Character Index
General Shu: Patriarch of the Shu clan, Yunqi's grandfather.
Zhou Hong and Zhou Yong: The First and Second Princes, they were deposed after their mother was deposed from the seat of Empress. The marriage of Zhou Hong, the First Prince, to a bride from the Gongsun clan was the last straw for the Emperor, who knew what his in-laws were aiming for by marrying one of their own to the heir-apparent.
Shu Yunsong: Yunqi's uncle, the second son of General Shu and older brother to the Wise Consort. He previously went to see Yunqi in secret, leading to a crisis later down the line when Xianchun caught wind of the illegal visit (since Yunsong is not allowed to leave his post without permission as a military officer).
Shu Yunzhi: Yunqi's uncle, the first son of General Shu.
Shu Zhengyan: Yunqi's cousin, a headstrong young man who was sent back to the Shu clan after causing trouble, replaced by Shu Zhengyu, his more mild-mannered younger brother.
Zhou Yunqi: The Fifth Prince, allied with the Third Prince. In a very delicate political position.
Wei Guang: The Imperial Edict Bearer, Minister of Censure, and Kayla's godfather.
Xiang Daozong/Qu Boyong: The Lord of the Xiang clan, nephew of the Emperor through his mother, the Princess of Chu (Emperor's half-sister).
Lin Yaoguang: The pseudonym used by the Grand Duke's money launderer. Zhao Wei, the former Minister of War, claimed that to his knowledge, no actual person by the name of Lin Yaoguang exists, but rather a network of people operating under one name. Kayla was desperate to find this "Lin Yaoguang" when she was pressured to pay back the Grand Duke's bribes but couldn't find where he placed his funds. Thanks to the Emperor's help, the immediate pressure was lifted, though Kayla has continued to look into the matter.
Zhou Kuang: The Third Prince, contender for the throne.
Zhou Xianchun: The Seventh Prince, contender for the throne.
Sir Yang: An eunuch who serves the Emperor.
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Members of the Shu clan discussed amongst themselves in hushed whispers, frantically trying to make sense of what the recent changes in the capital meant for them. Matrons divorced by their husbands bounced children on their knees with drawn faces, and the children bawled unhappily in turn. The miserable anxiety wasn’t just limited to the crowded sitting room, but stretched outside of it as well. Several of the Shu men had excluded their wives, who were now weeping or fuming in their own rooms, either cursing fate for landing them with such unlucky husbands, or cursing their husbands for landing them with such an unlucky fate.
The young men tried to crowd in at the edges of the small huddled groups, only half understanding what their older relatives were saying save for that they were in very great danger.
In the center of the sitting room, a white-haired old man shook his head in distress.
“The First and Second Prince, dead!”
Eyes turned to the speaker, the patriarch of the Shu clan, the decorated General Shu whose forced retirement had been the beginning of the end for them all.
If they were looking for assurance, they found none.
General Shu pinched his nose bridge, the pained look on his weathered face making him look even older than he already did. A fit man in his sixties, his countenance had suffered more from the last few years of persecution than it had in decades of military service.
“The First and Second Prince, dead!” He repeated to himself.
The silence that fell over the room was suffocating. General Shu’s second son was the one who lost his patience first.
“And what of it?! We didn’t do anything! Haven’t we complied well with the Emperor’s orders? What does any of this have to do with us?!” Shu Yunsong snapped.
“You’re saying that?!” Shu Yunzhi, the older brother, snapped back at him.
Shu Yunsong rounded on him, only to be stopped by their father.
“Stop it, you two! Our family is at the point that decides our survival or destruction and here you’re arguing like children!” General Shu snarled at them.
“Good heavens!” Shu Yunzhi threw his hands up in despair. “There’s nothing any of us can do, Father! Our younger sister is out of favor, our nephew has no power to protect us, and all our allies have long cast us off! What could you possibly expect us to do?”
“The Emperor would not kill us recklessly,” Shu Yunsong argued.
General Shu shook his head. “Not unless the Third Prince casts us off,” he said soberly.
“Surely he would not do that after all our years of support!”
“How much support has he received compared to how much he has given? I would not blame him for it, but by the heavens I pray that he will not forsake us!” General Shu groaned.
Shu Yunsong turned to one of the younger men. “What word from my nephew?”
