Chapter 11: Gangfeng

The memorial submitted by the Qingliu Dang indeed created far-reaching consequences. Once reliable information was obtained, concerns over the safety of The Great Canon escalated significantly. After much deliberation, Mu Qi decided to accelerate the process of organizing the documents. 

He not only instructed his steward to select notable individuals but also personally penned a letter to Mr. Gui, demonstrating his sincerity in recruiting talent.

History, however, often presents unexpected coincidences. Gui Zhenchuan, who was struggling in the Beijing, received this entirely unforeseen letter. Yet, while surprised, he did not feel an overwhelming sense of joy at receiving the attention of a nobleman. 

After politely seeing off the messenger from the Mu Guogong residence, he hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door of the adjacent guest room.

“Brother Gangfeng! Brother Runlian!”

Two men inside the guest room stood up and greeted Mr. Gui with clasped hands. After some small talk, Mr. Gui handed over the letter from the prince of Mu residence heir.

“To think I would receive such an honor!” After a brief explanation, Mr. Gui sighed deeply. “The heir’s wording is sincere, and it’s a personal invitation. It’s hard for me to refuse.”

The dark and lean man took the letter, glanced at it briefly, and set it aside. Mr. Gui was right. 

Judging solely from the handwriting, this was certainly no ghostwritten letter by a scholar but a direct missive from the noble heir himself—after all, no ghostwriter with such atrocious penmanship would survive in this field.

Even among the many unrefined noble offspring, this handwriting was shockingly bad. Hai Gangfeng could hardly bear to look at it.

“The prince of Mu’s family has a decent reputation in the Beijing and seems to avoid abusing their power,” Hai Gangfeng commented. “Living in the Beijing is no easy feat. If Brother Zhenchuan can secure a position there, it would indeed be quite suitable.”

Wang Runlian, standing nearby, chuckled. “‘Quite suitable’ is putting it mildly. Brother Gangfeng, you’ve been in the southern regions for a long time and may not fully understand the situation in the Beijing. 

The prince of Mu’s family is among the most prominent noble households in the dynasty! Setting aside the merits of previous generations, when the Emperor moved from Anlu to the Beijing to inherit the throne, it was the late prince of Mu—this heir’s grandfather—who led the escort!”

Wang Runlian, having served as an official in the Beijing for several years, had his sources of information. He also knew how to cater to the old Taoist’s tastes: ordinary virtues like integrity and diligence might not impress the illustrious Feixuan Zhenjun, but loyalty during critical moments, such as escorting the emperor, would undoubtedly earn praise.

As everyone knew, since the Zhenjun ascended the throne decades ago, he had focused on only three major tasks besides dabbling in mystical practices: proving his legitimacy, acknowledging his biological father, and outmaneuvering the widow Empress Dowager Zhang to consolidate power. 

The Mu family played a crucial role in the first two tasks. How could they not remain close to the emperor’s heart and enjoy unparalleled success?

The group present was not naive. They understood how advantageous such a noble family could be. Gui Zhenchuan had been a prodigy in his youth, entering the provincial examinations at eighteen but repeatedly failing the metropolitan exam over the past ten years. With a single nod from the prince’s heir, a bright future would be within reach.

Yet, Gui Zhenchuan appeared conflicted. “I understand the logic, but I’ve heard that the prince’s heir behaves rather eccentrically. I’m afraid he might be difficult to deal with.”

The Gui family, an old aristocratic clan from Kunshan, though in decline, still had connections to gather information. In truth, when Gui Zhenchuan referred to the heir as “eccentric,” he was already being quite diplomatic. 

According to the Beijing’s upper circles, how could one describe the Mu Guogong heir as merely “eccentric”? He was outright “unreasonable”!

Hai Gangfeng was puzzled. “What makes him so unusual?”

Gui Zhenchuan was reluctant to gossip but sighed nonetheless. “It’s said that this heir enjoys mingling with people like shamans, doctors, and craftsmen. He often invites blacksmiths, florists, and weavers to his residence for ‘experiments,’ which is highly unorthodox. Such improper behavior could perhaps be overlooked, but even in court, his conduct is often inappropriate.”

