Chapter 3: Morning Meal at Chonghua Palace

Two days later, at dawn, the Three Tutors of the Eastern Palace were summoned by the Emperor to the Chonghua Palace for morning meal and deliberation.

Yu the Rabbit Chancellor, concurrently Grand Secretary and Minister of Rites, also appointed Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, arrived first at the Vermilion Bird Gate to await imperial orders.

The Rabbit Chancellor’s surname was Yu, his given name Tao, his courtesy name Changzu; he was from Chaizhou in Nanping Dao. Because “Tao” sounds like “rabbit,” he was called the Rabbit Chancellor.

Less than a quarter-hour later, Mei the Plum Chancellor, concurrently Deputy Grand Secretary and Minister of Revenue, also appointed Grand Preceptor to the Crown Prince, arrived.

The Plum Chancellor’s surname was Cao, his given name Mei, his courtesy name Guodong; he was from Chengtian Prefecture in Northern Zhili. Because his name contained “Mei,” he was called the Plum Chancellor.

The last to arrive at the Vermilion Bird Gate was the Crane Chancellor, concurrently Grand Secretary and Minister of Personnel, also appointed Grand Protector to the Crown Prince.

Once the Three Tutors of the Eastern Palace had gathered, the gatekeeper eunuch immediately returned to relay the news; only after receiving the Emperor’s decree did the three cross the Vermilion Bird Gate and enter the hall to pay court.

The Three Tutors arrived at the Chonghua Palace in turn and took their seats according to precedent: the Crane Chancellor on the left, the Plum and Rabbit Chancellors on the right.

Jiu Qiansui, Director of the Imperial Stable, busied himself instructing junior eunuchs to rush about, serving tea and dishes, attending to the Three Chancellors’ morning meal.

Shortly after, as Jiu Qiansui raised his voice in proclamation: “His Majesty arrives!” everyone in the hall, regardless of rank, bowed their heads and knelt to welcome the Emperor.

Perhaps due to the heat, the Emperor wore no formal court robes, only a vermilion everyday robe as he entered the hall.

The Emperor walked calmly toward the center of the hall, unhurried, slowly pacing amid the ministers’ escort.

Jiu Qiansui followed step by step beside the Emperor, ever ready to extend a hand for support.

The Emperor ascended the nine-step dais and sat before the long table covered in bright yellow silk.

Upon the table, eighteen dishes—hot and cold—had already been meticulously arranged! All were exquisite delicacies: mountain treasures and sea delicacies, meat and vegetables, savory, sweet, sour, spicy, each with perfect color, aroma, and flavor.

The Emperor’s morning meal was never abundant, but always carefully prepared to replenish his strength before ascending the throne for governance.

The abundance of food on the table was dazzling: abalone from Hainan, plump and dry-aromatic; matsutake from Yunnan, golden in form; Hami melons from the northern frontier, crimson as fire; sugared melon seeds from Jiangnan, sweet and crisp.

Rare flowers and exotic plants numbered in the dozens—red, purple, yellow, white—colors so varied they dazzled the eyes.

Merely the sight, scent, and aroma of this feast had already stirred the Emperor’s appetite.

Such delicacies could be fully enjoyed only within the palace. Daily fare, though refined, was never plentiful, prioritizing nutritional balance.

Today’s full table of mountain and sea treasures, with perfect color, aroma, and flavor, displayed the court’s prosperity and splendor—this ultimate indulgence was beyond the reach of ordinary people.

Surrounded by these delicacies, the Emperor was in high spirits, savoring this rare moment of ease.

This lavish feast also set the stage for the ensuing banquet, adding further brilliance to the coming hours of celebration.

The Emperor first greeted the Three Tutors, wished them good morning, drank a bowl of chilled tea, then sampled a lingling roll. He then called out: “Little Jiu…”

Hearing the call, Jiu Qiansui hurried forward with head bowed, climbed the dais, and deftly retrieved the enamel porcelain dish holding three remaining lingling rolls. He then respectfully descended the dais and ordered junior eunuchs to portion them into small dishes, distributing them to the Three Chancellors’ tables.

“This year’s imperial examination produced an abundance of talent,” the Emperor praised while dining. “Thanks to the Rabbit Chancellor’s diligent oversight of the metropolitan exam—you’ve lightened my burdens. Your hard work is appreciated…”

Hearing the Emperor’s praise, the Rabbit Chancellor immediately rose, bowed deeply, and repeatedly demurred: “The thirty-one new jinshi were all personally selected by His Majesty—this is due solely to Your Majesty’s wisdom. I dare not claim any merit.”

“Merit or no merit, I see clearly…” The Emperor called Jiu Qiansui again, gesturing toward the dish of crystal-white snowflake ice cream on his right. “What deserves reward—I shall reward!”

Upon hearing this, Jiu Qiansui lifted the ice cream dish, descended the dais again, passed directly before the Crane and Plum Chancellors’ tables, and presented the imperial gift solely to the Rabbit Chancellor.

The Rabbit Chancellor accepted the ice cream, bowed deeply, bowed again, thanked the Emperor for the gift, then returned to his seat and resumed eating.

“Is the ice cream good?” the Emperor suddenly asked.

“It’s good! Very good!” The Rabbit Chancellor, mid-bite, was caught off guard and blurted out plain, enthusiastic praise.

“How old is the new zhuangyuan?” the Emperor asked.

“Your Majesty,” the Rabbit Chancellor, still chewing, swallowed quickly, rose, and replied: “Twenty-seven.”

The Emperor’s eyes suddenly brightened! He sighed: “Ah… twenty-seven? That would make him born in Xilong Year One!”

At that moment, the Emperor felt time fly like a shuttle—he had not realized the new zhuangyuan’s age matched the length of his own reign.

“Where is he from?” the Emperor asked.

