Spring Remains the Same - Chapter 48

A sudden gust of wind rippled the surface of the spring pond.

The ripples on the water spread out layer by layer, as if a great disturbance was brewing.

Puyang paused in her picky eating and asked curiously, “Who does he resemble?”

The Emperor couldn’t quite say. He felt there was a resemblance, but when he tried to recall, his mind was a blank, unable to conjure such a person. To want to remember something but be utterly unable to was always vexing. The Emperor gradually furrowed his brow and turned to look at Dou Hui. Dou Hui also thought for a moment, but even after racking his brains, he couldn’t remember and could only shake his head in confusion.

The Emperor glared at him, and Dou Hui quickly lowered his head in an apologetic gesture.

Seeing this, Puyang smiled and smoothed things over, “Your Majesty is busy with state affairs; it’s inevitable that you might not recall such trivial matters.”

The Emperor sighed, “All said and done, I’m still getting old.”

Puyang quickly said, “Father is in his prime; how can you say you’re old?”

The Emperor glanced at her and said with a smile, “Nowadays, I need my child’s support to walk. How can I not admit I’m old?” Seeing Puyang about to anxiously refute, he patted her hand, signaling her not to say any more.

Puyang had no choice but to close her lips. The Emperor gazed at the pond water and thought for a while longer, realizing he truly couldn’t remember.

He remembered the important people and events he had encountered; he wouldn’t forget those. But it was possible to forget some insignificant matters. Since they were insignificant, if he couldn’t recall them, then so be it.

Thinking this way, the Emperor no longer dwelled on it.

The wind stilled again. The sun broke through the clouds and mist, shining down brightly. The continuous rain of several days was about to stop today.

Puyang looked up at the sky; summer was probably not far off.

On the way back to the palace, Puyang pondered how to incite the various princes to submit memorials to resolve the matter of relocating the Rong tribes, and also considered which of her elder brothers to target.

The Prince of Zhao was reckless and incapable of such delicate work. The Prince of Jin was cunning; if he knew first, he would definitely try to hide it and take all the credit, but he couldn’t accomplish this matter alone. The Prince of Dai avoided trouble whenever possible and couldn’t be relied upon. The younger ones couldn’t even attend court, so there was no point in hoping for anything from them. After considering everyone, only the Prince of Jing remained.

“His Highness the Prince of Jing is capable, but he lacks decisiveness when faced with issues. Entrusting this matter to him is just right,” Wei Xiu also said.

Lacking decisiveness, he would seek advice, find himself in a dilemma, and delay making a decision. Over time, things could change, and the news would inevitably leak.

Among the current princes, which one didn’t have a few spies in their household?

How to reveal this matter to the Prince of Jing, make him take it seriously, and yet not involve Puyang was indeed a difficult task.

Puyang sat with her chin resting on her hand, her head tilted as she gazed at the apricot blossoms outside the window, deep in thought.

Wei Xiu sat opposite her, silent, holding a teacup without drinking. Occasionally, she would look out at the flourishing garden, and occasionally, she would glance at Puyang’s pensive profile.

The spring sunlight slanted into the room, and smoke curled up from the incense burner on the table.

The shadows beneath the window shifted, and the faint fragrance of the blooming flowers outside wafted in. Puyang’s lips gradually curved into a very slight smile, and Wei Xiu knew the Princess had an idea. She placed the teacup back on the table, picked up the teapot, and poured a cup of tea for Puyang.

Puyang picked it up, took a sip, and smiled, “It seems Sir’s suggestion back then to place Zhang Qiao in the Ministry of Works was a foreshadowing.”

Zhang Qiao was one of the talented individuals Puyang had recommended. Unlike Jiang Zhen’s uprightness, this man was adaptable, decisive, and eloquent. And the Ministry of Works, at the beginning of the year, had been intentionally entrusted to the Prince of Jing by the Emperor, allowing him to build some of his own influence.

Now, it was the perfect opportunity to use Zhang Qiao’s mouth.

