Spring Remains the Same - Chapter 20

When the Prince of Runan abdicated, he was thirteen years old, a youth no longer a child but not yet a man. An imperial son of this age should have understood a great deal, but unfortunately, the Prince of Runan did not. Before his ascension, the Great Zhou was already on the verge of collapse, and the Zhou imperial family and the Xiao clan, who at that time held the title of Prince of Wei, were locked in a life-or-death struggle. The Zhou imperial family’s talents had withered, and it lacked worthy successors, while the Xiao clan was at its zenith. In the struggle between the two, the reigning Son of Heaven at the time, the Prince of Runan’s elder brother, was strangled to death by a court eunuch, further strengthening the Xiao clan’s power.

Rumors that the Son of Heaven had been assassinated by the Xiao clan spread throughout the court and the country, generating considerable criticism. The Prince of Wei at that time was Xiao Yi’s father. Not daring to risk universal condemnation, he supported the seven-year-old Prince of Runan’s ascension to the throne. Among the many imperial sons, the Prince of Runan was chosen simply because he had been timid and dull-witted since childhood. After ascending the throne, his already slow mind became even duller under the Xiao clan’s deliberate tutelage. Thus, four years later, the Prince of Wei passed away and was given the posthumous title of Wen. Xiao Yi succeeded to the title of Prince of Wei, and two years after that, he accepted the Prince of Runan’s abdication and changed the dynasty’s name to Wei.

Even when the Prince of Runan was emperor, he had no real power. The majority of ministers at court sided with the Xiao clan. The few who sympathized with the Son of Heaven did not dare risk angering the Xiaos. As for the inner palace, the eunuchs and palace maids surrounding him all leaned toward the Xiao clan, constantly controlling his words and actions. After his abdication, he had even less control over his own fate, confined day after day in that vast residence, with no teachers, no friends, and no companions.

So, even if he was once the Son of Heaven, what could he possibly do?

After so many years, the Xiao clan’s rule was long since stable. A few nobodies thought they could restore the old dynasty with a mere hundred men? The Emperor felt like he could laugh his head off.

These people were not difficult to deal with. The tricky part was the famous scholars who were loyal to the former dynasty. They fancied themselves unrestrained, unyieldingly proud, pure and upright, and had garnered a following. They loved to write essays, their phrasing either hinting at how they missed their old master or presumptuously criticizing the current government. It was truly vexing.

Yet the Emperor could not kill them. Wouldn’t killing them just announce to the world that the Emperor had a guilty conscience?

“With all that talent, why not serve the court and benefit the common people?” the Emperor complained to Puyang. “They’re always talking about the Zhou, the Zhou, the Zhou. In the final years of the previous dynasty, the people’s lives were miserable, a scene of utter devastation. Are the granaries not full and the people not well-fed and clothed now? As for the Prince of Runan, is it not merciful enough that I have spared his life? Since they miss their old master so much, let them request to enter his residence and serve him. I would surely grant my approval. But what happens? Nothing. Not a single one of them!”

Toward the end, his complaints turned into a cold sneer and contempt. “It’s clear that for all their talk of nostalgia, it amounts to little. Their old master is worth less to them than the fine clothes and gourmet food they enjoy every day!”

As much as Puyang sided with her own family, she could not say that a subject scheming against his sovereign was right. And no matter how dissatisfied the Emperor was with Chen Du and the others, he could not say their loyalty to their former master was wrong. He still had to rely on loyalty to govern the court and filial piety to rule the realm. He could deny the legitimacy of the previous dynasty’s government, but he could not deny loyalty and filial piety, benevolence and righteousness.

Puyang, after all, was born after the fall of the Great Zhou, so she did not feel these matters deeply. In her view, one had to look forward. How could one always live, dragging one’s feet, in the past?

“Father, since you know their loyalty has its limits, why bother with them any longer?”

The Emperor smiled. “You are right. The strategy you just proposed is also a good one. Let your father plan it out. This time, I will break the spines of these self-righteously obstinate men.”

