The number one sycophant of the Ming Dynasty

She lowered her head, blinked hard to force back her tears, then looked up and said with a smile, "Why are you saying all this? You helped me last time, it's only right that I help you back."

Qin Ruolan stood aside and witnessed the entire scene.

She didn't speak, but simply picked up her teacup, took a slow sip, and understood perfectly well what was going on:

Sun Yue, that silly girl, will probably never escape this man's grasp in this lifetime.

When I came out of Baoxiangzhai, it was already getting dark.

Sun Yue boarded the carriage. Before the curtain was drawn, she glanced at Chen Han, her lips moved, but she ultimately only asked one question: "Supervisor Chen, are you going to the yamen tomorrow?"

"Miss, there are still some things to finish up for the winter sacrifice. I'll be at the yamen all day tomorrow."

"Then...then I'll go to the yamen to find you tomorrow."

"it is good."

The carriage curtain was gently lowered.

The carriage traveled north along the main street. Chen Han stood at the entrance of Baoxiangzhai and watched the carriage drive away before turning around and walking alone towards Guanglu Temple.

Qin Ruolan stood at the window on the second floor of the shop, watching Chen Han's back as he gradually disappeared into the twilight.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the windowsill, once, then again.

"Ruolan." Her father, Qin Maocai, appeared behind her at some point. "Has Supervisor Chen left?"

"I'm leaving." Qin Ruolan didn't turn around.

What do you think of him as a person?

Qin Ruolan remained silent for a while before speaking, her tone unusually solemn: "Father, this person is destined for greatness."

Qin Maocai was taken aback: "You think so highly of him? He's just a low-ranking official of the eighth grade right now."

"It's not just optimistic, it's certain." Qin Ruolan turned around and looked at her father, her eyes clear. "The report he gave me today took into account Consort Lu's face, Consort Zhao's health, Consort Li's personality, and Master Qingyun's concerns."

"He scratched everyone's itch perfectly, laid a solid foundation for everyone, and preserved everyone's dignity, but he didn't leave himself even the slightest benefit."

Qin Maocai frowned: "Wouldn't it be foolish not to leave any benefits?"

"It's not stupidity," Qin Ruolan shook her head, "It's a matter of perspective."

"He doesn't fight for immediate petty gains because what he wants is something more long-term."

"He handled everyone's tasks perfectly, making the Emperor think he was useful and Prince Yu think he was reliable."

"He made people like Xu Jie, Gao Gong, and Zhang Juzheng feel that he was irreplaceable."

"When everyone can't live without him, whatever he wants will naturally come to him."

She paused, then added, "Father, our Baoxiangzhai must cultivate a good and stable relationship with this person."

Qin Maocai pondered for a moment, then nodded heavily: "Alright. Keep a close eye on the Sanqing Temple. Whatever they want, we'll give them; we'll provide manpower and resources."

"As for the money, although he will definitely reimburse us in the accounts, we can give him more as a token of our sincerity."

"Um."

Qin Ruolan turned around and continued looking out the window.

As dusk settled, the pedestrians on the street dispersed, and in the distance, the figure in the blue official robe could no longer be seen.

She suddenly remembered what he had said.

"Do everything to the best of your ability. Make yourself irreplaceable to those who use you, and make those who want to remove you feel that the cost of doing so is too high."

She repeated it softly, as if chewing an olive; it was astringent at first, but the more she chewed, the sweeter the aftertaste became.

……

On the morning of the third day after receiving the assignment, just as dawn was breaking, the lights were turned on in the duty room of the Guanglu Temple.

Chen Han sat at the desk and checked the list of materials for the Sanqing Temple's ritual one last time, word by word.

Pepper paste, straw mats, felt curtains, charcoal fire, celadon cups, bronze incense burners, moon-white cotton cushions, agarwood, ginger soup—each item was clearly categorized and listed.

He spent two whole days transforming every detail Qin Ruolan had gathered about the temple into actionable materials and concrete actions.

Furthermore, he marked the corresponding coping methods for each character's temperament as analyzed in Shen Zhiyu's letter.

