Chapter 17

Liu Residence.

A grand and secluded mansion, adorned with intricately carved beams and painted rafters.

Before entering the Liu Residence, the Empress lifted her gaze to take in the scene.

Unlike the ostentatious decorations commonly seen in official households, the mansion’s main gate bore no excessive embellishments — only thick, deep brown wooden panels accented by round bronze rings, silently asserting the family’s heritage and dignity. The plaque above the door read “Loyalty and Solemnity,” a hallmark of a distinguished lineage boasting four generations of chancellors and grand councilors.

“Her Majesty has arrived—”

A court attendant announced loudly, prompting immediate activity throughout the estate.

Two rows of household servants stood at attention by the gate, their posture straight, clothing immaculate, and footsteps measured and light. The steward, accompanied by guards and maids, knelt in respectful salute. Everyone moved with disciplined precision and orderliness. Their eyes held no trace of fear or sycophancy, only the solemnity of dutiful restraint.

Nearly every detail adhered to standards as strict as those of the Imperial Court—if the Empress were to judge, she might even declare them more stringent—attesting to the Liu Residence’s austere grandeur and wealth.

Chu Yingzhao nodded slightly without speaking further and followed the escort inside.

Passing through the corridors, they entered a semi-open courtyard. Above, a flourishing wisteria trellis swayed with lively blossoms. Beneath it stood several intricately crafted tables, their materials and carvings exquisite.

At first glance, nothing seemed extraordinary, but upon closer inspection, the aged silk tablecloths revealed complex patterns depicting elegant ladies engaged in theatrical music and play. Together with a sandalwood incense box and a lamp resting in the corner, the scene melded understatement and opulence with seamless grace.

Beneath the blooming canopy lay a quiet serenity.

Liu Qianzheng, dressed in purple, awaited there.

His features were deep and stern, his demeanor composed and dignified, lips pressed lightly together. His attire was simple yet finely embroidered, emphasizing an understated nobility.

As head of the Liu family, he stood silently, expression calm and self-possessed, executing his greeting with meticulous formality as if all emotion were tightly bound by ritual.

“I, your humble servant Liu Qianzheng, pay respects to Your Majesty,” he bowed his head slightly, impeccable in bearing and tone, his words carrying a subtle distance that lent an intriguing tension.

Rounded up, he was the epitome of a high-quality, stoic, dominant figure.

If placed in another setting, he might be the model for a naturally aloof, otherworldly master.

Yet, given his appeal as a powerful minister, Chu Yingzhao found it difficult to be swayed by this type of male lead—the allure of an overbearing, all-controlling authority conflicted with her own imperial career vision.

She raised a hand, halting his movement, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Liu Qing, you are unwell; there’s no need for such formality.”

They took their respective seats, the tea yet to be served. Outside the corridor, a gentle breeze stirred the floral shadows, lending a chill to the atmosphere.

The man’s lips were pale; his voice, while not hoarse, carried a trace of restraint. After a moment’s thought, Chu Yingzhao ventured, “Liu Qing, has your health improved today? I heard your cough has been persistent, so I came personally to inquire.”

Liu Qianzheng brushed his sleeve lightly, his tone neither high nor low. “I thank Your Majesty for your concern, but it is merely a slight chill; I am not seriously ill. The recent affairs at court have taxed my mind and body, leading to some neglect of health.”

“Oh?” Chu Yingzhao raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with subtle probing. “A chill so severe is naturally worrisome. You have been robust in the past; why are you now so fragile?”

His gaze paused briefly before he smiled faintly. “Your Majesty flatters me. I am but mortal flesh and bone, hardly comparable to the warriors upon the battlefield. Moreover, I am neither commander of the armies nor pillar of the state; there is little need for undue concern.”

The Empress hesitated for half a heartbeat.

She could sense a sharp edge beneath his words, but being inexperienced in subtle verbal sparring, she calmly picked up her teacup and lifted the lid.

“Liu Qing is modest. Were you not a pillar, how could you maintain the position of Grand Councilor, serving two reigns and standing foremost among civil and military officials?”

Liu Qianzheng’s expression remained unchanged. “I dare not accept such praise.”

“However,” Chu Yingzhao shifted the topic, “since you are no longer gravely ill, why do you avoid court? Your absence dims the significance of our assemblies.”

Lowering his eyes, Liu Qianzheng folded his hands respectfully but with a coldness beneath. “I have always been uninteresting, fearing I might spoil Your Majesty’s pleasure. Besides, as a remnant of the previous reign, I am likely unable to keep pace with the new policies.”

The Empress faltered again.

No person, especially a paid official, should be so unapologetically lax about absenteeism.

The Grand Councilor, essentially the prime minister, or in modern terms, the company’s chief operating officer—

For the chief executive to adopt such a relaxed attitude, the prospects of this administration seemed bleak indeed...

“Liu Qing speaks in jest,” Chu Yingzhao replied evenly. “With the Liu family in court, I can govern this vast realm. The late Emperor was a man of great talent, but he died young, leaving me a kingdom yet to be fully secured. You once instructed the late Crown Prince in court etiquette and accompanied him for years; have you noticed any hidden troubles in the late Emperor’s temperament?”

