Chapter 10 Turmoil

After the Grand Court Assembly, waves of commotion arose.

Prince He, Hongzhou, knew how long his fourth brother, the Emperor, had been hoping for this child from the Empress. Yet, he never imagined that while the Emperor doted on the child, the civil officials would go so far as to orchestrate such a spectacle!

It seemed the Emperor was also surprised—likely Zhang Ruoai had taken the lead, and the others had spontaneously composed the congratulatory essay.

What talent!

Hongzhou returned to his residence in a daze and exclaimed to his consort, Wukuzha, “Officials like Lord Zhang and Lord Liang are truly the pinnacle of ministers… Their literary brilliance—tsk, tsk! When have we ever seen Fourth Brother so delighted? Their favor with the Emperor might soon surpass mine…”

Throughout history, flattery toward the sovereign was hardly rare. After so many years on the throne, what kind of adulation hadn’t Fourth Brother heard? What spectacle hadn’t he witnessed? Auspicious signs emerged year after year, yet he hardly paid them any attention.

But today’s display truly struck a chord with him. Praising Yongcong proved more effective than praising the Emperor himself.

After venting his amazement, Hongzhou went to the front courtyard to consult his advisors.

His household employed several scholars, including those who polished his memorials. Though they couldn’t match the brilliance of Lord Zhang and his peers, they were among the finest literati in the capital.

Hongzhou gathered them and humbly asked, “How does one compose poetry and congratulatory essays? I beseech you, masters, to teach me!”

The Manchu nobles and high officials left the palace in a daze, their expressions grave.

Particularly among the military officials, admiring glances drifted toward the civil officials, their minds racing:

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

But we’re just rough men, skilled only in riding and archery. Leading troops into battle is one thing—writing essays? That’s asking for the impossible!

They knew little of Han learning, only basic conversational phrases. This wouldn’t do!

It was said the Emperor admired Han scholarship, conversing daily with the Empress in Mandarin, while Prince Duan was exceptionally well-versed in it.

With Han learning on the rise and now this congratulatory essay praising the Seventh Prince, failing to keep up by composing a poem or prose of praise would mean falling behind!

Could they still remain the Emperor’s favored ministers?

Even Qianlong hadn’t anticipated that promoting Han learning would advance so naturally and significantly.

A few years earlier, after Yonglian recovered from his illness, he had the palace seamstresses make numerous Han-style garments, presenting them to the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and the Empress during festivals. Later, he submitted a memorial arguing that Manchu-Han integration was an inevitable trend and that Han learning should be vigorously promoted…

Qianlong, who admired Han poetry and had written verses since childhood—believing himself quite accomplished—wholeheartedly agreed with Yonglian’s proposal.

The Manchus were simply too few in number.

This was a long-term strategy benefiting the nation and its people; haste was unnecessary.

Who could have guessed that secretly commissioning officials to write a congratulatory essay praising his beloved son would yield such results?

By the time Qianlong entered the Palace of Eternal Spring, he had already grasped the situation. Taking the Empress’s hand, he said, “Lord Zhang is truly a clever man.”

The Empress shot him a glance, both exasperated and amused. “Couldn’t they just praise Your Majesty? Why drag Yongcong into it? He’s just a baby of a few months—hardly deserving of such accolades.”

Qianlong rubbed his nose, his initial joy giving way to a flicker of unease.

Indeed, Yongcong was still too young. A tree that stands out invites the wind’s wrath. Having witnessed the fickleness of human nature, he naturally didn’t want his beloved son to become a target of envy and resentment.

However, by the time he ascended the throne, his father, the late Emperor, had already cleared the path, leaving behind the foundation of a prosperous era. Over the years, Qianlong had consolidated his power, free from any constraints.

Whomever he wished to favor, he would. Who dared utter a word of dissent?

“I want to give Yongcong the very best…” Qianlong smiled, reassuring the Empress, “Don’t worry, I know my limits. Besides, Yonglian is watching over him. What kind of future heir would he be if he can’t even protect his own younger brother?” His tone carried a faint hint of disdain.

