12. Chapter Twelve

The Court Officials Assemble.

This phrase feels a bit awkward; it could be simply replaced with "The court is in session!"

All the important officials qualified to attend the court meeting lined up according to their rank and entered one after another in an orderly procession.

When walking, they had to observe proper decorum—calm and unhurried—never losing their composure. Yet the strange events of the past two days unsettled those permitted to enter, while those excluded felt excited and curious.

Thus, besides the rich and sharp fragrance lingering throughout the grand hall, various gazes and countless subtle intrigues also filled the air.

When the officials assembled, the sovereign himself should have worn his ceremonial robes. But as everyone knew, the monarch was a cultivator; the emperor’s attire could not compare to that of an immortal. So today he appeared before the officials wearing a dragon robe styled after a Daoist priest’s garment.

His expression was calm, showing no hint of displeasure. The officials in the front rows maintained solemn faces, none daring to look directly at the ruler, yet each carefully memorized his demeanor.

Today seemed like a calm day.

After the formal “seven bows” ritual, just as some naive officials were thinking so, the crown prince suddenly submitted a memorial.

The prince declared, “Your servant wishes to impeach! To impeach the traitor who once caused border troubles, destroying a century of peace with the Khitan, who now neglects loyalty to the nation and wholly advocates for the Jin invaders!”

The onlookers immediately grew excited.

Impeach Zhao Liangsi? This man was originally Khitan, a traitor who fed off the Khitan before now scheming to ally with the Jin. Even the Jin were reluctant to return Yan and Yun territories—that was his fault! He also bore responsibility for the two defeats at Yanjing, having known but failed to report! And the emperor even granted him the Zhao surname! Bah!

Impeaching him was unquestionably justified!

Considering that during the Song-Jin alliance, he had been dispatched multiple times and was highly favored by the emperor, receiving titles, ranks, and riches without omission—this made many dislike him all the more.

Why did he manage to reap so many rewards from the emperor? Impeach him! Impeach this collaborator and traitor!

Once the crown prince spoke, some ministers fell silent like death, while others promptly echoed the accusation. There was no one to defend Zhao Liangsi; not a single soul spoke in his favor.

The ministers exchanged furtive glances again. Zhao Liangsi had tried to cling to the crown prince’s protection, but he had made no friends and was now being betrayed by his own lord.

After a brief uproar, silence returned.

Some secretly observed Zhao Liangsi, others watched the sovereign.

At the storm’s center, Zhao Liangsi lowered his head, silent as a log.

From his lofty throne, the emperor’s face remained perfectly calm, showing no approval of the prince’s judgment.

He looked at each official in turn, absorbing their expressions, then finally fixed his gaze on Zhao Liangsi.

“What say you?”

Having just completed the seven bows, Zhao Liangsi hurried out of line, bowed deeply, and said in a muffled voice, “I am guilty.”

A trace of mockery flickered across the emperor’s dignified and elegant face.

“Since Zhao Liangsi has received the nation’s grace, he ought to contemplate repaying it. Yet he harbors jealousy and slanders others. He is hereby demoted five ranks and dismissed from office, to serve as a warning to others.”

Oh? So fast! No consultation with the ministers? No second thoughts?

The crown prince stood at the back, staring blankly at his father, bewildered by how easily Zhao Liangsi’s position was stripped away. He had thought his impeachment merely a gesture—a show of principle. Was this too filial a gesture from father to son?

He was nervous, unsure if he had secured his position as heir, while the old emperor on the throne seemed suddenly more resolute.

“Wang Fu.”

Wang Fu stepped forward. The crown prince’s heart sank at the look on his face.

Wang Fu truly appeared delighted—radiant and composed in his official robes. When he took a poised step forward and looked up at the emperor, it was as if he were glowing.

His eyes were straight, his mouth uncurved. His handsome face showed no difference from other ministers—solemn and restrained—but his entire being exuded a joyous energy, the kind that hides a smile but bursts out laughing once home, rolling on the floor without bothering to remove his robes.

“I am here,” he said.

Seeing his smiling face, the emperor seemed to brighten as well.

“I have heard a popular rhyme in the capital: ‘Three hundred strings, then deputy; five hundred strings, straight to the secret chamber.’ What does this mean?”

Suddenly the great hall fell into an oppressive silence, broken only by Wang Fu’s increasingly heavy and rapid breathing.

This cannot be! This must not be!

He was good at making excuses and instantly thought of nine ways to defend himself—nine!