Liu Qianzheng lowered his eyes, considering his words carefully before answering, “The late Emperor was both civil and martial, gifted in strategy. Though my position as a ceremonial officer did not involve military affairs, I am well aware of His Majesty’s dedication to frontier defense. Every great ruler bears a fierce temperament; I believe the late Emperor was no exception.”

Thanks to Qi Wangzhu, the Empress had grown somewhat immune to such overly diplomatic exchanges.

She extracted the key points herself: The late Emperor was brilliant but mentally erratic.

“The point is well taken. The late Emperor expanded territories through warfare, yet fate was unkind,” she said lightly, as if recounting an ordinary matter, though her words carried a subtle chill. “The matter of the Crown Prince still evokes sorrow.”

Liu Qianzheng’s expression remained unchanged, but he turned his gaze toward the wisteria outside and spoke calmly, “The Crown Prince was extraordinarily intelligent, truly fit to be heir. Alas, fate is unavoidable. The late Emperor’s exceptional talents were accompanied by inexplicable actions. As a ritual official, I can only pray for the clarity of the royal household and the longevity of the dynasty.”

The Empress continued parsing the subtext: The late Emperor’s madness was severe, and the Crown Prince’s death was related.

She could hardly be blamed.

The game preview heavily promoted the male lead’s character, while her own rise to the throne and the tragic simultaneous demise of the unfortunate Crown Prince and Emperor were barely mentioned.

The Empress Dowager would get teary-eyed at the mention; Qi Wangzhu kept silent; Yin Gen found no information; Bai Wenqing was indifferent to the outside world; and the other princes and tutors had died mysteriously, leaving Chu Yingzhao to seek out the one person who might know the truth—Liu Qianzheng.

His evasive responses made her narrow her eyes. She chose not to press further, instead changing tone.

“Now that the Crown Prince is gone, and I, the late Emperor’s only daughter, have ascended by divine right, there are still voices questioning the propriety of a female sovereign. What is your opinion, Liu Qing?”

Liu Qianzheng’s eyes darkened, yet his face remained impassive. “Your Majesty’s ascension was the late Emperor’s will, the Empress Dowager’s decree, and backed by military authority. The realm should naturally submit. Yet, for centuries, tradition has held male rule; a female monarch is unprecedented, hence the disturbances.”

Chu Yingzhao smiled. “Liu Qing is reasonable. I suppose those rumors concerning me have not reached your ears?”

“Your Majesty, sovereign of the nine-five, need not concern yourself with idle gossip,” Liu Qianzheng replied, meeting her gaze calmly. “Moreover, if Your Majesty controls the court effectively, you are the rightful ruler.”

“Indeed, Liu Qing understands loyalty,” she said warmly. “But does your family share the same perspective?”

He lowered his eyes, voice steady and unreadable. “The Liu family has been loyal subjects for generations. There is no doubt about Your Majesty’s legitimacy.”

He paused, then added with a hint of warning, “Holding military power may intimidate the court but does not guarantee the hearts of the people. Without ceremony and propriety as foundation, even with troops at one’s side, the nation’s stability is not assured.”

The Empress maintained her smile, her gaze sharpening.

“Liu Qing speaks sensibly, but as the Son of Heaven, I need not have all hearts wholly devoted. If the army cannot secure the realm, that is the greatest failure. Ceremonial matters are for ministers to concern themselves with, correct?”

—And where exactly is my army? Has it been decimated by eighty percent after full recruitment?

Could it be the meager forces at the Princess’s residence? Or the barely loyal troops around the capital? Or perhaps the border general Zhao Jian, whose loyalty barely reached seventy-six after using a rare item?

Of course, this was only a flicker of inner doubt; outwardly, the Empress’s smile remained serene.

After their verbal sparring, the atmosphere grew heavy.

Putting down her teacup, Chu Yingzhao switched topics. “I heard that during the recent dike repairs and flood discharge, the Liu family’s lands suffered considerable damage. Does Liu Qing bear any resentment?”

Liu Qianzheng’s gaze hardened. “Your Majesty is sovereign; governance is paramount. How could I complain over a little private land? Moreover, Your Majesty’s decision to repair the dikes saved countless lives. I naturally support the policy.”

He shifted tone sharply. “However, while the Liu family harbors no grievance, repeated incidents might not be met with such generosity from other noble houses.”

Chu Yingzhao smiled. “Liu Qing’s willingness to sacrifice for the realm pleases me greatly. Should anyone dare defy this, I have ways to make them understand that ultimate authority rests with me. As for the Liu family’s losses, I will ensure proper compensation.”

As Liu Qianzheng prepared to respond, the Empress changed course again. “This morning’s court appointed Zhang Yanli as a third-rank inspector of the capital region. What is your opinion, Liu Qing?”

His eyes flickered slightly, voice calm as still water. “Minister Zhang remained composed under pressure and contributed significantly to the dike repairs; he deserves commendation. Yet an abrupt promotion to third rank may...”

“Zhang Yanli is capable of great responsibility,” Chu Yingzhao interrupted with a smile. “If there are objections, I will judge accordingly.”

