Chapter 20: Arrogant Aura
Han Min naturally did not want to be treated like a “demonic concubine.”
He composed himself and looked at Fu Xun. “The national mourning is rather important. Won’t Your Majesty go?”
“I know. I’ll go take a look. You rest here.”
“Your Majesty, please take care.”
Fu Xun stood and left.
Wen Yan, straightforward by nature, had been waiting outside the entire time until Fu Xun came out.
Probably because Fu Xun gave some instructions while outside, Eunuch Yang soon came in with attendants.
“Min’er, I had them warm up your porridge. Eat a few more spoonfuls, then take your medicine.”
“All right.”
Han Min held the bowl and drank, casually asking, “Where’s Physician Liang?”
Eunuch Yang sat on the footstool in front of the couch. “He’s monitoring your medicine.”
Han Min thought for a moment and asked again, “Could I move out to another place? A few days here are enough. Staying here all the time… feels strange. Not only is it inconvenient for Your Majesty, but it’s also the time of filial mourning—it’s even more inconvenient.”
Eunuch Yang said, “You were personally brought back by His Majesty. I wouldn’t dare move you without permission. When the emperor comes again, you can ask him.”
“All right… but what does ‘personally brought back’ mean?”
“It means what it means.”
Han Min choked and turned his head, coughing twice.
Eunuch Yang took the bowl and patted his back.
After a while, Han Min patted his chest. “No wonder Wen Yan always seems disapproving of me.”
Did he annoy Wen Yan again today? He did.
Eunuch Yang smiled. “Just a joke. Why are you so anxious? And why are you so afraid of Wen Yan?”
“He’s straightforward, upright, and incorruptible. In the future, the emperor will surely make him a censor. If he criticizes you properly—”
Han Min thumped the couch. “If my grandfather knew, I wouldn’t even be alive.”
After talking for a bit, Physician Liang came in with a young medicine boy.
The boy carried a wooden tray with a white porcelain medicine bowl and a small dish of candied fruit.
Physician Liang handed him the bowl. “I added a few herbs to calm the mind. Drink it warm, then sleep, and let yourself sweat a bit.”
Han Min nodded and took the bowl, holding it, stirring halfheartedly with the spoon.
After a moment of silence, Physician Liang asked, “Two years without seeing you… how’s your grandfather?”
The elderly men had all been friends in their youth.
After Emperor Dezong passed away, Han Min’s grandfather returned home, and they went their separate ways.
Han Min replied, “Grandfather is fine. Just a little sensitive to the cold in winter, so I make him drink a little ginseng broth every day—well, not really broth, just a little bit of ginseng root.”
He pinched a tiny amount between his fingers.
Eunuch Yang waved a hand. “Ah, he’s always been like this. Even in his youth he feared the cold. Decades have passed; it’s nothing serious.”
Physician Liang asked about Han Min’s elder brother. “And your brother? When he left, his leg—”
“Now he’s in a wheelchair. He has sensation, but can’t exert strength. With crutches, he can move a few steps. I learned some massage techniques from the doctors in Tongzhou and help him daily, though I’m not sure if it’s effective.”
Physician Liang sighed. “When will you bring him back? I’ll take a look.”
Han Min seemed hesitant but nodded slightly. “All right.”
“I mean it,” Physician Liang said seriously. “His Majesty resembles his grandfather Dezong, not his father who holds grudges. Even if your family isn’t immediately rehabilitated, he won’t strictly punish you. Tongzhou is remote and harsh; your grandfather is old, your elder brother’s leg needs treatment, your younger brother is about to study. Seriously, bring your family back as soon as possible.”
“I know. But the late emperor hasn’t been buried yet, the Duke of Gong is still in court, and I have a feud with the Duke of Gong. I need to wait for His Majesty to handle him.”
Han Min paused, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Besides, I wasn’t close to His Majesty before. I used to fight him when I was little. Even if I passed the imperial exam, I wouldn’t be allowed to hold office in the capital according to regulations.”
Eunuch Yang and Physician Liang exchanged a glance.
“Why do you think that way?”
“Isn’t it true?”
Eunuch Yang tapped his forehead. “Anyone with eyes can see His Majesty values your talent.”
“Nonsense…”
Han Min realized he misspoke and lowered his head to scoop a spoonful of medicinal soup.
They exchanged a glance again. Eunuch Yang picked up the plate and handed the candied fruit to him.
“Relax. His Majesty values your talent. Now that you’ve returned, you won’t be sent away again.”
Han Min picked up a piece of candied fruit. “Hopefully. Amitabha.”
Old Physician Liang rose. “You should rest. Try the medicine; if it doesn’t work, we’ll change the prescription.”
“Thank you, Old Physician.”
After they left, the hall grew quiet.
Han Min lay on the couch, lost in thought.
He vaguely saw a dragon on the canopy surge into the clouds, then slowly fell asleep.
Having been seriously ill, plus his constant busyness before, suddenly being idle made Han Min feel dazed. No matter how he slept, it wasn’t enough.
After another short nap, Han Min stretched and lingered on the bed a while.
System said, “If you keep being lazy like this, someday the emperor will kick you out of the palace.”
Han Min sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve already slept on the dragon bed; I haven’t lost out.”
System scolded: “Have some ambition!”
“Now I do. Now I have some.”
He got out of bed, pulled on his clothes, and tied his sash.
“Where are you going?”
