Chapter 9 He Wen

The night lamp flickered like a bean, its flame dim and quiet.

Zhang Ruoai’s thoughts flowed like a spring, his brush moving as if guided by divine inspiration, all while pondering his wife’s words—

“The Seventh Prince is quite clever. The Empress Dowager praised him repeatedly in front of everyone… I think he resembles the Empress more, especially those eyes—oh my, so dark and bright. His Majesty dotes on him beyond words.”

Swiftly, the eulogy took shape on paper.

The passage roughly conveyed:

“In the fifth month of the eleventh year of Qianlong’s reign, His Majesty bestowed upon me the Imperial Script Sutra. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I am deeply honored. I spent a day and night in sleepless devotion, reading it with reverence. Enlightened by this grace, I recalled how the Seventh Prince was born on the Buddha’s birthday, with Sweet Rain descending from the heavens, and was moved beyond words… Thus, I composed this congratulatory essay to celebrate His Majesty’s joyous occasion. Regrettably, my tardiness prevented me from attending the full-moon banquet. To repay His Majesty’s kindness, I offer this humble work…”

After some thought, he felt it wasn’t enough—more praise for the Seventh Prince was needed.

So, he added phrases like “endowed with the finest spirits of heaven and earth” and “exceptionally gifted by nature.”

Zhang Ruoai set down his brush and reviewed the essay with satisfaction, smiling to himself. It would be just in time for the Grand Court Assembly three days later.

The next day was a rest day, and Zhang Ruoai rose early to visit the residence of Liang Shizheng, the Minister of Revenue. Both were Han officials and colleagues, sharing a close friendship and compatible temperaments—they were practically confidants.

“Minister Zhang!” Liang Shizheng, who had been drinking tea and admiring flowers in the pavilion, spotted Zhang Ruoai from afar and cupped his hands in greeting. After exchanging pleasantries, they began discussing recent major court affairs.

The gathering consisted of prominent court officials and scholars, mostly Han Chinese—a circle of influential figures with excellent rapport.

When the topic turned to that year’s imperial examinations, someone teased Zhang Ruoai, “Minister Zhang, you entered the palace yesterday—did you receive any fine rewards?”

Zhang Ruoai, often favored by the Emperor and frequently summoned to the palace, was also one of Prince Duan’s tutors, earning him great respect. Stroking his beard with a chuckle, Zhang Ruoai replied mysteriously, “This old man did indeed acquire a treasure!”

Curiosity piqued, the group leaned in. Liang Shizheng, the Minister of Revenue, tapped him lightly and said, “Stop being coy!”

Zhang Ruoai straightened his posture and lowered his voice. “In recent months, the chaos in Jiangnan and the drought near the capital have weighed heavily on His Majesty’s mind.”

“True enough… But after the joyous birth of his son, His Majesty’s mood visibly improved.”

Zhang Ruoai nodded. “Precisely. His Majesty granted me the Imperial Script Sutra, and I thought—this is the perfect opportunity to cleanse the turmoil and restore harmony to the court!”

Dong Bangda, the Reader-in-Waiting, blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“That night, I composed a congratulatory essay praising the Seventh Prince…” Zhang Ruoai explained. “I plan to express my gratitude during the Grand Court Assembly. But one person alone lacks impact—so I’ve come to enlist all of you.”

The group fell silent.

As the silence lingered, their eyes gradually brightened. “You’re absolutely right—this is a brilliant move!”

The Han officials valued the distinction between legitimate and illegitimate heirs, and they all supported Prince Duan’s rightful claim. Praising the Seventh Prince would also bolster Prince Duan’s standing!

If the brothers had been closer in age, excessive praise for the Seventh Prince might have sparked conflict between the legitimate heirs. But with a sixteen-year gap, such risks were entirely avoided.

Most importantly, it would earn them the Emperor’s favor—why not seize the opportunity?

And there was more.

Han scholarship was on the rise but still lacked influence. If their congratulatory essays could advance its development…

A single move yielding triple gains!

The ministers returned to their residences in high spirits and began refining their works behind closed doors.

The Grand Court Assembly arrived as scheduled. While the sky was still dark, they gathered before the palace gates.  

“I excel in clerical script…”  

“I’ve practiced the Dong Style…”  

After exchanging a few cheerful words, the other ministers were left bewildered—what were they talking about?  