He even personally made a back brace, knee pads, and a brain-refreshing incense, just to ensure everything went perfectly.

He meticulously considered the needs, weaknesses, and bottom lines of all four women: Consort Lu wanted face, Consort Zhao wanted comfort, Consort Li wanted a way out, and Daoist Qingyun wanted stability. He didn't overlook a single detail.

He made two copies of the list, one to Zheng Dianli, instructing him to collect materials from the warehouse according to the list and to purchase any missing items from Baoxiangzhai.

After doing all that, he leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh.

He did everything he could in advance regarding the affairs of Sanqing Temple.

The next two days will depend on Qin Ruolan's arrangements, Consort Zhao's composure, Consort Li's patience, and fate.

He couldn't control what fate had in store for him; he only cared about doing what he could do to the best of his ability.

……

Meanwhile, at the Prince Yu's Mansion.

Prince Yu, Zhu Zaiji, was sitting at his desk with a flat, blank sheet of Xuan paper in front of him.

The ink in the inkstone is ready. It's top-quality pine soot ink that Zhang Juzheng sent the other day. It's fine, black, and doesn't bleed when applied to paper.

There were three brushes hanging on the brush rack: one purple hair brush, one wolf hair brush, and one sheep hair brush. Gao Gong had personally chosen them, and they were very easy to use.

On the corner of the desk was a stack of copied model texts, which Xu Jie had Chen Yiqin deliver. The texts were written in a neat and formal style, outlining the format and key points of the daily handwritten texts, with every word tailored to Jiajing's preferences.

Prince Keyu stared at the blank sheet of Xuan paper for almost half an hour.

He is twenty-two years old this year. He has been enfeoffed as Prince Yu for nine years. In those nine years, he has seen his father, the Emperor, only a handful of times.

The last time I saw my father was this year's Dragon Boat Festival.

He knelt outside the Yongshou Palace in the West Garden for half an hour before his father, the Emperor, sent Huang Jin out to deliver a message: "I understand, go back now."

He didn't even get to see his father, the emperor. He could only hear the faint sound of a wooden fish being struck from inside the vermilion palace gate.

That was the only time he "saw" his father this year.

Prince Yu picked up the purple-tipped brush, dipped it in ink, and held the tip above the paper, hesitating to put it down.

What should be written in the first sentence?

The outline Chen Han gave him clearly stated:

On the first day, I informed my father that I had fasted, bathed and changed clothes, abstaining from meat and fish, with my mind solely focused on the important matter of offering sacrifices to Heaven on the Winter Solstice.

Father Emperor's ascetic practices are arduous, and your son cannot share his burdens. I can only pray for your well-being through fasting and purification.

He wrote it down stroke by stroke, following the outline.

"Your subject Zaiji respectfully reports to Your Majesty the Emperor. Today, your subject has fasted, bathed, changed clothes, and abstained from meat and fish."

When he wrote the words "Your Majesty the Emperor," his hand suddenly paused.

Your Majesty the Emperor.

He wrote these four characters for nine years. Every year on the winter solstice, New Year's Day, and Emperor's birthday, he would submit a memorial to congratulate him. Over the nine years, he wrote them no less than a hundred times.

But every time he wrote these four characters, he felt the pen was heavy, as if it were filled with lead.

Because he was never sure if his father would read it, and even less sure if his father would think that his son still had any feelings for him after reading it.

He composed himself and continued writing.

"My mind is only on the important event of the Winter Solstice ceremony. My father is diligent in his spiritual practice, and I cannot share his burdens. I can only pray for his well-being through fasting and purification."

He stopped writing here.

The outline is finished.

But when he looked at the words on the paper, he always felt that the words were floating on the surface of the paper, light and airy, and not substantial.

The outline was drafted by Chen Han, and every point precisely addressed the issues that the Emperor cared about most.

Words like "purification," "fasting," and "praying for blessings" are all things the Emperor loves to hear.

But after he finished writing it, he felt that these were not his own words, but rather polite words that someone else had taught him to say and that he was writing for his father to see.

He put down his pen, looked at the few lines he had written, and felt a tightness in his chest...