ITIEQ C63

Chapter 63 – More Beautiful Than a Flower

Shen Qinghe’s eyes opened slightly wider.

Zhao Huan Emperor’s gaze remained as calm as ever. Shen Qinghe wanted to read some vague promises into it, yet all he could see was a power heavy as ten thousand jun pressing down within.

He lightly pressed his lips together, and then suddenly relaxed them, breaking into a hearty laugh. But halfway through, the laughter tugged at his breath, and he collapsed sideways on the bed, coughing uncontrollably.

Xiao Yuanzheng reached out to pat his back, helping him ease his breath.

Shen Qinghe wiped away the few tears brought by the coughing. “I did not think myself capable of such power… Then, would His Majesty be willing to begin anew with the people, to change the very world itself?”

A few short words, but the meaning pointed like a sword toward the Five Great Clans, sweeping across Twelve Prefectures, its tone soaked in blood.

Shen Qinghe always spoke with shocking audacity, yet Xiao Yuanzheng had never once been surprised, nor had he ever shown ridicule or contempt.

His long hair fell loosely down his back, without the usual crown to bind it. The Emperor gently brushed away the locks covering his brow, then extended his palm toward him. He said nothing, and yet it was as if he had spoken everything.

Shen Qinghe was deeply moved. Struggling out from the thin quilt and his outer robe, he reached out with both hands to clasp the Emperor’s with solemn sincerity.

The moment was just right!

“There is still one more matter!”

Xiao Yuanzheng continued to look steadily at him.

“Several White Lotus temples have been shut down and confiscated. Could His Majesty grant me the right to handle these places?”

They had already injured the enemy a thousand but harmed themselves eight hundred. If he couldn’t at least get approval for new school grounds, that would be too great a loss!

He stared intently at the ruler, not believing that the wise and mighty Emperor of Great Yong would turn a blind eye—and indeed, the Emperor was just as easy to speak with as he hoped. Without even a moment’s hesitation, the Emperor gave his approval.

The sovereign expressed full willingness to support construction and development—free land for a new campus had been granted! No doubt he had recognized the potential of their academy: to kick against Shangqing and punch through Jinshan, soon to sit as the top-ranked institution of all Great Yong.

Opening a new campus was only Qingbei’s* first step into the empire—after that would come endless work: facilities, recruitment, publicity, diplomacy. Even in Qiúquán county, his home territory, it had taken him years to forge a path; elsewhere, it would clearly be even harder. Infrastructure always demanded immense money and cost. But, he already had a new idea.

Shen Qinghe lowered his lashes. He had already turned Yunzhong prefecture upside down—among the thirteen prefectures of Great Yong, was there not one piece of land where Qingbei Academy could take root?

His mother came from a merchant family, the cherished daughter of her household. The wealth she left behind had been enough to let “Shen Qinghe” squander recklessly in the gilded capital; such merchants could hardly be common peddlers. Rather, they were the great tea magnates of Changzhou, rich enough to rival princes. Aristocratic families despised the trade of commerce, but he certainly didn’t. Obtaining an investor like a “corporate father” was fortune beyond measure—not to mention that this one was connected to him by blood, his very own maternal grandfather.

Shen Qinghe was a man of action. Once resolved, he was ready to have his belongings packed and depart immediately for Changzhou—once his father’s post, and surely not as hostile to him as Huizhou.

Yet Xiao Yuanzheng, seeing through his intent, placed a hand on his shoulder. “No need to rush. I still have something here—something written out with you in mind.”

Written for me?

Shen Qinghe watched as the Emperor drew out a plain white envelope from his sleeve and handed it over.

Letters in this past month had been far too many, and most carried only ill tidings. Shen Qinghe had developed a kind of instinctive dread of them. Sitting on the couch, he hesitated as he unfolded the silk paper—and then froze.

“The Wei family… has invited me?”

Suspicious, he looked again to confirm, finding indeed many unfamiliar turns of phrase. Raising his eyes, he sought the Emperor’s confirmation:

“—The Wei clan of Danyang?”

“Yes.”

Xiao Yuanzheng, seeing his severely chapped lips, placed a cup of warm tea at his side.

