TSLSILMH Ch 48

Chapter 48

The threat was plain, but that only meant Xie Shu’s words had struck true into the man’s heart.

So Xie Shu remained calm, replying not with direct accusation but instead: “Liu Gonggong has come south on imperial command to oversee the Emperor’s grand southern tour, under high favor. This is honorable indeed. But tell me—has Gonggong thought why His Majesty wishes such a tour?”

Liu at first dismissed these words. The reason for the tour—whether official or unspoken—was no mystery. All who served in the palace were well aware.

Xie Shu’s voice stayed steady. “Everyone knows. Outwardly, His Majesty rides forth for the nation, for the people. By decades of careful rule, he has wrought peace across the realm. Now descending to the old capitals of Jinling, he displays imperial splendor to the four quarters—unparalleled glory, the ruler of all under Heaven.”

Grand, perfectly orthodox speech, and undeniable. Indeed, Liu thought, there had once been reason to call this monarch a wise ruler. But old age dimmed him; indulgence and vanity now sapped his reign.

Xie Shu’s private thought was clear. Across history, emperors—even those once brilliant—grew indulgent in age. With power absolute, they grew deaf to remonstrance, stubborn, bent on display and extravagance. The present Emperor was no different, yearning for luxury as his vigor declined.

And all in the Household knew it well. Costly amusements, lavish pageantry—it all drained coffers dry. Thus the eunuchs borrowed schemes from the Third Prince, extorting merchants beneath the guise of loyalty.

So Liu brushed him off. “Since such reasoning is known to all—what is your point?”

“Liu Gonggong,” said Xie Shu evenly, “you know this tour was opposed by many. Had not Ziwei Minister Lü Shuo pressed it single-handedly, it might never have passed at all.”

At that, Liu faltered slightly. Was it not irony—this young man, junior to Lü, speaking such words? He even wondered, what expression Lü himself might wear, knowing such a steadfast junior-sibling now stood so different from him.

But Liu scoffed still. Pedantic ministers may gnash and scold, but they were fools, blind to the times! The Emperor desired it—why resist instead of bending, serving, prospering?

Then, Xie Shu gave his strike.

“You, who serve beside His Majesty, know his heart. This tour—he will wish to prove himself, to silence all dissension, to show both people and empire his might.

Then—what if reports reached him? That here, without sanction, you extorted salt merchants for palaces? What then would His Majesty say?

Think, Gonggong—whoever proposed this plan has placed a sword above your neck.”

Liu jolted. The blade of truth struck deep.

He knew the Emperor’s temper well. And of the Third Prince? He knew too—as soon as crisis came, that royal would abandon him to his ruin.

Sweat rose cold upon him. Rage and fear mixed on his face.

But still he growled, thin smile twitching cold: “You are clever indeed. But answer me this—things have gone thus far. How am I meant to undo them? If these palaces are not built, what ending will you have me face?”

Yet seeing the calm steel in Xie Shu’s gaze, Liu’s tone shifted once more, turning coaxing, almost soft. “Xie Shu—I know you came today for your husband’s sake. This matter touched your house only by chance. If you can find me a way forward, I will help relieve your plight.”

So it confirmed it: the scheme was hatched by Gu Zhong, the Salt Censor himself, and Liu had merely taken the bait. What degradation—for such an official post to stoop to so vile a trick.

But worse—what if this “solution” ended only with the southern tour? Afterward, when old power rooted itself again, how would Yu family endure the vengeance of the Salt Censor?

Xie Shu thought, long and hard. Then he raised his head.

“Liu Gonggong. There is a way…”

—

Meanwhile, chaos spread across Yu family’s businesses. Goods were withheld; allied giants decreed no one may trade with Yu. Small merchants, seeing the tide, did not dare defy.

Thus Yu could only buy at steep markups from distant suppliers. Already clerks and managers fled, enticed by rivals’ gold.

Some suggested shutting shops entirely. But Yu Chuxi, eyes upon his Western clock, said instead: “Time is nigh. They thought to prey upon us. Better—let us cleanse them ourselves. Prepare to acquire one thing.”

That “thing” was rice. Grain.

So when Su family swaggered with incentives, bringing silver to seize Yu shops for pennies, Yu sat waiting.

Su Kai, the patriarch, mocked, bluffed, coaxed. He pressed with contracts, with silver.

Hours stretched, ink and ledgers blurred with wrangling. Until, at last, Su Kai signed his name, triumphant—believing Yu had yielded all for fifty thousand taels. Already he smirked at the deal, at riches gained tenfold from misery.

But then—the paper was snatched, torn in two by pale steady hands.

“Who said,” came Yu Chuxi’s cold lilting voice, “that I agreed?”

Su Kai reeled in shock. Rage spiked. Yet then realization cracked him. Yu had drawn out hours to delay. Enough time—for grain orders to be sealed across Jinling’s fields. With rice harvest not yet close, with markets soon to starve—Yu alone held reserve. With such a move, their business could rise again, no matter what schemes snapped outside.

He sputtered threats, mocking even Xie Shu—“And what will you do? Beg for that useless husband of yours, the penniless scholar?”

At once, behind him came a voice cut sharp as steel:

“And who are you, to utter such words before my husband?”

Xie Shu entered, with blue-plumed guards at his side—the eunuch’s own men, disciplined, loyal now to Xie Shu’s summons.

Eyes widened. Su Kai staggered as Xie Shu read aloud with measured voice:

“By Liu Gonggong’s report, His Majesty, in gratitude for the salt merchants’ loyal donations toward the palace, decrees commendation. From this day, Yu family shall oversee the works.

All other salt houses—must lend full support.”

The words fell like thunder.

Su Kai’s spirit shattered. He stammered bows, excuses, retreating broken.

And Yu Chuxi, stunned, turned wide bright eyes to the man by his side.

Xie Shu only smiled softly. “Forgive me, Young Lord. I am late.”

He led him to sit, holding his hand. He explained—he had urged Liu to convert extortion into “voluntary donation,” lodging credit with Emperor’s joy, tying Yu family publicly to the success of the tour itself. Thus untouchable by rivals, shielded by imperial face.

Still Xie Shu bowed his head: “But this was not my place to promise. Only—would you be willing, my Lord, to bear this burden?”

Yu Chuxi, instead of dismay, felt warmth flood him. For all of Xie Shu’s cunning, in the end he thought first of his spouse, sought his consent, carried his concern.

The warmth swelled—until in joy unbound, Yu leaned forth, pressing a silken kiss upon his beloved’s cheek.

—