“His Highness has only instructed us to wait, he promised to monitor the situation with the Third Prince,” the man replied.
Shu Yunsong clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. “Monitor…what good is that?”
“The Third Prince would not forsake the Fifth Prince so easily,” Shu Zhengyan said. “I stayed with him for a while, I know how close he is with the Third Prince.”
“Then it’s a question of whether the Fifth Prince will forsake us,” Shu Yunsong said bitterly.
“Be silent!” General Shu snapped. Shu Yunsong sighed and leaned back against the wall. As miserable as they were when they’d started, the room fell back into hushed conversation.
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Yunqi stepped into Kuang’s study, stilling as he saw the look on his brother’s face. Kuang stared down at the documents on his desk without really seeing any of them.
News of how Wenyuan had spent a full day with the Emperor and then been sent home with an escort from the Imperial Guard had swept through the court, leaving countless officials cursing or congratulating themselves. A message from the young Duke had further confirmed that the head of the neutral faction had kept his position and favor alike, and his support for the Third Prince was as strong as ever. Which meant that Kuang’s proposal to grant a state funeral for the First and Second Prince had been exactly on the mark, and perfectly timed at that–it had been submitted a full half day before anyone knew the outcome of the Emperor’s outburst.
He had gained an unparalleled advantage when it came to the Emperor, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Kuang would have preferred it if he’d never had this chance in the first place.
“Brother,” Yunqi called.
Kuang glanced up with a start.
“Yunqi, I didn’t see you come in. What is it?”
“Our man in the palace has good news for us,” Yunqi said lightly. “Father responded very well to our request to give First and Second Brother a state funeral. In fact, he’s thinking of asking you to take charge of proceedings with help from Sir Yang. The old eunuch, remember?”
“Yes, I remember him,” Kuang said, trying for a smile.
“What’s wrong?” Yunqi asked.
“A state funeral is one matter, but as what? Are they to be posthumously honored as members of the Imperial Family?” Kuang asked. “If Father is willing to reinstate them himself, then I’m more than happy to help that happen. It would mean more to them coming from Father anyways.”
“We’ll have to wait for Father’s decision,” Yunqi said. “But from his reaction thus far, he shouldn’t be adverse to it we if proposed granting them posthumous honors. There’s no need to speak of reinstatement to him directly, only about funerary rites.”
“Sound advice, surely,” Kuang murmured. “But it still leaves us a problem.”
Kuang glanced at Yunqi.
“Remember First Brother’s wife? The bride from the Gongsun clan.”
“Yes, didn’t she die five years ago from childbirth complications?”
Kuang nodded. “If First Brother is buried as a Prince, what does that make her and her son?”
Yunqi mulled it over for a moment.
“What do you want it to make her?” He finally asked. “You can argue that despite her family’s crimes, she was an official Princess Consort as the formal wife of a prince. But if you want to say that she does not constitute a Princess Consort, you can argue that their wedding did not use the rites of a prince’s household, that she did not have the qualifications to be a consort on account of her lineage, and thus she does not warrant the treatment of a Prince’s wife.”
Kuang sighed. “She was a pitiful girl. But this isn’t a decision we can make based on sentiment alone. It’s risky to include her on our own initiative. Perhaps it’s best to let Father decide.”
“Father will not decide if he does not think of it,” Yunqi pointed out. “And he will not think of her if no one brings it up to him. With his current state, who would dare to do so?”
“We certainly cannot. We are not like Wenyuan, we can ill-afford to face his retroactive anger should his mind change,” Kuang said firmly.
Yunqi quietly sat down next to him, taking in Kuang’s tightly drawn brow. He evaluated his brother for a moment before sighing.
“When my wife died, you were the one who advocated for her to be buried with full honors despite never having achieved merits through filial piety or producing descendants,” Yunqi said softly. “If you wish to do the same for First Brother’s wife, then I will support it.”
Pity her he may, but Kuang still did not acknowledge the Gongsun bride as a sister-in-law. She had been the last straw for the Emperor. Innocent as she was, it was her marriage that doomed the First and Second Princes to exile.
Did he want to go that far for her when he couldn’t even acknowledge her as family? Or was it misplaced guilt? Kuang considered it for a moment, taken aback at how willing he was to take risks for two dead men who had long since left his life when Yunqi was right there, in as much danger as ever.
