Chapter Twenty-Seven: Unstoppable

The old emperor’s heart was caught between tears and laughter. In truth, she never much cared for Zhang Jiafu, and had heard, more or less, of his misdeeds. Yet as no one had ever made a fuss of it, she had never bothered to investigate deeply. Zhang Jiafu’s honeyed words always managed to lift her spirits. As an emperor, one does not require every official to be upright and incorruptible—nor should all be slippery flatterers. Yet in recent years, perhaps because it was known she preferred pleasant words, the number of such smooth-talking officials had multiplied, while honest and upright ones dwindled. This was the chief reason she was so eager to discover new talent.

And now this Di Ying...

The old emperor’s gaze swept over Zhang Jiafu, who knelt trembling on the floor, afraid to lift his head. She resolved then: it was time to strictly admonish the atmosphere of the court.

But she did not respond directly to Di Ying’s accusation. She set her hand down, gently patting the imperial desk, and shifted the topic once more.

“Let us not pursue this matter or that just yet. Speak first of your own actions. As the legal officer of Bing Province, a fifth-rank official, you summoned the people to publicly judge the highest civil and military officials of Bing Province. Moreover, you incited the masses, leading to the deaths of more than forty men—who gave you such audacity? Who allowed you such lawlessness? You speak constantly of the law—under which statute do your actions fall? Do you hold me in any regard?”

Upon hearing this, Di Ying straightened his back, saluted respectfully, and answered with solemn earnestness.

“Your Majesty, the power of the law lies not merely in its severity, nor in its articles and clauses, but in the foundation upon which it stands—the enduring sense and reason of the people. As for those criminals, I wished to try them in the magistrate’s court, but Your Majesty—had you seen the situation then… In the hall of justice, the victims could not stand; beneath heaven, their wailing could not be contained.”

At this, Di Ying pressed his reddened eyes, then spoke again in a clear voice:

“By law, Ma Guangjin, She Jianhong, and others brought ruin upon the people of Bing Province, wielding unchecked power, committing countless crimes for which even death or mutilation could not suffice as punishment. By reason, I lacked both the authority and the qualification to interrogate them. By compassion, I allowed all those who suffered at their hands to speak publicly. I did not overstep my bounds—the official serves the people, and the people have the right to bring forth their grievances. As for incitement, I did not stir the crowd. I merely placed the criminals in the prison carriage, preparing to escort them to the capital to be handed over to the Ministry of Justice. Yet the people, enraged, could not be stopped… Your Majesty, the will of the people is more formidable than a surging river. You did not witness it: thousands upon thousands cried out, wishing to tear the criminals apart with their bare teeth.”

“I was powerless, without authority, nor subordinates to enforce order. I could only watch helplessly—or rather, I could not even watch. When the crowd’s fury first erupted, I was knocked unconscious by Ma Guangjin’s death squad and carried away.”

As he spoke, Di Ying clicked his tongue softly, a look of regret on his face—regret at not witnessing the deaths of Ma Guangjin and the others.

The old emperor was speechless.

This Di Ying—so earnest, so wry; serious yet sly… Especially his attitude towards her, which she could not quite define. Was there awe? A little. Was there respect? A little. Was there fear? None that she noticed…

From the moment he entered the imperial study—no, from the moment he entered the palace—until now, he had not felt like someone answering before the throne. It was as if two old friends sat by a lakeside, in a cool pavilion, speaking from the heart.

This feeling…

The old emperor’s thoughts drifted. Having witnessed two generations of emperors, and then becoming sovereign herself, how many years had it been since she last spoke genuinely with anyone? No one dared to speak truly to her, nor had she confided her own feelings to anyone. No matter their status, she could never voice her true emotions or thoughts aloud.

Now, though she ruled the world, she was profoundly alone. All the people of the dynasty were her subjects, yet her heart remained empty, unfulfilled.

And now, suddenly, this person had appeared, as if falling from the heavens, standing before her in the imperial study—reasoned and eloquent, with both praise and criticism. His tone and manner made it seem as though they were having an intimate conversation.

He did not treat her as a crutch, did not seek to curry favor, nor did he bow and scrape in submission. He had even, in roundabout ways, criticized her, pointed out her faults, and chided her.

It was as if—everyone wished to gain something from her, as if she were the pillar upon which all relied. Yet here was someone who, instead of seeking, was giving.

This sensation was utterly new and…

It left her feeling neither close nor distant.

“Di Ying, in your opinion, what is most important for the dynasty, and for me?”

The empress calmed herself, striving to return to normal, and questioned Di Ying.

If this man was truly a talent fit to govern, she wished first to hear his insight.

“Your Majesty,” Di Ying replied, saluting and bowing slightly, “when I was a child, I used to watch ants crawling all over the ground. They busied themselves tirelessly, running to and fro, all to serve and care for the queen ant. I wondered, if only the queen ant were well tended, would all the little ants then be happy and content?”

“So I watched them day after day. But in time, I realized—it was not so. No matter the nature of the queen, the little ants always labored ceaselessly. Their greatest joy seemed to be, after feeding the queen, to stockpile as much food as they could. More was never too much; less never caused alarm.”

“I thought, perhaps it’s the same with people? As long as the common folk have land to till, and enough food to eat, perhaps they will be happy and content?”

“So I followed my family into the fields every day. But in the end, I found even that was not so. No matter how much grain we grew, we never had enough to fill our bellies. In good years, taxes were heavy, and we had to hoard grain against famine, never daring to eat our fill. In lean years, taxes were still heavy. We ate our stores, fearing the next year might bring even greater scarcity, and dared not eat more.”

“Our family’s income each year came from raising poultry and growing vegetables, selling meat, eggs, and greens to buy salt, cloth, and daily necessities. Even the vegetable plots could only be carved out in small corners. The number of poultry kept was limited, for we could not afford more—nor the taxes that came with them.”

“I wondered, perhaps one must become an official? Only as an official, able to reduce taxes and aid the people in times of famine, could the dynasty be stable—could my family be safe?”

“So I studied diligently, hoping to pass the exams and become an official, so my family might live well. But this was merely a narrow path. After all, among the vast numbers of the dynasty, the greatest majority are commoners. How many can enter the court? How many are truly good officials, devoted to the country and the people?”

“In the end, those one can save and help are only one’s own small family.”