Seeing Xie Wenzhao looking half-dead, the Old Madam felt both angry and distressed. She had heard from the servants that Xie Wenzhao ran out from the Linglong Pavilion last night. She didn’t even need to think to know it was certainly because of that sweetheart of his. She asked: “You still can’t let her go?”
Xie Wenzhao remained silent.
“Looking like this… You’re not seriously thinking of becoming a monk, are you?” the Old Madam sighed, asking helplessly.
Mute for half the day, Xie Wenzhao finally spoke—only, what he said nearly angered the Old Madam to death. He said: “Why not? In this world, how can there be a method that satisfies both? Not betraying the Buddha, nor betraying you.”
He truly meant it!
The Old Madam was immediately enraged and sneered: “Why not? We raised you to this age, gave you fine clothes and delicious food, a retinue of servants, hired the best tutors for you, sent you to the best academy to study, and now you say you want to become a monk? Feel your conscience—how do you have the face to meet the Buddha?”
Xie Wenzhao said softly: “But none of that was what I wanted.”
The anger that the Old Madam had been holding in from Meng Fu these past days had had no outlet, and now, upon hearing Xie Wenzhao say this, her chest ached even more. Not what he wanted? But when it came to spending money, there was never any hesitation. And did he think that if he weren’t the Xuanping Marquis, that Meng Yu would even look at him?
The Old Madam pressed her chest and said to Xie Wenzhao: “I now think Meng Fu’s arrangement is perfect. After you’re done staying at Hua Xiaoling’s, you’ll go stay obediently with Sun Yulian! If you want to become a monk, fine—wait until you’ve given me a grandson, then go to whatever monastery you like!”
Finishing her harsh words, the Old Madam turned and left. What she had said was, in the end, spoken in anger. Xie Wenzhao was her own flesh and blood—even if he made countless mistakes, how could she bear to send him off to a monastery?
Only, Xie Wenzhao, steeped in his own grief, couldn’t sense the deeper meaning in her words at all. He felt like everyone in the marquis manor saw him as nothing but a tool to continue the family line. Only Meng Yu loved him, the person.
Xie Wenzhao closed his eyes, his heart sinking into unbearable pain—pain so great it couldn’t be expressed in words. The only ones who might feel the same as him now were probably the officials inside Fengtian Study Hall.
After Meng Fu’s string of questions, the smile on Sun Feiquan’s face was almost unsustainable. He felt deeply ashamed—was this truly something that he, Sun Feiquan, had presided over and compiled? It was garbage, absolute garbage. How could it be this bad? He had failed his sovereign above, and his parents below. He ought to find a crooked-neck tree and hang himself immediately.
Meng Fu, from the time she entered Fengtian Study Hall until now, hadn’t spoken a single harsh word—but all the officials present were overwhelmed with shame and regret.
His Majesty truly didn’t care much about the compiling of the grand canon. He felt it was okay whether it was compiled or not, and since it didn’t cost much, he hadn’t shut it down. But Meng Fu saw things differently. She believed that organizing, annotating, and analyzing the classics of ancient and modern times was not only a merit for the present, but also a benefit for posterity. In the future, His Majesty would surely enter the annals of history along with this grand canon.
But what they had compiled utterly disappointed Meng Fu. Those assigned by the Late Emperor to the Fengtian Study Hall to compile texts were supposed to be the most outstanding in talent and learning. And yet, what they produced was so mediocre—then what was the point of using them at all? Why not just grab two random scholars off the street?
“Do you dear ministers have anything else to say?” Meng Fu asked.
Not one of the officials kneeling below dared to speak.
What could they still say?
Their faces had already been slapped swollen by His Majesty, hadn’t they?
Who said His Majesty read few books?
What a joke.
If these issues could be seen by someone who had read little, then they might as well all go home and plant sweet potatoes.
Could it be that His Majesty has been secretly studying all this time?
At this moment, these officials indeed felt a degree of regret—but that regret stemmed solely from having caused His Majesty to look down on them because of this book project, thus losing face.
Meng Fu swept a glance over them, taking in their various expressions, then closed the book before her with a sigh and said to them: “Zhen knows it hasn’t been easy for you all to compile these books over these years. The Late Emperor trusted you and entrusted the matter of compiling the canon to you. Zhen also trusted you and thus never came personally. But you have truly disappointed Zhen too much. All of you are great talents—yet you compiled the book into this? Can you yourselves even bear to look at it?”
With every sentence Meng Fu spoke, the heads of the officials lowered further and further, until in the end, they all wished they could bury their faces into the ground.
“You’ve truly disappointed Zhen too much,” Meng Fu sighed.
Hearing Meng Fu’s sigh, the officials also felt wretched in their hearts. They hadn’t expected that His Majesty hadn’t forgotten them at all—in fact, His Majesty had placed great hopes in them.
They did not doubt Meng Fu’s words in the slightest—they believed them entirely.
Since ascending the throne, when had His Majesty ever spoken in a soft tone? And yet, even now, knowing they had slacked off and done sloppy work, His Majesty still held back from exploding and instead spoke to them so earnestly and sincerely. Within this entire court, which official had ever received such treatment? If it were someone else who had done such a thing, they would have long been dragged out. Yet here they were, still standing safely—how much must His Majesty value them?