Among the Five Great Clans and Seven Eminent Houses**, the Yunzhong Wei clan and the Danyang Wei clan had once been a single lineage, later split into two branches for reasons unknown. As far as Shen Qinghe knew, at least in recent times, the two houses had had little to do with one another—not even sending invitations for sacrifices or rites. If they truly bore such grudges that even courtesy was denied…

He immediately changed his mind. His grandfather in Changzhou was unlikely to run away—whereas this was a rare chance to stir trouble between rivals. Such opportunities would not come often.

“There is another piece of old history. The current head of Danyang Wei is from the imperial house as well. She is my aunt’s daughter—Princess Consort Pingyun.”

Shen Qinghe nearly choked on the water he had just sipped, coughing until the Emperor himself relieved him of the cup and soothed his back.

A daughter of the imperial family marrying into one of the Five Clans was not unusual. A woman of noble rank was honored, yes, but usually treated as an ornament of good fortune within her husband’s house. Rarely did one hear that the bride had risen to become the family head herself—and a female head at that. It was as though someone had carved flesh from the clam’s hard shell amid circling fishermen, an almost impossible feat.

In Great Yong, every few generations there appeared a notorious tyrant on the throne—the Emperor himself had once admitted this. No family of decent people could withstand such ordeals. Hence the gossip in the streets: that the Xiao clan was a brood of monsters born to plague the human world, cruel and devoid of all human decency. Their lineage—if turned to good—produced unsurpassed genius and world-shaping rulers; if turned to evil, they became the demons foretold in prophecy, the scourge of the realm.

Shen Qinghe could not hold back; he glanced at the Emperor. The young sovereign had removed his outer robe and now sat beside the bed. Usually, the Emperor of Zhao Huan carried himself in perfect propriety, every ritual and formality draped upon him as the very pinnacle of feudal power. Rare was the sight of him so casually attired. Without the oppressive black garments, there was only serenity beneath the aura of majesty.

Seated high in the hall, embracing the virtuous and rejecting the corrupt, with a heart set on sweeping away vice and aiding the world—how could one call him a demon risen from underground? His merit rivaled even the Buddha’s!

“If she is Your Majesty’s cousin, surely meeting her might prove convenient?” The dark-haired youth lowered his head, but his eyes tilted upward slyly. It was clear he meant to go.

“Relations among the imperial clan are not as stable as you think. Collapse and division come in the space of a single thought.” Xiao Yuanzheng tilted his head, as though remembering. “She… is not as simple to deal with as you may believe.” Meeting those eyes gazing up at him, there was the faintest pause, yet he still spoke his mind: “You need not force a connection. If you find no affinity, then leave it be. Should you need allies, I can offer you my own private connections in their stead.”

Shen Qinghe had not expected such magnanimity—the Emperor had truly made him a “connections-holder”! Smiling outwardly, he still bit back lightly: “Leaning on Your Majesty’s connections—what great ability is that?” He crushed the paper in his hand. “Without entering the tiger’s den, how can one obtain the tiger’s cub? It is only when the most impossible things succeed that the savor is greatest.”

He seemed to forget all the bitter hardships of the past—at the spark of fire, his spirit would ignite into wildfire.

Xiao Yuanzheng pressed his shoulders gently down again.

“The imperial physicians said you must rest for at least three more days. After three days, I will accompany you myself.”

…

This period of rest was the most leisurely Shen Qinghe had ever known. Apart from the bitterness of the medicine and the blandness of the food, he had nothing to lift with his shoulders or bear with his hands. Lying about left him bonelessly soft. Even a stroll in the yard brought a crowd of students fussing around him. He joked that he had freely experienced the joy of being “surrounded by children and grandchildren.”***

Though the Emperor came to Huizhou in the name of travelling incognito, the thunder of the Iron Cavalry’s hooves nearly trampled down the Wei family gates that day—making it plain to all that the imperial presence was already in the city. The local officials, aware but feigning ignorance, quickly prepared neat accounts of good governance, dispatching aides who lingered discreetly near the manor. Thus they might receive the slightest secret command of the Imperial Household at the first opportunity.

Of course, Xiao Yuanzheng ignored those polished reports. His agents had already gathered vast quantities of material, all laid on his desk. Though fragmented and messy, it was authentic.

When unnoticed by others, the Emperor sat in the study, flipping through these documents until he grasped the state of Huizhou in its fullness.

