Volume One: The Path of Officialdom Chapter One: The Shattered Monument

Xia County in Shanzhou

Xia County, once known as Anyi in ancient times, is said in legend to have been the capital during the era of Yu the Great, and later the seat of the Xia Dynasty established by Qi, earning the title “the First Capital of Huaxia.” It is, in truth, one of the birthplaces of the Han people.

Yet, after the Song dynasty’s economic center gradually shifted south from the Kaifeng region, Xia County fell into decline; the county, along with the broader Shanzhou region, became a battlefield between the Song and Western Xia, resulting in desolate lands, sparse population, and economic stagnation.

Still, there remains one place in Xia County that is celebrated and renowned in every household throughout Song territory—the tomb of the late Grand Preceptor Sima Guang.

In the first year of Yuan You, Sima Guang passed away and was interred here. He was posthumously honored as Grand Tutor and Duke of Wen, with the title Wen Zheng conferred upon him.

The Song court, in gratitude for Sima Guang’s meritorious deeds, saw Emperor Zhezong Zhao Xu command Hanlin scholar Su Shi to compose the epitaph for Sima Guang’s spirit-way stele, bestowing upon it the title “Stele for Pure Loyalty and Perfect Virtue,” personally inscribed by the emperor.

The “Stele for Pure Loyalty and Perfect Virtue” stands nearly thirty feet tall, comprised of a capstone, a towering shaft, and a massive base. The grandeur of its capstone, the height of its shaft, the size of its pedestal, and the preciousness of the stone all complement each other in harmonious splendor.

Upon the stele are engraved couplets in stone: “Perfect virtue shines and flows like the Su River; pure loyalty towers high as Mount Emei.” The entire monument exudes an aura of heroic righteousness and awe-inspiring dignity, as if even mountains must look up in reverence.

Each Qingming Festival or on major holidays, the people of Xia County would gather here of their own accord to offer sacrifices to Sima Guang, praying for his spirit to bless them with favorable weather and gentle seasons.

On this particular Qingming day, as Sima Guang left no heir, his brother Sima Dan had his own son, Sima Kang, adopted as Sima Guang’s heir.

Thus, during Qingming, Sima Kang, accompanied by the sons and nephews of the Sima clan, brought offerings to this place to honor Sima Guang and his forebears.

Many ordinary townsfolk of Xia County also joined in the rites.

As the ceremonies were underway, suddenly the distant clatter of urgent horses’ hooves echoed forth, drawing nearer with each beat. Everyone turned in alarm, only to see over a hundred riders galloping toward them—among them officials, yamen runners, and soldiers.

“Lord Zhou, what is the meaning of this?” Sima Kang, who had once held office at court, recognized the leader as Zhou Zhi, an imperial censor.

Zhou Zhi dismounted, cast a cold glance at Sima Kang and the rest, and waved his hand with a stern command: “Men, destroy this stele at once.”

Sima Kang was aghast, his face drained of color. He cried out, “Lord Zhou, what is the meaning of this? Why commit such an act, so contrary to the laws of Heaven and the bonds of human decency?”

“Contrary to Heaven and humanity?” Zhou Zhi sneered. “The Emperor has decreed that Sima Guang slandered the late emperor. All his policies are to be abolished, and his criminality made known. I am but carrying out imperial orders.”

“And what are you waiting for?” Zhou Zhi barked to his men. “Set about it, now!”

At this, the yamen runners and soldiers shoved aside the worshippers and, wielding hammers, mallets, and ropes, set upon the towering stele.

A deafening crash resounded as the monument toppled to the ground, sending a cloud of dust soaring dozens of feet into the air. The townspeople, though seething with indignation, dared not intervene and quickly scattered.

With an imperial edict in his hand, Zhou Zhi brooked no opposition—any who tried would be guilty of defying the sacred decree, a crime punishable by death.

“Chisel off the inscription, bury the fragments, so that no trace remains to inspire the traitorous faction,” Zhou Zhi commanded coldly.

His men obeyed, chiseling away Su Shi’s inscription and promptly digging a deep pit, into which they cast the shattered remnants of the stele.

