Chapter 85: New Year's Eve

They say a new year brings new beginnings, but such words depend on whom they are spoken to—especially this year, when so much has happened and so many fates have changed.

Imperial Palace of Bianliang.

Empress Zheng had already been cast into the Cold Palace, awaiting the decree to strip her of her title. But on the eve of the lunar New Year, something she never expected occurred: a large cohort of palace attendants entered, bearing the ceremonial regalia she once possessed.

Feng Quan, who had been driven away, collapsed in tears before Empress Zheng, choking out, “Your Majesty, the Emperor has changed his mind. He has ordered this old servant to bring you to share the reunion feast…”

Since moving into the Cold Palace, Empress Zheng had experienced the full spectrum of human warmth and indifference. Her emotions had passed from anger and sorrow to self-pity, and finally to a serenity as still as water. The pain of this journey could not be conveyed in words, but one thing was certain: her love for her husband, the Emperor, had died completely.

Now, she spent her days praying before the Buddha, beseeching Heaven for the safety of her son, Zhao Yu.

So, when Feng Quan finished speaking, she replied calmly, “Rise. I am no longer the Empress. Return and tell His Majesty that if he wishes to kill or punish me, he need only say the word. But he must not disturb me.”

“The old servant knows Your Majesty has suffered much, but now that things have come to this, perhaps it is best to let go. Besides, I have good news: since His Highness arrived in Liao, he was immediately granted the title of Prince of Song and appointed Grand Administrator of Youzhou. He is now a figure of great renown in Liao.”

Hearing this, Empress Zheng was first stunned, then tears poured down her face. She turned to the Buddha and knelt, sobbing softly.

After some time, she gradually stilled her crying and, without turning back, said, “Go tell His Majesty: without Yu’er, what meaning has reunion? Go. My mind is made up—I will not leave this room again.”

Feng Quan wished to say more, but seeing Empress Zheng recite scriptures with her back to him, he could only kneel once more, bow, and withdraw.

The hall soon returned to silence, and a trace of mocking smile appeared at the corner of Empress Zheng’s lips.

She had been married to Zhao Ji for many years; how could she not know his true thoughts? The invitation was a ruse—he likely wanted to use her to coerce their son into returning the lands of Yan and Yun.

Having failed to protect her son, she already felt immeasurably guilty. If her involvement caused him further distress, she would have no choice but to die.

Such is the heart of all parents under heaven. Zhao Yu’s filial piety toward her, though she was not his birth mother, was certainly not without reason.

Upon hearing Feng Quan’s report, Emperor Huizong nearly flipped the table in rage. To be refused by her? Did she truly think herself important, that he would not dare depose her?

Anger aside, the lands of Yan and Yun were the true concern. But if his wife would not assist, how could he bring that rebellious son to heel?

Attending him, Zhao Kai hurried to advise, “Father, do not be angry. I believe Liao granted Eighth Brother the title of Grand Administrator of Youzhou precisely to guard against us. Once the threat is lifted, his position will naturally end. With Eighth Brother’s intelligence, he surely sees this. So Father might as well be generous: restore his princely title and grant him the rank of Prince of Yan.”

“To grant that rebel yet another title…”

Emperor Huizong’s fury was about to erupt, but he caught a shrewd gleam in Zhao Kai’s eyes, and understood: as soon as Yan and Yun were regained, whether to honor or demote him would be his own decision.

He nodded, “You are quite right. I will report to the ancestral temple and grant Zhao Yu the title Prince of Yan, with the privileges of the Three Grand Ministers, appointed as Grand Commandant, and Commander of the Yan and Yun armies.”

Such an appointment was significant: if realized, Zhao Yu would be a true feudal prince.

“Feng Quan, tomorrow you will carry my decree to Youzhou. When you see Yu’er, tell him the Empress misses him dearly and wishes him to return soon.”

The performance by Emperor Huizong and Zhao Kai might have fooled others, but not Feng Quan, who had just returned from Empress Zheng and had raised Zhao Yu himself.

But Feng Quan knew better than to show any sign of understanding. He bowed and took the order, then withdrew.

Watching Feng Quan’s retreating figure, Emperor Huizong could not help but ask Zhao Kai, “What if that rebellious son does not fall for it?”

“Father can arrange for rumors in Liao, saying Zhao Yu is actually an undercover agent of Song. Then Zhao Yu will know the consequences of defying you.”

Zhao Kai spoke with utmost respect, though inwardly he thought, “Rest assured, Father—even if you do not do it, I will. If that brat truly brings back Yan and Yun, how will I ever have a foothold in court?”

Compared to the festive New Year in Song and Liao, the mood in Huining, capital of Jin, was one of utter gloom.

Wanyan Aguda, Wanyan Wuqi, and a dozen other high-ranking Jurchens had been blown to bits, leaving only hasty burial mounds for their clothing and crowns, with the matter of proper interment left for another day.

The Jurchens practiced the Bojilie system, under which four senior Bojilie aided the Emperor in governance. The most capable among them was Wanyan Wuqi, head of the four. Ordinarily, with Aguda dead, Wuqi would succeed him—but with Wuqi also gone, the succession was thrown into chaos.

The remaining Bojilie were Wanyan Zonghan, Wanyan Xiyin, and Wanyan Xieye.

Wanyan Xieye (Gao) was Aguda’s fifth brother, Wanyan Zonghan his nephew, and Wanyan Xiyin the renowned Jurchen scholar.

Wanyan Xiyin had little ambition and could be discounted. Xieye and Zonghan were evenly matched, yet lacked the resolve and strength. Meanwhile, Aguda’s two sons, Wanyan Zonggan and Wanyan Zongwang, were formidable contenders.

After founding the state, the Jurchens had grown increasingly familiar with Han customs; thus, as the eldest legitimate son, Wanyan Zonggan sought to inherit his father’s throne.

This complicated matters. Nevertheless, these men were wise enough to know that now was not the time for open conflict.

Thus, on the traditional New Year’s Day—while Song and Liao celebrated throughout the land—the leading Jurchen nobles gathered to deliberate the future of their people.

The Huining Palace was even less impressive than the Shangjing Palace. Massive braziers lined the hall, warming it as if spring.

Zonghan, Zonggan, Zongwang, Xiyin, Xieye, Loushi, Yanshuke, and other Jurchen nobles sat together, discussing the path forward.

All understood that this “discussion” was really about deciding who would lead, though the topic was sensitive and none wished to broach it.

Xieye, Aguda’s fifth brother, had always resented Wuqi, the fourth sibling. Aguda’s death was regrettable, but Wuqi’s demise was almost satisfying. What angered him most was that, with both the eldest and fourth brothers gone, no one had chosen him.

Zonggan also felt frustrated—he was the legitimate heir, and by Han custom, the son should succeed the father. Why had no one mentioned this?

As the only man without ambition, Xiyin saw no one willing to speak, and so broke the silence.

He cleared his throat, “Have you heard? Liao has suddenly produced a ‘Prince of Song’, apparently a Song imperial son. He was meant to marry the niece of Empress Xiao, yet somehow became Grand Administrator of Youzhou.”

His words startled the assembly. Liao’s affairs seemed unrelated to their own.

Under their puzzled gazes, Xiyin continued, “I sent men to investigate thoroughly around Huanglong Mansion. Some say that before the incident, a Han Daoist was often seen in that area…”