After Rebirth, I Married my Archenemy - Chapter 88
Su Run lowered his head even further, suppressing his fear.
“Everything I have said is true. I have evidence, provided by the former Yeting Supervisor, Director Pei.”
Shouxi stepped forward, preparing to receive it, but Zheng Fu, the Grand Eunuch by Emperor Chenming’s side, was quicker. He took the letter from Su Run and presented it to the emperor.
Emperor Chenming read it for a moment before suddenly throwing it onto Li Xuan’s robes.
Li Xuan was the empress’s legitimate son, and the emperor had always been kind to him—when had he ever shown such anger? Li Xuan’s face turned pale, and he immediately knelt.
“Father, please quell your anger.”
Qun Qing knelt along with everyone in the hall, her gaze falling on the letter now spread open on the ground.
“I had no idea,” Emperor Chenming said coldly, “that the palace’s caning punishment had become a tool for you to eliminate dissidents.” Then, pointing at Scholar Lin, he continued, “Last year, someone exposed exam fraud, yet you remained silent and watched as your colleague was dragged out to be beaten?”
Scholar Lin and the others pressed themselves to the floor, not daring to speak. Meanwhile, several young scholars who had come to take the exam trembled under their robes, terrified by the scene.
The spring examination had originally been meant to lift the emperor’s spirits, yet now he had witnessed corruption firsthand, and it had even dredged up last year’s case of Meng Guanlou’s exam fraud. No wonder his fury would not subside.
If exam fraud was already a disgrace, then the content of the letter—detailing how the Meng family had ordered the Yeting Supervisor to dispose of Su Run—was a criminal matter. Worse yet, it implicated the crown prince. Taking lives at will under the emperor’s very nose was nothing less than a challenge to his authority.
Li Huan spoke up. “Father, since Meng Jiulang1 did not actually need to cheat, why provoke matters further? What should be examined is whether those around him influenced his actions.”
The more he spoke, the angrier Emperor Chenming became. “Strip Meng Guanlou of his official robes and take him, along with everyone associated with him, to the Court of Judicial Review for interrogation!”
Li Xuan lowered his head and said nothing more.
Yumei collapsed and was dragged away.
When officials from the Court of Judicial Review arrived at the Meng residence, the lamps had just been lit.
Inside, Meng Guanlou sat stiffly as they entered with an imperial decree. They took his maids and servants, then pressed him down onto a chair, stripping him of his outer robe despite his struggles, leaving him in only his inner garments.
At Zichen Hall, Meng Guangshen had been waiting outside the emperor’s tent for a long time.
Eventually, only Zheng Fu emerged.
“His Majesty has a headache and is unwell. I’m afraid he won’t see anyone tonight. Why don’t you go back first, my lord?”
It was clear that pleading was useless.
Meng Guangshen did not back down. He lifted his robes and knelt.
“Your Majesty, if a son is not taught, it is the father’s fault. Qilang2 has done wrong—let him face the consequences. I have no intention of shielding him.”
Then he added, “However, I implore Your Majesty to reconsider. On the surface, this matter exposes Qilang, but in reality, it is aimed at the crown prince. His Highness knew nothing of this. Soon, it will be the late empress’s memorial day—I beg Your Majesty not to let this drive a wedge between you and him.”
Inside the tent, Emperor Chenming’s hand paused over his reports.
Zheng Fu, observing the emperor’s expression, silently admired Meng Guangshen’s skill. He had never once mentioned Prince Yan, yet every word implied that Prince Yan had orchestrated this to suppress the crown prince.
The emperor disliked Prince Yan’s political maneuvering, and lately, Prince Yan’s growing influence had become a concern. When he was in good health, Emperor Chenming had been more lenient, but as his body weakened, even small conflicts led to deeper suspicions. Whatever goodwill he had recently felt toward Prince Yan now turned back into doubt.
Meng Guangshen continued, “Princess Dan Yang has never involved herself in politics before, yet now she appears to be siding with Prince Yan. If I may speak bluntly, Your Majesty should consider her marriage soon, lest she follow in the footsteps of Princess Changping from the previous dynasty.”
At the mention of Princess Changping, the emperor finally spoke.
