Chapter 299: The Long Night Is Ended, the Eternal Dawn Begins (With thanks to our Alliance Leader, A Cloud Breeze, a Touch of Haste~)

It's New Year's — why must it be like this!

Fu Guan, Junior Compiler of the Hanlin Academy, felt at this moment like a fish thrown into boiling water — struggling to thrash, yet pinned down mercilessly by the pot lid. Across from him sat two men.

On the left was the newly appointed Chancellor of the Imperial Academy, Wen Tiren.

On the right was Qi Xinxiao, head of the Northern Zhili New Policies Group.

Both men's eyes were shot through with blood, their sockets dark, yet their speech remained sharp and their minds keen.

Wen Tiren picked up the discussion where it had left off and continued:

"Regarding the charter for the Imperial Academy's triage, this official believes it cannot be divided by status — it must be divided by ability."

"Whether they entered by recommendation, by purchase, by tribute, or by hereditary privilege hardly matters. What matters is ability, and specifically the ability the New Policies require."

"Loose admission, frequent elimination, strict graduation — this best suits absorbing the Academy's formerly indiscriminate sources of students."

"As for the useless dross taken in before, it would be unseemly to handle them too harshly. Keep them for now, gradually eliminate them through examinations, and it will be better to implement the new rules after next year has passed."

Qi Xinxiao picked up the thread with startling speed, as though he needed no thought at all.

"Chancellor Wen is absolutely right."

"The Northern Metropolitan Region is to select tribute students by practical achievement, but this has only just begun — there is no guarantee it will be free of problems."

"It would be more appropriate to treat those sent to the Academy through local tribute selection as people not yet proven useful."

"In all matters of ability or inability, the Northern Metropolitan county magistrates have no final say, nor do I. Only the Imperial Academy's examinations have the final say."

Fu Guan sat keeping them company at the side, his mouth filling with bitterness.

Here it comes, here it comes — the conversation has reached this point, so the next step is surely...

— the handing out of assignments!

Even though today was already the twenty-ninth of the twelfth month, and tomorrow was New Year's Eve!

These two were absolutely going to hand down assignments regardless.

Fu Guan understood the New Policies style all too well. Sure enough, at this point Wen Tiren spoke.

"Well then, having talked this far, the charter is more or less settled."

"On my side, I am responsible for producing the detailed plan for the Imperial Academy reforms. Roughly... I can have a first draft ready when I return on the fourth."

Qi Xinxiao nodded at once. "On my side, I will produce the linked charter for local county magistrates and government student tribute selection — also a draft ready when I return on the fourth." The two finished speaking and simultaneously turned their gazes upon Fu Guan.

Fu Guan felt his scalp go numb.

He was responsible for the Hanlin Academy's liaison and record-keeping, as well as compiling materials on the Imperial Academy's institutional history through the successive dynasties.

"I..."

Fu Guan opened his mouth, wanting to say his aging mother at home was longing for his return, wanting to say his wife and children were already preparing the dishes, wanting to say could a man not catch his breath at New Year's. Wanting to say, for heaven's sake, can you even act human!

But he looked at Wen Tiren's grim and severe face.

This was a man so ruthless for the New Policies that he had set aside a Minister of Rites post — a second-rank office — and willingly accepted a demotion to serve as the fourth-rank Chancellor of the Imperial Academy.

He turned his gaze to Qi Xinxiao.

This one was even heavier caliber — the New Policies' foremost workaholic, a "madman" whom His Majesty had dispatched eunuchs to force into mandatory leave just mid-month.

After "Iron-Handed Official Butcher," he was the New Policies machine who had now earned the allusion "Stripped of Brush, Granted Rest"!

Before these two mountains, Fu Guan's words of slacking off were like spittle frozen solid before it could even leave his mouth.

"On my side..." Fu Guan's face wore a mild smile, but his heart wailed without cease. "Compiling the institutional history through the dynasties, preparing to arrange a time with His Majesty, holding a study session — also..."

He drew a deep breath, as though swallowing a red-hot coal:

"Also a draft ready when I return on the fourth."

The moment these words left his mouth, Fu Guan felt his soul had already departed his body.

A draft by the fourth meant his entire holiday would be soaked in his study.

Not even his study would do — he would probably have to apply for gate access and come straight to the ministry to work, so he could consult the files.

Never mind visiting relatives and friends — he would likely not even manage a single peaceful meal.

He, Fu Chief Grand Secretary, was not disloyal to his sovereign, nor did he not love his country.

