Chapter 57: The Substitute

Fine sweat beaded the emperor's forehead. The more nervous he grew, the less capable he was of uttering a word.

At last, driven to desperation by his own incompetence, he blurted out, "Minister Tian makes a compelling point. We should simply launch a campaign and crush them, thereby displaying the might of our Great Tang."

The courtiers could not conceal their disappointment upon hearing this. To be fair, this reply was not excessively wrong in and of itself. After all, many present shared the exact same sentiment. Yet, for a sovereign, he could not afford to be a mere puppet; he was the supreme ruler of the nation. He could not simply echo the opinions of others; he needed independent judgment.

He had to possess foresight rather than merely gazing at the tiny patch of ground right before his eyes.

A military strike might grant a moment of gratification, but was it truly worth fighting? How should the campaign be waged? And how were they to govern the conquered territories afterward? What about the expenditure of civilian labor and financial resources consumed in the process?

Not a single item from this lengthy catalog of concerns had crossed his mind. Despite all the discussion that had preceded his turn, he had not even listened closely enough to ponder its implications.

Could an emperor of this caliber sustain the Great Tang and stand as an equal against the Empress Dowager?

"After the court is dismissed, write an essay concerning the campaign against the Kingdom of Tianzhu and present it for my inspection."

The Empress Dowager's expression remained completely unperturbed. Her voice was steady, utterly devoid of emotion—neither bearing disappointment nor offering praise.

Another essay.

A bitter wail echoed within the emperor's heart, yet he had no choice but to obey. He responded with practiced docility, "Understood!"

Having issued her instructions to the emperor, the Empress Dowager turned her attention to the assembled officials. "The matter of the Kingdom of Tianzhu shall be deliberated at length. General Wang is no mediocrity; once captured, he will undoubtedly devise countermeasures and refuse to sit passively waiting for death."

"It is indeed necessary to issue a stern warning to the Kingdom of Tianzhu. Let the Secretariat draft an official dispatch and send an envoy to the Kingdom of Tianzhu to negotiate with their imperial house."

"As for the method of producing stone honey, it would be ideal if they surrendered it of their own accord. Should they prove recalcitrant, we shall employ both coercion and enticement."

With swift and decisive strokes, the Empress Dowager settled the practical details. Those she named stepped forward one by one to offer respectful assent.

Compared to the emperor's stammering inability to formulate a coherent answer, the contrast between competence and incompetence was glaring.

During an era when women were strictly prohibited from interfering in state affairs, the Empress Dowager had ascended to the throne behind the curtain, jointly referred to with the late emperor as the "Two Saints." Her capability and political acumen went without saying.

She was not only adept at wielding power, but she also possessed profound insights into affairs of state. Her methods compelled even the most seasoned senior ministers, deeply entrenched in officialdom for decades, to hold her in deep respect and awe.

"Do my lords have any other memorials to present?" the Empress Dowager inquired.

An imperial censor stationed near the back stepped out of formation. "This subject has a matter to report. Recently, within the bookstores of Chang'an, a book entitled *Ultimately It Was All a Mistake* has appeared. The matters described therein are dissolute and absurd. If it is permitted to spread unchecked, it is feared it will prove detrimental to the moral edification of the women across the realm. We ought no longer allow it to circulate freely."

"I am already aware of this matter. You may withdraw." The Empress Dowager's tone remained devoid of emotional fluctuation.

Seeing her indifferent reaction, the censor intended to elaborate further upon the gravity of the situation, but his superior instantly grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him back into line.

The Empress Dowager asked once more, "Are there any further memorials?"

This time, no one stepped forward, whereupon the dismissal of the court was announced.

Upon returning to her inner chambers, the Empress Dowager was attended by maidservants who divested her of her heavy court robes and ceremonial crown, replacing them with light, comfortable garments for daily wear.

An elderly matron who had served at her side for many years smiled and asked, "How does Your Highness view the book mentioned by the censor today?"

Having heard rumors about this novel novelty, she had specifically purchased a copy for the Empress Dowager to peruse.

"One views it however one pleases; it is not as though reading it will cause flowers to bloom," the Empress Dowager replied indifferently, before shifting her tone. "However, that newspaper does possess a certain clever ingenuity."

