ITIEQ C77

Chapter 77 – They Will Revere Me as They Revere the Gods

Shen Qinghe’s sudden appearance was like a star falling to earth, igniting instant uproar.

In the private room, the Donglai classmates who had just been composing poetry and drinking wine now abandoned their cups and verses altogether. They clustered around the Shen brothers, regardless of past grievances, egging one another on—no matter what, they must go and meet the younger brother.

What was in their hearts, Shen Qinghe understood perfectly.

In that instant, he became the center of attention. Shen Qingfeng, however, felt not a drop of satisfaction—in his sleeves, his fist loosened then tightened reflexively.

After all his painstaking management of reputation, whenever it turned to Shen Qinghe, he still could not compare.

The taste of that realization soured like bile in his gut.

“Fine!”

With a sudden bark, the noisy hall fell silent.

He straightened. Shen Qingfeng had always played the genial gentleman; their classmates had never seen him so severe.

“You want to meet Shen Qinghe? Let’s go.”

He swept his cold gaze around, then strode toward the doorway.

Shen Qinghe, Shen Qinghe—had he truly risen, or was it all petty illusion? If this turned out to be mere trickery, then as elder brother he himself would personally drag him before the judicial yamen. He swore—this time, not even Heaven would answer him, nor Earth.

He tore aside the bamboo curtain and stepped out, letting it slap violently behind him.

Shen Qingchun wetted his lips, hesitated, then followed. Again and again he had failed his exams, while Shen Qinghe had already claimed honors twice. By what right—by what right?!

The Scholar’s Tower’s guest rooms were only separated by thin curtains, a cultivated elegance. Shen Qingfeng searched one by one, trailed by a crowd peeking impishly behind their fans. Eventually, at one particular doorway he halted—

Through the translucent veil, they glimpsed crimson—an unmistakable figure clad blazing red, like flame.

“Go on, go on.”

“Yes, don’t be shy—it’s all family brothers.”

Heads craned, shoulders shoved. Someone knocked Shen Qingfeng forward; he stumbled straight inside.

Shen Qinghe, surrounded by students, looked up to see him standing stiffly there. His smile faltered.

“Shen Qingfeng.”

So—he truly dared to come.

And outside, still, many more hemmed in.

The breath Shen Qingfeng had gathered deflated at the sight of the undeniable scarlet court robe. Mouth opened, he forced words: “What is going on with you?” His gaze flicked deliberately at the garb. “…No explanation?”

Shen Qinghe almost laughed aloud. But before he could reply, his students bristled first, sensing the hostility. They leapt up like firecrackers, slamming their palms upon tables.

“And who are you?”

“What worth are you, that he should explain to you?”

Shen Qinghe chuckled softly, tapping his knuckle on the table—yet unexpectedly, they were shielding him.

Today, walking together, Shen Qingfeng had nearly been scolded hoarse by this circle of fiery youths. Outside, the Donglai students listening felt their faces slapped.

Once in the past, Shen Qinghe had played with them in revels, footing the bills at the drop of a word like “good brother”—an utter fool for them.

Now, they treated him with lingering contempt, as of old.

“Qinghe, that is your elder brother—must you be so discourteous?”

Elder brother?

The students all froze, looked at their teacher. When he did not respond, they pivoted back in unison.

Since he had not acknowledged it, then—he could be beaten and cursed!

“What elder brother? He’s not fit to dust a hair of Lord Shen’s robe.”

“If you don’t get out now, don’t blame us for rougher manners!”

Shen Qinghe, leaning back, was struck by their wall-like protection, their audacity.

So even before the Academy had won “Top One,” his students already strutted with such arrogance?

The Donglai youths were not meek either. “We meant no harm here. But you spit crude insult—have you not gone too far?”

“Too far?”

A new voice: Liu Lin stepped forth.

“Tell me then—Lord Shen is an official of the Court. You barge uninvited into his debate chamber. Is that not too far?”

Liu Lin too had come from the Inner Palace, wearing officials’ robe and sash. Faced with such attire, the Donglai youths, with all their words, restrained their tongues.

