Fang Zhiyi married a new empress, and the entire nation celebrated together. When the emperor addressed him as "father-in-law," Sima Ci's aged face blossomed into a wide grin. Unable to resist, he drank a few extra cups with the emperor. Watching the emperor collapse drunk, Sima Ci sneered inwardly—back when he was leading troops in battle, this brat hadn’t even been born! How dare he challenge him to a drinking contest?
The palace was bustling with excitement that day, a rare occurrence after so long without festivities. Yet to outsiders, the night resembled more of a Sima family banquet than a royal celebration.
The emperor, thoroughly drunk, was carried back to his chambers by eunuchs early in the evening, though the wedding feast continued without him. After laying the heavily intoxicated emperor on his bed, the eunuchs withdrew. There was no advantage in standing guard tonight—better to return to the banquet and serve there, where they might even pocket some rewards.
Once the footsteps faded, Fuhai shook his head, regretting his decision to board the emperor’s sinking ship. At this point, victory seemed unlikely, but there was no turning back. Resigned, he turned to fetch a blanket, only to freeze in shock—the supposedly unconscious emperor now sat upright at the edge of the bed, his eyes sharp and alert, not a trace of drunkenness in them.
"Your Majes—" Fuhai dropped to his knees in panic, but Fang Zhiyi grabbed his arm, silencing him.
"No time for formalities. Listen carefully."
As Fang Zhiyi laid out his plan in detail, Fuhai’s expression shifted—from initial terror to a fervent, almost fanatical gleam, tinged with something like longing.
The next day, Fang Zhiyi claimed illness and skipped court. Sima Ci assumed it was just a hangover from the previous night’s revelry. After all, as a mere figurehead, the emperor’s presence hardly mattered.
After court adjourned, Sima Ci strode toward the inner palace, his steps even more swaggering now that he was not just the chancellor but also the emperor’s father-in-law. Before reaching his daughter’s quarters, however, he heard laughter—a sound long absent from the tense, fearful halls of the harem, especially after a decade of successive imperial coups.
Curious, Sima Ci followed the noise and was met with a staggering sight: the emperor, dressed in servant’s garb, was roughhousing with a group of eunuchs over a round object!
Sima Ci’s jaw slackened, but he held his tongue. The emperor had grown up among commoners, after all. If this was how he amused himself, perhaps it proved he posed no threat to the Sima family.
Still, a reminder was in order. Sima Ci cleared his throat pointedly.
Spotting him, Fang Zhiyi scampered over like an eager child. "Master!"
Sima Ci’s face twisted in discomfort.
Fang Zhiyi smacked his forehead. "Ah, my memory! Father-in-law!"
Sima Ci beamed, though his smile soon faltered. "Your Majesty, skipping court to frolic with eunuchs is beneath the dignity of the Son of Heaven."
The eunuchs behind Fang Zhiyi dropped to their knees, trembling. As lowly castrates, they had little status to begin with. Offending this fool of an emperor was one thing, but crossing Sima Ci? That was a death sentence.
Fang Zhiyi grinned sheepishly. "Father-in-law, they—they just wanted to play with me! Back on the streets, I always played with others..."
Sima Ci narrowed his eyes. "Your Majesty, you are the ruler of this land. Neglecting state affairs to cavort with these... creatures is unacceptable. Guards! Take them away!"
The eunuchs wailed, knowing "taken away" meant certain death. They kowtowed desperately, begging for mercy.
As the guards advanced, Fang Zhiyi hastily intervened. "Father-in-law, please—hear me out!" He recognized this as Sima Ci flexing his power, but for now, he had to endure it.
Sima Ci stared coldly.
Fang Zhiyi leaned in, whispering like a conspirator, nothing like an emperor. "With you overseeing the court, I’m at ease—the whole kingdom is at ease! I just want to play. Governing is beyond me."
The words "with you, I’m at ease" sent a thrill through Sima Ci.
"And once the empress bears me a son," Fang Zhiyi added with a wink, "you’ll practically be the Grand Emperor! Think of it as helping your poor son-in-law out, eh?"
Sima Ci tensed, actually clamping a hand over Fang Zhiyi’s mouth. "Your Majesty mustn’t speak such recklessly! A mere subject like me could never aspire to such glory!"
Though he protested, his eyes gleamed with naked ambition. Fang Zhiyi had spent enough time in this unfamiliar dynasty to understand its traditions: the people revered bloodlines and legitimacy. If Sima Ci seized the throne outright, the realm would revolt.
But dangling this bait? Even a fox like Sima Ci couldn’t resist.
Glancing around, Sima Ci abruptly released Fang Zhiyi and bowed. "This subject overstepped. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness!"
Fang Zhiyi waved it off, still playing the bumpkin. "Oh, come now, Father-in-law! Between us?" He gestured to the eunuchs. "About these fellows..."
Sima Ci didn’t hesitate. "Are you all deaf? The emperor’s orders stand!" The guards retreated at once.
Grinning, Fang Zhiyi beckoned one eunuch. "You there—er, what’s-your-name. Ah! Father-in-law, I’ve an idea."
Sima Ci was thoroughly pleased now. "Speak freely, Your Majesty."
Fang Zhiyi pointed at the eunuchs. "I can never tell who does what. If I want to find the eunuch I played with last time, it’s such a hassle..."
"Your Majesty wishes to reassign them all to your palace? But that would—"
"No, no!" Fang Zhiyi cut in. "I want to reorganize their duties." He lowered his voice. "That way, I’ll know who’s on shift. If they’re free, I can summon them without disrupting important work."
Sima Ci wasn’t sure whether the emperor was an idiot or just profoundly stupid. Since when did emperors micromanage eunuch assignments? Traditionally, eunuchs were assigned to zones, overseen by a chief eunuch per area, while consorts and the empress dowager had their own attendants. Simple.
"And that guy with the brush always following me? So annoying," Fang Zhiyi added, scowling.
Sima Ci turned and spotted the historian lingering nearby. Suddenly, inspiration struck.
At his pinnacle of power, the only step left was usurpation—which was why he’d poisoned previous emperors and installed this street-bred fool. With his daughter now empress, the throne would eventually pass to the Sima bloodline. The only remaining itch? The historians’ records.
He refused to be remembered as a power-hungry traitor, his grave spat upon by future generations.
But with the right contrast, his legacy could shine.