He too wanted to earn a share of merit in the New Policies and leave his name in the histories.

But if the days were bitter in ordinary times, that was one thing — was it not a bit excessive to be this relentless even when the holiday was nearly here?

Just as Fu Guan's heart seethed with grief and indignation, nearly driving him to howl at the heavens —

A clamor suddenly rose outside the window.

At first it was only faint voices, like a distant tide at sea.

Then the sound swelled and swelled, rolling in like thunder, swiftly closing in until it drowned out even the howling wind and snow.

"What is going on?"

Wen Tiren's brow furrowed, his face full of displeasure. "Who dares raise a racket in the Thousand-Step Corridor?"

Qi Xinxiao set down his brush as well, a flicker of puzzlement in his eyes.

Fu Guan, however, was like a man clutching at a life-saving straw. He shot to his feet. "I will go see!"

Without waiting for the other two to react, he had already pushed open the door and gone out.

Wen and Qi exchanged a glance and followed after him.

The moment they stepped outside, all three froze.

The Thousand-Step Corridor, ordinarily solemn and forbidding, now seemed like a marketplace that had boiled over.

A troop of junior eunuchs, beating gongs and drums, came beaming through the crowd.

All along their path, officials poured out of the meeting rooms.

"What is this..."

Qi Xinxiao was somewhat dazed. "Could it be His Majesty has another joyous occasion?"

While he was still puzzling over it, the squad of junior eunuchs had already reached the center.

The eunuch leading them proclaimed in a ringing voice:

"By His Majesty's oral decree!"

"The year's end draws near. You ministers have toiled for many months — We have seen it with Our own eyes."

"Yet the way of civil and martial governance is to tighten and then to loosen. If one knows only how to stay taut, We fear it is no way to nurture talent."

"Today you shall be released from duty at the noon hour. Tomorrow is New Year's Eve — We grant you one additional day of leave."

"Rest well, all of you. Go home and reunite with your families. We shall meet again on the fourth day of the new year!"

Dead silence.

A brief dead silence.

Then — a deafening roar of cheers!

"His Majesty is sage and enlightened!"

"Long live His Majesty!"

Fu Guan stood beneath the eaves, listening to this oral decree, and felt every word strike the depths of his soul like celestial music.

He could not help the delight that spread across his face; the corners of his mouth lifted irrepressibly. He hurriedly turned to look at the two "involution kings" beside him.

He saw that Wen Tiren's originally rigid shoulders had imperceptibly sagged an inch.

Qi Xinxiao's tightly knitted brows had also unconsciously loosened a little.

Though both men still kept their composure, the relief in their expressions was impossible to hide.

— Sure enough, even the most inhumanly driven grinders find it hard not to be happy when they hear they're getting a holiday.

Fu Guan's eyes darted craftily.

If not now, when?

He gave a light cough, instantly wiped the smile from his face, and put on an expression of deep concern for the realm:

"This matter of the Imperial Academy is a hundred-year grand design for the dynasty, touching the very root of how we store up talent."

Wen Tiren looked at him.

Fu Guan's tone was utterly earnest:

"The task demands gravity; the approach demands prudence. If, in a rush to meet a deadline, we hurriedly produce a draft by the fourth, oversights will be hard to avoid."

"Since His Majesty has granted leave, the meeting originally scheduled will certainly have to be postponed."

"Even if we wished to request another audience with His Majesty, after the first day of the new year and before the Lantern Festival, the odds of securing one are slim."

He paused, studied their expressions, and cautiously floated his proposal:

"Why not… slow down a little? Make the work more solid? Wait until after the Lantern Festival — no, until after the seventh — before we revisit the first draft?" As he finished, his heart was pounding and his palms were slick with sweat.

Wen Tiren was silent.

Qi Xinxiao was silent too.

After a long moment, Wen Tiren slowly exhaled a puff of white breath, glanced at the sky, and said evenly:

"Junior Compiler Fu speaks reason. Slow work yields fine craftsmanship. The Imperial Academy is the place where the state stores up talent; it truly does not brook rash haste."

Qi Xinxiao also nodded, drew a pocket watch from his sleeve and glanced at it. "In that case, let us discuss it in detail after the new year. It suits me as well… I shall go home and see my children."

The moment these two nodded, that demonic wind called "involution" that had been sweeping through Ming officialdom finally came crashing down at the last defensive line before the year's end. The situation had collapsed; there was no turning back.

But Fu Guan felt this was the proper way of the world!

Time always flies when you are not at work.

