After returning to the residence, Gao Yuexing instructed the servants to set up a brazier under the veranda for warmth and to prepare a stove for boiling soup. The servant sent to Qingliang Mountain to invite Li Fuxiang back home had just stepped out the gate when, from a distance, he saw their lord riding back through the snow.
The servant hurried to take the horse.
Li Fuxiang shook off the snow from his cloak as he stepped into the small square courtyard. He saw Gao Yuexing standing on the steps, holding a small copper hand warmer, smiling at him.
Between them, it wasn’t just the whirling, delicate snowflakes; there was also the water dripping down from the half-melted snow on the eaves.
Li Fuxiang stopped in his tracks, thinking how the red of her skirt looked like winter plums blossoming in the snowy landscape.
Meanwhile, Gao Yuexing’s noble and proud demeanor felt like that of a goddess sculpted from snow—untouchable and sacred.
Fresh lamb legs were delivered from outside. The kitchen of the prince’s residence sliced them into thin meat rolls, laid them on plates filled with crushed ice, and brought them to the main table.
Gao Yuexing ordered a screen to be placed at the upwind position to block the wind. Then she instructed that the meat be distributed among the servants so everyone could have a share during the season’s first snowfall.
Fu Yun and Yagu served by the side, but Gao Yuexing told them they didn’t need to wait on them anymore. In a sheltered spot inside the house, fruits had also been prepared for them.
For a while, the small courtyard became quiet, leaving only Gao Yuexing and Li Fuxiang sitting across from each other.
Gao Yuexing draped a soft and luxurious black bear pelt over Li Fuxiang. He shrugged it off, but she persistently placed it back on him.
Li Fuxiang said, “I don’t feel cold.”
Gao Yuexing replied, “Did you forget who used to have relentless fevers every winter when you were a child?”
Li Fuxiang had no response.
But Gao Yuexing had never forgotten those winters when his body burned hot with fever. Yet, he clenched his jaw tightly, and apart from a few muffled groans, not a single delirious word escaped his lips. Gao Yuexing and the emperor watched over him in fear and trepidation, while the calmest person was always Yagu.
Gao Yuexing took the warm cherry wine off the stove and poured a bowl for Li Fuxiang to warm himself in the icy weather.
Li Fuxiang drank it all in one go.
Seeing his less-than-satisfied expression, Gao Yuexing remarked, “After all these years in the army, sweet wine doesn’t please you anymore, does it?”
Li Fuxiang shook his head and said, “Sweet wine is good—it gives me a sense of security, like being by your side.”
Gao Yuexing said, “You always thought you preferred the sand-eating life of the Western Frontier.”
Li Fuxiang replied, “I like being by your side, but I know I can’t bring you along when I go to war. The wind and sand of the Western Frontier would destroy you.”
Gao Yuexing said, “What truly destroys me has never been harsh climates or environments. My entire life needs only your nourishment. Like a flower cultivated in water—without you, I would wither.”
She had gradually forgotten the pain of her past life.
She no longer woke from nightmares in the night, nor broke out in cold sweat during the day when lost in thought, trembling uncontrollably.
She was like a resilient yet fragile vine. In the beginning, she twined cautiously around the small sapling that was Li Fuxiang, protecting him with utmost care. Yet, she knew that one day, this sapling would grow into a towering tree, offering her the support she needed. She always thought the tender buds sprouting from his treetop were delicate and endearing, not realizing that his roots had already dug deep into the earth, unshakable.
Gao Yuexing said, “This year’s snow came so early… you didn’t even have time to fall ill.”
Under her gaze, Li Fuxiang instinctively wrapped his cloak tighter around himself.
Attempting to change the subject, he said, “The emperor discussed something with me—he wants me to undertake a southern inspection tour on his behalf next spring.”
Gao Yuexing nodded.
She was aware of this matter.
Acting as an imperial emissary on the inspection tour—if Li Fuxiang succeeded in this, his position would become unshakable.
Li Fuxiang continued, “The emperor has allowed me to select the officials I wish to bring along. I’d like to hear your thoughts.”
Gao Yuexing, unfamiliar with the intricacies of court politics and factional struggles, directly suggested another approach: “Why not visit General Zheng’s residence for advice?”
Li Fuxiang replied, “I did. He said he had no expertise in such matters.”
Gao Yuexing thought for a moment. “My father would be an excellent choice, but he has always avoided entangling himself in political disputes. Perhaps… I could write a letter, and you could discuss this with my elder brother.”
Li Fuxiang found the suggestion reasonable.
As she mulled over something else, Gao Yuexing added, “However, there is one person you must take along for next year’s southern tour.”
Li Fuxiang asked, “Who?”
Gao Yuexing replied, “Kong Rangchen.”
Li Fuxiang clearly didn’t recall: “Who is that?”
Gao Yuexing explained, “The second son of Kong Shishu, Minister of Revenue.”
Kong Rangchen was not well-known, but his father, Kong Shishu, was a household name.
Kong Shishu had held the position of Minister of Revenue for half his life, serving three emperors.
In his youth, he was handpicked during the palace examination by Emperor Taizong himself, a dashing and exceptionally talented young man, deserving of the title of an honest and upright official.
However, during the reign of the late emperor, the now middle-aged Kong Shishu had become the most corrupt official in the court. As Minister of Revenue, he amassed immense wealth, his arrogance and greed openly acknowledged.
The late emperor was fully aware of his corruption but found himself in a bind. In the latter years of his reign, the national treasury was nearly empty, with countless deficits. Even officials’ salaries were owed for years.
Kong Shishu, with just a slight release of his wealth, could alleviate the treasury’s difficulties. The late emperor treated him like a purse, maintaining a delicate balance that kept them at peace for many years.
