Pei Cijing let out a long, deep yawn.
Outside the window, the sky had not yet begun to lighten, and the morning mist had not fully dissipated. The lanterns under the eaves cast a soft halo of orange-red light through the haze. He lay in bed, staring at the canopy above, feeling as if he had been nailed to the mattress—unable to move so much as a single finger.
After returning from the flood-relief mission, reporting his work, and taking a short leave, Pei Cijing had settled back into the rhythm of clocking in and out, working eight days and resting two.
By all rights—
Today was his day off.
He could easily have slept until the sun was high in the sky, held his wife close, breathed in the faint scent of orchids from her hair, and lingered in that soft, plush canopy bed until the end of time.
No official business.
No documents.
No endless stream of chores.
Just a warm blanket and his wife's quiet breathing. That was the life.
But here was the problem—
Today was such a good day that it was precisely why he couldn't sleep in.
Pei Cijing turned his head and glanced at his side.
Shen Ninghuan had already sat up, her long hair spilling over her shoulders, head bowed as she straightened her sash. Morning light leaked through the gaps in the window lattice, falling across her profile and gilding her gentle features with a pale golden glow.
Sensing his gaze, she turned to him, the corner of her mouth curving up slightly.
"My lord, time to get up."
Pei Cijing buried his face into his pillow and let out a muffled grumble, like a cat being dragged out of its nest—every pore on his body shouting the same thing: don't want to get up.
Seeing him like this, Shen Ninghuan couldn't help but reach out to brush the stray strands of hair from his forehead. She tapped lightly between his brows and said softly, "Today is His Highness's investiture ceremony, and all civil and military officials must attend. You really can't sleep any longer, my lord—if you do, you'll be late."
Pei Cijing lifted his face from the pillow.
His eyes were full of grievance.
Because today was such a good day, the investiture ceremony had been scheduled for today.
Yes! Exactly. The investiture ceremony.
Li Chengyu, that sly dog, was to be officially installed as Crown Prince today.
This news was hardly a surprise by now. Ever since the flood-relief mission, with Eighth Prince Li Chengyan placed under house arrest—though it remained unclear when he would be sent poisoned wine—the northern river officialdom had been thoroughly purged, and the sharper minds at court had already sensed which way the wind was blowing.
Li Chengyu.
The only surviving legitimate son of the old emperor.
Capable, steady, having just rendered great service.
If the Crown Prince position wasn't for him, then who else?
So when the motion to establish the Crown Prince was raised in council, every official in attendance voiced unanimous support without the slightest resistance. Even those remonstrance officials who loved to oppose everything were as quiet as quails today, not uttering so much as an extra word.
Everything fell into place.
Naturally.
Li Chengyan, the whetstone, had been kicked aside. No fool who could read the room would step forward to object now.
Everyone knew this Sixth Prince was the one and only choice for heir.
And passing the council was only the first step. Next came the investiture ceremony—offering sacrifices to Heaven, to the ancestral temple, to the gods of land and grain, and proclaiming the news to the realm—only then would it be considered fully legitimate.
The ceremony was to be held before the Meridian Gate.
All civil and military officials in the capital were required to attend.
Pei Cijing, as a Compiler in the Hanlin Academy, a sixth-rank official, naturally couldn't escape it either.
He sighed, resigned to his fate, and dragged himself out of bed.
Shen Ninghuan had already gotten off the bed, taking his official robe from the clothing rack and laying it out for him. She gave the robe a shake, smoothing out the fine wrinkles, her movements unhurried.
Pei Cijing stretched out his arms.
Shen Ninghuan moved behind him to straighten his collar and tighten his belt, her touch gentle and practiced. Her fingers traced from his collar down, re-tying the slightly crooked cord, then she stepped back half a pace and gave him an up-and-down inspection.
"There will be many people today. Once you're there, mind your words and actions," she murmured as she arranged him, her tone carrying a note of seriousness. "Stay close to your colleagues. Don't wander off. I know His Highness thinks highly of you, but the more that's true, the more you must keep your composure."
Pei Cijing hummed in acknowledgment, looking down at his wife's focused expression as she fussed over his attire. The corners of his mouth lifted involuntarily.
"Don't worry, my dear. I'm not a child anymore."
Shen Ninghuan looked up at him, and the meaning in her eyes was clear—you may not be a child, but sometimes you're more worrisome than one.
Pei Cijing wisely shut his mouth.
When everything was in order, Shen Ninghuan checked his belt, his accessories, and his official hat once more. Only after confirming there was nothing amiss did she nod, reaching up to adjust the brim of his hat.
