Chapter 106: A Thousand Years in the World (Part Two)

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Hou Sizhi was right: though Quance had been imprisoned for only half a month, it felt as if a thousand years had passed in the world. The storm-shaking protagonist was none other than the censor Fu Youyi, whom Quance had personally mentored. Although Fu Youyi was shocked and resentful at Quance’s sudden impeachment of him during the court session, he had deeply ingrained his teacher’s lessons: “To adopt the Empress Dowager’s heart as one’s own, to hold her thoughts close, to wield the sword with an unorthodox style, unique and distinctive; to speak words and act deeds unfit for the Empress Dowager,”—these were the keys to advancement, the highest truths of the court.

Building upon this foundation, Fu Youyi grasped the principle of swiftness: once information was caught, act quickly without hesitation or retrospection. Even if some details went awry, the harm would be minor and never fatal. With the Empress Dowager’s enlightened guidance shining forth, true loyalty, respect, and filial piety would surely be recognized.

After the conferral of the title of Sage by Confucius, Fu Youyi submitted a memorial impeaching Chancellor Fan Cilu, enumerating over thirty charges both great and small. The most damning accusation was left unlisted, mentioned only subtly at the end: “This man, though treacherous in the guise of loyalty, ungrateful and immoral, repeatedly acts as a traitor under the guise of a loyal subject; his crime deserves death without pardon.”

At the Phoenix Terrace, Chancellor Cen Changqian led others in a meaningful maneuver: shelving Fu Youyi’s memorial, they instead began revising regulations, citing the complexity of governmental affairs and the low rank of secretaries as reasons to involve officials who had never held the chancellorship in key decisions. These officials would assist with important matters, reviewing memorials daily, each handling their own files independently, reporting directly to the throne without collective deliberation.

Thus, Nayen Wu Chengsi held the power of a chancellor without the title. Sitting in court to review memorials for the first time, his mood was good until he opened the first document and his expression darkened as if he had swallowed a fly. It was Fu Youyi’s impeachment memorial—Cen Changqian was clearly using him as a pawn.

Yet this pawn he could not refuse to be. A sickly flush flickered faintly on Wu Chengsi’s face as anger surged within. Having served in court for a long time, the higher his rank, the more acute his sense of gain and loss, and his health had greatly declined.

Summoning strength to raise his heavy arm, he reluctantly dipped his brush and declared, “Fan Cilu acts with secret scheming and treachery, committing countless evils without loyalty or righteousness. I concur.”

At the court session, the Empress Dowager asked the ministers if there were any objections.

None spoke.

Fan Cilu was sentenced to death at home.

At this same court session, only Wei Yuanzhong, Prefect of Luoyang, who had just a few brief encounters with Quance, pleaded for leniency. Though old and vigorous, he said, “Quance’s prolonged detention has caused uproar in the scholarly community, rumors abound, which is detrimental to the imperial examinations. I beg that his crime be considered as careless conduct rather than criminal intent, and that his punishment be lightened to observe future conduct.”

The Empress Dowager sneered, “Quance’s crime has nothing to do with the examination system. Those in the scholarly community who dare to chatter and slander the court will be met with severe laws.”

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Wei Yuanzhong withdrew awkwardly. Wu Youxu, Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites, who had also intended to intercede for Quance, changed his mind upon seeing this and stepped forward to request a transfer: “I lack the ability to manage affairs and am ignorant of routine duties. I rely entirely on subordinates and merely hold my post in name. I hereby resign as Vice Minister of Rites and wish to serve as a supervisor of construction, devoting myself to the Empress Dowager.”

The Empress Dowager approved, demoting him to Supervisor of Construction, granting him the rank of Court Consultant, and bestowing a purple-gold fish pouch.

Beside the throne, Fu Youyi, seated crosswise, revealed a faint, inscrutable smile.

The next day, Fu Youyi submitted two memorials in succession. One impeached Wei Yuanzhong for abusing power and favoritism, colluding with convicted officials, manipulating public opinion, and coercing the court with malicious intent. The other accused Yan Baili of fabricating rumors to slander court officials, undermining the examination system and interfering in state affairs.

