Chapter 237: The Azure Clouds (II)

The capital remained the capital.

At dawn, cooking smoke rose from every direction—the scent of steamed buns and freshly drained noodles mingling with morning dew, drifting into countless households.

At noon, the streets bustled with life: peddlers shook their drums, their cries blending with children’s laughter and shouts—truly the vibrant clamor of daily existence.

As dusk settled, lanterns flickered to life one by one; wine banners hung askew, and faint strains of song and flute drifted through the air.

Until deep night fell—and all grew still.

For a century, it had been thus—the capital’s scenery and customs had scarcely changed, a comforting constancy for all who beheld it.

Le Wuya took up residence in the modest lodging arranged for him by the Censorate, the imperial censorship office.

He had come to the capital by imperial decree—to express gratitude and receive rewards. Protocol demanded he first pay homage to the emperor, then call upon officials across various ministries.

Yuan Zijin, however, was different.

Though second only to Le Wuya in contributions to the campaign, he remained a commoner without official rank—deprived of the privilege of an audience with His Majesty. He could only return home and wait.

As he prepared to leave, he clung to the doorframe, refusing to budge an inch. After a long, hesitant silence, he finally stammered: “I… I’m just saying… Don’t let anyone push you around while I’m gone, okay?”

“Who’d dare bully me?” Le Wuya replied, grinding ink as he prepared to write Zheng Miao a letter reporting his safe arrival.

He looked up, feigning thoughtfulness: “Last time I came to the capital, *you* were the one most eager to bully me.”

Yuan Zijin: “…”

He protested: “I never bullied you! Back then, didn’t you have someone protecting you?”

Le Wuya teased: “Oh, so now it’s your turn to watch my back?”

“You’re insufferable!” Yuan Zijin flushed crimson. “Without me, you’d have been beaten black and blue a dozen times over!”

Le Wuya stepped forward and gave his forehead a gentle, playful shove with his palm: “You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Go on home, little tiger—have fun.”

Yuan Zijin murmured, voice barely audible: “…So… do you still want me or not?”

Le Wuya laughed.

This kid truly hated to leave.

With a coaxing smile, he said: “Don’t you remember what I told you?”

Yuan Zijin sniffled.

He knew better than anyone that the man before him held stark, uncompromising standards when choosing those he trusted: competence was non-negotiable.

That he’d managed to stay by Le Wuya’s side for two years was sheer luck—a narrow, improbable squeeze into a space never meant for him.

Now, the wisest course was to go home, behave well, and study diligently.

To that end, Yuan Zijin had secretly thrown himself into rigorous study for some time—even overcoming his childhood habit of breaking into cold sweats at the mere mention of “exams.”

But…

Could a son of the Yuan family truly afford to excel too conspicuously?

In the past, Yuan Zijin would never have asked such a question.

It was only after following Le Wuya that his long-dormant mind had begun, slowly, to stir.

Once, he’d seen the capital as a glittering hub of wealth and vitality—a paradise on earth. Now, it seemed fraught with hidden perils, its future shrouded in uncertainty.

When he wandered dazed and distracted back to the main gate of the Yuan estate, he nearly collided with a young military officer wearing a turban and a crimson robe embroidered with qilin motifs—hurrying out the gate, preparing to board his carriage and depart.

Yuan Zijin’s eyes lit up—then instantly dimmed with dread.

…An elder brother is like a father.

Since childhood, whenever he saw his eldest brother Yuan Ziyou, reverence and fear had always warred within him.

Yuan Ziyou, however, possessed sharp eyes. From the corner of his vision, he spotted his younger brother frozen mid-step—wide-eyed, tense, utterly flustered—

The spitting image of that little tiger caught sneaking pastries years ago.

Yuan Ziyou had always found his younger brother utterly endearing—and often couldn’t resist teasing him a little.

Yet an elder brother *was* like a father, and his little brother was a handful—indulgence, he believed, would do more harm than good.

Caught red-handed, Yuan Zijin shuffled forward weakly and bowed: “Greetings, Elder Brother.”

To his astonishment, his usually stern and dignified elder brother let out a snort of laughter.

Yuan Zijin: “?”

“You—you’re growing more mischievous by the day.” Yuan Ziyou seized the chance to ruffle his hair and pinch his cheeks, thoroughly pleased with himself. “What’s this I hear? They’re calling you the Yuan family’s one and only little tiger?”

Yuan Zijin: “…???”

Seeing his utter bewilderment, Yuan Ziyou’s mood soared. He turned to a household servant: “Uncle Lu, tell Lin Er’s wife to inform Mother that the Second Young Master has returned—and have the small kitchen prepare a bowl of crispy butter snails and send it straight to his room. The Second Young Master adores them—the ones sold outside simply can’t compare to our home kitchen’s quality.”

