Many people in court couldn’t stand Princess Qianning—ah, now the Grand Princess—and people like Xiao Ying had long since grown used to referring to her that way in private. That’s why he had blurted it out without thinking. But what Xiao Ying didn’t expect was that Xiao Jingduo would dare talk back to him like this, showing no regard for his dignity and even lecturing him with lofty principles.
Xiao Ying flew into a rage. “So now that you’ve become an official, you think your wings have grown strong enough to go against me? You dare defy me openly?”
“In matters of state, there is no father and son,” Xiao Jingduo replied coldly. “When it comes to loyalty to the sovereign, one cannot let familial bonds take precedence. Since the marquis’s words were improper, I merely offered a reminder—to avoid greater disaster.”
“You—!”
“That’s enough! Both of you, stop!” the Old Madam scolded.
Only then did Xiao Ying and Xiao Jingduo rein in their tempers and take a step back. Though neither said another word, they both turned their heads away, unwilling to even look at each other.
With the father and son arguing, even nearly coming to blows—no, they had already started arguing—no one dared breathe too loudly. The Second Madam and the young ladies didn’t even dare sigh. These two were the highest-ranking members of the Xiao family: Xiao Ying upheld the family’s standing, and Xiao Jingduo was clearly the rising pillar of the next generation. Offending either of them would be a mistake. So when the two clashed, not a single woman present dared to intervene. Only the Old Madam had the status to raise her voice and stop them.
Since the father and son had already quarreled, this welcome banquet was naturally impossible to continue. Xiao Jingduo turned and left early.
After he was gone, the Old Madam finally breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to the daughters-in-law and granddaughters, saying, “Those two… their estrangement grows deeper by the day. I really didn’t expect it—Duo’er usually looks so respectful and proper, and yet today he openly contradicted his father in front of everyone.”
“I can’t understand it either. Maybe something that was said touched a sore spot,” one servant ventured.
The Old Madam agreed. She thought hard for a moment but couldn’t think of anything particularly inappropriate Xiao Ying had said. “Really, the marquis didn’t say anything that terrible. Why did Duo’er suddenly turn hostile?”
No one could understand it. After guessing for a while, the Old Madam and her maids sighed:
“It must go back to how we mistreated Lady Zhao all those years ago. He’s still holding that grudge after all this time. Why can’t he let it go?”
Xuelan (the maid) dared not speak too much—she had been one of the key figures involved in plotting Lady Zhao Xiulan’s poisoning. What she feared most was Xiao Jingduo gaining power one day and taking revenge. If that ever happened, she wouldn’t be able to escape the consequences.
Seeing that Xuelan remained silent, the Old Madam seemed to remember something and sighed, “Troubled times we live in… One emperor after another dies, and now there’s this princess acting as regent. A girl should be managing a household in the inner chambers, tending to the stove, not meddling in men’s affairs. This isn’t something a woman should be involved in. I don’t know how the imperial family raises their daughters—one after another refusing to let their husbands take concubines, showing their faces in public, even keeping pretty boy lovers… what are they called again? Ah yes, mian shou. Sigh, now national affairs are in the hands of a woman—who knows what kind of mess the country will end up in. We’ve only had a few years of peace…” (T/N: eye roll)
Xuelan said nothing, only silently kneading the Old Madam’s shoulders.
The Old Madam should be grateful that Xiao Jingduo hadn’t heard this tirade. And Xuelan wasn’t the kind to gossip either. If she were, the Old Madam would soon find out exactly why her most promising grandson had suddenly turned on them.
After talking a while, the Old Madam slowly brought up something else: “Xuelan… do you think there’s still a chance for Duo’er and Huizhen?”
Chang’an had seen many events in recent years. One national mourning period after another—though the common people observed thirty days, officials had to mourn for a hundred. Living so close to the imperial palace, no noble dared to hold grand weddings within just a few months. Everyone obediently waited a full year before resuming social engagements.
Because of the extended mourning, Xiao Yumang had missed her ideal marriage age, and Cheng Huizhen had as well. Huizhen herself kept refusing to become engaged, so now, no match had even been arranged for her. The Old Madam had once worried about this in secret, but now, after seeing Xiao Jingduo again, her mind began to stir.
If there’s no better match to be found… let Huizhen marry Xiao Jingduo. Given the path he’s on, he’s no worse than any of those noble sons out there.
