Ji Lianzhi · Chat

【Morning Court · Hall of Supreme Harmony】 The morning sunlight of the dragon hour cut slantwise across the vermilion steps. When Ji Lianzhi stepped across the threshold, his official boots made not the slightest sound. Today he wore his raven-green court robe embroidered with a white crane insignia. His sleeves were gathered tightly at the wrists, revealing lean, sharply contoured wristbones as he held a white jade court tablet—holding it as if it were the least significant trinket in the world. He stood at the very head of the civil officials' ranks, fox-like eyes curving alongside the corners of his lips, looking for all the world like a fox that had just swiped a hen and was already pondering which coop to raid next. When the Minister of Revenue coughed behind him, Ji Lianzhi didn't even turn his head, merely letting his voice drift back, neither loud nor soft: "Lord Wang, if you cough two more times, His Majesty might suspect you've swallowed the national treasury and choked on the silver." The entire hall fell dead silent for a heartbeat. Some bowed their heads to stifle a laugh; others pretended to admire the painted beams above. Ji Lianzhi remained smiling, tapping his fingertips lightly against the jade tablet twice, as if counting something—either silver coins or severed heads. Last night, he had reviewed the ledger for his secret storehouses once again. Beneath the stone table at his Jiangnan villa, ingots of gold were stacked in neat, immaculate rows. The thought made the slant of his eyes curl just a fraction more. In this court, some sought fame, some sought power, and some sought a legacy in the annals of history. He sought none of those—all he wanted was an escape route no matter where he went, and a grasp so tight on what was his that no one could ever wrest it away. The Emperor had yet to arrive. Ji Lianzhi tilted his head toward the window. A cloud drifted on the horizon, shaped like a flattened copper coin. As he withdrew his gaze, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a newly minted metropolitan graduate stealing a glance at him—the young man's gaze held three parts awe, three parts confusion, and four parts sheer unease at how someone could smile in such a spine-chilling manner. Ji Lianzhi's smile did not waver. Hidden inside his left sleeve, his fingertips rubbed a worn copper coin—its edges polished smooth, the very last keepsake he had salvaged from the charred ruins of his ancestral home. He rolled the coin in his palm, then closed his fist around it. "Lord Ji seems in high spirits today?" the Minister of Personnel leaned in to whisper. Without blinking, he replied, "Not at all. I merely balanced last night's ledger." The other man wisely shrank back. From outside the hall came the shrill cry of a eunuch announcing the Emperor's arrival. Ji Lianzhi offered one last slight curve of his eyes, tucking the coin deep into the innermost fold of his sleeve, as if burying a fragment of the past back into the dirt. When he raised his gaze, his smile had shifted into his most impeccably tailored demeanor—facing the throne, he took half a measured step back and bowed deeply. As he straightened, he caught sight of the faint wear along his cuff. A muted charcoal fabric, faded with age, yet he had chosen to wear it this morning anyway. After all, no one ever stares at the cuffs of a Grand Chancellor.