Chapter 4: I Said the Day After Tomorrow Means the Day After Tomorrow

That night, it was not only Wei Zhongxian who could not sleep — the Edict Drafting Office was also ablaze with lamplight.

The atmosphere in the duty room was heavy; the four Grand Secretaries of the Grand Secretariat stood with hands at their sides in silence, even their breathing deliberately hushed.

"The seventh of the ninth month? Absolutely not — far too late!"

A woman's voice cut through the stillness, somewhat hoarse but every word distinct, brooking no dispute.

The speaker was none other than the Empress, Zhang Yan.

She still wore plain mourning dress, her eye-rims dreadfully red and swollen.

Yet when her gaze swept across these ministers of the Great Ming below the dais, it was still enough to make their hearts clench.

The Chief Grand Secretary, Huang Liji, replied with the utmost caution: "In answer to Her Majesty, the Directorate of Astronomy has divined two auspicious days — one is tomorrow, the twenty-fourth of the eighth month; the other is the seventh of the ninth month."

"But tomorrow… is simply far too rushed. Deciding the reign title, drafting the proclamation to the realm, rehearsing the grand ceremony — every matter is trivial yet intricate. And what of the urging-to-ascend rites, the three refusals and three deferrals? How could such a ritual be rushed through in a single day? It truly contravenes ritual and law."

His words were earnest, every sentence speaking of "principle," yet every sentence avoiding the word "difficulty."

Zhang Yan's gaze shifted from his face to the flickering candle flame in the hall, her eyes momentarily unfocused.

"Look well after the Empress; Wei Zhongxian may be relied upon."

Recalling this deathbed entrustment from Tianqi, a warmth stirred in her heart — but the latter half of that sentence set her ablaze with fury.

Wei Zhongxian! Wei Zhongxian! You heartless man — did your heart hold only Wei Zhongxian and Madam Ke?!

Looking at this flock of vermin and old thieves before her, papering over the affairs of state, utterly devoid of responsibility, trembling and cowering before Wei Zhongxian — and now they actually dared prattle about ritual and law in front of her!

She drew a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was calm, yet utterly icy.

"Chief Grand Secretary, the late Emperor has abruptly abandoned the realm; within the deep palace, suspicion runs between inner and outer. At such a moment, the state's course must be settled all the sooner, to calm men's hearts."

"The realm cannot be without a sovereign for a single day. Every day of delay is a day of added uncertainty. This palace does not seek to meddle in governance as a mere woman, but the late Emperor entrusted me with his testamentary edict — I cannot permit the Great Ming's rivers and mountains, its altars of state, to suffer the slightest mishap."

Hearing these words, Huang Liji, Shi Fenglai, Zhang Ruitu, and Li Guopu exchanged glances, each reading in the others' eyes deep reluctance and a trace of something barely perceptible… impatience.

Zhang Yan had entered the palace at fifteen; seven years had passed since then — fighting Wei Zhongxian, fighting Madam Ke, and fighting that heartless Zhu Youjiao as well.

How could she fail to read the colors painted so plainly on their faces?

Zhang Yan ground her teeth inwardly; abruptly, inside her sleeve, she clenched her fist so tightly her knuckles went white.

She had finally lost the last shred of patience in her heart for these office-warming, sinecure-feeding Grand Secretaries.

"Do you think this palace does not know!"

"Who was it that, before entering the palace, was still at home praying and divining for good or ill fortune?"

"And who was it that rushed to the court gate only to be turned away, and only after repeated pleading gained entry?"

"Can you truly not hear the rumors filling the entire capital?"

Zhang Yan ground her teeth, speaking one word at a time: "Prince Xin has entered the palace — his life or death hangs in the balance! Even this palace has heard such rumors — and you would pretend ignorance?"

"At a moment as perilous as a stack of eggs, how can you still use ritual regulations to fob off the great affairs of state!"

"This palace says the enthronement shall be on the twenty-fourth — and the twenty-fourth it shall be. The late Emperor's testamentary edict is here; there is not the slightest room for negotiation."

With that, she swept her sleeve sharply, looked at them no more, and turned away with finality.

In an instant, the phoenix palanquin and its retinue had gone, leaving the hall full of Grand Secretaries staring at one another.

In the deathly silence, the youngest Grand Secretary, Li Guopu, his face flushed crimson, could not help wanting to say, "How can the ritual institutions of the dynasty be treated as child's play?"

But as the words reached his lips, meeting the deep, still-water gazes of his three seniors, they ultimately turned into a stifled grunt of unwillingness and were swallowed back down.

After a long while, it was still the Chief Grand Secretary, Huang Liji, who broke the silence. He rubbed his brow, his voice full of weariness:

"Things having come to this, what else can be done? The enthronement ceremony has old precedents to follow — cut the elaborate and simplify. The enthronement edict can be adapted from an old draft; the reign title is a minor matter."

"But…"

Here Huang Liji suddenly paused, let out a long sigh, and said no more.

