MFMH C87

Chapter 87 — Advance by Retreat

When Shen Yanbei returned to the capital from Shangrao Prefecture to report, it was already early August. The ministers who had once questioned his personal ability had all obediently shut their mouths.

This young top scholar had not only handled the earthquake relief in a clean, impressive way, he had also extinguished a terrifying locust plague that very likely would have spread on a massive scale — and he had done it in a remarkably short time. They honestly admitted to themselves: they could not have done it.

Thus Shen Yanbei, amid looks of admiration or wariness from others, received promotions — a two-rank leap to become an official of the fourth rank!

Such an alarming rate of promotion was surely the fastest in the history of Great Qi, and even of the previous dynasty; in fact, it was unprecedented.

Shen Yanbei was far too young — not yet twenty-five. The chancellor had once taken five years to rise from the Hanlin Academy’s director (a fifth-rank post) to a fourth-rank minister eligible to enter the Wen Yuan Pavilion; yet Shen had leapt four grades within a single year and instantly earned the qualification to enter the cabinet!

This unquestionable designation as a cabinet reserve made the ministers realize that Shen Yanbei was genuinely the emperor’s favorite. Even if Shen produced no further remarkable achievements, in three to five years he would very likely be in the cabinet before thirty — the youngest cabinet minister in Great Qi’s recorded history!

A smooth road of officialdom and a future without bounds.

A youth to be feared: many congratulated him openly or covertly. Shen, who had risen but not yet grown rich from office, accepted their felicitations with pleasure.

Now that he was a fourth-rank official, would he be qualified to attend court?

The answer was no.

Those who traditionally attended court were officials with real posts — ministers of the Six Ministries at fourth rank or above — but Shen was still a Hanlin scholar without substantive powers.

Shen sighed. Well, this position had not been held long; one cannot soar to the top in a single bound. Besides, considering his husband’s rank and the fact that the latter seldom missed court, he didn’t need to brood over it all the time.

After the exhausting journey back from Shangrao, Zhao Yu gave him a few days’ leave to rest.

Freed from duty at the Hanlin Academy, Shen nonetheless kept busy. The teahouse had been refurbished; he had to prepare for its opening. The peppers in the fields were ripe for picking, and spring wheat awaited harvest.

As the Yongjing branch of Tongfu Restaurant, the new branch retained the style of the old shop: a main hall with booths on the first floor and private rooms upstairs.

He had brought back a batch of cured locusts from Shangrao and used the “Flying Locust Banquet” as a publicity gimmick, extolling the medicinal value and deliciousness of locusts. He also announced purchases of cicada pupae in several nearby villages, promoting those pupae as a second signature dish for the restaurant’s opening.

Because of the distinctive décor and novel dishes, the restaurant drew many well-heeled customers on its opening day, and soon the rooms were full.

Leaving Su Qingze to look after the shop, Shen went down to the village to direct villagers in harvesting peppers and reaping spring wheat.

Across the endless green the vibrant red fruit dotted the fields like festive flowers; an outsider might think a flower garden had been planted. But upon closer inspection, the plants were special — modest in size, laden with thumb-sized red pods clustered like blossoms facing the sky.

Shen plucked a pepper and tasted it; the unending spicy heat on his tongue made his eyes brighten.

The villagers had irrigated, fertilized, and weeded in time; the peppers had grown well, producing excellent fruit. He was pleased.

He hired dozens of villagers and finished the harvest in three days, then arranged for timely topdressing, drying, and storage. Shen turned to check the spring wheat’s yield.

Thanks to proper management, spring wheat yields had increased by nearly fifty percent. Though not yet reaching Shen’s ideal, the harvest elated the villagers. Their looks toward Shen were as if he were some earth god.

A near fifty percent gain this round suggested that future cultivations might yield even more. Through generation after generation of careful selection, they could eventually breed an outstanding variety.

He set aside the plumpest grains as seed stock and stored the remainder. Shen then bought another fifty acres of good land as experimental fields. Winter wheat would be sown in mid-to-late September, so preparations — composting and land tuning — had to be made now.

He selected high-quality winter-wheat seed and taught the villagers how to soak and pre-germinate the kernels, bustling so hard his feet hardly touched the ground.

In a private room on the second floor of Tongfu Restaurant on Chang’an Street, Su Qingze munched on freshly fried grasshoppers and cicada pupae. Opposite him, the cold, handsome young man with deep black eyes looked at that plate of enticing fried insects without moving a chopstick.

Seeing his reticence, Su Qingze simply picked up a portion and offered it: “It’s delicious. Try it!”

The young man obligingly ate a sample and then inclined his head slightly. “Not bad.” The grasshoppers and pupae were fried to crispness and seasoned with unfamiliar spices, producing a thoroughly unique flavor.

The youth had long ago mentioned Tongfu to him in letters — how the restaurant’s décor and dim sum were distinct. Now that the branch had opened, he finally had the chance to taste the delicacies he’d heard about, and more pleasantly, this outing had been Su’s invitation.

