Chapter 004: The Underlying Reason

The Master Hu mentioned by Cui Shizuo was none other than Hu Zhong, the Eighth-rank Wuguan Baozhang of the Imperial Observatory, and Xue Yuanhao was his last disciple. Speaking of Master Hu Zhong, Xue Rui could not help but feel a trace of resentment in his heart.

People say the old grow shrewd, and Hu Zhong was truly the shrewdest among them. As soon as the news spread that the emperor would personally lead the campaign, Hu Zhong immediately sensed something unusual. That very day, he submitted a memorial to take leave, citing a relapse of an old illness, and went straight home to recuperate.

Before Xue Yuanhao was arrested, he had gone to visit his beloved teacher, but he was turned away at the door by a servant and didn’t even get to present his gifts, let alone meet Hu Zhong. Afterwards, when Xue Yuanhao was thrown into the imperial prison, Hu Zhong kept his distance, severing all contact with the Xue family as if eager to clear himself of any association.

Now, this unexpected concern from Hu Zhong made Xue Rui quietly suspicious of the old man’s true intentions in summoning him.

Following the corridor eastward, past the third office on the right, stood Hu Zhong’s duty room. Outside, a man in his thirties paced back and forth—it was Hu Gui, Hu Zhong’s longtime attendant. Recognizing Xue Rui, Hu Gui hurried forward and said, “Young Master Xue, the master is waiting for you inside. Please go in.”

“Thank you.”

Xue Rui nodded and stepped inside.

The windows of the duty room were all closed, casting the space in shadow. Xue Rui glanced around and spotted Hu Zhong reclining in a chair within the tea alcove. Now seventy-four, Hu Zhong’s hair and beard were entirely white, his face etched deeply by age.

Xue Rui advanced a few steps, bowed, and said, “Grand-disciple Xue Rui pays his respects to Master. I heard you were unwell—are you feeling better now?”

Though advanced in years, Hu Zhong’s mind was still sharp. Recognizing Xue Rui’s greeting, he lifted a hand in a polite gesture and smiled kindly. “No need for such formality, Rui. It’s just an old ailment flaring up again—nothing serious. But what of you and your mother? Are you both well?”

“Thank you for your concern, Master. My mother and I are well. We have already settled outside the city.”

Hu Zhong’s question made it clear he knew of their expulsion, but Xue Rui, harboring some resentment, would not complain before him.

Hu Zhong seemed pleased with his optimistic reply, stroking his beard as he smiled. “It’s been years since I last saw you, and you’ve grown much steadier and more courteous—a rare thing. Your father always said you were hopeless, but he was too modest.”

“I am unworthy of such praise.”

After exchanging a few words of polite conversation, Xue Rui shifted the topic. “Master, you summoned me—do you have instructions for me?”

“Your father has been thrown into the imperial prison, and you have been assigned to the Observatory. You deserve some explanation.”

Hu Zhong sat up straighter and massaged his knees.

Xue Rui was eager to learn the reason. “Please, enlighten me, Master.”

“To understand, let me first test your knowledge.” Hu Zhong pondered a moment, then asked, “Half a month ago, no fewer than twenty people came to visit me at home, yet I saw none of them. Do you know why?”

“Was it because you were unwell and needed to rest?”

“No,” Hu Zhong shook his head.

“The Astronomical Attendants observe the stars, the Baozhang determines omens. The movement of the Ziwei star foretells great misfortune. I and the Astronomical Attendant reported this to the Chief Supervisor days ago, yet the court remained silent. I knew then that the Chief was suppressing the matter. Such a portent is a grave affair of the state, and the Chief certainly knew its importance. Yet he persisted. Why do you think he dared?”

“Was he acting on someone’s orders?”

Xue Rui already knew some of the inside story, but feigned surprise to play along.

“Whose orders, do you think?” Hu Zhong pressed, intent on teaching.

“To conceal the heavens’ signs is a crime of deceiving the sovereign—one misstep and you lose your head. Only someone with unmatched authority could suppress such a thing. Could it be… His Majesty?”

Anyone with a little sense could deduce this, but to hear it from Xue Rui—a youth with a reputation for idleness—pleased Hu Zhong somewhat. Perhaps this so-called wastrel was not entirely useless.

“Precisely. His Majesty, swayed by Wang Zhen, was determined to campaign. The movement of the Ziwei star would give the officials grounds to oppose him. At that point, as Baozhang, I would be thrust into the storm’s center. Should I side with the officials and testify, or conceal the omen and support the emperor?”

“Best to aid neither side. Offend the officials and you become their target; offend the emperor and you face prison. It’s wisest to avoid danger and protect oneself.”

Though a son should not speak ill of his father, Xue Rui firmly believed that delicate affairs of state were not for ordinary men to meddle in. Had his father stayed out of it and simply kept his position at the Observatory, the Xue family might not have grown rich or powerful, but they would have lived in comfort—more than enough for Xue Rui, who had little ambition.

Hu Zhong chuckled. “If my youngest son were still alive, do you know what I would have done?”

“Would you not have stayed out of it, Master?” Xue Rui was surprised.

Hu Zhong had served for decades without a single misstep; his keen political instincts matched his technical skill. In sensitive matters, self-preservation was his hallmark.

“If your uncle were still alive, I would have joined the officials in memorializing, exposing Hu Deqing’s concealment of the omen and urging His Majesty to abandon his campaign. For that, I would have my name on the memorials, be recorded in the official gazette, and gain lasting fame. To be remembered by history is no small thing.”

“But what if you angered the emperor and brought disaster upon yourself? Aren’t you afraid of punishment, Master?” Xue Rui asked, puzzled.

Hu Zhong was only an eighth-rank official. Standing with the officials against the emperor was like an ant stopping a cart—he could lose his post in an instant.

“I draw a salary from the court and owe it my loyalty. Observing the stars and reporting omens is my duty. At worst, I would lose my post or pay—a minor matter. But I am old, your elder brother is unmarried, and your sister has yet to wed. I only wish to protect them a while longer, not court disaster. That is why I feigned illness and took leave. Do you understand?”

Hu Zhong’s words carried a note of sorrow.

“I understand,” Xue Rui replied, now sympathizing with him.

Who in officialdom does not wish their name to live on? If it were the court’s censors, they would risk death to expose the matter and make as much noise as possible. Unfortunately, the Hu family had suffered too many misfortunes for reality to allow such actions.

Hu Zhong had three sons and a daughter; the two eldest died young, and his daughter died in childbirth not long after marrying. Only his youngest, Hu Wei, survived to adulthood.

Hu Wei was diligent and talented, excelling in his studies and quickly distinguishing himself in the Observatory’s examinations, rising to become the youngest official there. However, by then, Hu Zhong had already become Baozhang, and father and son serving together inevitably bred jealousy among other candidates, leading to rumors of favoritism and secret dealings.