Chapter Twenty-Two: The Hedgehog Who Repaired the Wall

Having grasped the heart of the matter, the Emperor tapped the dragon desk, his voice resonating with undeniable authority. “This issue will be set aside for now. The Ministry of Justice must send people to Bing Province immediately to investigate. The Ministry of Personnel is to draft regulations within three days and recommend candidates for civil and military officials to take over Bing Province. They must be upright and clean—Zhang Jiafu, do you understand? And you, Chancellor, draw up an edict at once. Summon Di Ying to the palace for an audience; I permit him to report directly before the court! This council is dismissed!”

“We obey your command, Your Majesty! Long live the Emperor!”

…

When the court had dispersed, the Emperor returned to the imperial library, staring absentmindedly at the memorials arrayed on the dragon desk.

Chief Eunuch Su brought tea, placing it before the Emperor, who remained motionless. Su’s eyes darted as he spoke, “Your Majesty, forgive me for saying what I ought not, but this old servant feels that the person you’ve been seeking is finally about to arrive.”

Throughout her life, the Empress had been decisive and ruthless, yet she delighted in discovering talents. Whenever she found someone of use, be it a scoundrel or a beggar, she dared appoint them boldly. No matter how many she employed, she always felt it was not enough—never enough.

Many officials understood her longing, so like Lord Yan, they exhausted themselves seeking capable statesmen. Prime Minister Yang Lin, for example, pursued reclusive talents, sparing no effort or expense to persuade them time and again.

Of course, Lord Yan acted out of genuine concern for the nation, whereas Yang Lin merely sought to curry favor with the Empress. Thus the Empress always viewed Yan’s recommendations favorably and was willing to grant them more opportunities.

Su had served the Emperor for a long time and knew her mind better than anyone. Whenever new talent emerged, the Empress would ponder carefully. But never before had she been so lost in thought.

“Little Hong,” she said, “do you think this Di Ying can be used? Should I dare appoint him? His courage seems almost excessive.”

Hearing Su Hong’s words, the Empress returned from her reverie, somewhat torn, wanting Su’s opinion on Di Ying.

Su Hong smiled, his fair, plump face quivering. He placed the tea in the Emperor’s palm and said, “There is no one under heaven whom Your Majesty dare not employ, so long as he is truly capable.”

The Empress nodded gently. That flattery suited her perfectly.

She sipped the tea, then set the cup down and rose, pacing to the palace doors. Gazing at the clear blue sky in the distance, she said, “If it were anyone else with such boldness, I would not hesitate to appoint him after only a little thought.

But Di Ying... Little Hong, I cannot say why, but even before meeting him, I feel a strange unease in my heart.

To use someone so unconventional, who dares to challenge the powerful—perhaps it is good, perhaps it brings trouble.

Never before have I encountered one who stirs such odd feelings within me, yet I cannot deny a faint anticipation. I cannot discern my own heart.

When Lord Yan first recommended him, the feeling was not so strong.”

“Your Majesty, it is not too late to judge after meeting him. There is no need to be troubled now—he’s merely a young man,” Su Hong comforted her, understandingly, from behind.

The Empress nodded and withdrew her gaze.

Yes, she worried too much, and too far ahead. She did not even know whether he was man or ghost—what was the point of so much consideration?

If he truly was a statesman of rare ability, she would not hesitate to employ him. If not, she could simply deal with him according to Ma Guangjin’s case.

Why spend so much energy on this now?

She shook her head, sighing inwardly at her own excessive eagerness for talent, her sensitivity. Turning back, she returned to the dragon desk to continue reviewing the memorials.

…

Meanwhile, Di Ying—the source of the Emperor’s inexplicable feelings—and Peng Liang, were traveling and recovering from injuries. They arrived at the capital after more than half a month.

He did not know that the imperial summons had already reached Bing Province, but the messenger, unable to find him, was fretting anxiously.

Di Ying himself was not worried.

He was certain that the events in Bing Province had already reached the Emperor’s ears, and how he would be dealt with, he could not predict.

He decided to focus on fully healing his wounds and adjusting his mindset for whatever might come.

As for running away? He would not.

He had acted, and he would own his actions.

If he fled, he would lose the moral ground; if he fled, the people of Bing Province would suffer.

He had not considered seeking out Lord Yan.

Though Yan had recommended him, he now risked implicating the old man in his peaceful retirement, and felt too ashamed to face him. He could only hope that a true man would bear the consequences alone.

Upon entering the capital, Di Ying rested a day at an inn, then resolved to go directly to the palace gates and strike the Drum of Appeal.

The Empress welcomed all voices; whoever struck that drum would be granted an audience. This was the fastest way Di Ying could think of to enter the palace.

Yet, as he and Peng Liang stepped onto the street, they witnessed a scene.

“Master Xue, please take care, mind the breeze. I have fruit here, please have some,” said a man with slicked-back hair so immaculate that even a mosquito would slip, fawning and nodding as he led the reins of a white horse. He was addressing the figure perched atop the horse—a “monk” whose gender was nearly indiscernible.

The dandy took a fruit tray from his attendant, holding it reverently above his head to serve the “monk.”

The monk was dressed in sumptuous finery—a robe woven with golden threads, large gold beads twined around his fingers. Though his frame was robust and imposing, his face was painted white with a tinge of pink, presenting a most bizarre appearance.

He sat on horseback, chin raised, as if a sovereign surveying the world, his expression haughty to the extreme.

Beside the stirrup stood a burly, somewhat gaunt man with a broad face and bulging eyes like a goldfish, hunched and sycophantic, one hand on the stirrup, the other barking at passersby. Those who failed to step aside in time were kicked or whipped without restraint, their arrogance appalling.

Di Ying, observing it all, felt nothing but disgust.

He glanced only briefly, then turned away,