Chapter Sixty-Two: Blame Me, Hate Me (Part One)

The newly appointed Minister of Ceremonies, Doulu Qinwang, was a native of Chang'an, hailing from Wannian County. His ancestors belonged to a branch of the Xianbei Murong clan, who, during the era of the Northern and Southern Dynasties, had integrated with the Han Chinese. His grandfather, Doulu Kuan, was the nephew of Emperor Wen of Sui. When Emperor Gaozu Li Yuan rose in rebellion, Doulu Kuan led the noble families of Guanzhong in providing substantial financial support, making him a founding statesman. He entered officialdom by virtue of his family's status, but his career in the bureaucracy had seen many ups and downs. Now, having reached the age of sixty, he was still circulating among third-rank posts.

Despite his age, the old man was robust, his beard and hair still bearing traces of black. He was not tall, but his official’s belly was so large it could float a boat, and his voice was as resonant as a great bell.

“Your humble servant, Quan Ce, pays respects to the Grand Minister of Ceremonies,” Quan Ce saluted with great formality.

“Please rise, Vice Minister,” Doulu Qinwang laughed heartily, his hands on his belt, gesturing for him to sit. “I am new here as well; we are both fresh faces—hahaha! Though you are young, you have weathered trials. I trust you. The court sessions, dealings with vassal states, and commercial affairs—I’ll leave those to you alone. I am getting old and am only familiar with the old customs, auspicious and inauspicious rites and such, so I’ll handle those. What say you?”

“Ah, Grand Minister, actually I have come to request a leave of absence,” Quan Ce replied, both amused and helpless. Of the four main duties of the ministry, the easiest by far were the rituals for fortunes and misfortunes; one might not be needed for a year. The old fox knew how to shirk responsibility.

“A leave of absence?” Doulu Qinwang’s brow furrowed deeply, his tone turning sour. This trick anyone could play, but not the chief himself. “Boy, don’t try to be sly with me. These old eyes have seen too much.”

“I would not dare, Grand Minister. The Empress has entrusted me with an important task that will require some days. I beg your understanding,” Quan Ce reported truthfully.

Doulu Qinwang was disappointed. “Give me a straight answer—how many days will you be gone?”

“Ten days, ten days will suffice,” Quan Ce replied with a smile, though a hint of sadness lingered in his expression.

Doulu Qinwang, shrewd as he was, picked up on it and put away his displeasure. He rose, pressed Quan Ce’s shoulder in consolation, and, swaying his portly frame, took his leave. “I have some mundane matters to attend to. Vice Minister, make yourself at home.”

Quan Ce then paid a visit to Chancellor Su Weidao, who had twice spoken up for him in court. They conversed about poetry and refined matters before he took his leave.

Exiting the inner palace, he found not only Shazha Fu and Juedi waiting outside but also the astrologer and two maidservants, with a double-horse carriage at the ready. He had agreed with Wu Youji to visit his home, bringing Fuqu along.

The gatekeeper had been instructed in advance, and as soon as Quan Ce and his companion arrived, they were led straight into the main hall of the inner courtyard.

“Elder brother, come quickly; boys, greet your brother,” Lady Ruilei called out joyously to her two sons. “This is Chongmin, eight years old, and this is Chongxing, six.”

Quan Ce exchanged greetings with them. Chongmin was proper and composed, like a little adult, while the six-year-old Chongxing was lively, darting about and chatting breezily with anyone he caught, utterly charming.

“Uncle, though I recently suffered great misfortune, I have gained a lucrative venture in return,” Quan Ce said with some pride. “By decree of Her Majesty, the Maritime Trade Office is to grant me an exclusive candle monopoly. The profits are rich, but the investment is sizable. Uncle, would you be interested?”

“I’ve already heard of it. Last night I discussed it with your aunt. Even if you wished to keep it all to yourself, I doubt it would work,” Wu Youji lounged with legs crossed, sipping his tea with the air of a bandit, intent on claiming a share.

“You two, as fathers and elder brothers, must behave properly,” Lady Ruilei chided, mindful of the children’s upbringing. “The candle business is a gold mine, something to pass down to our sons. Eldest, are you truly willing to share it with our family?”

