Ink Burns

Chapter 255 Why are you crying?
The Imperial Ancestral Temple is located on the east side of the main street. It consists of three main halls and side halls, with a glazed brick gate and a halberd gate in front, and seven stone bridges between the two gates.

A black carriage stopped outside the stone bridge. A slender figure wearing a coarse linen cloak with satin lining walked slowly across the stone bridge. The palaces of the Imperial Ancestral Temple all had yellow glazed tile roofs and were magnificent buildings. The main hall was surrounded by a triple white marble Sumeru-style platform with stone railings. Every ten steps outside the railings, there was a small eunuch.

The young eunuch saw that Wu Dagong, whom only the chief eunuchs usually spoke of, was approaching from afar, his back bent, holding a whisk. Despite his short stature, his horizontal eyes and vertical eyebrows exuded the imposing aura of the emperor's most trusted eunuch.

One after another, the eunuchs lowered their heads even further than quails.

Unfortunately, even with my head lowered, my ears were still open, and I could still hear the clear female voice inside.

When a woman cries, it's not a mournful wail, but rather a loud, affected cry, like a childish plea, like a desperate outpouring of emotions.

"Brother! You left us too soon! With you gone, this vast land is left without anyone to care for it! We, the poor Xu family, are left to fend for ourselves! Your helpless sister is left to live at the mercy of the younger generation!"

"I, Xu Jinyuan, was born as the legitimate daughter of the Empress, and my father and elder brother are both rulers. Now I am old and useless, and I am being investigated like a criminal! There are people hiding at the gate of my mansion, and people hiding in my shops. Every time I open my eyes, it is another day of fear and trembling!"

The woman suddenly raised her voice, crying out hoarsely, "Brother! Brother! Please wake up! Brother!"

Xu Quyan stepped across the threshold.

The Imperial Ancestral Temple was brightly lit, with eight memorial tablets arranged in order. Emperor Taizong's tablet was at the very top, with gold leaf as ink and vermilion lacquer as the base. Made of three-inch-thick old cypress wood, the tablet could withstand a thousand years of wind and frost. The closest one was Emperor Zhaode, whose vermilion lacquer looked brand new. In the flickering candlelight, it looked like a piece of water-soaked wood that was gold and jade on the outside but rotten on the inside.

Incense offerings were densely packed, in the hope that these emperors would continue their glory even in the afterlife.

Xu Quyan glanced at them one by one with a gentle expression: For emperors, their lives before and after death are equally important. Their merits and demerits are judged by only a few words in the history books. Such a standard of judgment may not be true, but it is fair—fair to every emperor.

Emperor Taizong, the founding emperor, has a separate chapter in history dedicated to recounting his merits;

His father, though appearing on the pages of history books, is perhaps only described as "gentle and refined, not abusing power, and fond of calligraphy and painting"—what is the significance of that? What is the meaning of such a life? Born as an emperor, he neither broke through the Yan-Yun region to directly attack the Tatars and Oirats, nor did he select the best ministers to enjoy a prosperous era. Instead, he was deceived by treacherous people and willingly became a nepotism that had crept into the densely packed bureaucracy of Jiangnan and filled the imperial center.
If I have such a posthumous reputation, I'd rather not be an emperor at all, and be a louse that can't see the light of day! Hidden in the folds of gorgeous clothes, I'd still enjoy my glory.

Xu Quyan felt a sense of mockery, but his eyes remained as gentle as ever. Amidst his aunt's heart-wrenching cries, he accepted the three incense sticks handed to him by Eunuch Wu with one hand. While the incense and candles of the Grand Princess Jing'an were lit, he bowed three times in the high and spacious hall, then solemnly inserted his wide sleeve into the incense ash with one hand.

Xu Quyan raised his chin, and Wu Dajian immediately grabbed the whisk with his arm, grabbed the historian Qin Bowen with his other hand, and ignored his angry shouts. The eunuch behind him quickly stepped forward, grabbed the record of Qin Bowen’s daily life in the Imperial Ancestral Temple, and threw it into the burning incense burner!

