Little Pink Starfish

Phoenix for a Vermilion Bird

That morning, Wu Zhen was publicly scolded by the Minister of Rites and then kicked out of the storeroom.

At the same time, Emperor Xianzong was already holding court. The overburdened ruler had no time to think about the treasures he had just sent off. He wasn’t concerned—so naturally, he had no idea what was happening at the Inner Court’s storeroom.

Meanwhile, Yu Xiaoxiao was eating breakfast with Gu Xinglang, planning to head to the palace afterward to ask her father for travel expenses.

Wu Zhen stood outside the palace gate for a moment. As a deputy minister of Rites (a third-rank official), he technically belonged in the court’s upper ranks. But ever since Zhao Qiuming had fallen from power, Wu had been barred from entering the throne hall.

The commander of the palace guards saw him but pretended not to. There were too many downcast officials lingering around the palace these days—he was used to the sight.

Wu Zhen boarded his sedan chair and, after leaving the street that led to the imperial palace, told his attendant, “To the Zhao residence.”

The attendant—an old family servant loyal to the Wu clan—was shocked. “Sir, you want to go to the Zhao residence?” These days, everyone was avoiding any association with the disgraced former prime minister. And yet his master was walking straight in?

Wu Zhen simply murmured, “Mm.”

“Sir!” the servant cried in alarm.

“No more talk,” Wu Zhen said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

Zhao Qiuming had been bedridden for days. Though Xianzong sent imperial physicians from time to time, Zhao believed they were just slowly changing prescriptions to wear him down until he died.

When his steward announced Wu Zhen’s visit, Zhao Qiuming thought he’d misheard. “Who?”

“Lord Wu Zhen,” the steward confirmed.

Zhao hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Let him in.”

Soon, Wu Zhen entered the sickroom. Upon seeing the once-powerful minister now gaunt and shriveled, he bowed deeply and said, voice trembling, “Prime Minister.”

“Sit,” Zhao said with a faint smile.

The steward brought over a round stool.

“Everyone out,” Zhao ordered before Wu Zhen could speak.

The attendants withdrew, with the steward waiting outside the door.

Zhao looked Wu Zhen over. “Looks like you’ve had a rough time.”

“Prime Minister—”

“Sigh…” Zhao cut him off with a shake of his head. “Why still call me that? I’m just a criminal now, waiting for His Majesty’s punishment.”

Wu Zhen grew anxious. If Zhao was just waiting to die, what about the rest of them—the ones dragged down with him? Gu Xingnuo had left, giving the faction unaffiliated with Zhao some breathing room. But he would return eventually. When he did, what would happen to them?

Zhao saw Wu Zhen’s unease and smiled. “I heard Gu Xingnuo may give up his military post and enter the Cabinet as Prime Minister. Is it true?”

Wu Zhen shook his head. “Gu Xingnuo claimed illness and left the capital a few days ago. I don’t know where he went.”

“He didn’t return to his ancestral home?” Zhao asked.

“I truly don’t know,” Wu replied. “He left overnight. I don’t even know which city gate he used.”

Turning down a chance at the prime minister’s seat? That meant something was up. Zhao’s thoughts churned—what new schemes were brewing between Yu Xiaoxiao and the Gu family?

Wu Zhen leaned in. “Prime Minister, you can’t just sit and wait for death.”

Zhao chuckled. “You’re quite direct.”

Wu Zhen replied, “I may be dismissed and sent home any day now.”

“They’re targeting even you?” Zhao was surprised. “Gu Xingnuo isn’t a petty man.”

“Even if he isn’t,” Wu said bitterly, “others might be.”

Zhao sighed. “In my current state, I’m powerless to help you.”

“Prime Minister,” Wu Zhen leaned even closer and shared the news: His Majesty was sending Yu Xiaoxiao and Gu Xinglang to Zhuque for Li Xiaoyuan’s fiftieth birthday.

Zhao listened quietly. When Wu Zhen finished, he only said, “Even with the princess out of the capital, I can’t help you.”

Wu practically pressed his chest to Zhao’s bed. “Among the birthday gifts His Majesty prepared… is a red jade Zhu bird.”

Zhao’s gaze sharpened.

Wu Zhen stared into his eyes and said lowly, “I saw it myself. It looks like a phoenix.”

Zhao fell silent.

“Back when Consort Zhao gave birth to the Sixth Prince, His Majesty gifted her a red jade phoenix,” Wu said. “I wonder… does this Zhu bird resemble that one?”

“What does it look like?” Zhao asked.

Wu had seen the paper, brush, and ink on a side table when he came in. Now, he got up, walked over, and sketched the red jade Zhu bird from memory.

Zhao studied the drawing. He didn’t say whether it resembled the phoenix or not—he simply smiled. “You’ve kept up your drawing skills.”

Wu said, “What do you think, Prime Minister?”

“Go home,” Zhao said. “Thank you for still visiting me at a time like this.”

Wu Zhen wanted to say more, but seeing Zhao close his eyes, he could only bow deeply and quietly take his leave.

“Steward,” Zhao said once Wu had gone, “see Lord Wu out.”

“Yes, sir,” the steward answered quickly.

After being escorted from the Zhao residence and settling into his sedan, Wu Zhen felt hot. He lifted his hand to unbutton his collar and found his fingers trembling uncontrollably.

“Sir?” his servant called from outside.

“Back to the manor,” Wu Zhen said.

The sedan lurched into motion, swaying down the road.

Wu clenched his hands together tightly. He had delivered the opportunity to Zhao Qiuming. Whether Zhao would take it—it all depended on him. A man who had once ruled the court of Fengtian with an iron fist… could he muster the will for one last desperate gamble?

Inside the Zhao residence, the old minister stared long at the black-ink drawing of the jade bird. It was remarkably similar to the red jade phoenix once gifted to Consort Zhao.

“Phoenix for a Vermilion Bird?” Zhao murmured. If a misdelivered phoenix could get Yu Xiaoxiao killed in Zhuque, it might just be the chance he needed. Only if she died would the Gu family, Ying Nianyun, and the rest become leaderless.

Crushing the paper in his hand, Prime Minister Zhao told himself:

“Fortune favors the bold.”