Leaving the Changmen Palace - LTCP 21: Choose the Right One

Chen Jiao didn’t personally seek help from the Marquess of Wei Qi: while he held a high rank, the empress was a noble figure.

A personal summons would have been too dramatic, drawing attention.

She simply had the grand princess convey a message to Dou Ying: It was time to settle Tian Fen down.

Before Tian Fen achieved fame, he was merely a councillor, while the Marquess of Wei Qi was already a renowned general who had quelled the rebellion of the Seven Kingdoms. He served Dou Ying like a servant, rising three or four times during meals to top up Dou Ying’s dishes.

Of course, Chen Jiao wasn’t even born then, but when the grand princess recalled the past, she couldn’t help but let out a look of disdain, “I’m not saying anything bad about her, it’s just that her brothers are incredibly calculating.”

During that period, the Chen and Wang families maintained a close relationship, and their marriages had only recently been finalized.

The grand princess’ need to scrutinize the situation underscores how truly mortifying Tian Fen’s behavior was. Had he exhibited consistent respect and decorum, there would have been little room for criticism.

However, since the emperor’s ascension, Tian Fen has grown increasingly reliant on his favor, maintaining numerous retainers and gradually diminishing his former respect for Marquess of Wei Qi.

Although he refrained from outright accusations, his disapproving expressions were evident. His initial politeness gave way to arrogance, naturally fostering resentment among others.

The Marquess of Wei Qi was not one to be easily provoked.

Chen Jiao, the empress, seeking to challenge Tian Fen discreetly, had her eyes on him, and he, understanding her intentions, cooperated seamlessly.

Traditionally impartial, the old marquess finally broke his own principles—an act unlikely to fill him with pride—and stubbornly prolonged the conflict for another half month before gradually bringing matters to a close.

Consequently, Tian Fen’s difficulties eased considerably. NonethelessMarquess of Wei Qi and the Marquess of Tangyi remained unable to forge a close relationship.

Empress Dowager Wang had exhausted her gentle words, and, feeling too shy to retract her assurances, she finally offered a gracious smile to Chen Jiao.

Meanwhile, Liu Che was wholly engrossed in implementing his new policies for the inaugural year of his reign, while Wei Wan’s appearance betrayed signs of weariness, as if he could scarcely maintain his composure.

It was springtime, a season that brought with it the the grand empress dowager’s modest ailments—her strength waned, and her spirit grew faint. She listened to numerous flattering words from Princess of Yangxin and inquired of Chen Jiao several times; however, she consistently shook her head, claiming ignorance.

Age was catching up with the venerable matron, and the prevailing circumstances were simply beyond her control.

Dou Ying’s ascent to the position of prime minister was nearly assured, and the so-called six new policies had yet to come to her notice. Gradually, she found herself less inclined to delve into the affairs of the former dynasty; in her leisure moments, she preferred to be close to her grandchildren, seeking comfort and solace in their presence.

Chen Jiao finally enjoyed a rare period of tranquility.

Throughout June, Weiyang Palace underwent multiple renovations, transforming the Yongxiang Hall into Liu Che’s personal residence. Even the eunuchs were required to display their waist tags and record their exits on bamboo slips, underscoring the heightened security.

Within these walls, a small group of palace servants, led by Jia Ji, maintained their decorum, seldom venturing beyond the confines of Yongxiang Hall.

During this time, Wei Wan, citing old age and illness, requested retirement—a petition swiftly approved by Liu Che the following day, stirring widespread astonishment among court officials and the populace alike.

Shortly thereafter, an imperial edict was issued, formally appointing Dou Ying as prime minister and Tian Fen as imperial censor-in-chief, both seals affixed with the authority of the Xuanshi Hall and Changshou Hall. This marked the vigorous commencement of the policies for the first year of the new reign, heralding a renewed era of governance.

Liu Che finally had some free time. He seemed to be escaping something and spent more time in Jiaofang Hall.

Although there were two other palace servants in Yongxiang Hall, the young emperor forgot about them after only a few nights of favor. A young man is at the peak of his energy. He hadn’t been able to fully enjoy a woman’s beauty for months.

Initially, Liu Che had requested several nights, but after he was reasonably satisfied, he preferred Chen Jiao’s company. Sometimes he didn’t say anything, just wanting to stay by her side and cling to her tightly.