A stack of paper instantly ignited flames, burning brightly and intensely!

"Are you crazy! This is a record of daily life that will go down in history!" Jing'an propped himself up and shouted angrily!

Xu Quyan raised his hand, and two eunuchs grabbed Qin Bowen on either side and dragged him toward the side hall.

"The Imperial Ancestral Temple is a sacred shrine, and more importantly, it is the ancestral temple of our Xu family. He is an outsider, and there is no need for him to get in the way here." Xu Quyan's voice was respectful: "Moreover, there are many things he cannot say here—don't you agree, Aunt?"

The word "aunt" was spoken lightly and humbly, yet Jing'an sensed a hint of unease in it.

Jing'an paused slightly, sobbing for a long time until her breath was barely audible. Lately, she had been experiencing a run of bad luck; the unstoppable momentum of "Qingfeng" had been abruptly cut short by the cruel hand of fate. Ming Jiang still wouldn't answer her mother's letters, and her health was deteriorating day by day, clinging to life only by medicine.
Regardless, she needs to be responsible to "Qingfeng". Even if she has to use her best tricks, she must rescue the "Qingfeng" officials who have been detained by Xu Quyan and give everyone an explanation.

Jing'an suppressed her unease. She remained kneeling on the embroidered gold-threaded prayer mat, naturally half a head shorter than Xu Quyan, putting her at a disadvantage.

Jing An propped himself up with one hand, slowly stood up, lowered his eyelids, and stared intently at his thin and gentle nephew like a wolf's gaze.

At some point, this nephew had become far removed from the timid, shy little boy in my memory who, at seven or eight years old, huddled behind Empress Ji, peering out with his eyes.

Jing'an stood up straight, meeting Xu Quyan's gaze: "Like begets like. I originally thought you would be as weak and timid as Consort Fang, but now I see in you some of Empress Ji's composure and forbearance—"

As if chatting casually, he exclaimed, "Hey, how old were you when you ascended the throne?"

"My father passed away on the Spring Equinox, and I ascended the throne in July, just fourteen years old," Xu Quyan replied casually.

Jing'an clicked his tongue and looked at the nearest memorial tablet: "When you were fourteen, you were much more obedient than you are now."

“People are always changing,” Xu Quyan said, bowing slightly, his posture respectful but his tone slightly teasing.

Jing'an turned her head, her face still covered with thick layers of makeup, obscuring her once handsome features and carefully concealing her sickly appearance: "No wonder your father has never liked you—"

Jing'an paused slightly, then turned back, his gaze fixed on the memorial tablet: "He was already dying last December, relying on Liu'an Powder to prolong his life. Liu'an Powder can make you forget the pain, but once the effect wears off, the pain will come back like usurious money, multiplying several times over. Your father was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and lived a carefree life, and was most afraid of pain and suffering—do you know why he would rather endure the pain of Liu'an Powder losing its effect, and delay his death day by day?"

Xu Quyan's eyelashes fluttered slightly, his hands were curled in his sleeves, and his lips remained pursed without any movement or reply.

Jing'an said to himself, "He is waiting for the birth of Prince Rong. Once the sixth prince is a male, he will issue an edict to appoint him as the crown prince, so that Prince Rong can inherit the throne legitimately and no one will dare to criticize him."

Xu Quyan's deep eyes flickered slightly, but his hands clenched tighter and tighter.

Jing'an smiled and said, "Unfortunately, he didn't live to see the end of the story. He died before the birth of Prince Rong, and you ended up getting a free ride."

"aunt."

Xu Quyan interrupted softly, then smiled back, reverting to his gentle and well-mannered young emperor persona: "We are blood relatives, we should be honest with each other, there's no need for all this beating around the bush—just tell me, why are you crying here at the Imperial Ancestral Temple today?"