Soon, they understood.  

One agenda item after another passed, and the Grand Court Assembly gradually neared its conclusion. Wu Shulai drew out his voice: “Those with matters to present may speak; if none, the court is dismissed—”  

Zhang Ruoai and Liang Shizheng exchanged a glance. The former straightened his sleeves and stepped forward, clearing his throat. “Your Majesty, this subject has a matter to present.”  

Seeing it was Zhang Ruoai, Qianlong slowly straightened his posture and raised his hand, his expression clearly expectant.  

The entire court fell silent.  

The ministers wondered—since the Emperor had just reviewed the Palace Examination procedures, what major matter could the Ministry of Rites still have?  

Under the gaze of all, Zhang Ruoai retrieved a long scroll from his robes and began reciting a congratulatory essay.  

“On the eighth day of the fourth month of the eleventh year, the Sacred Emperor was blessed with a son…”  

The literary brilliance was undeniable, the diction exquisite—a delight to the ears.  

Yet the central theme was praise for the Seventh Prince, the entire essay overflowing with accolades, each line more effusive than the last!  

The entire court was stunned.  

But it didn’t end there.  

Once Zhang Ruoai finished and returned to the ranks, Liang Shizheng stepped forward.  

“Your Majesty, this subject reports: the Seventh Prince, Yongcong, is born with divine grace…”  

Then, one after another, civil officials stepped forth.  

Shen Deqian, Ding Guanpeng, Dong Bangda—over twenty of the Emperor’s closest ministers, each a man of extraordinary talent—some skilled in poetry, others in painting, still others in prose. Their congratulatory essays flowed like water, each so masterful it compelled admiration.  

The entire court stood dumbfounded.  

The First Prince, Yonghuang, and Prince Duan, Yonglian, had long attended court to observe governance. Yonghuang twitched his lips, displeased, and lowered his eyes. Yonglian trembled slightly, struggling to suppress the laughter threatening to spill from his lips.  

Fu Heng stood among the military officials, but his mastery of Han studies allowed him to fully grasp the essays.  

They were all praising his little nephew…  

“…” Fu Heng thought, *Have I fallen behind?*  

Finally, no one else stepped forward.  

The hall was silent. The Emperor seated above broke the stillness first.  

“Excellent, excellent, excellent!” Qianlong couldn’t help but rise to his feet, his imperial countenance radiant with joy. He held Zhang Ruoai’s essay in his hand—Wu Shulai had ordered all the essays collected and presented to the Emperor.  

“Our esteemed ministers are the pillars of the Great Qing…” Qianlong praised, his face glowing. “This grand gift has truly delighted Us beyond measure…”  

The day before, when Zhang Ruoai requested an audience, Qianlong had a flash of inspiration and hinted: *Our beloved subject, Our cherished son has been born for so many days, yet there has been no proper congratulatory essay…*  

Qianlong trusted Zhang Ruoai’s ability, certain the minister would understand his meaning and compose an essay that would bring him joy.  

Who could have guessed that Lord Zhang not only wrote one himself but also rallied a crowd of colleagues!  

This was a surprise magnified tenfold. Were the timing not inappropriate, Qianlong would have gladly promoted every minister who stepped forward.  

Still, he had noted their names—after all, they had scratched his itch perfectly.  

In Qianlong’s heart, the eldest legitimate son was for grooming, the second legitimate son was for doting on. Yonglian could not be praised too much now—he needed to be tempered, to shoulder the role of Crown Prince. As for Yongcong, he wished to cradle him in his palms every day, to lift him to the heavens.  

When his ministers praised Yongcong, they were praising *him*!  

Everyone saw the Emperor’s delight. The officials’ subtle glances repeatedly flickered toward Zhang Ruoai and the others, each one filled with awe.

They realized this was the pinnacle of flattery.

Who would have thought that a seemingly upright and serious civil official could come up with such an ingenious idea?

Brilliant.

After court, Yonglian went to pay respects to the Empress and recounted the incident, his eyes crinkling with amusement, nearly breaking his usual composed demeanor.

The Empress: “…”

Yongcong in the Empress’s arms: “…”

Author’s note: Yongcong: Dad, dear dad, you’re making this really hard for me…