In the span of a moment, the once-pristine and tranquil burial ground was thrown into utter chaos, littered with broken stone and clods of earth, left in a scene of utter ruin.

“Father, your son has failed you…” Sima Kang, heartbroken, watched it all unfold, feeling as if a blade twisted in his chest. He fell to his knees before Sima Guang’s grave, his sobs barely audible.

Sima Kang understood all too well: Zhou Zhi was a mouthpiece for the current Grand Preceptor Zhang Chun, a man of the Yuan Feng faction, while Sima Guang and his associates, now labeled as Yuan You partisans, found themselves thoroughly condemned by the court. Sima Guang was, in fact, considered the leader of the Yuan You faction.

The purpose of these actions was clear—to declare to all the world that the court would uphold Wang Anshi’s reforms and had utterly expelled the Yuan You partisans from the halls of power in Kaifeng.

From the very day Wang Anshi’s reforms began, the two factions had been locked in enmity.

It was simply unconscionable, Sima Kang thought bitterly. However great the dead’s faults, however divergent their views, to destroy a stele and publicly humiliate the deceased Sima Guang—could there be anything more excessive?

When Zhou Zhi and his men departed, a fine drizzle began to fall from the heavens. Sima Kang and his kin knelt in the muddy earth, overcome with grief, their cries lost in the desolate rain.

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The Song Capital, Kaifeng Prefecture

The imperial palace of Northern Song’s Eastern Capital—commonly known as the Inner Palace—was once the headquarters of the Tang military governor of Xuanwu, modest in scale.

After the Later Liang established its capital at Kaifeng, the office was converted into Jianchang Palace. Under the Later Jin, it was renamed Daning Palace. Emperor Shizong of Later Zhou carried out some renovations, but there was no major reconstruction until the third year of Song Taizu’s Jianlong reign. Over four years, Daning Palace was transformed into the grandest and most magnificent imperial palace of the Song, known as the Inner Palace.

Though the Song palace could not compare to the Epang or Xianyang palaces of Qin, the Changle or Weiyang palaces of Han, or the Daming and Luoyang palaces of Tang, it was still a marvel of architecture—pavilions every few steps, towers at every turn, winding corridors and soaring eaves, each structure nestled into the landscape in a splendid contest of ingenuity.

The palace city encompassed a circumference of five li, boasting seventy-five great halls. The most prominent were the Hall of Great Celebration, the Purple Radiance Hall, the Hall of Majestic Restraint, and Wende Hall—the last being where the emperor would pause before and after court.

At this very moment, the Senior Grand Councilor, Left Assistant Minister, and concurrently Minister of the Left, Zhang Dun, along with the Vice Minister of the Left, Censor-in-Chief, and Assistant Prime Minister Cai Bian, both holding ceremonial tablets, were making their way along the imperial path toward Wende Hall to seek an audience with Emperor Zhao Xu.

“Lord Zhang, you seem to be in high spirits today,” Cai Bian remarked, noticing the radiant satisfaction on Zhang Dun’s face as they walked.

“My son has recently been blessed with another child—I am now a grandfather once more,” Zhang Dun replied with a smile.

Nonsense, Cai Bian thought privately, amused. At present, Zhang Dun stood unchallenged as sole Grand Councilor, wielding all authority, using Emperor Zhao Xu to suppress dissent and promote his own confidants. Now, with the sudden affair of Empress Meng, he saw yet another opportunity to purge the opposition and fortify his own party—no wonder he was so pleased.

Cai Bian, himself a member of the Yuan Feng faction like Zhang Dun, knew full well what lay behind Zhang Dun’s satisfaction.

Though privately unimpressed, Cai Bian showed no sign of it. He offered his congratulations with due respect: “I offer my sincerest felicitations to Lord Zhang on the birth of your grandson.”

“We share in this joy,” Zhang Dun replied with a chuckle. “Someday, I must invite you to my humble home for a cup of celebratory wine.”

“How could I refuse Lord Zhang’s invitation?” Cai Bian replied, bowing.