As if he had merely dozed off, in the blink of an eye it was New Year's Eve.

The Western Park, the Warm Pavilion of the Earnest Hall.

Outside, a bitter wind howled; inside, it was warm as spring.

Thick carpets covered the gold-brick floor, and a red-bronze hotpot stood in the center.

Charcoal flames licked the bronze walls; the mutton broth in the pot bubbled and gurgled. Lamb slices, shaved thin as cicada wings, tumbled in the broth, sending up an irresistibly rich aroma. Seated around the table was the most exalted family under the Ming heavens.

Zhu Youjian, dressed in casual robes, was wielding long chopsticks, fishing from the bottom of the pot for… beef balls.

— Authentic goods, made on the orders of Zhu Youjian, a Chaoshan man, who had instructed the Directorate of Imperial Meals to hire Cantonese chefs.

Zhou Yu sat beside Consort Dowager Liu's heated armchair, occasionally lifting a small bowl and bringing food at just the right temperature to the Consort Dowager's lips.

Zhang Yan, Gao Shiming, and Wang Tiqian each helped themselves, self-sufficient.

Though Zhang Yan wore a smiling face, she seemed to have little appetite and ate very sparingly.

Gao Shiming was perfectly at ease; Wang Tiqian, by contrast, had only half a buttock planted on his brocade stool and still looked rather ill at ease.

As they dipped their food, they were also playing a game Zhu Youjian had recently invented: "Who Is the Spy."

Consort Dowager Liu, beaming, drew a set of paper slips from a bamboo basket beside her, pondered a moment, and chuckled inwardly.

"Come now, each take your word. No peeking at one another's."

Zhu Youjian pinched his slip and stole a glance.

Land of Tender Bliss.

Hmm? Then what would the other word be? Hero's Grave? Nest of Idle Comfort?

Tsk… this round could be tricky.

Zhang Yan spoke first: "A place that makes one sink into oblivion, unwilling to wake."

— That sounds exactly like Land of Tender Bliss. Could it be that We are not the spy this round?

Zhou Yu held her slip, thought for a moment, and said: "At night one longs for it most. Even if wind and snow rage outside, inside it is always steeped in spring warmth." Hey, this one is definitely on my team!

Wang Tiqian spoke third: "At this subject's age, leaving this behind is truly too hard."

At these words, Zhu Youjian's brow furrowed, and he could not help casting a suspicious glance his way.

You're a eunuch — how hard is it to leave the Gentle Nest?

The traitor! It's you, Companion Wang, with those thick brows and big eyes!

No rush — let's hear a bit more.

Gao Shiming was the fourth to speak: "Sometimes one can enjoy it a bit longer, sometimes only briefly. Each person has their own way — none of it is free." — What the hell!

Companion Gao, did you have to go that wild?!

What do you mean, longer? What do you mean, rushed?!

Having heard the full round, Zhu Youjian now had a clear picture in his mind.

Gao Shiming, Zhou Yu, Zhang Yan — teammates, no doubt. And Wang Tiqian — he was the traitor!

That being the case, the one decisive move now rested with him.

He dropped the act altogether, ready to rally the troops, reveal his identity, and wrap up this game cleanly and decisively.

At this thought, Zhu Youjian cleared his throat, forced a righteous expression onto his face, yet couldn't help carrying a hint of a suggestive smile as he spoke:

"This is a place where heroes' spirits falter and lovers' passions linger! Since ancient times, how many emperors, kings, generals, and ministers have been undone by this — from then on, the sovereign forgoes the morning court!" Having delivered this, he looked immensely pleased with himself and waited for the declaration of victory.

But the others looked at one another, exchanged glances for a moment, and then broke into the same suggestive smiles.

Consort Dowager Liu, struggling to hold back her laughter, spoke:

"All right, let's vote. Who does everyone think the traitor is?"

The moment the words left her mouth, Zhu Youjian pointed at Wang Tiqian.

But the other four all pointed straight at Zhu Youjian.

Zhu Youjian froze, not yet catching on. "Wait — why are you all pointing at Us? We are…"

"Your Majesty," Zhou Yu interrupted, her eyes curving like crescent moons, "what we were talking about was the quilt that warms a person's body."

"Pfft—"

Someone couldn't hold it in any longer and burst out laughing.

Right after that, as if a switch had been flipped —

"Hahaha…"

Gao Shiming laughed so hard he pitched forward and back, nearly tumbling off his brocade stool.

Wang Tiqian was laughing so hard tears came to his eyes; his usual somber caution was now flung clear beyond the ninth heaven.

