Chapter 45: Han the Imperial Attendant
When the palace attendants from Funing Palace hurried to Wenying Hall to fetch Han Min, Lord Yu’s personal attendant for daily records hadn’t even gotten through a single sentence in his “onboarding training.”
No one knew why the Emperor insisted on Han Min coming over. Lord Yu could only say to him: “Since the Emperor said he would teach you, you should go.”
Han Min found it a bit strange, but the palace attendants delivering the message, having seen the Emperor’s slight displeasure, urged him hastily to leave.
He could only gather his things and follow them.
After he left, Lord Yu exchanged a glance with Chu Yu.
“Then… shall we head home?”
“That’s what I was thinking too.”
They had thought it was a serious matter, so Fu Xun had hurried him; Han Min had practically jogged over.
At the hall entrance, he caught his breath, straightened his clothes and official hat, and slowly walked in.
He stood before Fu Xun and raised his hands in a formal bow.
Fu Xun said, “You may rise,” and when Han Min lifted his head, he saw Fu Xun beckoning him over.
To Han Min, who had always been at odds with him since childhood, that gesture, combined with the faint smile on Fu Xun’s face, seemed a bit smug.
Well, he thought, Fu Xun is the Emperor now—what can he do?
Han Min exhaled slowly, steadied his breathing, and walked to his side.
Fu Xun said, “You almost missed the morning court.”
Han Min answered softly, “I know my fault, Your Majesty.”
Han Min, silently inside his mind, shook his shoulder hard.
—You haven’t even gone yet! How can you almost miss court while still in your bedchamber?
Fu Xun continued, “Your first time attending court and you already mistimed it.”
Han Min tried to soften his voice: “I know my fault, Your Majesty.”
Han Min felt frustrated; if it weren’t for the official hat, he thought he’d explode.
—Fu Xun is so annoying.
Finally, Fu Xun said, “You—”
Han Min muttered in a small voice, half complaining, half whining: “I said I know my fault.”
Then he raised his voice to cover it: “Morning court is important; Your Majesty should proceed to Zichen Hall quickly.”
Fu Xun glanced at him and asked, “Proceed to Zichen Hall—do you remember the daily record notes?”
Han Min pulled out paper and brush from his pouch and recalled the notes he had seen earlier at Wenying Hall.
He should simply write it down first and organize it later.
“I should remember.”
Fu Xun reached out his hand, and Han Min handed him the paper and brush.
Fu Xun wrote a few lines, then handed it back.
Han Min looked—Fu Xun had only noted the date:
First year of Dingyuan, first day of the fourth month.
Fu Xun then said, “Write one line.”
“Yes.”
Han Min held the brush, thinking carefully before writing.
Fu Xun tugged his sleeve and pulled him close to see what he wrote.
—At the beginning of the hour of Mao (5-7 AM), rise.
“Good, continue.”
Han Min thought for a moment and wrote more characters:
—Missed the early morning court session.
Fu Xun frowned, puzzled: “What does this mean?”
Han Min suppressed a laugh, feigning seriousness: “I am simply recording faithfully.”
He stepped back a few paces, alert like a cat, guarding the paper: “Your Majesty cannot alter it.”
Fu Xun then stood to proceed to court, and Han Min paused for a moment before quickly following.
Fu Xun glanced at him; the three characters “missed morning court” had already been blacked out. Han Min was still very considerate of him.
He himself didn’t notice, just smiled faintly at Fu Xun.
With some time before morning court, and without taking the imperial carriage, the two walked along the palace path, attended by two lines of palace servants.
Fu Xun said casually, “Your first time at court—don’t look around. Keep your eyes on me.”
A personal attendant for daily records should focus on the Emperor.
Taking it as a kind reminder, Han Min nodded: “Yes.”
Seeing his earnest, silly look, Fu Xun couldn’t help but chuckle.
He asked again: “What if you can’t write it all down in time?”
“I will try to keep up with Your Majesty’s speaking pace.”
“And if you still can’t?”
Han Min looked confused; he didn’t know.
“Tap the dragon throne with your brush, and I will wait for you.”
“That’s probably improper…”
Fu Xun cleared his throat: “If you ask me, I will wait for you.”
He rarely referred to himself this way, but in front of Han Min, it emphasized the matter.
Han Min noticed immediately.
Han Min in his heart was fuming: —You’re so smug, Your Majesty.
But Han Min adjusted his expression and said: “I can keep up.”