The voice inevitably sounded a bit confused, “It’s strange, although I don’t know why he’s so unusual this time, but in the past, he never revealed his thoughts. Every time we met, he was as if nothing had happened…”

Although their marriage had only endured for three years, the depth of their acquaintance was scarce; they could count the number of their meetings on one hand.

Even when Chen Jiao sighed, she did so with utmost caution, wary of provoking the voice into renewed resentment that would haunt her day and night with endless moans.

It was true that she had once been proud and had never fully grasped Liu Che’s ambitions. Frankly speaking, what happiness could Liu Che derive from being with her—aside from her physical presence and noble background?

He could not find in her the qualities of consideration, gentleness, or understanding. As emperor, he was surrounded by countless women, and his fleeting glances could easily be directed elsewhere. If he could not obtain her favor, he would naturally seek it elsewhere.

His willingness to seek her presence first in the Jiaofang Hall was solely due to their shared history. The tender affections that once united the cousins had now diminished, serving only to uphold the dignity of the empress.

Chen Jiao had no alternative but to respond evasively, “In the past, he was unaware of the empress’ hardships.” Her voice carried a cold chuckle, followed by a tone tinged with indignation, “It is because you insisted on becoming the empress that you made the role so arduous. When I held power in those days…”

Her words trailed off mid-sentence, and she merely offered a gentle smile.

After a moment of silence, she heard a long, winding sigh—deep and reflective.

“Yes,” it admitted softly. “As the empress, I was often bossy and willful, and I did not govern well… But those years brought me greater happiness and contentment than you know now, and I was much freer.”

Yet, the fleeting joy of those times was forever repaid with a lifetime of solitude.

Chen Jiao remained composed, and calmly requested, “Chu Fu, bring me a glass of honeyed juice.”

The voice, as if choked, could only hum in response before falling into silence.

Liu Che came out just in time.

Chu Fu had just poured the honey drink. He stepped out of the washroom, and while the eunuch was fastening his buttons, he picked up the cup and drank it all in one gulp.

Chen Jiao couldn’t help but give him a puzzled look and asked Chu Fu to pour her another cup.

She held it in her hands and sipped it little by little. As she sipped, Liu Che’s head pressed against hers.

Even when he was showing affection, he looked like an emperor, and he should be at the forefront.

Chen Jiao simply put the cup down and waved to Chu Fu, who was now more discerning. Without a word, she had the palace servants quickly and quietly withdraw.

When there was no one left in the hall, she asked, “Are you thinking so much? You’ve been so busy these days, and there isn’t a trace of happiness on your face.”

Liu Che sighed and was silent for a moment.

Chen Jiao had not received an answer to her question, so she did not repeat it. She lowered her eyes, thinking about her problems.

She don’t know how long it was before she heard Liu Che’s quiet, almost whispering groans. “The three solutions Lord Shen  mentioned are the policies of the imperial way, benefiting the country and the people. Jiaojiao, but I’m afraid…”

Going back to their own domains offended all the marquesses. The children of Chang’an grew old in Chang’an. If they had a second choice, who would want to spend the rest of their lives in poor and remote areas outside of Chang’an?

Abolishing customs duties offended all the feudal lords. The feudal lords owned land and were arrogant. Feudal states often had many customs duties and prohibitions. The exploitation that traders were subjected to was unimaginable, and it was obvious who ultimately profited enormously from this exploitation.

Beyond the imperial family and the marquesses, the denunciations also extended to the maternal kin of the emperor, notably targeting the esteemed Dou, Wang, and Chen families—his maternal relatives—who bore the brunt of these measures.

These pioneering policies stand among the most daring in history, directly addressing the three primary internal concerns of the Han Dynasty.

When implemented concurrently, they promise to nearly double the treasury’s wealth within less than a decade—a fact evident to all. Focusing on vital sectors such as salt, iron, industry, and commerce, redirecting private taxes from vassal states into the public coffers could generate astonishing prosperity. Yet, these bold reforms also risk alienating all those close to the emperor, rendering him increasingly isolated.

Consequently, he must rely solely on his court’s counsel to govern and maintain stability.

Was Jia Yi truly demoted because he offended Deng Tong? Ultimately, it seems that the decision was driven by the collective voice of the people, within a nation that remained fragile and hesitant to sever ties with numerous former allies and friends.

Liu Che, still young and astute, embodies ambition and a burgeoning strength—his country gradually becoming prosperous and powerful.

The emperor’s authority deepens and consolidates, especially as long as the the grand empress dowager remains silent—perhaps misled, yet poised to see the benefits once the three policies are implemented.

