Three days later, at the time of the morning court.
Civil and military officials, as usual, walked across the square before the Golden Hall, greeting and conversing with one another about current affairs or matters of their own households.
Yet the atmosphere was far more solemn. They were, after all, people of the officialdom—well-informed and adept at reading the winds. Before this court session had even begun, they had already noticed the shifting situation.
Present-day Great Rui appeared, on the surface, to be expanding its territory, receiving the homage of countless nations, and enjoying glory for a time. People had already begun speaking of a "restoration," effectively giving Li Kun his verdict. But beneath that prosperous facade, undercurrents surged. Several major power blocs were grinding against one another, their mutual hostility so thick that even passersby could smell it.
With the Emperor gravely ill, however, several court sessions had ended hurriedly halfway through. Everyone in attendance realized that the Emperor's final hour was near. Each began making his own calculations, and the rise and fall of forces throughout the court changed accordingly.
The most obvious sign was that the Old Party, once suppressed—the conservative faction—was showing signs of revival. Meanwhile, the New Party had recently been chastened by the Emperor time and again. Its expansion had stalled and even showed signs of shrinking.
As for centrists such as Meng Qingbin, it had become difficult for them to remain untainted amid such circumstances. Both sides had begun suppressing them. Yet this suppression was not meant to make enemies, but to force them to choose a side quickly. All parties had fixed their eyes upon them, waiting only for one event to occur before the winds and clouds changed.
Yet amid this storm stood a figure like a pillar holding back the