Chapter 16: The Game of Power

The fourth two-hour period after Zhu Youjian's enthronement (eight in the evening).

In the mansion of Left Commissioner-in-Chief Tian Ergeng, lamps blazed bright as day.

In the study, on a large red-sandalwood desk, a three-legged bronze crane censer breathed out wisps of pale smoke.

The scent of fine storax balsam hung in the air — meant to calm the mind and refine the spirit, it had now become a catalyst for suffocating tension.

The air was so thick it seemed you could wring water from it.

The five men seated here were the infamous "Five Tigers" who had once served under Wei Zhongxian.

At their head was Tian Ergeng, Left Commissioner-in-Chief of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, grandson of the late Minister of War Tian Le.

Beside Tian Ergeng sat Xu Xianchun, Assistant Guard Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, grandson of Imperial Son-in-law Xu Congcheng, a military jinshi of the forty-seventh year of Wanli.

Further down sat Vice Commissioner-in-Chief Cui Yingyuan — a hulking brute with a face full of coarse flesh, a street ruffian by origin.

Opposite Cui Yingyuan was Right Commissioner-in-Chief Sun Yunhe, currently serving as Judicial Chiliarch of the Eastern Depot — no confession he could not extract under the three wooden instruments of torture.

In the last seat was Yang Huan, Assistant Guard Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, who headed the Eastern Bureau of the Guard and oversaw stake-cangue detentions and arrests.

Any one of these five, in ordinary times, had only to stamp his foot and the entire officialdom of the capital would tremble.

But now they were like fish in a cooking pot — frantic and terrified.

What had crushed their nerve was the news that had come out of the palace that afternoon.

Wei Zhongxian, brush-holding eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial and Director of the Eastern Depot, had hanged himself.

The Nine Thousand Years was dead — dead less than three two-hour periods after the new emperor ascended the throne!

A deathly silence, a suffocating silence.

Yang Huan could bear the atmosphere no longer. His Adam's apple bobbed violently as he swallowed.

His lips trembling, he looked at Tian Ergeng, his voice thin as a mosquito's whine: "Com... Commissioner... the Nine Thousand Years... is he truly... gone, just like that?"

That one sound was like a needle pricking a taut balloon.

"Damn it all!" Cui Yingyuan slammed the table — the rosewood square table hummed from the blow.

Like a maddened bull, eyes bloodshot, he panted and huffed.

"Is there a way out or not? Give us a plan, damn it! We can't just sit here waiting to die!"

His eyes swept the room, filled with nothing but desperation and terror.

Like a trapped beast, he paced back and forth, each step making the floorboards creak, until he stopped dead in front of Tian Ergeng.

Spittle nearly flying onto Tian Ergeng's face:

"Left Commissioner, say something!"

"What do we do now? Wait for death? I say we can't just sit here and wait!"

"Why don't we submit personal memorials first — pick anyone, Li Yongzhen, Cui Chengxiu, Li Chaoqin, it doesn't matter — the main thing is to shift the blame off ourselves!"

"Shift blame? Personal memorials?"

An icy sneer came from Xu Xianchun's nose.

He leaned back in his armchair, head slightly lowered, his tone utterly cold:

"Cui Yingyuan, do you think you're a civil official?"

"The new sovereign won't even glance at the likes of us."

At this, he abruptly rose from his chair, lifted his head, and his eyes were shot through with blood and madness.

"You're a dog! We're all dogs!"

"Just dogs! When a dog dies, you get a new batch — what else is there? We're all just waiting to die!"

"Xu Xianchun! You whip-scarred cheap whore's mongrel bastard! Useless piece of shit and still barking here!" Cui Yingyuan exploded on the spot, rolling up his sleeves and stepping forward.

Xu Xianchun also sprang to his feet, murderous intent blazing in his eyes. "Come on, come on! I've been wanting to test your worthless dog-shit martial arts for a long time!"

"Enough!"

Tian Ergeng finally spoke, a low shout — not loud, but like a heavy hammer striking both men's hearts, silencing them.

He remained seated steadily in the host's position, his face calm as still water.

He slowly raised the teacup before him, wanting a sip of water to suppress the fire in his chest, but his hand trembled faintly against his will. The cup's rim clattered against his teeth with a sharp crack.

His motion froze, and he slowly set the teacup back down.

"Things have not yet reached that point," Tian Ergeng said, his voice somewhat hoarse. He swept his gaze over the others, his face a mask of composure.

"The Nine Thousand Years... the traitor Wei, after all, died by his own hand. His Majesty is still mindful of the late emperor's face."

The room fell silent once more.

Xu Xianchun took a few ragged breaths, dropped heavily back into his chair, and clutched his head without a word.

Then suddenly he sat bolt upright again, his eyes full of desperate hope.

"Left Commissioner, what if... we try to find a connection? A new emperor ascending the throne always needs men to use — what does it matter whose men he uses?"

"Over at the Eastern Depot, hasn't Eunuch Wang Tiqian taken over? Let's prepare a generous gift and go sound him out?"

At these words, even Yang Huan, who had barely spoken, raised his head, a flicker of interest in his eyes.

