Chapter Four: Without Him, Could Da Kang Still Fall?

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Xu Ping lifted his head and looked. It was only when the carriage completely disappeared from sight that the anxiety clutching his heart finally eased. Turning toward the deep and solemn Ministry of Personnel, he shook his sleeves and strolled in with confidence.

“His Majesty truly favors Yang Chuan! This vast Ministry of Personnel nearly rivals the Imperial Palace itself. Fortunately, Han… ahem, at last, Yang Chuan has been relieved of his great power,” Xu Ping pondered with mixed emotions.

Entering the rear courtyard, he stepped into a garden known as the “Flying Phoenix Grove,” home to the messenger hawks and falcons bred by Yang Chuan. It was thanks to these carrier birds that Yan Wugou and Yang Chuan had successfully escaped from the Qi Kingdom, earning the place some renown.

But now, the “Flying Phoenix” was little more than a tranquil garden.

As Xu Ping wandered through, he suddenly halted. On a split white wax tree before him, a line of words was boldly inscribed:

“How like a bird, fed to fullness, that returns to the woods—left only a vast expanse of pure white earth, so clean and bare!”

Xu Ping stood rooted, as if struck by a sudden realization, and then burst into wild laughter like a mad dog.

“Ha ha ha! Such literary flair! But alas, it is precisely this eloquence that leaves a fatal flaw!”

“It seems your bond with His Majesty is truly severed, Xu Ping, oh Xu Ping—a heart of iron, a faithless man indeed!”

After his outburst, Xu Ping hurriedly pointed at the white wax tree.

“Cut down this wood at once—I will present it to His Majesty!”

...

Half an hour later.

At the Phoenix Court.

Yan Wugou closed her eyes tightly, her expression stern.

Before her stood an elderly man with graying hair. His white locks flowed freely, his robes fluttered gently, embodying a detached and lofty air.

“Grand Tutor, do you think I have pressed too hard? I truly wished only to reclaim the power held by Yang Chuan, never to expel him from court or banish him from the capital!”

“He is a true man, yet did he not know to lower himself and beg me? After so many years of affection, had he spoken but a few gentle words, how could I ever treat him harshly?”

After a long pause, Yan Wugou’s voice was hoarse.

The identity of the old man before her was evident.

None other than the venerable Grand Tutor Jiang Ziqi, a minister who had served three reigns.

“Your Majesty, do you feel a pang of guilt?”

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Jiang Ziqi smiled, his face deeply lined with wrinkles, each furrow a testament to his wisdom and experience.

Having lived through many storms, the old minister said, “I have heard of ministers loyal unto death, but never of an emperor who feels guilt toward his ministers!”

“Your Majesty, Yang Chuan has indeed been loyal to you and served the realm well—that is undeniable! But you have already granted him the title of Pillar of the State and Minister of Personnel, adorned him with nine distinctions, ranking him among the Three Dukes! There is no higher honor to bestow. What next? Do you intend to pass the throne to him?”

Jiang Ziqi spoke bluntly.

“Your Majesty, you have been benevolent beyond measure toward Yang Chuan, yet he has shown you only disrespect! Between you, only Yang Chuan should feel remorse; you have no cause for guilt.”

Relieved, Yan Wugou exhaled deeply.

She had expected such words from Jiang Ziqi; her inquiry was merely to soothe her own conscience.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! Yang Chuan has penned these shameful words in the Flying Phoenix Grove—he clearly means to sever ties with you forever!”

Just as Yan Wugou’s mood began to settle, Xu Ping burst into the Phoenix Court, gasping for breath, carrying a wooden plank on his shoulder and shouting.

Yan Wugou had no desire to reprimand his disrespect.

“Present it!”

With the help of several eunuchs, Xu Ping stood the white wax wood upright.

When Yan Wugou saw the inked characters, her eyes instantly reddened.

“Yang Chuan! Ha ha ha! Well done! What a fitting verse—‘fed to fullness, the bird returns to the woods.’ This parting was forced by you alone!”

“By writing such a final verse, he heaps all blame upon me!”

“Does he wish for a clean, white, bare earth? So be it! Let him go! I want to see how carefree he can be without the authority of Minister of Personnel of Da Kang!”

Clearly, Yan Wugou was utterly enraged with Yang Chuan, intent on barring him from court for good.

Xu Ping’s heart leapt with joy.

He glanced surreptitiously at the Grand Tutor beside him.

Jiang Ziqi kept his eyes closed, as if oblivious.

Yet the trembling hand hidden beneath his wide sleeves betrayed his delight.

Three full years had passed.

Jiang Ziqi’s mind replayed the events like a flickering lantern.

Three years ago, the late emperor fell ill suddenly, sparking a fierce succession struggle among seven princes.

As a minister charged with safeguarding the throne, Jiang Ziqi had expected any of the princes to ascend and respect him as a pillar.

But unexpectedly, the seventh prince was defeated by a woman.

An obscure figure named Yan Wugou, under Yang Chuan’s protection, had carved a bloody path to ascend the throne, becoming Da Kang’s first empress.

Since then, in all matters of state, Yan Wugou deferred almost entirely to Yang Chuan, to the point of complete obedience.

For a minister of three reigns to be overshadowed by such a youth—how could Jiang Ziqi swallow his resentment?

Thus, he conspired with other officials to stage this drama.

To sow discord between Yan Wugou and Yang Chuan!

He had thought their affection deep and true, making such a ploy difficult, but Yan Wugou’s secret dissatisfaction gave them the opening they needed.

“Your Majesty, it is but a playful jest—why take it so seriously? There may yet come a time to invite Lord Yang back to court; do not speak so decisively now!”

Seeing Yan Wugou’s fury, Jiang Ziqi finally spoke, playing the peacemaker.

“Enough talk! My resolve is set! Da Kang shall not fall with the departure of Yang Chuan!”

...

Northern outskirts of the capital.

A carriage creaked slowly along.

Inside, Yang Chuan felt the bleak autumn wind, watched leaves flutter past the window, and startled mountain birds from their perches.

His spirit was calm and clear.

Seven years had passed since he traveled through time.

The first four, he was a prisoner in the Qi Kingdom.

The last three, he held high office, buried daily in paperwork, never once truly appreciating the beauty of this world.

“Master, you have just concluded your practice; your body is weak. Do not catch the autumn chill,” said a striking woman dressed as a maid, lowering the carriage window beside him.

Yang Chuan came to himself, smiling warmly at the “maid.”

“You have been by my side for three years, truly a trusted companion. Tell me, where do you think I should go next?”

At Yang Chuan’s question, the “maid” trembled slightly, a flicker of joy shining deep within her eyes.

“Yan Wugou is narrow-minded and intolerant. In the realm of Da Kang, you will no longer find peace.”

“Master, you are gifted—how could you suffer long beneath others? It would be better… to journey to Great Qi and strive for wealth and honor!”