“I’m afraid that when Sir presented the 《Discourse on Relocating the Rong Tribes》, he had already calculated the next few steps.”

Wei Xiu neither confirmed nor denied, only asking, “Zhang Qiao is quick-witted. If Your Highness uses him, aren’t you afraid he might directly lean towards the Prince of Jing, making all your efforts in vain?”

Puyang lacked people. These few were ones she favored and intended to promote through the Emperor’s hand. But if these individuals were swayed by power and defected to the other princes, she would have been paving the way for others.

Puyang, however, wasn’t worried about this. She slowly sipped her tea and said, “Quick-witted people are often adept at currying favor. The Prince of Jing has many adherents, including high-ranking officials of the first and second ranks. Zhang Qiao’s official position is low, making it difficult for him to rise among them. By following me, he can at least gain His Majesty’s favor. After this matter, I’m afraid he will not only harbor no disloyalty but will become even more devoted.”

People who are promoted need to be put to use from time to time; this reassures both master and subordinate.

Wei Xiu saw that she understood everything clearly, her calculations of human nature precise, and said no more.

The sun slanted westward. Before nightfall, Puyang went to arrange matters. Wei Xiu watched her walk away, then turned her gaze back to the apricot blossoms outside the window. Under the setting sun, the apricot blossoms no longer had the vibrant, clustered beauty of before, instead appearing desolate and dim.

Wei Xiu opened her mouth and called A Rong, “Tomorrow I will visit someone. Prepare a gift.”

A Rong asked, “Sir, whom will you be visiting, and what kind of gift would be appropriate?”

“Chen Du.” Wei Xiu smiled. “No need to be too formal; conventional courtesies mean little to him.”

Chen Du had moved and lived elsewhere, residing in a corner of Qingde Ward. It was a small house with dim gray walls and an old gate, looking impoverished.

Back then, many proclaimed themselves loyal scholars of Zhou. Among them, Chen Du was the most conspicuous due to his arrogance and lack of pretense. Over time, the world came to admire Chen Du the most, and this group of people was also referred to by the Emperor, grinding his teeth, as “Chen Du’s ilk.” Whenever Wei Xiu thought of “Chen Du’s ilk,” she couldn’t help but scoff. To compare Chen Du with those people was truly an injustice to him and an overestimation of them.

A servant stepped forward and knocked on the door. After a long time, the door opened a tiny crack, and a small head peeked out from inside. Round eyes scanned the people outside, then fixed on the gentleman in the wheelchair in the center. “Sir, you’ve come to the wrong place. My master does not see guests.”

Wei Xiu smiled and said, “Please inform your young master again. My name is Wei Xiu. I admire his great talent and have come especially to pay a visit.”

The young boy hesitated for a moment, muttering the name “Wei Xiu” to himself. Then he opened the door, stepped out, bowed, and said, “In that case, please wait a moment, Sir.”

With that, he darted back inside and closed the door again.

A Rong became a little worried and said in a low voice, “Sir, you have never interacted with Master Chen under the name Wei Xiu. I’m afraid he won’t see you.”

Wei Xiu’s gaze was calm. “If he doesn’t see me, then I shall consider it as having come to the wrong place.”

Although Wei Xiu had never met Chen Du, the 《Discourse on Relocating the Rong Tribes》 had already spread throughout the capital, and her name was known to the world. She was betting that even though Chen Du was unwilling to serve the Great Wei, he still cared about the state of the world and had not forgotten the passion of his youth.

She was fighting a lone battle and needed allies. Chen Du detested the Wei imperial house; they could, arguably, be considered like-minded.

The young boy was not gone for long before he came running out. This time, he was even more respectful. He opened the main doors wide and invited Wei Xiu inside.

Nineteen years had passed. The once arrogant and proud grandson of the Chancellor, full of youthful success, had become calm, taciturn, and reclusive. He was no more than thirty-five or thirty-six, yet his temples were already streaked with silver, making him look haggard. However, his bright eyes clearly retained the arrogance of his youth.

