TCPM 23

 

Chapter 23

If this were an ordinary tale, capturing the world might have served as the grand finale, with emperors living out the remainder of their days in inexhaustible luxury and wealth. Yet this was not so. Wei Zai seemed to have gained everything, yet simultaneously felt as though she had lost everything. The Yong’an Palace had been entirely renovated and refurbished, with its layout rearranged strictly according to her personal preferences, making it feel like a completely new palace upon re-entering. Yet she found it difficult to attain peaceful slumber.

She slept poorly—her slumber was light, filled with a multiplicity of dreams, and easily disrupted. This restlessness stemmed not from the fact that her brothers and father had perished right here, but rather from the crushing weight of pressure.

Ludicrous as it sounded, her succession edict was entirely forged. After all, her father had cursed her with his dying breath and naturally would not have written an edict in her favor, nor did she deign to request one. Had this occurred a century prior, an emperor whose legitimacy was as compromised as hers would have faced widespread resistance from across the court and the country. There would have been loyal ministers, virtuous officials, and moral purists willing to die rather than submit, cursing her into madness and leaving an indelible, unwashed stain upon her name in the annals of history. Yet none of this materialized, for where in her father’s imperial court could true loyal ministers or virtuous officials still be found? Everyone chose to turn a blind eye, operating under the assumption that the mere existence of an edict rendered her accession righteous and proper—after all, no alternative candidates remained. Although the Third and Fourth Princes had been banished to their regional fiefdoms, they were devoid of troops, horses, and authority, incapable of even stepping foot outside their designated territories. As for the sole surviving Sixth Prince, Wei Zai kept a blade permanently pressed against his throat; should anyone dare so much as mention the Sixth Prince, he would instantly meet with a sudden and convenient demise. Thus, Wei Zai’s ascension proceeded with absolute smoothness.

Yet this dilapidated dynasty would not be miraculously rejuvenated simply through the crowning of a new sovereign. On the contrary, the entire imperial court collectively breathed a sigh of relief as layers upon layers of state affairs—stagnant due to the late emperor’s four or five-year abandonment of court assemblies—piled high onto Wei Zai’s desk, demanding her personal decision on every single matter, vast as an ocean of paperwork. The Left and Right Chancellors were elderly statesmen excavated from obscure corners. One had been guarding the Wenyuan Pavilion with a heart completely turned to ash, coaxed out of retirement only after Wei Zai made three earnest visits to his thatched cottage; the other had been demoted and exiled to the southwestern frontiers for over a decade, dropping all the way from a second-rank purple robe down to a sixth-rank green robe due to his unsparing, blunt speech, until a single written decree from Wei Zai hauled him back to the capital. These two elderly officials practically lived and slept within the Council of State. Meanwhile, Xu Qingchu was stationed in the Ministry of Personnel, heading the Bureau of Appointments, racking her brains to extract a handful of capable talents from a swamp of administrative parasites and place them where they were genuinely needed. This imperial court possessed nothing—no funds, no personnel, and no established procedures. Staring bitterly at the mountains of official documents, Wei Zai could only offer a bitter, self-deprecating smile: What on earth was it that she and her siblings had fought themselves half to death over?

She was exhausted to the bone, yet was it not said that extreme fatigue should allow one to fall fast asleep the moment one's head hit the pillow? Why, then, was sleep so utterly elusive to her? Exhaustion and overwhelming drowsiness plagued her, yet slumber remained completely out of reach. She would regularly drag herself awake until the fourth or fifth watch. Even when her eyes did close, her sleep remained agonizingly superficial; she would wake feeling as though she had merely shut her eyes for a fleeting second, while a chaotic whirl of distracting thoughts inside her head left her irritated and distressed. Eventually, Xu Qingchu began moving into the Yong'an Palace to room with her, insisting on holding her down to rest when the designated hour arrived, forbidding her from burying herself in memorial reviews until dawn. The familiar fragrance of Xu Qingchu was capable of pacifying her nerves, allowing her to eventually drift off after lying awake for some time; should that fail, engaging in other activities would likewise help alleviate the tension.