How we live and how we’re remembered…Kuang thought of Yunqi’s words with a twinge of pain. That poor woman deserves this much. Her life had been short and unfortunate, damned by the greed of those around her rather than any fault of her own. If it were Kuang in the First Prince’s position, he would want his wife to have some semblance of dignity in death that she was not afforded in life.
But looking back through history, the matter of posthumous honors had been no small source of trouble to everyone involved. Sons of low-level concubines who enacted vengeance upon the officials who advocated against giving their mothers proper funeral rites after rising to the throne, brothers who persecuted half-brothers for using overly ostentatious burials for their mothers, wives of Archdukes who were lambasted or even executed for giving their husbands eulogies that were seen as critical of the Emperor, the list went on.
The great occasions of life and death are always the most dangerous to navigate, Kuang noted grimly. After all, people could become greater threats in death than they ever were in life. Even the smallest misstep could invite controversy.
Almost as though reading his mind, Yunqi cleared his throat slightly.
“It is not so bad as that, Brother. The risk will be minimal if we can get Wenyuan to speak well of our proposal. If we frame it as giving posthumous honors to First Brother, then it makes sense to grant them to his deceased son as well. And if the son is honored, why not the mother? If we do not address this now, it will only leave an opening for greedy opportunists to take advantage of later. Who knows? Perhaps they will seize a chance when Father is at his worst, and accuse us of petitioning for posthumous honors out of selfish motivations. They can even say that if we really were sincere, we wouldn’t have gone so far as to forget First Brother’s only wife.”
Kuang frowned. “Father hates that kind of thing the most.”
“Precisely. Since we have gotten involved, then we need to see it through to the end with every detail addressed. Whatever we leave undone will become a threat to us in the future,” Yunqi pointed out. “Do as you will, Brother. Both your virtue and your ambitions demand it.”
A profound look of relief crossed Kuang’s face. He clapped a hand onto Yunqi’s shoulder.
“You understand me best,” Kuang said fondly.
Yunqi briefly smiled before growing somber again.
“Brother, it’s not just about the loose ends,” Yunqi said. “If you advocate for her to be buried as a Princess Consort, the nobles and the clans will take that as a political message. And if you advocate for her to be disenfranchised in death as well, that too sends a signal. Wenyuan will surely promote it to the Emperor as support for his reforms, but the benefit is lesser compared to giving ambiguous hints to the major clans. Their position is still strong, and will be for a while yet. We ought not to force them into the struggle of a trapped beast before you’re on the throne–the final stretch is the most dangerous.”
“You mean to bait them into complacency?” Kuang asked.
Yunqi nodded. “Cook the frog in warm water.”
“That too could work. Both Wenyuan and Wei Guang are my men, they would be sure to cover for me before the Emperor either way. What I worry about is Father’s ability to hold a grudge. He’s still in his prime, how long can a temporary measure keep the clans at bay? The position of Crown Prince is hardly stable,” Kuang said. “If they feel they have been duped, their revenge upon me will be all the more frenzied.”
“What do you plan to do then?” Yunqi asked.
Kuang sighed, shifting his weight to lean on Yunqi’s shoulder.
“With your permission, I’ll ask to grant her the full honors of a Princess Consort,” he said in a heavy voice. Kuang’s insides pulled with guilt. It wasn’t fair to ask this of Yunqi, to make him responsible for the choice, for the risk.
Yunqi was silent for a long moment before he inhaled sharply.
“Do as you like, Brother,” Yunqi replied. “You needn’t worry about me.”
Kuang let out a sigh of relief, pressing his head into Yunqi’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”
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Kayla pinched at the bridge of her nose as she considered Kuang’s message. From what she’d seen of the Emperor’s grief, no amount of posthumous favor for the First and Second Prince was too much in his eyes. But the Gongsun clan was another matter altogether. Whatever dregs of the fallen clan were left would rally the second they sniffed a chance in the wind.
Nothing wrong with Kuang’s proposal though. Kayla could see the political benefits of granting honors to the First Prince’s pitifully short-lived wife. Whether in the eyes of the court or in the public, Kuang would be masterfully positioning himself to be acclaimed for benevolence. The Emperor also wouldn’t be opposed to it–on one condition.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
The Gongsun clan must stay still, or be made to stay still. She tilted her head thoughtfully. Well, that’s why he’s contacting me, isn’t he?