Xuelan couldn’t have agreed more with this idea. She had longstanding grudges with the young master, and while he was now a man and generally stayed out of inner-courtyard affairs, which allowed her to live peacefully until now, things would be different once he took a new wife. As soon as the young master gave the slightest hint, could she possibly hope to get the upper hand over the new mistress?
So Xuelan was eager for Xiao Jingduo to marry a weak and easygoing main wife—someone like Cheng Huizhen, all form and no substance, would be ideal. Back in the day, when Xiao Jingduo and Cheng Huizhen were in marriage talks, Xuelan had put in a great deal of effort to support it. Now that the Old Madam was bringing it up again, Xuelan certainly wasn’t about to advise against it.
But Xiao Jingduo was no longer the same as before. Now that he held official rank, he had a strong sense of self-assurance. Even the Old Madam had grown a bit wary of him—so how could things possibly be like they were years ago, when she could force him to accept a marriage arrangement? Thinking of this, the Old Madam could only sigh in worry. “Forget it, forget it. Duo’er has only just been transferred back to the capital. It’s still uncertain what official post he’ll be granted. Let’s just wait and see.”
Xiao Jingduo returned to Qingze Garden in a fury. The women of the household, like Qiuju and Xiqi, had returned earlier and were in the garden unpacking the luggage brought from the journey. The moment they heard the door open, all the maids in the courtyard immediately dropped what they were doing and rushed out to greet him. “Greetings to the Young Master. Welcome home!”
It was supposed to be a joyous occasion—an official returning to the capital from provincial duty. Haitang and the others had been hoping to win his favor, but when they looked up and saw the dark expression on his face, they were all startled.
What happened? Why did the young master look so grim?
At that, none of them dared to seek reward or make small talk—they all slipped away quietly, not daring to overstep.
Only Qiuju dared to step forward a few paces and report in a low voice, “Young Master, Xiao Lin sent word this afternoon. He has already escorted Miss Chen Ci to her aunt’s home. He personally watched her go inside.”
Xiao Jingduo knew his own anger had gotten the better of him and that he had let it show too much. Reining in his emotions, he nodded and said, “Good. Miss Chen rendered great service to Jinjiang County. Tell Xiao Lin to keep a discreet eye on her over the next few days—he must not let her fall into anyone’s trap.”
Chen Ci was an orphan with no parents or family. Alone in the world, she happened to possess a remarkable skill in double-sided embroidery. Xiao Jingduo was deeply concerned that her aunt might harbor selfish intentions, but he couldn’t say so in front of Chen Ci herself—so he could only arrange to have someone secretly watch over her.
“I understand. I’ll inform Xiao Lin when I return tonight.”
Since Qiuju was now married, she naturally couldn’t stay in the inner quarters overnight and had to live with her husband. But she remained one of the few people Xiao Jingduo trusted, so she still managed the affairs of his household. Of course, as a married woman, she could no longer take care of certain tasks like embroidery and sewing—but with marriage came a new level of respect. Qiuju had once been the head maid of Qingze Garden, and now her status had risen further. She was like a senior stewardess in the palace—not responsible for specific duties, but overseeing the main tasks and managing the junior head maids. Xiqi had now filled Qiuju’s old role and was on equal standing with Haitang as one of the lead maids.
After reporting her message, Qiuju tactfully took her leave. As she stepped out of the study, she couldn’t help sighing in concern.
Back in Jinjiang County’s yamen, she had gotten used to being in charge. Now that they had returned to the marquis’s household, Qiuju found it difficult to adjust.
While working in the county office, Qiuju had been the de facto mistress of the household, throwing her weight around confidently as the lead maid. Xiao Jingduo had never been strict with them—so long as things got done, he didn’t restrict their comings and goings. But here in the Marquisate, all those freedoms were gone. With the Old Madam and the Marchioness above her, Qiuju dared not put a single foot wrong—let alone go out without permission.
Although Xiao Jingduo had returned to the capital, the official appointment from the Ministry of Personnel had not yet arrived. During this time, he held no official post and could only temporarily reside at the Marquis’s estate. He spent his days reading, painting, and passing the time—an unusually leisurely period for him. His former classmates from the Imperial Academy and fellow jinshi (successful candidates of the imperial exams) all heard of his return and sent calling cards, inviting him out for gatherings. Amidst this flurry of social engagements, the days awaiting his appointment passed quickly.
On the eighth day of the second lunar month, the imperial decree finally arrived at the Marquis estate: Xiao Jingduo was appointed as an Assistant Director (Yuanwailang) of the Bureau of Military Mapping and Deployment under the Ministry of War, with a rank of Senior Sixth Grade (from sixth rank upper).
