HNYWEF -Chapter 94 Imperial Self-Reproach Edict

Thirteenth day of the sixth month, third year of Zhenguan.

Still no rain.

From the beginning of spring until now, it had been a full three months of drought.

Wells had dried up, rivers had shrunk, crops in the fields withered in patches, and people in Chang’an walked with their heads lowered, faces filled with worry.

But today, the city was unusually lively.

Not the kind of festive liveliness that came with holidays—this was different. Everyone was surging in one direction, toward the largest square in the center of the city.

Emperor Li Shimin was going to read his imperial self-reproach edict there.

In the middle of the square stood a high platform, about a zhang wide, draped in bright yellow silk.

Imperial guards stood in formation beneath it, armored and motionless.

All around were dense crowds of people—packed tightly from the platform all the way to the street entrance, spilling under teahouses, filling every corner where a person could stand.

On the second floor of a teahouse, by a window seat, sat a man.

Zhou Xiong.

On the table in front of him was a pot of tea and a small plate of snacks.

He just sat there, looking out the window.

Looking at that high platform.

Watching that man step up, one step at a time.

Li Shimin.

Dressed in a bright yellow robe, standing on the high platform, facing the dark sea of people.

Zhou Xiong lifted his teacup and took a sip.

Li Shimin began to speak.

His voice came from the platform, passing through the crowd, through the streets, and into the teahouse window. It was hard to hear clearly, only fragments could be made out.

“…drought demon brings devastation…”

“…what fault have the people committed…”

“…the fault lies with me…”

Zhou Xiong held his teacup and listened.

As he listened, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

Li Shimin’s voice continued, becoming clearer.

“Since ascending the throne, I have not cultivated virtue nor governed well, resulting in heavenly drought and suffering among the people. The fault lies with me alone, yet all the people bear it…”

Zhou Xiong set down his teacup.

He looked out the window at that figure.

Dressed in imperial yellow, standing on the high platform, confessing his faults before the entire city.

Now that man stood there, cursing himself in front of all under heaven.

The corner of Zhou Xiong’s mouth lifted again.

This time a little higher than before.

Li Shimin’s voice continued.

“From this day forth, I shall reduce meals, suspend music, cancel banquets… I pray for Heaven’s mercy, for rain to save the people…”

In the crowd, someone began to cry.

The sound spread from one person to ten, then to a hundred, until it became a continuous wave of weeping.

Zhou Xiong sat in the teahouse, watching the crying people, watching the man on the platform.

That man’s expression was completely calm.

He just stood there, speaking.

His voice was steady, not a single tremor.

Zhou Xiong lifted his teacup and drank again.

At that moment—

The sky changed.

Outside the window, the blue sky—just moments ago unreal in its clarity—suddenly darkened. A mass of black clouds rolled in from the west, pressing down heavily and covering half the sky.

The crowd in the streets began to stir. Some looked up, some ran home, others stood still, staring upward, waiting.

Zhou Xiong did not move, teacup still in hand.

He looked at the dark clouds, the corner of his mouth lifting once more.

Then—

A drop.

Another drop.

And then, with a roar, the rain poured down in torrents.

Zhou Xiong set down his teacup.

He stood up and walked to the window.

Wind rushed in, blowing his clothes wildly. He didn’t care.

He just stood there, watching outside.

The crowd below exploded.

Some fell to their knees, tilting their faces up into the rain, crying and shouting, “Heaven has opened its eyes!”

Some hugged each other, jumping and cheering like mad.

Some took off their clothes and held them overhead—not to block the rain, but to catch more of it.

The imperial guards stood beneath the platform, unmoving, letting rainwater run down their armor.

The high platform was already empty.

Li Shimin had left at some point.

Zhou Xiong stood by the window, half his body soaked by the rain.

He didn’t move away.

He just stood there, watching.

And as he watched, he suddenly let out a laugh.

Then he laughed out loud.

“Hahahaha—”

His shoulders shook with laughter.

The waiter rushed upstairs from below to close the window. Seeing him standing there laughing, he froze.

“Sir… sir! You’re getting soaked!”

Zhou Xiong did not respond.

He smiled, watching the heavy rain outside.

Watching the people running wildly through it.

Watching that grey, hazy sky.

Of course he knew—whether or not Li Shimin read out the imperial self-reproach edict, the rain would still fall.

But this spectacle… was even better than he had imagined.

If only it could be recorded, that would be even better.

—

At the edge of the crowd, meanwhile.

Zhou Yi stood on a stone, tiptoeing to look inside.

He couldn’t see anything.

Only a sea of heads.

He heard people crying, heard people shouting—but he couldn’t see what was happening inside at all.

That voice from earlier… he was far too familiar with it.

He jumped down and moved to another spot.

Still couldn’t see.

He jumped down again and changed position once more.

Still nothing.

He stood there, a little anxious.

Suddenly, he spotted a locust tree nearby. The trunk was thick, its branches stretching far out.

He ran over and hugged the trunk, climbing up.

Perched on a branch, he looked toward the high platform—

It was Uncle Li, yet somehow he felt so unfamiliar now.

That robe symbolizing the Son of Heaven had been worn by the uncle who had visited their home many times.

The world had changed.

Dark clouds pressed in, and the sky turned as dark as dusk.

Zhou Yi froze in the tree, looking up at the heavy, black clouds.

Then the rain came.

It poured down in an instant, drenching his face and head.

He clung to the tree, unable to open his eyes against the downpour.

Below, the crowd began to scatter—shouts, cries, and laughter blending into chaos.

Zhou Yi sat in the tree, soaked, not knowing whether he should climb down or stay put.

He looked down.

Everyone beneath the tree had already run off.

He gritted his teeth and slid down the trunk.

Halfway down, his grip slipped and he fell hard onto the ground.

Pain shot through him.

But he didn’t care—he scrambled up and ran.

The rain was too heavy, blurring his vision. He squinted as he ran through the alley toward home.

Then suddenly, he stopped.

Standing in the rain, he tilted his head back and let it pour onto his face.

Cold.

Uncle Li… was the current emperor.

Li Lihua… was a princess.

That day hadn’t been an ordinary engagement at all. He was going to become the son-in-law of the emperor.

That thought wouldn’t leave his mind.

—

When Zhou Xiong came out of the teahouse, the streets were already empty.

Everyone had taken shelter from the rain.

He walked through the downpour, soaked through, step by step heading home.

Rain struck his face, cool and sharp.

He walked neither fast nor slow.

Not even a quarter of an hour.

Then he suddenly laughed.

Shaking his head as he laughed.

When he reached the doorway, he pushed the door open.

In the courtyard, Zhou Hong stood under the corridor. Seeing him return, he froze.

“Brother, why are you completely soaked?”

Zhou Xiong didn’t answer.

He stood in the courtyard, tilted his head back, and let the rain wash over him a little longer.

Then he walked inside.

Zhou Yi came running in from behind, also drenched.

Zhou Hong looked at one, then the other.

“You two… father and son, each crazier than the other.”

Zhou Xiong ignored him.

He sat down at the table.

Zhou Yi also sat.

Zhou Hong went to fetch dry towels and handed them over.

Zhou Xiong took one and wiped his face.

Then he suddenly spoke.

“Zhou Yi.”

Zhou Yi looked at him.

But Zhou Xiong said nothing further.

He stood up, walked to the doorway, and looked at the rain outside.

It was still pouring, loud and heavy.

He stood there for a long time.

This spectacle… was worth it.