They had gathered together because most of them shared middling family backgrounds—not so high as the Five Noble Clans, but not low enough to remain hopeless commoners. Many had relatives of middling court rank. Within their circle, it was safe to bully commoners—but never officers invested with mandate.

“Lord Liu?”

Someone finally recognized him. Though most present had not yet sat for Palace Examinations, they knew how his name echoed among rising talents in the ministries.

Perhaps Shen Qinghe’s position they could not grasp. But Liu Lin’s? His strength was praised even by senior ministers—his talent undeniable.

Expression softened at once. Eyes shifted furtively—and more shock followed.

Besides him stood still more recent graduates, holding posts—new officials their families had warned to cultivate.

And Shen Qingfeng, by bluster, had offended them all!

Those accusing stares fell on him. His face darkened like ink spilled thick.

Was it not you who urged me forward, to provoke him? And now, when actual confrontation comes, you recoil?

“Anything else then?” Liu Lin narrowed foxy eyes in a smile. “I revere Lord Shen. If you have words fit for him, perhaps—but otherwise, begone.”

Shen Qinghe, friends with all these?

Donglai students no longer dared stir. Smiles plastered their faces, they retreated awkwardly, leaving with shame. Made fools of, they had courted insult only to slink mortified.

Shen Qingchun had hung back at the threshold, too daunted, and now rejoiced privately at such cowardice. He fled the Scholar’s Tower altogether, abandoning Shen Qingfeng behind.

Shen Qingfeng’s whole form emanated malice—as though, were he a cartoon villain, his “corruption meter” had gone full dark.

“Shen Qinghe—wait, mark me! One day—one day, I shall surpass you!”

Empty threats.

The Qingbei Academy students looked among each other—then roared with laughter.

Liu Lin sneered: “Sounds like the fantasy of a man who guessed every question on last year’s exam papers correctly by luck.”

Before old classmates, this humiliation—no worse could cut a prideful soul like Shen Qingfeng’s spine.

Shen Qinghe merely regarded him, eyes calm.

“I told you, do not provoke me. Haven’t you lost enough in my hands?”

No doubt, in the days to come, Shen Qingfeng would chew rage like bitter grains.

Shen Qingfeng glared till bloodshot. He could only hiss again and again: “You wait. You wait…”

All the while, Shen Qinghe leaned easily against the table, swarmed by countless others willingly bowed before him.

And amidst it, a whisper seemed to echo—an inner voice Shen Qingfeng had long muffled by clutching his ears, insisting he alone was eldest, rightful heir of the Shen family.

But now—he heard it with stark clarity:

Talent, ability, skill with people—even looks. Between him and Shen Qinghe yawned a gulf as heaven from abyss.

What a farce.

The red-robed youth tilted his chin, eyelids half-closed. Shen Qingfeng, though his legs begged escape, stood transfixed—tormenting himself by soaking in this agony.

Shen Qinghe’s voice cut soft, assured—yet unbearably lofty.

“Do you know? When in future your nephews and sons enter the exam halls… they will revere me as they revere the gods.”*

Shen Qingfeng’s body jolted.

At that moment, he thought such madness outrageous in its arrogance—yet at heart he felt adrift, helpless boat upon the sea. For the youth’s every prediction had come true. Said he’d return, and he returned. Said he’d ascend office, and he ascended. It seemed the luck of eight generations of ancestors burned all upon this one man.

For Shen Qinghe, it was nothing but a small interruption. He forgot it at once. Their rest day quickly passed away.

Once, as an Attendant-in-Waiting, he had only stood by the Han Zhang Hall, awaiting commands. But now, with a seat in the Secretariat, he had right to join the Hezheng Hall deliberations—where the destinies of the realm’s rivers and mountains turned in a chamber.

Yet hardly had he begun, when darkness gathered news: Court dismissed for three days.

Rumors already filled every corner. The Emperor had secretly wiped out the Zuo and Wu clans of Zhuozhou. Ministers, worried, calculated: surely this evidence would be revealed, used to force aristocrat families to bow, concede, cut pound after pound of flesh, then end in compromise.