But Sun Yunhe, huddled in the corner, spoke up darkly.

"Wang Tiqian? No use."

He had curled himself into a ball, shrinking into his armchair as if that made him less conspicuous.

"I was there today when Eunuch Wang came to the Eastern Depot to take over. The place was packed — I couldn't get anywhere near him. Even his household steward wouldn't take the money I offered..."

These words were like a bucket of ice water poured from head to toe, sinking the hearts of the men whose hopes had just begun to kindle.

Indeed — why would a man like Wang Tiqian risk getting entangled with a pack of defeated curs from the previous reign at a moment like this?

He might take their offering one moment and bundle them up as a gift to the new sovereign the next, using them as a stepping-stone for his own advancement.

The study sank once more into deathly silence.

The green smoke from the incense burner seemed to have frozen solid, pressing down so heavily one could barely breathe.

"Th-then… there's truly no way out?" Yang Huan's voice carried a sob. His rank was the lowest, and his courage the smallest; by now he had completely lost his nerve.

"A way… there might still be one."

Tian Ergeng, seated in the place of honor, finally spoke.

Everyone's eyes swung toward him in unison.

"It's only natural we can't get a word in with Eunuch Wang — after all, he always has to avoid any appearance of impropriety."

"But what about the eunuch who served His Majesty in his princely residence? The one called Xu Yingyuan?"

"How much could he possibly have squeezed out of the Prince Xin Residence back then? If we throw down ten thousand taels, thirty thousand, fifty thousand — can we really not buy ourselves a future?"

This proposal was far more plausible than the last.

Going to Wang Tiqian was walking into a trap, but seeking out a newly risen favorite with an obvious weakness — that was a viable path.

Cui Yingyuan slapped his thigh. "Exactly! The Left Commissioner-in-Chief has the sharpest mind! Damn it all, isn't it just money? After all the confiscations we've done these years, are we afraid we can't pave the road with silver? I say this can work!"

Even Xu Xianchun did not object this time, though his brows remained tightly knit, as if weighing the pros and cons.

Watching the hope rekindle in everyone's faces, Tian Ergeng felt nothing but icy cold in his heart.

He knew better than anyone — this was nothing but drinking poison to quench thirst.

The new emperor's methods were so ruthless and decisive; could a minor figure like Xu Yingyuan possibly sway him?

But at this moment, it was the only option left.

Even false hope was better than sitting still and waiting to die.

He drew a deep breath and forced himself to be calm:

"I will arrange this matter myself. All of you, go back now. Remember — stay obediently in your residences. No running about, no visiting one another. The sky is not going to fall."

He waved his hand, dismissing his guests.

Suppressed by his authority, they dispersed, each burdened with heavy thoughts.

The night had deepened, black as a thick stage curtain.

Cui Yingyuan, Sun Yunhe, and Yang Huan bowed and took their leave. Each with his own attendants and carrying a lantern, they walked out through the gates of the Tian residence and scattered in different directions, soon vanishing into the darkness at the street corners.

Yet, one incense stick's time later.

In a secluded alley not far from the Tian residence, the glow of a wind-lantern flickered against the wall.

A figure slipped out of the darkness — it was Cui Yingyuan.

He had dismissed his attendants and stood alone, leaning against the wall, the coarse flesh of his face looking especially savage in the dim light.

Not long after, from another direction, Sun Yunhe's silhouette appeared, silent as a ghost.

He too had left his attendants waiting at the alley's mouth and walked in alone.

Last of all, Yang Huan came almost at a jog, glancing left and right like a startled rabbit.

Only after making certain no one had followed him did he hurry over to the other two.

The three of them, thus "by coincidence," had gathered together once more.

"Whoosh—"

A gust of cold wind funneled into the alley, setting the lanterns in their hands swaying. Light and shadow danced across their faces, flickering bright and dark.

"Bah!" Cui Yingyuan spat a gob of thick phlegm onto the ground and cursed bitterly.

"'The sky won't fall' — I say Tian Ergeng's sky is about to come crashing down! He's so scared his own hands are shaking, and he still plays the big shot with us!"

"Shh!" Yang Huan immediately made a silencing gesture, looking around nervously, and lowered his voice: "Brother Cui, keep it down! Walls have ears!"

Sun Yunhe leaned against the wall, his whole figure hidden in shadow, only the stray light from the lantern tracing the cold, hard line of his profile.

A cold smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his voice drifted over, eerie and low:

"What's there to fear? Who'd dare eavesdrop on us now? They're all at home burning incense and praying to Buddha, begging the new emperor not to take their heads."

He analyzed unhurriedly:

"Commissioner-in-Chief Tian and Assistant Commissioner Xu — I fear they won't escape this."

"His Majesty wants to establish his authority, to seize power. If he doesn't chop down those two sky-shrouding trees, how can he overawe the court and the realm?"

"How can he win the hearts of those Donglin Faction men about to be restored to office?"

"As for us brothers, to put it plainly, we're nothing but vines clinging to the tree. When the tree falls, we just find another tree to wrap around."

These words, like a key, unlocked the most secret door in Cui Yingyuan's and Yang Huan's hearts.

