Yang Lun claimed Zhang Zhanchun’s body from the Ministry of Justice prison.
Before the body was moved, Yang Lun personally examined it alongside the coroner.
For someone who died in prison, the clothing was intact with no external injuries or signs of poisoning. The coroner, who had clearly been instructed from above, only told Yang Lun that death was due to suffocation, explaining that Zhang Zhanchun was elderly with a lung condition and couldn’t withstand the prison’s damp stuffiness, leading to respiratory failure.
When Yang Lun tried to inquire further, the coroner fell silent.
Yang Lun knew he couldn’t get any more information at this point and had no choice but to have the body simply prepared and temporarily placed at Guangji Temple.
The monks deeply respected this renowned builder of the Imperial City. Even without Yang Lun saying anything, Abbot Yuan’an led the monks in performing several days of ceremonies for Zhang Zhanchun’s spiritual passage.
Zhang Zhanchun’s wife had already passed away, and his son was an official in Hainan, still traveling the long distance to attend the funeral.
However, after Master Zhao’s death from coughing blood and Hu Xiang being beaten at the wedding hall by young officials, although people were grief-stricken, few came to pay their respects at the temple.
The Supervising Secretaries of the Six Offices and young censors from the Censorate became embroiled in a chaotic war of words with the Directorate of Ceremonial that the Cabinet couldn’t control.
The officials came from various backgrounds, connected as teachers and students or fellow scholars.
These learned men, who had spent ten years in diligent study, gathered together and treated their memorials like examination essays, citing classics and historical precedents, using every cutting phrase to criticize the chief eunuchs of the Directorate of Ceremonial. Soon memorials from various departments piled up at the Directorate before reaching the Emperor’s desk.
Bai Huan used this grand verbal assault to pressure Emperor Zhenning.
As a result, all draft responses were ambiguous statements.
Without the Cabinet’s input, the Emperor had to reply personally, and the conflict evolved into a battle of words between the Emperor himself and his civil officials.
There were hundreds of civil officials in the capital, young and with boundless energy.
The Emperor was just one person, and by the fourth day of this back-and-forth, Emperor Zhenning finally broke.
He swept the memorials off his desk onto the floor. Consort Ning’s hand paused as she trimmed a lamp, and all the eunuchs and palace maids in the Hall of Mental Cultivation fell to their knees.
Zheng Yuejia was on duty before the Emperor today, kneeling beside him.
The Emperor, in his rage, kicked him in the chest, sending him rolling back against the bookcase. His head struck the corner hard, drawing blood, but he dared not tend to it, crawling back to prostrate himself at the Emperor’s feet.
“This slave… deserves death.”
The Emperor shouted: “Your Directorate of Ceremonial claims everything is for me, eh? Serving me wholeheartedly?”
As he spoke, he grabbed a nearby memorial and threw it at Zheng Yuejia’s face. Zheng endured the punishment, not daring to move, only repeatedly saying while kneeling, “This slave deserves death, please calm your anger, Your Majesty.”
“If you deserve death, then die! Guards, take Zheng Yuejia to the Meridian Gate and beat him to death!”
Many of the palace eunuchs present had received favors from Zheng Yuejia. Hearing the words “beat to death,” they froze, and for a moment, no one moved to relay the order.
The Emperor’s fury peaked, “Did you not hear my command?”
The hall was silent until Consort Ning’s copper lamp trimmer suddenly fell to the ground with a “clang,” rolling to stop beside Zheng Yuejia’s knee.
The eunuchs standing by the door finally came to their senses and hurried out to relay the message to the Office of Careful Conduct.
The Emperor glanced at Consort Ning, seeing her standing frozen beneath the lamp, her entire body trembling slightly.
“Consort Ning?”
“Yes, I am here.”
The Emperor looked at Zheng Yuejia still kneeling at his feet, then back at Consort Ning, “What’s wrong?”
“My… hand shook.”
The Emperor lowered his voice, “I thought I had frightened you.”
While the Emperor’s head was raised, Zheng Yuejia slightly shook his head at Consort Ning.
She quickly avoided meeting his gaze and struggled to steady her voice, saying to the Emperor, “Let me brew you fresh hot tea.”
The Emperor had no mood for anything now, though his throat was indeed dry and sore, so he simply waved her away without further questions.
Consort Ning turned and walked into the inner hall. Heyu, seeing her deathly pale face, hurried forward to support her, asking, “What’s wrong, Your Grace?”
Consort Ning gripped her hand in return, “Where is Wan’er?”
Heyu replied, “Lady Yang… has been with us these past days, she should be waiting below the terrace of the Hall of Mental Cultivation.”
Consort Ning pressed her hand to her chest, her body shaking uncontrollably.
“Good… good… go ask her if there’s any way to save… save Secretary Zheng’s life.”
Heyu, having served in the palace for many years, was startled by this request.
“Your Grace, there’s no need for this.”
Consort Ning gripped Heyu’s wrist tightly, “Just go ask for me!”
Heyu had never seen Consort Ning in such a state and became frightened herself, quickly trying to calm her, “All right, Your Grace, don’t worry, I’ll go ask.”
Yang Wan was standing beneath the bronze crane statue at the Hall of Mental Cultivation. These past few days, she had secretly gone to the Hall of Supreme Harmony several times to see Deng Ying, but without letting him notice her. He remained silent but never stopped working. Under his leadership, the construction of the Hall of Supreme Harmony continued meticulously, and Yang Wan, watching from the shadows, witnessed the entire process of laying the glazed tile roof. He stood on the terrace, calmly directing the craftsmen and monitoring all the complex techniques, just as Yang Wan had said – he did everything with utmost dedication. Only when the craftsmen went to eat would he sit alone on the terrace, lost in thought.
He still hadn’t followed Yang Wan’s advice to eat properly and drink water.
But Yang Wan understood this was his way of punishing himself.
One shouldn’t be too clever, assuming they understand others’ hearts and rashly intervening.
Having spent nearly ten years in academia, experiencing various cold shoulders and setbacks, and having to start over repeatedly through ups and downs, Yang Wan had experienced much. She knew well that strong-willed people often prefer to rely on themselves for their initial struggles.