Since the day Emperor Tianshou had ejected him from the palace, Ding Chun had never returned.
It seemed as if the emperor had forgotten him, but Ding Chun knew better. When the new commander reported a crushing defeat, he would still be sent to the southern border.
Truthfully, Ding Chun did not want to go.
Even now, he didn’t understand why they were attacking Nanzhao.
Sure, Nanzhao had harassed border civilians—but the Xiongnu, Yuezhi, and Jurchens had done the same, and the Xiongnu were worse: they kidnapped Da Qi citizens, taking them to the steppes as slaves and laborers. Few lived past thirty; life there was spent daily in whipping and toil.
If it were a matter of national enmity, the Xiongnu were the worst. The war history between the Central Plains and the Xiongnu stretched over a thousand years, beginning in the Qin dynasty. The Great Wall was built to resist them. And now? Half of it was under Xiongnu control.
…
Nanzhao was different. It had once been called Lingnan and part of the Central Plains. During the chaos before, the Nanzhao royal family occupied the territory. Because many locals were Han Chinese, they initially used soft power—gradually assimilating and even showing goodwill to Da Qi. They had no intention to attack Da Qi. Perhaps, in fifty or sixty years, they might have retaliated—but now? Ding Chun felt this prolonged war was entirely Emperor Tianshou’s doing. They were merely his vanguard.
Yet imperial orders could not be defied. Ding Chun could only sigh and wait for new commands.
Ding Chun, a third-rank general of Huaihua, was entitled to attend court. But having recently been reprimanded, and with officials unsure whether Emperor Tianshou wished to see him, he wasn’t notified of the matter. Surprisingly, it gave him time to care for his family and visit friends.
After comforting his elderly mother and soothing his wife, and checking on the children’s studies, Ding Chun stepped out, buying some fruits and snacks to bring to visit his mentor.
The mentor’s residence hadn’t changed at all; even though Ding Chun hadn’t returned for a year, he remembered the location clearly. Standing by the gate, he knocked, glancing suspiciously at the coachman staring back at him.
Ding Chun: “……”
The carriage was parked between the Zhan family and the neighboring Wang family. Its materials looked quite expensive, and Ding Chun instinctively assumed it had been brought by a guest of the Wang family. But then he thought again—it couldn’t be. The Wang family just ran a bun shop; how could they have such a valuable guest?
Still puzzled, the gate opened just a crack. Ding Chun quickly turned and was stunned to see that the one opening it was none other than his mentor, Old Master Zhan.
“Master, you personally came to open the door? And Zhan Buxiu… he isn’t home?”
If he wasn’t home, wasn’t Zhan Hui there? How could they make the old master do such a thing!
Old Master Zhan, seeing it was Ding Chun knocking, was instantly annoyed. And you even have the nerve to ask? If Ding Chun had just announced himself first, would he have needed to use these old legs to open the door himself?
With displeasure, he gave Ding Chun a glance, turned, and said, “Come in. Follow me inside; don’t look around. There are guests in the house.”
Only then did Ding Chun realize that the carriage really was for a guest of the Zhan family—and judging by Old Master Zhan’s attitude, the guest was likely female, which was why Zhan Hui couldn’t open the door himself. Otherwise, it would have slighted the guest.
Ding Chun followed quietly behind, not glancing anywhere else. He was being proper, unaware that in Zhan Hui’s room, Meng Jiaojiao was peeking through the door crack, watching the general.
After a moment, she smirked, stood, and said, “Two eyes and one mouth… nothing particularly remarkable.”
Zhan Hui: “……”
If someone had one eye and two mouths, Ding Chun wouldn’t be a general—he’d be working in a circus.
Meng Jiaojiao turned and asked her, “Why does he call your grandfather ‘Master’?”
Zhan Hui answered politely, “Because General Ding studied martial arts with my grandfather when he was young. Later, when he went to take the martial examination, my grandfather gave him some guidance.”
The imperial court had martial examinations. Those who passed were called martial scholars. Initially, it was prestigious, but it declined over time, as more civil officials became examiners. The civil officials didn’t understand combat; they preferred reading essays. So the martial scholars trained now might not be skilled with weapons, but their essays were excellent—inevitably leading to a decline in martial quality.
Meng Jiaojiao didn’t know much about the martial exams. Out of curiosity, she asked casually, “When was that? He doesn’t seem very old.”
Zhan Hui: “The sixth year of Emperor Tianshou.”
Meng Jiaojiao fell silent. That was a year after Zhan Shenyu’s death. She silently admired his loyalty—he hadn’t abandoned the Zhan family over that incident—then quickly changed the subject.
Since arriving at the Zhan residence, her social awareness had grown daily. Having stepped on many social landmines, it had become almost instinctual.
“My second brother saw him… it was on the eighth day of the lunar month. He was summoned into the palace, and General Ding was there too.”
Speaking of that day, Meng Jiaojiao couldn’t help but recall the Prince of Linjiang, and her expression immediately darkened.