Having issued the orders, he resumed his stern expression: “Your elder brother has official duties—my superior has summoned me urgently, and I cannot delay. Go inside first… wash up, then pay your respects to Mother.”

Yuan Zijin watched, dumbfounded, as his elder brother strode off to work and vanished into the distance.

When he finally returned to his long-missed bedroom and glanced in the mirror, he discovered someone had neatly stamped a bold, upright “Wang” (King) character in ink right on his forehead!

…Recalling Le Wuya’s warm, affectionate shove moments earlier—what else was there to deduce?

No wonder people had stared and snickered all the way home!

He’d been so lost in gloom the entire journey that he hadn’t noticed a thing!

The moment it clicked, the little tiger rolled furiously on his bed.

Damn that Wen Renmingke!

The only reason he dared treat him like a child was because he *saw* him as one!

He didn’t want to be a child anymore! He wanted to be a tiger—stand out, make his mark!

When that day came, he’d see whether Wen Renmingke still dared lay a finger on him!

…

Le Wuya spoke confidently—but in action, he was remarkably restrained. During the days he waited for his imperial summons, he remained quietly sequestered in his lodging, never stepping outside—as if the capital’s splendor held no allure for him whatsoever.

To enter the court for an audience, one must pass through the vermilion gates, ascend the jade steps, bow before the crimson dais, and express gratitude for the emperor's grace—an extremely tedious process.

All these rituals had to be taught in advance by officials of the Court of State Ceremonial.

The official responsible for teaching Le Wuya the etiquette was a man surnamed Gong, who held the rank of Assistant Director in the Court of State Ceremonial, and was unacquainted with Le Wuya.

As luck would have it, this Assistant Director Gong was also an official who had been posted to the provinces and then recalled to the capital, his career path being remarkably similar to that of "Wen Ren Yue." Moreover, Le Wuya was exceptionally quick-witted, catching on after just a hint. Amid the dizzying array of intricate rituals that bewildered most onlookers, Assistant Director Gong needed only to demonstrate once for Le Wuya to replicate perfectly, with a memory that seemed to retain everything effortlessly. Gong, admiring his talent, was especially lenient with him.

On the day before the audience, Assistant Director Gong came specially to inspect his court robes and headgear. After confirming everything was in order, he offered detailed advice: "Ming Ke, rise at the Yin hour tomorrow morning; a carriage will be waiting outside the inn. Get off at the Meridian Gate, where the censors will check your ID before you may enter. Remember this, and remember it well."

Le Wuya, putting on Wen Ren Yue's gentlemanly air, smiled serenely: "Don't worry, sir. Ming Ke will keep it in mind."

...Keep it in mind, indeed?

How many court sessions had he been to by now?

Going to court was like going home for him.

...

The next day at the Yin hour, Le Wuya, fully attired, boarded the carriage.

Every step of the process went off without a hitch, like the path beneath his feet on his road to glory—soaring ever upward, unstoppable, carrying him straight into the heart of the imperial palace.

In the end, the eunuch assigned to escort Le Wuya into the hall was Li Shang.

When Le Wuya had been ousted years ago, Li Shang had only recently started working in the inner palace and naturally did not recognize him.

Thus, Li Shang couldn't figure out why the senior eunuchs were all so reluctant to take this assignment, each making excuses about other commitments, especially Eunuch Qin, who had received Wen Ren Yue when he was still a seventh-rank county magistrate—he had simply called in sick.

Was there something weird about this official?

So, when he met Le Wuya, he snuck a peek at him and was instantly left speechless by his looks.

A black gauze hat with a gold-rimmed top, gold pins holding his hair in place, a blue sash draped over his shoulders, and a robe of crimson silk—all together made him look like the epitome of elegance from head to toe.

Li Shang praised sincerely: "My lord, you truly look like a god."

Le Wuya replied with a smile: "Thank you, Eunuch."

Seeing how gracious he was and how quick he was to smile, Li Shang grew even more puzzled—why would the other eunuchs refuse to welcome such a perfect gentleman?

He led Le Wuya forward at a steady pace, offering a quiet reminder: "...My lord, please don't find me annoying, but I must say a few words: when you are summoned into the hall, you need to hurry in with quick steps, and when you bow, keep your eyes down on the floor tiles—never look directly at the emperor's face."

Le Wuya looked up.

On the marble steps, civil and military officials stood in neat rows.

He smiled faintly: "If the emperor tells me to lift my head, Eunuch, do I lift it or not?"

Li Shang, hearing his humble tone as if he were genuinely asking for advice, didn't suspect a thing, and replied: "How could anyone go against the emperor's will? My lord should naturally obey."

No sooner had he spoken than a distant announcement rang out: "Summon—the Prefect of Tongzhou, Wen Ren Yue, to the hall!"