Kayla sighed, resigning herself to handling the matter as quietly as possible.
But before that…She hadn’t contacted Wei Guang since returning from the palace the night before.
With countless thoughts careening through her mind, Kayla called Wei Guang. It had only been two days since they last spoke, but in some ways, it felt like years had passed. The somber advice, the tense exchange the time before that, all seemed strangely muted in her memory.
She waited a beat, then another, and the call connected.
“Godfather,” Kayla greeted him.
“Wenyuan, it is good to see you well,” Wei Guang said.
“Thank you. I trust that my messenger reached you?”
“He did. It was well-thought of you to send him,” Wei Guang said. “It pleased me greatly to know you were of comfort to the Emperor. Such a loss at his age, it could not have been easy for him to accept.”
“Certainly not,” Kayla murmured. An awkward silence fell between them.
“I hope that you will not take offense to the advice I gave you,” Wei Guang finally said, conceding first. “It was spoken with nothing but your best interests at mind. To be frank, I have known the Emperor since he was but a boy, and I did not think he could be fully assuaged. Perhaps it is my own understanding that was limited.”
Kayla nodded, listening to his words detachedly. She idly entertained the thought of asking him what he would have done if she actually had fallen from favor. How did he plan to consolidate his own position? Or did he have Xiang Daozong ready as a backup? Or perhaps both?
“I’m grateful for those words, godfather. I have never doubted that you have my best intentions at heart,” she said instead.
“I’m glad we have an understanding,” Wei Guang said stiffly, as though he could tell what she really thought beneath the unflappably polite smile.
“It seems to me that our next priority is to ensure that this does not adversely affect the reforms, nor the matter of the reinforcements,” Kayla said, eager to move on from the topic. “There’s also the question of finding a culprit–one must be found, for something of this scale.”
“Can it be done?” Wei Guang asked. “Your Investigators have the Princes under observation, and yet the assassins were able to circumvent that. The murder investigation will definitely be a difficult one.”
“Difficult or not, it must be done. I'm more worried about what I’ll find,” Kayla said grimly.
Wei Guang’s face creased.
“I wish you the best,” he said, firmly avoiding a reply to her latter statement. Like Kayla, he too understood that everyone was suspect, save for the Emperor himself. And of course, one other person.
Xianchun.
Something of this scale required a great deal of planning, resources, and information. Someone newly established within the last year, without even a maternal clan to draw upon, could not possibly be the culprit.
But if the culprit turns out to be connected to the Third Prince somehow…or to the Fifth Prince, god forbid, then I’ll be lifting a rock to smash my own foot.
“Then about the Third Prince’s proposal for a state funeral,” Kayla began, and Wei Guang eagerly followed the new turn of conversation.
They had grown even more reserved around each other and both were trying not to show it, resulting in an atmosphere thick with suspicion even as they carried normally.
Kayla didn’t blame Wei Guang for dropping dead weight, or at least considering the possibility of it. She would have done the same. But the mistrust that simmered beneath their skins was now boiling over to the surface.
After all, how many times could you break faith before losing it altogether?
Kayla had nearly fallen from the cliff’s edge, and he had been all too willing to let her fall. But she hadn’t. She’d walked through fire and emerged unscathed, and now they both had to contend with that.
It’s your turn to squirm. She lowered her eyes, knowing that she couldn’t fully hide the glint in them. Kayla restrained herself. No, not yet. We still need each other.
But she was tired of having Xiang Daozong as a constant prickle at the back of her neck. A second nephew of the Emperor was one too many in the current political climate.
It’s time to bind him to me for good. If he must be muzzled and leashed, then so be it.
Lifting her eyes back to meet Wei Guang’s calculating gaze, Kayla smiled sublimely.
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A haggard man sat before a communication device, observing the other men on the call with him.
The communication device was alight with anxious faces as they murmured amongst themselves. Only the lead conspirators seemed to keep their cool, and that too, was only a brave front.
The only man who genuinely seemed without fear was the veteran.
“For heaven’s sake, how long are you lot going to continue whining?” He snapped, losing his patience.
“Whining? These are legit concerns!” One of the conspirators shot back.
“As far as I’m concerned, everything went according to plan,” the veteran retorted.