Shi Fenglai slowly stroked his beard; Zhang Ruitu's eyes were on his nose, his nose on his heart; Li Guopu paced a restless step.

The atmosphere, once again, congealed with awkwardness.

Li Guopu could hold back no longer and practically blurted out: "And what of the urging-to-ascend rites? The three refusals and three deferrals are an expression of the new sovereign's modest virtue, and even more an expression of our loyal support as ministers — how can they be completed within a single day?"

Shi Fenglai sighed and chimed in with perfect timing: "Indeed — the rites cannot be discarded, yet time will not wait. Difficult, difficult indeed."

For a moment, the hall filled with sighs and groans, as though they had fallen into an impossible impasse.

Beside a desk in the room, a low-ranking official in a blue robe stood like jade, tall and straight as a pine.

It was none other than the Tanhua of the fifth year of Tianqi, Junior Compiler of the Hanlin Academy, Wu Kongjia.

Wu Kongjia kept his eyes lowered, but his mind was crystal clear.

In the high halls of state, they debate without deciding, decide without acting — weighing benefits and risks ahead, balancing integrity behind.

This was what was now called "those who hold their salaries and cultivate connections" — utterly ridiculous.

These Grand Secretaries, every one of them cherished his own plumage, unwilling to bear the infamy of "slighting ritual and law," yet all hoping the matter would be resolved.

And who would resolve it? Was there anyone else present besides him?

Ha — it seemed he, Wu Kongjia, was the only one suited to be this chamber pot.

He stepped out from the ranks and bowed, his voice not loud but clearly reaching every ear:

"The three urging-to-ascend memorials — this humble official has already drafted them in his mind."

"This humble official believes that tomorrow, all three memorials may be submitted in succession, to demonstrate the urgency of our support; His Highness Prince Xin may likewise offer three refusals in a single day, to manifest his sagely virtue. Such an expedient measure — would it not, in appearance, remain within the bounds of canonical regulation?"

The words had barely fallen when Huang Liji's eyes lit up; he clapped his hands in praise: "Brilliant! Yuanhui, this plan is brilliant! It preserves the rites in full while meeting the demands of the hour — truly the foremost merit of this day!"

He looked around at the other Grand Secretaries and declared with a ringing laugh, "The great affairs of the realm must still rely on such young men as this."

"Chief Grand Secretary Huang offers excessive praise; this humble official dares not accept it." Wu Kongjia bowed deeply, burying his head very low.

The remaining Grand Secretaries, as though a great weight had been lifted, chimed in one after another — only Li Guopu, his face alternating between pale and flushed, ultimately let it dissolve into a quiet sigh, casting a complicated glance at Wu Kongjia.

The thorniest problem resolved, everyone's spirits rallied, and they began to address the other items.

They first located the enthronement edict from seven years prior, when Tianqi ascended the throne, and began cross-referencing and deliberating.

"This year, the three princes' departures for their fiefs have consumed a million taels of silver — an enormous expense. The limits on imperial clan stipends must be reaffirmed once more, or the state's affairs will be impossible to sustain."

"The White Lotus sect in Shandong has festered increasingly over these past two years. In the fourth month of this year, word even came that a White Lotus ringleader from Datong had slipped into the capital. This cannot go unguarded against, and must be written in as well."

Cutting and trimming all the way through, they at last reached the final closing section — and once again, everyone stalled.

The core idea of the Tianqi Emperor's edicts was "carrying forward and making manifest" — that is, inheriting tradition and amplifying it.

This was, of course, beyond reproach — Tianqi's father had died a month after taking office, so there was nothing to overturn even if one did not inherit.

But His Highness Prince Xin had been known for his uprightness and integrity ever since his days in the princely residence. Could he accept an edict of this sort?

The men looked at one another, and involuntarily fell silent once more.

Wu Kongjia sneered inwardly, but with a smile on his face he spoke: "The matter at hand lies in renewal and reform. Why not add a line — 'The mandate renews itself in splendor; we rejoice in a fresh beginning'? What do you gentlemen think?"

The moment these words were spoken, the tension in the room slackened at once. The assembled Grand Secretariat ministers offered another round of praise, and the matter was hastily glossed over.

In the end, only the question of the reign title remained.

Following precedent, the group put together four auspicious characters for Prince Xin to select from the following day.

With all matters settled, the Grand Secretariat ministers felt as though a great weight had been lifted. They urged Wu Kongjia to copy out the edict, the exhortation memorial, and the rest with care, and once they were assured there would be no errors, they departed one after another.

In the vast Edicts Office, only Wu Kongjia remained.

Without raising his head, he copied in silence, writing out each character with deliberate strokes.

The occasional sound of the night watch from outside the building rang out with startling clarity in the empty office.

By the time he had finished copying all the documents and stepped out of the great hall,

the night had grown deep. Only a crescent moon hung in the eastern sky, casting its light down with careless indifference.

He raised his head and, unable to resist, stretched a hand slightly toward the moon.

A moment later, he gave a self-mocking laugh, drew his official robes about him, and vanished into the heavy night.