The Duke of Dingguo looked at his son Gu Zhao, who had once again shaved his head and become a monk, clad in a monk’s robe and reciting sutras for the midday service. The Duke was absolutely furious, nearly choking on his rage.
Gu Zhao had returned to the capital two months prior. On the very day of his return, he had gone straight to the palace to report to the Empress Dowager, then bypassed the Duke of Dingguo’s mansion entirely and headed directly to Huangjue Temple, where he shaved his head and took monastic vows on the spot. He had not set foot at home since, a full two months now.
Today, the Duke of Dingguo had come to Yongfu Manor with a mission: Old Madam Gu had given him an ultimatum—either bring the boy back, or don’t bother coming home himself.
Thanks to this stubborn, disobedient son, the Duke found himself with no home to return to. He roared in anger:
“For the sake of a vulgar love affair, you commit acts of disloyalty and unfilial conduct! You’ve cast aside the family’s future entirely! When will you stop this reckless, hot-headed tantrum?!”
Yet Gu Zhao, now twice-entered into the monastic life, remained perfectly serene in the face of his father’s harsh rebuke. He looked up unhurriedly and met the Duke’s eyes:
“Tantrum? Disloyal and unfilial? Father, have I ever wronged the royal family or the Gu clan all these years? Haven’t I already done more than enough for the Emperor, the Empress Dowager, and the Ducal mansion? Haven’t I?”
If Gu Zhao had flown into a rage and shouted back, the Duke could have leaned on his position as father and crushed such insolence. But his son’s calm, leveling question caught him off guard, leaving him momentarily speechless.
To be fair, this son had given so much to his family and to the crown that the Duke lacked the very moral footing to scold him further.
The Duke had no ground to stand on, but Gu Zhao had plenty. He pressed on:
“Father, I have wronged no one. On the contrary, since I entered the palace at age eight, it has been nearly sixteen years now, and I have done more than enough for this family. Do you agree?”
The Duke, weakened, deflated. “Still, you shouldn’t have gone this far.”
Gu Zhao continued, still calm:
“Father, what exactly is ‘this far’? What I seek now is so little—merely to wed the woman I love. She is no one of obscure birth. She has saved the Emperor’s life, holds the rank of a third-grade court official, and is the divine physician who quelled the epidemic in the northern frontier. She is a hero rare in this world. To marry such a woman is my honor, and I hope the family will take pride in it as well. Father, in loyalty and filial piety, I am clear of conscience. May I ask you, then, to show me a little fatherly kindness and grant me this wish?”
Children grow up—there’s no ruling them anymore.
The Duke of Dingguo had arrived in a blaze and slunk back in defeat, only to be scolded again by Old Madam Gu when he returned without completing his mission.
By the time the Dragon Boat Festival arrived, seeing Gu Zhao’s empty seat, Old Madam Gu grew even angrier and gave the Duke another tongue-lashing.
Gu Zhao didn’t come home for the Dragon Boat Festival, and the months slipped by. Another three months passed, and his monastic stint was nearly half a year. Mid-Autumn was approaching, yet he still showed no sign of coming back.
And perhaps because of the bond of blood, both the grandmother and the grandson were equally stubborn. Gu Zhao refused to return, and the Empress Dowager refused to budge. They had been locked in this standoff for nearly six months, with neither willing to give an inch.
The day before Mid-Autumn, Xiong Kun arrived at Yongfu Manor with provisions for Gu Zhao, sent by the Duchess of Dingguo. Gu Zhao accepted the goods, then instructed:
“When you go back to report, wait until Grandmother is around to hear it. Tell them I’m ill. Say I’ve been sick for days—so ill I can’t even get out of bed.”
Xiong Kun understood immediately. He deliberately timed his return to fall during the dinner hour.
The Duchess of Dingguo was just accompanying Old Madam Gu at a meal. Since the matter concerned the young heir, and out of concern that the Duchess might worry, the stewardess led Xiong Kun straight in.
Once Xiong Kun delivered his report, Old Madam Gu—who had been swallowing her anger for more than half the year—finally cracked upon hearing that Gu Zhao was ill. She pushed aside her food and barked:
“Bring me my pass!”
The old lady had a bad back, and getting up with such sudden force had the Duchess grabbing her hurriedly, fearful she might snap her spine. “Mother,” the Duchess asked, “what do you need the pass for?”
Old Madam Gu, usually so kind-eyed and gentle, now wore a murderous expression:
“I’m going to the palace!”
The Empress Dowager was the mother of the Son of Heaven, and also the mother of all under heaven.
But even the mother of all under heaven has a mother of her own—and is subject to that mother’s authority as well.
When Old Madam Gu burst into the Cining Palace, the Empress Dowager was so startled by the suddenness that she assumed something dreadful had occurred. She quickly dismissed her attendants and asked:
“Mother, what’s happened?”
Old Madam Gu gave a cold snort:
“How dare I be your mother? You are my mother!”
The Empress Dowager was utterly bewildered by this sudden accusation. Faced with her own mother, she could hardly scold her; she could only try to soothe the old lady:
“Mother, whatever do you mean? What have I done to make you this angry?”
Old Madam Gu snorted again:
“What have you done? Her Imperial Majesty throws her weight around wonderfully, forcing my grandson into a monastery for no reason, and you ask me what you’ve done? Now that you’re Empress Dowager, you have no regard for anyone. If I didn’t call you ‘mother,’ would you even so much as acknowledge this old woman?”
Ah, so it was about that. The Empress Dowager felt utterly wronged and tried to reason with Old Madam Gu:
“Mother, Zhao’er is being childish. You can’t indulge him in this. He’s been bewitched by love right now. Let him cool off for a year or so, and I’ll personally pick a fine noble lady for him.”
Old Madam Gu was deeply irritated, and today she had come to pick a fight. She would hear none of it. She snapped:
“You sure are my dear mother! Look at his age—which family’s son is still unmarried at his stage of life? Wait another year or two? Besides, it’s he who takes a wife, not you! Naturally he should choose the one he loves. Why should you pick one you love? A fine noble lady? Is there a family in this whole realm more noble than the Gu family? Do people like us need to depend on Zhao’er’s marriage to climb the social ladder?”
If anyone else had dared to raise such a ruckus in Cining Palace, the Empress Dowager would have had them dragged out long ago. But this was her own mother—unreasoning, unpunishable. The Empress Dowager was defenseless, her countless tricks useless, retreating step by step:
“Mother, it’s not that simple.”
Old Madam Gu’s back bothered her, and even speaking for so long had worn her out. Today, she decided to throw courtesy out the window entirely. Finding herself a chair, she slumped into it and declared:
“I don’t care about your reasoning. Go bring that boy home today. If Zhao’er doesn’t come home, then I’m not leaving! I’ll stay here until he does!”