“According to plan? Duke Zhao’s position is as stable as ever, how is that according to plan? The Emperor’s acting abnormally, the neutral faction still stands strong, and the Bureau–! The Bureau is going to find us out, I’m telling you!”
The veteran scoffed. “Neither the Bureau nor its little Director are worth all that, or we never would have made it this far in the first place. You lot are scaring yourselves to death when our enemies haven’t even caught scent of our existence yet.”
“Even if the Bureau doesn’t figure us out, there’s still the problem of the plan,” one of the men said grimly. “We can’t proceed like this. The whole point was to eradicate two birds with one stone, but now the neutral faction has managed to worm its way out unscathed. How can we achieve our goal like this?”
“We’ll proceed as planned.” The haggard man spoke, his thin voice cutting through the arguments. He had remained silent since the beginning of the meeting. His face was tight and drawn, but it was impossible to tell whether it was due to unease or ill health. It may very well have been both.
The haggard man slowly scanned the other faces. “We must misdirect the investigation, but the overall plan does not change. It’ll merely take longer is all, but at the current moment, holding still is better than moving. Do you really think that the neutral faction alone can prevent what is to come? The Emperor can command the life and death of any subject, he can raise armies and raze cities with only an order. But he cannot control human nature. Whether or not the neutral faction crumbles, tensions will escalate between the princes’ factions. All it takes is a little bit of time.”
“With all due respect, that is time that we do not have!” One of the conspirators cut in, his face ruddy. “We’re gambling against fate here!”
“And what do you have to lose?” The haggard man said sharply. “Your pathetic life, if you even think it’s worth living as it is? The lives of your family, who will certainly be subjected to endless humiliations and indignities throughout the rest of their miserable years?”
The red-faced man turned even redder, his mouth opening and closing as he tried and failed to find a retort.
“Just get to the point already,” the veteran cut into the solemn silence that fell over the group. “It’s quite simple, really. We need to buy time so we can enact the last step. That means giving the Bureau something to chew on.”
Looks of horror dawned on the conspirators’ faces.
“You mean to offer up one of us?!” One of them squeaked.
The veteran shrugged indifferently. “A sacrifice for the greater good.”
A din of protests burst out.
“Who isn’t here today?” The veteran snapped, raising his voice to be heard.
Everyone lowered their eyes, unwilling to name the missing man.
“Lord Wu, was it now?” The veteran asked, daring anyone to challenge him.
The call was silent.
“Well? Why is he not here? Is he sick?”
The veteran scanned their faces, meeting the serene eyes of the haggard man.
“Evidently not,” the haggard man replied.
“So he is afraid,” the veteran said. “Him it is then.”
“You can’t just decide that!” One of the conspirators protested weakly.
“Lord Wu is no man of fortitude,” the veteran said with disgust. “If he’s afraid now, then think of how he’ll act once the Bureau catches scent of us! We need to destroy him before he becomes a threat to our survival anyways, might as well make use of his death.”
“The alternative, of course,” the haggard man cut in before anyone else could. “Is dying without ever having accomplished anything, having been forced to the point of having nowhere to seek shelter by some brat whose feathers are still incomplete. Does that fate sit well with you all?”
“I’ll see a vote!” The veteran roared.
“I vote for,” the haggard man said immediately, raising his hand.
The veteran cast a hard stare at the other conspirators. With great reluctance, the other hands slowly went up one by one.
“Then we have a unanimous agreement,” the veteran said forcefully.
“But how are we going to do it?” One of the men asked.
“Do not worry about it, I have my ways,” the haggard man replied.
“Duke Zhao is not so easy to fool.”
The haggard man shook his head. “He will not believe us if we simply deliver an answer into his lap. But if we allow him to find an answer himself, he will have to believe it. Leave it to me, and ask no more questions. The less you know, the safer we all are.”
Begrudging or not, they had enough faith in him to accept that. The call ended unceremoniously, the nervous energy replaced by gloom. A curdling sense of unease sludged through their stomachs as each of the conspirators retreated into the shells of their everyday existences.
For the first time, the blade was pointed at one of their own. And the worst part was how little it had taken for them to justify it.
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Housekeeper Li quickly gave her orders to the servant in charge of food purchases and whirled around to the cook.