Zhou Yu was laughing even more uncontrollably, her body shaking like a flowering branch in the wind, leaning on Consort Dowager Liu's shoulder, unable to straighten up.

Even Zhang Yan couldn't help covering her mouth as she laughed; the lingering melancholy that never quite left her brow had all but vanished. Zhu Youjian was utterly dumbfounded.

He looked down at the Gentle Nest card in his own hand, then at the others laughing themselves crooked.

Quilt… Gentle Nest…

"Spring warmth melting into one"… means it's warm?

"Hard to leave" — means not wanting to get out of bed?

"Sometimes long, sometimes short"… means sleeping in and rising early?

"Aiya!" Zhu Youjian jabbed a finger at the slip of paper and laughed in exasperation. "Who came up with these words? Absolutely wicked! A lifetime of Our good name — ruined right here in this 'Gentle Nest'!"

Hearing this self-mocking remark, the others immediately laughed even harder.

Having suffered this setback, Zhu Youjian felt not the slightest anger; he simply immersed himself wholeheartedly in this atmosphere, so nearly identical to that of his former life.

"Again, again!" Zhu Youjian swept his wide sleeve through the air. "Imperial Grandmother, deal the cards, quickly! We absolutely cannot lose another round!"

One set of words after another, round after round of the game, and peals of laughter erupted in this little warm chamber time and again.

Consort Dowager Liu leaned back in her chair, watching this scene with a beaming smile.

She was advanced in years and her energy was flagging; as she watched, her eyelids sank of their own accord.

How wonderful… It's as if we've gone back to the Wanli years, when the palace was this lively too…

Seeing that the Consort Dowager had fallen asleep, everyone consciously lowered their voices.

They simply stopped playing the game and chatted idly, off and on, about how customs differed from place to place.

"The customs in the south really are different from the north."

As Zhou Yu blanched vegetables for Zhu Youjian, she said softly, "Back home in Suzhou, tonight we would make offerings to the plague god. We'd also change the door gods and peach-wood charms, and scatter ash on the road to draw bows and arrows — they call it shooting evil spirits."

Gao Shiming also lowered his voice and said, "Here in the north, sneezing is the biggest taboo tonight."

"If you absolutely can't hold it in, you have to scramble up at once and jump hard a few times, or else you'll fall ill the coming year."

"And another thing — if someone outside calls your name, you must never answer. That's ghosts summoning your soul."

Zhang Yan, too, spoke of what she had seen and heard in her childhood.

"Where I'm from, we'd burn pine and cypress branches to build a roaring fire — they call it 'burning the pine basin.'"

Zhu Youjian listened as they rambled on about the customs of every region.

From south to north, no matter the place, no matter the custom, what they sought came down to just two words: peace and safety.

As they were chatting, a long, drawn-out bell toll suddenly sounded from outside.

"Dong—"

Right after, the bells of Buddhist temples throughout the capital and beyond, as though receiving a command, rang out all together.

That was the midnight bell.

"Crackle—pop—"

Firecrackers that had long been straining at the leash exploded in every corner of the capital, instantly merging into one continuous roar, like rolling spring thunder shaking this endless long night. Consort Dowager Liu was startled awake and asked groggily, "Has the hour come?"

Zhu Youjian rose to his feet, walked to the window, and pushed open the casement.

The cold wind, laced with the smell of gunpowder, rushed against his face, yet it was bracing and invigorating.

He turned his head and looked at this roomful of family and trusted confidants, his gaze warm and gentle as jade.

"The hour has come."

He paused, and a brilliant smile spread across his face:

"Happy New Year!"

Everyone answered in unison, their faces beaming with smiles.

"Happy New Year!"

The Grand New Year's Day Court Assembly was still to come tomorrow.

The Great Ming imperial house and the high officials and titled nobles of the capital could not, like the common folk, keep vigil all through the night.

After the bell had sounded, everyone dispersed.

Zhu Youjian escorted Consort Dowager Liu back to her bedchamber, then returned to the Western Park and slept with Zhou Yu — of which nothing more need be said.

On the night of the first day of the year, there was no moon, only the glow of lanterns spilling out in all directions.

And upon the doors of the Hall of Earnestness hung the spring couplets Zhu Youjian had written in his own hand.

White paper with red borders — the exclusive style of the imperial household, not quite the same as the red paper with vermilion slips used among the common folk.

First wish: the world at peace

Second wish: the people content

No grand heroic words, no imperial majesty, not even a matching of level and oblique tones.