"This old servant observed that Your Highness was grinning from ear to ear while reading that book," the old matron teased.

"Although the plot is somewhat bizarre and coincidental, it is undeniably entertaining," the Empress Dowager conceded, uttering a rare word of praise.

"That General Su in the book bears a striking resemblance to Your Highness in your youth. Whenever I look at her, it is as though I am looking at Your Highness back in the days before your marriage," the old matron mused, her gaze turning nostalgic.

The Empress Dowager did not agree with this assessment. "Nonsense. In my youth, I never seized people by force, nor was I arrogant and domineering. How could she possibly resemble me?"

"Your Highness fails to perceive it yourself. But as this old servant watches, that temperament is an exact match. Whatever she speaks, she tolerates no disobedience from others. When she sets her mind upon a goal, she pursues it persistently and never gives up." Having accompanied the Empress Dowager for many years, the old matron was her closest confidante. There were things others dared not voice, but she was privileged to speak them.

The path the Empress Dowager had traversed was exceptionally arduous; the hardships involved were beyond anyone's imagination. The old matron always remembered how much mental and physical effort she had expended.

Her heart ached for the Empress Dowager, yet as a mere servant, she lacked the ability to offer substantial assistance.

Fortunately, although the late emperor had been somewhat muddled at times, he placed absolute trust in the Empress Dowager. Step by step, they had reached the present day, a steady and hard-won ascent.

"The late emperor's devotion to Your Highness back then was truly comparable to that of Master Jiang in the book—entirely submissive, hanging upon every word, granting whatever was desired. Whatever the Empress Dowager demanded, the late emperor never refused."

Speaking of this, the old matron felt a lingering sense of perplexity even now, uncertain whether the Empress Dowager's political machinations had been overwhelmingly brilliant or if the late emperor's disposition had simply been of that nature.

"Him—" Broaching this topic led the Empress Dowager to recall the past. "He could hardly be said to have harbored a deep, undying passion for me. His very nature was simply like that: exceptionally kind to those around him, soft-hearted to a fault, believing whatever flattery others fed him."

"Yet he was immensely tolerant of me, recognizing my capability rather than dismissing my capacity to govern merely because I was a woman."

While the late emperor was on the throne, he frequently consulted her on matters of state, often remarking in conversation, "Though I am the emperor, my competence falls short of my wife's."

Such respect and affection were rare even among ordinary couples, let alone within the imperial family.

Even though that outcome was precisely what she desired, and she had employed various stratagems to secure it, the Empress Dowager could not help but feel moved.

Later, as she gradually partook in state affairs and entered the imperial court to listen to politics from behind a screen, sparking fierce opposition from many, it was he who stood alongside her on the same frontline, suppressing the dissenting voices within the court.

She knew full well that he possessed a degree of utilitarian calculation regarding her, but her own motives were hardly pure either. Unlike women who lost themselves in romantic entanglements, the Empress Dowager could not fathom what it was like to fall in love with someone; perhaps she simply lacked that capacity altogether. The only thing she would ever truly love was supreme power.

Upon his deathbed, the late emperor had entrusted their son to her, bidding her to govern as regent and temporarily manage the major affairs of state in the emperor's stead.

By now, sovereignty ought to have been returned to the emperor, but the Empress Dowager found herself unable to let go. She confessed that she was no virtuous woman; she remained infatuated with the authority resting in her hands.

Whenever she looked upon her son's mediocre, muddled, and ignorant guise, she often felt exasperated by his failure to meet expectations, yet a bitter resentment would concurrently well up within her.

By what right? By what right had he ascended to that position without expending the slightest effort?

By what right had she poured her heart and soul into the Great Tang, only to reap the suspicion and opposition of the courtiers, while someone as incompetent as him naturally commanded their adoration and assistance?

By what right was something she had desperately yearned for yet failed to secure readily handed to him, only for him to treat it with utter nonchalance, spending his days in careless distraction?

If the emperor possessed genuine talent and resembled an enlightened ruler of old, the Empress Dowager could have easily persuaded herself to retire to the inner palaces, living out her days as a leisurely, detached dowager enjoying a peaceful old age.

Yet seeing him blissfully indulge in pleasure, adopting the attitude that heaven could fall as long as the courtiers held it up, utterly ignorant of vital affairs of state, how could the Empress Dowager possibly resign herself to this?