“How many times did I tell you to get along with the Princess’ cook? She’s the mistress of this household now!”
“Well, her servant sure isn’t the mistress of the kitchen!” The head cook shot back defiantly.
“She will be if you can’t learn to cooperate,” Housekeeper Li threatened him.
The man balked. “You can’t make her the head cook! We’d all be eating that Turkish stuff all the time!”
“I can and I will, and the Duke will back me,” Housekeeper Li shot back. She caught one of the doormen slipping into the office from the corner of her eye.
“You’re both masters of your craft,” Housekeeper Li said to the cook, softening her tone. “Think of how much you can learn from each other.”
“I don’t need to learn anything from her!”
“You seemed perfectly happy eating the sweets she made,” Housekeeper Li said, on the verge of losing patience. The cook caught onto the deadly undertone in her words and sagged sulkily.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But I was here first! I have seniority!”
“Anyone could tell that,” Housekeeper Li replied, glancing at his balding head. The cook drew himself up in outrage, but relaxed into a better mood when he saw her playful smile.
Housekeeper Li dismissed the cook and turned her attention to the doorman bouncing on his heels.
“What is it?” She asked impatiently.
“There’s a guest looking for Duke Zhao,” the doorman said.
“And what about it?” Housekeeper Li asked, failing to see what was so strange about that.
“He’s a weird little old guy,” the doorman replied.
He hastily continued on as Housekeeper Li’s face tightened with irritation at the lacking explanation. “He asked for you by name! He says you know what he means to the Duke.”
Housekeeper Li frowned in confusion.
Was it an old servant of Wenyuan’s? Unlikely, there were few servants that dared to side with Wenyuan over the Grand Duke, and those who did not certainly wouldn’t come knocking. Then who? A blackmailer? Some acquaintance of the Imperial Princess?
“Should I send him away?”
“No, I’ll see him,” Housekeeper Li decided. Better safe than sorry.
She understood the doorman’s description once she placed eyes on the “weird little old guy”. The man had a round face that would have looked childish if not for the visible creases of age. From the complete lack of facial hair, she would’ve almost taken him for a eunuch.
But it was his strange attire that caught her attention. He was practically swaddled in clothing, the plain outermost layer looking as though it would burst. Whatever he was wearing inside, it was evidently a size larger.
She did not recognize him.
“And you are?” Housekeeper Li asked politely.
The man smiled opaquely, and undid the clasp of his robes. Before Housekeeper Li could stiffen in outrage, the outer robes fell apart to reveal an exquisitely embroidered cape of black brocade, covered with a bat pattern.
Her mind flashed back to the midnight visitor the Grand Duke received once every while, the one who she never saw the face of. All she had ever seen of the man was his bat-patterned cape.
“There was a man who would be brought to the residence in utmost secrecy once in a few years, he stopped about ten years ago, but before that, he showed up multiple times over the course of twenty years and still wasn’t silenced.” Her words to Duke Zhao echoed in her mind.
The Grand Duke’s money launderer, she realized, thinking of Wenyuan’s consternation a few weeks back upon receiving the bill from the Treasury, when the Empress Dowager had finally turned against him for good. The one who knows where the funds are!
“You,” she said in shock.
“Well met, Housekeeper Li,” he greeted her. “This lowly Lin Yaoguang humbly requests a meeting with the Duke.”
“Lin Yaoguang does not exist!” Housekeeper Li shot back.
“Yet I’m standing right here,” the man said. “And you, you recognize me, do you not?”
At a loss for words, Housekeeper Li stared at him. She didn’t believe him, but she couldn’t take that chance.
“Very well then, I’ll grant you an audience with the Duke,” she said through gritted teeth. “But know that if you deceive him, if you act with treacherous intention, you will certainly end up with your head separated from your body!”
The man claiming to be Lin Yaoguang bowed his head slightly, even mockingly.
“I understand, Housekeeper Li. I understand all too well.”
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Cultural Notes
休妻/Divorcing one's wife: In Ancient China, men were able to one-sidedly divorce their wives, though different dynasties had differing levels of protection against that. In the Tang Dynasty, if the wife had completed the full three years of mourning for their husband's parents, she could not be one-sidedly divorced. She could also take the matter to court and argue against the divorce if her husband tried to divorce her on the grounds of some fault. But if the wife was in a bad political situation due to family ties, it was unlikely they would win the case. Concubines tended to have a harder time in this regard. If it's an amicable divorce, a mutual separation, or a divorce initiated by the wife, it was usually called a "和离/harmonious separation".