Everyone in the Dingyong Marquis estate waited with bated breath for news from Qingze Garden. When they heard the result, the entire household gasped in shock.
A Senior Sixth Rank Assistant Director in the Ministry of War?
In the Xuan Dynasty, the government was structured into Three Departments and Six Ministries. The Three Departments were the Zhongshu (Secretariat), Menxia (Chancellery), and Shangshu (Department of State Affairs). Zhongshu drafted decrees and bureaucratic documents; Menxia reviewed and approved them—relatively straightforward tasks, so they had simpler structures and fewer officials. The Shangshu Department, in contrast, was massive.
Under Shangshu, there were the Six Ministries: Personnel, War, Revenue, Rites, Justice, and Public Works. From diplomacy and war to bridges and infrastructure, all matters fell under the Shangshu Department’s jurisdiction. Each ministry had four bureaus, totaling twenty-four bureaus, which were further overseen by two overarching offices (East and West), making a total of twenty-six departments. Xiao Jingduo had been appointed to the Bureau of Military Mapping and Deployment (Zhifangsi) under the Ministry of War, which oversaw maps, garrison posts, and beacon systems.
Each of these 26 bureaus had a Director (Langzhong) and an Assistant Director (Yuanwailang). The Director was the principal official; the Assistant Director was deputy. Though these posts didn’t carry high ranks, they were both highly selective and important. For instance, when Xiao Jingduo had submitted a petition to the Ministry of Personnel for appointing a county magistrate, it would have been handled by the Bureau of Personnel. When he petitioned the court to station troops in Jinjiang County, it would have gone to the Ministry of War, particularly to Bureau of Military Mapping and Deployment and the Military Affairs Bureau. Xiao Jingduo hadn’t expected that, just a year later, he would go from the one submitting memorials to the one processing them.
Because the Director and Assistant Director roles were so important, they were highly sought after. In the bureaucratic world, few officials of third or fourth rank had not once served in these roles. In other words, if you couldn’t land one of these positions, your chances of rising higher were slim. These two roles were considered a critical stepping stone for civil officials, a battleground for advancement.
Though the Director/Assistant Director ranks weren’t high—Directors were generally Senior Fifth Rank, Assistant Directors Senior Sixth Rank—their duties were weighty, and their symbolic importance was immense. Thus, unlike other posts assigned by the Ministry of Personnel, these types of appointments were made directly by imperial decree.
Xiao Jingduo understood well that his smooth appointment as Assistant Director had likely been facilitated by Rong Ke. While his performance in Jinjiang County was indeed outstanding, it alone wouldn’t have been enough to climb so quickly in the politically entrenched capital.
Once news of his appointment to the Ministry of War spread, even more people began visiting daily. But Xiao Jingduo knew he still lacked solid footing, and besides, he carried Rong Ke’s expectations on his shoulders. At such a critical time, how could he be careless? So he refused all visitors and rarely stepped outside.
He had placed top in the imperial exam at seventeen, was appointed to a Junior Eighth Rank post the same year, then became County Magistrate (Senior Seventh Rank) at eighteen. Now, in only his fifth year in service, he had already been promoted to Senior Sixth Rank and entered one of the Six Ministries.
Once his new official robes arrived at the Marquis estate, he gave his thanks and, the next day, dressed neatly and reported to the Ministry of War.
News had already reached the Ministry that a new Assistant Director in the Bureau of Military Mapping—a young man just over twenty—was arriving. Considering the significance of the role, his age was shockingly young. As soon as Xiao Jingduo handed in his name plaque, he drew the attention of everyone present.
“So you’re the new Assistant Director, Xiao Jingduo?”
“I am,” he replied.
The man who received him gave him a once-over and smiled. “I remember—you’re a jinshi, aren’t you? No wonder you’ve risen to this post at such a young age. Truly impressive for someone so young. Come with me.”
“You flatter me,” Xiao Jingduo replied, giving a proper bow according to court etiquette before following the man inside.
The Ministry of War’s offices were located within the imperial city; all military operations of the empire originated from here. As Xiao Jingduo arrived at the Bureau of Military Mapping and Deployment, he had barely stepped through the doorway when someone came walking toward him. The man wore a light red official robe, and Xiao Jingduo immediately recognized his rank and identity.
“Subordinate Xiao Jingduo greets the Director,” he said respectfully.
“So you’re Xiao Jingduo?” The Director looked him up and down, then smiled. “You’re even younger than I imagined. Come with me.”