"Done."
Pei Cijing bent down and gave her forehead a light peck, then turned and headed out.
He paused at the doorway, glancing back at his wife.
Shen Ninghuan stood in the morning light, her hair simply gathered with a single white jade hairpin, looking as pristine as an orchid touched with dew.
She smiled at him—a faint smile that seemed to hold all the warmth of the morning itself.
A warmth spread through Pei Cijing's chest, and he strode out the door with long, purposeful steps.
The carriage was already waiting at the gate. Yuanbao sat at the driver's seat, clutching the reins, dressed in brand-new blue cotton clothes, his back ramrod straight, looking as proud as a little rooster fluffing its feathers.
Seeing Pei Cijing emerge, he hopped down immediately, grinning as he bounced over. "Young master, please, get in!"
Pei Cijing climbed into the carriage and leaned back against the wall.
Eyes closed, resting.
The carriage rumbled through the long streets, threading through familiar alleys, making its way toward the imperial city.
Today, the capital was livelier than usual.
The sky had barely brightened when crowds of common folk already lined both sides of the streets. Some stood on tiptoes, craning toward the imperial city. Others clustered in small groups, murmuring among themselves. Still others—hawkers pushing carts—peddled steaming hot buns at the edges of the crowd, doing far better business than on an ordinary day.
Installing a Crown Prince was a matter of state.
Though ordinary citizens couldn't enter the palace to watch, they still wanted to bask in the auspicious atmosphere, hoping for a bit of good fortune on this day of universal celebration.
The carriage stopped outside the imperial city, and Pei Cijing stepped down, following the flow of people inside.
The archways of the imperial city were tall and deep. Walking through them, one could hear footsteps echoing against the stone slabs—a low hum that felt like some ancient resonance.
Morning light poured through from the other end, casting a hazy gold over the advancing crowd.
Before the Meridian Gate, the space was already packed.
Civil and military officials stood in rows on either side, arranged by rank, their crimson, teal, and green robes blending into a riot of color under the morning light, like a slowly unfurling painting.
Some spoke in low tones. Some adjusted their caps and robes. Some stared up at the sky.
All wore different expressions.
But all carried a certain solemnity.
Officials from the Ministry of Rites moved through the crowd, clutching name registers, endlessly checking lists, guiding officials from each department to their designated positions.
Pei Cijing followed a rites official deeper into the crowd, scanning his surroundings—looking for familiar faces from the Hanlin Academy: Liu Zhixing, Chen Wangbei, Administrator Wang.
But search as he might—
He found none.
Not only did he fail to find them, but he couldn't even spot the Hanlin Academy quarter. Pei Cijing felt a flicker of bewilderment, yet his feet kept moving, following the ritual official's lead.
He wove through one crowd after another, past cluster after cluster of officials.
The further he walked, the closer to the front he got.
The further he walked, the more something felt off.
The colors of the robes around him grew progressively deeper—shifting from blue to crimson, and from crimson to a darker, more solemn purple. The faces grew stranger too, no longer the colleagues of similar rank from the Hanlin Academy, but high-ranking ministers who held power at court.
Pei Cijing slowed his steps.
Finally, the ritual official came to a stop at a certain position and gestured for him to stand there, his tone far too courteous for someone addressing a mere sixth-rank minor official: "Lord Pei, your seat is here."
Pei Cijing stood there, glancing left and right.
Where he stood...
Was far too close to the front!
Under normal circumstances, an official of his rank had no business standing here, yet he had been led to this very spot. The officials around him wore robes of every color, as if each had been carefully selected.
Pei Cijing took a deep breath.
His face remained calm and composed.
He straightened his posture, held his jade tablet with both hands, and gazed straight ahead. He neither looked around nor struck up conversation with those beside him.
Come what may, let it be.
If he had been arranged to stand here, then stand here he would.
As for what this meant, a vague guess had already formed in his mind—he merely needed time to confirm it.
The bells and drums sounded.
The enfeoffment ceremony officially began.
The bell tolls were long and heavy, each one seeming to rise from deep beneath the earth, echoing across the entire imperial city. The drums followed close behind, dense as rain, gradually steadying into a deep and powerful rhythm, weaving together with the bells into a solemn and majestic movement.
The Meridian Gate slowly opened, and the imperial procession in brilliant yellow emerged from within the palace.
Banners unfurled, canopies clustered like clouds, snapping in the morning breeze. Attending officials carried the golden book and golden seal, their steps precise, their expressions reverent, descending the marble steps one by one.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized, as if rehearsed a thousand times, each step landing on the beat of the bells and drums.