“Which do you prefer — the fried grasshoppers or the fried pupae?”

Zhao Yu did not have a strong appetite, but since Su asked he thought seriously and said, “If fried pupae are like beef, then fried grasshoppers are more like mutton — stronger in character.”

Su Qingze nodded vigorously; the fried grasshoppers had the crunchy flavor of chicken! The pupae were also excellent.

Watching the youth eat without pause, Zhao Yu’s gaze softened and he ladled a bowl of clear soup for him.

Su puffed his cheeks and, seeing the bowl still empty, offered a piece of braised pork rib. Zhao ate the rib without changing expression, then set aside his chopsticks and fell silent, not picking anything else up.

Puzzled, Su glanced up at him. Zhao’s eyes were deep and intense, his stare burning. To avoid the heat of that gaze, Su averted his eyes and placed another vegetable on Zhao’s plate. Zhao still did not move; whatever Su offered, Zhao would eat — quietly, without initiating contact or speech.

The atmosphere chilled.

“Are you… upset?” Su’s obsidian-and-ivory eyes searched his face; his grip on the chopsticks tightened.

Zhao Yu was busy with state affairs but made time to be with him; occasionally he would show small intimacies, always restrained. Su had accepted these gestures but Zhao never took the first step.

Zhao was, after all, emperor with the power of life and death in his hands. Being left in this ambiguous position would wear down any patience.

Zhao’s expression darkened; he remained silent.

So he was angry — and who could blame him for being spoiled by favor? Su pursed his lips and lowered his eyes, when suddenly a warm, large palm settled on his head and Zhao’s sigh was heard in his ear.

“I’m not angry with you.”

Su looked up, surprised, meeting Zhao’s profound black gaze.

“I’m only angry with myself,” Zhao said with a self-mocking smile. “For letting you wonder where my limits are.” He was used to controlling everything, but he hadn’t realized emotions could not be governed like affairs of state. The youth’s reserve sprang from Zhao’s concealment of his identity, and for that he accepted responsibility.

Su’s eyes sparkled.

Zhao ruffled his hair apologetically and gently said, “It’s my fault for making you unhappy.”

A sour, bittersweet feeling welled in Su’s chest; his lips moved. “Ah-Heng, I—”

Zhao diverted with, “Finished eating? Walk with me?”

“…Alright.”

As nightfall darkened the lamps, they walked side by side through the streets. The youth was tall and elegant, cold and beautiful in bearing; the other was fair-lipped and bright-eyed, a flush of color between his brows, lively and charming. Their passage drew many gazes.

Yongjing had no curfew; the streets were brightly lit and the night bustle matched the day. Cooler evenings invited strolls; families took children out to watch street performances.

The crowd thickened and Zhao sheltered Su behind him, leading him toward the river for a cooler breeze.

With Mid-Autumn approaching, many young women and shuang’er lit floating river lanterns. Countless lamps dotted the river in clusters, carried by the gentle wind. Red candlelight mirrored in the dark water, flickering like stars.

“Stay with me through the Zhongyuan Festival, and I’ll arrange an escort to send you back to Qingzhou, okay?” The youth had been in the capital for almost half a year; though unwilling to part, Zhao feared his parents’ worry and his own busyness. He didn’t want the youth to be lonely without family nearby.

Su was surprised; Zhao said only, “Remember to write to me.”

Su’s lashes fluttered; he murmured “Mm.” He did miss home, but—

Following the lanterns drifting with their sincere wishes, Su suddenly called his name.

“Zhao Yu.”

Zhao turned, brows knitting slightly.

It was the boy’s first time to call him by name, and in such a serious tone.

Su looked straight at him. “Do you have to marry me?”

Hearing this, Zhao’s frown deepened.

He always strove to possess what he desired — the throne, certainly; the youth, naturally. But—

“I do not have to marry you,” Zhao said gravely, “but I cannot not marry you.”

Those two lines differed as heaven and earth, yet Su remained unmoved. “You are the emperor.”

Zhao’s heart jolted and in an instant he understood the depth of Su’s concern.

So all the youth’s unease and hesitation originated from that fact.

Zhao’s face grew earnest and sincere. “I am the emperor, but I want only to share these ten thousand li of rivers and mountains with you.”

The youth was not quick to promise and always meant what he said. Su blinked and slipped his hand into Zhao’s. “Zhao Yu, don’t lie to me again.”

Zhao squeezed his hand. “Okay.”

At early court the next day, ministers glanced at one another in disbelief — the emperor seemed in an unusually good mood?

For once, the emperor did not wear a cold expression as an edict was read aloud. Shen Yanbei accepted the imperial mandate again amid looks that said: truly the emperor’s favorite.

Zhao ordered him as supervising commander to escort grain and winter clothing to the frontier and to convey the emperor’s regards to the troops.

Having tidied up all his affairs, Shen went home to pack and set out without delay!

After so long apart, he wondered whether his husband had lost weight or gotten sun-darkened.

Longing surged all at once; Shen’s heart yearned to sprout wings and fly there at once.