One day, Gao Rong carried in a medicine bowl, meeting the Emperor himself at the door. Xiao Yuanzheng nodded lightly, tapped twice upon the door, and the two entered together.

Shen Qinghe had just risen from a nap. His usual dress no longer sufficed—cold seeped into his bones these days. Now he wore an extra lined robe of mouse fur, its collar spilling with grey down that prickled at his skin but did little to keep the chill away.

Through the papered windows, only a faint glow of sunlight trickled in, dim and tender. Beneath it stood a small desk. Shen Qinghe sat with his back to the door, holding up a painted mirror of birds and flowers, gazing blankly at his pale, gaunt face.

Only when the scent of medicine reached him did he stir. Placing the mirror down, he turned and smiled. “How quietly you slipped in.”

Neither explained. Gao Rong placed the bowl on the desk. Shen Qinghe wrinkled his nose at the smell—but under their watch, he grimaced and downed it in one gulp, surprised at how much smoother it went than usual.

Gao Rong lowered his head to tidy the tray. “Licorice root was added when it was boiled.”****

Shen Qinghe laughed and cursed: “Why not add that earlier? Were you determined to make me suffer more bitterness?”

Gao Rong pressed his lips tight and said nothing.

Ah… he’s turned into a stubborn little gourd.

Shen Qinghe suddenly remembered that the young physician he once admired—the Court of Imperial Physicians’ assessor—was also present with this expedition. They had once grown close while running the refugee camp, diligently discussing and learning until even burning midnight oil together. Lately, Gao Rong had not only brewed Shen Qinghe’s decoctions personally, but also stayed up late at night to study—clearly, he was busy enough.

Thinking of this, Shen Qinghe decided not to tease him further, and let him go back to rest.

Once Gao Rong left, Shen Qinghe immediately turned to the Emperor.

“Three days have passed. Today—is it not time to meet the Princess?”

“Yes.”

“Yet looking like this, I hardly seem fit for negotiations. Might I trouble Your Majesty to buy me some rouge? Perhaps it would at least bring a little more color to my face.”

A trifling matter. The Emperor commanded his attendants to procure some. For a man to buy rouge—it was usually for his wife; if given to a girl, then almost certainly his betrothed; if to another woman entirely, then it smacked of frivolous debauchery.

But this was Great Yong. Men painting their faces was hardly unusual. And besides—it was a gift from the Son of Heaven himself. Who would dare connect it to impropriety?

The rouge soon arrived: a small pot of vivid pink paste.

Shen Qinghe was silent for a moment.

“Tell me. Was the one who bought this a man?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Straight men—it seems they are the same across all ages.”

Xiao Yuanzheng: …?

“Does it displease you?”

“Not really.”

Shen Qinghe laughed radiantly, dipped a finger into the rouge, lifted the mirror, and spread color across his slightly sickly face.

The texture was coarse, the pigment mediocre—far from the cosmetics he remembered. After all, cosmetics were a veritable gold mine! The entire daily chemicals industry surely needed to be established—opening a production line could not wait.

Drawing out a smile, he spoke:

“It suits me fine. Your minister is born beautiful; any color will look good.”

Xiao Yuanzheng heard the obvious jest, yet looking at that flush blossoming on his wan cheeks, he answered in kind:

“Indeed, born beautiful—more lovely than any flower.”

Footnotes:

* Qingbei (清北) – A fictional institution in this novel, but deliberately named to evoke Qinghua + Beida, the two top universities in modern China. This indicates an elite academy destined to dominate the educational system.

** “Five Great Clans and Seven Eminent Houses” (五姓七望) – A classical shorthand for the most powerful aristocratic lineages in Chinese history, particularly referencing the great clans during the Wei, Jin, Northern, and Southern Dynasties era. In fiction, it is often used to suggest entrenched hereditary nobility with immense prestige and influence.

*** “Children and grandchildren filling the hall” (儿孙满堂) – A traditional idiom describing the prosperity and joy of having many descendants gathered around in old age. Shen Qinghe uses it humorously to describe being fussed over by his students.

**** Licorice root (甘草) – In Chinese medicine, adding licorice root to decoctions both harmonizes the formula and softens the bitterness of the herbs. Shen Qinghe is remarking that Gao Rong could have used it earlier to spare him suffering.