Chapter 64: The Emperor

The Great Zhou Imperial City, Qianyang Palace.

This was where Emperor Jia Zhao daily reviewed memorials and handled state affairs.

Though nearly forty, his temples were streaked with silver, his face perpetually weary, yet his eyes glowed with sharp authority.

Emperor Jia Zhao was likely the most diligent monarch in Great Zhou’s history; since ascending the throne, he had reviewed memorials nearly every night, diligent and pragmatic, drawing the attention of court and realm.

Before his ascension, he had been an unremarkable imperial prince, appearing almost mediocre compared to his brilliant brothers.

Yet he had the last laugh, unexpectedly ascending the throne and revealing astonishing strategy and ruthlessness, eliminating rivals and purging the court to swiftly secure his position.

Now in his tenth year of reign, his throne stood as firm as Mount Tai; though many major matters remained unresolved within and beyond Great Zhou, the court’s stability had steadily improved under his control.

At this moment, he was reading a memorial from the newly appointed Grand Director of the Imperial Clan Office, Prince Zhongshun, accusing the senior branch of Rongguo Mansion of using witchcraft to harm the junior branch, with General Jia She suspected of inciting and orchestrating it.

Hmph, these military aristocratic families have enjoyed peace too long, breeding lawless rakes—what a pity for Jia Daishan’s lifelong reputation.

Though standing respectfully beside him, his eyes constantly observed the emperor’s reactions; when Emperor Jia Zhao reached a certain passage, his gaze brightened.

On the throne, Emperor Jia Zhao carefully read the secret memorial from Zhongche Office and cross-referenced it with the Imperial Clan Office’s report.

Deputy Chief Eunuch Guo Lin had served Emperor Jia Zhao since his days as a prince, now for over a decade, and knew well the emperor’s depth of suspicion—he trusted no one completely.

Zhongche Office lacked the special powers of the Judicial Court—no authority to investigate, arrest, or interrogate—and was far more discreet than such agencies; even fifth-rank officials below had no knowledge of its existence.

Guo Lin was shrewd; his ability to endure for years at the side of such a stern monarch stemmed from his skill in reading the emperor’s mind.

The death of a Hanlin Compiler was a major matter for Zhen’an Prefecture, but to an emperor who looked down upon the world, it was trivial.

Deputy Chief Eunuch Guo Lin hurried into the hall, holding a gray-white sealed memorial: “Your Majesty, Zhongche Office has submitted the secret memorial on the witchcraft affair at Rongguo Mansion.”

Though Emperor Jia Zhao always trusted and heavily relied on Prince Zhongshun, he never fully accepted his memorials without corroborating evidence, always seeking the true core of matters.

It was precisely this hands-on nature that had turned this Son of Heaven’s temples gray before he reached forty.

Emperor Jia Zhao’s face showed surprise; his younger brother was a royal scholar of refined taste, and few could earn his approval.

Guo Lin said, “Last month, when Your Majesty visited Chonghua Palace to pay respects to the Retired Emperor, you saw the Buddhist sutra the Retired Emperor cherished—it was written by Jia Cong.”

Having served beside him for years, Guo Lin naturally understood the emperor’s nature and had already pressed Zhongche Office for the relevant secret memorials to aid the emperor’s judgment.

Guo Lin walked to the bookshelf, sifted through the dense piles of documents, retrieved one, and presented it to Emperor Jia Zhao.

Emperor Jia Zhao was too occupied to read every Zhongche secret memorial.

“Oh, the Eleventh Prince invited him to the Nanxi Literary Gathering.”

The Imperial Clan Office’s memorial was based on interrogation transcripts from Zhen’an Prefecture, incomplete; Emperor Jia Zhao, meticulous by nature and with the witchcraft scandal involving Rongguo Mansion at stake, used Zhongche’s secret memorials as corroboration.

Zhongche Office investigated covert affairs within and beyond the court, monitored officials and nobles, and served as the emperor’s most vital eyes and ears—directly commanded by palace eunuchs, outside the Three Ministries.

At Prince Jiashun’s Nanxi Literary Gathering earlier this month, Hanlin Compiler Wu Jinrong was murdered; Zhongche Office had submitted a secret memorial detailing the incident, which also mentioned that Jia Cong had stunned all present with a plum blossom poem.”

Zhongche Office sent secret memorials to the palace recording major events in the Divine Capital and any incidents they deemed worthy of confidential documentation, for future reference.

“The law is stern, family law intolerant! This youth has some spirit. Jia Cong—this name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?”

