Chapter 119

In the early summer of the 57th year of Chenxia, the emperor passed away, and the crown prince ascended the throne. The position of chancellor was abolished, and a grand secretariat was established. Jiang Yi became the youngest Grand Secretary.
Jiang Yi had previously resigned from the court but later returned unexpectedly. Neither the late emperor nor the new emperor held his seemingly capricious actions against him, even though the censors in the Censorate protested for days.
Jiang Yi calmly made an example of one, killing a chicken to scare the monkeys. After one person died, no one dared to voice opposition again.
Perhaps it had been too long since they had seen him in action, and many had forgotten Jiang Yi’s true nature, elegant and handsome in appearance, yet terrifyingly ruthless in his methods. He could effortlessly take a life with a smile.
Moreover, it was clear that both the late emperor and the new emperor protected him. Those with any foresight could see that Jiang Yi was not to be provoked now, and even less so in the future.
Take, for instance, the eldest prince, who had openly opposed the crown prince and tried to make things difficult for Jiang Yi. After the emperor’s death, Jiang Yi used the swiftest, simplest, yet cruelest means to eliminate all the strategists the prince had gathered. Then, with a single decree from the newly enthroned emperor, the eldest prince was exiled to a desolate, remote area in the northwest.
The eldest prince’s mother, Consort Shu, nearly cried herself blind over this. But with the emperor gone, the new emperor showed her no consideration whatsoever.
Nan Gongxuan might have once been soft-hearted and kind, but the late emperor’s distrust had completely stripped away his innate benevolence. He would never be soft-hearted again.
After ascending the throne, Nan Gongxuan wielded Shao Jingyu and Jiang Yi as his two sharpest blades, one to conquer external enemies, the other to eliminate all internal discord.
A colleague on good terms with Jiang Yi once privately advised him, “The newly enthroned Nan Gongxuan is using you to remove those he dislikes. One day, he may use someone else’s hand to remove you.”
Jiang Yi smiled, unperturbed.
The colleague asked if he trusted Nan Gongxuan so implicitly. Jiang Yi replied, “It’s not about trust.”
Rather, such a day would never come.
No one understood the meaning behind his words.
No one understood his actions.
Not even Nan Gongxuan could comprehend them.
He cared about nothing and feared nothing. The number of enemies he made seemed irrelevant to him; no matter how difficult it was to implement his policies, he pressed forward relentlessly. The Ministry of Revenue's coffers grew fuller, yet more and more people feared Jiang Yi, and behind his back, countless wished for his demise.
Nan Gongxuan shielded him from the rumors and criticisms in the court, speaking with him in the imperial garden.
By then, five years had passed since the late emperor's demise.
People change. Though Nan Gongxuan had once trusted Jiang Yi implicitly, once he ascended to the throne, everything began to shift.
Wariness was inevitable, wariness of Shao Jingyu, who commanded a powerful army; of Jiang Yi, who held sway over the court; and perhaps even of his own younger brother far away in Beiping. The higher one climbs, the colder the heart grows, and the more suspicions arise.
Yet later, while he remained wary of Shao Jingyu potentially dividing his military power and ordered Nan Gongye to return to the court annually for an audience, he no longer feared Jiang Yi.
Because from the very beginning, Jiang Yi had chosen a path with no retreat.
A path that no one, except the emperor and the common people, would ever favor.
He had shaken the foundations of the noble families. If the emperor ever ceased to protect him, Jiang Yi would not survive more than a few days.
Later, even his former in-laws, the Jiang family, grew dissatisfied. Jiang Yi severed ties with them without hesitation, leaving himself utterly alone.
He had no family, no wife, no children. The Jiang residence stood desolate and cold, inhabited only by a handful of elderly servants.
Many accused him of bending the law for personal gain and accepting bribes, but Nan Gongxuan had seen with his own eyes that over all these years, Jiang Yi had not even changed the jade pendant at his waist, and the tassel attached to it had been worn for ages.
If it weren't for the fact that his policies had indeed filled the people's bellies, enriched the Ministry of Revenue, and reduced corruption over the years, he would have been branded a treacherous official.
But the emperor would never lay a finger on him. Standing at such heights is unbearably lonely, and countless people sought to drag him down.
Those who understood him pitied him; those who didn't cursed him vehemently behind his back.
Nan Gongxuan felt a twinge of compassion. Rarely showing such concern, he shared a cup of tea with Jiang Yi, the same Biluochun tea both were familiar with. Nan Gongxuan even made a decision for him, advising him to temper his sharpness and ease tensions with the high-ranking officials in the court.
But Jiang Yi waved his hand and declined.
If Jiang Yi could be persuaded, he wouldn't be Jiang Yi. Or perhaps there was once someone who could sway him, but that person was no longer here.
When Jiang Yi left the capital back then, he had promised to return by late spring. And indeed, he returned at the end of spring, but he came back alone.
He asked where Princess Ming was. Jiang Yi's expression was complex, part joy, part sorrow, before he finally said calmly,
“She's gone.”
Nan Gongxuan had witnessed the depth of Princess Ming's affection for Jiang Yi, so how could she leave? How could she bear to?
Yet Jiang Yi insisted she was gone.
A faint ache pierced Nan Gongxuan's heart, and he suddenly understood that “gone” could mean more than one thing.
