Emperor? 

Who?

Me? 

How did I become one? 

Amid the roaring cheers of “Long live the emperor!”

His Majesty Maomao was still a bit taken aback. Instinctively, he looked toward the cloth tiger 666 sitting on the three-step platform in front of him, which was playing a homemade video of the calisthenics routine he’d just demonstrated for Wen Maomao. 

Is his little tiger really that amazing?

Wen Maomao’s confusion lasted less than a second before it vanished, because 666 looked even more shocked than he did—though once the shock wore off, this unlucky system plunged into ecstatic joy at having been hit by a windfall. Its cotton limbs stood stiff as a board on the gray-white platform, and it could hardly wait to raise its arms to the sun and shout, “Even roof tiles have their day to shine, and the east wind eventually turns south—I really did pick the right person!”

Wen Maomao quickly shifted his gaze to Consort Huo standing beside him, who managed to look exceptionally dignified and elegant even in her mourning attire. It was clearly a meticulously coordinated ensemble: plain white fabric trimmed with silver thread, a grand hairpin adorned with white velvet flowers, and the stray strands of hair at her forehead and temples neatly tucked away, revealing a flawless face that was strikingly beautiful.

The moment she caught Wen Maomao’s slightly flustered gaze, she gave him a subtle wink.

Even though Consort Huo hadn’t said a word, Wen Maomao suddenly felt completely at ease. All he could think of was what Uncle Zhong, the butler from his hometown in Northeast China, had told him: “Once you’re inside the palace, no matter what situation or event you encounter, let’s always carry ourselves with poise and grace, okay?” 

Okay! 

His Majesty Maomao, acting with poise and confidence, was suddenly lifted into the air by a man who arrived shortly afterward—a man just as tall as Uncle Huo. The man addressed him, saying, “Your Majesty, this servant is Huo Zicheng, humbly serving as the junior member of the Cabinet—”

The five-year-old Emperor said nothing. He was clearly weighing whether this fell under the category that Guan Guan had told him about: “No matter who comes to take you away, do not follow them.”

“—I am the good-for-nothing older brother of the Imperial Consort.”

There was only one Imperial Consort in the entire palace, and that was Auntie Huo. Wen Maomao immediately broke into a smile; in the exceptionally warm sunlight of that day, two faint dimples appeared on his face, and he hugged Minister Huo’s soft arm even tighter as he leaned forward. 

He said, “Then let’s hurry up and leave, Uncle Qichuan!”

Minister Huo, who had originally intended to take advantage of the fact that they’d just met to imprint his own handwriting deeply in his nephew’s mind: “……”

To make matters worse, his sister was standing nearby, winking and beaming with pride. “See? Isn’t he a smart kid? I only taught him once, and he remembered it. What’s ‘a photographic memory’? This is a photographic memory! What’s a ‘living prodigy’? This is a living prodigy!” 

That dazed look was exactly the same as when he’d asked him last night why he’d chosen Wen Maomao to be emperor.

Beneath the flickering light of the palace lanterns, the eldest son of the Huo family methodically set up the scene of the emperor’s unexpected death with his own hands. While his younger brother was in the next room coordinating stories with Consort Shun and the others, he took the opportunity to explain to his sister: “Selecting an heir is the only way to divert everyone’s attention away from probing the true cause of the emperor’s death.”

If you don’t want people to dwell on one issue, divert their attention to something else they absolutely wouldn’t want to miss.

What could be more important than the emperor’s death? Naturally, it is selecting the next emperor.

If Emperor Yingzong had been a good emperor—or a charismatic leader—there might have been some steadfast, loyal old ministers willing to fight tooth and nail to investigate the cause of his death. But unfortunately, Emperor Yingzong was not that kind of person.

Huo Qichuan had actually prepared quite a few contingency plans to divert attention, but in the end, not a single one was needed that day.

Minister Wang of the Ministry of Rites merely made a brief statement, saying that while they were all deeply saddened by His Majesty’s death, the country could not go a single day without a ruler, and since the late emperor had passed away, the most important thing now was to stabilize the realm. Everyone nodded in agreement, saying, “Yes, yes, Minister Wang is absolutely right.”