After careful persuasion, the grand empress dowager also recognized that Liu Che still held respect for the Dou family, and given her advanced age, she saw little point in fostering unnecessary conflict with her grandson. She allowed him to act freely, which only emboldened him further.

Chen Jiao even suspected that he could no longer perceive the old woman within the Changshou Hall.

In the first year of his reign, he could not yet witness the fruits of his new policies, but she could.

The outcome was unmistakable—failure.

She had not yet resolved whether she would falter alongside Liu Che or be the one to stand firm, offering him candid counsel when he teetered on the brink of defeat and awakening his resolve.

To falter with him, to remain his most steadfast supporter, and to stand by him through adversity—if his nature truly valued friendship—would mean that, barring a grave mistake on Chen Jiao’s part, she would never be subjected to hardship.

Yet, she believed that true respect could be earned through honesty, by openly acknowledging his errors.

Over time, her influence grew, and Liu Che became increasingly depended on her judgment, even entrusting her with greater responsibilities in political affairs.

Turning her gaze toward him, she observed her husband bathed in the glorious light of the sky. Though he seldom revealed his inner doubts or fears, he remained full of vitality and youthful vigor, radiating an enduring energy that inspired all who looked upon him.

In a sudden and resolute moment, Chen Jiao reached a decision.

This time, she chose not to heed the voice within her heart, which had warned her, “I warned you that Liu Che would surely return defeated. If you had spoken to him earlier, he would have valued you more.”

Instead, she softly reassured him, “A’ Che, you are dedicated to the people and the nation. As long as your actions serve the greater good, I believe you can proceed without hesitation. I cannot speak for others, but the Chen family will never oppose you. Even my mother would not voice dissent before my grandmother.”

A flicker of emotion crossed Liu Che’s eyes as he responded in a low, hoarse voice, “Jiaojiao, I…”

Ultimately, his hesitation stemmed not from fear of the Chen family’s disapproval, but from doubts about the sincerity of Chen Jiao’s earlier kindnesses—those acts of favor that now felt superficial.

When the time came for the Marquess of Tangyi and the Marquess of Longlu to depart for their respective fiefdoms, he feared that the marquesses might all choose to leave.

He remained cautious, wary of provoking public ire—though not the wrath of the marquesses, but that of the princes themselves.

Chen Jiao gazed at him, her eyes openly and naturally expressing a deep admiration.

Unlike others, she recognized that this young emperor possessed the potential to achieve greatness. She believed that one day, the feudal princes would no longer serve as obstacles, nor would the marquesses stand in his way; beyond the emperor’s own kin, no force would impede his rise.

He would ascend to the highest pinnacle of power, realizing the dream he had harbored since childhood—a dream rooted in the aspirations of four generations of Han emperors, extending the glory of the Han Dynasty across thousands of miles, inspiring awe and commanding respect so that the Huns would tremble and dare not invade the south. And indeed, she admired him profoundly.

Just the thought that it was Liu Che, standing by her side, who had finally fulfilled the long-cherished hopes of a century past, filled her heart with unwavering reverence and pride.

She spoke with measured calmness, her tone seemingly casual, “A’ Che, I may not grasp the intricacies of the outer court, but I understand this: those who accomplish great things seldom enjoy smooth journeys. Challenges and obstacles are inevitable. Yet, I believe there are always more pathways than impediments. And regardless of whether you feel pride or frustration, I will stand unwaveringly by your side.”

Her demeanor was composed and seemingly indifferent, as if she were discussing a matter of little consequence.

Liu Che suddenly embraced her tightly, burying his face in her hair.

After a moment of silence, he gently declared, “That’s true. We must confront difficulties directly in all our endeavors. Otherwise, how can we hope to achieve anything meaningful in life?”

His voice carried weight, thick with emotion, his breath uneven, revealing the depth of his genuine feeling.

Chen Jiao gently rested her head on his shoulder, her face softly pressed against his delicate undergarment.

A faint smile played upon her lips. The subtle curve of her smile, concealed beneath the thin fabric, subtly reached Liu Che’s senses, eliciting a gentle smile from him in return.

The way Liu Che regarded her had begun to shift—becoming more nuanced, more genuine.

In her heart, Chen Jiao pondered, ‘Why should I concern myself with politics?’ The greatest lesson in my life is him, and even that is not easily mastered.

She felt confident that she had chosen the right answer in this moment of life’s complex choices.