This morning's court session lasted exceptionally long. Merely the reports on this year's revenues and expenditures, along with the imperial annotations on next year's departmental budgets, consumed two full hours. When the session finally ended and the emperor rose from his seat, his movements were noticeably sluggish. Chief Eunuch Gao Fu stepped forward at just the right moment to support him, concealing the emperor's weariness.
With the debate on the crown prince's succession reaching a fever pitch, it was all the more important to project the image of a sovereign in robust health. The courtiers dispersed, but Prince Wei, Li Chen, remained behind. As usual, he had a simple bowl of porridge in a side hall before making his way to the inner court's Zichen Hall to pay his respects.
"I've been studying a new massage technique. After Father has had his breakfast, may I ease your legs with it?"
Li Chen's tone was reverent, yet laced with an easy warmth. He often performed acupuncture and massage for the emperor—this had become a matter of routine.
"No need to wait for breakfast," the emperor raised his hand to beckon him closer. "I shall rest here upon the Luohan couch. You may begin."
Li Chen answered promptly, deftly shedding his cloak and rolling up his sleeves to wash his hands. He had purposefully used steaming hot water, so that when his fingers touched the emperor's skin, a soothing warmth would greet him.
The emperor closed his eyes lightly, indulging in this rare moment of calm. Li Chen spoke little. Among the many princes, he was neither the most brilliant nor the most foolish, but his silence gave him an air of steadfast reliability. Over time, this sense of reliability evolved into trust, and it was the emperor who now took the initiative to speak.
"It is good to study medicine and health preservation. Just look at your ninth brother—he doesn't know how to care for his body. So young, yet he can barely stand upright."
Though Prince Li Ce was frail, claiming he could barely stand was somewhat of an exaggeration.
Li Chen smiled lightly. "The ninth prince has been back for over half a year now. I believe his condition has improved significantly. Our fifth brother has cared for him personally, and the ninth prince has earnestly tended to his health. They have not let Your Majesty's concern go to waste."
In one sentence, he praised three people.
The emperor opened his eyes to a narrow slit and studied Li Chen.
"You don't seem particularly close to them."
Li Chen's fingers paused briefly, then resumed as he spoke with apparent remorse, "I lack eloquence and have failed to show proper care for my brothers. I…"
He halted the massage, bowed low, and said, "Your son acknowledges his fault."
"What guilt are you confessing?" The emperor's voice softened. "I know you. You're the most honest of them all. The others… they wish for nothing more than to have a thousand schemes in their hearts. I merely worry you might be at a disadvantage."
"I've never suffered any slight," Li Chen quickly replied. "Just the other day, Second Brother returned from the northern territories and even brought me a gift."
"Fraternal harmony—excellent," the emperor murmured, closing his eyes again. Li Chen continued kneeling and massaging in silence.
After some time, the emperor suddenly asked, "What was the gift?"
"A short lambskin jacket made in the northern regions," Li Chen answered. "The wool was incredibly fine and snowy white, coiled together like strands of pearls."
Perhaps it was the delight of receiving a gift that made Li Chen more talkative than usual. He did not notice the emperor's eyelid twitch at those words, nor the way His Majesty turned to glance at Gao Fu, who stood beside him with tea in hand. There was something he wanted to say, yet not in this moment.
Li Chen continued massaging until the imperial meal arrived. Then, he took his leave.
Moments after he stepped out, the emperor sat upright on the Luohan couch. Gao Fu offered the tea, but the emperor did not take it.
"It was a Yihu Zhu, wasn't it?"
The emperor rested his hands on his knees, pressing down hard with his fingers.
Gao Fu replied cautiously, "Judging by Prince Wei's description, it seems so."
The emperor's breath caught. He took two deep inhales before exhaling with a sigh. "Cruel."
A Yihu Zhu—a prized lambskin made by slaughtering a pregnant ewe just before she gives birth, then skinning the unborn lamb from her womb. The unborn's wool, untouched by the elements, is exquisitely soft and pure, curling into pearl-like strands—hence the name.
Lambs kneel to nurse; crows repay their mothers. Even beasts possess instinctual reverence. And yet for a single jacket, such cruelty is inflicted. The mother is denied even a glimpse of the child she carried for months.