In this natural, seamless transition, they swiftly moved on to the main agenda of that day’s court session.

Probably not even Minister Wang himself expected that there would come a day when his words would resonate so widely. Emperor Yingzong was truly unpopular. 

Those officials who had previously been able to say little more than a few dry remarks in the face of the Great Emperor’s death now had plenty to discuss when it came to the succession to the throne. Each one seemed like a reincarnation of Zhuge Liang, capable of outdebating a crowd of scholars. Aside from the scions of prominent families, most of the remaining officials had fought their way through the imperial examinations, overcoming countless obstacles; they could effortlessly cite classical texts and claim the moral high ground at the drop of a hat.

Just as Huo Qichuan had told his younger sister in the Changle Hall, these officials might claim, “I have no personal agenda; I merely wish to serve the realm and devote myself to the people,” but in reality, each of them had already decided on their preferred candidate long before entering the palace.

“If we want to succeed, we must first identify who among those present tonight will have the greatest influence on the future of Great Qi for decades to come, which factions they belong to, and what their ultimate objectives are.”

Huo Qichuan casually picked up the items on the small table in the warm chamber and, with a leisurely air, began arranging them for his younger sister.

The calligraphy brush represents the “Pure Stream” faction, which speaks with only its mouth; the taotie-shaped paperweight symbolizes the “Corrupt Officials’ Party,” which rakes in money at all costs; and the golden toad tea pet stands for the aristocratic clans, who have become increasingly parochial in recent years… 

Everyone could list one, two, three, four, and five reasons—from orthodoxy to self-evident truth—to support their own nominee, and could also cite the *Rites of Zhou* and ancestral family laws to oppose the opponent’s nominee, listing five, four, three, two, and one reasons.

One argued that the choice should naturally come from among the three children adopted by the Emperor; although His Majesty had passed away suddenly, he was not without children, and his own offspring were the natural heirs. Another spoke out in opposition, saying, “With a young ruler and the realm in turmoil, how can we allow a strong branch to overshadow the main trunk?” Moreover, the three princes had not yet been formally enfeoffed, so their claim to the throne was not necessarily legitimate.

Another argued that the nation relies on an elder ruler, noting that the Emperor’s brothers were all talented men and legitimate descendants of their late father, Emperor An. This view took a clear and direct opposing stance, contending that the princes were neither of the legitimate line nor virtuous, and would struggle to command the respect of the people. Whichever one was chosen, it would likely spark turmoil—how long had it been since the previous Rebellion of the Eight Princes? Have you forgotten all of that?

“Who do you think will make the first move?” Huo Qichuan asked his sister, surveying the array of factions laid out across the table.

Consort Huo hadn’t expected a Q&A session. Ever since she was a child, she’d dreaded being suddenly quizzed by her female tutor like this. With her mind going blank, she randomly nudged Jin Chan.

And she actually guessed the correct answer.

The aristocratic faction led by the Pei clan of Yingchuan—or rather, the Pei clan centered around Empress Pei—would certainly do everything in their power to ensure that the heir to the throne was chosen from among the three children. Only if one of the next generation became emperor could Empress Pei rightfully become Empress Dowager Pei. If one of her younger brothers were to inherit the throne, how would she, as the former empress, be able to maintain her standing?

The decline of the aristocratic families had already begun to show signs as early as the reign of Emperor An. They had staked everything on Emperor Yingzong of the current dynasty, and their gamble had indeed paid off—they produced Empress Pei. Naturally, they could not allow their efforts to fall short at the very last moment.

“What about us?” Although Huo Hanguang asked her older brother this question, the moment the words left her mouth, she realized that everyone already had an answer in their hearts, including herself. In truth, she, too, had a preference: the three children.

In the Mingyi Hall, where state affairs were deliberated, beneath the coffered ceiling adorned with a giant dragon clutching a jewel, Empress Pei, seated behind a beaded curtain, spoke up: “It is not that His Majesty has not made the conferment; it is simply that he has not proclaimed it to the realm.” As for how the Emperor had made the conferment and when—that was none of your concern. In any case, the Emperor had already discussed it privately with us consorts, and His Majesty’s verbal decree was also an imperial edict. 

Who can attest to this? 