“Of course,” Quan Ce agreed readily, his gaze lingering on Lady Ruilei, conveying unspoken meaning.

Lady Ruilei turned away, uneasy. Since they parted on the pleasure boat at the Yi River, this was their second meeting, the first being at Princess Yiyang’s mansion when Quan Ce had just returned from Shangyang Palace. Each time their eyes met, she felt something amiss, that this young man—who called her aunt—harbored different feelings.

“Nonsense,” Lady Ruilei scolded herself inwardly. He’s just a youth with a budding affection. She was twenty-five or six, seven or eight years his senior. She resolved to find a chance to have a talk with Fuqu. Suddenly, Lady Ruilei’s cheeks flushed.

Amid laughter and conversation, noon arrived, and Lady Ruilei ordered the midday meal to be served.

Dining at Wu Youji’s home was a grand affair. Dishes were presented in sequence by a line of maids, cleared away when finished so that the table never overflowed with bowls and plates. The maids’ movements followed a strict protocol: host before guest, men before women.

After the lavish luncheon, the maids formed a line carrying dessert. As they filed in, the second maid in line accidentally bumped into the astrologer standing beneath the corridor. She stumbled, but the astrologer was quick, catching the porcelain plate. The maid thanked him softly, skirted the pillar, and entered, placing the plate before Lady Ruilei.

The astrologer drew a silk handkerchief from his chest to wipe his hands, shifted to his place near the steps, his proper seat.

“Come, Fuqu, have some more. You’re too thin. This is Jade Dew Cake, this is Spirit Sand Jelly—especially nourishing for women,” Lady Ruilei coaxed Fuqu, helping herself as well.

Quan Ce tried a bite but quickly surrendered—the sweets of the Great Tang were simply too cloying, overwhelming to the palate.

After the meal, they discussed further details of the candle business before Quan Ce and Fuqu took their leave.

To his surprise, the very next morning Wu Youji rushed over in a panic, grabbing Quan Ce and bombarding him with questions. “Eldest, when you last coughed blood and nearly died, which miracle doctor treated you? Can you find him again?”

“Uncle, calm yourself. What has happened?” Quan Ce grew anxious too. “That healer was a fleeting visitor who only told me to write more tales before vanishing without a trace. I can send someone to search for him.”

Wu Youji let go, dejected. “Then I must trouble you, Eldest.”

Quan Ce offered him tea. “Uncle, is it an elder in the family who is unwell?”

“No,” Wu Youji leaned back heavily in his chair. “It’s your aunt. Last night she was suddenly stricken with a strange illness—her body convulsed, her joints cracked and snapped, and she was in unbearable agony.”

“Have you summoned the imperial physicians?”

“Yes, I’ve called everyone in the Medical Bureau, even Imperial Physician Shen, but all are helpless,” Wu Youji leapt up. “Eldest, you must give this your utmost attention. I’ll go seek help elsewhere.”

“Wait, Uncle. Let me come see Aunt,” Quan Ce called for carriage and horses.

“No need. She likely does not wish to see visitors in her state,” Wu Youji tossed over his shoulder as he hurried out the door.

Despite his words, Quan Ce was not deterred. He sent Quan Li to search for the miracle doctor at the place they last met, left Fuqu behind, and went alone to Wu Youji’s residence.

Everyone in the household knew Quan Ce was cherished by the master and mistress, so no one barred his way as he went straight to Lady Ruilei’s bedside.

“Aunt, what has happened to you?” Hearing Wu Youji’s account was nothing like witnessing it himself. Just yesterday she had been lively and cheerful; now she lay wasted upon her bed.

“Eldest… ah…” As she spoke, the illness seized her—her body convulsing, wracked with pain so severe she cried out.

Quan Ce was overwhelmed with grief. Falling to his knees, he buried his face against her and wept.

A faint flush appeared on Lady Ruilei’s cheeks. With great effort, she raised her hand and gently stroked his hair, comforting him through her own pain. “Do not be sad, Eldest—your aunt will be fine… ah…”