***

Xu Chengyue possessed a mischievous streak as an author; she took pleasure in seeing her readers utterly startled by her plot twists, swinging between joy and anger, their emotions entirely manipulated by her pen. That was the ultimate validation for a creator.

It was hard to deny that she had intentionally fanned the flames when everyone misinterpreted the direction of her plot this time.

Very well, she confessed she had done it on purpose. Once a preconceived notion took root, the impact of encountering a plot development entirely divergent from imagination could well be imagined.

With this premise established, Xu Chengyue actually anticipated the release of the next volume even more eagerly than many of her readers.

The release day of the next installment arrived swiftly. On this occasion, the crowds were not as dense as usual, for many readers had been infuriated by the previous cliffhanger, which had cut off precisely at the most critical juncture.

Coupled with the fact that the continuation serialized in the newspaper had already satisfied their curiosity, the overwhelming, pressing urgency to read the subsequent chapters had evaporated.

This caused the rival bookstores to gloat in secret, assuming that Shanhai Bookstore had reaped its fill of windfalls and was now bound to enter a period of stagnation.

Back when Shanhai Bookstore was raking in profits, everyone had turned green with envy. Later, when copycats emerged following the trend, these competitors had hung back, watching to see if they could piggyback on the success for a quick profit.

Shanhai Bookstore’s countermeasures, however, had been swift and decisive, granting imitators no room to breathe. Even pirated printings could never match the affordability of their cheap paperback editions.

Thus, finding themselves utterly incapable of grabbing a slice of the pie, the jealousy festering in their hearts can well be imagined.

When Shanhai Bookstore released its new volume, only a sparse handful of customers lingered at the entrance—a far cry from the bustling crowds that had previously formed mountains and seas outside the shop.

Not far from Shanhai Bookstore, Shopkeeper Hu—who was intimately familiar with their former runaway success—feigned anxiety and put on a sympathetic expression as he stepped inside. Addressing the proprietor, who was uncomfortably idling amidst the unusual tranquility and boredom, Shopkeeper Hu asked, "Manager, has something happened at your establishment? Why are there no customers at all?"

The manager was a wily veteran who instantly saw through Shopkeeper Hu’s intentions. Adopting a slick, evasive tone, he replied, "Having no customers is wonderful! It gives me a moment of rare peace. You have no idea how much my arms used to ache by the end of every single day."

He feigned a lingering panic, acting as though the previous chaos had been deeply traumatic.

Shopkeeper Hu’s mouth twitched into a speechless grimace, inwardly dismissing the manager's words as grandstanding. "We are old acquaintances, there's no need to put on an act. With customers dwindling to this degree, you must be terribly anxious. Don't worry, take it slow; you'll get used to it eventually."

"Put on an act? I genuinely wish there were fewer customers. If every day could remain peaceful like this, it would be ideal—though unfortunately, that's impossible," the manager said with feigned nonchalance. Having already read the subsequent chapters, he knew with absolute certainty that the readers would inevitably return.

His confident tone and ostentatious expression of exhaustion left Shopkeeper Hu—who wore a mask of concern while harboring schadenfreude underneath—speechless, entirely unsure of how to respond.

In the end, Shopkeeper Hu could only depart in sullen defeat.

Before leaving, he thought resentfully: *What do you take readers for? Can you summon them whenever you please? Do you really think people who have already left will come back? Utterly absurd.*

Within two days, he figured, they would receive a harsh lesson, and he was eagerly waiting to make a laughingstock of them.

Consequently, Shopkeeper Hu went around broadcasting to everyone he met that Shanhai Bookstore was on the verge of bankruptcy.

After he left, the manager continued to greet incoming patrons with a beaming smile. In truth, he was not entirely devoid of anxiety, but his confidence in Lady Xu’s storytelling was absolute.

Readers who were indifferent today would likely come running back in a day or two, scrambling to snap up copies.

The majority of patrons who arrived today possessed immense faith in Xu Chengyue, believing she was entirely capable of crafting an even more brilliant narrative.

These steadfast supporters were even more eager to prove to the naysayers that the tales spun by Master Yue Ming were exquisite masterpieces, utterly beyond the replication of any casual scribbler.