Just then, Empress Pei’s gaze fell upon Consort Huo, who, having received a subtle cue from her elder brother, had been quietly observing the situation.

Over the years in the palace, the two of them had maintained a “live and let live” relationship. After all, neither of them had children, and Empress Pei’s was more like running her own shop; there weren’t many conflicts of interest, and while their relationship wasn’t particularly good, it wasn’t bad either.

Empress Pei had long anticipated this very scenario; before the court session began, she had already taken Consort Huo’s hand in a tacit gesture of vulnerability.

It was only at that very moment that Huo Hanguang understood her brother’s intent—offering to help of your own accord is a completely different situation from having someone come to you for help. 

At a time like this, there was no need for Consort Huo to say anything further; the shrewd members of the Pei and Huo families had already reached a tacit understanding of mutual support through a few subtle exchanges of glances and witty remarks.

So, after her brother nodded, Consort Huo spoke up. Could the Empress and the Consort really join forces to tell a lie? 

That’s hard to say, but in any case, the princes were the first to be targeted by a joint scheme and eliminated from the final round. This was mainly because they were still in their fiefdoms at the time, making it impossible to reach them. Even if they had connections in the court, these were limited to lower-ranking officials who had sided with them; as for the high-ranking ministers, they shared at most a few casual acquaintances—and such ties were clearly insufficient for them to challenge the authority of the Pei and Huo families.

To avoid incurring the new emperor’s resentment upon his accession, they quickly gave up and laid low.

This is why Huo Qichuan enjoyed dealing with intelligent people—they valued their lives and were easy to manipulate. 

Once the field of potential heirs had been narrowed down—with most people united in their opposition—to Emperor Yingzong’s adopted sons, they launched yet another round of disputes.

With fewer options, their attacks became even more focused.

Among the three children, some advocated for the eldest legitimate son; since there was no legitimate son, the choice naturally fell on Wen Mengzheng, the eldest at ten years old. His greatest advantage was his visibly robust constitution, which the ministers—who had had enough of the late emperor’s antics—considered crucial. 

However, a faction immediately voiced strong opposition. They argued that selecting an emperor meant choosing the ruler of the realm—not deciding who would inherit a couple of mu of land after a wealthy villager’s death. They contended that appointing the most virtuous and capable candidate was the only way to be responsible to the people and serve the realm with dedication. Among the three princes, the eight-year-old Wen Guan was renowned for his precocious intelligence and clearly possessed the makings of a wise ruler. 

At this point, Wen Maomao—the youngest and with the most distant bloodline—seemed to have virtually no chance left.

In the Changle Hall, Huo Qichuan watched as his younger sister placed the crimson-sealed memorial from the Office of Ceremonial Affairs—representing the “minor figures”—on top of the decorative ornaments representing all the powerful figures. 

Eunuch Bi Fang, who had remained silent, took a step forward, stepping out of the shadows.

Huo Hanguang was stunned; she had no idea that Bi Fang—whose influence in the Office of Ceremonial Rites was said to be all-encompassing—was actually her brother’s man. 

Wen Maomao had nothing, and his strength lay precisely in having nothing. 

Yet no one expected that Bi Fang would then say that, during his lifetime, His Majesty had mentioned countless times while paying respects to the ancestors at the Imperial Ancestral Temple that the difficulties faced by his branch of the family were likely due to the calamity caused by Emperor Taizong all those years ago.

This touched upon a secret and long-standing grudge within the old Wen family. To put it simply, historically, very few Emperors had ascended the throne under normal circumstances. 

The Emperor of Great Qi was no exception.

He won’t dwell on who was right or wrong here—that’s not the point. The point is that Emperor Yingzong was a descendant of Emperor Taizong, while those from the line of Emperor Huai—who had tragically lost the throne—who managed to survive had mostly returned to their ancestral homes in Jiangzuo to farm the land, much like Wen Maomao’s ancestors. 

If we’re talking about legitimacy—tracing it back to its roots—then Wen Maomao is the one with the true, legitimate claim.

Because Emperor Huai was the legitimate son of the official Empress, his bloodline—born to his own Empress—was able to survive. Later on, these descendants generally didn’t have the means to take a second wife; in a society where everyone was limited to one wife, every child born to them was considered a legitimate son. 