Glancing around cautiously, he lowered his voice. “Have you heard of the ‘Seven Reprimands of Wuzhong’?”

Three years ago, a devastating earthquake struck Huaxian, Shaanxi, causing severe casualties. 

Seven censorate officials jointly submitted a memorial urging the Emperor to cut back on expenses and allocate funds for disaster relief, advocating the cessation of extravagant palace and temple projects. 

Their impassioned appeals enraged the Zhenjun, who considered criticism of his actions a grave offense punishable by extermination of one’s entire family. Yan Fenyi, the Grand Secretary, Beijingized on this, instructing imperial censors to fabricate charges against the seven officials, accusing them of forming cliques and slandering the court with outrageous rhetoric.

Yan’s offensive, cunning and ruthless, was nearly impossible to counter. During a court debate, Yan Fenyi’s Dang delivered fiery speeches, effectively condemning the seven officials to treason. Just as the tension peaked, the prince’s heir let out a sudden shriek and collapsed, scaring the furious Zhenjun into a panic.

“…The Emperor summoned imperial physicians to revive him. Upon waking, the heir burst into tears, claiming he was so moved by Yan Ge Lao’s devotion to the empire and his righteous indignation for the court that he fainted. 

He continued sobbing uncontrollably, repeatedly proclaiming that he finally understood what true loyalty and benevolence meant, pledging to reflect on his own shortcomings and learn from the Grand Secretary.”

Gui Zhenchuan added with a bitter smile, “The heir’s outburst became so over-the-top, chanting phrases like ‘Yan Ge Lao is too great!’ and ‘I’ll never repay his kindness,’ that Yan was left speechless on the spot.”

The Yan Dang privately flattering the Grand Secretary was one thing, but doing so publicly in such an unhinged manner was another. As for the rhetoric about “fairness and integrity,” even Yan Fenyi himself would likely struggle to maintain a straight face.

Moreover, the Yan Ge Lao had just fiercely criticized his political opponents for forming Dangs, only to have someone inexplicably jump out and cause a commotion in his favor. How could he possibly respond to such a mess?

Seeing Yan Fenyi rendered speechless by the chaos, unable to utter a coherent word, the emperor stormed off in anger. Without further debate, the verdict for the seven officials amounted to dismissal and exile, sparing their lives by a narrow margin.

This tragic episode naturally left the entire court in awe, and rumors about it continue to circulate. However, the prince Mu family was untouchable due to its immense influence, and the emperor couldn’t take any harsh action against the prince’s sole heir. In the end, the punishment was limited to a formal reprimand for misconduct in court, a one-year salary deduction, and house arrest. 

After the scandal blew up, the prince of Mu family’s fame spread far and wide, and one could easily imagine what kind of reputation followed.

Wang Runlian and Hai Gangfeng listened in stunned silence, finally grasping the true meaning of “different from the norm.” After a brief pause, Hai Gangfeng spoke:

“This prince of Mu family—does he have any connections with the ‘Seven Admonishments of the Wu Calendar’ or Yan Ge Lao?”

“Absolutely none,” Gui Zhenchuan shook his head. “Everyone in the capital knows that the prince Mu family never associates with external officials.”

Precisely because of this “complete lack of connection,” the prince of Mu family was publicly deemed “incomprehensible” by the court—after all, no normal person could make sense of his antics!

Hai Gangfeng pondered for a moment, then carefully examined the handwritten letter penned by the heir, trying to decipher the barely legible script.

“In my view, hearsay may not be entirely reliable,” he said quietly. “Brother Zhenchuan, if you plan to visit the prince of Mu family, I humbly ask to accompany you. Would that be acceptable?”

Xu Shaohu groaned softly, finally opening his eyes to see the familiar ceiling above him. His family and servants immediately began to weep, and his eldest son, Xu Yunyan, crawled forward on his knees, calling out in a low voice:

“Father, Father!”

Xu Shaohu did not respond. Instead, he swiftly reached under the covers to check his lower half.

