ITIEQ C78

Chapter 78 – Assassination

The palace passage stretched long without end. Seeing Shen Qinghe approach alone, Jingchang dispatched one of his young attendants to carry a lantern to light the way.

All along the path, Shen Qinghe’s heart was restless.

He had never thought there would come a day he too would have to weigh and measure the imperial will.

That Xiao Yuanzheng would strike the great clans so openly—an unrestrained slap across their faces! Those who guarded their feathers with such jealous care, how could they ever swallow such disgrace? When the previous court factions should unite, it would be like sparks to gunpowder, an instant explosion.

The outcome was obvious. There was no way Xiao Yuanzheng could be unaware.

Shen Qinghe was certain the emperor had his own calculations—but the steps he took were too bold, too perilous. Even someone as irreverent and unruly as himself felt his heart leap in alarm.

The young eunuch sent to guide him looked no older than a teenager. The night wind was sharp, and he bent down, straining to keep the lamp steady. Shen Qinghe also felt that chill, so he reached to pull the lantern from his hands. Seeing the boy fluster, he led the way himself beneath the corridor, motioning the youth merely to follow.

The little eunuch naturally obeyed. He stole furtive glances at his side. A new favorite of the court, surnamed Shen…

In the gentle glow of flame, he saw the man’s calm, cold brows. After hesitation, he finally ventured:

“My lord, are you not from Danyang County?”

The voice was thin. Shen Qinghe pieced the words together, turned to examine his face. He didn’t recall seeing him before.

“I spent some time there.”

The boy smiled shyly. “This slave is a native of Danyang. My family has fished there for generations. But when the catch grew poor and the pots at home were bare, they sold me into the palace.” He gathered courage to go on, the local accent thickening. “This spring, I received word from home—we met a benefactor, they said. My younger brothers and sisters have all entered an academy to study, and every day they speak of a teacher surnamed Shen.” His eyes shone brightly.

“These years I too have saved a little. Paltry though it is, I thought to send it home as fees of gratitude, yet I learned the teacher Shen had already been promoted to the capital.”

Shen Qinghe looked at him in surprise. He had not expected such a connection.

The boy’s face flushed red. To speak thus to someone who trespassed forbidden zones of the palace at night and still emerged untouched—such a great man, even his own foster-father treated him with respect. Compared to that, his little savings were laughable. It was a mercy they had not been sent, or else they would be a pure joke.

He lowered his voice: “His Majesty holds no intent of singling my lord out. For these past days, many have requested audience, yet His Majesty has seen none. In speaking thus, I already risk my head. But I wished to let you know, as thanks on my siblings’ behalf.”

“Do not be sad, my lord. You have great talent and virtue. The future will surely favor you, with smooth roads and fortune in every matter.” His words, common palace blessings, fluttered uncertainly in the wind. For the first time he hated his own clumsy tongue—unable to sprout flowers to delight, his cheeks burned red to the ears.

Shen Qinghe laughed softly. Though he returned to the capital alone, in truth his students from Qingbei trailed with him always—like catkins on the wind, never apart.

Understanding the boy’s intent, he patted his bent back. “I’ll borrow your good words.”

…

Three days the court lay silent after the purge. Yet though everyone buzzed with speculation, not a wisp of rumor escaped.

It was said even Concubine Feng from Fengyang Terrace went to Longzhang Platform, but she too was denied entry.

If even the Empress Dowager’s face was refused, then the emperor’s will proved all the more unfathomable. The court, restrained by forced balance, burst alive again by the emperor’s indulgences: factions huddled together, wagers were cast, and hidden currents surged to the surface in crashing waves.

On the third day, an edict emerged: the palace would host a night banquet, to reward merits and grant honors, all ministers invited.

The silent inner palace at last released sound. Hearts grew restless.

A banquet of “merits” and “awards”—praise for generals in the clan purges. Yet ministers had knelt outside Hanming Palace a day and night, the Censorate had submitted countless remonstrances—all ignored. Now, with this shift, what truly lay in the imperial heart? They had to test, but cautious as if a blade brushed their throats.

A stratagem in plain sight—whether to attend or abstain was itself a test.

Shen Qinghe bore none of these misgivings. Even had he not been allowed to enter, he would have found some trick to sneak in.

…

The last such imperial feast had been the Banquet of Golden Scales, held by the poolside. This time was in the greater formality of Anning Hall.

Music and dancers filled the opening. Yet no one had the heart to savor. For what emperor refuses the remonstrance of his ministers? If he pressed ahead regardless, he was a horse without reins, a boat adrift—who could rest with such a sovereign? Regardless of faction, all concerns circled back to one man. Some sought peace between parties, to preserve themselves; others sought to draw blood at the root. How the ministers coped—all awaited the turn of that man’s mind.