Le Wuya hadn't taken up a new post yet, so he was still called by his old title.

Le Wuya adjusted his hat, and with slow, dignified steps, proceeded forward.

Li Shang followed at his side, watching him, thinking that the saying "a face like jade, a presence like a mountain god" couldn't be more fitting.

Amid the crisp clink of his ivory token tapping against his silver belt, the Zhaoming Hall appeared before him.

Without a moment's hesitation, Le Wuya stepped into the emperor's great hall.

Officials all over the hall turned to look.

Many, curious about how this man had made such a name for himself, snuck sideways glances at Le Wuya.

When they sensed something was off and tried to get a better look, he breezed past them like the wind.

Quite a few officials noticed that his looks were, frankly, pretty off.

But being in the Zhaoming Hall, they didn't dare lose their composure—not even to gasp—so they clenched their jaws, held their breath, and choked back all their emotions.

For a moment, half the Zhaoming Hall was devoid of any sound of breathing, enveloped in an eerie silence.

Xiang Zheng, seated high on the dragon throne, remained utterly oblivious.

From his vantage point, he could only see that the man's ceremonial conduct was impeccable, flawless in every detail, evidencing his reverence.

When Le Wuya came to a stop before the hall and prostrated himself in obeisance, Xiang Zheng finally spoke: "My beloved minister has traveled far and labored greatly."

Le Wuya replied in a clear voice: "Your servant, favored by Your Majesty's grace, dare not speak of hardship."

A faint furrow appeared between Xiang Zheng's brows.

...That voice sounded somehow familiar.

Suppressing the flicker of doubt in his heart, he surveyed the assembled ministers: "Today, I wish to specially commend a capable official."

"All of you must have heard of Wen Ren Yue's achievements in governing Tongzhou. That prefecture was once a den of banditry; the officials I sent there either met their downfall or sank into collusion with the outlaws. Only Minister Wen Ren—"

At this point, Xiang Zheng fixed his gaze on Le Wuya below.

Seeing the slight curl of his forehead hair, Xiang Zheng's throat tightened, and his heart gave a sudden wrench, nearly unsettling his composure: "...not only purged official corruption and promoted both agriculture and commerce, but also, just last month, personally led the troops to a victory against overwhelming odds, sweeping away the Japanese pirates in one stroke. Such courage and strategy rank among the finest in all of Dayu—truly a pillar of the state!"

"Your servant thanks Your Majesty for your boundless grace," said Le Wuya. "Were it not for Your Majesty's favor, this humble servant..."

His tone shifted with subtle nuance: "...how could I stand here today?"

From earlier on, the Fifth Prince, Xiang Zhiyun, had found his voice disturbingly familiar.

His curiosity about this man was intense, and he could not resist turning his head to look—just in time to catch his profile—

Crack!

The ivory tablet in Xiang Zhiyun's hand crashed heavily onto the gray bricks, and in the deathly silent Zhaoming Hall, it was no less than a thunderclap!

The tablet landed precisely before Le Wuya.

He respectfully picked it up with both hands, presented it before him, and invited Xiang Zhiyun to retrieve it, his posture beyond reproach.

Xiang Zhiyun's pupils trembled, his face pale as ash, and his gaze unconsciously darted toward Xiang Zhijie, who stood behind him with a serene and gentle expression.

...Xiaoliu, how dare you be so bold?!

"Zhiyun," Xiang Zheng's expression darkened involuntarily, "are you feeling unwell?"

Xiang Zhiyun hastily took back the tablet and bowed quickly: "Father, your son has been remiss—please forgive me..."

Xiang Zheng's gaze flickered between the Fifth Prince's pallid face and the figure bowed in obeisance.

The unease in his chest swelled ever more.

The source of all his disquiet seemed to stem from the official standing there in respectful salute.

His form, his voice, even his hair...

"Minister Wen Ren," Xiang Zheng's voice tightened involuntarily, "raise your head. Let Us take a good look at you."

Le Wuya bowed with composure: "Your servant obeys the imperial decree."

The moment he lifted his head, two or three more men nearly dropped their hu tablets.

The clatter of falling tablets rang out one after another.

Xue Jie stared, dumbstruck.

The moment his gaze met that face, Xiang Zheng's expression shifted drastically. He flung out a hand, as if to shoo away a ghost that had brazenly appeared before him in broad daylight.

With that sweep of his arm, the imperial seal on the dragon desk flew off, tumbling down the dragon steps, rolling to a stop at Le Wuya's feet.

Le Wuya lowered his gaze to the heirloom jade seal at his feet, his expression unreadable.

Xiang Zheng, not sparing the seal a glance, let out a strangled cry: "You...?"

It's you?!

How dare you return?

Author's note:

Let the old emperor stay like this—