Chapter 54: You

Li Chen, whom many ministers feared like a tiger, was seen by Zhao Wenyuan as easy to get along with.

Because the late emperor was deeply suspicious and would find ways to monitor his ministers or use imperial tactics to make some of them suffer.

It wasn’t just the late emperor—many emperors throughout history behaved this way.

So Zhao Wenyuan had to be extremely cautious in everything he did, even avoiding excessive luxury when drinking tea, just to avoid giving anyone grounds to accuse him.

He also had to constantly guess the late emperor’s intentions behind every action to prepare his responses.

With this new emperor, Li Chen, you simply need to avoid provoking him—he’s too lazy to bother with you.

He isn’t worried about ministers rebelling, because they dare not, and he isn’t afraid of them anyway.

Everyone doesn’t have to be so exhausted.

Isn’t this the perfect emperor?

So when Li Chen revealed his [Sage Realm] card, Zhao Wenyuan immediately revealed his [Loyal Minister] card, fearing Li Chen might kill the wrong person.

Just after seeing off Guo Zhenwei, someone else came to visit.

“Your servant Pang Jin bows before the Chancellor.”

Pang Jin bowed immediately upon approaching Zhao Wenyuan.

“What brings Lord Pang to my humble place?”

Zhao Wenyuan spoke politely, yet remained seated, showing no intention to rise.

With his seniority and rank, few could warrant his standing to greet them.

Besides, this man was merely the newly appointed Minister of Justice, Pang Jin, whose rank was far below his own.

“Chancellor Zhao, thank you for recommending me during today’s morning court.”

Pang Jin’s primary purpose in coming was to thank Zhao Wenyuan for his promotion.

Zhao Wenyuan had already guessed this upon seeing him—he was the one who had mentioned Pang Jin to His Majesty in the first place; otherwise, how could you have gotten the Minister of Justice position?

You should be grateful to me.

After a pause, Pang Jin added, “Besides this, I have another matter to mention.”

Zhao Wenyuan said, “Speak.”

His tone and demeanor imitated Li Chen’s.

Li Chen spoke directly—get to the point, no wasting time on idle chatter.

Zhao Wenyuan unconsciously imitated Li Chen, a sign of his admiration for him.

But then Pang Jin delicately expressed that he was merely a crude man, skilled only in criminal investigations and brute strength, utterly clueless about court affairs.

In essence, he meant: though I’m grateful for your recommendation, I do not form factions or seek personal gain—please forgive me, Chancellor.

He phrased it very subtly, not wanting to offend Zhao Wenyuan.

Hearing this, Zhao Wenyuan laughed: “Hah! Everyone says you’re blunt, but I see you’re quite clever—you’re right. You only need to be loyal to His Majesty; don’t overthink anything else.”

“Thank you, Chancellor, for your guidance.”

With that, Pang Jin immediately took his leave, not daring to stay a second longer, fearing others might misunderstand.

If this news reached Li Chen’s ears, he might think too much—Pang Jin rarely interacted with Li Chen, so he acted with extreme caution.

In truth, Zhao Wenyuan recommended Pang Jin precisely because Pang Jin had the cleanest record in the Ministry of Justice.

Pang Jin was born into a hunter’s family in the western region of the Tian Ce Dynasty; due to his exceptional talent, he was selected to study at the Imperial Combat Academy.

During his studies, he stood out among the prodigies and was specially recruited into the Ministry of Justice.

After assuming office, he solved numerous major cases, earning the admiration of his superiors and rising steadily to the position of Chief Clerk in the Ministry of Justice.

From this background, he was clearly a capable man.

As Chancellor, he kept records of every official—from the capital’s petty clerks to provincial governors—in his mind; his photographic memory was merely his baseline ability.

Without the diamond drill, how dare one take on porcelain work?

Meanwhile, inside the Imperial Study, sobs filled the room.

Anyone unaware might think Li Chen had died.

“Speak up! Why are you crying? Can’t you tell me who’s dead?”

Li Chen stared at the six ministers, who had entered and immediately knelt down, wailing.

They kept saying they were sorry to His Majesty, that they were heartless, and begged for his forgiveness.

Most importantly, they had been kneeling and crying for a long time, yet Li Chen still had no idea what they were talking about.

Finally, he ordered them to stop crying and pointed at one at random to explain clearly.

That minister crawled forward a few steps and recounted how, the previous night, Feng Huai had forced them to sign a “loyalty oath” to pledge allegiance to the Second Prince.

They repeatedly insisted they had no intention of betraying Li Chen—they were all coerced.

!

One even added details: the room’s exterior was surrounded by Feng Huai’s executioners; they had no way out.

Regarding Feng Huai’s death today, they felt it was just and righteous, and thanked Li Chen for rescuing them from dire straits.

Hearing this, Li Chen sneered: “I thought you came to confess to killing the Crown Prince and beg for mercy—this little matter is why you’re crying for so long?”

These six ministers turned pale with fear.

Your Majesty, you can’t joke like that—we dare not take it.

That accusation can’t be casually pinned on us—if it were, it would be a crime punishable by extermination of nine clans!

These men were veteran ministers under the late emperor; according to Pang Jin’s account, they had no reason whatsoever to harm the Crown Prince.

The charge of attempted factional rebellion was neither trivial nor insignificant—it depended entirely on Li Chen’s judgment.

Though these six ministers were powerful figures outside the palace, feared by all,

here in the Imperial Study, their lives rested on a single word from Li Chen.

Li Chen had never taken the Second Prince seriously; he casually said: “Just act in a way worthy of your official robes from now on. No next time.”

Hearing this, the six ministers burst into tears again.

This time, it was genuine, tearful gratitude.

They had already prepared for imprisonment—yet they were unharmed, merely given a verbal warning.

In the eyes of these veteran ministers, Li Chen glowed with divine radiance—he was clearly a sage ruler for the ages!

Seeing these old men still crying, Li Chen growled: “You’d better leave before I change my mind.”

Hearing this, the six ministers scrambled to their feet, bowed in thanks, and hurried out.

One of them, perhaps weakened by kneeling too long or crying too hard, stumbled, his legs unsteady.

The others simply dragged him out.

After they left, Li Chen’s work for the day was nearly done.

Li Chen knew the generals were eager about the northern campaign, but eagerness meant nothing—it depended entirely on his mood; he held absolute authority.

“Finally, off duty!”

He stretched, set down the last memorial, and rose to leave the Imperial Study.

Just before entering his own palace, a graceful figure dashed out from within and flung herself into his arms, her supple body pressing tightly against him.

Li Chen felt the warmth and softness in his arms, inhaled the faint fragrance, and all his bureaucratic fatigue vanished.

(End of Chapter)