And yet, not only did they fail to understand His Majesty’s painstaking efforts, they spent their days idling about in the study hall. They had let down His Majesty. They truly owed His Majesty too much!
Since ancient times, virtuous ministers have longed to meet a wise ruler—hoping their talents would be recognized. These people had met such a ruler, yet had not cherished the opportunity. They had made a colossal mistake.
Reflecting on how he had wasted the past few years within the Fengtian Study Hall, Sun Feiquan was filled with regret. If not for today’s reminder from His Majesty, he might have continued wasting away like this. His Majesty had treated him with true depth of feeling.
He had failed His Majesty!
With a thud, Sun Feiquan knelt down, eyes brimming with tears, and said: “This humble official deserves death ten thousand times over—may Your Majesty mete out punishment!”
The officials behind him also knelt one after another, in unison pleading guilt before Meng Fu.
Meng Fu could, in fact, understand these officials. After all, the original intention was that His Majesty truly didn’t care about them. Most people in the world are ordinary people—ask them to do something for a long time with no visible future, and they’ll feel it tedious, dull, and even want to give up. But that didn’t mean Meng Fu couldn’t use her own methods. These were people of exceptional talent—dragons among men. If, in the end, all they produced was a mere index, that would be too much of a waste.
Meng Fu looked down at Sun Feiquan kneeling on the floor and sighed: “Zhen doesn’t know how to punish you. Zhen never imagined there would come a day where Zhen would need to punish you.”
Hearing these words, Sun Feiquan’s heart felt even worse. His Majesty was known for decisive rulings in court—when hitting or killing, it was done without hesitation. Yet with them, there was such restraint. He had received the Emperor’s sacred favor and failed to live up to it. He truly deserved death.
Sun Feiquan bowed deeply and said to Meng Fu: “Your Majesty, this humble official is willing to forfeit salary for three years and receive eighty strokes of the staff. If this humble official is fortunate enough to survive, I only ask that Your Majesty give me one more chance—I will surely compile a grand canon that shakes the world for Your Majesty!”
The officials behind him collectively drew in sharp breaths.
Sun Feiquan was being too harsh with himself.
But when they thought about how much favor they had once received from His Majesty—favor that even top-ranking ministers dared not dream of—they too opened their mouths and echoed him: “This humble official is also willing.”
Meng Fu waited a moment before finally speaking. She said: “Enough. There’s no need for the beating. And three years is too long—you all have households to support. Just forfeit salary for half a year.”
Hearing Meng Fu’s final decision, Sun Feiquan was even more moved. He was willing to shed his blood for His Majesty and die without regret. He kowtowed and said: “Thank Your Majesty for Your sacred grace!”
His Majesty truly treated them differently from others—they must never disappoint His Majesty again.
Meng Fu said: “Zhen finds the two volumes compiled so far to be unsatisfactory. You will rewrite them.”
Even if Meng Fu hadn’t said it, Sun Feiquan had already intended to. He said: “This humble official obeys the decree.”
Meng Fu asked: “How long will it take to finish this time?”
Sun Feiquan replied: “Half a year.”
“Half a year, is it,”
Meng Fu neither said it was good nor bad. She glanced at the officials standing behind, her gaze stopping on Wang Miao, who clearly looked like he had something to say. She asked: “What do you think?”
Wang Miao immediately replied: “This humble official believes that two months will suffice.”
Sun Feiquan was startled—what nonsense was Wang Miao spouting? They couldn’t even finish compiling one volume in two months.
Meng Fu said: “Wouldn’t two months be a bit too short? Zhen looked at the article Lord Wang wrote not long ago…”
She didn’t say anything else in evaluation, but the disappointment on her face was visible to all. She said: “Zhen does not wish to see the same thing two months from now as Zhen saw today.”
Wang Miao pledged: “Your Majesty, please rest assured—this humble official will certainly satisfy you.”
He wanted His Majesty to know that Wang Miao was still a man of overflowing talent, capable of composing lofty odes upon high towers.
Meng Fu nodded and said: “That is good, then. Lord Wang shall oversee the matters of the study hall alongside Lord Sun. I hope Lord Wang will not disappoint Zhen again—Zhen is still waiting to see another masterpiece like White-Haired Ode from you.”
Wang Miao hadn’t expected this pleasant surprise. He hurriedly knelt and said: “Many thanks, Your Majesty. This humble official will certainly not fail Your Majesty’s trust.”
Meng Fu reopened the book. Actually, there were indeed a few chapters in it that were well compiled—though the phrasing was not particularly ornate, the style was rigorous, and the word choices sincere. She picked them out one by one and asked: “Who wrote these pieces? Summon them—Zhen would like to see them.”
Sun Feiquan immediately sent someone to fetch them.
His Majesty’s eye was truly sharp—he had, in a glance, selected the few young men who had been consistently diligent.
Before they arrived, Meng Fu asked around to learn more about the backgrounds of those few young officials.
Once they came in, Meng Fu’s first words were: “Zhen heard that after dismissal each day, you few are always the last to leave?”
The few young men had already heard about this emperor’s temperament and immediately shuddered in fear—Was staying late also a mistake?
But right after, Meng Fu bestowed them tea and praised: “Not bad—compiling books should be done just like you do it.”