Zichen Hall, the Emperor’s court chamber. Han Min followed Fu Xun inside. The ministers stood silently.
The Emperor ascended the nine-tiered white jade steps.
The personal attendant for daily records entered from the side and stood behind him with paper and brush once the Emperor was seated.
Then the Chancellor led the ministers in paying respects.
The old Chancellor Jiang, formerly a follower of the Duke of Gong, retired last month to preserve some dignity. Fu Xun, unbothered by appearances, promoted Jiang’s young son Jiang Huan as Chancellor.
Now, Jiang Huan, in a purple robe, stood at the front with a jade tablet, bowing in respect.
Han Min lowered his head and wrote a single character—
Court.
Fu Xun raised his hand; the attendants said, “No need to bow.”
Then the court session began.
New court, new atmosphere. Most officials were now Fu Xun’s people, though many trivial matters still needed attention.
Han Min held his brush, recording continuously, occasionally glancing at Fu Xun before dipping the brush in ink again.
Soon, a palace attendant called him over, indicating a small stool at his feet.
Han Min thanked him, sat, and continued recording.
He switched paper once.
Fu Xun had worried he couldn’t keep up—completely unnecessary. In Tongzhou, he had done double work: copying books and continuing scripts. Over the years, he wrote far more than in the previous decade. Sometimes he stayed up all night to meet deadlines.
The ministers did not notice, but another person sat in the hall besides the Emperor.
A long court session could last for hours. Han Min, though frail, could stand only for so long—but writing was his usual work.
His hand grew slightly sore, speed slowed, and when he felt hungry, the court ended.
He wrote down the words “court adjourned,” then realized he could leave.
Fu Xun stood; Han Min quickly got up and followed him from the rear hall.
He secretly rubbed his stiff waist.
Fu Xun glanced at him without a word, waved off the carriage, and asked: “Shall we walk back?”
“Yes.”
They didn’t retrace the original path. Fu Xun led him on a detour, the palace attendants following from a distance, passing around a garden.
On a stone path, Fu Xun held out his hand: “Show me.”
Han Min handed him the stack of written drafts.
This was just a rough record; it would need to be organized later.
The Emperor shouldn’t read the daily record, but he was the Emperor.
Fu Xun flipped through casually: “Next time, make it concise and submit on a folded note.”
Han Min thanked him.
Fu Xun saw ink on his hands and rubbed them gently.
Clearly caring, but he said: “What if next time it gets on your face?”
Han Min mumbled: “I’ve written for years, I won’t get it on my face.”
Fu Xun raised his hand and smeared ink across Han Min’s left cheek.
Han Min froze but recalled what Liu Ting said that morning: don’t argue or fight with Fu Xun.
He grabbed paper and brush and wrote angrily:
Noon, the Emperor plays with his minister, behaving improperly, ridiculous and funny.
Fu Xun looked, startled: “You wrote this?”
Han Min replied confidently: “I am recording faithfully.”
Before the ink dried, Fu Xun smeared more on his face.
Han Min couldn’t dodge; the right side got ink too.
Fu Xun argued: “Since you wrote it, a few more smears aren’t unfair.”
Han Min tried to keep writing, but Fu Xun held his face.
Attending palace staff stopped and lowered their heads, awed: “Han the Imperial Attendant is so brave.”
A sharp slap sound—Han Min pushed Fu Xun’s hand aside. The attendants were shocked: “Han the Imperial Attendant is strong.”
Han Min’s almond eyes widened; he looked fearlessly at the Emperor: “Your Majesty, look at that artificial hill behind you. Isn’t it the artificial hill we fell down together when we were fighting as children?”
Screw the rule that we can’t fight.
That was a good threat. If he weren’t in his current state, Fu Xun might be scared. Fu Xun laughed, tried to smear more ink, but Han Min pushed him aside again.
—
Funing Palace lunch was set.
Fu Xun changed clothes. Attendants brought hot water and towels for Han Min to wash his face.
Han Min sat in a corner, frowning at the water and his half-inked cat-whisker face.
Fu Xun changed his clothes, turned to look at him, walked to his side, took the handkerchief from the palace servant, and handed it to him.
Seeing Fu Xun, his expression darkened. He accepted the towel: “I dare not trouble Your Majesty.”
Fu Xun’s hands had ink too; he rinsed with the water Han Min used. Before speaking, Han Min stood and left; Fu Xun followed.
Lunch was simply arranged on a table with twelve dishes.
