Chapter 97: Holding Each Other
After leaving the Qi army camp, perhaps due to catching a chill, or perhaps realizing there was nothing more to be done, Gongsun Lun fell ill upon returning.
Yet he did not delay; he insisted on hurrying back to the Song capital. The Song Emperor summoned him immediately that night.
In the past few days, Song Emperor had been unable to eat or sleep properly, fearing that upon waking he might receive news of the Qi army crossing north. Anxiety had given him multiple sores at the corners of his mouth.
Hearing that Gongsun Lun was ill again, he became even more anxious. He issued an imperial order, allowing the carriage carrying the envoy to enter the palace directly.
He gripped Gongsun Lun’s hand tightly, his tone almost pleading: “Master Gongsun, how did it go? Will the Qi army retreat?”
Gongsun Lun opened his mouth, but weakly could not speak. All he could do was take out the official document from his sleeve.
The Song emperor released his hand and, flustered, took the document. He glanced over it quickly.
The Qi army would indeed retreat—but only if Song gave up the fifteen northwestern towns.
As long as they would retreat, it was fine. Looking at the document, the Song emperor unexpectedly laughed.
He caressed the document: “Good, very good, very good. Go quickly and inform the ministers, so they may discuss the cession.”
Originally, Gongsun Lun felt shameful for failing to accomplish anything, feeling unworthy before the emperor. Seeing the Song emperor like this, he felt his hands and feet grow cold, as if plunging into the Wei River.
He coughed up a mouthful of blood and collapsed straight onto the ground.
—
That night, Song emperor had documents drafted for both an apology and the cession of the northwestern towns, including a map of the fifteen towns.
When they were sent to the Qi camp south of the Wei River, the Qi returned them, saying they should send an envoy to deliver them personally to Yong’an, to properly observe protocol.
Qi also returned Zhao Cun’s body. He remained in the posture of sitting on a custom dragon throne, a single arrow pinning him there.
The Song emperor dared not refuse and hurriedly selected an envoy to set off for Qi once more.
As for Zhao Cun’s corpse, seeing it angered him, and he didn’t even glance at it.
Those beneath him, seeing his reaction, also didn’t bother to intervene.
Only Zhao Cun’s younger sister, Zhao Yin, found a place to bury him.
Others said they had deep sibling affection, but only Zhao Yin knew she merely thought her brother was ridiculous and absurd, and couldn’t resist seeing him one more time.
On this diplomatic mission to Qi, the Song emperor naturally didn’t dare to send her.
After returning from Qi, she kept the doors closed and refused visitors, looking as if she had been frightened. When others asked, she only said that the Qi ruler was fierce, cruel, and tiger-like.
Other princesses, hearing this, were so scared their legs went weak. Even before the Song emperor spoke, they all claimed illness and did not attend.
The Song emperor finally gave up all thoughts of marriage alliances.
—
A few days later, Fu Rang returned to Yong’an.
He arrived at midnight, rested at the residence, and went to the palace early the next morning.
At the palace gate, he happened to meet Han Min—
A carriage had stopped right in front of the palace gate. Inside, someone lifted the curtain and said to the guards: “Good morning. I’m on duty today.”
The guards bowed: “Young Lord Han.”
As they spoke, they stepped aside to let the carriage through.
“This isn’t right!” Fu Rang ran up.
“Wait, wait! How can you just enter like this? I’m the prince, I should dismount first.”
By now it was late October. The weather had changed rapidly, and Han Min, fearing the cold, was dressed warmly.
He extended a small part of his fingers from the thick sleeves, lifted the curtain, looked at Fu Rang, and said confidently: “I’m weak. The emperor specially granted me a carriage, allowing me to enter the palace this way.”
As soon as the curtain lifted, Fu Rang felt a wave of warmth.
He pursed his lips and muttered softly: “This is so unfair. Are you really the long-lost younger brother of the emperor?”
Han Min laughed: “Then come up.”
Fu Rang glanced at him. Though not entirely pleased, he climbed in.
The carriage moved steadily. Fu Rang rolled up his sleeve: “It’s so hot in this carriage.”
After a moment, he realized Han Min genuinely had a weak constitution and needed proper care.
Han Min asked only: “When did you return?”
“Last night. Too late to enter the palace then.”
“How is the situation with Song?”
“I went personally. How could it not be handled?” Fu Rang wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Of course, you were also right to anticipate everything.”
Han Min nodded thoughtfully: “Then Master Gongsun…”
“I heard he fell ill after returning. But before leaving, he said twice to me, ‘The younger generation is admirable.’ I think he meant you, not me.”
Han Min smiled but didn’t reply.
It turned out that mutual respect existed—Master Gongsun had the same sentiment for him, despite never having met him.
Winter was approaching, and they both fell ill—it might even be considered a form of fate.
—
Perhaps due to past injuries not properly healed, Han Min would fall ill repeatedly during winter.
Thus, the imperial palace allowed Old Physician Liang to stay at the Han residence to care for Han Min.
Rare herbs were sent continuously to the Han residence. Furs from this year’s autumn hunt were tailored into clothing for Han Min, even sewn into the official garments as lining for convenience.
Because he was sensitive to cold, the Fu Ning Hall had heated floors early.
When it became too warm, Fu Rang switched to light summer clothing to accommodate him.
By the time the Song envoy arrived in Yong’an, it was mid-winter.