Duke Zheng was not among them; he had no inclination to chase after literary celebrities, treating the reading of stories purely as a hobby. He had already perused that previously circulated continuation—it was written well enough, but rolling the flavor over his palate always left him feeling something was missing.

When integrated with the preceding chapters, the two parts felt severely fractured, as though numerous vital matters had been left unexplained.

For instance, during their very first encounter, why had young General Su’s expression shifted through a rapid succession of changes? Having witnessed countless talented young men, why would she harbor such an intense obsession with a commoner like Master Jiang?

Thus, his motivation in picking up this new volume was twofold: to seek answers, and to critically evaluate which version was truly superior.

Settling comfortably into a reclining posture upon his couch, having arranged his reading stance just so, Duke Zheng cracked open the cover and began to read.

The opening page bore a line of text that had appeared in the first volume but had been conspicuously absent in the intervening installments: *Dear readers, please prepare handkerchiefs in advance. Those with cardiovascular conditions are advised to proceed with caution.*

This warning was written not merely once, but repeated thrice in bold, prominent lettering.

Duke Zheng’s heart skipped a beat, a faint, ominous foreboding washing over him. Pressing down this inexplicable uneasiness, he turned the page to continue.

—*When Jiang Hexuan arrived at the courtyard, a small group of individuals were seated beneath a pavilion, sipping tea and chatting idly. Each of them bore a distinct resemblance to him in appearance, instantly arousing Jiang Hexuan's curiosity.*

*"Have you heard about the fellow in the eastern courtyard? He's riding high on the crest of success these days! Quite different from the likes of us, living in the shadows where the sun doesn't reach. Why was I never blessed with such good fortune, gifted with a face like that?"*

A wave of confusion washed over Jiang Hexuan. He resided in the eastern courtyard; were they speaking of him?

*"What is so different about it? Aren't we all just serving others with our looks? Speaking of good fortune, what good is a passing resemblance? Having the same background as that person—that is what true fortune means."* The speaker’s tone was laced with sour resentment and a hint of disdain.

Resembling whom? Jiang Hexuan's mind spun in a haze, completely incapable of grasping the implication of their words.

*"That is true enough, but alas, this fortunate soul met his end at the hands of bandits. Now his corpse remains unrecovered, meeting a most wretched fate. To my mind, only this new fellow is truly fortunate—'one generation plants the trees, and the later generations enjoy the shade.'"*

*"Hush, watch your tongue! Have you lost your mind? If you don't want your life, the rest of us still do. Can such things be spoken of so casually?"*

*"What cannot be spoken of? The General never comes to this side of the estate. What you and I know, heaven and earth know; no one else will ever find out."*

Upon reaching this point, Duke Zheng could no longer maintain his leisurely posture. He jerked upright into a sitting position, the ominous foreboding in his chest intensifying exponentially.

The information conveyed through these remarks was dense, yet deliberately vague, refusing to grant a definitive answer.

Why did they claim Jiang Hexuan bore a resemblance to someone else, without revealing whom? And how did that relate to his current circumstances? Yet, when these scattered details were strung together, they formed a picture too horrifying to contemplate.

—*"What use is a mere resemblance? He is nothing more than an empty-headed fool possessed solely of good looks. He lacks a single shred of that person's inner substance. I've heard he cannot even play the zither, let alone play chess. That other person was renowned not merely for his visage, but relied upon his true talent to captivate every single young gentleman and lady in Chang'an, hailed by all as the White-Clad Jade-Faced Master."*

Connecting this remark to the preceding dialogue, a thunderclap exploded inside Jiang Hexuan's head. He suppressed the wild impulse to turn and flee, refusing to hear another word. Clutching his fiercely aching chest, he forced himself to endure the remainder of the conversation.

Duke Zheng likewise gripped his own chest tightly, gasping for breath.

He desperately yearned to know what on earth had transpired, yet simultaneously feared the unfolding plot would prove too harrowing for him to bear.