Fu Xun sat, glanced at Han Min: “Come here.”
Han Min stepped forward with paper and pen, expressionless, and began to record the details: “Chicken marrow and bamboo shoots, Longjing shrimp, braised crab meat lion’s head meatballs…”
He tried to act less greedy.
Fu Xun chuckled: “No need to write this.” He pointed opposite him: “Come sit.”
Han Min smiled faintly, putting the brush away, but before sitting, an elder palace lady arrived with four attendants carrying food boxes.
She said kindly: “The Empress Dowager heard today is Han Min’s duty and had the small kitchen prepare dishes he liked as a child.”
Han Min bowed and thanked her.
The Empress Dowager hoped the Emperor and Han Min would stop fighting like children and maintain harmony.
They were served pork trotter soup, a childhood favorite. Fu Xun and Han Min nodded simultaneously.
Others left; only the two remained.
Han Min sat beside Fu Xun, waiting until he took chopsticks to move. They ate quietly.
Fu Xun pushed the “harmony soup” to Han Min. Half-lowered eyes, clearly softening. Han Min pressed a napkin to his mouth: “You bully me so much, even the Empress Dowager knows. If you do it again, I’ll complain.”
Fu Xun served more food: “Understood. Have you eaten enough?”
“No. Where are you going this afternoon? I’ll note it.”
Which personal attendant records the Emperor’s daily schedule like this?
Fu Xun replied: “Nowhere, just a nap. After waking, have a snack.”
Han Min gave a look of disbelief: “What kind of foolish ruler is this?”
Fu Xun coaxed him: “You nap too; no need to record. When you wake, they’ll make sugar-steamed pastries.”
Han Min reluctantly nodded.
Fu Xun smiled: “Rest in the side hall, not Wenying Hall; too many have slept there. Go to your former side hall.”
Han Min bowed to leave. Fu Xun said suddenly: “I will see someone tonight; don’t leave.”
Han Min hesitated: “Your Majesty, I may not be on duty tonight. Should I ask Lord Chu…”
Fu Xun nodded without asking further.
Han Min excused himself and left.
The side hall was as before.
After a morning of writing, Han Min lay down, soon asleep.
He woke early, palace attendants brought his things.
While washing, he asked: “Where is Your Majesty?”
“Reviewing memorials in the study. He said Han Min was eager, so Lord Chu was sent into the palace.”
Han Min nodded.
Afternoon nap and sugar-steamed pastries—Han Min knew the latter was true, the former likely not.
After washing, palace attendants served him food: “Enjoy, Lord Han.”
After half a bowl, Han Min went to the study.
Chu Yu was summoned, sat behind Fu Xun, covering a yawn. Han Min beckoned him over.
“How is it?”
Chu Yu handed him papers with a few words, rubbed his legs, complaining: “Just sitting there, nothing happened.”
“I have something tonight; you do this once. I’ll take over for a while.”
“No problem; happy to help.”
“Then go rest.”
Han Min quietly took Chu Yu’s place.
Fu Xun glanced: “Awake?”
“Yes.”
“Sugar-steamed pastries good?”
“Delicious.”
Fu Xun smiled, continued reviewing memorials.
As night fell, Han Min and Chu Yu finished the work exchange. He hurried home, changed into civilian clothes, and went to Baishi Bookstore to meet Mr. Ge.
Today, the mansion owner on Gouchen Street requested a meeting at Tianxiang Tower.
Walking, Mr. Ge said: “Selling a house in such a place—ridiculous.”
“We’ll see when we meet.”
“True. Last time in Tongzhou, you said you’d never been to a brothel; this time I’m taking you.”
Han Min sniffed: “I don’t want to go.”
Light veils like mist; a human paradise.
Named Tianxiang, yet full of fragrance and cosmetics.
Han Min sneezed at the entrance. Mr. Ge pulled him in: “Come on.”
On the second-floor street-facing window, Ji Heng held a silver wine cup, elbow on the sill, watching Han Min enter Tianxiang Tower.
A young man next to him also looked down:
“What is Lord Ji watching?”
Ji Heng sneered, seemingly talking to himself: “He looks like a proper person, but it turns out he’s the kind of person who comes here to drink and brothels.”
“Who?”
Judging that it was about time, he waved his hand, put down his wine glass, stood up and cupped his hands in a gesture of respect: “Brothers, drink first. I’m going to do some business. I’ll be right back.”
The others at the table all laughed.
