Chapter 247

At noon, after lunch, Chen Guanlou sat under the eaves soaking in the sun, utterly lazy.

Lu Datou picked his teeth beside him.

The two chatted idly, half-hearted and disjointed.

"Every time the officials cause trouble, the Jia-graded prison makes a fortune." His tone was envious.

Chen Guanlou shot him a sidelong glance. "Want to work in the Jia-graded prison?"

Lu Datou hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. "Nah, I can't even read a single character—I wouldn't want to embarrass myself in the Jia-graded prison. I can't stand serving those official bastards. Look at them—even after being thrown into the Tianlaomiao, they still put on airs. How do you put up with it? The Bing-graded prison is better: you can beat them when you want, curse them when you want, and even if someone dies, no one cares."

The sun warmed his body; Chen Guanlou half-closed his eyes, savoring it. "You're destined never to get rich."

"As long as I've got money to spend, who cares if I get rich?" Lu Datou chuckled. He was useless at everything, but knew his limits—he didn't chase wealth beyond his station.

"Xu Fugui's here," Chen Guanlou remarked.

Lu Datou glanced at Xu Fugui entering the gate and sneered. "Ignore him."

Xu Fugui spotted Lu Datou and scowled. "Lu Datou, why aren't you on duty?"

"Getting sun," Lu Datou said, pointing at the sky.

Xu Fugui, irritated by his laziness and disrespect, grew furious. He despised the old hands in the Bing-graded prison—they were useless, yet impossible to remove. Without them keeping order, the Bing-graded prison would collapse. These were Jianghuhanfei, not rookies who could handle them. Not every Tianlaomiao guard was like Chen Guanlou, born with the innate qualities of a chosen warden.

He snapped, "Enough sunbathing. Get back to duty. There might be an inspection soon—don't be gambling in the watchroom."

With that, he stormed off.

Lu Datou snorted. "Acting like a chicken feather's an imperial edict."

Chen Guanlou had watched silently; now he spoke. "At least give him some face."

"Too lazy for pretense. You didn't even acknowledge him either."

"I pretended I was invisible," Chen Guanlou said, then laughed. Lu Datou joined in, and they both roared with laughter, leaving the other guards bewildered.

After the sunbathing, the dampness on his body had lessened.

Chen Guanlou left the Tianlaomiao and sat in the watchroom, flipping through the ledgers.

The court had been unusually lively lately.

Yu Zhaoan had been scheming—bribing, promising, suppressing—until finally, his wish came true. The old emperor issued an edict appointing him as Left Assistant Censor-in-Chief, putting him in charge of civil affairs in the northwest, raising grain and arms for the army to crush the rebels.

As for the supreme commander, the old emperor had delayed his decision. This gave Guo Dachun and the Great Ming Prince, two rebels, time to grow stronger.

Everyone knew why the old emperor hesitated. The Grand Secretary knew too.

Yet the Grand Secretary sat still—neither mobilizing the noble clans to lobby for him, nor submitting a memorial to pledge loyalty. He spent his days composing poetry, painting, indulging in reckless abandon, as if utterly indifferent to the turmoil outside, as if he had no desire to command troops or fight.

The more he acted this way, the more the old emperor brooded: Is he angry with me? Still resentful I didn't promote him last time? Hmph! A subject who refuses to share the sovereign's burdens—how outrageous.

Then the old emperor wondered: Could Chen Qingzhi truly have no ambition for military command? Had I misjudged him? But even if I had, giving him command would strengthen the noble clans' power once more.

One moment the old emperor hated the Grand Secretary for not showing respect, for not pushing himself forward. The next, he questioned whether he'd been too harsh, driving his ministers away.

Like a cheating husband—he'd be kind one moment, cruel the next, torn by doubt, then repentant. After repenting, he'd go right back to being a bastard.

The Grand Secretary wasn't in a hurry.

The worse the rebels ravaged the land, the more indispensable he'd become. This time, he'd never let the old emperor discard him like a worn-out millstone. No rabbits, no hawks released. He even hoped the old emperor would appoint a seasoned general as supreme commander—let him fight first. Win? Nearly impossible. From his knowledge of the border troops, they wouldn't obey orders without extreme measures—each acted on his own. Only he could subdue those defiant frontier commanders.

A disorganized army like this—no matter who commanded it—could never win. Victory depended on uniting the troops, turning scattered sand into a single rope. Who else but him could do it?

If the old emperor didn't use him, let the rebels march south and ravage the land. When they reached the outskirts of the capital, he'd see how the old emperor saved face—and whether he still had the nerve to sit on the throne. Perhaps a palace coup would be necessary.

He guessed that seven or eight out of ten officials inside and outside court longed for the Crown Prince to ascend and restore order.

Due to the old emperor's delays, most of Pingzhou had fallen to the rebels, and their advance now threatened neighboring prefectures and counties. The Great Ming Prince in Jinzhou had seized five counties, expanded his army to one hundred thousand, and declared himself. In truth, he likely had no more than thirty or forty thousand—but certainly at least twenty thousand.

Northwest officials flooded the court with memorials pleading for help: the rebels were devastating the land, deceiving and coercing the people; local garrisons and garrison troops had clashed with the rebels and collapsed instantly, chased and slaughtered. They begged the court to dispatch a large army and appoint a supreme commander to crush the two rebel forces.

The local officials still had enough sense to spare the old emperor's face—they dared not call him a fool.

But the court officials, especially the censors, had no such restraint.

Even Yu Zhaoan's restrictions couldn't stop reckless fools from stepping forward and blaming the old emperor.

Three rebellions in one year—clearly Heaven's warning. A sign that if the old emperor didn't turn back now, disaster would soon strike.

A foolish ruler on the throne—Heaven itself could no longer endure it.

Execute Jiang Tu, this villain!

Jiang Tu: What's this got to do with me? I didn't ravage Jinzhou or Pingzhou. It's the Marquis of Pingjiang who failed to suppress the rebels, letting the Great Ming Prince escape—that's why Jinzhou's fighting drags on. As for Pingzhou? That's the Ministry of War's fault, not mine. The rebellion in Dongzhou was my responsibility, but I acted on imperial orders—to punish the heretics on the emperor's behalf.

I am the finest man in the realm, a loyal minister! Unlike you traitors, who dare accuse the sovereign as a fool—deserve death!

The old emperor was petty and vengeful—anyone who insulted him, he punished. At the start of the year, during the Dongzhou heretic uprising, he'd already thrown a batch of officials into prison. Yet more kept stepping forward, oblivious to death.

So now, another batch of officials had been thrown into prison.

Worse still, the old emperor suddenly turned his blade toward the Crown Prince's Grand Tutor, Grand Secretary Zhuang Wenlin, accusing him of forming cliques and conspiring for personal gain—and threw him into prison.