Xiao Jingduo knew that this was his immediate superior—the Director of the Bureau. When he had served as County Deputy, his superior, Magistrate Chen, had died on Xiao’s very first day in office, so he’d actually never had experience working directly under a superior. He understood that now, every step had to be taken with utmost caution, and so he became even more careful, silently following the Director inside.
Chang’an was built on a vast scale. Its main road, Suzaku Avenue, was nearly a hundred meters wide. Most officials lived far from the city center, and traveling from the southern end of the city to court in the imperial city would result in lateness—even on horseback. That was how enormous this “first city under Heaven” truly was. With such grandeur, the imperial offices were also built accordingly. As one of the most vital departments after the Ministry of Personnel, the Ministry of War occupied a generous expanse of land.
The Bureau, though it had only five regular staff members—the Director, Assistant Director, and three Clerks—still had its own two-section courtyard. The front court was used for receiving guests and imperial edicts; the inner court was the workspace for the Director and Assistant Director.
Once inside the bureau, the Director pointed out a few locations for Xiao Jingduo to remember and then said he would personally show him around and help him get oriented. That the Director himself was willing to greet him was already a considerable kindness; for him to offer a personal tour was even more so. Xiao Jingduo didn’t dare accept too much deference. Upon hearing this suggestion, he hurriedly declined. After repeated refusals, the Director finally let it go and left.
Only after his superior had gone did Xiao Jingduo feel comfortable enough to properly look around his new office.
The Ministry of War was built in the same style as the imperial palace—dominated by solemn black tones, with tall, deep chambers and long windows on the main façade. The interior was divided into outer and inner rooms, separated by a partition. In the outer room stood a low table and teacups—clearly a reception area. Behind a decorative screen was a quieter study with a desk, brush and ink, and a massive wooden shelf along the wall. On the shelf, numerous scrolls were organized by category. This, evidently, was where Xiao Jingduo would carry out his duties.
He didn’t have to share a room with the Director and even had his own separate office—this was a pleasant surprise. Xiao Jingduo silently exhaled in relief. He picked up a scroll from the shelf and began reading it carefully.
The Director had said before leaving that since Xiao was new, there was no rush for him to immediately take on active duties. He should begin by familiarizing himself with past case files and reports.
Xiao Jingduo understood this meant the Director didn’t trust him yet—but he didn’t argue. In the bureaucracy, no one cared to hear your explanations. Actions were the only convincing language. So, Xiao Jingduo calmed his mind and devoted himself to studying the archive files.
The Bureau oversaw garrisons, maps, and beacon signal stations. In theory, all border defense matters were under its jurisdiction. Every three months, the magistrates of frontier counties would compile reports on local garrison status, and these would be submitted up the chain to their provincial offices, who would then forward them collectively to Chang’an. Once the documents arrived in the capital, they were immediately delivered to the Bureau of Military Mapping and Deployment, where it was the bureau’s duty to assess whether those frontier magistrates or regional commanders had neglected their responsibilities, and whether there had been any changes to border defenses.
Since these reports arrived quarterly and the borders of the Empire stretched vast and long, over the years, one could only imagine the sheer volume of scrolls that had accumulated.
Having previously served as a county magistrate on the southwestern frontier, Xiao Jingduo was more than familiar with this work. Now, seeing it from the perspective of the capital rather than the provinces, he found the shift in viewpoint both refreshing and enlightening—almost enjoyable.
Especially since the Bureau of Military Deployment also oversaw map-making, Xiao Jingduo, skilled in meticulous brushwork, found it rather amusing. At least he had this one particular skill—otherwise, he might truly have had no place to apply himself here.
On his first day at the Ministry of War, Xiao Jingduo spent the entire time reading through past case files.
By the time the sun had reached its zenith, it was time to go out for the official meal. Just like at the Imperial Academy, officials in the capital were entitled to one free government-funded lunch per day. Seeing the time was about right, Xiao Jingduo tidied up his writing tools and stepped outside.
With so many court officials in the capital, it would be a waste of both space and time to gather them all in one place to eat, so the court instead allocated funds to each department to make their own arrangements. The Ministry of War had its dining hall set up on the west wing, and Xiao Jingduo, following the Director, went to the dining hall and sat down in his assigned seat according to protocol.
But as with all free things, there was no such thing as an easy free lunch. The official meal came with its own baggage. As court officials, their every word and action was under the watchful eye of the Censorate, and mealtimes were no exception—each day was full of strict rules and etiquette. The Minister of War believed that, since their office was in charge of the empire’s military, they ought to reflect military discipline in all aspects. Therefore, the rules of the dining hall closely resembled military order, with the goal of making it the most disciplined among all government departments.