Only these ten simple characters, and nothing more.

The residence of Chief Grand Secretary Huang Liji.

The spring couplets he had personally written were, in literary grace, far superior to those written by Zhu Youjian.

The primal unity returns, a new era begins

The myriad forms renew, gazing up at sacred grace

Renewal, gratitude, good wishes — all condensed within this brief door couplet.

Before the vermilion-lacquered gates, two servants were carefully pasting up the spring couplets.

Huang Liji stood before the gates and nodded with satisfaction.

He turned around and looked at his son, Huang Puruo, standing behind him.

"Since you have no particular gift for the examination path, enter the Imperial Academy to study next year. You must be utterly diligent — no laziness."

"Father?" Huang Puruo looked baffled. "The Imperial Academy is full of mere makeweights. And if one waits for a ranking appointment, it is after all the lowest of origins. Have I not always just kept my name on the rolls? Why must I suddenly go and study at the Imperial Academy?"

Huang Liji was about to speak, but seeing a servant just then approaching, he merely waved his hand.

"No need to ask so many questions."

"Cherish this status of yours as a privilege student. In a few years, this may well be changed."

"Father? What on earth is—" Huang Puruo was about to press further.

Huang Liji spoke a few soothing words, then simply turned and slapped him: "I told you to study properly, so study properly — don't ask so many questions!" In the southern ward of the capital, the small courtyard Yuan Jixian had newly rented.

The couplet on the gate was one he had written in advance before leaving the capital.

A myriad lantern lights, together keeping the year's vigil

A thousand li of mountain passes, sharing the same spring breeze

Within the small courtyard lived the wife and children he had recently brought into the capital.

"Mother, when will Father come back?"

The child looked up, clutching a piece of sugar melon in his hand.

The woman's eyes reddened slightly, but she smiled and stroked the child's head:

"Study hard, and properly memorize the Thousand Character Classic. When you have finished memorizing it, and know it by heart, Father will be back."

"Really?" The child's eyes lit up. "Then I will certainly memorize it well!"

He clasped his hands behind his back and began to recite, swaying his head from side to side, his tender child's voice echoing through the night:

"Heaven and earth, dark and yellow; the cosmos, vast and boundless. Sun and moon wax and wane; the stars and constellations spread across the sky…"

The artisans' workshop attached to the Institute of Refined Design.

Lei Zhenxing, having been summoned to the capital by imperial decree, had rented lodgings here.

Compared to the subtlety of the civil officials, the Lei family's couplet exuded a certain earthy vulgarity.

The furnace fire burns bright — a year of peace and safety

The iron hammer strikes open — a gate to wealth and honor

Lei Zhenxing had drunk a little wine and was standing in the courtyard, his face bright red, gesticulating broadly.

"His Majesty is truly fair! Fair as jade!"

"Old Lei here has never in his life seen a man so fair!"

With a thick tongue, he boasted to his wife:

"And His Majesty's voice when he speaks! As gentle as the Buddha himself!"

His wife was clearing the table and laughed at this: "Look at you, putting on airs! You talk as if you've ever heard the Buddha speak."

Lei Zhenxing glared. "What does a woman know! This is called rhetoric! Do you understand rhetoric!"

With that, he let out a drunken belch and grinned foolishly.

In the Changzhou native-place guildhall.

A long couplet had been hung up once more:

The sound of wind, the sound of rain, the sound of reading — each sound enters the ear

Family affairs, state affairs, all under heaven — every affair touches the heart

This couplet had been composed by the late Donglin leader Gu Xiancheng, and had once hung outside the Donglin Academy.

Now, pasted here, it was decidedly peculiar — it was hard to say whether some interested party meant to use it to probe the Emperor's attitude toward the Donglin. But the juren gentlemen in the guildhall gave it no such deep thought.

They had no grand court session tomorrow, so naturally they were ready to burn the midnight oil in earnest.

In years past, they would at this hour be holding forth in spirited debate, gesturing grandly at the realm.

Tonight, however, was not quite the same as usual.

"Something's off!" The juren Wanhu Hou slammed the table and jabbed a finger at the man across from him, roaring, "Brother Xia, you clearly defended him earlier, yet now you want to cut him loose! I say you're that last treacherous minister!"

"Utter nonsense!"

Across the table, Xia Shangwang sneered. "I am thinking of the greater good of the court! You, on the other hand, with your snide insinuations — I'd say you're the one who looks like the treacherous minister!" Seeing that Wanhu Hou was about to argue further, Xia Shangwang dared not let him speak more and hastily rose to his feet, raising his arm and shouting:

"Fellow colleagues, hear me out — let us jointly impeach him and cast him out!"