The Rabbit Chancellor: “Nanping Dao, Dongzhou.”

The Emperor: “Huh… Nanping Dao! That’s your hometown too!”

“Indeed,” the Rabbit Chancellor quickly added to avoid suspicion: “Though my ancestral home and birthplace are in Nanping, I have served in court for over thirty years and have not returned to Nanping in many years.”

“Compared to Nanping,” the Emperor remarked pointedly, “the majority of officials still come from Nanzhili.”

Hearing this, the Crane Chancellor, who hailed from Nanzhili, immediately rose and bowed: “Nanzhili is a land of rice and fish, blessed with fertile soil and outstanding talent, steeped in scholarly tradition—hence its scholars are numerous, its jinshi numerous, and thus its officials more numerous.”

The Crane Chancellor knew morning meal deliberations prioritized discussion over eating; he had already eaten breakfast at home, and upon entering the hall, had only sipped chilled tea and tasted two bites of lingling roll before stopping.

Thus, he could respond to the Emperor’s questions at any moment.

The Rabbit Chancellor also understood this unwritten rule, but the Emperor had personally gifted him the crystal-white snowflake ice cream—so he could not refuse to eat, yet could not eat without appearing improper, leaving his reply awkward.

Seeing the topic shift to the Crane Chancellor, the Rabbit Chancellor settled back into his seat—yet from then on, he dared not touch his chopsticks again.

The Plum Chancellor did the same.

Though the Emperor had not yet addressed him, he sat upright, listening attentively.

Aside from that first bowl of chilled tea, he had not tasted a single morsel; even the lingling roll remained untouched.

The Emperor summoned the Three Tutors for this morning meal to discuss the appointment of the Crown Prince’s tutor.

The previous tutor had served for three years; by regulation, he must be reassigned to another post; thus, a new tutor would be selected from this year’s new jinshi.

The Emperor: “Regarding the selection of the Crown Prince’s tutor—what are your views? Speak freely.” After speaking, the hall fell silent for a long while; the Three Chancellors exchanged glances, saying nothing.

Each Chancellor wished to recommend a fellow townsman as tutor, yet feared criticism or opposition from the other two—so they remained silent, waiting to see what would unfold.

The Emperor: “Cao Ge-lao, you’ve said nothing since we began. Why don’t you speak first?”

“Your Majesty,” the Plum Chancellor immediately rose and bowed respectfully: “I believe we should follow precedent and appoint the new zhuangyuan as Crown Prince’s tutor.”

This was the safest response—neither self-serving nor likely to offend.

The Emperor: “Weng Ge-lao… what do you think?”

The Crane Chancellor was secretly delighted—he had anticipated that whoever was asked would give precisely this answer.

Hence, the night before, he had sent his steward Zhang to the Hanlin Academy to befriend the zhuangyuan first, aiming to bring him into the Crane Faction for his own use.

Naturally, the Crane Chancellor did not oppose; instead, he endorsed it: “Your Majesty, I agree with Cao Ge-lao’s view.” This response advanced his own plan while flattering the Plum Chancellor—two benefits in one.

The Emperor: “Then… Yu Ge-lao… what do you think?”

This question caught the Rabbit Chancellor off guard—the zhuangyuan was his fellow townsman; he could not agree, nor could he disagree!

The Rabbit Chancellor stammered for a long while, then finally forced out four words: “I… have no opinion.”

The Emperor: “Then it’s settled.”

“Your Majesty is wise!” the Three Chancellors chorused in unison.

“Forgive this minister’s boldness—I have something to report!” The Plum Chancellor, who had spoken little until now, suddenly rose: “Your Majesty’s honorific title spans thirty-two characters; your imperial seal is as large as the state seal! Edicts, decrees, and documents suffer from space constraints—every use of the seal is a burden! I dare to petition Your Majesty to slightly shorten the title to enhance its efficacy.”

The Plum Chancellor’s blunt advice was his hallmark; and his words immediately stirred unease in the Emperor.

The Emperor turned to the Crane Chancellor: “Is my honorific title too long?”

The Crane Chancellor closed his eyes, pondered for a long while, then silently recited: “Dark Heaven Protects Law, Benevolent and Filial Sovereign; Night Ends, Dawn Rises, Universal Commander; Stars, Sun, Moon, Sovereign of Ten Thousand Nations; Rivers, Mountains, Four Seas, Supreme Emperor.”

This string of thirty-two characters was the Emperor’s own honorific title!

The Crane Chancellor: “It is a bit long.”

The Emperor had been delighted moments before—the Crane Chancellor had memorized his title perfectly!

But now, with this turn of phrase, his mood soured again.

The Emperor: “Is not length a sign of dignity? Is not length a sign of greatness?”

All three seated ministers understood the Emperor’s subtext: Do you mean shorter is better? Explain yourselves clearly!

“Not necessarily bad…” the Crane Chancellor continued: “But too many characters dilute the brilliance of Your Majesty’s wisdom.”

The Emperor: “Explain.”

Meanwhile, the Plum and Rabbit Chancellors fixed their gaze on the Crane Chancellor, waiting to see how he would justify himself.

After all, serving the Emperor is like serving a tiger; all officials in court work with their heads on the line.

The Crane Chancellor: “I believe… concise phrases better and more precisely reflect Your Majesty’s wisdom and martial prowess.”

The Emperor: “Then, Weng Ge-lao, tell me—how should it be shortened? How should it be concise?”

After a long pause, the Crane Chancellor said: “Take one character from the first line of each of the four lines: ‘Dark Night Star River.’”

“Dark Night Star River…” The Emperor suddenly beamed with delight: “This is excellent! I like it!” He immediately issued an edict ordering the Ministry of Works to forge a new imperial seal bearing the four characters: “Dark Night Star River.”