Liu Qianzheng’s expression stayed solemn, though a subtle undercurrent surfaced in his tone. “I dare not speak presumptuously, but Zhang Yanli’s humble origins may provoke criticism among court officials.”

The Empress’s smile did not waver. “Meritocracy, not birth, determines rank. If Liu Qing disagrees, we may discuss it another day.”

He was silent for a moment before slowly replying, “Your Majesty’s wisdom is clear. I shall obey.”

Every move the Empress made was perfectly measured—allowing no room for rebuttal, yet offering no loss of face.

“I have nothing further to say,” he added. “But Your Majesty, mindful of the bigger picture, should beware of unforeseen changes. After all, hearts are unpredictable.”

“If Liu Qing has nothing more to add, then focus on recovering your health,” the conversation mellowed as Chu Yingzhao rose, gazing toward the blooming wisteria outside. “Only when your illness fades can you truly aid me in my burdens.”

Her final words brushed like a gentle breeze, soft in tone yet laden with meaning.

Liu Qianzheng watched her departure, his expression still calm, though his thoughts were unknown.

*

As dusk deepened, carriage wheels clicked crisply over stone.

Chu Yingzhao endeavored to untangle the complex dialogues of the day: Liu Qianzheng’s intentions were clear despite his reticence.

A powerful minister.

Mulling over those words, she emitted a soft gasp.

…The conscription of displaced people must be accelerated.

At this thought, she tapped the carriage wall.

“Shadow, come.”

*

The figure dressed in black, cold and elegant, responded immediately, kneeling on one knee before her after a moment.

“Your Majesty.”

The carriage moved slowly, sunlight filtering through bamboo blinds, casting shifting patterns between them.

Chu Yingzhao reclined to one side, her gaze fixed on her personal shadow guard. Unlike her usual concise commands, her eyes now carried scrutiny and contemplation.

Shadow sensed this but showed no discomfort. His kneeling posture was impeccably straight; his eyes devoid of emotion, like a silent statue awaiting orders.

She subtly turned her face, noticing a slight unconscious gesture: his palm pressed tightly against his knee beneath his sleeve, gaze habitually lowered, almost never meeting hers. Even in the confined space, he maintained alertness as if controlling every breath to avoid making noise.

“Shadow,” she suddenly spoke softly, “who are you?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “A Night Patrol Guard, at Your Majesty’s service.”

As expected.

Leaning against the carriage wall, she let her gaze travel from his forehead to cheek, then to his hands and black robe.

“No,” she said again, softer this time, “I asked: who are ‘you’?”

His brow twitched almost imperceptibly, as if caught off guard. After a pause, he answered briefly, “I am Your Majesty’s shadow guard.”

“No,” she repeated with a smile, “If you were no longer the shadow guard, who would you be?”

The question seemed beyond his scope. He froze, silent for a long moment. She noticed his fingertips twitch slightly, curling then straightening quickly.

He answered, “Without the identity of shadow guard, I would be dead.”

…What a compelling male lead, Chu Yingzhao thought quietly, worthy of being the game’s poster figure.

She did not respond immediately, instead shifting topics with a light tone.

“Very well. Suppose one day I release you from the shadow guard role and assign you command of an army. How would you feel?”

The guard answered promptly, “If Your Majesty commands, I will give my utmost.”

“My utmost?” She smiled. “No, I ask: how would you feel? Would you find it interesting, detestable, nervous, confident?”

Shadow hesitated, evidently stumped. He answered slowly, “I... would ease Your Majesty’s burdens.”

She shook her head. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

His reaction was palpable; he involuntarily lifted his head before lowering it again quickly, then said briskly:

“Whether shadow guard or soldier, all serve to fulfill Your Majesty’s goals. If you need it, I shall do it—and do it well.”

Chu Yingzhao smiled, then grew serious. “I want a disciplined, battle-ready army.”

Shadow considered for a moment, then asked, “Does Your Majesty feel the current army is insufficient?”

She shook her head. “Not insufficient, but unreliable. They either collude with noble families or are consumed by factional strife. The army I want must be like...”

She hesitated, searching for words.

“Like a righteous militia. With clear discipline, cultural knowledge, an understanding of the nature of war, and a grasp of why they fight. Able to win battles and assist civilians in peace... In short, the army should never be merely a tool of violence.”

What she left unsaid was: likewise, you should not be merely a tool.

This poster guard clearly suffered from severe psychological issues—including, but not limited to, distorted self-perception, dehumanization, and emotional suppression and isolation.

Shadow was unaware that his superior was mentally diagnosing him.

He nodded. “That may be harder than training shadow guards, Your Majesty.”

Chu Yingzhao smiled. “It’s not.”

“Yes,” Shadow accepted her vision unconditionally, then asked, “Where to begin? Selecting personnel? Setting rules? Gathering resources?”

“All of it,” she answered without hesitation.

She glanced down at the system interface’s golden countdown: thirty-two days.

The subtle number flickered a cold light in her eyes. She erased the countdown and added, “Time is short. Shadow, some matters must be expedited.”

At this moment, the Empress was yet unaware of an equally important omission—

Liu Qianzheng’s personal mission had not been triggered.