The Lonely King 09

As these words were spoken, the court fell silent.

The position of Grand Marshal indeed existed, but it had been vacant for a long time. First, no one was deemed worthy of holding it. Second, ever since the Sima family seized control of the court, the Emperor had only the Chancellor beneath him. Moreover, the title itself somewhat clashed with the Sima family name, so the position remained unfilled.

Sima Jue’s mind raced, his face flickering with shock and suspicion. But in the next moment, Sima Cheng stepped forward and declared, "Your servant accepts the decree and thanks Your Majesty!"

Sima Jue stared at the foolishly grinning Emperor on the throne, his father’s face flashing through his mind.

"Did Father misjudge him?" The position of Grand Marshal was a high-ranking court official, ranking above the Three Excellencies. Strictly speaking, it was even half a rank higher than his own. But this position was responsible for military administration and wartime strategy—it held no actual military authority! Or was it that his elder brother sought to ally with the Emperor to challenge him?

Sima Cheng was pleased. This was the plan he had discussed yesterday with his sister and the Emperor, his brother-in-law. Now, standing in the court with a rank half a step above Sima Jue’s, he thought smugly, Let’s see how you deal with me now!

As for military power, Sima Cheng wasn’t foolish—he still held the concurrent position of Grand General.

Thus, with the support of Fang Zhiyi and Sima Ying, Sima Cheng began his struggle against his younger brother. Court officials began choosing sides, while some fence-sitters swiftly defected to Sima Cheng’s faction.

Flushed with success, Sima Cheng was overjoyed. He began to understand why their father had loved the court so much—this taste of power was far sweeter than risking his life on the frontier.

But as time passed, Sima Cheng grew restless. The army required inspections and garrisons, yet he dared not leave the capital, fearing Sima Jue would regain his footing in his absence. Following the advice of the two in the inner palace, he delegated military authority to several of his trusted generals and turned his full attention to dealing with Sima Jue.

In the Empress’s chambers, Fang Zhiyi leaned lazily against a pillar, eating grapes.

Sima Ying looked up at him. "Your Majesty, I have done everything you asked. May I request one thing in return?"

Fang Zhiyi didn’t move. "Speak."

"Spare my two brothers."

Fang Zhiyi smiled. "For your sake, as long as they don’t seek death, I won’t touch them."

Fuhai entered. "Master, the evidence has been delivered to the Grand Marshal."

"Keep a close watch."

Fuhai bowed and withdrew.

Sima Ying watched him leave, then turned back to Fang Zhiyi. "My father prided himself on his wisdom, yet he never imagined Your Majesty would outmaneuver him so thoroughly."

Fang Zhiyi tossed aside a grape peel. "Nothing special—just practice." With that, he strode out.

Wang Zhong, nestled in bed with his wife, was startled awake by pounding at his door. He leapt up, reaching for his blade, only for soldiers to burst in.

"What is the meaning of this?"

A man strolled in, hands clasped behind his back. "What is this? Wang Zhong, your crimes of deceiving the throne and exploiting the people have come to light."

Wang Zhong gaped at Sima Cheng. Brother, are you even listening to yourself? Deceiving the throne? Exploiting the people? Wasn’t that always the Sima family’s doing?

But Sima Cheng had no intention of hearing his protests. He ordered his men to seize Wang Zhong immediately—after all, he had ample evidence, meticulously gathered by his sister.

After a round of torture, a confession riddled with Sima Jue’s name fell into Sima Cheng’s hands.

At court the next day, he stepped forward with a pained expression, denouncing his brother’s treachery and brandishing the confession, vowing to uphold justice even at the cost of family ties.

Sima Jue, of course, had no intention of surrendering. The moment he learned of Wang Zhong’s arrest, he prepared countermeasures—his methods were far more refined than his elder brother’s.

Fang Zhiyi, too, knew the Sima family’s influence wouldn’t crumble so easily.

Watching the courtiers bicker, Fang Zhiyi clutched his head. "Enough!"

He issued a series of adjustments—those implicated in the confession were either demoted or investigated, while the Sima brothers were placated with reassurances.

Fuhai, who had long served Fang Zhiyi, felt a chill creep down his spine. He was growing increasingly fearful of this Emperor who played the fool. Amid the Sima family’s infighting, Fang Zhiyi had silently orchestrated everything.

The officials promoted when Sima Jue and Sima Ci were elevated now found their superiors either demoted or under investigation, allowing them to quietly assume higher positions.

The court’s lifeblood was being renewed—so subtly that no one could trace it back to Fang Zhiyi.

"Fuhai, let’s go. Why the daze?" Fang Zhiyi glanced back at him.

Fuhai broke into a cold sweat and hurriedly nodded. "Ah, coming! Please slow down, Master." At that moment, he was deeply grateful he had chosen the right side.

The interim commander of the Imperial Guards, ostensibly Sima Cheng’s man, now obeyed Fang Zhiyi’s orders in secret. Half the key posts in the Three Departments and Six Ministries were held by officials the Emperor had privately courted—disillusioned men who now occupied new positions, filled with gratitude and admiration for this seemingly inept ruler.

Fang Zhiyi had been both a powerful minister and an emperor in the past. He knew these maneuvers better than anyone. In this relatively backward dynasty, given eyes and hands, he could nurture his own power beneath the Sima family’s shadow.

Another major scandal erupted, first uncovered by the former Imperial Guards—now the Grand Marshal’s personal retinue.

It was a smuggling case, but the contraband had been destined for the northwestern barbarians!

The court was thrown into an uproar. Sima Cheng, delirious with triumph, dispatched a swarm of agents, for the officials implicated were all aligned with his second brother.

The blow was devastating—so severe that even Fang Zhiyi couldn’t gloss it over. Smuggling salt and iron to the barbarians was tantamount to treason!

Sima Jue was arrested on the spot. The Sima faction stirred uneasily, but under Sima Cheng’s domineering glare, they held their tongues—though a sense of unease lingered.

Still, Fang Zhiyi, mindful of the Sima family’s dignity, merely stripped Sima Jue of his rank and ordered him home to tend to their father. The decision pleased Sima Cheng, the Empress Dowager, and the Sima family’s younger generation.

But when Sima Cheng learned his sister wasn’t pregnant, his face twisted in fury.

All obstacles had been removed—the detested Sima Jue, their formidable father. Now, if only this Emperor were gone, he could taste the thrill of ruling the realm! Yet only now did his sister reveal she wasn’t with child?

Fang Zhiyi had predicted this perfectly. That very night, Sima Cheng, urged by his advisors, began plotting an outright coup. He no longer cared how history would judge him. Still, this Emperor was oddly decent—perhaps he’d spare his life, letting him and Sima Ying live as commoners.

Ah, but that sister of his was too clever. She’d need constant surveillance.

Sima Cheng summoned his faction’s ministers to his residence, where they conspired in hushed tones. Every man present wore a grave expression. You may not fear the judgment of history, Sima Cheng, but we do! Yet with armed guards encircling them, none dared voice their misgivings.