“If not for Minister Meng pledging allegiance to the Li family back then, there would be no Dachen today.”
“I would not dare take credit,” Meng Guangshen replied.
Emperor Chenming slapped the reports on his desk. “I’ve been reviewing military reports. The new king of Southern Chu has ascended the throne—it turns out he is the former ‘Prince Dai,’ Princess Changping’s son, Ling Yunuo. Meanwhile, there is unrest in the north, and the envoys I sent have yet to find Princess Changping’s remains. If Prince Dai could return from the dead, then I fear her forces still exist somewhere, plotting a restoration. And in the middle of all this, the crown prince and Prince Yan still fail to understand the bigger picture…”
Meng Guangshen quickly said, “Your Majesty need not worry. Even if Princess Changping is alive, she cannot rally the people. Right now, stabilizing the court should be the priority. I have heard of snow disasters in the north—I am willing to offer the funds under my control to aid disaster relief.”
The emperor nodded in satisfaction. “I will not take my anger over Jiulang out on you. However, Meng Guanlou’s exam fraud was seen by all—it must be properly addressed. Let the Court of Judicial Review decide his fate.”
As Meng Guangshen left the palace, the moonlight cast a long shadow behind him, snow gathering on his shoulders. His respectful expression faded, revealing a cold, calculating edge.
Meng Guanlou had now been taken to the Court of Judicial Review—he might escape the death penalty, but punishment was inevitable. No matter how useless he was, he was still his son.
Lu Huating…
—
This year’s palace examination was dreary, dampening Emperor Chenming’s excitement for selecting the top scholars. He only appointed Zhang Ruchu and two others as the top three, with the rest ranked below. The horseback parade was canceled, replaced by a banquet at the palace, and the newly appointed scholars were granted a four-day leave before assuming their official posts. They were free to tour Chang’an on their own.
Since the grand selection had ended, there was no spectacle of top scholars parading through the city. This left Princess Dan Yang feeling regretful. To make up for it, she arranged an event, turning the banquet into a lively gathering at Mingyue Tower outside the palace, allowing the scholars to drink and enjoy themselves.
A lively crowd accompanied Wang Xi all the way to the western outskirts. When they arrived at Mingyue Tower, they coincidentally encountered Princess Dan Yang, dressed in luxurious robes, stepping out from the entrance. She asked in surprise, “Why haven’t you gone in yet?”
Among the scholars, some had taken notice of Wang Xi’s earlier illness, assuming he would have stayed in bed instead of attending the banquet.
Princess Dan Yang questioned again, “Why didn’t you go inside?”
Under the soft glow of lantern light, Wang Xi lowered his head, his expression hesitant and dim. “This humble one… has already been disqualified for taking the exam on behalf of another. I have no face to celebrate alongside those who were rightfully selected.”
“Official Qun has reported your matter to me,” Princess Danyang said. “Fortunately, you upheld your integrity by pretending to be ill—otherwise, how would we have uncovered Yumei’s cheating? Rest assured, I have promised to recommend you next year. You will have another chance to take the exam.”
Qun Qing added, “Go on, join them.”
Wang Xi gave her a grateful look before stepping into Mingyue Tower. As he entered, the seated scholars turned to look at him, except for Lu Huating and Su Run, who remained composed.
Wang Xi feared being met with cold stares, his face flushed with embarrassment, unsure where to place his hands and feet. But Zhang Shiru, holding a cup in both hands, spoke with warmth, “We all know now that you didn’t voluntarily take the exam on someone else’s behalf—you were forced by the Meng family.”
“Exactly. We are all poor scholars—we understand each other’s struggles. If any of us were backed by powerful figures, who among us would have the courage to feign illness and refuse to take the test?” Another scholar stood up, raising his cup. “Brother Wang, when you become an official next year, you will surely be a just one.”
Amid the sincere toasts of his fellow scholars, Wang Xi’s face turned even redder, tears welling in his eyes. He couldn’t help but glance out the window, but outside, there was only falling snow—Qun Qing was nowhere to be seen.
The scholars then raised their cups toward Lu Huating, offering a toast. “If not for you, Advisor Lu, we wouldn’t have arrived at the capital’s exam site in time, let alone made it onto the list of successful candidates.”
