Ever since the Emperor fell gravely ill, Li Zhang had been visiting him numerous times each day—sometimes to report on state affairs, sometimes to inquire after his condition, and at times, merely to sit silently by his bedside, keeping him company for hours. In his memory, the Emperor had always been a figure of unyielding rigor and supreme authority, like an insurmountable mountain looming over his life. Their relationship resembled that of sovereign and subject more than father and son. Li Zhang's sole duty was to fulfill the monarch's will and mold himself continuously, until he proved worthy of ascending the throne.
Only in the Emperor's illness could Li Zhang glimpse the faint traces of a fatherly presence. Yet even then, he dared not behave with the intimacy of a common son, dared not reveal a moment of weakness or sentiment.
Today, upon entering, Li Zhang noticed a faint blush returning to the Emperor's face, dispelling the pallor of previous days. He wondered if this sudden improvement was due to Ye Jiao. That woman, though detestable, possessed an uncanny allure that could lift the Emperor's spirits.
After presenting the memorials requiring approval, the Emperor cast him a sidelong glance and said gravely, "The Astronomical Bureau has submitted several auspicious dates for the investiture ceremony, all of which you've rejected, requesting postponement."
Though he had already been named Crown Prince, the formal investiture and the sacred rites of ancestor worship were the most crucial steps. Only then would he move into the Eastern Palace and be hailed by ministers and commoners alike as "His Royal Highness the Crown Prince."
Li Zhang knelt upright, the four-clawed dragon embroidery on his robe—symbol of a prince—appearing slightly faded beneath the heavy scent of medicinal herbs that permeated the hall. With respectful solemnity, he replied, his voice both clear and choked with emotion, "While Your Majesty is still ill, I have no desire to be invested."
"I know your heart is filial," the Emperor replied more gently, "but it is precisely because of that filial piety that you must accept the title now. It will reassure the people. The Ministry of Rites has already prepared the regalia and documents. There is no reason for delay."
Li Zhang hesitated for a moment, then bowed low and answered, "Your son obeys."
The atmosphere in the chamber warmed slightly. The Emperor closed his eyes without speaking, and Li Zhang took his leave at the appropriate time.
Yet no sooner had he exited the hall than the Emperor reopened his eyes. "Lying here day after day," he murmured gloomily, "becomes increasingly tedious."
Gao Fu glanced at the window, then bowed and suggested, "The magnolia trees in the palace are blooming. Would Your Majesty care to take a stroll?"
The Emperor turned over with a sigh. "If the imperial physicians hear of it, they'll make a great fuss again."
"Then perhaps…" Gao Fu ventured cautiously, "might I read aloud from one of the popular tales brought by Physician Ye? Though vulgar in style, they may offer Your Majesty some insight into the sentiments of the people."
Insight into public sentiment was, indeed, a convenient pretext.
The Emperor paused, seeming both reluctant and resigned, before finally murmuring, "Very well. Pick a few pages and read them."
Gao Fu had already retrieved the book. Upon receiving permission, he carefully opened it, cleared his throat, and began: "This play is titled The Battle for the Heart. Scene One: The Compassionate Monk Unmoved by Mortal Desire, The Malicious Demoness Rampant and Unrestrained—"
His voice cut off abruptly, and his face turned crimson. Though he was a eunuch, he was still a man with worldly thoughts. A monk and a demoness? Was such content truly suitable for the Emperor?
Yet the Emperor said nothing to stop him, so he pressed on with trepidation. Fortunately, the salacious titles were mere bait—the story itself was cleanly written and unexpectedly smooth. In the end, the monk and demoness fought side by side to defend the nation—a tale of fierce loyalty and patriotic zeal. And yet… why did it leave a faint trace of regret?
The story concluded. Gao Fu stole a glance at the Emperor's face and found, as he had suspected, that the sovereign too was left wanting more. But the Emperor kept his eyes shut, feigning indifference and sleep.
Only the faint, relaxed curve of his lips betrayed the truth. It had been days since such a smile had graced his face. Gao Fu let out a long, quiet breath of relief.