Puyang smiled faintly and said no more.

The Emperor took the memorial and began to deal with it right in front of Puyang. First, he summoned Wei You, the General of the Chariot and Cavalry, and ordered him to take his men and, under the cover of night, disarm and capture those few military officers who were foolishly plotting a restoration. He stressed that the matter must be kept under wraps, without a single detail leaking out.

Puyang sat to the side, reading a book. Wei You was a son of the aristocratic Wei clan. In his early forties, he had reached the rank of General of the Chariot and Cavalry half due to his outstanding military achievements and half due to his illustrious birth, with his family maneuvering on his behalf.

After hearing the Emperor’s orders, Wei You bowed solemnly, accepted the command, and departed. He had a powerful build, but his movements were elegant and courteous. Seeing Puyang there, he merely offered a standard salute without asking any questions, nor did he show the slightest displeasure that the Emperor was allowing a princess to listen in on the handling of such a major affair. If not for his military attire, he could have easily passed for a scholar known for his poetry and wine.

Puyang looked up from her book, her gaze following his figure as he exited the hall. She couldn’t help but linger on the surname “Wei” for a moment. Wei Xiu was also named Wei. She wondered if she had any connection to the renowned Wei clan.

At this thought, Puyang felt she was being utterly absurd. In her past life, although Wei You had already been promoted to General of the Hussars and sent to guard the border by the time Wei Xiu appeared, the Wei clan still had many scions serving at court. How could there have been no contact? Furthermore, if she were truly a daughter of the prominent Wei clan, how could her family have allowed her to disguise herself as a man and live alone?

Puyang felt she was truly becoming bewitched. Whenever it concerned Wei Xiu, she couldn’t help but overthink things.

“Seventh Lady,” the Emperor called out.

Puyang put down her book, looked over, and said respectfully, “Father?”

The Emperor smiled and asked, “What are you thinking about?”

Puyang certainly wouldn’t say she was thinking about Wei Xiu and needlessly draw the Emperor’s attention. Instead, she brought up the Prince of Jing. “Your daughter encountered Sixth Brother before entering the hall. He seemed to have come upon some good news.”

The Emperor’s brow twitched slightly. He then said to Puyang with fatherly affection, “Why bother with him? It’s getting late. You should go back and rest early. Get your strength back, and in a few days, for the autumn hunt, Father will take you to hunt a prize stag.”

He clearly did not want to discuss the Prince of Jing.

Puyang was puzzled, but she still obediently agreed.

It was common knowledge at court that the Prince of Jing followed the Prince of Jin’s lead. To others, the Emperor’s reluctance to mention the Prince of Jing seemed as if the latter was being implicated by the Prince of Jin, bearing the brunt of the Emperor’s anger.

But Puyang felt that wasn’t right. If her father was truly angry with Sixth Brother, how could she explain the delighted expression on his face earlier?

When Puyang woke the next morning, she heard that the Emperor had sent the Prince of Jing to the disaster-stricken commandery and recalled the Prince of Jin to the capital. Once the edict was issued, the ministers all believed that the Prince of Jing was being sent to clean up the Prince of Jin’s mess.

But with Wei Xiu’s previous analysis in mind, Puyang suspected this might be the Emperor’s attempt to drive a wedge between the Princes of Jin and Jing.

If that were true, she would lose her bet with Wei Xiu.

Puyang was quite troubled, but fortunately, this was not something that would happen overnight, leaving her some room to maneuver. When they made the bet, it was not specified that she couldn’t intervene. Besides, the Prince of Dai was a much easier opponent than the Prince of Jing. If she could ultimately have the Prince of Dai replace the Prince of Jin, she would not only win the bet but also benefit her own future prospects.

Thus, Puyang intended to intervene.

How to intervene was rather simple: she just needed to ensure the Prince of Jing stuck closely to the Prince of Jin. As long as the two remained inseparable, the problem would solve itself.

Three days later, after handing over the details of his duties to the Prince of Jing, the Prince of Jin returned to the capital. As he entered the city gates, he saw a eunuch in a green robe waiting for him.

