They were testing the empress’s intentions, and the empress was testing them—at least, that was the shared thought among the ladies present.
The new emperor had been on the throne for barely two months. They hadn’t taken him seriously—just a minor hostage who’d lucked into the throne; what kind of waves could he make? He’d be replaced before long.
Then came the marriage alliance, which had initially stabilized his rule—but they still looked down on him. What kind of man relied on a woman?
That was until the night of Prince Xishan’s rebellion, when the palace gate was destroyed in an explosion that shook half of Fengye. They’d waited for a change in the regime; by dawn, they learned that Prince Xishan had been surrounded.
The Captain of the Palace Attendants, whose guards were normally responsible only for Xuan Shi Hall’s close protection, had been secretly reassigned to Lingxuan Gate before the incident. He hadn’t understood why at first—until he realized it was His Majesty’s scheme.
Evidence had been left in the tea room where Prince Xishan met with his retainers, throwing him into panic and driving him to strike first. Lingxuan Gate’s apparent weak defense was a deliberate trap.
That night, the two forces clashed at the gate. Despite their preparations, the Captain of the Palace Attendants couldn’t help feeling anxious.
Until Yu Lingxin arrived, his exquisite features still marked with lingering drowsiness.
He took up his bow and arrow, looking as if they were making too much of things. Then his arrow shot like a wild goose, precisely piercing one man’s skull—the ease of a casual stroll.
They’d assumed that as a hostage in Xi, he’d neglected both civil and military skills. Who knew he was so formidable?
“One gold for one kill; twenty kills earns a promotion.” As he spoke, he nocked another arrow. The gleaming tip cut through the night—a young soldier who’d just raised his spear was struck down, falling with lifeless eyes.
Morale surged; a cheer erupted.
To this day, no one knew how His Majesty had discovered Prince Xishan’s secret meetings.
But the battle at Lingxuan Gate had many witnesses, and word spread—praise of Yu Lingxin filled the air. It not only bolstered their confidence in the new ruler but also showcased his ability and temperament.
In short: he was not to be underestimated, nor did he seem broad-minded.
If the empress had only offered hollow words of reassurance, they’d have remained uneasy, groping in the dark.
Her proposal for a donation drive was itself a test—an opportunity for them to show loyalty.
Relieved, they nodded eagerly: “The Empress’s suggestion is excellent. We were too foolish to think of it ourselves. I’m sure our husbands will approve. We will do our part for the people and ease His Majesty’s burdens.”
“His Majesty will certainly see your loyalty. He is not a cruel or bloodthirsty ruler, but in a time of reconstruction, a firm hand is necessary to command respect. With your husbands’ dedicated service, and unity between ruler and subjects, all endeavors will flourish and the people will thrive.”
Jiang Nong was no match for Yu Lingxin in ruthlessness, but when it came to gentle persuasion and winning hearts, she left him in the dust.
A balanced mix of strength and tenderness made the ladies part with their money gratefully, laden with praise—as if promising that following Yu Lingxin would earn them a place in history.
Little did anyone know how much Jiang Nong feared a thunderbolt from heaven for praising Yu Lingxin as “not cruel or bloodthirsty.”
With the tension eased, the atmosphere in Zhuoxue Pavilion became more harmonious.
Jiang Nong asked if the tea suited them—it was from her dowry, and Xi’s tea was renowned. Naturally, her dowry held the finest. The ladies praised it lavishly.
She had Tongye pack some for each of them to take home.
As they talked, they found Jiang Nong easygoing and gentle, not sharp-tongued at all. When one lady spoke indiscreetly, she smiled and smoothed it over, as if nothing in the world could truly anger her.
In truth, her temper had been ground down by Yu Lingxin. No one in the world could make her angrier than him; compared to him, everyone else seemed lovely.
The Golden Guard, the Commandant of the Guards, and the Captain of the Palace Attendants’ cavalry were respectively responsible for defending the capital, the palace, and the emperor—comprising the three defensive lines of Fengye.
When Yu Lingxin’s father was still on the throne, the harem was extravagant and the royal progeny numerous. To support the imperial household, funds were skimmed from everywhere. The Commandant of the Guards and the Captain of the Palace Attendants, being closest to the royal family, couldn’t be shortchanged—so the cuts fell on the Golden Guard.
Outside Fengye, besides the Golden Guard, there were generally two armies for training and horse-rearing. The late emperor had no qualms about shortchanging them.
No money? Weren’t the Golden Guard also responsible for patrols, justice, and security in Fengye? Take from the people, from the wealthy merchants, from the great households! A little suffering for the people, and everyone would be fine.
The higher-ups turned a blind eye. When commoners complained to the magistrate, they were told the Golden Guard had lax discipline—justice would be done, but procedures had to be followed. Wait… and wait… for eight hundred years, endlessly.
In ten years, the Golden Guard had gone through three commanders, each skimming profits before moving on. Li Ji was the fourth.
He was an incorruptible, uncompromising man—with no family to be blackmailed, no vulnerable spots. Upon his appointment, he cracked down on discipline. Anyone caught extorting the people was beaten eighty strokes and expelled.
Over time, he bred resentment; many in the camp ostracized him.
No income from above, no extortion from below—they were left with nothing.
Now with the new emperor enthroned and the treasury empty, their salaries and provisions seemed further away than ever. No one knew when the hard times would end.
His Majesty’s rare visit stirred excitement—they would give it their all to impress him, hoping to catch his eye.
Yu Lingxin’s eyesight was poor; reading for too long made him dizzy. He’d been mocked by Jiang Nong for it, so he read two lines and rested, then two more. The Treatise on the Supreme Induction gave him a headache. He’d only been out of the palace a short while when they arrived at the Golden Guard camp.