No sooner had he spoken than Yonglian entered the grand hall carrying Yongcong in his arms. Yonglian immediately protested, “Imperial Father, why must your actions be pinned on me?”

“Ah, so it was you who tattled to the Empress so quickly,” Qianlong glared at him. “Hand Yongcong over. I’ll hold him myself.”

Qianlong often praised Yonglian to others, yet when father and son were actually together, they would bicker. Yongcong looked left and right, his rosy little mouth stretching into a wide grin as he babbled excitedly. So this was how the Emperor and his elder brother interacted?

In his first life, Yonglian had passed away at just nine years old. Though the Emperor never spoke of it, a vast emptiness had opened in his heart. Holding Yongcong as a child, it was as if he saw the proud eldest son he had once cherished.

Back then, Yongcong’s favor had partly stemmed from this transference of affection.

But this life was entirely different.

Second Brother was still here, Imperial Mother was well, and Sister Hejing hadn’t become withdrawn from Yonglian’s death. The Emperor himself appeared more vigorous than ever.

Indeed, history had taken a sharp turn—even small-scale sycophantic flattery sessions had now escalated into grand sycophantic flattery assemblies…

There had been no Grand Court Assembly in his previous life! Lord Zhang had merely submitted the congratulatory essay as a routine memorial to the Hall of Mental Cultivation…

Heaven knew Yongcong had nearly died of embarrassment earlier. The hall heated up quickly—had Yonglian not taken him for a stroll in the small garden, he would have steamed like a boiled shrimp, his entire body flushed red.

Internally, he was screaming.

Invoke the time magic!

Please let me grow up faster!

Once grown, he could speak and sternly reprimand the Emperor for his improper behavior!

The Emperor’s fondness for sycophantic flattery had grown even worse.

Yongcong felt utterly exhausted.

The Empress pressed her lips together, her eyes shimmering with emotion. In the past… she would have desperately tried to suppress the spread of the congratulatory essay, to shield Yongcong from the spotlight. But now everything was different—completely different.

What couldn’t her children deserve?

She would give Yongcong the very best of everything, the most enviable favor, ensuring he grew up safe, happy, and free from worries.

Ever since Yonglian recovered, Yongcong—you have been Imperial Mother’s salvation.

Yonglian returned to Yuqing Palace.

This was the palace Qianlong had bestowed upon him at age six—the very same crown prince’s residence Kangxi had specially built for Yinreng. The implications were unmistakable.

Though Yinreng had ultimately been deposed, Yonglian knew his own fate would be different.

Kangxi had lived to a ripe old age, and Qianlong would as well—being crown prince was no easy path.

Yet Yonglian feared nothing. He knew how vast the lands beyond the Qing dynasty stretched—why confine his gaze to mere inches of territory?

Setting aside his lack of ambition for the throne, even if he had such desires, even if the Emperor one day grew suspicious of him, he could dispel such doubts.

Earlier, the Emperor had already hinted at the heir apparent position—surely… the ceremony to formally appoint the crown prince wasn’t far off.

He had Imperial Mother, Hejing, and little Yongcong. He must march forward unwaveringly, sheltering them from all storms beneath the sky he would uphold.

The congratulatory essay had placed Yongcong in the spotlight, but Yonglian wasn’t worried—he was confident in his ability to protect his brother.

Moreover, building Yongcong’s reputation was tantamount to building his own. Whoever conceived this idea was nothing short of a genius!

Yonglian thought to himself, Master Zhang is truly a pillar of the state.

Author’s Note: [Interview Transcript]

Next, we interview Lord Zhang Ruoai, nicknamed “Life’s Winner,” a pillar of the state!

Reporter: What allowed you to thrive across two dynasties and remain in the emperor’s favor?

Zhang Ruoai: It’s a long story. Everything began when I wrote sycophantic flattery for the Seventh Prince…

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Qianlong: We personally believe our poetry skills are quite excellent…

Yongcong: ?

Hejing: ??

Yonglian: ???