Chapter 2 – The Last Chance
The Gathering of the Court
Fifteen days passed, and the Palace of Supreme Harmony glittered with ceremony. Dawn's first light poured through jade-inlaid windows, spilling gold upon the polished floor where one hundred ministers knelt in rows. The rustle of their robes and the weight of their voices rose together:
"Long live Her Majesty, Empress of Great Du. May her reign endure for ten thousand years!"
The great hall trembled with the thunder of their words. Yet their eyes, lowered in ritual, flicked upward in secret glances. For upon the Dragon Throne sat not only the Empress Du Lianhua but at her side the Imperial Scholar, Jiang Wenyan.
What stunned the court was not his presence — for everyone knew he basked in her favor — but the intimacy on display. His slender hand supported her back, his other lightly rested against her stomach, as though he alone sustained her upon the throne. Their fingers brushed, lingered, clasped. The phoenix crown upon her head glittered with fire, but to many in that hall, it was as though a scholar's hand now held the Mandate of Heaven itself.
Murmurs, quickly stifled, rippled like wind through reeds. To show such closeness before the ministers — even husband and wife did not flaunt themselves so in the throne hall. Some paled with shock, others smirked in silent approval. All awaited the storm.
Among them stood Duan Shixuan, Chancellor of the Realm. His gaze was steady, face unreadable, yet within him something shifted. The Empress had chosen to bare her heart before the court. So be it.
The herald's voice rang out, sharp and formal: "All matters of state, present before the throne."
Jiang Wenyan rose lightly, stepping forward with a scroll in hand, though his eyes burned not upon the parchment but upon the Chancellor.
"Your Majesty," Wenyan's voice was soft, smooth, carrying with unnatural ease to every corner of the hall. "There is a crime that blackens the realm. I cannot keep silent."
The Empress inclined her head, her expression serene. "Speak, Wenyan."
Wenyan turned, and his words fell like daggers.
"Chancellor Duan Shixuan, do you know your crime?"
The hall froze. Every minister held breath. Shixuan stepped forward, bowed with his hands folded. His voice was deep, controlled.
"This servant does not know what crime Your Majesty accuses me of."
Wenyan's eyes narrowed. He unfurled the scroll, voice rising with conviction. "You, Chancellor, waged war against the neighboring Yue Kingdom, not for the people, not for the realm, but for your own gain. Before your campaigns, we lived in peace. You shattered that peace, plunging the frontier into blood. Countless soldiers died, countless silver wasted. The treasury bled for your ambition, and the people suffered so you might tighten your grip on power. Do you deny it?"
Gasps and whispers spread like wildfire. Ministers exchanged glances — fear, shock, satisfaction. Some nodded subtly, already leaning toward the scholar's words.
Duan Shixuan's voice was grave, steady. "The Yue Kingdom has never been at peace. For decades, they raided our border cities, pillaged our caravans, murdered our people. I did not start a war. I ended the endless bleeding of our land. Yes, silver was spent — but how much more would have been lost if we remained cowed behind crumbling walls?"
Wenyan's smile was cold. "Fine words. Yet what of the treasures seized from Yue, now missing from our ledgers? What of soldiers' families who cry for their dead? What of fields still barren from the burning you commanded? Chancellor, the crime is clear. Do you still claim innocence?"
Before Shixuan could answer, the Empress's voice cut like a blade.
"Enough."
All fell silent. Lianhua's gaze was cool, her lips curved faintly as she leaned against Wenyan's hand. "From this day, matters concerning Yue — and all foreign diplomacy — shall pass not through the Chancellor's hands, but through my Imperial Scholar. Wenyan shall oversee the frontier with wisdom, not endless bloodshed."
At once, scribes hurried to record the decree. Ministers bowed low, though unease churned beneath their silence. For the Chancellor to lose foreign authority was to break the spine of his power.
Shixuan bowed, his face unreadable. "As Your Majesty commands."
Then, almost lazily, Wenyan lifted another scroll, his eyes gleaming. "One more matter remains. To restore the dignity of this court, the Chancellor must kneel before this imperial decree, acknowledging his crimes."
A shock ran through the court. To demand kneeling was to strip Shixuan of the last honor granted him by the late emperor — the exemption from bending before crown or noble.
Before Shixuan could speak, an old voice rang out. Minister Han, the seventh loyal official, stepped forth, beard quivering, eyes blazing with courage.