What kind of business do you do?
“My uncle owns several properties, and he asked me to help him sell them for a good price.”
Ji Heng’s words were seven parts false and three parts true, and he didn’t want to say more. He stopped there, turned around, and left the room.
Just then, music came from inside the building, and Han Min came up from downstairs. Ji Heng stopped in his tracks.
He saw Han Min awkwardly avoid the girls who were urging him to drink, and struggle to walk to Mr. Ge’s side.
Mr. Ge teased him, “I didn’t expect you to be so popular with young girls.”
Han Min pouted: “If I had known, I would have borrowed a veil to wear.”
Mr. Ge laughed out loud, and he nudged Mr. Ge’s arm: “Are you still laughing? Let’s go.”
“Alright, alright, it’s nothing, let’s go.”
Mr. Ge put his arm around his shoulder and led him to a private room: “This is it.”
The two pushed open the door and went inside, but the person hadn’t arrived yet.
“Then have a seat,” Mr. Ge instructed Han Min. “If they order drinks later, don’t move.”
“I know.”
“Don’t touch the snacks either; the food in places like this isn’t very clean.”
Han Min withdrew his hand: “Okay.”
Mr. Ge pointed at his face: “Did you get some girl’s makeup on you?”
He wiped his face, which only made the face powder spread more evenly. Mr. Ge laughed and said, “You really are popular with them.”
Han Min propped his head up with his puffed-up cheeks and said angrily, “I’m never coming again.”
Ji Heng tapped his folding fan and stood in front of the door for a while.
He desperately needed money to cover his losses, so he took on this task hoping to make a quick buck.
He opened the fan, pushed the door: Han Min stood, bowed, face cold.
“Why are you here, Lord Ji?”
Ji Heng waved housing contracts: “Of course, to sell houses.”
Han Min saw—they were for the old Han family residence.
Ji Heng packed his things away and said, “If you want to buy a house, be nicer to me. If you coax me, I might just take you to the government office to complete the contract tomorrow.”
Clearly meant to humiliate. Mr. Ge was about to speak, Han Min stopped him.
Han Min’s mind raced, and he crossed his arms: “It’s not impossible. But I wonder, did Young Master Ji buy this house, or did Duke of Xin buy it?”
He smiled and said, “If it was bought by Young Master Ji, I will naturally flatter you; if it was bought by Duke of Xin, then I will have to go and talk to my uncle.”
“I heard Mr. Ge say that the person who bought the house was going to leave it to an old friend. That was my Han family’s old house. I never knew who the old friends were besides my Han family. Now I understand. It turns out that my uncle bought the house to leave it to the Han family.”
Ji Heng’s face turned ashen, and Han Min, unwilling to pay him any more attention, patted Mr. Ge’s hand and prepared to leave with him.
“Let’s go. It’s my fault too, I didn’t ask clearly beforehand who bought the house. Since it was my uncle who bought it, then there’s nothing to worry about.”
As he left, Ji Heng grabbed a pipa-playing girl: “I’m selling you the land deed and house deed for this dilapidated house on Gouchen Street.”
The girl’s arm ached from his grip, and she didn’t know what had gotten into him. She struggled while forcing a smile and said, “Young master, you’re joking. How could I afford a house? Even a dilapidated one wouldn’t be enough for me.”
Ji Heng laughed: “Affordable, one tael of silver starting bid. Go fetch your sisters, I’ll sell it to you.”
The young woman was still somewhat skeptical: “Young master, are you sure you mean it?”
“Really? Go shout it.”
After the girl walked away, Ji Heng returned to his room and looked up at Han Min: “Go ahead and leave if you want. It was a nice house that my uncle bought, but I’m selling this dilapidated house now. My uncle is far away in Mingshan, so it’s none of his business.”
Han Min ground his teeth: “What do you want?”
The pipa girl brought more girls; Ji Heng pushed Han Min aside: “Blocking me. Serve tea to please me, you’ll stand with them—buying a house.”
Mr. Ge patted Han Min’s shoulder: “Forget it, let’s find a better one.”
Han Min turned, picked up the teapot. Ji Heng laughed: “Rare, rare.”
He sat, Han Min poured tea; a splash hit his head.
Author’s note:
Old Fu bullies Min Min —
Min Min: “Next time I’ll tell the Empress Dowager.”
Others bully Min Min —
Min Min: “Have some tea!”
Fu Xun had told Min Min, “Tonight I’ll see someone,” meaning…
