The Emperor and the Eunuch

Mingyue, gripping her crescent-shaped dagger, turned back and saw a man in an eunuch's robe approaching slowly behind Zhang Ling. She immediately recognized him as Zhao Weizhong, the chief eunuch. After a glance, she paid him no further heed, unconcerned as to why he had suddenly appeared, and turned back, intent on settling matters with Shen Yunfeng first.

The aged eunuch, with a slightly deferential smile, said, “Miss Mingyue, this is the imperial palace. Killing someone here without permission might prove troublesome. Best leave this matter to me.”

Mingyue brushed her brow in contemplation. As long as Zhang Ling survived, the rest was of little concern to her.

Seeing Mingyue step aside, Zhao Weizhong continued forward. As he drew near Zhang Ling, he halted and said, “His Majesty wishes to see you shortly.”

Zhang Ling was puzzled. In this competition, Mo Li and Song Linjie had clearly outperformed him, so why was the emperor requesting to see only him? He wondered if the emperor had noticed something. He had used lightness skills, but as Song Yutian had said, even among the martial world few knew the true name of the Medical Sage, much less connect a wandering healer with the adopted son of a Chen dynasty general.

Before he could question further, the old eunuch strode ahead and paused before Shen Yunfeng. Shen Yunfeng, thinking himself spared when the old eunuch called off the woman, was caught off guard when Zhao Weizhong flicked a finger at his brow. Without even time for a groan, Shen Yunfeng’s life ended, his body remaining upright in a kneel.

The three behind had expected the eunuch to bring the man back for questioning before deciding his fate. Yet decades as the chief eunuch had left Zhao Weizhong ruthless and unhesitating.

With Shen Yunfeng dead beyond doubt, Mingyue spared not a single glance, instead striding toward Zhang Ling, who wanted to ask if Zhang Jingqian had requested her help.

But as soon as she stopped, Mingyue tore a strip from Zhang Ling’s robe to wipe her dagger clean.

Zhang Ling was left dumbfounded. He had struggled to find something to clean his sword, and here she was, tearing his garment without a second thought. Whatever thanks he’d meant to offer were swallowed back.

Mingyue even scolded him, “Always courting trouble—do you have a death wish? And you were about to abandon that boy and run for your own life. Faithless to wife and friends alike.”

Zhang Ling retorted seriously, “What wife? I’ve never been betrothed, let alone married.”

Having cleaned her dagger, Mingyue tossed the strip of cloth aside, sheathed her blade, and with a light spring, vaulted over the high wall, vanishing without a trace.

Once again, Zhang Ling had not managed to ask a single question, uncertain if she was deliberately avoiding him.

After finishing with Shen Yunfeng, the old eunuch came before Zhang Ling as though nothing had happened, his expression unreadable. “Come,” he said.

The old eunuch led the way, with the two following behind.

After about a quarter of an hour, Zhang Ling found the silence oppressive and decided to speak up. “By the way, may I ask your name, sir?”

A ripple of emotion passed through the old eunuch. In his life, many feared him for his position as chief of the inner palace, or looked down on him as a eunuch. Only when he first met His Majesty—as a child—had anyone ever asked his name. It was the first time someone had treated him as a person. Though they say emperors are heartless, this one had always remained the same: dignity befitting the Son of Heaven, but never that cold disregard for others. Over the decades, the eunuch had pledged his undivided loyalty—if one sought to harm his master, even if it meant facing the world, he would not waver.

The old eunuch smiled inwardly. If this youth did not stand in His Majesty’s way, perhaps he was worth supporting.

Little did Zhang Ling know that this casual question had won the old eunuch’s favor.

Zhao Weizhong replied with a smile, “I am Zhao Weizhong, ever at His Majesty’s service. My name hardly matters.”

Zhang Ling caught the underlying meaning. If the name didn’t matter, why mention it at all? “A surname connects to one’s kin, a given name to oneself, and together they shape one’s destiny. How can a name not matter? Sir, you should not belittle yourself. To manage the entire palace so well is no less than the achievements of scholars and generals. You need not heed the scorn of others.”

Though his face remained impassive, Zhao Weizhong listened closely, the words striking a chord within. He now resolved that as long as this youth did not threaten His Majesty, he would do everything in his power—even at the cost of his own life—to save him from peril.

“You are quite right, young master,” he said.

Yet, wary of revealing any weakness, Zhao Weizhong fell silent, refusing further conversation no matter how much Zhang Ling’s words pleased him.

Seeing the eunuch unwilling to speak further, Zhang Ling turned to chat with Song Linjie instead.

Before long, they arrived before a palace unlike any of the surrounding grand residences. Even from afar, Zhang Ling saw hundreds of steps, with intricately carved railings and balustrades. Dragons and phoenixes adorned the central staircase, and floral and cloud motifs embellished the sides—truly a magnificent sight.

Thanks to his sharp eyesight, Zhang Ling could see, even at a distance, the characters above the hall: “Jin’an Hall.”

The old eunuch turned to Song Linjie. “His Majesty wishes to see Zhang Ling alone.”

“I’ll wait here for him,” Song Linjie replied.

With the eunuch’s assent, Zhang Ling followed him into Jin’an Hall.

There, on the steps below the throne, sat a man in imperial robes—clearly the man of Chenliu.

Zhang Ling scrutinized him carefully—not as imposing as described in books, nor the fat, gluttonous figure he had imagined. On closer inspection, there was a hint of weariness about him, perhaps not merely from the burdens of state, but from the intrigues of the harem.

Standing before the Chenliu man, Zhang Ling clasped his hands in greeting. “Student Zhang Ling pays his respects to Your Majesty.”

Seeing the youth did not kneel, the old eunuch quickly reminded him, “Zhang Ling, you should kneel before His Majesty.”

Zhang Ling scoffed inwardly—he, who bowed to neither heaven nor earth, a true materialist, why should he kneel? Yet he answered respectfully, “The late emperor decreed that disciples of the Academy need not kneel before the Son of Heaven. It was a privilege granted by Your Majesty.”

Far from angered, Chenliu smiled. “The Academy is a force of the martial world, and need not kneel before me. But if I offered you an official post, would you accept?”

Zhang Ling looked up in surprise and delight. After years of struggle, he had never achieved much, and now such an opportunity was delivered unbidden.

Suppressing his excitement, Zhang Ling replied, “If Your Majesty is willing to grant me such an honor, I would devote myself wholeheartedly.”

Suddenly, Chenliu’s expression changed. “You may want it, but I may not be willing to give it.”