All things considered, to be honest, Wen Maomao is probably the most legitimate heir to the Taizu’s bloodline.

Only after a Crown Prince is designated will court officials focus their efforts on factional infighting over the succession rather than challenging the emperor directly. In fact, everyone relies on the emperor to make decisions, which indirectly increases the power in his hands.

Emperor Yingzong had been aiming for this very goal from the very beginning, but he died before he had a chance to carry it out. However, those around him were unaware of this—take the eunuch Bi Fang, for example. He saw only the emperor’s favor and the most obvious evidence: even though Wen Maomao was clearly the youngest, he had been granted the highest honorary title.

Consort Huo looked up at the sky and down at the ground, too afraid to speak. Could she possibly say that this “half-rank higher” title was entirely the result of her going to Emperor Yingzong to secure compensation for Wen Maomao’s emotional distress—compensation that barred him from returning to Jiangzuo? 

Of course, she certainly couldn’t say that.

Looking back at the emperor’s past attitude toward the initial titles granted to his sons, it was clear whom he favored as his heir. This was the simplest, most straightforward, and indisputable fact.

Wen Maomao was thus back in the running.

Should they choose the eldest, the most virtuous, or the one most highly favored? 

His Majesty Wen Maomao, who was already receiving the homage of his ministers in the Mingyi Hall, heard the first lesson his future maternal uncle whispered in his ear after his accession.

What really matters when choosing an emperor? Is it the speed of military action? Is it the praise of the entire court? Or is it possessing the most legitimate claim to the throne? No, Huo Qichuan said with a smile; the final deciding factor is still whose fist is the strongest. 

The dagger—a symbol of the Huo family’s military might—swept away all the rival factions on the table. 

Of course, he could have proposed Wen Maomao from the very beginning, but at that time, Wen Maomao would have been a sitting duck—the others would have had plenty of ways to target him and bring him down.

But now…

The “Pure Stream” faction, led by Bai Shengye’s grandfather, had no objections; the treacherous ministers were a disorganized bunch, unable to make much of an impact; the eunuchs had clearly sided with Eunuch Bi Fang; the handful of royal relatives in the capital had virtually no say; and as for the prominent families to which Empress Pei belonged… 

They didn’t actually have a particularly firm stance. Although they’d made some tentative contact with the Prince of Wu, it was only just beginning—a middle ground where they could either support Wen Mengzheng’s ascension to the throne or not—a middle ground where they wouldn’t feel particularly bad if it didn’t happen.

And since the Huo family had just helped them out once, given Empress Pei Mingda’s character, she would certainly return the favor—she was the sort of person who always played by the rules. 

And so, Wen Maomao was ushered onto the throne with the “unanimous support of the people.” 

Minister Huo adjusted the wide sleeves of his robe. As he said, these clever people are really easy to manipulate. 

As for why Huo Qichuan had to choose Wen Maomao… well, that was, of course, because his younger brother had already told him.

If he didn’t promote his sister’s child to the throne, who else would he promote? 

“Brother, what are you talking about? What—what do you mean, ‘my child’…?”

“Oh.” Minister Huo thought to himself, his face expressionless. My little sister is wonderful in every way—she’s not pretentious or overly sentimental—but she isn’t very smart either. Still, it doesn’t matter—she still has him.

Why did he go to such lengths to explain all this to his sister, breaking it down so thoroughly? Wasn’t it just to run through it first? If his sister could understand it, then there would certainly be no problem explaining it to His Majesty either. 

And since he’d gone to such lengths to explain it, His Majesty surely must understand what he meant, right?

“Your Majesty, are you listening?”

His Majesty Maomao, who had been caught red-handed, was completely absorbed in secretly looking at the caricatures: QAQ. 

Just like when he hinted to his younger sister to explain all this to Wen Maomao herself, so the child could understand the effort she’d put in—his sister’s expression was exactly the same as when she was so sleepy her mind had drifted off to another world.

— Author’s Note —

Nonsense Mini-Drama:

Huo Lao’er, chest puffed out with pride: “Since I dared to cause trouble, I naturally have the confidence to get my older brother to help clean it up.”