But the problem was, what if this rhyme was the most dignified charge the emperor could bring against him? Didn’t he know the emperor hadn’t cared about his profiteering?

Handsome Minister Wang stood at a crossroads in life, confused and dazed, unable to discern which path led to the abyss. He searched for someone to save him, but all eyes withdrew.

He had to rely on himself. Like Zhao Liangsi, he fell to the ground.

“Nonsense,” he said, “many, like Zhao Liangsi, harbor jealousy and concoct baseless tales. How could the sovereign believe them lightly?”

He looked at the emperor with hope, even pleading for a shred of sympathy and mercy. The emperor should remember that Wang Fu was not only his minister but a true immortal who would one day slay evil dragons for him! Sovereign, please be clear-headed!

Hearing this, the emperor smiled again.

“If not for your recent visit to my residence, I would truly regard these as absurd rumors,” he said. “Even the small gate to the rear garden, my Minister Wang has cultivated with such care.”

Suddenly Wang Fu’s vision darkened; he saw nothing.

The second unfortunate official dismissed was led out, his posture disgraceful, though no one laughed.

A minister dismissed! This momentous event shocked the court so much that the third official demoted to Sichuan, Yuwen Shizhong, went unnoticed.

The faction of Prince Yun naturally wore sullen faces, but the crown prince was ashen as well. He wondered how his father had always intended to demote Wang Fu! If only he hadn’t sold out Zhao Liangsi—that was humiliating!

Both princes looked like drowned dogs, afraid even to breathe, while the ministers fell into fearful silence, shrinking their necks as if suddenly chilled by an unbearable cold in the seventh lunar month.

No one knew who the emperor would strike next.

Bad news: the sovereign continued to issue edicts.

Good news: this time, he wielded no blade.

The emperor announced that his beloved daughter, Princess Chaozhen, was officially granted the title of Protective Immortal Child, endowed with 100,000 strings of cash, a fully owned Daoist temple, and a thousand acres of surrounding land.

Though only twelve or thirteen years old, her childlike status was confined to the royal family. Though unmarried, her social standing had risen beyond childhood; she was now the mistress of the White Deer Lingying Palace in Xingyuan Prefecture.

You might address her as Daoist Master or, considering the Daoist saying “the human heart is a small square, the heavenly heart a large square,” call her Abbot.

Princess Chaozhen couldn’t help but mutter “Amitabha” once, then glanced around sheepishly.

The money was modest but certainly a pleasant surprise. Yet the land seemed excessive.

Why so much land compared to money? Perhaps because Emperor Huizong’s reign differed from other times. He favored land enclosure campaigns. You might claim land as your own with ancestral deeds, but if a minor eunuch from the “Western City Office” urinated on your fields, or Daoists from Shenniao Palace strolled across your crops, that land became property of the sovereign or the Daoists. Having wealth and honest officials meant little; sometimes one must look inward—after so many years without connections in the capital, had one even tried to buy office?

In short, the money given was drawn from the emperor’s private treasury; the land cost him nothing, being carved directly from the “Western City Office.”

As for the temple’s location, it was unsurprising.

Xingyuan Prefecture lies in Hanzhong, Shaanxi, where Chancellor Zhuge Liang once fought, leaving many renowned local delicacies...

But that digresses. The Shenniao Sect evolved from the Zhengyi School of the Celestial Masters. The Zhengyi School, the foremost talisman sect, was founded by Zhang Daoling, who received the “Zhengyi Alliance” from the Supreme Lord Laozi in Shu. The sect took root in Shu, flourishing under his descendant Zhang Lu as the Way of the Five Pecks of Rice.

Though criticized by the Cao regime as a “heretical nation,” Hanzhong was the ancestral home of Daoists, making it politically appropriate for cultivation.

As for the White Deer Lingying Palace, it was likely an existing Daoist temple, renovated and renamed—or perhaps originally a Buddhist temple, similarly refurbished.

Princess Chaozhen, the young abbot, thought of this and muttered “Amitabha” again.

Someone watching this scene had mixed feelings and whispered:

“I can’t tell. The princess is still at the age for jingling coins and should have a child’s temperament. How did she cause such turmoil at court?”

“How foolish,” whispered Prince Kang. “That she stirs the court is no small matter. If such a discontented servant arises, she might follow her, seeking wealth and status.”

The eunuch beside Prince Kang pondered, confused. “But she has been sent out of the palace by the sovereign...”

“Will she return?”

That question stumped the eunuch.

After a moment, he suddenly understood.