The Hall of Harmonious Conduct was ablaze with light and color, a stark contrast to the bleak winter outside. Hundreds of lanterns cast a warm, golden glow on the festive scene, making the polished floor tiles gleam like dark water. It was a formal reception held in advance of the Empress Dowager Cixi's forty-first birthday, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes, warm wine, and the cloying sweetness of political flattery.
Cixi was in her element. She sat upon a raised throne, a vision of power and grace in a magnificent robe embroidered with dozens of phoenixes. She was the sun around which all the planets of the court revolved. She accepted the lavish birthday gifts presented to her by a parade of high-ranking Manchu princes and Chinese viceroys with a serene, condescending smile. A set of twelve solid gold teacups. A perfectly carved white jade mountain scene. A rare white peacock, its tail a cascade of snowy feathers, presented in a gilded cage. Each gift was a tribute, a reinforcement of her supreme authority.
Ying Zheng sat on his smaller throne beside hers, a silent, decorative accessory to the main event. He, too, was required to present a gift. He had spent several days preparing it, under the nervous supervision of his tutor, Weng Tonghe. His gift was simple, almost laughably so in this sea of extravagance. It was a single scroll of fine paper. On it, in his own large, deliberately childish calligraphy, he had written four characters: "Virtue Before Finery."
When his turn came, a eunuch carried the scroll forward and presented it to Cixi. She unrolled it, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. It was a classic, if painfully obvious, Confucian sentiment. It was the perfect, "educational" gift from a student emperor to his regent. She saw it as a sign of her success, a confirmation that her re-education of the troublesome boy was proceeding as planned.
"How lovely," she said, her voice carrying across the silent hall. "The Emperor's filial piety is as beautiful as his growing skill with the brush. This servant is deeply touched." She handed the scroll to Li Lianying to be put away with the other, far more valuable, treasures. She had completely missed the subtle irony, the hidden barb in the simple words.
Then, Prince Gong stepped forward.
He was a thundercloud in the festive room. While the other officials wore bright, celebratory robes, he was dressed in a dark, almost severe court uniform. His handsome face was cold and grim, his eyes holding a dangerous fire. He carried no gift box wrapped in silk, no caged animal, no offering of jade or gold. He held a single, thick, thread-bound book. A ledger.
He walked to the center of the hall and performed the customary bow, but it was stiff, almost insolent.
"Your Imperial Majesty," he began, his voice a low, resonant baritone that commanded the attention of everyone in the room. "In honor of your approaching birthday, and in recognition of your wise leadership of the Great Qing, this servant has prepared a gift. It is a gift not of jade or silk, but of… accounting."
A confused murmur rippled through the assembled crowd. Cixi's condescending smile faltered, replaced by a look of wary curiosity.
Prince Gong held up the ledger for all to see. "As Your Majesty knows, this servant has been greatly concerned with the state of our Northern Armies. So, I have taken the liberty of personally auditing their winter budget alongside the Imperial Household's discretionary funds for the last quarter." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "And I have discovered a most remarkable coincidence."
His voice was now dripping with a sarcasm so sharp it could have drawn blood.
"It seems the exact amount of silver that was inexplicably cut from our soldiers' budget for winter coats and supplies was, by some miracle of accounting, 'found' in the Imperial Household's accounts. And it was used to purchase ten thousand flawless, Grade One South Sea pearls. For, I believe, the creation of a new ceremonial shawl."
A deathly, absolute silence fell over the hall. The air became thick and heavy, charged with scandal. Every official, every prince, every servant held their breath. Cixi's smile was gone, frozen on her face and then replaced by a look of pure, cold fury. Beside her throne, Li Lianying had gone ashen, his usual composure completely shattered. This was a direct, public assault.
Prince Gong took a step forward, his gaze locked on the Empress Dowager. "This servant's humble gift to you, Your Majesty, is therefore a choice," he said, his voice ringing with the authority of his lineage and the righteousness of his cause. "You may have the pearl shawl, a garment of unparalleled beauty. Or you may have the warmth, and the loyalty, of your army. For I fear the treasury of the Great Qing, in its current state, cannot afford both."
He had thrown down the gauntlet. He had not just whispered an accusation; he had hurled it like a spear in the middle of her own celebration. He had publicly, in front of the entire court, accused the Empress Dowager of sacrificing the nation's military readiness for her own personal vanity. It was an act of incredible political audacity, an act he could only have undertaken if he was absolutely certain of his facts, and if he believed he had a powerful, unseen backer—or even, as the omen of the wind had suggested, the sanction of Heaven itself.
Cixi was trapped, and she knew it. The Prince had checkmated her in front of her own court. To punish him for his insolence would be to admit her guilt to everyone. To ignore his accusation would make her look weak and foolish. She was left with only one option.
She took a deep, steadying breath, her knuckles white where she gripped the arms of her throne. She forced a smile back onto her face, a terrifying rictus of graciousness that did not reach her blazing eyes.
"Prince Gong is as diligent as he is brave," she said, her voice miraculously smooth. "His loyalty to the throne and his concern for our soldiers is a model for all officials. This servant is grateful for his… fiscal prudence. Of course, the army must come first. The workshop will be instructed to return the pearls and cancel the commission immediately."
She had been forced to publicly capitulate, to concede defeat. She had been humiliated, and she would never, ever forget it.
From his small throne, Ying Zheng watched the chaos he had so carefully orchestrated unfold. He, a four-year-old boy, had leaked a single piece of information, nudged a single powerful man, and created a massive political rift in Cixi's court. He felt the familiar, cold satisfaction of a perfectly executed strategy. But he also felt something else, something new. The immense, roiling sea of emotions in the room—Cixi's silent fury, Prince Gong's righteous anger, the fear and shock of the assembled officials—seemed to feed the power within him. He felt a surge of vitality, a quiet hum of energy that had nothing to do with his own rage.
He was learning not just to use the fuel of his own anger, but to feed on the discord of others. He was no longer just a player in their game. He was becoming the board itself.