Chapter Five: Conflict

Lu Jue’s voice was gentle and placid: “This humble servant dares to say, Your Majesty’s calm response to such commentary truly reflects the virtue of an emperor.”

Feng Yewu found this amusing; in truth, when she had first ascended the throne years ago, she had been infuriated by such remarks. Yet after five years of tempering, even the most scathing memorials from outspoken old ministers had become commonplace, and she no longer took them to heart.

“As a ruler, one mustn’t be too petty. But you…” Feng Yewu shifted her tone, pointing back at Lu Jue. “With your temperament and talent, it’s a shame you serve only as a menial slave.”

Lu Jue remained composed and dignified: “Regardless of position or rank, to share my lord’s burdens is to contribute to the peace and safety of the realm.”

Feng Yewu was satisfied. With such breadth of mind, great talent, and humility, Lu Jue was indeed an asset worth employing. Had she appointed him as a strategist in her past life, perhaps… the end might have been averted.

Returning from her reverie, Feng Yewu handed over a memorial: “The southern tribes are sending envoys to the capital. Go summon the chief steward of the Imperial Household; I wish to confer with him.”

“As you command.” Lu Jue accepted the memorial, bowed, and withdrew from the Imperial Library. Han Yue, who had been waiting outside, saw Lu Jue leave before entering.

Han Yue hurried to the desk and spoke in a low voice: “Your Majesty, I investigated the slave registry. Lu Jue is the son of Lu Youxu, the former Grand General of the Northern Garrison. After General Lu was executed for treason, the late emperor, mercifully, spared his only son from death, demoted him to slave status, and sent him to the palace—thus, Lu Jue.”

Feng Yewu’s brows furrowed slightly: “Treason? Was it collusion with the Tidi tribe? The Northern Garrison guards eleven cities along the northern frontier, which should border the Tidi lands.”

Han Yue’s expression grew strange, hesitating: “No, it was with the Rong tribe. The records say General Lu handed over the northern defense maps to them.”

The Rong tribe—a weak, nomadic people, long ago driven into the desert by the Tidi tribe, perhaps already extinct. Feng Yewu nearly forgot such a tribe existed. For such a feeble group to traverse the vast territory of the Tidi, only to seek defense maps from a border general of a great central nation—this made neither sense nor necessity.

Feng Yewu’s expression darkened, her eyes sharp with anger: “Have someone thoroughly investigate the records from those years.”

Her voice was icy. Cold sweat broke out on Han Yue’s palms, but she pressed on: “There are few criminal slaves in the palace, and their case files are kept together with their slave records. Lord Lu of the Imperial Household showed me everything. However… the late dynasty’s turmoil left the archives disordered, evidence incomplete, and… impossible to verify…”

Feng Yewu’s phoenix eyes narrowed, her gaze chilling. Impossible to verify—clearly there were hidden truths here! This was evidently a miscarriage of justice; what a loss for General Lu Youxu.

The atmosphere in the Imperial Library grew oppressive. Han Yue dared not raise her head, feeling the emperor’s invisible pressure weigh on her, disrupting her breath, sweat gathering on her back…

Just as Han Yue’s legs threatened to give way, a knocking at the door broke the suffocating silence.

Lu Jue announced from outside that he had brought the chief steward of the Imperial Household. Han Yue, feeling as if reprieved, hurried to open the door.

The two men entered, bowed to Feng Yewu, and, sensing her cold demeanor, stood in silence alongside Han Yue.

Feng Yewu glanced at Lu Jue, noting his enduring calm and humility, and felt a pang of regret. He was truly General Lu’s son; no wonder he possessed such talent and character. Had he not been consigned to slave status, he might have served as an official or a general, securing the realm from a position worthy of him.

Yet, burdened with the stigma of treason and slave status, Lu Jue’s abilities were severely constrained.

Feng Yewu resolved inwardly that she would clear Lu Jue’s name, refusing to let his gifts go to waste.

“All arrangements and hospitality for the palace must be simple, not extravagant. For protocol, consult with Lord Zhou of the Ministry of Rites, and I’ll review everything in three days.” Feng Yewu ordered coldly. Steward Deming understood immediately and accepted the command.

“Now, all of you may leave.”

The three withdrew. As Lu Jue gently closed the door behind him, he glanced back and caught sight of Feng Yewu, weary-faced, picking up her brush and turning to her memorials once again.

The carefree, charming girl of her youth had vanished; now, at the pinnacle of power, Feng Yewu was proud and aloof, always keeping others at a distance.

The world trembled at her cold demeanor, but Lu Jue, seeing it, felt only a deep ache.

How could he ease her burdens and dispel the sorrow lingering between her brows?

Six days later, the tribal envoys arrived in the capital.

For fifteen years, the tribes had paid homage to the central lands. Now, three months into the new emperor’s reign, their purpose was to select a prince consort for their princess, forging a marital alliance to maintain peace.

Feng Yewu had pondered this for some time, compiling a list of officials and generals with many children, intending to let the tribes choose for themselves, so as not to offend either side.