She typically fell asleep around the third watch, plunging first into a hazy, half-conscious daze before finally sinking into actual slumber after a considerable interval. When Xu Qingchu gently shook her awake, she invariably felt as though she had only just closed her eyes. Sleeping insufficiently at night rendered her far more susceptible to daytime fatigue; there were occasions when her eyelids would flutter shut mid-conversation. If the matters were purely trivial, Xu Qingchu would permit her a brief nap, but the majority of affairs required Wei Zai’s personal imperial sanction, compelling Xu Qingchu to suppress her own heartache and forcefully rouse her. This cycle repeated endlessly.

Xu Qingchu was entirely helpless, lacking any means to untie the complex knot within Wei Zai's heart or rescue her from her torment, forcing her to play the role of the merciless antagonist who woke her time and time again. For this fragile, newborn court desperately required its sovereign to appear punctual, vibrant, and brimming with energy at morning audiences. Only thus could the officials recognize that this emperor was fundamentally different from her predecessor, allowing them to feel secure and dispelling any creeping terror.

In the summer of the first year of Chenghui, a minor fourth-rank Pacification General in Yingzhou raised the banner of rebellion, claiming that Wei Zai’s accession lacked legitimacy, and attempted to champion the Prince of Ping, Wei Cai—who remained entirely confined to his fiefdom and oblivious to the plot. This insurgent force rampaged from southwest Yingzhou toward the Prince of Ping's fief in the northeast under the pretext of rescuing the prince from dire straits, pillaging wantonly along their route and gathering powerful momentum. However, they directly collided head-on with a transport convoy escorting military supplies to the Yongzhou army. The commander of this supply unit was Zou Yongjin, who had specifically requested this assignment from Wei Zai to reunite with her family in Yongzhou. Scarcely had the news of the Yingzhou disturbance reached Wei Zai's desk when a dispatch arrived from Zou Yongjin announcing that she had already crushed the rebel forces and captured their ringleader alive.

The Yong'an Palace council meeting, which had barely begun discussing troop deployments and strategic assignments, instantly pivoted into a discussion on how to pacify the Yingzhou populace and properly dispose of the captured rebel troops, reading much like a farcical comedy.

Once all requisite matters were thoroughly addressed, the ministers respectfully withdrew, restoring a profound silence to the Yong'an Palace. Outside, the blazing summer sun cast a blinding, dazzling glare. Sitting alone before her desk, Wei Zai stared blankly for a moment at the imperial rescript drafted by the chancellors, feeling an overwhelming wave of irritability wash over her before she casually swept the document aside. Resting upon the desk lay an ebony paperweight carved with exquisitely intricate patterns. Picking it up, Wei Zai stared blankly out at the courtyard scenery while absentmindedly turning the object over in her fingers.

Later in the day, Xu Qingchu arrived. Catching sight of Wei Zai’s cluttered desk, she silently stepped forward to tidy the documents, thereby discovering the discarded rescript. Placing the decree back down before Wei Zai, she inquired in a soft voice, "Has Your Majesty not yet reached a decision?"

Lifting her eyelids lazily to spare her a sideways glance, Wei Zai retorted, "A decision? Surely you should have known what my decision would be long before now?"

"Yes, I know." Naturally, Xu Qingchu knew. Due to their youth and the risk of advancing individuals too rapidly, Wei Zai’s trusted comrades had been assigned to fourth-rank positions upon the distribution of rewards for merit, occupying pivotal posts across the administration. Although Xu Qingchu’s official title remained merely Director of the Bureau of Evaluations within the Ministry of Personnel, she functioned as Wei Zai’s most indispensable confidante—not to mention the fact that they continued to share a bed each night.

A sudden, unprovoked surge of fury flared within Wei Zai: "Then why must you persist in asking me? Do you take pleasure in forcing me to voice that judgment out loud with my own mouth, and then drive the imperial seal down with my own hands?" Her anger escalating by the second, she hurled the paperweight she had been holding. It crashed violently against the floor with a resounding clatter, prompting the personal guards stationed outside to poke their heads in at the sound, only for Wei Zai to roar furiously, "Get out of my sight, all of you!" Too terrified to utter a sound, the attendants silently vanished into thin air.

