Chapter 46

Upon returning to the temporary palace, as she stepped down from the carriage with the help of Nanny Shan, she caught sight of the Grand Tutor dismounting in a blaze of fury and storming off.

Nie Qinglin knew a thing or two about the Grand Tutor’s temper—once he was riled up, he needed to let the fire burn itself out—so she didn’t take it too much to heart.

However, come evening when the lamps were lit, Shan Dan brought over two Buddhist scriptures.

“The Grand Tutor says,” she relayed, “that even if Your Majesty doesn’t enter the temple gates, you can still polish your temperament properly. He asks that, when you have free time, you copy each of these scriptures five times.”

“……”

Life in the palace was idle to begin with.

Now that the Grand Tutor had assigned a task, at least the days wouldn’t pass in vain.

That very night, Nie Qinglin sat at her desk in the sleeping quarters, sleeves rolled up with one hand, gripping a writing brush, and began copying the scriptures word by word with careful concentration.

The Grand Tutor did not go to the emperor’s sleeping quarters that night.

He was still in his study, meeting with the trusted agents he had stationed throughout the capital.

At present, the capital was like a dragon without a head.

When righteous energy is lacking, evil spirits thrive.

Wei Lenghou was genuinely hoping that a few monsters would take this chance to reveal their true forms early.

By the time he finished hearing reports and assigning covert tasks, it was already deep into the night.

As the Grand Tutor stepped out of his study, he instinctively glanced toward the emperor’s quarters—and just that one look made his face darken at once.

The candles inside the sleeping quarters were still brightly lit and flickering—clearly a posture of staying up all night.

Frowning, the Grand Tutor called over Eunuch Ruan.

“Go take a look at the sleeping quarters. What is His Majesty doing?”

Before long, Eunuch Ruan returned to report: “His Majesty is… copying scriptures…”

After delivering his message, Eunuch Ruan lowered his head and stood quietly, awaiting instructions.

But no response came for a long time.

Curious, he peeked up and—ayyo! The Grand Tutor’s face was clearly livid, eyes fiercely glaring toward the sleeping quarters as he ground his silver teeth in frustration.

Eunuch Ruan wasn’t privy to what had transpired between the two during their outing earlier that day, so he could only think to himself: Now what’s going on? Looks like His Majesty has made the Grand Tutor mad again. Sigh, such a sharp-witted imperial child, why does he always mess around with that tiger’s whiskers without knowing life from death?

Before the eunuch could finish his inner lament, the Grand Tutor was already on the move, striding toward the imperial garden where the emperor was temporarily residing.

Yet once he arrived, he did not enter.

Instead, he stood outside the window, peering inside.

Truth be told, Nie Qinglin’s posture as she held the brush was exceedingly graceful.

Wei Lenghou knew full well this little dragon pearl was good at hiding her true talents.

Just by looking at the brushwork—strong, with a forceful wrist—there was no way she was some average dullard.

But he had no heart to appreciate the charm of a beauty handling a brush…

What time is it now?

Judging by her stance, she clearly meant to stay up through the night, copying scriptures till dawn? Was this diligence meant to be put on for his sake?

The Grand Tutor instinctively felt Nie Qinglin was deliberately going against him.

The anger from earlier today had yet to dissipate, and now it flared up again.

After standing at the window watching silently for a while, he turned back with a stormy expression.

Since it had been his own order, he couldn’t exactly go back on it the same night.

If he did, that little brat would grasp the trick—if she started pulling these bitter-meat ploys every time, then what?

The Grand Tutor felt that lately his authority wasn’t enough to cow the imperial dragon’s temper.

Inwardly, he hardened his resolve to give the little emperor a proper discipline.

But that night, the Grand Tutor couldn’t get a wink of sleep.

He tossed and turned in bed, and then got up to stand by the window, staring again at the candlelight still flickering in the neighboring palace.

He couldn’t help but start blaming others again: That Shan Tiehua has no backbone at all! Letting that little emperor mess around like this! If she were any kind of nanny with a sense of duty, she’d have doused the lamps and forced the emperor to bed long ago!

He’d long forgotten his own instruction to Nanny Shan: “Let the emperor be, for small matters.”

Now all his fire was aimed at the female general for her poor sense of timing.

So it was that two neighboring residences spent a sleepless night.

It wasn’t until daybreak that the lights finally went out, indicating sleep at last.

But Wei Lenghou still had no trace of drowsiness.

He remained at the window, his face shadowy and grim.

Come morning, Eunuch Ruan entered to help the Grand Tutor wash and dress, then asked in a quiet voice, “Grand Tutor, we’re to return to the capital today. What time would you like to depart?”

After rinsing his face, Wei Lenghou took the rinsing cup in hand and suddenly asked, “Is His Majesty still asleep?”

Eunuch Ruan quickly replied, “Nanny Shan said His Majesty is awake, but looks worn out. Seems he barely slept half an hour last night and just doesn’t have any energy today.”

The Grand Tutor said nothing, simply rinsed his mouth with a stony expression.