It was a fine day. The autumn wind blew gently, the red sun was sinking in the west, and the city of Luoyang was bathed in the glow of a magnificent sunset. The city gate was a bustling place, with many officials, merchants, and commoners coming and going.

The Prince of Jin had a ring of stubble around his lips, and the skin under his eyes was dark, giving him a weary and haggard appearance. Seeing the eunuch and the dozen or so Feathered Forest Guards behind him, he quickly reined in his horse.

The eunuch stepped forward and produced an edict from his sleeve. The Prince of Jin had not slept well for days and had been traveling for an entire day; his spirits were low and his mind was dazed. He squinted, recognized it as an imperial edict, and hastily dismounted, kneeling on the ground to receive it.

The eunuch took a step forward, unfurled the scroll with both hands, and began to read aloud.

Every word was filled with disappointment, every sentence a reprimand.

The Prince of Jin lay prostrate on the ground, listening as the eunuch’s clear enunciation drilled each word, each phrase, into his ears.

“…hereby orders the Prince of Jin to return to his residence to reflect on his transgressions, and he is not to leave without an edict!”

The Prince of Jin’s clothes were soaked through, but more from anger than sweat. He had gone out to provide disaster relief, toiling day after day. Though he had achieved no great merit, he had not committed any major blunders either. Yet his father wouldn’t even see him and was ordering him to return to his residence to reflect. Wasn’t this a bit too heartless!

“Your Highness, it is time to receive the edict,” the eunuch said, his tone much friendlier after finishing the proclamation. But to the Prince of Jin, who was filled with rage, it sounded like an arrogance tinged with schadenfreude.

He adjusted his expression, raised his head, and accepted the edict with both hands. A servant behind him hurried forward to help him up.

The Prince of Jin feigned physical exhaustion, using the servant’s support to stand upright. He gave a bitter smile. “I have made a fool of myself before you, Eunuch.”

The eunuch quickly said, “I wouldn’t dare. Your Highness should return to your residence now. This servant must also return to the palace to report.”

The Prince of Jin shook his head, his expression both worried and ashamed. “Is His Majesty well?”

With a prince asking, the eunuch could not just turn and leave. He had to stay and reply respectfully, “His Majesty is very well.”

Just those four words. He refused to say any more.

The Prince of Jin knew that trying to pry information from someone in the Emperor’s presence was harder than ascending to heaven, so he did not pin his hopes on it. He performed a solemn bow. “I implore you, Eunuch, to report to His Majesty on my behalf. Your son knows his mistake and will naturally withdraw to reflect on his faults. I cannot remain by Imperial Father’s side to fulfill my filial duties. I hope Imperial Father will take care of his health.”

The eunuch returned the Prince of Jin’s bow and took his leave.

Watching the eunuch’s party walk away, the Prince of Jin replayed his words in his mind several times. Finding no errors, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he looked around at the crowd of pedestrians. He wondered how many people had witnessed his public reprimand, and a blaze of fury ignited in his heart again.

He struggled to control his expression, preventing his twisted anger from showing on his face, maintaining a look of deference and remorse so that no one could find fault with his words or actions.

A servant brought his horse over. The Prince of Jin took the reins and mounted. The horse took a few steps back and forth, its hooves making crisp clopping sounds. The Prince of Jin steadied himself. He looked back at the city gate, a deep regret in his eyes.

This should have been a great opportunity to earn merit. Unfortunately, the people under him had been uncooperative, causing him to miss it completely. The only one who could salvage this now was Sixth Brother. He hoped he would clean things up properly and, at the very least, not let this matter become a stain on his name.

Even at this point, the Prince of Jin still believed that the Prince of Jing had been sent to clean up his mess. His father had always been lenient with them as brothers. Since he had made a mistake, his father had sent the Prince of Jing, who had always been close to him, rather than the Prince of Zhao, who was always looking for his faults. Surely this was to help him resolve the matter, not to punish him severely for his failure.