As a veteran official who had weathered countless political storms, Xu Ge Lao had an unshakable temperament. Even in the terrifying final moments before he fainted, his experience guided him to the best course of action—he had stuffed the incriminating book into his pants.

Looking back, this was an incredibly wise move. Amid the chaos, no one dared to search the Grand Secretary’s underwear, so the damning evidence remained intact and undisclosed.

Feeling reassured, he rasped, “What time is it?”

“Father, it’s already the hour of the hare (around 5-7 AM)!” Xu Yunyan cried.

So he had been unconscious for two or three hours? Xu Shaohu sighed.

“Stop crying… Has anyone come by?”

“The Western Garden sent an imperial physician with medicine, and several families of the Grand Secretaries also sent people to visit,” Xu Yunyan cautiously replied. “They all asked Father to take good care and let them know if there’s anything you need.”

The involvement of the Western Garden meant the intervention of the Feixuan Zhenjun. Under normal circumstances, Xu Ge Lao would have analyzed every word of the message carefully, but now, after being shaken to his core by the divine book that had fallen from the sky, he suddenly felt utterly drained, almost unable to fight any longer.

…Let it all end. Quickly. I’m exhausted.

Although Xu Ge Lao was momentarily despondent, others around him were brimming with energy. Zhou Zhicheng, who had been staying at the Xu residence and witnessed the chaos firsthand, crawled over on his knees, speaking with fervor:

“Grand Secretary! Perhaps you don’t know, but yesterday an imperial physician was also sent to Yan’s residence! Rumor has it that after Yan Fenyi dealt with official matters and returned home, he suddenly fell ill with some shameful affliction and has been confined indoors since!”

Xu Shaohu sighed, too tired to correct Zhou’s “also.” Given Yan Fenyi’s current circumstances, he wasn’t particularly surprised by rumors of an “illness.” Beyond the effects of medicinal concoctions, just the imperial edict mandating that the tribute for Korea adhere to the budget from the founding emperor’s era was enough to push Yan to his limits. If Xu Ge Lao were in his position, he, too, might have faked illness to avoid the impossible task.

…But he was still grateful. At least they were following the founding emperor’s budget, not his rules. Otherwise, the entire Ministry of Rites would already be preparing racks for drying human skins.

Tradition held that camphor wood racks were best for this gruesome purpose, as they repelled insects. Who knew if that was true?

Clearly, Zhou Zhicheng had gone to great lengths to dig into Yan’s family affairs and was itching for a fight. Ignoring Xu Shaohu’s pale face, he leaned closer and whispered, “Grand Secretary, now is the perfect time to submit a memorial…”

Xu’s expression shifted slightly. His troublesome relative was right; this was indeed the ideal moment. With Yan Fenyi bedridden and unable to manage affairs, and Xia Yan already at odds with the Yan Dang, rallying the upright scholars to submit a joint memorial could decisively shift the balance of power, perhaps even wresting significant financial control from the Ministry of Revenue…

And then what? Then the upright scholars would be responsible for slashing expenses.

At this thought, Xu Shaohu shuddered.

He immediately wanted to decline, advising Zhou to proceed cautiously and formulate a thorough plan before making a move. 

Otherwise, cutting the wrong expenses could sever a major artery and send everyone to their doom. Of course, it wouldn’t matter much if the Zhou family bore the brunt, but Xu himself was also part of the Zhou clan!

Yet, when he saw Zhou’s eager expression, Xu hesitated. Even if they hadn’t been close in the past, two encounters were enough for him to grasp this relative’s intellectual capacity. Without guidance, Zhou’s actions would inevitably result in catastrophic disasters—like his careless use of the word “also.”

…But on second thought, as long as the disaster didn’t implicate Xu’s own family, what did it matter? Losing some face was a small price to pay for distancing himself from a pigheaded ally.

After all, if even a fraction of the book’s contents were true, Xu could no longer afford such liabilities. It was time to act decisively—and quickly.

Xu Ge Lao sighed and said:

“…You can deliver the memorial yourself. I need to take some time off to rest and recover, so I won’t be meeting with any outsiders.”