The drilling cries were deafening—and Yu Lingxin knew perfectly well it was all show.
The imperial procession halted. The Captain of the Palace Attendants’ cavalry lined up in two rows as Xunliang lifted the carriage curtain, welcoming Yu Lingxin to step down.
The officers of the Golden Guard were already waiting, ready to escort him to the high platform to observe their training. Yu Lingxin looked down at the sea of people—a vast multitude chanting “Long live the Emperor.”
Only one figure was conspicuously absent: Li Ji, the Commander of the Golden Guard.
Yu Lingxin raised an eyebrow: “Where is Li Ji?”
Several officers exchanged glances. One young man seemed about to answer, but the Deputy Commander of the Golden Guard stepped forward first, kneeling and kowtowing. He hesitated, as if trying to cover something up.
Xunliang spoke sternly: “His Majesty asked a question—why do you not answer?”
The Deputy Commander then feigned fear: “Perhaps… perhaps Commander Li had more important business to attend to. Hence his absence.”
“What could be more important than receiving His Majesty?”
The others all knelt. The Deputy Commander kowtowed: “Commander Li is our superior—how dare we question him?”
“Commander Li is often absent from camp. We have no idea what he does outside.”
…
The others echoed the sentiment, hinting that Li Ji was contemptuous of the emperor and negligent in his duties.
Five in total spoke against him. Only the young man remained silent, his eyes downcast, then said: “Commander Li has always been diligent, personally overseeing every detail of camp affairs. He was likely held up by something beyond his control.”
Yu Lingxin found this young man intriguing—he’d both defended Li Ji and subtly implicated the others. The implication was clear: among so many Golden Guard officers, only Li Ji was doing his job.
“What is your name?”
“Your servant is Tan Jingming, Grand Commander of the Golden Guard.”
Yu Lingxin nodded slightly, giving nothing away.
He drew his sword from his waist. The blade hummed as it pointed directly at Tan Jingming. Some looked on with gloating, others with concern—assuming he would be punished for speaking up for Li Ji.
But unexpectedly, Yu Lingxin’s blade swept in another direction. The Deputy Commander’s head rolled twice on the ground, the smile still frozen on his face.
Blood spurted, splattering the kneeling men around him. Most turned pale.
“Your courage is admirable,” Yu Lingxin said. He brought two fingers together, wiped off the blood, then grimaced and cleaned his sword on one of the kneeling men’s faces.
The man gasped, breath coming in ragged pants—in and out, face turning purple with fear, too terrified to move.
“Lying to me—worthy of praise.” His cold voice echoed across the training field.
The Golden Guard had watched their superior’s head roll off the high platform. Tens of thousands stood in utter silence, barely breathing.
The other officers who had slandered Li Ji now realized: His Majesty knew everything, and was simply waiting to make an example of someone. They kowtowed desperately, tears and snot streaming, begging for mercy.
The thunder of hooves drew nearer, followed by hurried footsteps. Li Ji finally arrived, leaping up onto the platform in two bounds, sliding on his knees before Yu Lingxin, his head pressed low.
He was disheveled and dirty, breathing hard—clearly, the others had conspired to delay him with official business.
Yu Lingxin lifted his chin with the sword tip, gesturing toward the Deputy Commander’s body: “Useless—you couldn’t even handle this. I’ll let it slide this time. Do better in the future. Don’t disappoint me. From now on, Tan—”
He paused, having forgotten the name. Tan Jingming kowtowed and finished: “Your servant, Tan Jingming.”
“—Tan Jingming will serve as Deputy Commander to assist you.”
Yu Lingxin intended to take full control of Fengye’s three rings of defense—the Golden Guard was vital.
The Commander of the Golden Guard held the same rank as the Nine Ministers and was not under the Grand Commandant’s jurisdiction—he answered directly to the emperor.
Unfortunately, Yu Lingxin had come to power too late in his past life; Li Ji—that resolute and valiant general—had already died.
Li Ji was a loyal blade who repaid kindness, but the too-rigid often break. He’d been given this post precisely because someone knew he’d make enemies and fail, hoping the Golden Guard would destroy him.
Li Ji had long been ostracized here. Though he held the title of Commander, few truly respected him, and his colleagues spread rumors about him behind his back.
His Majesty had solved his major problems and helped him assert his authority—clearly, he was valued. No one had ever treated him so well!
So grateful, Li Ji wept and kowtowed: “Your servant swears to repay Your Majesty’s recognition with his life!”
—
The ladies moved quickly. By dusk, over a dozen chests of gold and silver had been counted and stored in the palace treasury.
Jiang Nong had reviewed the expenditures of various departments over recent years. The Golden Guard’s pay had been continuously cut—and she understood why Yu Lingxin had chosen to inspect them.
One visit from Yu Lingxin, and there would surely be blood—or at least tears—shed.
She ordered Tongye to draft an imperial decree, stamped with her seal: additional funds for the Commandant of the Guards’ troops, three months’ worth of charcoal, rice, and transport money for the Captain of the Palace Attendants’ cavalry. The Golden Guard, stationed at the outer walls and enduring hardship, were granted double that—six months’ extra provisions.
Li Ji had been stifled for years. Being valued by His Majesty was already fortune enough; to also be shown such compassion and consideration by the Empress—especially with the extra half-year’s provisions compared to the other units—what more could he ask for?
His blood burned with passion.
That night, the Golden Guard camp celebrated in jubilation. Nine months’ extra provisions might not be a massive sum, but it signified one thing: the days when the Golden Guard were neglected were over.
Long live His Majesty! Long live Her Majesty!
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