Finding his seat, Shen Qinghe sighted two old competitors, Yue Jie and Xin Ye, once his fellow “top three” scholars.

He greeted. Yue Jie averted his head. Xin Ye started, then nodded politely.

The skies over the Capital this year were ever-gray, suffocating. Even the system buried itself in silence, seldom speaking.

“What now, you’re usually most lively at a feast like this.”

“…Don’t know why, but I feel watched. It’s… uncomfortable.”

“Caught a virus? Remember to run your antivirus every day, don’t freeze on me.”

The system answered with weakness.

“Really? Does the Son of Heaven’s feet rest on true dragon aura, suppressing spirits, forbidding things from becoming monsters?” Shen Qinghe teased. “Need me to put in a word with the emperor, let him mercifully seal your powers?”

“I’m no beast that grew refined! Don’t lower my class.” The system curled in his mind. “I’ll run in the background for now. Call me if needed.”

Seeing it truly in rare ill ease, Shen Qinghe was surprised. He had no time to muse further when a flash of red arrived by his side—the young prince, newly raised as a minor lord, his seat just next to Shen Qinghe’s.

Though of shallow roots, he was still of the imperial line—far different from Shen Qinghe’s fifth‑rank minor post. Out of courtesy, Shen Qinghe offered greeting.

Xiao Suijing’s brows twitched. He remembered this was the same official who trespassed Longzhang Platform, where even cabinet ministers could not enter. Just what was his connection with his Imperial Uncle?

Then Liu Lin barged in boldly, saluted the little prince, and turned straight to his teacher.

“You shouldn’t make contact so openly,” Shen Qinghe scolded. Eyes swept the crowded hall—he himself had been cursed alongside for past deeds. If Liu Lin and the others exposed their ties, trouble would follow.

But the boy only smiled sly. “Teacher may not know—the others sent me to probe you.”

Probe his stance?

What else but factional divisions. In court there are no eternal friends, nor eternal enemies. Undoubtedly it was yet another attempt at alliance.

But Shen Qinghe was purest “imperial party.”

“Who sent you?”

“Grand Tutor Chang.”

Reasonable. Chang had little grievance with him. Recruiting him would make sense.

Xiao Suijing overheard, feigning not, but seethed. To so openly speak of party‑building—outrageous! His Imperial Uncle favored him, yet he returned with betrayal? He planned to report it all—when Shen Qinghe chuckled and spoke:

“Tell them this—since leaving the capital I’ve lived in fear. Finally back, I dare not hastily throw in with any camp.” He sat upright, voice humble, but eyes gleamed amusement, posture relaxed. His every word contradicted his assurance—he dared very well.

The young prince cooled. Shameless though he seemed, at least he had not betrayed. Complaint could wait.

“You’re smart enough.”

The sudden words drew both men’s eyes. Shen Qinghe saw the youngster’s ears nearly twitch upright. He was about to jest—when the music cut off. All musicians, dancers dropped to their knees. Ministers bowed low. Even Xiao Suijing stiffened. Only a rising tide of “long live!” filled the hall.

Emperor Zhaohuan had exempted much ornament on accession. All the grand kneeling was thinned. Just one bow and the banquet began.

“Rise, all. Be seated.”

That honest, deep voice filled the chamber. At last the long‑awaited Emperor Zhaohuan appeared.

He had governed diligently, never neglectful. Generous to subjects, praised as benevolent sovereign. Yet hearts are shadowed; who foresaw now he could inspire such dread?

When a song ended, the Grand Eunuch read aloud the decree already drafted. A feast of reward could not lack rewards. The Northwest Army and Dragon Cavalry were his private troops. What honors, what posts—left hand to right.

All sounded ordinary. A martyred general was posthumously ennobled as duke. No more, no less.

Ministerial hearts spun; still no clear measure.

Without clarity, they stumbled into the trap. Fine feasts untouched before them, none would raise chopsticks. Side‑eyes flew; finally one lesser official was pushed out to kneel.

“Your Majesty, the art of rule lies in distinguishing right from wrong, in clear rewards and punishments. Beneath your reign the seas are calm, the people at peace—great fortune indeed! Yet of late thunderous purges struck down clans, guilt unexamined, reasons unheard. Such slaughter offends the root of governance! I beg Your Majesty reconsider!”

The speaker, a left adjutant of the Secretariat, scarcely seventh rank. Voice trembled.

All fell silent. To denounce an emperor so was life forfeit. Yet no one feared his punishment—they feared only the dragon’s response.

The adjutant felt the silence stretch an eternity. He hardened his heart and spilled memorized lines:

“Though dull, this minister dares not betray loyalty to ruler or realm. At peril of death, I entreat: should crimes exist, punish by law to warn. But if innocent, restore name, soothe the people’s hearts!” His tears fell, whether from passion or terror unclear, as his brow cracked against the jade floor.

