"Your servant pays his respects to Your Majesty and to all my lords."
Inside the Government Affairs Hall, Wang Yan, clad in a purple official robe, a winged cap atop his head, auspicious-cloud official boots on his feet, and a fish pouch at his waist, respectfully saluted Zhao Zhen, Fan Zhongyan, and the others present.
Without waiting for Zhao Zhen to speak, Wang Yan straightened up and continued, "It has been seven years since this servant last saw Your Majesty. Your Majesty is in even better spirits than when this servant last left the capital."
At forty-nine, Zhao Zhen's skin had grown quite slack, with large bags beneath his eyes and a slightly puffy face. His hair was nearly all white, with only a scant few strands still dark—just as conspicuous as the few white hairs amid black hair that made one itch to pluck them out.
At a glance, Wang Yan knew Old Zhao did not have long to live. He certainly could not say Zhao Zhen looked younger; that might make him sensitive and think there was some hidden meaning in his words. Praising his spirits sounded much better.
Zhao Zhen was quite pleased. Wang Yan had surrendered his authority, and his manner had not changed in the slightest. He was still just as he had been back then—a loyal and devoted minister of the Zhao Family.
He laughed heartily. "Isn't it all because of you? Now that our Song Dynasty has recovered the Sixteen Prefectures of You and Yun, and with all you beloved ministers united in purpose, the Song Dynasty is at peace throughout the realm. There is nothing that need trouble Us, so how could Our spirits not be good?"
Case solved. The reason Zhao Zhen's health was poor was because his spirits were too