Chapter 127

Li Shaoqing smiled softly, as if genuinely pleased.

He closed his book and said, “Chen Tou, rest assured—you and the guards of Tianlaomiao will soon make a fortune, enough to live lavishly until year’s end.”

Chen Guanlou nodded in understanding. “I thank you, Lord Li. By the way, Marquis Pingjiang has been reinstated, appointed commander-in-chief, and will soon lead troops to Jinzhou to quell the rebels.”

“Oh!” Li Shaoqing sighed with feeling.

But Chen Guanlou believed the man already knew. Li Shaoqing was too calm. He had long suspected that when Li Shaoqing previously came to him to sell famous calligraphy, insisting it be sold only to the Grand Secretary, there was some scheme behind it. He stood outside the affair and could not see its depths.

His duty was as a jailer—he had no need to understand such intrigues.

Yu Zhaoan was thrilled.

He was not a chatterbox. But after being locked in Tianlaomiao so long, he desperately needed someone to confide in. Chen Guanlou was the best choice.

Since early morning he had been waiting for Chen Guanlou to pass by the prison gate, waiting and waiting, like a wife turned to stone, until just before noon when he finally saw him.

“The outside world must be lively. Didn’t I say it would come to a palace coup? Hahaha… Did the Crown Prince have any part in it?”

He sounded eager.

Chen Guanlou glanced at him lightly and said, “I’ve heard no rumors about the Crown Prince.”

Yu Zhaoan frowned, clearly puzzled and displeased. “Such a perfect opportunity—and the Crown Prince stays out of it?”

“Court affairs are beyond my understanding—I’m just a lowly jailer. Don’t get me into trouble, Lord Yu.”

“I’m not getting you into trouble—I’m giving you an opportunity,” Yu Zhaoan sneered, his tone cold with displeasure at Chen Guanlou’s uncooperative attitude.

Chen Guanlou laughed. “Lord Yu must be delighted—so wise, so prophetic. If you were in the court instead of Tianlaomiao, you’d surely stir up chaos during this coup and seize the spotlight.”

“You’re wrong!” Yu Zhaoan’s expression turned grave. His demeanor told Chen Guanlou this was no joke, “Officialdom is never about seeking glory. Those who crave fame usually die quickly. Look at me—do I seem like a man who risks his life for attention?”

Chen Guanlou: …

He had to agree with Yu Zhaoan.

But he felt a tiny bit unhappy.

He understood the saying: the first bird shot is the one that flies too high.

Seeing Chen Guanlou silent, Yu Zhaoan continued, “There’s a golden opportunity before you now—do you wish to seize it?”

Chen Guanlou shook his head vigorously, like a rattle drum. “I dare not accept any opportunity from Lord Yu. I want to live a long life.”

“Pathetic!” Yu Zhaoan cursed. “I offer you a chance and you’re useless! The Emperor is old—he could die any day. Don’t you want to rise to the heavens?”

Chen Guanlou laughed heartily, then said seriously, “I don’t want to die in the dark just before dawn.”

Yu Zhaoan fell silent, teeth clenched, helpless. He truly wanted to strangle Chen Guanlou. No one had ever refused him so many times—and Chen Guanlou had done it again.

Chen Guanlou didn’t just refuse him—he mocked him in the process.

A commoner untouched by greed was a rarity. Precisely because such people were so scarce, Yu Zhaoan grew more determined to lure Chen Guanlou into the game—to prove that no one could resist the lure of power and wealth, and thus he could continue looking down on the masses from his lofty perch.

Everyone in this world was base, everyone had greed. Why should Chen Guanlou be an exception?

A mere ant dares to pretend to be noble? Hmph!

Yu Zhaoan looked down on him with utter contempt.

He would persist. As long as he remained in Tianlaomiao, he would never give up.

Chen Guanlou must be brought under control.

Otherwise, he must be removed from the mortal world. A noble commoner has no place in this vulgar realm—he should not exist. His existence only highlights the baseness and malice of scholars.

This was his Dao heart. His stance. Not about right or wrong.

“You stand above all, ruling from court, controlling life and death—do you truly not desire it?” Yu Zhaoan spoke like a demon pretending to be benevolent, coaxing gently.

Chen Guanlou snorted. He wasn’t a child—how could he fall for such a trick? The internet of later times had long exposed the secrets of class mobility. He asked himself: aside from his face, what was there about him worth coveting? Why should this man lift him up? So many second-, third-, fourth-generation heirs were already struggling over too few slots—what made a lowly peasant like him think he could snatch one from them?

One must know one’s place.

“Lord Yu, I may be a jailer, but I’m not stupid. If there truly were a chance to rise to court, would it ever fall to me? We’ve dealt with each other for a year. I respect you as a brilliant scholar, a master strategist—but you treat me like a fool. Is that amusing?”

Chen Guanlou might as well have pointed straight at the man’s nose and screamed: You’re not human!

Yu Zhaoan frowned. “Ah, we lack basic trust! Chen Tou, Chen Tou—you’re young, yet so suspicious. That won’t do! We have no conflicting interests—why would I harm you? That makes no sense.”

“Because you dislike me,” Chen Guanlou said with a smile, his expression playful but his eyes cold.

Yu Zhaoan was speechless. “Y-you—you…”

“Lord Yu, no need to panic. We both know the truth. If you have any need, just say it—as long as the money’s there, I’ll fulfill it. I won’t break Tianlaomiao’s rules just because you dislike me.”

“Absurd!” Yu Zhaoan snapped. “How could I, a high official, stoop to quarreling with a lowly jailer? Do you think I’m so petty?”

“You know best whether you’re petty or not. I must patrol the cells—I won’t keep you company. Oh, and don’t think about my guards. Since Hong Zhuangshi died, everyone’s terrified.”

“Insolent! How dare you slander me!”

Chen Guanlou didn’t argue further. He strolled away leisurely.

…

Emperor Taixing promised a grand court assembly, adopting a mild, conciliatory posture, as if willing to negotiate with his ministers. Thus, the hundreds of officials gathered outside the palace gates dispersed—they must not pressure their sovereign too harshly; as subjects, they ought to uphold their duty and ease their lord’s burdens.

The grand assembly turned into a marketplace—soon it erupted into shouting and mutual accusations. Ministry of War officials attacked Ministry of Revenue officials; Ministry of Revenue officials attacked both Chancellors. The two Chancellors, in turn, begged the old Emperor to halt construction of palaces and gardens, and redirect limited funds to military needs—first resolve the Jinzhou rebels.

The old Emperor seized the moment to announce Marquis Pingjiang’s appointment as commander-in-chief, ordering the Ministry of Revenue and Ministry of War to cooperate fully, swiftly procure grain, weapons, armor, and winter clothing, and prepare logistical support for Marquis Pingjiang’s campaign. He also demanded funds for expeditionary expenses and additional funds to reward frontier troops.

Without money, those military commanders wouldn’t budge.

The logic was sound—but where would the money come from?