The Minister of Rites boomed: "By imperial decree—"
His voice was like a great bell.
Reverberating before the Meridian Gate.
The hundred officials bowed in unison, standing in silence to hear the edict, the rustling of robes merging into a low, ebbing tide.
A eunuch bearing the imperial decree emerged from the palace, followed by two rows of attendants. The yellow silk scroll was slowly unrolled, catching the morning light with a soft sheen. The characters, written in gold powder, were each bold and weighty.
"By the mandate of Heaven and the decree of the Son of Heaven: The Sixth Prince, Li Chengyu, born of Empress Qin, is the true eldest son of the legitimate line. Gifted by nature, virtuous, filial, and prudent, he is worthy of the heavy duty of heir to the throne. He is hereby established as Crown Prince, to take his rightful place in the Eastern Palace, to carry on the ancestral line, and to bring stability to the realm."
The voice was drawn-out, each word falling clearly upon every ear.
Li Chengyu stepped forward and knelt below the marble steps.
He wore black ceremonial robes embroidered with the nine imperial insignia, golden dragon motifs glinting faintly in the morning light. A gold-inlaid jade belt circled his waist, and a nine-tailed crown rested on his head, its tassels swaying gently with soft clicking sounds.
He knelt with perfect posture, spine straight, performing nine prostrations of kowtow. Every motion was grave and solemn, without the slightest carelessness. When his forehead touched the ground, the tassels of his crown clicked softly together—a faint sound clearly audible across the silent square.
After the proclamation came the reading of the golden book.
The Vice Minister of Rites stood holding the golden book, unrolled it, and read it out word by word.
The golden book was crafted from pure gold, each page heavy, engraved with exquisite inscriptions that caught the dull glow of the morning light.
After the reading came the presentation of the golden book and seal.
The eunuchs carried the golden book and golden seal before the emperor. The old emperor sat on the dragon throne, his expression solemn, his gaze calm. He personally took the golden book and seal and placed them in Li Chengyu's hands.
The golden book in hand, the golden seal in embrace.
These were the most direct symbols of the Crown Prince's status.
Li Chengyu took them with both hands, raised them above his head, then performed another kowtow.
"Your son humbly thanks Your Majesty, the Father Emperor, for his boundless favor."
His voice was calm and forceful, carrying across the space before the Meridian Gate. It did not tremble, did not betray excitement—only a heavy, well-forged composure.
The hundred officials bowed once more, their voices rising in unison: "Long live His Highness, the Crown Prince!" The sound surged like waves, echoing over the imperial city for a long while. Pei Cijing followed suit, bowing with the crowd, his voice blending in—neither too loud nor too soft, just right.
Next came the court salutations.
Wearing the Crown Prince's ceremonial robes, Li Chengyu, guided by ritual officials, first performed three kneelings and nine kowtows before the emperor, then two kneelings and six kowtows before Empress Qin.
The old emperor sat upright on the dragon throne, his expression solemn, giving a slight nod. His gaze rested on Li Chengyu with an indescribable complexity—relief, pride, and a hint of unburdened ease.
Empress Qin sat upon the phoenix chair, her eyes rimmed with red, yet a smile never left her lips.
Finally came the ancestral temple visit.
This was the most solemn part of the entire ceremony.
The Crown Prince led the hundred officials to the Imperial Ancestral Temple to offer sacrificial rites to the ancestors. The temple stood to the east of the imperial city, an imposing structure of gray brick and black tiles, with flying eaves and upturned corners. Before its gates stood two stone lions, their features weathered by years of wind and rain—still exuding an air of authority.
Drums and music resounded, incense smoke curled upward, and the ritual officials' chants rang out without end.
Inside the temple were enshrined the spirit tablets of all the previous emperors of the Great Qian dynasty, row upon row, solemn and majestic. Candles burned quietly before the tablets, bathing the great hall in a dim, reverent glow.
Li Chengyu knelt upon the cushion, performing the great rites: offering incense, presenting silk, and reciting the funeral address.
The address had been drafted by the Hanlin Academy—rich in rhetoric, brilliant in prose—and Li Chengyu read it word by word, his voice echoing through the vast hall, announcing to the ancestors: The Great Qian has an heir, and the succession is secured.
Pei Cijing stood in the ranks of officials, gazing across the crowd from afar. He could only see Li Chengyu's straight back and the lightly swaying tassels of his crown.