Thus, this memorial recording the Nanxi Literary Gathering happened to be one he had not yet read.

As Director of Zhongche Office, Guo Lin read every secret memorial submitted by the agency; his decades beside Emperor Jia Zhao were built on such meticulous attention to detail.

Emperor Jia Zhao flipped through a few pages and exclaimed in surprise: “His mother was a courtesan! Such a background is rare in a mansion with two Dukes.”

In a family obsessed with lineage, such a birth was a grave taboo; living comfortably would never be easy.

Emperor Jia Zhao recalled another secret memorial where Jia Cong had uttered the shocking words: “The law is stern, family law intolerant.”

A lowborn bastard son who saw more clearly than Jia Zheng or Jia Mu, officials bearing official titles and imperial commissions—how peculiar.

Emperor Jia Zhao did not know that Jia Cong’s bold words had not been meant to defend Jia family honor, but to break the legs of that spiteful woman and avenge his maid.

“Wind and rain send spring away, flying snow welcomes spring’s return. Cliffs hang with ice a hundred zhang deep—yet plum blossoms still bloom, proud and bright…”

“Excellent! Noble in spirit, vigorous in rhythm—a fine poem!”

Guo Lin was startled; Emperor Jia Zhao was always reserved and stern, rarely displaying such unrestrained emotion.

Could Jia Cong’s poem truly be so good as to catch the Son of Heaven’s eye?

Emperor Jia Zhao set down the memorial: “So young, yet with uncommon insight and talent in both poetry and prose—such ability is rare indeed.”

He then smiled faintly: “That Jia She, a dissolute rake, somehow fathered a son like this—what an oddity.”

Guo Lin smiled and said, “Your Majesty is wise. Jia Cong does possess genuine promise, or else Prince Jiashun would not have invited him to the Nanxi Literary Gathering.”

“Yet I have heard that Jia Cong, due to his low birth, is despised by his father and stepmother, frequently scolded and beaten in the Jia household, living a wretched life.”

Zhongche Office’s spies were everywhere; in the mansions of nobles and marquises, they had planted informants—knowing such inner household matters was nothing unusual.

Emperor Jia Zhao’s face showed surprise: “Such talent, yet disliked by his parents? Are there many such children in the Jia household? Do they have other extraordinary sons?”

Guo Lin replied, “There is another extraordinary youth—said to be born with a jade in his mouth, named Bao Yu, a marvel whispered throughout the Divine Capital.”

This Bao Yu is deeply favored by the Jia family’s Lady Guo; no one dares to discipline him.

And since childhood, he has disliked studying, spending his days mingling with maids and sisters—clearly a good-for-nothing, nothing like Jia Cong.”

Emperor Jia Zhao had heard rumors of the jade-born child; he scoffed: “Born with jade in mouth—a portent reserved for ancient sages.

‘Bao Yu’ means imperial seal—those Jia women have no fear of death, spreading such nursery nonsense throughout the Divine Capital.”

These words sent a chill through Guo Lin; to the emperor, being born with jade was a grave act of usurpation—only the emperor’s forbearance had spared them.

Emperor Jia Zhao turned sarcastic: “Once, the Dukes of Ning and Rong were towering figures; after their deaths, the Jia family declined steadily, their descendants mediocre—all self-inflicted!”

Guo Lin clearly understood the emperor’s meaning: the Jia family did have outstanding sons.

But they were blind, deluded by such nonsense as ‘born with jade,’ coarse in vision, discarding gold and jade for rotten rags.

“Guo Lin, convey my verbal decree: summon Jia She to the Imperial Clan Office. If proven he incited servants to harm his younger brother by witchcraft, punish him severely without mercy!”

“This man is lustful and foolish, drove good people to death, abused his own son—damaging the dignity of our military nobility. Even if he did not commit witchcraft, his offenses must be severely reprimanded.”

“Your servant obeys!”

Having served beside Emperor Jia Zhao for years, Guo Lin had mastered the art of listening between the lines; he sensed the emperor intended to spare the Jia family, for they had produced two Dukes and once rendered great service to the state.

A little dignity and residual grace must still be granted—but such favors diminish with each use.

Most likely, His Majesty also fears the four princes and eight dukes are united in solidarity, wary that striking one might shake them all.

Yet he has grown weary of the Jia family’s current folly; summoning Jia She to the Imperial Clan Office for a public rebuke, reprimanding his offenses, is already a severe warning to the Jia household.

When the moment arrives, whether punishment or mercy rests solely in the emperor’s sovereign will.

(End of Chapter)