ITIEQ C71

Chapter 71 – The Promotion Edict

Outside the gates, the breeze brought in crisp birdsong and insect cries. The thin golden light of autumn slanted across Shen Qinghe’s face. The black‑haired youth lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

Perhaps, he thought, had he chosen to cast his lot with the Yue family in the capital, he might now be another Gongyang Ci.

Whether or not there had been true sincerity in Gongyang’s heart, he had already surrendered his spine, trading it for a moment’s seat above men. But a man without a steady backbone cannot stand firmly.

Shen Qinghe did not judge right or wrong. As Elder Baoshan had once said: the road one chooses stretches only into murk and uncertainty, and few are so reckless as to throw themselves into the abyss — many never even have the chance to find its entrance.

Yet flesh may rot and decay, but bones, ground against hardship, are tempered into gold.

Since their paths contradicted one another, neither would yield: each must fight in his own way.

He himself would not kill in haste to vent wrath.

The times would always swing between division and unity. He would aid the Lady Pingyun (Xiao Yuxi) in claiming power. Gongyang Ci’s death or life was of little consequence. In the Wei family estate at Yunzhong Commandery, without legitimacy his footing was precarious — Shen Qinghe would merely give him a push.

He flicked the freshly signed contract in his hand. Its last line in crisp black ink read — “the final right of interpretation belongs to Party A.”

Perhaps Gongyang Ci had never grasped what those words truly meant.

To waste talent idle was a crime. And Shen Qinghe had long hungered for their chemistry artisans.

His musings were broken by sudden pain to his forehead. Thoughts scattered entirely. He rubbed his brow — it was only a ripe scarlet fruit from the courtyard tree, knocked loose by a breeze and thudding onto his head.

The system howled laughter into his ear.

Shen Qinghe sighed helplessly. Picking up the fallen fruit, he said, “Let’s call it Heaven rewarding me with a good omen.” He wiped it on his sleeve and bit; crisp, sweet, harmless.

Lifting the hem of his robe, he sat on the stone steps, savoring the quiet of the Danyang Wei residence. By the time he finished the fruit, he brushed his hands, rose — and promptly walked into a group hurrying toward him.

At their head was Kong Zhengqing, clad in purple official robes, one hand holding a golden scroll case. Xiao Yuxi followed in his train.

“Kong Daren?” Shen Qinghe blinked.

Kong Zhengqing’s face gleamed with uncharacteristic delight. When he came close enough, Shen Qinghe saw the silk scroll in his grasp, its clouds and crane motifs, jade caps sealing either end. He recognized it instantly. A royal edict.

“Lord Shen, what are you waiting for?”

Shen Qinghe at last bowed and accepted the decree. The servants around him dropped to their knees in unison.

The clear voice rang out:

“Following Heaven’s mandate, we declare: Shen Qinghe, current Governor of Qingbei, virtuous and upright, incorrupt unto the people, since his appointment has governed with fairness, benevolence spread among the common folk, praise sung in court and country — this we commend with joy.

By reason of these merits, we promote him now to Gentleman of the Secretariat (Zhongshu Sheren), and grant him the rank of Marquis Within the Passes*¹. The Secretariat serves within the palace, drafting edicts and attending daily to our commands; it is the voice of the Son of Heaven, the paramount instrument of state. Let glory shine upon his lineage, and let this show forth the Court’s recognition. Thus ordered.”

Zhongshu Sheren?

Against the pillar she lounged by, Xiao Yuxi arched a brow. So she had been right. Xiao Yuanzheng and Shen Qinghe — certainly more than ordinary.

Shen Qinghe, too, was stunned. From a minor provincial governor to recall at once to the capital? Sheren of the Secretariat ranked with his former post as Attendant (侍中), both fifth grade, but in real power far beyond, even greater.

Zhongshu Sheren drafted imperial decrees, handled memorials, and—most crucially—worked in the palace itself, daily at the emperor’s side. To accept was to return to the capital.

Not like years before, when exam success had him paraded through streets to drum and horn, banners bright. Now, after years of storm, this command came upon him with a weight his younger self could not have fathomed.

For a moment Shen Qinghe froze, until Kong Zhengqing clapped his shoulder, pressing the scroll into his hand.

“What? Lost your soul in joy?”