存亡之际/Crisis of survival or destruction: An Ancient Chinese proverb.
诞下子嗣/To produce descendants: Often framed as a merit/achievement of women in Ancient China when they are able to produce descendants to carry on the family name and to inherit the family's property. Failing to produce a child could weaken a woman's position in the family by a great deal, and could even affect the treatment she was entitled to in life and in death.
生死大事/Great matters of life and death: An Ancient Chinese proverb. See the following cultural note for details.
Funerary Rites in Ancient China: Funerals held great symbolic significance in Ancient China, though some parts weren't so different from what we see in modern-day controversies over the funerals of important figures (such as the outrage against imposed mourning rituals and funeral costs for the Queen of England in some sectors of British society). For one, funeral rites often reflected the level of prestige you had in life, but rites were also restricted based on status, so a funeral incongruous with one's status could open up the family or planner to controversy or even criminal charges (ex: burying someone with ostentatious rites above their station). Legacy was also enormously important in Ancient China. From the pre-Qin era, historical records of a person and their posthumous reputation had great hold over people's activity when they were alive. It was said that "孔子作春秋而乱臣贼子惧/Confucious wrote the Spring and Autumn Annals (official historical record of the times), and the treacherous officials and conniving sons trembled in fear", since even if they had their way now, they would be spat upon for countless generations to come. Posthumous honors could also determine the status and social capital of those who survive you.
Funeral rites were also related to religious rites for honoring one's ancestors, and thereby were also related to legitimacy (via lineage). In the Ming Dynasty, Emperor Jiajing was infamous for his mass suppression of collective protests from officials who demanded him to honor his adopted father (his uncle, the heirless Emperor Zhengde) instead of his birth father. Hundreds who opposed his reluctance to be posthumously adopted by the previous Emperor (and thereby no longer be part of his own biological family) were flogged, exiled, or executed when the young Emperor eventually prevailed. This is one of the more extreme examples of how funerary and posthumous honors could become the cause of huge political turmoil, but hardly the only one.
How you mourned could also become a source of either controversy or symbolic capital. One of the best examples would be Yuan Shao of the late Han Dynasty and Three Kingdoms Era, who was the son of a low-status concubine. When his father and stepmother (father's official wife) passed away, he underwent the most ascetic mourning rites (wearing rough cloth, rejecting material comfort, no wine and entertainment, and depending on the level of strictness, one might even be expected to refrain from sexual relations or eating meat and fish) for a total of six years, gaining him great renown for his moral integrity and also his constancy, filial piety, and discipline among the aristocracy.
Failing to provide the proper rites due to someone (or what is seen as being due to someone) could also become a source of greater controversy or even political danger. In some cases, this would be retroactive, such as when a prince is forcibly adopted by the reigning Empress but rejects his adopted mother and posthumously honors his birth mother as the rightful Empress Dowager after ascending to the throne. This was often a mix of personal sentiments and political intentions, since using filial piety as an excuse to clean out officials involved in their birth mothers' deaths and burials often provided an opportunity to reduce their adopted mother's power and influence and cement their own. There are many examples of this happening throughout Chinese history, though I'll refrain from going into detail here.
困兽之争/Struggle of a trapped beast: An Ancient Chinese proverb referring to how someone backed into a corner will lash out much more desperately, thus becoming a greater threat.
温水煮青蛙/Cooking a frog in warm water: A Chinese saying that means to lull someone into complacency and slowly entrap them rather than going all out and startling them into fighting back from the start.
搬起石头砸自己的脚/Lifting a rock to smash onto your own foot: A Chinese saying that means to screw yourself over.
无地可容/Nowhere to seek shelter/No place that can shelter you: An Ancient Chinese proverb.
羽翼未丰/Feathers are still incomplete: An Ancient Chinese proverb referring to someone young or inexperienced or both, comparing them to young birds whose feathers haven't come in yet.
我自有办法/I have my ways: A Chinese saying often used to mean "hey shut up and stop asking questions, alright?"
身首异处/Head and body in different places: An Ancient Chinese phrase used to mean that someone will be/has been beheaded.