Wei Xiu, unafraid of angering him, studied him carefully before respectfully bowing. “Xiu has come, drawn by your reputation, to pay respects to Sir Chen.”

Chen Du leaned against a bolster, appearing very languid. A casual smile played on his lips as he said with light provocation, “You hide away in the Princess’s residence, and others crane their necks but can’t catch a glimpse, all guessing what kind of mature and nation-strategizing talent you are. I didn’t expect you to be so young, and with bad legs too. Truly disappointing.”

Wei Xiu straightened up, glanced at him, and said, “In the past, the Chancellor’s grandson and the Grand Marshal’s son were hailed as a ‘Pair of Jade Annuli’—young talents, upright men, commanding on the battlefield, achieving military merits early. All the lords in court praised them. Who would have thought that seeing you in person today, you’d resemble an old man, rude and insolent!”

“Who are you?” Chen Du’s expression darkened instantly. Provoked like this, he finally looked properly at Wei Xiu’s face. At this sight, he was stunned. Pointing at Wei Xiu, his bright eyes filled with shock and joy, he shot up from his seat, rushed in front of Wei Xiu, and asked urgently, “Who are you! What is your surname?”

“My surname is Wei,” Wei Xiu said faintly.

Chen Du took a deep breath and shook his head. “Impossible, you look so much like…” His eyes seemed bloodshot, filled with indignation, anticipation, and disbelief.

“My surname is Wei. Sir, you must have mistaken me for someone else,” Wei Xiu said again.

Chen Du took another deep breath, calming himself somewhat. His eyes still fixed on Wei Xiu, he asked, “What connection do you have with the Zhong Clan of Chen Commandery?”

“Only admiration, unfortunately, no connection,” Wei Xiu said, then showed a puzzled expression. “Has Sir thought of something?”

Chen Du looked at her, and his reason instantly returned. He chuckled, then chuckled again, and sighed, “You really shouldn’t have come.” To give someone hope, only to shatter it, was truly cruel. It had been a long time since he had thought of that figure on a fine horse, galloping across the Gobi Desert. Of the “Pair of Jade Annuli” spoken of by the world back then, one was now mediocre, holed up in a solitary house all day, while the other had died young, perishing at fifteen on the way back to the capital.

The glory of youth, how desolate and unbearable it seemed when recalled now.

“Does Sir Wei have a courtesy name?” Chen Du sat back down, reverting to his languid demeanor.

Wei Xiu said, “I have no courtesy name. Sir may just call me by my given name.”

Since he had decided to let her stay, Chen Du waved his hand, instructing the young boy to prepare tea for the guest. Turning back, he sized Wei Xiu up again. At first glance, he had thought she greatly resembled that friend from his youth, but upon closer inspection now, he felt she wasn’t so similar after all; their temperaments were different.

His friend had followed his father, toughened in border military camps from a young age, possessing a heroic and upright bearing. The person before him, however, was confined to a wheelchair, pale-faced, and frail.

They were entirely different people.

Perhaps he had been blind just now, Chen Du mocked himself inwardly.

The boy brought the tea. Chen Du said, “Please,” and Wei Xiu did not refuse. She picked up the teacup, tasted it—ordinary tea, nothing special. Looking around at the four bare walls of the room, without a single decorative painting, it was evident that Chen Du lived in extreme poverty.

“I make a living by copying books, so I cannot entertain Sir well,” Chen Du said faintly, as if seeing through Wei Xiu’s thoughts, his eyes indifferent.

Making a living by copying books? What about his salary? Wei Xiu didn’t ask aloud, guessing that most of the salary given by the court had likely been distributed by him to beggars.

“The elegance of a humble room lies in its simplicity,” Wei Xiu said. “Master Chen, since entering the Chongwen Institute, have your experiences there been to your liking?”

“Matters of scholars. What is there to say?” Chen Du had studied military affairs. The character “Du” (渡) in his name meant “to cross a river,” representing the high hopes the old Chancellor had placed in him back then. Well-versed in military strategy, yet now he was in the Chongwen Institute, mingling with scholars—how could it be good?