Turning her inflamed eyes toward Xu Qingchu, Wei Zai shrieked at the top of her lungs, her voice cracking and raw: "Xu Qingchu! My hands are soaked in the blood of my own flesh and blood, and now I am forced to pave the road beneath my feet with the bones and blood of tens of thousands more! This is merely the very first year! Just how many people have I executed, how many noble houses have I wiped out? And now I am expected to slaughter them down to the ninth degree of relation! I know, I am well aware that they deserve execution and that the blood of a few must be used to terrify the rest... but do you have any idea what blood tastes like? It is sickening to the extreme! Revolting to the extreme! This is the imperial Dao—this is what the imperial Dao truly is!"

"Your Majesty..." Looking upon the raving Wei Zai, a profound ache twisted inside Xu Qingchu's chest as she murmured her name.

"Do not address me as Your Majesty! This throne, this crown, and these brocade robes are all thoroughly saturated with the accumulated bloodshed of dynasty after dynasty! An emperor must surely be the most shameless and filthiest creature under the heavens! Filthy beyond redemption!"

"A-Zai! A-Zai!" Forcibly pulling the flailing, frantic Wei Zai into her embrace, Xu Qingchu held her tight as Wei Zai closed her eyes against her chest, trembling softly.

Heartbroken, self-reproachful, and overwhelmed by guilt to the absolute limit, Xu Qingchu felt an unbearable ache.

An emperor was the sole individual who monopolized sovereign glory, yet she was simultaneously the one compelled to bear every single responsibility. Every final decision rested upon the emperor's shoulders; hence, while ordinary mortals could excuse themselves by claiming it was against their will, an emperor possessed no such luxury. There were myriad tasks an emperor executed entirely against her own desires simply because the collective expectations of the world demanded it. Having caught a glimpse of this profound, underlying truth and comprehending the nature of such a cruel exchange, Wei Zai found herself condemned to eternal isolation, swallowed whole by darkness and filth. Some individuals chose to surrender entirely to the darkness, whereas she possessed a conscience, and thus suffered unending torture. Xu Qingchu understood all of this; she knew precisely what Wei Zai feared.

As she cradled Wei Zai, countless thoughts and tumultuous emotions surged through her mind until all discordant noises converged into a single point, allowing her to hear the true voice of her own heart with crystal clarity. With unhesitating resolve, she whispered directly into Wei Zai’s ear: "I shall accompany you. I will walk this path alongside you..."

Scoffing with a harsh, bitter edge, Wei Zai retorted, "Accompany me how? Can you sit upon this imperial throne in my stead?"

Without offering a verbal reply, Xu Qingchu released her, took hold of her hand, and guided it to grasp the imperial seal. Amidst Wei Zai's stunned silence, their hands moved in unison to press the sovereign's seal firmly down upon the decree. The imperial seal was by no means large, yet it felt heavier than a thousand jun. The instant it struck down, heads would tumble and blood would flow like rivers.

Startled back to awareness, Wei Zai shoved her away: "Have you lost your mind! Meddling in imperial sovereign authority! Do you not pride yourself on being a loyal minister? Is this the sort of behavior permitted of a subject? Did you not insist that certain tasks could only be executed by me alone? What is it you think you are doing right now! It is fortunate that it is me—me! Anyone else would have had you executed a thousand times over! Xu Qingchu, how dare you!"

The madness burning within Xu Qingchu blazed like scarlet flames, growing ever more ferocious, tearing down and sweeping away all obstacles in its path. Locking her gaze onto Wei Zai, she matched her frenzy with an equal madness: "Because I have wagered everything I possess upon Your Majesty—my future, my life, my reputation both in life and after death, everything, absolutely everything, is handed over entirely to you! Let me serve as your spine; let my bones and blood fuse seamlessly with yours. Whether it be mountains of corpses and rivers of blood or utter filth and corruption, I shall bear every single sin alongside you! Through lifetimes upon lifetimes, unwavering until death! A-Zai, do not be afraid."

Staring at her, Wei Zai wept uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face.

She wept for a long, long time, dissolving every ounce of her grievance, agony, and despair into those tears as they soaked into Xu Qingchu's robes and poured straight into her heart.

After a prolonged while, having wept her fill, she nestled back into Xu Qingchu's arms. Gradually regaining her composure, she asked in a muffled, nasal tone, "Parricide and fratricide—how will history record my deeds?"

Xu Qingchu replied with unshakeable, absolute certainty:

"History will record only that Your Majesty turned the tide, restored the realm, and ushered in a glorious restoration!"

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