The entire process was grand and intricate, every step strictly following ancestral tradition, without the slightest deviation.
When the final rite was completed and the eunuch intoned "The ceremony is complete," the bells and drums rang out once more, resounding across the entire imperial city.
The bell tolls were longer still than at the opening.
One after another.
Echoing across the square before the Meridian Gate, lingering without end.
The Crown Prince.
The Great Qian had a new Crown Prince.
The hundred officials once again bowed in unison, crying out "Long live His Highness, the Crown Prince!" The voices rolled before the Meridian Gate, one wave after another, like a tide that would never cease.
After the ceremony, however, the crowd did not disperse.
The hundred officials remained where they stood, awaiting the next segment.
Pei Cijing straightened up and cast a quick glance forward, spotting at the very front the Left Chancellor Lu Fang and the Right Chancellor Du Hui, their faces calm, as if waiting for something.
Sure enough.
A eunuch unfurled another imperial decree and began to read aloud.
"By the mandate of Heaven and the decree of the Son of Heaven—"
"Left Chancellor Lu Fang, who has aided the court with meritorious service to state and society, is hereby appointed Grand Preceptor to the Crown Prince."
"Right Chancellor Du Hui, who has upheld the realm with diligence and loyalty, is hereby appointed Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince."
"Duke of Qin, Qin Huaiyuan, distinguished in service and unwavering in loyalty, is hereby appointed Grand Guardian to the Crown Prince."
Pei Cijing listened to the string of appointments and nodded inwardly with approval.
Grand Preceptor of the Heir Apparent, Grand Tutor of the Heir Apparent, Grand Guardian of the Heir Apparent—all three of the highest advisory posts were filled, forming a complete cabinet for Li Chengyu. Lu Fang was steady and seasoned, Du Hui shrewd and capable, and the Duke of Qin had earned distinction through military exploits. The three of them covered both civil and martial affairs, with every angle thoughtfully addressed.
The imperial edict continued to be read aloud.
One name after another flowed from the eunuch's mouth: ministers of the Six Boards, grand secretaries of the Grand Secretariat, military commissioners, and the chancellor of the Hanlin Academy.
Behind each name followed an official post within the Eastern Palace.
This was the formation of the heir apparent's own team.
These men would become Li Chengyu's core inner circle, the backbone that would assist him in governing state affairs.
Pei Cijing listened, and the premonition growing in his chest became ever stronger.
And sure enough, the eunuch finally read out his name.
“Hanlin Academy Compiler Pei Cijing, a man of remarkable talent and diligence, is hereby appointed Left Mediator of the Spring Quarter, retaining his concurrent post as Hanlin Academy Compiler.”
Pei Cijing drew a deep breath.
Left Mediator of the Spring Quarter.
Rank six, first class.
Half a grade higher than his previous position as Compiler. The role mainly involved accompanying the heir apparent during his studies and assisting in the review of administrative affairs. In plain terms, it made him a subordinate official of the Eastern Palace—a close aide to the heir apparent.
The rank was hardly lofty, but anyone who knew the game understood the true value of such a post.
To walk alongside the heir apparent, to take part in deliberations on governance—for a young man who had been in office for less than a year, this was already a promotion far beyond the norm.
Pei Cijing stepped out of the formation, bowed deeply, and offered his thanks for the imperial favor.
His voice was steady, neither servile nor arrogant.
He could feel many gazes landing on him—some envious, some curious, some appraising, some laced with bitter resentment.
But his expression remained calm, his movements unhurried, with not a shred of agitation.
After stepping back into his place.
He continued listening to the rest of the names on the edict.
The list of appointments was long, stretching from Grand Preceptor and Grand Tutor down to stable groom, admonisher, and adjunct, a great many offices great and small, and it took some time before the eunuch had read them all.
When the final name fell silent, the eunuch put away the edict and withdrew into the palace.
The assembled officials bowed once more and offered their congratulations in unison.
For the third time, the bells and drums rang out—deep and solemn, echoing across the entirety of the imperial city.
The ceremonial appointment, to this point, had come to a perfect conclusion.
The crowd began to disperse, trickling out in twos and threes. Some conversed in low voices, some clasped their hands in congratulations, some kept their faces unreadable, and others could not hide their delight.
Pei Cijing walked out with the flow of the crowd, his pace neither fast nor slow.
But his mind was occupied with a question: he now held the post of Hanlin Academy Compiler and the post of Left Mediator of the Spring Quarter simultaneously. Two positions, two sets of duties.
Would the court pay him two separate salaries?
