The scandal reached all the way to the Ministry of Rites. Minister Lin could not escape blame; though he had not been stripped of rank, he was formally reprimanded. The Lin family still had to appear at the palace banquet—forced to stand as if at a mourning—each face tight with displeasure. But Lin was not the only one whom the affair touched. The envoy was received by Duke Fu at the emperor’s own appointment; the Fu household could not wash its hands of it either.
Because the Hes and Fus had recently tied their families by marriage, Duke He rose to speak on Duke Fu’s behalf. “Inspector Zhou,” he began, “this is a palace banquet. Surely such matters should not be hashed out here.”
Inspector Zhou answered in his usual blunt, officious tone. “Duke He, with respect, you are wrong. When state affairs are at stake, and the court has not yet cleared the facts in full, standing before the sovereign I must lay them out. I urge Your Majesty to judge: Minister Lin ought to be punished, and Duke Fu is not innocent.”
Duke Fu’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the dais, anger nearly finding his tongue—yet all he could do was kneel and speak in a choked voice. “Your Majesty, I have erred. I failed in my duty as supervisor, and a grave mistake resulted. I suspect the Zhobi envoy was crafty, that this was deliberate—designed to sully Great Zhou. For generations our two states have been at peace; why would Zhobi send an envoy to assassinate one of ours? Would the Ministry of Rites not know the protocols of a foreign envoy? How could such negligence occur?”
Inspector Zhou snorted. “So your meaning is that the Ministry is blameless, and Zhobi is to blame for their envoy’s death in the capital? Are you urging the emperor to punish Zhobi instead?”
Duke Fu waved his hand vehemently. “Your Majesty, I would never—”
The emperor’s patience snapped. “Enough. You’ve ruined my good mood.”
The Crown Prince stepped between them. “Gentlemen, please withdraw. This must be settled at tomorrow’s court.”
Zhou’s face registered ill will, but he had to comply. He returned to his seat, bristling.
After a round of terse reports the emperor said, “The situation in Luo City is unstable. The Shao family has sent several pleas for aid. Minister Lu, what do you advise?”
Lu Hongxi was staring blankly at the floor. The Princess Consort gave him an impatient prod. He jerked upright and tried to come forward, but he misjudged his footing. His foot caught on the low dais; he stumbled and fell head-first to the stone with a sickening crack. Blood bloomed across his temple.
Panic flashed through the room. The Princess Consort scrambled down the steps to his side. “My lord! My lord, are you—”
The emperor stood as well, alarmed. “Physicians! What happened to Prince Zhen’nan?”
Madam Wei—one of the household women—pressed both hands to her chest and knelt, forcing herself to speak. “Your Majesty… my lord has been anxious for days. He frets over the war in Luo City and the safety of the heir and the second prince. He received the second prince’s letter these last two days and has been distraught. Last night he coughed blood once. He asked that no one tell Your Majesty for fear it would trouble you.”
Lu Wan’ning’s hand went to her mouth; tears shone in her eyes. “Father kept this from me?” she whispered. “Is he… is he in danger?”
Madam Wei did not reach to help Lu Wan’ning. Instead she gripped the Princess Consort’s hand with a steadiness that reassured. “Do not be alarmed, madam. He says it is an old wound from campaigns past. It should not be grave.”
The Princess Consort’s composure had been frayed; she had been all show up until now, but here she was suddenly uncertain. Lu Wan’ning noticed it keenly. Madam Wei, by contrast, was composed—clear in her worry and quietly firm. She seemed, somehow, the more natural caretaker.
But Lu Wan’ning’s thoughts were elsewhere. In recent days she had spent long hours in the study with Lu Hongxi. He had been hesitant, secretive—she had tried to advise him regarding his suspicions of the Crown Prince. Had her counsel taken effect? Had he chosen to trust Sheng Jinyu instead?
She scanned the crowd for Sheng Jinyu and found no sign of him. Before she could dwell further, the emperor raised a hand. “Zhaoyang, come here.”
Lu Wan’ning bowed and moved toward him, obediently. A eunuch carried a chair and set it beside the emperor’s table. The emperor’s expression softened; his hand reached for the plate of plain roast duck and, with a fond little air, offered it to her. “Look at you—so thin. I tell you, you are like a daughter to me.” He nodded to the scribes. “Prepare an edict. Elevate Zhaoyang Junzhu to the rank of Princess. Grant her the same privileges as Qin’er. From now on she may enter the palace without notice. If she misses me, let her come.”
Lu Wan’ning started, then rose gracefully. “Your servant thanks Your Majesty for his kindness.”
The hall fell into stunned silence. Only weeks earlier the emperor had appointing Lu Han Chi to command in the north; many had taken it as a sign that Lu Hongxi had fallen out of favor. Now the sovereign had not only shown tenderness to Lu Hongxi by holding him back from the campaign—he had lavished honor on the Lu household. Elevating Zhaoyang Junzhu to the status of an imperial princess, equal to the one reigning in the palace, was a public and unmistakable elevation: even without the Empress Dowager in court, this girl would be among the most exalted women in Great Zhou.
Whispers rippled through the assembly. Rewards to the Lu clan, the murmurs said; the court’s balance of favor had shifted in an instant.
Meanwhile the physicians had worked swiftly. The old doctor who had once tended the Empress Dowager—he was quick with a diagnosis: Lu Hongxi had fainted from an old campaign injury and from sheer exhaustion. “He must not strain himself going forward,” the physician warned. “At his age, such exertion would be unwise.”
Lu Hongxi opened his eyes at the word “age.” He bristled even as pain clouded his brow. “Nonsense,” he muttered. “I am a soldier. If I cannot ride or fight, what use am I?”
“You are fifty,” the doctor said plainly. “Even if you were hale, this is the time to conserve yourself.”
Lu Hongxi’s hands seized the emperor’s sleeve. “Sire, I am not done. I am not afraid to die, but Luo City needs men. This morning I read Han’s letter—things are worse than we thought. Do not let me sit idle while our borders burn.” He pushed aside the Princess Consort and the physician with a desperate strength, attempting to kneel. “Let me lead the troops. I swear by my life, I will hold Great Zhou’s line.”
The emperor looked at him, and in the prince’s face there was something that had not changed from the young commander Lu Hongxi had once been: the old steel, the unwavering clarity of purpose. But the wrinkles and the grey at his temples could not be unseen. Blood still darkened his hairline where he had struck the stone. For a long moment the emperor’s features softened, torn between duty and pity.
He laid a hand on Lu Hongxi’s shoulder. “Cousin, your health is what matters. Han Chi is already riding north—he is valiant, and he bears your spirit. You need not worry.”
Lu Hongxi wanted to argue, to insist, but his limbs betrayed him. Fever and loss of blood took him; he slumped and fainted again.
The emperor signaled to the inner attendants. “Take him to the side hall. The physicians are to see to him.”
As Lu Wan’ning followed the Princess Consort and Madam Wei after Lu Hongxi, she felt the strange mix of relief and unease threading through her. The Princess Consort’s alarm had felt performative and thin; Madam Wei’s steadiness had felt truer. And the emperor’s unsolicited favor—unexpected, yet palpable—left the whole court reeling. Zhaoyang’s new status would change everything.