When the current emperor ascended the throne, the wars in the Western Frontier were still ongoing. The people were destitute, lacking both food and resources, living in dire straits.
The emperor had long loathed this parasitic official, but on his deathbed, the late emperor had held the young emperor’s hand and repeatedly urged him not to harm Kong Shishu immediately upon ascending the throne. He advised that Kong’s resources should be extracted for the benefit of the state and that he could only be dealt with when the realm was stable, and the treasury was full.
The current emperor, dutiful and filial, adhered to his father’s dying wishes, refraining from immediately punishing Kong Shishu despite his deep-seated hatred.
Kong Shishu, a seasoned veteran of court politics, easily discerned the emperor’s hidden intent. He calmly retreated along the escape route he had long prepared.
As soon as the emperor ascended the throne, Kong Shishu donated all his wealth, transporting it to the Huai River region, which had suffered heavily from disasters and years of war.
Kong’s money and grain were used entirely in the Huai River region. In less than a year, the area became the most prosperous in the Central Plains.
To achieve this, Kong Shishu even sold off his own land and estates, moving with his family to live in leaky straw huts alongside refugees from disaster zones.
The common people cared little about whether someone had been corrupt in the past. Whoever filled their bellies and saved their lives was their greatest benefactor.
The people of the Huai River region rebuilt their homes, achieved land ownership for farmers, and began erecting merit temples in honor of Kong Shishu.
Kong Shishu’s move was nothing short of ruthless.
Kong Shishu grasped the depth of the emperor’s hatred toward him, but he also understood the benevolent nature of the current emperor.
He went to such lengths.
Even the common people stood in his defense.
The emperor would no longer kill him.
But neither would the emperor forgive him easily.
After years of living outside the city in tattered clothes, struggling in misery, Kong Shishu finally managed to return to the capital using his meager official salary, building a modest three-courtyard residence that was far inferior to those of the idle, pampered aristocratic youth enjoying wealth and comfort in the city.
Kong Shishu, greedy by nature and bold yet ruthless, was unlikely to truly reform. His eldest son was unremarkable, quietly studying and writing essays, appearing as nothing more than an ordinary person.
But it was his second son, merely sixteen or seventeen years old, who had already caught the emperor’s eye with his extraordinary insights into water conservancy. Cherishing such talent, the emperor had bent the rules to appoint him to the Ministry of Works.
Li Fuxiang noted this in his mind, planning to send someone to inquire about the offspring of this infamous corrupt official the next day.
But before dawn the following day, he could not get out of bed.
His chronic asthma, which paid its annual visit alongside the first snow, struck that very night.
Gao Yuexing was sound asleep when she faintly heard his muffled, intermittent coughing. She immediately sat up in alarm.
Sure enough, Li Fuxiang was lying with his back to her, pressing a quilt tightly over his mouth and nose.
He was afraid of disturbing Gao Yuexing’s rest.
But in doing so, he was suffocating himself.
Gao Yuexing called out, “Someone, come!” and immediately pulled away the quilt covering Li Fuxiang’s face.
Li Fuxiang weakly reached out to tug it back, but his efforts were in vain.
The medicine Li Fuxiang used was always kept close at hand by Yagu, entrusted to no one else.
Gao Yuexing fed him a pill newly formulated by the Medicine Valley, washing it down with warm water.
Li Fuxiang’s coughing turned his neck bright red. He felt as though he were on the verge of suffocation, struggling desperately to breathe.
Gao Yuexing supported him, letting him lean against her.
Soon, a bowl of medicinal soup was brought in.
The Jinyiwei guards, who were always stationed on the rooftop, needed no orders. They split into two teams—one delivering a message to the palace, and the other summoning the on-duty imperial physician.
The imperial physician dared not delay for even a moment. Dropping everything, he braved the snowstorm and rushed over.
When Gao Yuexing saw the imperial physician enter with his cloak covered in a thick layer of snow, she realized that the snowfall outside had grown heavier.
By then, Gao Yuexing was already properly dressed, yet she still held Li Fuxiang in her arms as they leaned against each other, waiting for the imperial physician to step forward and check his pulse.
The door opened and closed again in quick succession.
The wind and snow swept in.
It was the emperor himself, arriving in person.
The emperor, upon seeing the snow during the day, had felt an ominous foreboding. His concern gnawed at him, keeping him restless and sleepless in the palace. When the news finally reached his ears, he immediately set out with his personal guards and rushed to the prince’s residence.
The emperor first lifted the curtain to glance inside. Then, he ordered a brazier to be brought to the entrance to dispel his chill. Only after warming himself by rubbing his hands together did he step back in and ask, “How is he?”
Gao Yuexing replied, “Much better.”
Li Fuxiang’s coughing and wheezing had subsided somewhat, but the fever scorching his body had just begun to rise.
The emperor placed his freshly warmed hands on Li Fuxiang’s face, but he could still feel the burning heat surging through him.
Letting the imperial physician and the servants inside continue their work, the emperor sat down on a low couch just outside. He showed no intention of leaving, even as the time for the morning court session approached. Xu Xiude hurriedly sent someone on horseback back to the palace to fetch the emperor’s court robes. Borrowing a carriage from the Prince of Xiang’s residence, the emperor departed directly from the residence, blending into the ranks of officials heading to court.
On the way, some officials noticed the Prince of Xiang’s carriage and were astonished. It was a rare sight for the Prince of Xiang to participate in court affairs—so rare it was as though the sun had risen in the west.
However, as they watched the Prince of Xiang’s carriage proceed irregularly into the palace gates, several censors discreetly noted it in their records, fully intending to report this breach of protocol during the court session. Yet, when they arrived at the court hall, the officials found themselves bewildered.
The seat at the very front—the emperor’s seat—remained vacant from start to finish.
Where was the emperor?
And who was in that carriage?