“I ate Wen Yan’s candied fruit yesterday; I need to thank him. Also, Fu Xun said last night that the Duke of Gong will be handled by next month at the latest. But the Duke of Gong has governed for years; most civil officials in court are his people. Fu Xun must act carefully—this is when a literati’s help is needed—”
Han Min grabbed a hair ribbon from the table, bent over in front of a mirror, tied up his hair, and continued: “Wen Yan coming to see him is probably for this reason too. I’ve caused Fu Xun so much trouble; I want to see if I can help.”
System said, “You do have some thoughtfulness. I thought you—”
Just then, two light knocks came from outside.
Han Min, feeling strange, shushed and listened. More movement came from outside.
He went to the window and opened it. A hawk perched on the windowsill, covered in blood. A patch of white feathers on its head was soaked and clumped.
It was the messenger hawk Fu Xun had named Yanzhi, though Han Min called it Turnip Head.
Han Min gasped and carefully lifted it, running out of the hall.
Eunuch Yang, outside, saw him rushing. “What’s wrong?”
Han Min showed him the dying hawk. “Here.”
Eunuch Yang waved. “I don’t know about this. Let’s take it to His Majesty; he keeps many hawks. Food was just sent to the study; the meeting should be almost done.”
Han Min nodded and followed.
Inside the study, Fu Xun and Wen Yan were talking, sitting across from each other. The hall doors were open; Wei Huan and a young eunuch attended them.
Han Min didn’t want to interrupt, so he looked from the stone steps and turned to leave. Fu Xun saw him and waved.
“Come here.”
Han Min ran up the steps and explained: “I shouldn’t disturb you, but…”
He nodded to Wen Yan. “Sorry for the interruption.”
Wen Yan pressed his lips down and turned away, clearly displeased.
Han Min approached. The hawk’s wings were still bloody, and he hesitated whether to put it down.
Fu Xun pushed aside the memorial documents. “Leave it there.”
“All right.”
Fu Xun checked the hawk’s neck—it was still warm.
He commanded: “Wei Huan.”
Wei Huan quickly fetched a small wooden box, containing silver knives of various sizes and some wound medicine, apparently for hawks.
Han Min sat by the table, the hawk’s head facing him, eyes cloudy. Something seemed off.
Fu Xun saw and finally pried open the hawk’s beak, taking out a small bamboo tube.
Inside, the note was fine—still read “No Obstruction.”
It was a letter Fu Xun had returned a few days ago.
Han Min had come to Yong’an because he hadn’t received the letter. The hawk, injured, flew between Tongzhou and Yong’an, failing to find Fu Xun in Tongzhou, and stopped at the windowsill of the bedchamber—where it met Han Min.
Fu Xun unpacked some powdered medicine and comforted Han Min: “It will heal.”
Han Min’s voice was hoarse. “Mm.”
Seeing the hawk’s claws had been clipped, he asked, “Will the claws grow back?”
Fu Xun nodded. “Yes, they normally shed.”
Han Min watched the hawk seriously.
After bandaging, Fu Xun turned to ruffle his hair but saw his hands were bloody, so he brushed Han Min’s face with the back of his hand.
Han Min held Turnip Head, stroking its wings. “No more delivering messages for you.”
“You won’t need to anymore.”
Fu Xun seemed to imply something.
Han Min focused on comforting his hawk.
Fu Xun washed his hands and leaned on his elbows, watching the hawk.
After a while, Wen Yan sighed: “Your Majesty, Master Han, it’s noon; the hawk must be hungry.”
Lunch was shared by Fu Xun, Han Min, and Wen Yan.
The scene was awkward.
Fu Xun served Han Min generously, while Wen Yan, a gentlemanly scion, ate quietly, speaking little.
Han Min felt restless and wanted the emperor to “share evenly,” but couldn’t say it.
He thanked Fu Xun, then nudged a plate of chopped meat toward Turnip Head.
It remained listless, and so did Han Min.
After some eating, Wen Yan set down his utensils, took a cloth from the young eunuch, and wiped his mouth.
He said warmly: “Master Han, your writing is impressive. That memorial you composed in Liuzhou made the Duke of Gong’s face change three times. Coming out of the Golden Hall, he even fell on the steps. I am far from your talent.”
Fu Xun, displeased, called: “Wen Bianzhang.”
Bianzhang was his courtesy name.
Wen Yan was righteous and precise in literature.
Wen Bianzhang said calmly: “The memorial criticizing the Duke of Gong hasn’t been shown to Master Han yet, right? Why not let him see it and revise it himself?”
Fu Xun’s expression changed. He pressed the jade chopsticks to the table, but Han Min responded: “All right.”
Wen Yan gave him a faint smile.
He had clear intentions: Temper Han Min’s “arrogant aura” as the “demonic concubine” and give him work to do. Admit that Han Min was indeed talented.
Back in Liuzhou, Wen Yan had collaborated with him on a memorial and felt good about it.
Fu Xun, however, stirred his chopsticks, clearly displeased.
Han Min, sensing the strong aura, looked at him. “Hm?”
Fu Xun smiled gently: “If you like it, go ahead.”
Then he looked at Wen Yan, coldly: “Do your own duties; don’t always try to shift them onto others.”
Wen Yan didn’t mind. “To make the Duke of Gong stumble is a remarkable feat. I admire Master Han’s talent and devised this so I could spend time alone with him.”
Fu Xun furrowed his brows. “Say that again and see what happens—what are you thinking? Dream on!”
Author’s Notes:
Fu Xun’s courtesy name: Yixian
Wen Yan’s courtesy name: Bianzhang
Han Min is underage (in the historical sense)