Lu Huating’s dark eyes reflected the flickering candlelight as he smiled faintly.
“You should be thanking someone else as well.”
Everyone exchanged puzzled looks. Wang Xi was about to speak, but Lu Huating shot him a glance, stopping him. With his well-defined fingers, he pressed his cup forward slightly, smiling again. “If all you do to express gratitude is drink, then allow me to drink on her behalf.”
The scholars laughed and eagerly poured him another full cup. Lu Huating downed the drink in one go, then turned to Zhu Su.
“Go buy some small firecrackers. Let them set them off by the window—consider it a token of gratitude for that person. What do you think?”
“That’s a great idea!” the scholars agreed enthusiastically.
Wang Xi, too, smiled as he stood up. In Dachen, small firecrackers were made by stuffing gunpowder into carefully cut bamboo tubes. When lit, they sent out bright sparks, believed to dispel misfortune and bring peace. Even if Qun Qing wasn’t there, this could serve as a tribute to her.
As the New Year approached, the city filled with glowing red lanterns.
Walking down the street, Qun Qing asked Princess Danyang, “Your Highness, why didn’t you drink with the scholars?”
“They’re drinking and composing poetry. I don’t like poetry, and I don’t like drinking either,” Princess Danyang replied.
Hearing the princess openly admit her dislike for alcohol surprised Qun Qing.
They had walked to a lantern stall, where children were joyfully chasing each other through the snow, holding bright red koi fish lanterns.
Qun Qing noticed that Princess Danyang kept staring at the children with a hint of longing in her expression. So she stepped forward, bought a koi lantern, and handed it to the princess.
Princess Danyang was stunned—this was the first time a young lady had ever gifted her a lantern. She stared at Qun Qing’s face, illuminated by the lantern’s light, and asked,
“Official Qun, are you married?”
Qun Qing shook her head.
“No wonder,” Princess Danyang chuckled. “Do you know? Among common folk, it’s usually men who gift lanterns to the women they like.”
Of course, Qun Qing knew. But she never believed in such traditions. Many people didn’t. Hadn’t Lu Huating also gifted her a lantern before?
“Who says only men can give lanterns?” Qun Qing said calmly. “If one likes something, they can use their own salary to buy it. I can buy a lantern for Your Highness, too.” She handed it over. “I once heard that when Your Highness led an army, you withdrew to protect the city’s people. That act left a deep impression on me—consider this a token of gratitude on their behalf.”
Princess Danyang took the lantern, smiling like a child. But when she heard the mention of the past, her smile dimmed.
“Do you know? His Majesty dislikes me leading troops. What you speak of… is a matter of the past.”
“If women are allowed to become officials, why wouldn’t His Majesty approve of you leading soldiers?” Qun Qing asked.
“Because of Princess Changping from the previous dynasty,” Princess Danyang said wistfully. “Have you heard the rumors? The fall of Old Chu was because Princess Changping plotted a coup. She deliberately lured the emperor to the battlefield, intending to overthrow him. But in the end, her husband betrayed her, and she failed. His Majesty may have seized the throne from Changping, but he despises powerful princesses, fearing history will repeat itself. I rely on my imperial uncle’s goodwill to survive. Naturally, I must put his mind at ease. Under royal power, drinking and keeping male concubines… that kind of luxurious life isn’t so bad either.”
Princess Danyang glanced back. Following her gaze, Qun Qing saw two guards trailing the princess from a distance—they were likely there to monitor her movements.
As expected, Princess Danyang was not without ambition. She simply had her own constraints.
“We shouldn’t walk together any longer.” Princess Danyang flashed a playful smile. “Official Qun, thank you for the lantern.” With that, she quickened her pace back toward Mingyue Tower.
Left alone in the street, Qun Qing lingered, recalling Princess Danyang’s words.
As a former citizen of Old Chu, it was the first time she had heard that Princess Changping had attempted rebellion. If that were true, it would explain why the Zen master, once a subordinate of Changping, hated the Li family and continued orchestrating assassinations against them.