“Innocent?”

Xiao Yuanzheng repeated with cool calm.

“Tell me—how were they innocent?” The Emperor wiped his hands elegantly with a towel.

“I—I…”

“As adjutant, your role is to speak. Speak, then.”

The emperor’s tone flat, emotionless. The small man quaked, unable to even lift his gaze. At once he shivered like a reed, utterly undone.

“Useless.”

Qi Xiang tilted his eyes, signaled another. This time, a scholar of the Imperial Academy stepped forth.

“Your Majesty is ever wise. Such cannot be wrong. Yet mortal eyes fail to grasp Heaven’s will. If punishment falls before words are heard, I fear Your Majesty’s honor suffers, amid whispers of doubt.”

Experienced men. They knew not press too hard, but offer steps to descend.

For the emperor too was not the hot‑headed youth of Northwestern campaigns. These petty promotions of commoners—they dismissed them. The realm might be his, but to issue edicts across thirteen provinces still depended upon their houses. Sooner or later, he would yield.

Shen Qinghe watched that tall throne, brows furrowed with worry.

Only now did he truly feel the weight Xiao Yuanzheng bore each day. Assaulted within and without, beset by wolf clans gnawing at the tiger nation’s flanks, every measure tangled and thwarted. The emperor could not even kill as he pleased—just a handful of worms crushed and the walls already cried collapse.

What life was this?

Shen Qinghe clenched his fist. He awaited his “brother’s” reply, yet knew not what it might be. All eyes fixed aloft—but the man above seemed almost remote, their faces beneath unseen.

“Dogs.”

Beside him the young prince spat, eyes dark with fury.

“Yes, Minister Li is right—doubts and damage to repute are not good. Next time, I shall take care.”

The adjutant sagged in relief, nearly collapsing.

Ministers too eased breath. As expected.

Shen Qinghe heard keenly two words: “next time.”

The emperor had descended the stairs. With that, balance could be found again. Those clans had indeed overreached. Their fall harsh, but self‑wrought. If the emperor bent, so too could they.

Compromise reached…

Yet in Shen Qinghe’s heart surged bitterness. That edict had come too soon. He had returned too soon. Given more time—perhaps not such futility.

The dancers returned. This time a troupe performed the rare “Starling Dance,” movements keen and fierce, circling like hawks, fresh in the palace.

Shen Qinghe lowered his gaze into clear wine. When a sudden shriek tore the air, his eyes flew up—one dancer held a dagger, white steel glinting, charging the throne! Palacemen screamed, guards drew swords, steel clashing sharp.

“Assassins!”

“Protect His Majesty!”

Ministers themselves panicked, dashing behind pillars, tables.

“Imperial Uncle!” The young prince leapt the table, rushing forward.

Shen Qinghe stood unmoved. The strike was not meant for him. His eyes narrowed on the throne. Xiao Yuanzheng was ringed by guards, unscathed. Liu Lin tugged frantically at his teacher, pulling him behind a golden pillar.

“What if they have accomplices! In heaven’s name, to raise a blade in the grand hall—what courage, what clan desires nine exterminated!” He patted his chest in fright.

The assassin, disguised as a dancer, had skill, but could not match trained imperial guards. Soon he was pinned.

“Despot! Brutal tyrant! Your stench will rot a thousand years! Your throne lost!”

With a final roar the man flung himself upon the waiting swords. Blood splattered three feet. Dead instantly.

The hall reeled in shock.

Eyes darted toward the throne. Emperor Zhaohuan sat firm and calm. After hearing, he even seemed to smile.

Guards checked—shook heads.

“Ministers, you are alarmed.”

He, the one targeted, seemed least disturbed—still soothing others. A ruler who cherished his subjects.

The trembling scholars crept forth again, angering at the traitor.

The emperor waved his hand. “Tonight is not in peace. Go, all, return early.”

He added no more, and in the center of attendants departed.

The body was dragged out. Only a dark stain of blood remained upon the hall floor.

Footnotes for Readers:

1. Longzhang Platform (珑璋臺) – An inner palace precinct, highly restricted, symbolizing imperial authority. 
2. Left Adjutant of Secretariat (左补阙) – A minor remonstrance official, duty to speak frankly to the emperor. Often seventh rank. 
3. Qi Xiang (祁祥) – Powerful minister/head of faction; here representing the “Qi” party opposed to emperor’s reforms. 
4. Starling Dance (鴝鹆舞) – A rare performance imitating starlings’ flight, vigorous and martial, unusual for courtly festivities. 
5. Nine Clans (株连九族) – Traditional punishment of treason, family of traitors executed for nine degrees of kinship.