Chapter 60

The grand hall was utterly silent, not even a pin could drop without being heard.

The eunuch attendant beside the pillar shuddered violently, daring not to make a single sound.

Zhao Xu, on the steps ahead, said nothing; his body remained utterly still, like a carved stone or wooden statue.

Zhao Ti stood motionless at the center of the hall, his gaze fixed on the imperial edicts upon the dragon desk.

Among those edicts must be his own name—reviving the New Policies, suppressing court ministers, silencing dissenting voices; first strike at the imperial clan, so none could object.

Zhao Xu had endured nearly a decade, from the death of Emperor Shenzong in Yuanfeng Eighth Year to the passing of Gao Taotao in Yuanyou Ninth Year—a span of ten years—during which he had scarcely a moment without longing to restore the New Policies.

After Shenzong’s death, Gao Taotao immediately abolished the New Policies and reinstated the Old; Zhao Xu showed not the slightest dissatisfaction, instead assisting her, speaking of learning statecraft.

But after about half a year of personal rule, he suddenly began reviving Shenzong’s laws, suppressing and exiling all officials of the Old Faction—even the dead had their titles and posthumous names stripped, their crimes pursued.

Zhao Xu naturally wished to restore the New Policies as quickly as possible, but he lacked a decisive moment; precisely because he could not find that moment, he delayed for half a year, then changed the era name to Shaocheng and enforced it by force.

Zhao Xu had no supporters; no one in court or out knew his thoughts—even if they did, with the Old Faction now in power, none would stand with him, only accuse him, rebuke him, list his faults, count his transgressions!

“Prince Yan… why submit this memorial?” Zhao Xu looked at Zhao Ti, his voice low.

“Your subject… believes the New Policies benefit the state and people; compared to the Old, their advantages far outweigh their drawbacks!”

“Is that all?”

“Your subject… seeks to honor my father’s will, to fulfill the late emperor’s ambition to strengthen the nation!”

Zhao Xu stared at Zhao Ti, his expression strange: “Does Prince Yan think I have no ambition to strengthen the nation, no will to inherit my father’s legacy?”

Zhao Ti said nothing; whatever he said would be wrong, so he remained silent.

“The Empress Dowager discarded the Old Policies, Prince Yan…”

“Your subject did not enter court, yet honored my grandmother with filial respect as a grandson; I petition to restore the New Policies to fulfill my father’s will,” Zhao Ti said calmly.

Zhao Xu studied Zhao Ti for a long while: “Yang Jian, bring a chair for Prince Yan to sit.”

The eunuch brought a chair; Zhao Ti sat down.

“Prince Yan, dare you present this before the court?” Zhao Xu looked at Zhao Ti, inhaling sharply.

“Your subject dares to present it!” Zhao Ti replied coolly.

“How will the ministers react?”

“Since childhood, I trained in martial arts within the palace; why should I care for the idle words of scholars?”

Zhao Xu said: “Prince Yan, are you not afraid of offending the entire court?”

Zhao Ti said: “To restore the New Policies is to fulfill the late emperor’s will; your subject fears nothing.”

Zhao Xu fell silent for a long time; the grand hall grew unnervingly still. Yang Jian, the eunuch, pressed himself against the pillar, as mute as a cold cicada clinging to a tree, his breath nearly imperceptible.

“If you are stripped of your title and punished, what then, Prince Yan?”

Zhao Ti smiled faintly in his chair: “Without title or rank, a common man may still proclaim his purpose!”

Zhao Xu nodded, slowly descending the imperial steps: “Prince Yan, come with me—let us see how fierce the storm outside is.”

The eunuch rushed ahead and pushed open the door with his hand.

Zhao Ti rose and followed Zhao Xu toward the hall’s entrance.

The eunuch gently opened the door—outside, wind and rain raged as if heaven itself had collapsed; in the black night, gales howled, raindrops hammered down in dense, unbroken sheets.

Zhao Xu sighed softly: “What a fierce storm… Dongjing has not seen such rain in years.”