But—contrary to all expectation—within three days of destroying those clans, the Dragon Cavalry and Northern Armies surged, joined, thundered through Ting and Zhuo Prefectures, seizing still more clan elders tied by correspondence, hauling them bound to the capital.

The whole court ignited in panic.

Outside Capital, gentry burned correspondence overnight, severing tails. Inside, ministers were staggered—their kneeling in Han Zhang Hall had not cowed him; instead the Emperor pressed them harder still.

What did he mean to do?!

Rumor now spread through alleys: the new Emperor would follow the path of Emperor Huiwen—the Empire itself in peril!

Shen Qinghe gathered whispers, pondered long.

Yes, rumor-mongers, sowing chaos. He knew the hands behind it—they only wished to muddy waters. Small matter. But if terror drove them, would they not… rebel?

So recently calmed, would chaos birth soldiers once more? And such news—even if Emperor Xiao Yuanzheng had just cause—rumbling unrest might swallow him whole.

This man, always deliberate—why wield the knife at aristocracy’s throat so directly? It was a step Shen Qinghe never foresaw.

Why leap so precipitously?

Still sifting thoughts, he received a message—delivered sealed, signed by Liu Lin.

Unfolding—only a line.

“Court conspirators brew secret plots. Details obscure. Teacher, be cautious.”

Secret plots.

Shen Qinghe folded the sheet. He had only returned days ago; Liu Lin was already in the thick of things, his intelligence far keener.

But danger was not for him to fear. No—the true target might be…

Shen Qinghe sprang to his feet.

No, no. Within palace ramparts, the Imperial Guards ringed him close. Jing Palace was barred to winged flies, let alone blades. Moreover, the Emperor himself was surely skilled at arms. Of all, his safety need least worry.

He crushed folds into the paper, pacing courtyard round and round.

…Yet still, he must enter.

Palace gates closed tight. Golden-armored guards stood bristling, cold as iron.

Shen Qinghe produced a white jade thumb-ring. Eyebrows twitched; the guards went to report upward. The commander, recognizing him, politely took the token, examined, granted passage.

The palace night was darker than outside, shadow thick with lurking menace. Shen Qinghe pressed resolutely through gloom. Past the Hezheng Hall, past the Han Zhang Hall, until he halted at the Lóngzhāng Terrace.

Lights shone warm—one of few places in that vast icy labyrinth still glowing. Rows of gold-helmed guards bristled. Blades flashed white at the intruder—

But steward Jinchang, keeper of the night, stepped forth, waving his duster: “Sheathe blades! This is Lord Shen.” He hurried down to receive him.

“Lord Shen—why come at such hour?”

Recognition softened Shen Qinghe’s breath. “I must see His Majesty.”

“Ah…” Jinchang hesitated, then: “Please wait, my lord.” He ascended, cracked the Emperor’s door, slipped inside—and in a moment, returned.

Shen Qinghe’s hair whipped loose in night wind.

“Sir—it is late. Please return.”

“What?” Shen Qinghe blinked, demanded: “Then beg you—inform His Majesty I have urgent matter.”

But Jinchang only looked at him and shook his head.

Shen Qinghe understood the meaning between lines. Eyes sharp as stars.

“He… refuses?”

The steward smiled pained, repeating only:

“My Lord, please—go back.”

Footnotes:

• “They will revere me as they revere the gods” (他们会敬我如敬神) – This line draws upon imperial examination culture: success in exams meant life-changing glory for entire families. Shen Qinghe declares his sway so immense that even the descendants of rivals, when sitting examination halls, will look upon him with awe as though divine—a claim of social omnipotence. 
• Han Zhang Hall (含章殿) / Hezheng Hall (和政殿) – Historical-style hall names in the fictional Great Yong court, echoing Han and Tang dynasty palace naming conventions; represent the chambers where the Secretariat (central government) deliberated policy. 
• Jade Thumb-ring (扳指) – A traditional archer’s ring, later a token of status worn by nobles. Here it serves as a personal token bestowed by the Emperor, a sign of intimacy and right of passage.