Both memorials were sent to the Phoenix Terrace and assigned to Wu Chengsi’s desk. Stroking his beard thoughtfully for a long time, Wu Chengsi still could not discern their true nature, nor decide how to handle these two sensitive figures. Glancing at the high platform where Cen Changqian’s seal office was located, he chuckled bitterly, choosing only to read without judgment and forwarded blank forms to the palace secretariat, respectfully requesting the Empress Dowager’s personal decision. Previously, he had looked down on Su Weidao, who had held the chancellor’s power but remained ambiguous and rarely commented on memorials, mostly passing them on blank. But now, facing this crisis, he understood the many constraints and helplessness involved.

No matter the night, an imperial edict was issued the same evening: Wei Yuanzhong was demoted and sent to Jiangnan as Prefect of Ganzhou, and Yan Baili was dismissed and exiled to serve as a legal officer in Anxi Protectorate, three thousand miles away.

Upon this decision, Wu Chengsi breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that had he not been patient, he might have ordered Wei Yuanzhong imprisoned and Yan Baili spared.

Looking up at the sky, thunder rolled—a cruel joke of heaven. In an instant, the bright spring day turned gloomy.

Palace attendants Zheng Zhong and Lu Zhaoyin, hearing the news, were overjoyed and rushed to report to Princess Yiyang’s residence. Since the main culprits of false accusations had been punished, the eldest son should soon be exonerated and released.

Shortly after they arrived, Du Shenyan, Li Qiao, Cui Rong, Zhang Shuo, and others appeared. They all paid respects to Princess Yiyang and stayed, chatting and drinking from noon until midnight.

As night deepened, the banquet waned, and so did their spirits. No good news about Quance came. The accuser’s charges were upheld, yet the accused remained imprisoned. What did this mean? The so-called false accusations were merely a pretext to punish Quance. Judging by this, Quance’s predicament was dire indeed.

In the inner courtyard, Princess Gaoan busied herself soothing Princess Yiyang, who had swung from joy to sorrow. After finally coaxing her to sleep, she sat by the bedside, eyes red, thinking of her nephew whose fate was uncertain. With her maids and nurses, she went to check on Quance’s younger brothers’ quarters, where the two little ones slept peacefully, before returning to her own chamber where the oil lamp burned through the night.

In the main hall, Quance’s study was crowded with people: Quanzhong, the Sha Zha talisman bearer, Sha Zha Shushu with arms bound, supported by the second of the Eight Steeds, Fan Yu; the astrologer leaning against the wall with arms crossed; and the mysterious figures inside and outside the Inscriptionless Stele—all were present.

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There were two others, Fu Qu and Quan Li, who were unfamiliar with the intense auras of those present.

The study door creaked open, and a woman entered, draped entirely in black gauze, eyes the only part visible. Behind her followed a jade maid.

The woman sat brazenly in the main seat and spoke without ceremony, “Wu Yanxiu’s identity is special; he cannot be easily punished by beheading, but his minions have no such immunity. I know he has a mansion in the northern market, harboring many underground agents. Find a way to use their lives as compensation for the injuries at the cliff’s edge, leaving a few survivors as tails to stir trouble for Wu Yanxiu.”

After a brief silence, the astrologer responded, “I will handle it.”

The woman nodded calmly and asked, “Fu Qu, is the Forgetting Love Valley and Yishui Floating Pavilion also unstable?”

Fu Qu glanced sideways at the woman, who turned her head, avoiding eye contact.

Suppressing her wild suspicions, Fu Qu replied, “The businesses of Forgetting Love Valley and Yishui Floating Pavilion are joint ventures involving Scholar Cui, Scholar Song, and Prince Consort Wu. Recently, Scholar Song said funds were tight and wanted to transfer shares. The new manager is Wu Yizong, Supervisor of the Ministry of Imperial Stables, intending to invest more and open several new halls.”

“Hmph, sweet talk,” the woman snorted coldly. She had seen such tactics often. More investment, more rounds of funding, and soon the proprietor changes. “Wu Yizong is fierce and not to be trifled with, but he craves empty fame. Tomorrow, spread rumors about selling Forgetting Love Valley and the Floating Pavilion. Arrange for a few singers and performers to attend to that manager, who will then throw himself into the river. Make sure it causes a scandal.”

“Really? Someone must die?” Fu Qu was dumbfounded, fear evident in her face.

“No, no, madam, rest assured,” the jade maid interjected soothingly. “I will take care of it.” She met the woman’s gaze firmly, knowing well that without death, there could be no grand uproar.