The Bureau of Armaments, tasked with weapon forging, was located in the southwestern corner of Chang'an. Its chief officer bore the title "Supervisor-General," which, to Ye Jiao, sounded far more distinguished than her own title of Court Physician. The rank was also higher—Upper Fourth Grade.
Perhaps it was mere illusion, but Ye Jiao felt that Supervisor-General Wang always spoke to her with an air of unwarranted superiority. He was somewhat stout, square-faced with thick eyebrows, and held his head high. He took the official document she handed over with a single hand, without so much as glancing at it, and said to the others behind him, "Look at that—barely a mishap here, and the Ordnance Bureau is already in a panic."
Weapons forged in the Bureau of Armaments were inspected and then transferred to the Ordnance Bureau for further distribution. As a Langzhong of the Ministry of Works, it was perfectly reasonable for Ye Jiao to be dispatched to investigate the cracking of the mo dao blades. The issue, however, lay in her lower rank—and the fact that she was a woman.
Seated in the reception hall, she placed her tea cup down, cupped her hands politely, and said with a cordial tone, "The Ordnance Bureau is not the only one concerned—even the Minister himself is gravely anxious. He struck his desk so hard that a crack formed in the solid redwood. Thus, Minister Song sent me to assist you in determining the cause of the mo dao's fragility, so that we may report truthfully to His Majesty."
Ye Jiao fully understood Wang's arrogance—it was the natural privilege of higher rank. And precisely because she understood, she invoked both the Minister and the Emperor to intimidate him.
Only then did Wang glance down at her. Beautiful, yes—but why would a girl like this not marry properly and instead meddle in military affairs? Wasn't she meant to marry Prince Chu and stay demurely at home, not gallivant through the capital? Women were inauspicious by nature. Who's to say this mo dao problem didn't begin the moment Ye Jiao took charge?
"Do you understand the art of weapon tempering?" he asked slowly.
"Frankly, sir," Ye Jiao replied, suppressing her ire, "my grandfather once commanded troops, and among his men was someone who had worked here in the Bureau. I studied the basics last night. Today, I came to humbly learn from you."
The man in question was Feng Jie, a crippled veteran. He had outlined for her the major steps of forging and key procedures but admitted that advancements in tempering techniques had left his knowledge obsolete.
Hearing that she had "studied a bit," Wang sneered. "So, you believe the work we do here is so simple that one night of study suffices to offer guidance?"
Ye Jiao furrowed her brows. When had she said that? This man was clearly twisting her words to insult her.
With a sharp "crack," she slammed her teacup onto the table, shattering the delicate porcelain into three pieces. The pulverized tea leaves spread like green paste across the surface.
She rose to her feet, her official robes billowing as she folded her arms behind her back, and said coldly, "Such impressive arrogance, Supervisor-General Wang! Since you refuse to cooperate and obstruct a proper investigation, I shall report to the Minister. After all, the Bureau of Armaments does not belong to you alone! If necessary, we can trouble the Ministry of Personnel and the Grand Secretariat to appoint a new supervisor!"
Replacing him wouldn't be too difficult.
"You—!" Wang had never been challenged so brazenly within his own domain. In a fit of rage, he pointed a trembling finger at Ye Jiao, raising his hand to strike her.
But before he could move, a blade flashed between them.
The man holding the blade had been silently standing behind Ye Jiao the entire time, unnoticed. Wang had assumed he was just a low-ranking soldier—until now.
"What is the meaning of this? Who are you? How dare you threaten a government official?" he shouted.
"My name is Lin Jing," the man replied coolly, gripping the hilt with unwavering calm. "I formerly served in the Martial Patrol Bureau. I now work in the Ordnance Bureau's Arrow Division."
His gaze on Wang was void of warmth, akin to a butcher surveying livestock—indifferent and utterly fearless. It was a look no ordinary soldier could muster. It made Wang shiver.
Still, he puffed himself up and snapped, "Ye Langzhong, just wait until tomorrow's court. I'll file a formal memorial to impeach you!"
"Clear the room," Ye Jiao ordered. "I wish to speak with Supervisor-General Wang alone."
Once the others had left, she let out a soft sigh and signaled Lin Jing to lower his weapon. Then, in a gentler tone, she said, "Supervisor Wang, you obstructed me and provoked me into anger today, no doubt hoping…"