Qin Prince's Mansion.
"Shen San, this prince wanted to put on a show, but he didn’t want to be hated by so many people!"
The mere thought of these people gnashing their teeth in resentment made Song Yu feel like he was suffering unjustly.
"Your Highness, please calm your anger."
Shen Qingping wore a roguish grin. "This poetry gathering helped the Emperor filter out a large number of unsuitable candidates. When I report to him that this was Your Highness’s idea, he will surely recognize your foresight and willingness to sacrifice yourself for the greater good."
"More importantly, in just four months, your true identity will be revealed to the world. Who would dare speak ill of you then?"
Song Yu smacked his lips thoughtfully. Well... that did make some sense.
Song Shihuan rubbed her forehead—her father had clearly been led astray by his advisor’s words.
"Very well, proceed as you suggest." Song Yu cleared his throat. "But Shen San, next time, you must inform me beforehand. I need time to prepare myself."
"Next time, without fail."
Shen Qingping beamed with satisfaction.
"You’ve made this prince shine once again. Well done."
The mere memory of Shen Qingping declaring his poem the best at the gathering filled Song Yu with delight.
Truly, only Shen San could pull this off!
......
What Shen Qingping never expected was that while he had managed to appease Song Yu, he nearly failed to escape his own father’s wrath.
"Kneel down, you brat!"
The moment he returned to the Shen residence, Shen Qingping was startled by Shen Mingwen standing there with a wooden rod in hand.
"Father, the snow is so thick on the ground—how am I supposed to kneel?"
"I said kneel, so kneel!" Shen Mingwen was so furious he could barely catch his breath.
With a thud, Shen Qingping dropped to his knees.
It didn’t hurt, but the cold was bone-piercing.
"The poetry gathering is a tradition passed down through dynasties, held once a year without fail," Shen Mingwen raised the rod. "I wondered why I didn’t receive an invitation this year—turns out it was you, you little rascal, who intercepted it!"
"And not only that, you turned the entire event into chaos! The Minister of Rites came to me in tears just now!"
"Father, please, calm down."
Shen Qingping forced an ingratiating smile and tried to stand up to support his father, only to flinch back when the rod was brandished at him.
"Father, I was only helping the Emperor solve a problem."
"Helping the Emperor? Did you have to target the poetry gathering for that?" Shen Mingwen pointed a finger at Shen Qingping’s nose. Just as the rod was about to strike, Lady Shen rushed out.
"My lord, you mustn’t hit him!"
She immediately shielded Shen Qingping. "Third Son, go to your room."
"I didn’t say he could get up!"
"My lord, since when does the Grand Tutor speak so crudely, calling himself ‘this old man’?" Lady Shen patted Shen Mingwen’s back soothingly. "You two have always disagreed on how things should be done. The best solution is to each follow your own path."
"Just the other day, you said it was just as well you weren’t invited to the gathering—there were scholars from Guanzhang Prefecture present, and you didn’t want to critique them. Our son must have considered this before taking your invitation."
Her words gradually cooled Shen Mingwen’s temper, though he still muttered, "This boy’s actions grow more reckless by the day."
"I, on the other hand, think Third Son did the right thing. Even the prince didn’t take offense—why should you?"
"Because I’m his father!"
Seeing his anger flare again, Lady Shen quickly continued to placate him.
Meanwhile, Shen Qingping retreated to his study, reviewing the list Fei Shu had compiled and pondering his next move.
Fifteen minutes later.
"Young Master, the master has sent knee pads for you. He said to keep your knees warm so they don’t freeze."
Shen Qingping happily slipped on the knee pads and stretched his limbs.
Ah, comfort at last!
......
At the same time, Yu Fan and his entourage arrived in the capital of Dayue.
Emperor Mingde received them in the palace.
"What is your official rank?" the Emperor asked with a smile.
"Your Majesty, I hold no official position."
Yu Fan’s answer caused Emperor Mingde’s smile to fade slightly. Sending someone without rank—was this a sign of disrespect toward Dayue?
Yet at the same time, the Emperor’s wariness toward Yu Fan’s group lessened somewhat.
"Your Majesty, we have come to Dayue to request grain aid. The granaries of Daqi are nearly empty. Our Emperor has promised that for every grain Dayue provides today, Daqi will repay a basket in the future."
As he spoke, Yu Fan silently prayed:
Please, don’t give Daqi any grain...
Otherwise, this deal will ruin us.
"We would love to help Daqi, but Dayue itself... truly has not a single grain to spare."
Yu Fan’s heart leaped with joy.
Yet he maintained a sorrowful expression. "In these troubled times, the people suffer more with each passing day."
Seeing that Yu Fan did not press further for grain, Emperor Mingde’s mood improved. He raised his wine cup. "Tonight’s banquet is in your honor. Let us drink until we are thoroughly merry!"
After several rounds of drinks, Yu Fan raised his cup again.
"Your Majesty, might I request an audience with our Grand Sun, Song Yanzheng, tomorrow?"
"Of course. Speaking of which, how is Prince Min faring in Daqi?"
"Extremely well."
Yu Fan answered without hesitation. "Daqi has purchased an estate for him near the Ping Prince's Mansion, allowing him to frequently visit the Princess."
In truth, Prince Min was locked in a dungeon by Shen Qingping, enduring daily torment.
"That puts my mind at ease. Prince Min is of marriageable age now. We must arrange for the young couple to wed soon." Emperor Mingde laughed heartily, eager for Rong Lingchen to remain in Daqi forever, never to return to Dayue.
With the matter of grain aid off the table, the banquet proceeded in high spirits.
Yu Fan toasted each of Dayue’s officials in turn. Perhaps looking down on his lack of rank, every official made sure to announce their own titles when clinking cups with him.
By the end of the banquet, Yu Fan had memorized the names and ranks of all high-ranking officials in Dayue.
What a windfall!
......
That night, emboldened by wine, Yu Fan insisted on seeing Song Yanzheng immediately—before the palace attendants could "prepare properly."
Thus, Song Yanzheng’s pitiful state was laid bare before Yu Fan’s eyes: the young man lay neglected on a bed, surrounded by scraps of leftover food, while his nursemaid feasted on a chicken leg nearby.
At the sight, Yu Fan’s eyes welled with tears.
"Grand Sun... how... how could you have been reduced to this?"
Then, swaying unsteadily, he collapsed in a dramatic faint.
The next morning, Yu Fan left the palace.
Halfway through the journey, he suddenly leaped from his carriage and wailed to the commoners of Dayue:
"Heavens above! Our Grand Sun lives in such misery!"
"He is fed moldy bread and watery gruel with barely a grain of rice!"
"Grand Sun... to think you suffer so in Dayue!"