But now, dust had settled, and the past was buried. Princess Changping was dead. With only Fang Xie and the Zen master left, it would be difficult for them to stir up any real trouble…
A loud explosion jolted Qun Qing from her thoughts. She quickly stepped back and saw several small firecrackers extending from the windows of Mingyue Tower, their dazzling sparks shooting into the night sky, illuminating her face.
She hadn’t expected the scholars to be so carefree. It reminded her of New Year’s celebrations from her childhood—watching her grandfather set off fireworks. It felt like a lifetime ago.
People bustled around her, coming and going. Qun Qing stood in the shadows, gazing up at the silver rain of fire in the sky. It was beautiful.
Yet she had no idea for whom these fireworks were lit.
As the last firecracker fizzled out, Qun Qing’s keen ears caught the lively chatter and sounds of drinking from inside. Princess Danyang had rejoined the banquet, sitting and drinking among the young scholars. She behaved frivolously. She scribbled on colored slips of paper and spun a porcelain spoon on the table.
It was a drinking game in Dachen—whoever the spoon pointed to had to drink and compose a poem. Failing to do so meant another drink as punishment.
The spoon spun and landed between Lu Huating and Su Run. The scholars eagerly gathered around to watch as both men drew their slips and wrote swiftly, their pens dancing across the paper. The tension was high—it was hard to say who was better.
Zhang Shiru exclaimed, “Scholar Su was last year’s second-place scholar—it’s no surprise he’s talented. But I didn’t expect Advisor Lu to be this skilled too!”
Princess Danyang tilted her head and, clearly favoring Su Run, said,
“In my opinion, Yu Jie3‘s poem is better in this round. Yungming4, draw another one and write again.”
Lu Huating, already having drunk many cups, smiled lazily and pulled another slip. But when he read it, he crumpled it and tossed it aside.
“I won’t write this one. Give me another.”
“What does it say?” Princess Danyang grinned as she picked it up and unfolded it. “‘Archenemy.’ What’s wrong? You can’t write about your archenemy? Do you think it’s bad luck? I insist—you must write it.”
Lu Huating paused, the tip of his brush hovering over the paper. Then, he set it down and called the waiter over.
“Are you allowed to write on the wall here?”
It was common for scholars and poets, proud of their literary talent, to leave poems on the walls after drinking—an act they called “wall writing.” When the crowd heard that Lu Huating intended to write, they erupted into cheers and applause, and even Princess Dan Yang became excited.
The waiter hesitated, looking somewhat embarrassed. “That depends on how well you write. If it’s beautiful, then it will be considered elegant. If not—well, this is a restaurant, and we wouldn’t want to scare away our customers!”
Princess Dan Yang was about to speak, but Lu Huating simply smiled and said, “It doesn’t matter. My writing will disappear in half an hour.”
With that, he rinsed his brush in the teacup, dipped its tip in wine, and began writing on the wall from top to bottom.
From outside the window, Qun Qing couldn’t see what he was writing. She only heard the bursts of laughter and playful jeers from the crowd as he wrote, accusing him of “cheating.”
Her heart stirred with curiosity—what exactly had he written?
Princess Danyang’s two guards were guarding the door of Mingyue Tower.
Qun Qing walked past the tower but couldn’t suppress her curiosity. After lingering for a long time, she finally circled back through a dark alley, slipping inside at the risk of being seen.
The people had already left, leaving only scattered leftovers on the tables.
She approached the wall, where the water-streaked writing had begun to dry. Only faint traces of the elegant, flowing calligraphy remained, just barely discernible:
“Golden wind and jade dew meet.”
After reading it, Qun Qing turned and left, vanishing into the dark snowstorm.
No wonder they said he was cheating. When given the theme of “Archenemy,” Lu Huating hadn’t written a poem at all—he had simply copied one.
“When the golden wind and jade dew meet, it surpasses countless encounters in the human world.”
T/L notes: The poem Lu Huating quotes comes from the classic Chinese poem “Immortals at the Magpie Bridge (鹊桥仙)” by Qin Guan. The poem beautifully tells the annual reunion of the Cowherd and Weaver Girl, star-crossed lovers in Chinese mythology who are separated by the Milky Way and are only allowed to meet just once a year. That line emphasized that even a fleeting moment with a beloved can be more precious than countless ordinary encounters.