With a cold, piercing gaze, Wei Yu’s black eyes chilled like a rising tide as the words “Ah Wei” were spoken.

Yuan Cong, noticing that the Grand Marshal was about to lose his temper, felt a jolt of fear.

The Empress Wei was an untouchable taboo for the Emperor, and equally, she was the reverse scale of the Grand Marshal.

Recalling the various events involving the Grand Marshal from a decade ago, the eunuch in charge quickly bent low and said, “Grand Marshal, you are at leisure today. Why enter the palace without prior notice and walk into the hall with sword and boots?”

Yuan Cong clearly remembered that the Grand Marshal had been granted the rare honor of “entering the court without haste and entering the hall with sword and boots” while Lady Wei was still alive.

His current demeanor was merely a way to preserve the Emperor’s dignity.

After all, just now, the Grand Marshal had addressed the Emperor with a “greeting,” but his body stood as rigid as a spear.

He hadn’t bent even slightly—not a bow of the head, not a clasp of hands—nothing to give the Emperor any semblance of face. But no.

Wei Yu—rebellious and arrogant—was even more so now than in years past.

The Emperor remained expressionless, leaving it to the eunuch to act like a sycophantic servant.

After all, being a servant meant following orders.

But today, it seemed the Grand Marshal was in a particularly bad mood.

His sword-like brows raised as he sneered, “Wei Sixteenth has always been this way—ten years ago, today, and in the future as well. If the Emperor wishes to demote me or punish me, I welcome it. The command of the Northern Army can be returned at once. I will never again lead troops or wear armor, and I will never go back on my word. What say you?”

With that, he ripped off the bronze tiger token hanging from his waist and casually tossed it to the ground, treating it like discarded scrap metal without so much as a glance.

The Emperor’s face darkened.

In the next moment, Emperor Li Yu turned and kicked Yuan Cong in the leg. “Insolent servant! Who gave you permission to show disrespect to such an important minister of the state? Apologize to the Grand Marshal at once!”

Yuan Cong felt a sharp pain in his leg and collapsed to the ground, momentarily unsure if it was broken.

Terrified, he fumbled for the cold tiger token that held such importance and crawled forward on his knees.

Trembling, he reattached the token to Wei Yu’s belt, muttering repeatedly, “This servant spoke out of turn. I beg the Grand Marshal for forgiveness.”

“Sixteenth,” the Emperor glanced at Yuan Cong and signaled for him to withdraw.

His gaze then fixed intently on the Wei family scion, who had not returned to the capital in ten years.

By family relation, Wei Yu was his brother-in-law and should call him brother-in-law in return.

Yet, as the Emperor aged, this young man before him stood tall, full of vigor, like the rising sun in the east.

“I heard you went to Jiangcheng yesterday. Is Lord Gu still in good health?” the Emperor asked.

“Sixteenth is a family nickname. Between me and Your Majesty, we are ruler and subject, nothing more,” Wei Yu interrupted impatiently. “As for Lord Gu, if Your Majesty still had a heart, how could you even ask?”

These words were undoubtedly disrespectful to the Emperor, yet Li Yu, far from angered, instead felt a wave of guilt.

His aging, clouded eyes showed a trace of pain. “I, back then—”

But Wei Yu had not come to rehash past grievances.

There were things from the past that words could never fully resolve.

He cut the Emperor off again.

“Your Majesty seems well-informed about my movements, yet I did not know that the orphan of the Tang family was being left in the palace to be bullied.”

“Where is this coming from?”

The Emperor was shocked, and his expression grew solemn. “I have always treated Ah Ying better than my own daughter. I would never allow her to suffer even the slightest grievance. How has she been recently? Has she complained to you? Tell me, and if anyone has dared to bully her right under my nose, I will punish them without mercy.”

“Rest assured, even if Your Majesty forgives them, I will not.”

Wei Yu’s lips curled slightly. “I have two matters today. First, regarding Zanying, let the royal family remember well: her fate is mine to oversee, but her decisions are not.”

This meant that he had no intention of allowing the palace to bring her back.

As for Zanying’s attempt to reclaim her family property from the royal family, he wouldn’t intervene, but if the palace tried any underhanded tricks to harm her, he would not stand idly by.

The emperor’s expression darkened, but Wei Yu continued, “Secondly, the court has recently been discussing posthumous honors for the heroes of the Northern Expeditions. Since Imperial Physician Fu, who served as a civil envoy, can be promoted, I request a title for General Zuwang, the General of the Gallant Cavalry.”

Zuwang, styled Songzhi, was originally from a refugee leader in Runan Commandery and had ancestral roots in Luoyang.

Later, he took command of the Northern Army in Jingkou.

His lifelong wish was to drive out the Hu barbarians through Northern Expeditions and reclaim the Central Plains.

After leaving the capital, Wei Yu went to serve under him, starting as a mere foot soldier before following him in campaigns across the East and North.

Five years ago, in the 21st year of Dezhen, General Zuwang died in Luling.

Wei Yu kept his death a secret, swiftly reorganizing the troops and suppressing dissidents.

At the tender age of twenty, he assumed command of the Northern Army, becoming the youngest Grand Marshal since the fall of the Jin Dynasty.

The emperor looked at Wei Yu in surprise, not expecting him to bring up the deceased general.

A glimmer of faint nostalgia flickered in his eyes.