【Congratulations, Host! Third Stage Quest Completed: Rising to Prominence! Reward: 2000 points.】

【Main Quest Stage Four Unlocked: Straight to the Azure Sky. ‘From obscure weed in hidden grass, now begins to stretch like timber to pierce the clouds. Men did not reckon it high; not until it pierced the sky, did they find it towering.’*²】

Shen Qinghe was unsettled. He and the emperor had always traded letters. Never had he been forewarned. Why this sudden edict, without signal?

“His Majesty calls me to the Secretariat?”

“White‑paper and black‑ink. I carried it myself from the palace,” Kong Zhengqing said. “Would I jest with your head at stake?”

Shen Qinghe rubbed the scroll edges, still doubtful, asking, “And did His Majesty say aught when he entrusted it to you?”

Kong Zhengqing thought. “Nothing special. Only that you are a pillar of the state; that you should early return to aid governance. He cannot bear such talent wasted outside.”

“And we leave… at once?”

“At once.”

Two steps away, Shen Qinghe tilted his head, glancing at the bells hanging from the eaves.

“Why wait?” Kong Zhengqing urged, directing attendants to bring forth the vermilion robes, sashes, and cap of the Sheren. Red so bright it dazzled Shen Qinghe’s eyes — color of court, of imperial presence.

“With this,” Kong Zhengqing murmured, “you return not only robed, but honored with title and rank. Not in years have I seen such reward. The emperor’s favor is clear.”

Yes — the capital stormed with hidden currents. And Shen Qinghe’s return would be the thunderclap.

At last his smile returned. He bowed. “Then permit me three days. In three days, I depart.”

Back at the academy, he gathered teachers and core students at once. Calmly, he divided tasks, spoke long on five‑year visions. Only at the end did he speak truth: he must go to court.

Some cried with joy — for was appointment to Secretariat not glory to burst firecrackers ten li down every street?

Others, the earliest who had followed him in dust and struggle, grew pale. They knew too well what court meant — tigers and wolves circling, waiting to devour.

But the edict was already issued.

“Teacher, I will go with you to the capital,” Dan Bowen said gravely.

“What for? Your projects finished?”

“I will go!” You Luo blurted, hand raised.

Shen Qinghe waved them away, exasperated. “What go? Have you nothing better than to tail me? Lady Pingyun will occupy you plenty.”

One after another he refused them.

At last, Gao Rong spoke: “My new research is on Qingzhou’s native herbs. I must pass through the capital. Teacher, let me join the way.”

That alone he permitted.

When the room had emptied, only Xue Bufan stayed, blocking his step.

“What’s happening?” His voice was low. His usual competitiveness was gone. Only worry.

“Something changed in the capital?”

Shen Qinghe pressed his arm, sighing. “Not sure yet. But with His Majesty’s hand behind it, there is no dodging. Fortune or misfortune — it must be faced.”

Xue Bufan’s walls broke. Grim, he muttered. “The capital is a pit of knives. You are clever, yes — but still a boy. Rootless, foundationless. Only two ways exist: to serve or to fight. No third.”

“And you? You will fight, of course. I know.”

Shen Qinghe turned aside, quiet. “I have already given my students all that I can — so even if I never return, they will live well.”

“Shen Qinghe!”

“Bufan…” Shen spoke his name in all gentleness, for the first time.

“This is fate. His Majesty’s grace has saved me many times. This summons, I cannot refuse.” He gazed into Xue Bufan’s shadowed eyes. “To me, you are indispensable to this Academy. If I never return — then in my place, keep it alive.”

Xue Bufan clenched his fists. Bitter. “Who worries for you? You never cherish yourself enough to merit worry.”

Finally, he softened. “…Take care.”

The black‑haired youth grinned. “But of course. Who am I, after all? I said I would plant firm feet in the capital. And I will.”

He bowed with flourish. “If I fail — then I submit to be cursed a fool to my face!”

Footnotes

1. Marquis Within the Passes (关内侯): A hereditary noble title, lower than duke/marquis proper, but great honor when bestowed together with office. 
2. From a Tang‑era poem: “Men did not recognize the tree of heaven soaring timber, until it pierced the clouds did they perceive its height.” — a metaphor for hidden greatness revealed only when it has fully grown.