After getting fully dressed and ready, he said coolly:

“The capital is plagued with endless affairs. We can’t afford to linger in this temporary palace too long… Send Divine Physician Wei to take the emperor’s pulse. Prescribe some calming and qi-nourishing decoctions, so His Majesty can get a proper rest on the boat.”

Eunuch Ruan withdrew after receiving the Grand Tutor’s instructions and went to see them carried out.

By the time Grand Tutor Wei Lenghou boarded the ship, the little emperor had already gone to sleep in the second-floor bedroom of the ship’s pavilion.

Upon entering the room, the bed curtains had been lowered layer upon layer.

Lifting the gauze to peek inside, he saw that delicate face sleeping ever so sweetly, like a pink-cheeked peach blossom.

Wei Lenghou restrained the urge to reach out and touch her, turning instead toward the writing desk nearby.

On it, ink still glistened wet upon the paper.

Clearly, the little emperor had still been hard at work even after boarding the ship.

He paced over and picked up the thick stack of completed manuscripts.

But upon reading—what scriptures? It turned out to be a full-blown edict of self-reproach! Line after line, structured and articulate, listing out her mistakes of late one by one.

From having no grand ambition and “confusing the nation, burdening loyal subjects,” to “lacking the virtue to shelter the worthy,” she left no sin untouched.

There were even long passages recalling moments from past banquets where she had admired the Grand Tutor’s demeanor—clearly written to express her respect and esteem.

She even described in great detail what Wei Lenghou had said and worn when he departed for war at the palace feast all those years ago.

She remembered details even he had long forgotten—he had no idea how she managed it.

One had to admit, this little dragon pearl could really spin a tale.

She had penned over ten thousand characters with flourish.

Though much of it was childish and immature in wording, Wei Lenghou couldn’t help but be both exasperated and amused.

Putting down the edict of self-reproach, he finally felt somewhat relieved.

After all, he was much older than this little dragon pearl—how had he let that brat drag him into such petty tempers?

Here in the deep palace, she had no one to rely on but him, Wei Lenghou.

No wonder that one roar of anger in the carriage had frightened this soft, delicate little thing.

And now, that same sleepyhead stayed up all night to write this utterly unorthodox letter—making him look like the one with no sense, unfeeling, and lacking all pity for a flower.

Nie Qinglin, meanwhile, slept deeply and long.

The prescription from Physician Wei was indeed exquisite.

At dawn, she had been dizzy and head-splitting from lack of sleep, but after downing the medicinal soup, she fell into deep slumber.

Though her eyes were still closed, she could already feel the comfort returning to her limbs.

When she opened her eyes, she was startled to see that the Grand Tutor had actually fallen asleep beside her.

He was breathing slowly and deeply—clearly sound asleep.

Nie Qinglin raised her head slightly and glanced at the writing desk.

Seeing that the manuscript had clearly been read, she thought to herself: Grand Tutor’s temper must’ve cooled by now, right?

Feeling at ease, she lay back down again.

Not wanting to disturb his rest, she didn’t get up.

Instead, she pulled out a story book from beside her pillow and quietly started reading.

Since returning from Huaxi Village, she no longer read those tawdry tales of palace romance.

She didn’t know why, but whenever she read about love and desire between men and women now, it all just seemed like a string of tragedies.

No matter how the writer dressed it up in flowers and sugar, she couldn’t help but notice the holes in all that perfect harmony, the unrealistic fluff of “mutual respect between husband and wife.”

Once a story reached that point—it had lost all flavor for her.

So now, the emperor preferred reading wandering swordsman novels about bandits and rogues.

They might lack lingering sentiment, but at least they were full of bold action—if words didn’t match, swords were drawn.

She had just reached an exciting part where a young hero sliced clean through a traitorous minister’s neck, when Grand Tutor stirred.

Eyes opening, he reached out and plucked the book right from her hands.

“How can you be lying on the bed reading like that? Such poor manners!”

Hearing his tone, Nie Qinglin knew his anger had passed.

Boldly, she scooted closer.

“We saw Grand Tutor sleeping soundly and didn’t want to wake you. Why did Grand Tutor sleep so long? Don’t tell Me you were up all night handling state affairs again?”

Wei Lenghou’s fine-boned face tensed.

Nie Qinglin knew she’d poked his reverse scale and hurried to change the subject.

“Yesterday Grand Tutor didn’t dine with Me. We ended up eating a whole bowl less. Will Grand Tutor dine with Me today?”

Wei Lenghou half-lowered his phoenix eyes, those long lashes dark and curling like a beauty’s.

He gazed at the little emperor in silence before suddenly saying, “The worries of these past days, Your Majesty, this humble servant understands. But I do ask that Your Majesty place trust in me—and not always make decisions on your own.”

Nie Qinglin obediently nodded.

Wei Lenghou’s gaze softened.

His thin lips pressed against that small one—tight, firm, a lingering kiss with no gap in between…

Upon returning from the grand ceremony, the capital was still the same as when they’d left just days ago—but among the court, panic brewed like fire under ice.

Consort Yun had perished from illness.

The Deputy Minister of War had drowned.

