Chapter 94: On the Historical Record
The sky brightened suddenly, and golden sunlight glistened on the dew.
From a distance came the chaotic sound of horse hooves. Han Min unconsciously quickened his pace by a couple of steps, his cloak brushing aside the morning dew.
Dust billowed, but even after more than half a month apart, Han Min could recognize Fu Xun at a glance.
He rode atop a horse, clad in armor, the sunlight shining from behind him, dazzling to the eyes.
Han Min blinked, then focused again, and in the blink of an eye, Fu Xun was right before him.
Wei Gui raised his hand to signal the riders behind to stop. Fu Xun tugged the reins, halting in front of Han Min.
Fu Xun’s expression was slightly cold, tinged with displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
Cradling his sword in his arms, Han Min looked up at him. “Came to find you.”
The horse’s front hooves scraped the ground. Fu Xun’s expression softened slightly as he helplessly extended his hand toward him.
Han Min hesitated. “This isn’t right. Could His Majesty provide me with another horse?”
Wei Gui was about to speak: “There is— I—”
Before he could finish, Fu Xun shot him a glance and said lightly, “There aren’t any extras. See who among them can dismount and run, and you can ride their horse.”
Han Min glanced back. The group Fu Xun brought was a dense cluster, each riding a horse. There didn’t appear to be any spare.
Having a soldier dismount to run felt like too much of a burden to Han Min.
Fu Xun reached out his hand again, and Han Min had no choice but to take it.
Fu Xun said, “Your hands are so cold.”
“Dew got on them,” Han Min replied.
He was still wearing his black cloak. Thinking for a moment, he withdrew his hand, loosened the cloak, and held it in both hands. He shook it vigorously to remove the dew and then, instead of putting it back on, simply held it in his arms.
Han Min was not traveling alone. Wei Huan led people behind him, and the envoys sent by the Empress Dowager closely followed as well.
Seeing Fu Xun hold Han Min’s hand, Wei Gui looked at his brother, Wei Gui. “Brother? Brother?”
Wei Gui disdainfully turned his horse. “You wait here with the men. The main group is behind; we’re almost there.”
“All right then.”
Meanwhile, Fu Xun had already lifted Han Min onto the horse. He spoke to the attendants: “Thank you all. Rewards await back in Yong’an.”
Everyone declined politely.
Today, Fu Xun rode the same spirited horse that responded to whistles.
The horse galloped fast. Han Min nervously clung to its neck, and Fu Xun wrapped his arm around Han Min’s waist.
“Sit up straight.”
“Then don’t let it run wild.”
Fu Xun was silent for a moment. “All right.”
After a while, Han Min said, “You were prepared so thoroughly, but we still overlooked one thing.”
“Hmm?”
The two were very close. Fu Xun only asked a simple question, yet Han Min could feel his chest vibrating with each breath.
Settling his thoughts, Han Min whispered, “With the bond between you and me, if Yong’an were to fall into chaos, I should find a way to seek you, rather than stay at Jianguo Temple.”
The horse sped forward. Han Min felt the wind scatter his words; Fu Xun likely hadn’t heard.
But Fu Xun chuckled softly, drew Han Min closer in his arms, pressing his chest to Han Min’s thin back, and repeated the words: “With the bond between you and me?”
Han Min awkwardly leaned forward. “Yes. Zhao Cun is deliberately testing me. If I don’t come out to find you, it would be unreasonable.”
“Indeed.”
As the horse galloped, Fu Xun brushed his lips against Han Min’s temple.
It had been more than half a month since they last met; a stolen kiss.
Afterward, Fu Xun coughed nervously, surveying the surroundings. No one had noticed, not even Han Min.
The sun rose over Yong’an city. Something had occurred—ordinary households remained behind closed doors.
The previous evening, during the unrest, young Jiang Huan, the Chancellor, was at the residence of the Duke of Yue, discussing state affairs with him and several officials.
When the horn sounded, the Duke of Yue had already sent people to scout. The scouts returned reporting that the Duke of Xin had conspired with the Duke of Guangning of Song to rebel. The duke did not believe it and sent out more scouts.
The news remained the same; several officials were trapped in the Duke of Yue’s residence all night without sleep.
Only a few knew that Duke of Xin’s act was a ruse; the rest assumed the duke was genuinely rebelling.
Jiang Huan could no longer stay seated. He rose abruptly and clasped his fists to his colleagues. “I will go first.”
The Duke of Yue asked, “It’s dangerous outside. Wait a little longer for more news.”
Jiang Huan said firmly, “His Majesty entrusted Yong’an city to us. Now, if someone attempts to usurp, we, as civil officials, must resist openly. We cannot sit idle and await Duke of Xin’s surrender.”
The other officials asked, “Chancellor Jiang intends to—”
“To return to my residence, prepare for court, and go to Zichen Hall.”
Today was not a regular Grand court day, so he was going to Zichen Hall not to pay respects to the Duke of Xin, but to report the rebel.
He bowed to the officials: “I’ll go first.”
Before he could leave the hall, the others also rose and bowed to the Duke of Yue: “We also take our leave.”
The duke agreed and instructed attendants to fetch his ceremonial attire. He rarely attended court.
As Jiang Huan exited Yue’s residence, all doors along the street were tightly shut.
It made sense: Qi and Song had long-standing animosities. On the surface, there was peace, but underneath, there was tension. With King Guangning of Song gaining power, everyone in Yong’an was on edge.
If Yong’an fell to the Duke of Xin and Duke of Guangning, the common people would suffer.