Zhao Ti gazed at the night sky, dark as an ancient beast; his expression calm, indifferent. Since the storm had come, let it come even fiercer…

The Great Song held three grand court assemblies each year: on New Year’s Day, the first day of the fifth month, and the Winter Solstice.

At these assemblies, all officials attended, each province sent its reporting officer with tribute, and even jinshi who had not yet received official posts could join in ceremonial dress.

The first grand assembly of Yuanyou Ninth Year had already passed; the second was scheduled for May, but due to the Empress Dowager Gao Taotao’s death and Zhao Xu’s assumption of personal rule, it was moved forward to the thirtieth of March.

Fast horses were dispatched from the capital to notify all regions; provincial governors had long suspected and prepared, and some distant prefectures had already sent their reporting officers ahead to the capital.

Since that night, Zhao Ti had not returned to the palace; by day he wandered the scenery, by night he diligently cultivated his inner energy.

The weather was fine, the season of early spring, blossoms blooming; within the Prince’s mansion, the scenery was serene. Zhao Ti sat in a pavilion over the lake, sipping tea as a young maid scattered food for the carp.

The fish seemed to understand human intent: when Zhao Ti approached, they never gathered or opened their mouths for food; but the moment the maid came, they all swarmed forward, some even leaping from the water.

In the distance, Tong Guan carried a hoe, tending the flowerbeds. The mansion had once had a large garden, but Tong Guan insisted on building several smaller ones—they looked more beautiful.

Zhao Ti ordered him to manage it; yet after Tong Guan finished, he planted mostly hibiscus.

Hibiscus blooms in purple and white, turning toward the sun, the foremost among kui flowers, praised in the Book of Songs and the Erya, usable in medicine to cool heat and benefit the lower body.

The “kui” in the Kuihuabaodian refers to this hibiscus—not the sunflower. Sunflowers did not enter the Central Realm until the late Ming, a vast temporal gap; their appearance and symbolic traits bear no resemblance whatsoever to the art of the manual.

Zhao Ti paid no mind to Tong Guan planting hibiscus; perhaps he remembered Li Xian, or perhaps it aided his cultivation—either way, let him do as he pleased, as long as it pleased the eye.

When the maid finished feeding the fish, Zhao Ti said: “Ruyi, summon Tong Yaban.”

The girl replied and went to call him; soon Tong Guan ran over, hoe on shoulder, standing outside the pavilion: “Your Highness summoned me?”

Zhao Ti said: “How is your martial cultivation progressing?”

Tong Guan said: “Your Highness, this humble servant’s cultivation has advanced rapidly—I’ve already achieved minor mastery.”

Zhao Ti nodded: “How far behind is your foster father?”

Tong Guan shook his head, blushing: “Your Highness, I’m vastly inferior—perhaps ten or twenty years before I catch up.”

Zhao Ti said: “No hurry. The martial path relies on accumulation; train slowly. Change your clothes, summon Zhou Dong, and come with me outside the city for a stroll.”

Tong Guan bowed and turned to run off—he feared most when Zhao Ti mentioned martial arts, terrified Zhao Ti would demand the Kuihuabaodian , and would rather die than become a criminal.

They left the mansion, exiting through Dongjing’s southern gate. Outside the southern city, many people flew kites; Zhao Ti bought a giant flying centipede kite, which Tong Guan and Zhou Dong lifted and launched behind him; instantly, it loomed terrifying in the sky, writhing and lashing, causing nearby delicate kites—spring swallows and butterflies—to flee in panic.

That evening, they returned to the mansion to resume cultivation; the next day, they wandered again. Time slipped by unnoticed, until suddenly it was the thirtieth of March—the day of the grand assembly.

This grand assembly differed from all others; it concerned Zhao Xu’s assumption of personal rule, involved numerous rituals, and included evaluations of provincial reporting officers—it dragged on endlessly, lasting until the afternoon, past the hour of Shen.

When all court rituals and external affairs concluded, ministers began to speak. Zhao Ti stepped forward directly from his place, raised his court tablet slightly toward the dais, and said: “Your Majesty, your subject has a memorial to submit!”