At the morning assembly in Zi Chen Hall, they presented maps of the northwest.
This day, Han Min was on duty, holding a hand warmer, sitting beside Fu Rang, watching the eunuchs lay the maps and documents in front of Fu Rang.
While no one noticed, he slid slightly closer to Fu Rang.
He wanted to see too.
The sheepskin map was unfolded. It was exquisite, with the scent of ink. Song emperor, to please Fu Rang, had already ceded the northwestern territories to Qi.
Fu Rang lowered his eyes, glanced once, and then looked at Han Min.
Han Min quietly raised the corner of his lips.
Fu Rang smiled back, hiding any other emotions behind the smile.
He knew Han Min cared for the people, and all his plans for the northwest or new laws were for the Qi he desired.
Fu Rang, in contrast, sought control out of a man’s desire for power.
Back then in the northwest, he rode to a sand dune, saw a small rare stream, and a town with lush pastures—perfect for horses and training soldiers.
Train soldiers well, and Song could be subdued.
Simple as that.
He wanted to hold everything he desired.
Though his thoughts differed from Han Min’s, Fu Rang never showed it and often indulged him.
Han Min wanted a wise ruler, a chapter in history of harmony between ruler and minister, tales of benevolent governance. Pretending to be a wise ruler was not difficult.
Fu Rang sometimes thought: luckily Han Min exists.
Otherwise, if he had everything in hand, he might treat the world as his property, arranging it as he wished.
Control breeds destruction, provoking popular anger, leaving a lasting stain on history.
Thus, wise rulers and virtuous ministers elevate each other.
Fu Rang collected his thoughts, looked at the envoy, and exchanged polite words, then assigned several people to handle the handover. The eunuchs announced: “Court dismissed.”
Officials bowed and shouted long live the emperor.
Fu Rang rose, and Han Min collected his papers, following him to the rear hall.
Fu Rang waved away the attendants, squeezed Han Min’s hand—the hand warmer still warm.
Han Min smiled: “Congratulations, Your Majesty, for achieving your wish.”
Fu Rang replied calmly: “Shared joy.”
The words were formally excessive. Han Min looked up at him. They locked eyes for a moment, then, almost instinctively, opened their arms and held each other.
—
Before the Song envoy left, Han Min asked Fu Rang to inquire about some matters.
He clasped his hands and hid in a corner, waiting.
By the Wei River, Fu Rang had been negotiating with them. Now, asking questions was more convenient through him.
After a while, Fu Rang excused himself from the envoy and looked around.
Han Min poked his head out: “Over here, over here.”
Fu Rang finally saw him and walked over quickly.
Han Min asked: “How is it?”
“When they arrived, Master Gongsun was still ill. That’s how the old man is—he might be sick the entire winter. I don’t know if he’ll survive…”
He didn’t continue.
Han Min pressed his lips together: “And Princess Rongning?”
“She’s sick as well, keeping doors closed.”
“Good.”
Before leaving, Zhao Yin had obtained two doses of feigned-death medicine from Old Physician Liang. Fu Rang also promised the Qi agents in the Song palace would help her leave. She was likely waiting for the right moment.
Fu Rang looked at him in confusion: “Why ask about her?”
“When she was here, she got along with me. I worry that she might suffer upon returning, so I want to ask.”
“Hmm. Why not ask her yourself?”
“The Song emperor is suspicious. If I asked personally, my good intentions might harm them instead.”
“That makes sense.”
—
Unknowingly, it was now the fourteenth day of the twelfth lunar month.
Since last night, snow had been falling. This morning, Han Min opened the window to see the world blanketed in white.
His servant ran in with breakfast: “Don’t play anymore.”
Han Min awkwardly withdrew his hand and closed the window.
He put on several layers of clothing, finally wearing his red official robe, and draped a large cloak.
The servant helped him put on a furry rabbit hat, and he gently covered the servant’s ears.
“I’ll go first. You don’t need to follow.”
“Yes.”
The carriage waited at the door. As soon as Han Min left the house, he could climb in.
They reached Fu Ning Hall, where a group of people were on the steps.
He jumped down and shouted into the cold wind: “Bian Zhang!”
Everyone stopped and turned to look.
“Hurry up, you’re the last one here.”
Han Min, dressed heavily, had to carefully climb the slippery steps.
After a while, he reached his friends. Tomorrow was the fifteenth day, the last Grand Court session of the year.
This was also the first year of the new emperor. To have a proper New Year, they came a day early for a small meeting.
Han Min saw Xie Yan: “You’re back! When did you return?”
“Last night.”
Han Min tugged his sleeve: “Not bad, not bad. After going to your post, even your clothes have improved.”
“It’s not—”
“I know, I know.” Han Min laughed and tugged Chu Yu’s sleeve: “Same fabric. Tsk, Chu, you’re not even this generous with me.”
Xie Yan secretly observed Chu Yu’s expression and thought: “All from the young master’s gift.”
As before, Chu Yu ignored him and instead patted Han Min’s rabbit hat: “I’d like to be generous, but there’s not enough fur and pelt.”
Chu Yu then held Han Min’s wrist, counting each layer of clothing: “Last time you said you need dozens of goose feathers for sleeping. Let’s see—this is fox fur, this is rabbit fur…”
“Tsk, the emperor probably gave you the entire hunting grounds as clothing, huh?”
