Chapter 9: Wei Si of Hebei Pays His Respects to His Majesty

"Wei Si. Drop the act."

Zhu Youjian's voice was very soft — soft as a feather, drifting lightly down.

Wei Zhongxian lay prostrate on the floor, his body stiffening almost imperceptibly.

Wei Si…

How many years had it been since anyone called him by that name? Thirty? Or forty?

So long ago that even he himself had nearly forgotten it.

Back then he was still a street wanderer in Suning, Hebei — eating, drinking, whoring, gambling every day, living as carefree as could be.

If that gambling-den bully hadn't pushed him too far, why would he ever have abandoned his manhood to enter the palace?

But how did this new sovereign before him know that name?

Everyone in the palace believed his original name was only Li Jinzhong.

This new sovereign was barely seventeen, until the day before yesterday shut away deep in his princely residence, ignorant of all affairs.

How then could he know this name — a name buried in the deepest recesses of memory?

The sudden uncertainty sent terror surging up, overturning every train of thought.

By instinct he tried to maintain that mask of simple honesty, of loyalty — even of a certain dull-wittedness and weakness.

This was the weapon that had carried him through everything for decades, the most vital reliance by which he, a penniless nobody, had climbed to become the Nine Thousand Years whose power overshadowed the entire court.

Wei Zhongxian slowly raised his head. In that instant, the blood seeping from his forehead slid slowly down his old face, crisscrossed with furrows.

The blood mingled with tears and mucus, making him look utterly wretched, exceptionally ridiculous and absurd.

"Your… Your Majesty… this old slave is guilty, this old slave is guilty! Now I can only hope to beg for my old bones to be sent home. I pray that, for the sake of this old slave having served the late Emperor, you might leave me a sliver of mercy…"

He wailed, once again smashing his head to the floor to plead for pardon, his mouth repeating over and over, "I beg Your Majesty to show great compassion."

Zhu Youjian watched the head kowtowing ceaselessly against the floor, his expression blank, his eyes without a ripple.

He said nothing more, merely lifting the fresh hot tea Zhou Yu had just poured for him.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the lattice windows, casting dappled shadows across the golden bricks of the great hall. Tiny dust motes floated in the air. Everything seemed so tranquil.

Only the sound of Wei Zhongxian's kowtows, one after another, echoed through the empty hall — so hollow.

Zhou Yu sat to one side, not daring to breathe, her round almond eyes wide open, her heart taut with tension.

Heavens — was this the scene of a new sovereign taking the throne and purging a powerful eunuch?

She couldn't help stealing a glance at Zhu Youjian. She saw his face, gentle and refined as jade, set off by sword-like brows and star-bright eyes, as he sipped his tea in small mouthfuls, utterly composed.

Zhu Youjian turned a puzzled look her way, startling Zhou Yu into a guilty smile. She wiped the sweat from her palms against the couch and lifted the teapot again to refill his cup.

Time slipped by, minute by minute, second by second.

Wei Zhongxian's kowtows grew slower and slower, the force behind them lighter and lighter.

His forehead itched so badly it felt as if flesh were about to sprout there — yet each time he forced it down, the pain made him shudder all over again.

What to do? What to do?

The new sovereign's mind was deep as an abyss, vast as the sea — he could not see through it at all.

He could only use this most primitive, most abject method to express his "loyalty" and his "innocence," staking his hopes on that one-in-ten-thousand chance.

At last, Zhu Youjian set down his teacup.

The soft thud of it landing made Wei Zhongxian's body convulse violently once more.

Zhu Youjian slowly rose from the throne, yet he did not look at him. Instead he paced over to the Great Ming Unified Map hanging in the hall.

He reached out, his fingertips lightly tracing the mountains and rivers drawn upon it.

"Wei Si, tell me — is this realm of the Great Ming beautiful?"

His voice was utterly calm, as if making idle conversation.

Wei Zhongxian's kowtows stopped abruptly.

He froze there, completely at a loss.

"Beautiful… beautiful…" he could only mumble in reply.

"Yes. Very beautiful." Zhu Youjian's fingertip slid all the way from Shanhai Pass.

"Liaodong. Zhili. Shanxi. Shaanxi. Sichuan…"

"And yet this splendid landscape — is it truly dotted everywhere with living shrines to you, the Nine Thousand Years?"

He turned around, his gaze finally settling upon Wei Zhongxian, a trace of a faint, ambiguous smile in his eyes.

"It would seem that throughout the realm, those who cherish your benevolence are, one might say, endless in number."

"Then what, exactly, am I?"

Wei Zhongxian felt ice course through his entire body. Sweat poured down like rain.

"This old slave is willing to clear away every living shrine, to surrender all his household wealth — I beg only for Your Majesty's mercy…"

Wei Zhongxian moved to kowtow once more, but Zhu Youjian raised a hand and cut him off.

"Wei Si, don't trouble yourself with wishful thinking."

"You are going to die. That is certain."

Wei Zhongxian's kowtows stopped abruptly.

He froze there, as if struck by a formless bolt of lightning.

Zhu Youjian walked to within a few paces of him, leaving ample room for precaution.

Only then did he stop, looking down at him from above. There was no killing intent in his eyes — only calm.

"So… drop the act."

"Let me have a proper talk with that Wei Si — with the real Wei Zhongxian, the true Nine Thousand Years."