—*Believing themselves unobserved, those individuals spoke without restraint, spilling every detail they knew.*

*Standing motionless as if engaged in self-inflicted torture, Jiang Hexuan clutched a sharp stone from the rockery so tightly that the skin of his palm was scraped raw, drawing blood.*

*As it turned out, Su Qishan had long since been betrothed to another—Qin Wulang.*

*It was said that when Su Qishan was three or four years old, she accompanied her parents to the frontier. During an outing, she accidentally encountered a crisis and was fortuitously rescued by Qin Wulang, who happened to be traveling through the borderlands at the time.*

*After Qin Wulang returned to Chang'an, Su Qishan remained stationed at the frontier, and the two never crossed paths again.*

*It was not until she returned to Chang'an years later that she encountered Qin Wulang as an adult, recognizing him as her childhood savior. Thus, the two rekindled their past bond, and a betrothal was arranged by their respective families.*

*Rooted in their childhood ties, their affection for one another ran exceedingly deep.*

*All of Su Qishan's gentleness was reserved exclusively for Qin Wulang. Likewise, Qin Wulang treated only Su Qishan with tenderness, excelling in zither and composition, having crafted numerous musical pieces solely to express his devotion to her.*

*Those very melodies were currently popular throughout the city of Chang'an, utilized by youths to pour out their affections to their beloveds.*

*The pair would frequently spend their time with one playing the zither while the other practiced the sword, a picture of profound devotion that inevitably provoked the envy of all onlookers.*

*As the date of their nuptials drew near, Qin Wulang suddenly announced his desire to visit the frontier once more, to revisit the site of their initial meeting. Because Su Qishan was occupied with affairs in the capital, Qin Wulang barred her from accompanying him, insisting that he would go alone.*

*Yet who could have foreseen that he would fall victim to bandits, ultimately suffering a death without a whole corpse?*

*Upon receiving the news far away in Chang'an, Su Qishan adamantly refused to believe it. Riding alone across a thousand miles, she galloped to the frontier to search for her beloved.*

*Tragically, her search proved fruitless—which led directly to Jiang Hexuan later being cast in the role of a substitute, allowing him to reap massive advantages.*

*Ha! Advantages?*

*Jiang Hexuan blinked his parched, stinging eyes, feeling as though tears were cascading down his cheeks. Yet when he reached up to touch his eyes, there was no moisture whatsoever. As it turned out, under the crushing weight of extreme grief, a person's tears could not even fall.*

*He could find no words to describe his emotional state at that moment. It felt as though a porcelain vessel had been shattered and violently ground into his heart, every breath tasting of blood.*

*Jiang Hexuan could not weep. Duke Zheng, however, was already weeping bitterly as he read his story. A pile of crumpled handkerchiefs lay scattered around him, and pulling a fresh cloth from his robes, he blew his nose noisily before tossing it aside.*

*"Wahhhh, young General Su is truly too pitiable! A fiancé she was about to marry, snuffed out overnight. No wonder her demeanor was so chilling when they first met; she must have been entirely dead at heart, her soul obliterated. Given such a background, her subsequent actions are at least somewhat understandable."*

*"And Qin Wulang—what a magnificent person he was! The White-Clad Jade-Faced Master—wahhh, writing letters expressing his journey one moment, only to meet a violent end the next."*

*Reading between the lines, Duke Zheng perceived that Qin Wulang was indeed a man of astonishing brilliance, making his tragic demise all the more regrettable.*

*"Yet the most innocent of all is Master Jiang! He committed no wrong whatsoever, merely showing concern for someone, only to suffer such treatment—treated as a substitute by the person he loved. Can ordinary human endurance bear such agony? Not to mention that he had already fallen deeply in love with her."*

*"And Lady Su as well—since the departed are gone, could she not simply live properly and cherish the person right in front of her?"*

*As Duke Zheng muttered to himself, sorrow welled up once more, and he blew his nose violently again.*

*When the three individuals were scrutinized closely, not a single one was guilty of monstrous crimes, yet the cruel caprice of fate had plunged them all into agony.*

*The culprit orchestrating the tragedy was Su Qishan, yet her harrowing trials and fierce devotion invited condemnation while simultaneously arousing an unavoidable surge of sympathy and pity.*

*—"Why did Qin Wulang insist on traveling to the frontier right before their wedding? He had countless opportunities prior to that, and moreover, he refused to let General Su accompany him." One of the figures posed the question.*

*"Besides, they met in early childhood; how could they possibly recognize each other's facial features after growing up?"*

*"That I cannot say. Perhaps they possessed some token of remembrance."*