“What did you just say?” Song Yunzhao looked at Anshun in shock, hardly believing her own ears. “An edict of self-reproach?”
Anshun nodded. “This morning, I ran into Steward Zhang, and he told me. The court ministers believe this flood disaster is a warning from heaven that signals displeasure toward His Majesty.”
Song Yunzhao didn’t even need to think twice—the Emperor must be absolutely furious right now.
Great—so his role was simply to become a scapegoat?
Seeing Jieyu’s extremely dark expression, Anshun swallowed before continuing.
“I heard that the southern rains have washed away countless villages and farmlands—which led to the discussion at this morning’s court session.”
At that moment, Song Yunzhao suddenly remembered—yes, this was an event mentioned in the novel.
The book had only briefly noted that the Emperor had sent ministers to manage the flooding, but no one in court had dared accept the task.
Later, after a political struggle between the Left and Right Prime Ministers, the Minister of Judicial Review ended up being assigned as imperial envoy.
That was it—this was the moment.
No wonder she hadn’t recalled it earlier—the original novel had barely mentioned the event, just noting two things:
- The Minister of Judicial Review became a sacrificial pawn in the power struggle between court factions.
- While overseeing flood relief, he was schemed against, leading to a third of the disaster funds being stolen.
Due to this incident, the minister was escorted back to the capital in disgrace.
Later, Grand Tutor Qin stepped forward to defend him, pledging his own guarantee to the Emperor.
Eventually, the minister recovered the stolen funds and managed to escape punishment.
From that moment forward, Han Jinyi, out of gratitude toward the Qin family, stood firmly on Qin Xiyue’s side, becoming her strongest ally in the harem.
The novel had only offered a few sentences on the matter—Song Yunzhao had no idea what the actual truth behind the event was.
But one thing was clear—the heroine was the one who profited from it.
Which raised the real question—what exactly had happened between the Left and Right Prime Ministers?
Why had their political battle resulted in the Minister of Judicial Review taking on this impossible assignment?
Logically, he shouldn’t have been the one chosen for the role.
Song Yunzhao couldn’t unravel the deeper political maneuvering, but one thing was certain—she had to find a way to intervene.
She couldn’t allow Han Jinyi to be caught in the crossfire.
And more importantly—this so-called self-reproach edict had never existed in the novel.
She had a vague feeling that this was happening because of her—she had taken the spotlight away from the heroine, setting off a chain reaction.
But what should she do?
For the first time, Song Yunzhao felt the constraints of being in the harem—she couldn’t move freely, and intervention was difficult.
But she had to find a way.
The self-reproach edict had come too suddenly—the ministers were forcing the Emperor to bow his head.
They were playing with fire.
Song Yunzhao had a feeling that this was an opportunity, but she wasn’t sure what she could do.
Still, if she did nothing, she wouldn’t be able to accept it.
With that thought, she summoned Han Jinyi.
Han Jinyi arrived quickly, seeing Yunzhao and saying, “You called for me—has something happened?”
Song Yunzhao dismissed the attendants, then lowered her voice and said, “I just received news—the flooding in the south is severe, and court officials are pressuring His Majesty to issue a self-reproach edict.”
“What?” Han Jinyi’s face turned pale. “That’s… insanity!”
“Whether it’s madness or not, they’re clearly using this disaster to force His Majesty into submission,” Song Yunzhao sighed.
Han Jinyi’s brows knitted tightly. “Even if that’s true, what can we do? We’re in the harem—we can’t interfere.”
She knew that Yunzhao wouldn’t mention this if she didn’t have a plan, but she genuinely couldn’t think of a solution.
“The self-reproach edict isn’t unique to this dynasty—previous dynasties had them too,” Song Yunzhao remarked.
Han Jinyi turned to her, thinking. “That’s true, but never before have ministers forced an Emperor to issue one.”
Song Yunzhao nodded. In feudal society, whenever major disasters struck—whether eclipses, floods, or earthquakes—it was customary for the Emperor to engage in self-reflection, issuing an edict as a symbolic gesture.
A self-reproach edict wasn’t uncommon.
“You’re right—there’s no precedent for ministers forcing an Emperor into it. But I think this situation may not be entirely bad for us.”
Han Jinyi looked at her in surprise. “How could this be a good thing?”
“Think about it,” Song Yunzhao said. “If someone is pressuring His Majesty to submit, then someone else can step forward to defend him.”
Han Jinyi froze—right. Did a natural disaster automatically mean His Majesty was at fault? Why couldn’t the court ministers be responsible instead?
The Emperor had only just assumed power, while the ministers had controlled court affairs for years.
She wasn’t stupid. With just a little prompting from Yunzhao, she instantly grasped the deeper implications.
Her heart started racing.
“Yunzhao, are you… asking me to write to my father?”
Song Yunzhao looked at Han Jinyi and said, “I received some information—I don’t know if it’s true or not, but since it concerns you, I thought I should tell you.”
“It concerns me?” Han Jinyi looked puzzled, unable to guess the connection.
“To be precise, it concerns your father.”
“My father?” Han Jinyi was even more confused.
What did flooding and disaster relief have to do with him?
He was the Minister of Judicial Review, not an official overseeing flood control.
“I can’t tell you where the information came from, but according to what I heard, the Left and Right Prime Ministers are clashing over the selection of an imperial envoy for disaster relief. Because your father is politically neutral, he might end up being chosen.”
Han Jinyi’s expression changed instantly.
Song Yunzhao was sure she understood—this wasn’t an enviable assignment.
She didn’t say more, only letting the implication settle.
Han Jinyi lifted her gaze to Song Yunzhao. “Yunzhao, is this information reliable?”
Song Yunzhao nodded slightly. “It’s likely accurate, but I can’t guarantee anything.”
Han Jinyi trusted that Yunzhao wouldn’t spread false claims.
Since she had said this much, the chances of the information being correct were very high.
Growing increasingly anxious, she said, “The Left and Right Prime Ministers have been at odds for years—if what you’re saying is true, my father’s position is in serious danger.”
Song Yunzhao nodded internally—Han Jinyi was sharp. She understood the risks immediately.
“Yunzhao, what should we do?” Han Jinyi realized the severity of the situation but couldn’t think of a solution.
Song Yunzhao had been waiting for this question.
She considered her words carefully. “I have a suggestion—it may not be fully developed, but hear me out.”
“Tell me quickly.”
“Think about it—this entire issue started with the self-reproach edict. Since both prime ministers are pressuring the Emperor to accept blame, someone must step forward to defend him.”
“If the final outcome can’t be changed, then at the very least, your father’s position in the Emperor’s eyes must be strengthened.”
Han Jinyi seemed to understand, yet felt uncertain at the same time.
She looked at Yunzhao, still somewhat dazed, and asked, “Yunzhao, can I really send my father a letter?”
“Since I’m telling you, it’s your choice,” Yunzhao said.
“However, I can’t guarantee this information is entirely accurate. If you tell your father, make sure he knows the possibility of unexpected changes.”