"Do not insult yourself. Do not insult me. And above all, do not insult my imperial brother."

"Keep this act up, and I'm afraid death will be the least of your worries."

These few words, spoken evenly by a ruler who held the reins of power, were utterly merciless.

Wei Zhongxian shattered completely.

Wei Zhongxian shattered completely!

Every pretense, every last shred of hope — in that instant, torn to pieces.

The mask he had worn for decades finally, with a crack, split open, revealing the true face beneath — a face long twisted by the lust for power and by fear.

He stopped kowtowing and slowly, slowly, raised his head.

What kind of face was that?

Not a trace of simple honesty or humility remained. In their place was a complex expression — a mixture of shock, despair, and a hint of something savage.

His eyes, no longer murky and fawning, had turned hawk-sharp, fixed dead on the young emperor before him.

Then, slowly, inch by inch, he straightened his body.

His spine, no longer bent in its perpetual curve, was ramrod straight — like a javelin that had lain silent for many years.

In that single moment, his entire bearing underwent an earth-shaking transformation.

If moments ago he had been an old dog wagging its tail and begging for mercy, now he was a lone wolf, cornered and ready to fight to the death.

"Wei Si… Wei Si, indeed…"

He murmured to himself, as if speaking to another person.

"This slave… this slave has played a part for decades. I nearly forgot myself — my original name was Wei Si. Not Li Jinzhong. Not Wei Zhongxian."

"Yes. This slave is Wei Si — Wei Si of Hebei!"

"Heh… hahahaha…"

From Wei Zhongxian's throat came a dry, bitter laugh. The laughter grew louder, brimming with boundless desolation and self-mockery.

Zhu Youjian watched him in silence, nodded, and a look of approval crossed his face.

"Now that is the Nine Thousand Years I had in mind. Now we can talk properly."

He walked back to the imperial throne, sat down again, picked up his teacup, and gently blew at the floating leaves.

"I know you are a clever man, and I know you have some real ability."

"If it were merely loyalty, my imperial brother would never have trusted and relied on you so heavily."

Wei Zhongxian's laughter stopped abruptly. He raised his eyes, his gaze blazing. "What does Your Majesty wish to discuss?"

Matters had come to this — there was no path of retreat.

Since death was certain either way, what did he, Wei Si, have to fear from staking everything?

In this moment, he seemed to be back on that day when, fleeing gambling debts, he had castrated himself to stay alive.

What he had cut away that day was his manhood. What he wagered today was this broken life.

"First, we discuss what comes after your death. Then, what comes before it." Zhu Youjian's reply was simple and direct.

"Killing you would be easier than turning over my hand."

"But if I kill you on charges of being a traitorous eunuch, that means killing half the court as it stands, and destroying the unified authority my imperial brother labored so hard to build."

"I have just ascended the throne. I do not wish to see this court descend into utter chaos."

"Even less do I wish to retread my imperial brother's old path and spend years quelling factional strife."

He paused, and his gaze deepened.

"Therefore, you must die."

"But your death must have value."

"On the chessboard, even a discarded piece has its uses. Played well, it becomes the decisive move."

Wei Zhongxian merely sneered at this and said nothing in reply.

He simply clambered up from the floor, sat cross-legged, and directly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the blood from his face.

The handkerchief was too small, the blood too much. After a few haphazard wipes, he simply tossed the soiled cloth to the ground.

He looked coldly at Zhu Youjian and asked in a deep voice, "What does Your Majesty want this slave to do?"

"Very simple." Zhu Youjian extended one finger. "Within the eunuch faction, which men are truly vicious and insatiably greedy, and which merely curried favor and drifted with the current — I imagine you keep a true ledger in your mind."

"I want that ledger."

"Write it out, and I will acknowledge the debt."

Wei Zhongxian fell silent for a time.

You are the Emperor.

The occupant of the supreme throne.

Under the cudgels of the law, what confession cannot be obtained?

You can kill whomever you wish — why go to him for this so-called "true ledger"?

It hardly mattered. The realm belonged to the Zhu family. They could play however they liked.

Wei Zhongxian could not fathom it, nor could he be bothered to try.

He drew a deep breath, suppressed every emotion, and revealed his true nature as a gambler.

"And what," he asked, weighing each word, "does this slave stand to gain?"

Since this was a trade, the price had to be seen.

Zhu Youjian smiled.

He did enjoy speaking with clever men.

"First, apart from you, I will not kill a single member of the Wei clan."

"Second, all titles and offices will be stripped, all family property confiscated — but I will leave you a hundred qing of land, with men assigned to tend it."

"Third, a dignified death — so overcome with longing for the late emperor and grief that you hang yourself. That way you also avoid the agony of death by slow slicing."

Wei Zhongxian's pupils abruptly contracted!

Death by slow slicing.

What had he, Wei Zhongxian, ever done to merit the punishment of death by slow slicing?

He raised his head and looked at Zhu Youjian. On this new sovereign's face there was no loathing, no hatred — only a faint calm.

Damn it, damn it!

Why, after all my striving to reach this point, am I still just as I was back then — utterly unable to control my own fate?

Seeing that matters had come to this and there was no avoiding it, a gambler's reckless courage surged up in Wei Zhongxian's heart.

He abruptly rose to his feet, swept his sleeves back, raised both hands before him, then brought them together.

Bowing low, he said, "This slave… accepts the decree!"