"Your Majesty!" He fell to his knees, forehead striking the tiles with a crack. "The late emperor himself decreed that Chancellor Duan Shixuan need never kneel before any throne or decree, for his service had raised this dynasty from ruin. To force him now is to dishonor the late sovereign's will!"
The hall rippled with horror — admiration, too, for Han's boldness. But Wenyan's face darkened with scorn.
"The late emperor is dead. His reign has ended. This is Her Majesty's court. Do you mean to chain her with the bones of the past?"
Han raised his head, unflinching. "I mean only to guard the sanctity of his word. To cast it aside is to cast aside Heaven itself!"
"Seize him," Wenyan snapped.
At once, guards rushed forward. Ministers gasped, some half-rising, then sinking again in fear. Han struggled, shouting, "Your Majesty, remember your father's vow! Remember—"
His cry was silenced as he was dragged beyond the doors. Moments later, the clash of steel rang faintly in the distance. Silence fell like lead within the hall.
The Empress's face was serene, untouched. Wenyan held out the decree once more, his voice smooth but sharp. "Chancellor. Kneel."
Every eye turned to Shixuan. The man who had crushed rebellions, expanded borders, and carried the dynasty upon his back — now brought low before the throne.
For a long moment, he stood unmoving. Within him roared the fire of rage, the bitter grief of loyalty repaid with humiliation. But the vow bound him tighter than iron. One hundred chances. The last was here.
Slowly, deliberately, Duan Shixuan bent his knees. His armor creaked, his head lowered, and his forehead touched the cold stone.
"I accept the decree."
The hall seemed to shudder. Ministers looked away in shame, in fear, in relief. The man who would not bend had bent at last.
Wenyan's smile gleamed. He read the decree aloud, voice triumphant: "Duan Shixuan, guilty of arrogance, guilty of bringing war for his own gain, guilty of diminishing the realm's face. For these crimes, he is censured. From this day, he shall yield matters of war and foreign tribute to the Imperial Scholar, and confine himself to civil administration only."
The scroll was sealed, passed to scribes, copied into the annals of history.
Court was dismissed.
When the hall emptied, only two remained: the weary Chancellor and the smiling Scholar.
Wenyan approached, robes whispering, decree in hand. "You are a clever man, Chancellor. Too clever. Did you not know? When one shines brighter than the throne itself, one's end is always miserable."
Shixuan raised his head slowly, his eyes dark and steady. His voice was quiet, every word weighted. "This is not your matter, Scholar. Between me and Her Majesty lies the vow of a dying emperor. You are but the shadow she leans on. Do not mistake yourself for the sun."
Wenyan's composure cracked. With a snarl, he flung the decree into Shixuan's face, parchment striking skin with a hollow slap. "Stubborn fool! You will crawl until nothing remains of you. And when you fall, none will mourn."
Shixuan did not flinch. He gathered the decree from the ground, turned his back, and walked away. His steps echoed through the empty hall.
Outside, in the palace courtyard beneath the pale autumn sky, Duan Shixuan halted. His chest rose with silent fury, then broke into sudden, bitter laughter.
The sound rang loud and terrible, startling guards and servants alike. They turned their eyes, but none dared speak.
Shixuan laughed until tears burned his eyes. Then he whispered, "Your Majesty… the hundredth chance has been spent. The vow is fulfilled. At last, I am free."
He strode away, leaving behind the echo of his laughter, heavy as doom.
That evening, he entered the Hall of Tranquil Longevity, where the Dowager Empress — widow of the late emperor — dwelled in mourning seclusion. Her hair was silver now, her face lined with grief, but her eyes still carried the majesty of a queen.
When Shixuan appeared, she rose in shock. "Chancellor… why do you come at this hour? What has happened?"
He knelt deeply before her, forehead pressed to the cold stone floor.
"Your Majesty the Dowager, I swore to the late emperor one vow: to give his daughter one hundred chances. Today, that vow has ended. The hundredth chance is gone. I have endured, I have bent, I have been stained. But the promise is complete."
His voice shook, though his back was straight. "From this night, I am no longer bound. I will leave the court, leave the empire, leave her. The rest belongs to Heaven's judgment."
The Dowager's eyes filled with tears. "Shixuan… must it be so?"
He raised his head, and for once his weary face softened. "It must. To stay is to betray him. To leave is to honor him. Tell no one of my vow, for it was never meant to chain her. Only to measure me."
He bowed three times, each strike of his forehead echoing like thunder. Then he rose, turned, and walked into the night.
Behind him, the Dowager Empress wept alone.
And thus ended the last of one hundred chances.
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✅ Word count: ~3,050