the Crown Prince requested an audience.
The Emperor frowned.
Yesterday, the Crown Prince had returned and visited him once. Tianshou had held back the Meng family from accompanying his son and brother, yet the Crown Prince persisted.
Considering the Crown Prince had just recovered from illness, Tianshou allowed him in. He observed the Crown Prince kneeling and paying respect as usual. Though slightly weakened, his vitality and spirit had noticeably improved compared to before leaving the capital. The way he looked at Tianshou felt unusually vibrant—almost as if he were seeing his own father.
Yesterday, this had already given Tianshou goosebumps. Today, hearing of another visit, he instinctively wanted to refuse. Yet his mood was good, and curiosity piqued: why was the Crown Prince coming again?
After a while, the Crown Prince was led in. He began with uncharacteristic small talk before presenting his request.
Tianshou looked at him, slightly bowing, and listened. He could hardly believe his ears.
“You wish Meng Xizhao to serve as your Imperial Secretary?”
The position of Imperial Secretary to the Crown Prince—third-rank official—managed the household of the Empress and Crown Prince, akin to a senior steward. It had been vacant for ten years. When Cui Yecheng became Crown Prince, no ceremonial staff were assigned, and later the Emperor did not appoint a Crown Princess, rendering the office essentially defunct.
Tianshou stared in astonishment, while the Crown Prince, having explained his reasoning—that having worked closely with Meng Xizhao at Ningren Mansion, he was a rare talent—pleaded that the Emperor grant him this capable aide to manage the Eastern Palace.
Tianshou’s expression was unreadable.
After a pause, he asked, “Would Meng Xizhao accept this duty?”
The Crown Prince hesitated, then cautiously said, “He surely would.”
Ah, so this was the Prince’s own initiative—an after-the-fact request.
Tianshou suppressed a smile. In recent years, Cui Yecheng had little exposure to court ministers and lacked capable aides. Seeing Meng Xizhao’s talent, he was eager to claim him as his own.
It also demonstrated Meng Xizhao’s true competence. For an ordinary person, the Crown Prince would not have intervened in this way.
Seeing him in this light, the Emperor’s irritation toward Meng Xizhao eased somewhat. After all, he was a meritorious official; his merits offset his faults, so there was no need to keep him waiting.
With his thoughts racing, Tianshou looked down at the Crown Prince, noting his lowered eyes and anxious demeanor. Waving a hand, he said, “Let me consider it.”