Cui Yingyuan's eyes lit up, and he slapped his thigh. "Right! Old Brother Sun has it! Damn, why didn't I think of that! If Tian Ergeng falls, someone's got to take over!"

The breathing of all three men quickened at once.

This was what they truly cared about.

Loyalty? Weighed against their lives and fortunes, it was not worth a single copper coin.

Yang Huan rubbed his hands together and whispered excitedly, "Who do you think… will take over the post? Will it be the old gentleman Luo Sigong? He's been in charge of Guard affairs since the Wanli reign — deep seniority, wide connections."

"Him?" Cui Yingyuan curled his lip, his face full of contempt. "He's so old he can barely walk, all his teeth gone — can he still lift a blade? The Emperor wants a sharp knife, not a spirit tablet to be enshrined."

Sun Yunhe mused, "I think Zheng Shiyi has a chance."

"He also entered the Embroidered Uniform Guard through hereditary privilege, and he's somewhat connected to Donglin, isn't he?"

"Most crucially, he hasn't gotten too close to us — he counts as clean."

"Now that those sour Confucian pedants of the Donglin Faction are gaining power, they'll surely favor someone with a clean background like his."

Yang Huan, still uncertain, quickly asked:

"But he's only a Hall Clerk. Above him are the Three Superintendents of the Hall, and above them is the Commander of the Guard. Is he even qualified?"

"Idiot!" Cui Yingyuan cursed again, but this time with a grin. "If the Emperor wants him up, he goes up. That's what imperial favor means! Don't you get it?"

"Wouldn't Duke Cheng, Zhu Chunchen, be more likely?" Yang Huan thought of another man.

"He's a state duke, the foremost of the meritorious nobility. Wouldn't putting him in charge of the Embroidered Uniform Guard do a better job of keeping everyone in line?"

"Even less likely." Sun Yunhe shook his head directly, his tone absolute.

"His ancestor Zhu Xizhong held command of the Embroidered Uniform Guard under His Majesty Shizong, and later the civil officials purged him — how brutally, have you forgotten?"

"Earlier this year, when he petitioned the late emperor to grant him a sedan chair, he got dragged out and cursed at to his face."

"Lend him three times the nerve, and he still wouldn't dare take on that hot potato again."

The three of them, each chiming in, went through every person of name and standing in the capital.

From the meritorious nobility to the newly risen, from martial nobles to eunuchs — every man was set on the scales and weighed, as they analyzed each one's chances of rising and calculated where they themselves ought to place their bets.

In the midst of all this talk, a light rain began to fall from the sky. None of the three had brought an umbrella, and so one after another they dispersed.

"Forget it, forget it. We'll watch a while longer."

"Right, watch a while longer."

So they said with their lips, each cupping his hands in farewell to the others.

Cui Yingyuan returned to his residence. His front foot had just crossed the threshold — he had not even had time to change out of his official robes — when his rear foot followed, and he gave low-voiced orders to a trusted confidant:

"Prepare a lavish gift, the most lavish you can! Deliver it to Zheng Shiyi's residence first thing tomorrow morning! Say that I, Cui, have long admired his bearing! Quickly!"

His thinking was crystal clear: if you're going to gamble, gamble on the biggest stake. Once Zheng Shiyi rose to power, he would be one of the newly risen — and if he himself was the first to pledge allegiance, that would be the foremost merit.

He had clawed his way up from a street rogue to his present position by nothing other than a ruthless eye and the nerve to place his bets.

At almost the exact same moment, in Sun Yunhe's mansion, the steward received a secret order:

"Pick out a few of the finest items from the storehouse and prepare them to be sent to the venerable old gentleman Luo Sigong."

"He is advanced in years and fond of solid, practical tonics. Say… that this is a token of respect from a junior."

His calculations were steadier. Even if Luo Sigong could not rise, his seniority alone would earn him some measure of grace, and a casual word from him would be enough to spare a tiny ant like himself.

This is what they call broadly cultivating good affinities — placing oneself beyond defeat.

As for Yang Huan, whose official rank was the lowest of the three, he sought nothing more than to stay alive.

He turned the matter over and over in his mind, and in the end gritted his teeth and had the servants lift up several pieces of jewelry, then quietly slipped into a different alley.

At the end of that alley stood the residence of His Majesty's trusted follower from his princely days — the newly appointed seal-holder of the Directorate of the Imperial Horses, Xu Yingyuan.

Yang Huan felt that what he asked was not much, nor did he expect this scorching-hot new favorite to pluck chestnuts from the fire for him.

If he could just stay alive, that would be enough. If he could just stay alive.

In the pattering light rain, the sky was lightening but not yet bright.

Yet three carriages had already set out from three different mansions, bearing three different calculations, all bound for a shared future.

The allies who moments ago had shared a common hatred were now, each on his own, stepping up to a new gambling table and staking his entire fortune.

None of them knew the others' choices — or rather, none of them cared about the others' choices.

In this game of power, there are no friends, only interests.

This is the Great Ming. This, truly, is the Great Ming!

At least… it is the Great Ming of now.