The number one sycophant of the Ming Dynasty

"Have Long Wen handle this." Yan Song closed his eyes. "Don't reveal my background, and don't use the Yan family's name. Start with acquaintances in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, slowly build connections, and sound out their intentions."

"He wants to hold a winter festival, and whatever materials or regulations he needs, we'll make it easy for him."

"He was being harassed by people at the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, so we paved the way for him. We wanted him to know that the Yan family could offer him much more and more securely than the Qingliu family."

"What if he doesn't know what's good for him and is determined to go with Qingliu?" Yan Shifan asked again.

Yan Song didn't even lift his eyelids, and simply said, "Those who don't know how to appreciate favors won't live long, either in or outside the palace."

"But remember this: we can never be the ones to make a move. We'll wait until he goes astray, until Xu Jie can no longer tolerate him, until the Emperor is fed up with him, and then we'll strike."

"At that time, it was perfectly legitimate, and no one could say a word against it."

"My son understands."

"And one more thing," Yan Song added, "keep a close eye on the winter sacrifice. If he does it well, we won't take credit; if he doesn't, we won't be the first to jump in."

"Remember, in this Ming Dynasty, only the Emperor has ever been able to decide life and death."

"Whether it's Prince Yu, Xu Jie, or even Chen Han, they are all just pieces on the chessboard. Don't let one piece ruin the whole game."

Yan Shifan and Luo Longwen bowed and withdrew. The curtain fell, and the warm pavilion returned to silence.

Yan Song picked up his purple-tipped brush again, laid out a new sheet of gold-flecked Xuan paper, and continued writing his poems while facing the blue smoke from the Xuande incense burner.

……

The snow stopped at dawn the next day.

As dawn broke and the first hint of light appeared on the horizon, figures were already appearing in front of the Guanglu Temple's office.

Chen Han, dressed in a blue official robe, walked step by step through half a foot of snow to the entrance of the yamen.

Last night, after leaving the Prince Yu's residence, he and Shen Zhiyu rode in the same carriage and talked for half the night.

Back at his lodgings, he went through the whole process again, from the possible responses of the Yan Party, the thoughts of the Qingliu faction, and the tasks of the winter sacrifice.

This was a habit he developed back when he worked in the county government office.

When faced with a major event, first lay out the demands, bottom lines, and possible actions of all stakeholders on the table, and then devise your own response strategy.

The office director doesn't need to be the smartest person, but must be the most clear-headed.

He didn't close his eyes for half an hour until dawn. At this moment, there was a faint trace of weariness in his eyes, but his steps remained steady, showing no sign of panic.

As soon as he reached the entrance of the yamen, the two gatekeepers, who had been huddled in the doorway warming themselves by the fire, jumped up as if pricked by needles the moment they saw him. They straightened up, bowed in unison, and said in a deliberately obsequious tone, "Good morning, Supervisor Chen!"

Chen Han nodded slightly, his tone calm: "Good morning."

Stepping into the yamen, the once noisy courtyard instantly fell silent.

The Court of Imperial Sacrifices was a neglected department, in charge of sacrifices, banquets, and palace meals. Although it was adjacent to the Forbidden City, it had no real power, and the path to promotion was as narrow as a needle's point.

The people in the yamen were either veteran officials who had spent their entire lives in office or unsuccessful scholars who had passed the imperial examinations but had not achieved their goals. They sat on the sidelines for more than a decade without even getting a chance to be transferred to a post outside the yamen.

At this time on ordinary days, the courtyard would already be bustling with people, some taking attendance, others handing over responsibilities, and still others gathering around the fire to chat—a chaotic scene indeed.

But today, everyone's eyes were fixed on Chen Han.

The officials who were warming themselves by the fire under the eaves, who had been huddled together and whispering, immediately fell silent when they saw him.

Some people smiled and bowed respectfully from afar; others immediately turned their heads, pretending to organize the account books in their hands, but their eyes secretly glanced in his direction.

Two other supervisors, dressed in the rank of eighth grade, stood on the steps, arms crossed, looking at him with complex emotions in their eyes—jealousy, disdain, and a deliberate air of distance.

Chen Han kept his eyes straight ahead and walked slowly and steadily toward his duty room, just like always.

As I passed by the main hall, I ran into Wang Dianbu, who was coming out of it.

Wang Dianbu was a seventh-rank official, a Juren (successful candidate in the imperial examination) in the early years of the Jiajing reign. He spent a full twenty-two years in the Guanglu Temple, working his way up from an eighth-rank supervisor to a seventh-rank clerk. His hair turned white from the hard work, and he was still stuck in this cold and unpopular government office.

In the past, when he saw Chen Han, he would at most nod and ignore him. But today, he came up to him from afar, forced a stiff smile, and cupped his hands, saying, "Supervisor Chen, good morning."

"Good morning, Lord Wang." Chen Han stopped and bowed in return, his manner perfectly measured, showing no arrogance despite the Emperor's and Prince Yu's favor.

"Supervisor Chen is truly a young prodigy." Wang Dianbu's smile carried a hint of unspoken bitterness. "He's only been in our Guanglu Temple for three months, yet he's accomplished such a great feat. Even the Emperor himself issued an edict praising him, and His Highness Prince Yu personally hosted a banquet to entertain him."

"This is the first honor we have ever received in the Guanglu Temple since the Jiajing reign."

"You flatter me, Your Excellency," Chen Han said with a faint smile. "It was just my duty. I simply organized the list for His Highness according to the rules of the 'Collected Statutes of the Ming Dynasty'."

"There are so many seniors in the Court of Imperial Sacrifices who are far more qualified and experienced than me. I was just lucky to get this job."

These words were spoken in a measured and balanced manner, without taking credit or being arrogant, attributing the credit to luck and saving face for colleagues.

Having spent so many years in the county government office, he knew all too well:

In situations like this, saying "I really have the ability" will make people resentful, while speaking softly will prevent anyone from finding fault with you.

Wang Dianbu was taken aback, clearly not expecting him to be so humble, and the stiff smile on his face finally relaxed a little:

"Supervisor Chen is too modest. Luck is also part of ability. But then again, the Winter Festival is no joke. You're young and inexperienced, so if you need any help, just ask."

"Definitely, definitely." Chen Han cupped his hands in greeting. "I'll be very grateful for Wang Dianbu's guidance then."

After exchanging a few more polite words, Chen Han took his leave.

After walking a few steps, he heard Wang Dianbu sigh softly behind him. His tone was less sour and more full of emotion: "This young man has it tough."

Chen Han felt a slight sense of relief.

I had just pushed open the door to the duty room and hadn't even had a chance to sit down when I heard a series of hurried footsteps behind me.

Zheng Dianli came running over, carrying a scorching hot bronze hand warmer. As soon as he entered, he closed the door behind him, blocking all the prying eyes from outside.

"Supervisor Chen, you've finally arrived!" Zheng Dianli strode up to him, shoved the hand warmer into his hands, and beamed with a smile. "It's freezing cold, warm your hands quickly. It snowed all night last night, and I was worried that you'd be late today because of the difficult roads."

Chen Han took the hand warmer, placed it on the table, and pointed to the chair next to him: "Sit down."

"Yes, yes." Zheng Dianli hurriedly responded, but only sat halfway on the edge of the chair, leaning forward with a fawning expression.

Chen Han picked up the iced tea on the table, took a sip, and didn't reply.

In situations like this, whoever speaks first loses.

Zheng Dianli ran over, he must have something to say. He'll speak up when he can't hold it in any longer.

……