Jiang Huan hurried along the quiet street to the Jiang residence.
A young servant rushed to meet him. “Master, you’ve returned! The Grandfather and Grandmother were worried sick.”
Though young, Jiang Huan had become the head of the household after the former Chancellor Jiang withdrew from affairs following the Duke of Gong’s fall.
Jiang Huan said, “Draw water and prepare my ceremonial attire. I’m going to court.”
The servant hesitated: “This?”
“Yes, go.”
Seeing his resolve, the servant dared not speak further.
Jiang Huan thought for a moment and called out: “Find Grandfather and borrow his coffin for use.”
“Yes.”
He returned to his room, washed, dressed, tied his hair, and donned his hat. Though in a rush, his movements were orderly.
The former Chancellor, upon learning his coffin was being borrowed, had come over, fuming yet cautious, standing at the door without entering.
Jiang Huan, now dressed, carrying his ceremonial tablet, passed by his father. Without waiting for a word, he said, “There will be another coffin. You’d better hope I don’t need this one.”
The former Chancellor trembled with anger. “You—”
Jiang Huan intended to carry the coffin to court, ready to offer his life in protest if necessary. The former Chancellor was left speechless.
Jiang Huan added, “The third jar on the left on the bookshelf contains money. If I take your coffin, you can buy another.”
With that, he left quickly.
In the courtyard, four servants lifted the unpainted coffin using wooden beams.
The coffin had to exit through the main gate. Jiang Huan pushed it open, only to see a group of civil officials in ceremonial attire waiting outside, holding jade tablets.
Seeing him, they bowed: “Chancellor.”
Jiang Huan smiled. “Let’s go to court.”
He descended the front steps. Wen Yan walked alongside: “I went to Jianguo Temple. Xi Ci sneaked out over the wall last night; His Majesty must already be on the way.”
Jiang Huan nodded. “Good. He still has the courage to ride through the night. If we cower now, how can we call ourselves officials?”
As they entered Xuanwu Street, they encountered another group.
The leader wore willow-green robes, a dab of vermilion between his brows, smiling serenely, unshaken even before danger. Behind him were three thousand scholars from the academy.
This was Scholar Officer Liu Ting, leading his students. Seeing Jiang Huan, he raised his hand in a bow.
During autumn hunts, civil officials had guarded the city while palace troops were deliberately withdrawn, leaving the city largely empty. Now, the remaining officials in Yong’an have resolved to defend it courageously.
The sun climbed higher. Han Min rode his horse, seeing the city gate ahead.
A little further, Li Shu also arrived with his men.
Upon reaching them, he dismounted, clasped his fists, and bowed: “Your Majesty.”
Only then did others realize the Duke of Xin had not actually rebelled.
Fu Xun, however, raised his bow, aiming at the city wall.
Arrows flew. Before anyone on the wall could react, one struck a man in the forehead, who fell stiffly. Another arrow hit another target on the wall.
He handed the bow to Han Min. “Song spies.”
Then he looked at Li Shu. “Uncle, no need to bow.”
The two groups joined and entered the city together.
Zhao Cun had not left the palace since last night.
Learning that Li Shu had left the city, he hurried to Zichen Hall, replacing his prepared throne with the dragon chair.
The hall doors were closed. Wearing an ill-fitting dragon robe, he sat carefully, hands trembling with excitement.
He remembered his father sitting in such a place, issuing commands, making life-and-death decisions.
Before, he had knelt, awed by his father’s presence.
Now he sat in the same place, unwilling to leave, and awaited reports from those dispatched.
Soon, someone rushed in: “Your Highness, ministers of Qi and the three thousand students of Yong’an Academy are at the palace gates!”
Zhao Cun tried to stay calm: “Li Shu will handle them.”
Later, another person reported: “Your Highness, Fu Xun has returned!”
Zhao Cun gripped the armrests. “How? Did Li Shu fail?”
“No, Li Shu came with him.”
Even the dull-minded Zhao Cun realized he had been trapped.
They had provoked his rebellion and pushed Duke of Xin Li Shu before him, handing him the instruments of treachery to ensnare himself.
Zhao Cun’s face went pale; he trembled. “And… the princess?”
“The princess… could not be found.”
He collapsed into the dragon chair, hearing Zhao Yin beside him, calmly saying:
“I am the duke’s true sibling. We depended on each other since childhood. Only if I am well can my brother be well. How could I harm him?”
Indeed, how could he?
Even now, he could not recall what he had done to Zhao Yin.
The palace gates remained closed. At Li Shu’s order, archers concealed in high positions stood and eliminated all Song envoys and spies in the palace.
Arrows cleared most, and any remaining were dealt with by sword.
Soon, the gates opened. Not a single Song spy remained in Yong’an.
Fu Xun rode unhindered along the straight palace road to Zichen Hall.
He did not dismount. Soldiers pushed open the hall doors. Zhao Cun was blinded by the sunlight and slumped in the dragon chair.
Fu Xun said to Han Min: “Hand me the bow.”
Han Min snapped back to reality: “Oh.”
Fu Xun held his hand, just as before in Fengqian Hall against the Duke of Gong, guiding him to shoot arrows.
Zhao Cun’s expression was frozen—wide eyes, parted lips—both shocked and ridiculous.
This matter was recorded in the historical record in one line:
On the 26th of September, the Duke of Guangning of Song attempted a coup. The following day, executed.
A strange and ridiculous event.
Author’s note:
Han Min: Fifteen key towns of Song, secured ?
Old Fu: One wife, secured ?