Just imagining the process filled the emperor with horror.
A sovereign without compassion brings ruin upon all life beneath the heavens.
Gao Fu whispered, "Perhaps Prince Jin knew not the origin of the pelt. Or perhaps Prince Wei mistook it."
"It is precisely because Wei does not know its origin that he spoke so freely," the emperor replied. He stood and moved to the meal table, but his appetite had vanished.
"Is anyone waiting outside?" he suddenly asked.
At this hour, ministers with private matters often lingered outside the hall. As expected, Gao Fu returned quickly with news.
"The Chancellor is present."
"Summon Lord Fu."
The emperor left the table and paced the hall, hands clasped behind his back.
When Fu Qian entered, he immediately sensed something was amiss. The emperor stood with his back to him, posture tall and firm, gazing at a hanging scroll titled Peaceful Rivers and Mountains. Whatever he pondered was buried deep within.
Fu Qian cradled a thick bundle of documents—the Ministry of Rites had sent them for imperial review: the proposed arrangements for the Crown Prince's formal investiture. Ever since the emperor issued secret orders to prepare for succession, Fu Qian and the ministry had been organizing the rites to prevent chaos.
Today, he had come to ask whether the arrangements were appropriate—and if it was time to proclaim the decision publicly.
Yet the emperor's mood was evidently foul.
Fu Qian dared not speak and waited in silence, scarcely breathing.
"Lord Fu," the emperor suddenly turned. His thick brows were handsome, but weariness lingered. "In your opinion, what makes a true sovereign?"
The question was tantamount to asking: who is worthy of the throne?
Fu Qian dropped to his knees in a panic, scattering the documents.
Though the emperor was known to accept counsel, this empire was still his—how could others question his worthiness?
The emperor found his reaction both amusing and frustrating. "Speak freely," he said kindly. "You shall not be punished."
Fu Qian steadied himself. He must choose his words with care—ones without fault, yet which would allow the emperor to find himself reflected within them.
"In this humble servant's view," Fu Qian began, voice clear, "a ruler must possess keen vision and foresight, remain vigilant in times of peace; be modest, prudent, and magnanimous; diligent in governance, and love the people as his own children. Most importantly, he must be wise, decisive, and a paragon of filial piety and fraternal virtue."
The portrait was, more or less, a reflection of the emperor himself.
"Filial piety and fraternal virtue…" the emperor repeated softly. Then, as though he had resolved something within, he declared, "The matter of establishing the crown prince shall be postponed until after the New Year."
Fu Qian was stunned. He reviewed his words mentally, unsure where he had gone wrong.
Yet the emperor's expression made it clear—his mind was made.
"…As you command," Fu Qian replied, bowing deeply.
All their work of recent days, it seemed, had been for naught.
Since the court session ended late, Ye Jiao's day had also been delayed. She had patrolled the Imperial Street that morning, intentionally waiting for the court ministers to leave so she could observe which roads became congested and dispatch her people accordingly.
Lin Jing had recovered and now followed her in search of tasks. Ye Jiao sent him to find the young Daoist. She had promised Li Jing to summon an immortal master to divine how many children he was destined for.
"Do you know Wang Qianshan?"
Lin Jing nodded obediently. "In his twenties, tall and thin, with a short beard, dressed in Daoist robes. He's rather well-known. I can notify nearby post stations to watch for him."
"Go, then." Ye Jiao gave her command crisply, then added, "Take care on the road. Your wounds have just healed; don't let the cold leave lasting ailments."
Lin Jing nodded, his head bowed, bashful and docile. He mounted his horse, and Ye Jiao tossed him a money pouch.
"I still have money," Lin Jing protested. "I haven't spent what Steward Feng gave me last time."
"It's for Wang Qianshan," Ye Jiao said. "You'll understand when you meet him—he looks nothing like a monk. No asceticism in him."
Ever since she had known Wang Qianshan, she'd never seen him endure a single hardship. Lavish and wasteful, it seemed he was far from attaining immortality.
With Lin Jing dispatched, Ye Jiao needed to find a place to eat quickly...