The Minister of War wasn’t alone—other departments weren’t about to fall behind. It was said that the Court of Judicial Review had legal codes posted all over its dining hall—no matter where you looked, you couldn’t escape the sight of regulations. The officials of the Censorate had it even worse: every day during meals, they were stared down by their fellow censors, and even the smallest misstep earned a scolding.
Based on Xiao Jingduo’s rank, his official meal consisted of four dishes and a soup, with seasonal fruits depending on the time of year. On traditional holidays like Cold Food Festival or Dragon Boat Festival, there would even be sweet congee or zongzi included.
Still, this meal was eaten under tense nerves—especially when sitting among so many higher-ranking officials. Who could possibly eat comfortably like that? But there was no choice. Court policy stated that all officials must eat the official meal; no one was allowed to skip and “save money for the court.”
After the meal, aside from those on duty, the rest were dismissed from office for the day.
Xiao Jingduo found it hard to adjust. It was barely past noon, and yet—the day was done?
Capital officials were indeed different from local ones. In the capital, they “begin work at sunrise, and leave by noon.” After the official meal, they could go home.
When Xiao Jingduo returned to the marquis residence, even Qiuju couldn’t believe it. She asked in surprise, “My lord, how come you’re back so early?”
You couldn’t blame her. Even Xiao Jingduo himself hadn’t quite gotten used to this sudden leisure. Back when he was a county magistrate, no matter how long a case dragged on, all the piled-up work was still his responsibility—better to resolve it as early as possible. But now that he was back in the capital, everything had to be done by the book. Xiao Jingduo didn’t want to make waves, so if everyone else was leaving work, he naturally had to leave too.
He hadn’t expected that getting promoted would make him more idle. With this rare free time, Xiao Jingduo took out his long-shelved poetry collections and brushes, planning to revisit the hobbies he had loved in his student days. Otherwise, if he continued in office for a few more years, he feared he might forget how to write literature altogether.
Qiuju quickly and deftly laid out the brushes and ink for Xiao Jingduo. While busying herself, she asked, “My lord, everyone’s saying your new post is extremely prestigious. Wasn’t today your first day at the yamen? It must have been exhausting, wasn’t it?”
Xiao Jingduo was honestly a little embarrassed to admit the truth, so he gave a vague reply: “It was fine.”
But in Qiuju’s heart, the image of her lord as a workaholic was already deeply ingrained. Hearing such an ambiguous answer, she became even more convinced that he must be absolutely worn out, to the point where he didn’t even want to talk about it.
So after tidying everything up, Qiuju sensibly withdrew, planning to let Xiao Jingduo get some proper rest. Just as she was about to step out, she seemed to suddenly remember something. She slapped her forehead and asked, “I nearly forgot—tomorrow’s the eleventh. My lord, won’t you have to attend morning court? Do you need the household to prepare breakfast early?”
In the capital, all civil and military officials of ninth rank or higher were required to attend court on the first and fifteenth of each month. For Xiao Jingduo, holding a sub-sixth-rank post, that meant attending court on the 1st, 5th, 11th, 15th, 21st, and 25th of every month. Tomorrow, the eleventh, was exactly one of those regular audience days.
He had grown used to life out in the provinces, and for a moment, he didn’t react. But morning court was no trivial matter. Xiao Jingduo’s expression turned solemn as he said, “I’ll need to rise by the third watch tomorrow (around 3–5 a.m.). Waking the kitchen staff at that hour wouldn’t be appropriate—skip the breakfast.”
“I’ll just have someone keep something warm on the stove—how could I let my lord go hungry?” Qiuju replied. “I’ll go inform the small kitchen right away. Oh, and your court robes—they need to be freshened with incense too.”
She mumbled this and that to herself as she walked out.
Xiao Jingduo didn’t pay attention to what Qiuju was saying. His thoughts had already drifted ahead—to tomorrow’s court session.
Morning court, after all, was for appearing before the emperor. So then tomorrow morning…
Wouldn’t he get to see Rong Ke?
T/N: The Old Madam is delulu. Massive infodump in this chapter, but valuable for understanding bureaucracy.
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I think the chapter is pasted twice
Thanks for translating ❣️
Ooh yes, you are right, there is a section that is repeated. I’ll edit it as soon as I’m at home.
Thank you for letting me know!