Before dawn had truly broken, the ministers attending court had already lined up, holding morning court in the Golden Hall.
Everything proceeded in perfect order. Ministers stepped forth one after another and spoke briefly. Morning court was naturally not the time to truly govern state affairs, much less formulate policy—that was the business of the Two Offices. Yet more often than not, the words spoken and stances taken at court served as weather vanes, and were the source of countless great upheavals.
Thus, no morning court could be treated lightly. Whether they were ministers seeking to set major events in motion, or ordinary officials with limited power who wished to discern the court's direction, all listened, watched, and pondered intently at every session.
Perhaps this had not mattered much in the past, but over the last two years, the Emperor's temperament had become increasingly unfathomable, and his handling of state affairs ever more iron-handed. There were even faint signs of arbitrary rule. Every morning court might bring an unexpected reversal, forcing the civil and military officials throughout the court to be even more vigilant.
However, Great Rui's political structure did not permit the Emperor to wield sole authority. There were many constraints, and the system was one in which scholar-officials and the Emperor governed the realm together. Generally speaking, it was difficult for the Emperor to be both iron-handed and arbitrary. But the scholar-officials were never a single solid block; countless contradictions existed within their ranks. Furthermore, the power of the poor scholars who had risen through the Imperial Examinations continued to expand. They were naturally estranged from, and at odds with, the aristocratic bureaucrats. Once these factors were combined and exploited by the Emperor, opposing views tangled together and naturally kept one another in check.
The Old Party relied