Perhaps something had happened to her, perhaps she was gone forever.
For a moment, Nan Gongxuan didn't know how to comfort Jiang Yi, because he himself felt a pang of sorrow upon hearing the news. The memory of that vibrant, spirited woman still left a heavy mark on his heart.
Perhaps in Jiang Yi's heart, it had carved a deep wound.
His first wife had passed away from illness, and just when he had found someone he loved again, they were separated. Recalling the heart-wrenching pain of losing his own crown princess, Nan Gongxuan sighed and left the Jiang residence.
Jiang Yi could guess what Nan Gongxuan was thinking. He probably pitied him, thinking him unfortunate, but Jiang Yi offered no explanation.
Such thoughts from those in power were more beneficial than harmful to him. Jiang Yi wouldn't bother clarifying, even if he wasn't overly distressed.
As the letter had said, he now had another memory worth cherishing for a long time. He knew Yan Yiming had loved him too. He would no longer be haunted by lifelong regrets, that was enough.
It was enough to sustain him for many years, enough to mend this crumbling nation.
If, in the future, he could no longer endure, if the longing became unbearable, choosing death wouldn't be too difficult.
Perhaps, in a way, it would even be a release.
He had told his friend he didn't care what others thought of him, not because he trusted Nan Gongxuan, but because he had never intended to live too long.
Maybe ten years, maybe twenty. Jiang Yi changed into a brand-new silk tassel. Perhaps when all these tassels grew old, perhaps when the paintings Yan Yiming left behind slowly faded,
It wouldn't be too long, anyway.
So he tirelessly overworked himself, stubbornly ignoring the objections of his clan. He was injured several times, targeted by assassins, until the emperor assigned his own guards to protect him.
Some tried to arrange marriages for him, even the emperor and the empress dowager made attempts, but Jiang Yi refused them all.
That year, Nan Gongxuan finally appointed a new empress. Jiang Yi asked if he still thought of his crown princess. Nan Gongxuan waved his hand and sighed, “How could I not?”
“But I can't even remember her face clearly anymore.”
It had been over a decade since the crown princess passed away. He still drank Biluochun tea, but he could no longer recall her appearance.
Jiang Yi smiled. “That's just as well.”
The emperor didn't understand, assuming he meant it was good to have a new empress. He didn't realize Jiang Yi meant it was good that he had forgotten the crown princess's face. After all, the crown princess had resembled Yan Yiming somewhat. If the emperor no longer remembered, only Jiang Yi would.
So he said it was just as well.
He still remembered her. If there was an afterlife, perhaps he could find her again.
Jiang Yi chuckled softly but then coughed lightly. Old Li, standing nearby, worriedly approached and asked if he needed to see a doctor. Jiang Yi waved his hand and said it wasn't necessary.
“But...”
“Leave,” Jiang Yi said calmly.
Late at night, the sound of Jiang Yi's coughing remained distinct. He suddenly dreamed of the day he left, though he hadn't witnessed Yan Yiming's reaction after his departure, in his dream, he saw her holding that letter and weeping for a long time.
Jiang Yi desperately wanted to continue watching, but the dream ended, and Yan Yiming's face vanished once again. Suddenly, Jiang Yi felt a pang of resentment toward his increasingly frail body.
So the next day, he summoned the imperial physician again. That night, the tightness in his chest was gone, but Yan Yiming did not reappear in his dreams. Consequently, Jiang Yi once again discarded the medicine in the bowl.
Old Li watched Jiang Yi's willful behavior but could do nothing about it.
They say that extreme intelligence leads to a short life, and Jiang Yi was undoubtedly the cleverest of men. Years of relentless toil and ceaseless hardship, Old Li witnessed it all, often wiping away tears in secret.
He recalled the woman Jiang Yi had brought home many years ago, remembered how Jiang Yi had smiled every day when she was around, and suddenly realized he couldn't recall how many years it had been since Jiang Yi had smiled like that.
Jiang Yi had said he was grateful for Yan Yiming's brief stay, that he would live well and not let her feel guilty.
But he broke his promise. He didn't make her feel guilty, yet he failed to live well.
He let her go to live her own life, but he couldn't manage to live his.
When the last silk tassel began to fade, turning half-new and half-old, Nan Gongxuan seemed to notice something. He summoned Jiang Yi to the palace, saying he intended to appoint a crown prince and wanted Jiang Yi to serve as the prince's imperial tutor. For the first time, Jiang Yi refused Nan Gongxuan so explicitly, urging him to choose someone else.
Nan Gongxuan's smile faded. He told Jiang Yi that there was more in life worth dedicating oneself to than just love.
Jiang Yi smiled faintly and replied, “But she is worth it.”
Nan Gongxuan knew he had failed to persuade him once again.
Jiang Yi left. He dismissed all the servants and left the residence. That night, a massive fire engulfed the Jiang estate. The blaze was too fierce to be extinguished in time, and no one escaped, including Jiang Yi.
Some said he had finally met his deserved fate. Only Nan Gongxuan and Old Li, weeping bitterly, knew that Jiang Yi had set the fire himself. He never intended to escape.
He had endured for twenty years and could endure no more. In his final moments, he seemed to hear Yan Yiming's familiar voice, saying, “See you in the next life.”
Jiang Yi smiled, watched the flames spread, and closed his eyes.
“Then, see you in the next life.”