Chapter Forty-Three: Affairs in the Court...

Time flowed swiftly; autumn faded into winter, and the New Year was upon them before anyone realized. In these past six months, Chief Steward Huang had become increasingly reclusive, rarely appearing in public, and seemed to age rapidly. The traces of time, once hidden, now marked his features more deeply with each passing day.

All affairs of the Cining Palace had long since been managed by Xu Boqing, who had taken over on behalf of the chief steward. The older eunuchs and matronly attendants privately referred to him as Chief Steward Xu. Even the eunuchs and maids of other palaces within the imperial city knew there was a young chief steward in the Cining Palace, distinguished by his flying-fish robe and deep trust from the Empress Dowager. Upon seeing him, they would respectfully offer their greetings.

In the past, people only recognized others by their attire for fear of offending someone of importance. Now, it was others who recognized him by his clothes—a sign of his rising status.

The imperial court remained shrouded in a stifling, lifeless atmosphere. Yet Xu Boqing, though living within the palace, seemed to exist outside of it, living freely in his own world. By day, he read and studied, delving into the martial arts and cultivation methods of this world. By night, he shuttled between the Empress Dowager’s bedchamber and that of Consort Liu in Yongning Palace, delivering his assignments.

Every so often, he would visit the imperial prison, absorbing and refining the inner strength of a few wretches held there.

His days were monotonous but fulfilling.

At first, Consort Liu only visited the Cining Palace under the pretense of calling on the Empress Dowager, merely to sample something new. Though the Empress Dowager was displeased, she was powerless to intervene and could only share. As time passed, Consort Liu grew bolder, no longer satisfied with secret meetings. She would often request Xu Boqing to come fetch jewelry under the guise of gifting the Empress Dowager, thus enjoying his company in private within Yongning Palace.

It is said that a woman at thirty is like a wolf, and at forty, a tiger—especially when that wolf or tiger has starved for more than ten years. Having now tasted fulfillment, how could she bear hunger again? With growing courage came ever more adventurous escapades.

The riskiest episode nearly resulted in the execution of her entire clan.

One day, Emperor Yonghe, seized by a whim, decided to visit the inner palace. Empress Zhang, unfortunately bedridden with a cold, was unable to receive his favor. The emperor thus made his way to Yongning Palace to seek out Consort Liu.

At that very moment, Consort Liu and Xu Boqing were enjoying a bath together. Hearing of the emperor’s imminent arrival, Xu Boqing realized there was nowhere to hide. He concealed his clothes, sealed his breath with inner strength, and submerged himself in the bath for a long while.

The room was draped in curtains, and flower petals floated atop the water. Emperor Yonghe, making a cursory inspection, noticed nothing amiss. Consort Liu, her acting flawless, pleaded discomfort, claiming she was indisposed and could not serve him.

In the end, the emperor bestowed his favor upon Consort Zhou, who also resided in Yongning Palace.

Though fraught with peril, and fully aware the emperor was mere rooms away, that day was the happiest in Consort Liu’s memory. Whenever she recalled the thrill of pleasure in the bath while the emperor lingered nearby, and the joy that followed when he was gone, her entire body would flush and weaken with uncontrollable excitement. She often declared that even if she were to die, it would be worth it.

Her reckless abandon, audacity, and wild gall shocked even the forward-thinking Xu Boqing.

It’s worth noting that shortly after this incident, Emperor Yonghe fell gravely ill. Rumor had it he caught a chill and nearly didn’t survive. Though he eventually recovered, he was left with lingering ailments.

Blaming his condition on a lack of devotion to the immortal path, the emperor became even more pious—fasting, meditating, and abstaining. Later, perhaps swayed by some wandering alchemist, he proposed in court to build an Immortal Terrace and Ritual Ground in the capital, and to host a grand Water and Land Dharma Assembly to attract talented individuals, dispel evil, and avert disasters.

He extended invitations across the realm, intending to select a true immortal or Buddha and personally bestow upon them the title of National Preceptor, granting them the nation’s fortune and royal worship.

Such proposals were met with fierce opposition from the conservative ministers. Many argued that these actions violated ancestral precedent and must not be allowed to set a new trend. Others, considering practical matters, noted the emptiness of the treasury and the hardship of the people.

Among the loudest dissenters was Gu Jingyi, over fifty years old and having been demoted and reinstated three times, now newly promoted to Left Prime Minister. He enumerated the dangers of courting mystics at court and, tears streaming, begged the emperor to show compassion for the suffering masses and start anew with his people.

Yet, those with an eye for personal gain argued the opposite, rebuking the conservatives for alarmism and lack of concern for the emperor’s health. Some even suggested that, though the treasury was strained, the cost of building an Immortal Terrace and Ritual Ground was negligible—additional taxes could easily cover the expense.

Gu Jingyi, incensed, rose and rebuked them, pointing out the widespread disasters—drought and flood—across the realm, the destitution of the common people, and the corruption among officials who embezzled disaster relief grain. The elderly statesman, energized as if by rage, grew more impassioned, his eyes reddening as he denounced his colleagues from the floor of the court.

The sycophantic ministers, wary of Gu’s status, could only retort with phrases like “slanderous lies,” “malicious accusations,” and “show us your evidence.” But as more officials became embroiled—especially after Gu directly accused the Right Prime Minister, Zhang Song—Zhang responded in kind, and the two began a shouting match before the court.

All the while, Emperor Yonghe sat upon his dragon throne, watching coldly. The bickering of his ministers only deepened his irritation, making him long for the blissful detachment that followed the consumption of his elixirs.

Eventually, he gave a cough. The head eunuch beside him, understanding his signal, cracked his whip and called for silence.

Once order was restored, the emperor summoned the Ministers of Works and Rites to discuss the matter of his imperial mausoleum. He declared that, as he was still in his prime, delaying construction of his tomb for a few years was of little consequence. The funds and labor earmarked for the mausoleum could instead be directed to building the Immortal Terrace and Ritual Ground.

The ministers were stunned.

The conservative elders openly wept, prostrating themselves and pleading with the emperor to reconsider, citing the importance of the mausoleum to the nation’s fate and the unchangeable laws of the ancestors. Even some sycophants bowed and urged the emperor to think twice.

Seeing continued opposition, the emperor angrily insisted that he was neither raising taxes nor dipping into the treasury—merely postponing his own mausoleum. What harm could there be? In a fit of rage, he thundered, “Can I not decide the fate of my own tomb? Do you all wish me dead?”

Apart from Gu Jingyi, recently reinstated, all the ministers were terrified. The elderly prime minister, more forlorn than when he had denounced the court, prepared to die for his principles, hoping his sacrifice might move the emperor.

He dashed his head against a pillar, drawing blood but failing to end his life.

Emperor Yonghe, far from moved, grew only more impatient. He promptly stripped Gu of his office and had him thrown into the imperial prison, making clear his determination.

With the Left Prime Minister deposed and imprisoned, none dared speak further; the rest of the court fell silent like quails.

Only then did Emperor Yonghe snort in satisfaction, setting a three-year deadline. He charged the Ministries of Works and Rites, along with the Supervisory and Imperial Household departments, to lead the construction of the Immortal Terrace and Ritual Ground, making the quest for immortality a grand national undertaking.

With the purpose of the court meeting achieved, the chief eunuch beside the emperor raised his voice and called out, “Those with matters to report, step forward; those without, court is dismissed.”