“Yan Cheng is a man of great reputation and outstanding talent in letters—could he not serve as Director of the Secretariat?” Cai Bian inquired.

Ye Di, styled Yan Cheng, had passed the imperial examinations in the sixth year of Xining and was a doctor at the Imperial Academy. Having always allied himself with Cai Bian, the latter wished to recommend Ye Di for promotion to Director of the Secretariat.

“A fellow who can write a few essays, but lacks substance—he will not do,” Zhang Dun replied, glancing at Cai Bian. “He can manage one phrase, but by the third, he loses the thread entirely.”

Though the office of Director of the Secretariat was not high in rank, it was extremely important: responsible for memorials to the throne, managing the imperial archives—no imperial edict or ministerial memorial passed without the Secretariat’s hand. Thus, the head of the Secretariat was always a trusted partisan of those in power.

Such a post, Zhang Dun would never relinquish to another’s recommendation.

Cai Bian was incensed—was he not Deputy Prime Minister of Great Song? Yet Zhang Dun had dismissed his proposal outright. Still, Cai Bian betrayed no displeasure, answering promptly, “You are right, Lord Zhang. Let us leave the matter be.”

The two conversed amiably, as if brothers, until they arrived outside Wende Hall. After a servant announced them, they entered and found themselves before Emperor Zhao Xu, who reclined upon a soft couch.

At that moment, Zhao Xu was quietly speaking with Zeng Bu, the Director of the Privy Council.

The emperor leaned against his couch, his complexion sallow and thin to the point of frailty. Though it was a cool day in April, a fine sheen of sweat was visible on his brow.

Since childhood, Zhao Xu’s health had been weak; at twenty, he looked no older than a boy of fifteen or sixteen, so emaciated was his frame.

Zhang Dun glanced at Zeng Bu with distaste, then turned to the imperial physician standing by, and asked curtly, “Has His Majesty eaten today?”

Before Zhao Xu assumed direct rule, the Empress Dowager Gao had governed from behind the curtain, controlling all affairs of state. Only after her passing did Zhao Xu become the true emperor.

The Empress Dowager employed the Yuan You partisans, favored Sima Guang, and dismissed the Yuan Feng faction, banishing Zhang Dun, Cai Bian, and others to distant posts—again and again, far from the center of power. Only with Zhao Xu’s assumption of rule did they return to court and regain favor.

Thus, the emperor’s health was of paramount importance to Zhang Dun and Cai Bian; should anything befall Zhao Xu, who could say what storms would sweep through the Song court?

Recently, Zhao Xu’s health had sharply declined, causing his ministers great anxiety.

Zhang Dun, a direct man, spoke his mind without concern for decorum, oblivious to any impropriety.

The imperial physician, shrinking in fear, glanced at Zhao Xu and remained silent.

“Speak frankly,” Zhao Xu said softly.

“Your Majesty… Your Majesty… today has taken only a small bowl of thin porridge,” the physician replied meekly.

“Useless fool,” Zhang Dun snorted, then turned to the emperor. “Your Majesty’s sacred body concerns the welfare of all your subjects and the fate of the dynasty—we beg Your Majesty to take utmost care of your health.”

“I join Lord Zhang in this plea,” Cai Bian added, bowing.

“I am unharmed,” Zhao Xu replied, nodding slightly. “Indeed, I feel better today than in recent days. Enough of this—let us speak no more of my health. Tell me, what have you learned regarding the matter of witchcraft?”

Empress Meng’s foster mother, Madam Yan, a devotee of sorcery, saw that Meng had lost imperial favor to the favored Concubine Liu. She therefore had a southern-style altar built of maple wood for Meng and procured donkey foals, seductive snakes, kowtowing insects, and other things for Meng to bring into the palace, hoping to regain the emperor’s affection for her. She even had an image of Concubine Liu painted and pricked with needles to curse her to an early death.

But the plot was discovered by Concubine Liu, who tearfully reported it to Zhao Xu. Enraged, the emperor ordered a thorough investigation.

Witchcraft has always been a grave taboo within the imperial family; to practice it within the palace is an act of treason.