Thoughts raced through his mind, but he feigned difficulty on his face, saying:

“Old General Zu was a renowned commander of our dynasty, capturing Nanyang and defending Xiangfan, relentlessly battling in the Northern Expeditions with unbroken success. His merits indeed exceed his fame. However, the cause of General Zu’s death has remained a mystery. I have heard that he committed suicide, but there are also rumors that he slaughtered dozens of his own guards before dying, appearing deranged. You were always close to General Zu, Grand Marshal; surely you know the truth behind his death? Yet the report submitted to the court five years ago was vague. While I am inclined to bestow a posthumous title on the Zuwang family, I fear it may be difficult to convince the court.”

With a crack of his knuckles, Wei Yu’s dark, menacing eyes fixed on the emperor. “General Zu died from untreated old wounds.”

Under that gaze, the emperor couldn’t help but feel a shiver run through him.

He steadied himself with authority built over years and said, “Rumors are rampant. Such an explanation cannot convince the people.”

Wei Yu’s eyes suddenly sharpened, and a surge of heat rose unexpectedly from his core.

He swallowed his irritation, and his narrowed gaze held a touch of mocking defiance, a rare display of roguish disdain. “In a few days, will the appointment of the Crown Prince convince the people?”

A single phrase, light as a feather, tipped the scales.

The emperor’s expression changed, his complexion paling.

Wei Yu left him with a parting remark, “Your Majesty, just consider it. I only ask for a result.” With that, he turned and strode away.

Outside the Taiji Hall, the guards holding long spears were nervously watching the entrance.

As soon as the Grand Marshal appeared, his indifferent glance swept over them, and the men instinctively lowered their heads, stepped back, and dared not meet his eyes.

Wei Yu, unfazed by anyone, adjusted his armor on the steps.

He turned to look northwards, toward the direction of Xianyang Palace.

“General,” his personal guard awaited orders in the courtyard.

“Go to Xianyang Palace and see if the arrangements I left behind are still in place.”

The guard responded, seemingly oblivious to the audacious nature of the command.

Wei Yu gave no further instructions, mounted his horse, and rode straight towards the Western Market.

“Your Majesty, the Grand Marshal has left the palace.”

Emperor Li Yu stood in the Western Hall, frowning for a long time. Hearing the gentle voice of Yuan Cong, he snapped out of his daze.

Seeing the chief eunuch limping before him, the emperor sighed, “I kicked too hard.”

“Your servant dares not complain. I am fine,” Eunuch Yuan quickly replied.

The emperor looked down at him and slowly began to smile.

“Your Majesty,” Yuan Cong was puzzled by the emperor’s expression, a chill running down his spine.

The emperor’s gaze turned cloudy and obscure, and he slowly murmured, “As long as he still has demands, it’s good.”

Xianyang Palace, Qingliang Pavilion.

Empress Yu was already troubled over the matter of the silk curtains, and now, on top of that, she had to deal with another issue concerning Consort Xi.

She was sleepless, and despite her careful upkeep, her face showed signs of weariness, with pronounced dark circles under her eyes.

She had just sipped a cup of calming tea and was about to rest for a moment when She Xin entered the flower pavilion, bowing while holding a whisk.

Empress Yu, upon seeing his hesitant expression, was almost numb from the recent barrage of unexpected events.

She sneered coldly, “What trouble has arisen in the harem this time?”

Sweat dripped from She Xin’s forehead as he replied, “Your Highness, it’s not the harem—it’s about the court. Assistant Minister of Works Yang Dan went to see the Crown Prince after court today, wishing to discuss the construction of the northern palace at Leyou Park. He sought to ask whether the main hall of the palace should use nanmu wood for all its beams, when the timber would arrive, and when the Ministry of Revenue would approve the funds for palace materials and the craftsmen’s fees. The advance has run out, and without new funds, the construction of the northern palace may be delayed.”

Upon hearing this, the fire that Empress Yu had just managed to quell reignited.

Money, money, money.

Ever since she took charge of the royal household’s finances, when had she ever been short of funds?

Now, everyone seemed to be asking her for money.

The northern palace being constructed at Leyou Park was a project started earlier this year to celebrate the Emperor’s upcoming fiftieth birthday.

The imperial treasury had long been insufficient, a problem that had persisted for years.

Since ascending the throne, Emperor Jin had practiced frugality, refraining from extravagance for twenty years—neither amassing a large harem nor building new palaces.

Now, as he approached his fiftieth year, building a palace to bring him joy was only natural, and for once, the outspoken officials at the Censorate did not object.

Although the officials had no complaints, the cost of the palace construction was no small matter.

So where would the money come from? Empress Yu had her eyes on Fu Zanying’s wealth.

She calculated that the Ministry of Works could begin construction, using stone and timber in advance from the large imperial merchants.

By May, after Fu Zanying’s coming-of-age ceremony, the palace would rightfully take over the Tang family’s treasury, doubling the profits and paying the merchants.

As for the Ministry of Revenue, it would simply act as a figurehead, without touching a single coin from the public treasury.

This way, the old ministers in the Ministry wouldn’t have to keep lamenting about being broke all day.

Thus, not only would the construction timeline be less rushed, but the new palace could be completed in time for the Emperor’s birthday, ensuring good fortune.

Additionally, the later expenses would naturally be covered by the Tang family’s wealth, preventing any deficits in the imperial treasury.