This couldn’t possibly be mere coincidence.

Who didn’t know that Shang Ningxuan had been waving the flag for Wei Lenghou during the palace upheaval, earning great merit for the Grand Tutor?

And Wei Lenghou had not treated him poorly afterward.

In the palace, Consort Yun had remained the only one not cast into the Cold Palace.

Shang Ningxuan had held firm as Deputy Minister of War.

Countless courtiers had secretly fumed with envy, gnashing their teeth with regret that their own scheming hearts had somehow missed the mark—how could they not have seen that Wei Lenghou bore the fate of a supreme sovereign? If they’d only thrown in their lot with him sooner, perhaps they too might’ve risen a rank or two.

With a bit of ancestral blessing, maybe even ended up a Minister.

And yet, just a few days later, the Shang family suddenly fell from grace—both Deputy Minister and Consort dead on the same day.

What on earth had happened?

The courtiers couldn’t help but worry.

Look through the annals of history—whenever dynasties shifted, wasn’t it always heads rolling and rivers of blood?

Back during the palace coup, which one of them hadn’t trembled in fear, leaving their homes in the morning to attend court unsure if they’d live to return that evening? Thankfully, Wei Lenghou wasn’t the sort to kill indiscriminately.

Though he had raised his blade high, he had set it down gently—only beheading a few with poor reputations to set an example.

The rest, he let off the hook.

But what exactly was this all about? Was this the beginning of a purge? Then why start with one of their own—the Deputy Minister of War? Just how deep would the reckoning go, and who would be the next unlucky soul caught in it?

The more the court officials thought about it, the less sense it made.

The less they understood, the more anxious they became.

None of them could sit still at home anymore.

Like ants before the rain, they all scurried out of their residences, seeking out familiar faces to dig for information and discuss countermeasures.

The capital’s streets suddenly burst into activity.

Walk a few steps and you’d see another minister’s sedan chair hurrying past.

Many ministers ran into each other in the streets.

Some would avert their eyes and avoid contact, while others would lift the curtain of their sedan chairs and share a knowing glance before rushing off in separate directions.

By the time the Grand Tutor entered the city, he had already respectfully seen His Majesty back to the palace.

Now seated upright in his own sedan, he was on the way back to his residence, his face calm, yet his thoughts whirring with calculation.

The Grand Tutor had long received a detailed report of the court’s unrest.

He had already predicted this reaction the moment Shang Ningxuan was found poisoned.

He knew full well that the hidden hand behind the scenes would take this chance to fan rumors of him wanting to purge the court, stirring up chaos within the dynasty.

Though the mastermind had yet to show their face, Wei Lenghou could more or less guess the direction the wind was blowing.

Shang Ningxuan was a shrewd operator—always good at reading the winds of power and latching onto whichever mountain stood taller.

But… who exactly was that towering mountain that could get Shang Ningxuan to sell his soul so willingly? Who could possibly cast a longer shadow than Wei Lenghou himself?

Looking at the situation, it could only be those few old noble houses that had risen during the founding of the Great Wei Dynasty, the ones that followed the Taizu Emperor through rivers of blood and fire.

Only they had grown such deep roots, spreading branches across court and countryside alike.

Only they could bend someone like Shang Ningxuan to their will.

Wei Lenghou gave a quiet, easy smile—those good-for-nothing lords lounging on their ancestral credit, feasting at the imperial trough while the late emperor wallowed in debauchery and led the once-glorious Great Wei into rot and ruin.

If not for the fact that the state was already leaking from all four corners, and if not for his concern that acting too fast might force those snakes into open rebellion, he would’ve already raised his blade and chopped off every corrupt head that needed chopping.

But perhaps this was for the better.

Great chaos breeds great order.

Let that hidden hand stir up a black wind—he would ride that very wind and sweep away this crumbling old house of Great Wei and all its rotten relics in one fell swoop.

Only, the next steps would have to be taken with care.

That shadowy puppeteer wouldn’t stop now.

They might well burn the ships and take up arms in open defiance.

Those noble houses wielded real power, and in their home territories, their word was law.

Even the local officials had to kowtow and defer to them.

With the manpower and private troops they kept, they’d surely try to coerce local officials into resisting the court.

If they did rebel, it would light a fire under every faction that stood against him both inside and outside the court, boosting their morale and further fracturing the unity of the Great Wei.

Of course, to his battle-hardened Black Banner Army, those lords were nothing more than a bad joke.

But even a joke could tear a fragile dynasty at the seams.

And if the south took the chance to move its troops, things would only spiral further.

To catch bandits, capture the ringleader first.

To strike a snake, aim for the seven-inch mark.

In these great clans, all real power sat in the hands of just a few key figures.

Once those leaders were gone, the whole family would crumble like a pile of loose sand.

So… it was about time to host a palace banquet.

When Wei Lenghou returned home and stepped down from his sedan, the row of concubines from his household were already standing at the gates, waiting in welcome.

Unlike the others, whose charming smiles and coy glances fluttered like petals in spring, the face of Fourth Madam Shang Yunxiang was ashen white—drained of all color.