"Once he is impeached, we can surely restore order to the court and return our Great Ming to bright and righteous governance!"

The bells of the capital rang out in waves, passing through wind and snow, through mountain passes, through the seashore, spreading outward in all directions.

Japan, Kyoto.

It was now the reign of Emperor Go-Mizunoo, the fourth year of Kan'ei.

On the gates of the Imperial Palace, likewise, were pasted spring couplets in Chinese characters.

May the sacred throne endure, a boundless, ageless span —

May the imperial domain stand firm, ten thousand years of spring.

And yet, how could the imperial domain possibly stand firm?

Just this past seventh month, Emperor Go-Mizunoo, without the Tokugawa shogunate's permission, directly granted imperial sanction for over a dozen monks of Daitoku-ji and Myōshin-ji to wear the purple robe. As a result, the third shogun, Tokugawa Iemitsu, forthwith declared the purple-robe imperial sanctions null and void and ordered the illicit purple robes confiscated.

After this incident, the Emperor's authority was, by then, utterly swept away.

Annam, the Lê dynasty palace — the couplet pasted upon it read:

The Emperor's virtue shines far and wide, cleansing the seas and the realm —

The royal majesty spreads afar, stilling the smoke and dust of war.

But at this time, it was Lê Thần Tông who sat on the throne, and he was a mere puppet.

The Trịnh lords held the north in separate dominion, overawing the Son of Heaven; the Nguyễn lords controlled the south, fiercely insubordinate.

The two sides had only this past summer mustered their troops and fought a battle, yet after four months neither could claim victory, and each could only withdraw their forces.

The whole of Annam was carved into two halves, north and south, and from then on war never ceased.

Joseon, Hanseong.

Snow clears the mountain passes, adding auspicious air —

Spring returns to the altars of state, comforting Heaven's heart.

Ever since the winter solstice, the Jurchen envoys pressing for the opening of the frontier trade market had grown ever more frequent, and their language ever harsher.

The Joseon king and his ministers — none dared agree, yet none wished to agree.

This was not merely the result of the hatred from last year's invasion, but even more the result of factional strife between the Joseon yangban.

Everyone knew they could not fight, but whoever rashly became the first to bow his head would most likely become the next fool to be devoured clean. All the ministers hesitated, equivocated, each waiting for the king to issue a decree.

But… was the king not, in turn, waiting for a minister to step forward on his own?

The many kingdoms of East Asia used the same script as the Great Ming, observed the same festivals, and were even experiencing similarly unfavorable circumstances.

But naturally, there were also some that were not quite the same.

The Mongols and the Jurchen also used the lunar calendar and celebrated the Spring Festival, but they did not necessarily all use Chinese characters or paste spring couplets.

And the great nations of the central peninsula, such as Burma and Siam, did not use the lunar calendar at all, only the Buddhist calendar or their own ethnic calendars — naturally, even less did they have any concept of celebrating the Spring Festival. The Chinese cultural sphere was vast, vast enough to cross oceans and draw ten thousand nations to pay court.

The Chinese cultural sphere was also very small, small enough that only a handful of nations had truly been permeated by royal civilizing influence.

Yet wherever one was, whatever the customs,

beneath this same vault of heaven, the old year would at last pass away.

As the final peal of bells slowly faded to silence,

all the wind and snow, the slaughter, the upheaval, the bewilderment — all of it was swept up by the biting winter gale, whirled into the pitch-black night sky, and at last scattered into the heavy dust of history.

No one knew how long had passed.

The east grew pale.

That crimson sun at last pierced through the dense layers of cloud and leaped above the horizon.

Golden sunlight, overwhelming, came flooding forth.

It crossed the towering city walls, passed through the solemn palace halls, and spilled upon the lofty Meridian Gate, plating its golden-glazed tiles with a dazzling new light.

It spilled, too, beneath the crimson walls of this Forbidden City, upon those few branches of winter plum blooming defiantly against the cold.

The wind and snow had ceased; the long night was over.

For the countless millions of the Great Ming's people, the seventh year of Tianqi had drawn its final curtain.

And the brand-new first year of Yongchang

now, amid this boundless, resplendent sunrise, descended with a thunderous crash!

This is precisely what is meant by:

Together we toast the fair winds and fine days of the morrow —

Plum blossoms fill the eyes as we stride into the new year.