Though she had a bit of a love-struck mind, she could still distinguish right from wrong. Despite all the private meetings with the Prince of Linjiang, she hadn’t told anyone. To Zhan Hui, she kept silent. Seeing her silence, Zhan Hui called softly, “Jiaojiao?”
Meng Jiaojiao lifted her head, noticing Zhan Hui’s concerned expression. She leaned forward, putting her arms on the low table, resting her face, and asked curiously, “Ah Hui, if you were to marry, what kind of person would you want to marry?”
Even Zhan Hui blushed at the question.
“Why do you ask this?”
Meng Jiaojiao: “Just curious, and there’s no one else here.”
Zhan Hui pressed her lips. “Marriage is not something a young lady can decide. Even if my parents were gone, my grandfather and brother would arrange it.”
Meng Jiaojiao: “But you must have your own thoughts, right?”
Of course she did. But Zhan Hui, by nature, wouldn’t voice them.
However, Meng Jiaojiao was leaning on the table, her wide, round eyes—reminiscent of Meng Xizhao—staring at her, blinking cutely, impossible to resist.
Zhan Hui: “…Do you really want to hear it?”
Meng Jiaojiao nodded eagerly.
After a pause, Zhan Hui spoke: “I haven’t thought about the person I would marry. I only wish that whoever I marry will protect and assist my family. In good times, they are my family’s support; in difficult times, they are my family’s refuge.”
Meng Jiaojiao was stunned.
Mouth agape, she asked, “And yourself? He would be your husband—don’t you want him to treat you well?”
Zhan Hui smiled faintly. “If he treats my family well, that is the greatest kindness to me.”
Meng Jiaojiao: “……”
In the small room, the two whispered together, while on the other side, Ding Chun’s expression was no better.
“Buxiu is joining the military?!”
Ding Chun was shocked.
Old Master Zhan nodded; like Zhan Buxiu, he was not a man of many words.
Ding Chun couldn’t help pacing back and forth in the hall. “How… how did he suddenly change his mind? Two years ago, I offered to have him serve under me as a Yu Hou. He refused. And now he’s going to the imperial army as some low-ranking commander?”
Two years ago, Ding Chun wasn’t the Huaihua Grand General, but the Xuanwei General. Though one was third-rank and the other fourth-rank, their treatment was comparable. He had his own personal guards, and the post of Yu Hou had a rank, allowing him to accompany Ding Chun in battle, earning military merit, without daily drill duties. Wouldn’t that have been far better than being a low-ranking commander?
Old Master Zhan, however, thought that being a Yu Marquis and being a low-level commander were no different—both meant working under someone else.
He only answered Ding Chun’s earlier question: “It was that kid from the Meng family.”
Ding Chun, already a bit wary of anyone named Meng, froze for a moment. “Which Meng family?” he asked.
Old Master Zhan replied, “Which other Meng family could it be? The youngest son of Minister Meng.”
＊
Meng Xizhao didn’t realize that the seeds he had sown earlier were beginning to bear fruit. As time went on, his network in Yingtian Prefecture gradually expanded. Soon, he wouldn’t need to handle everything personally—there would always be people spreading his reputation for him.
Whether that reputation would be good or bad… well, that was up to the wise and the discerning.
For now, he had no time to care what others thought. He was swamped every day, his life a whirlwind of endless tasks.
The Left Wise King’s forces had already entered Daqi territory, moving steadily forward. Even at a slow pace, they would reach Yingtian Prefecture in seven or eight days. They weren’t adept at waterways and traveled by land, but since everyone rode horses, it wasn’t slower than going by river.
The Ministry of Rites, in preparation for receiving the Left Wise King, left even Han Daozhen with no time to meditate. Every detail had to be perfect, lest they offend their guest.
Of course, as the strongest among the surrounding nations, the Xiongnu had to be treated with courtesy to avoid sowing resentment. But the direct reason the Ministry was on such high alert was simply that the Xiongnu had no respect for others.
Having once ruled the Central Plains, they now considered the Central Plains people inferior. When driven out, they still believed their territory had been taken, harboring deep hatred for the region. At this moment, the Central Plains people and the forced-resisting Nanzhao shared a sense of mutual suffering.
The shared thought was—are you even reasonable?!
…
Because of this, the Xiongnu had grown accustomed to looking down on everyone. Ordinary Daqi citizens were fair game; when encountered, they were seized as slaves. And if anyone dared appeal to the Chanyu, they’d be told, “The Xiongnu are a nation of the steppes. Steppe men obey the Chanyu in military matters, but in daily life, they are self-sufficient. Not even the Chanyu can command them.”
And Daqi… Daqi could only grit their teeth and accept it. After twelve years of fighting Nanzhao, did they think they could win against the stronger Xiongnu? Once conflict broke out on both fronts, Daqi’s only outcome would be to get steamrolled.
The Xiongnu aristocracy were slightly more restrained. They wouldn’t take Daqi people as slaves—not because of courtesy, but because they didn’t need them. Even without taking them, they could flaunt their nobility in full view of anyone—Daqi officials, nobles, all of them. If displeased, they’d overturn the table, and when provoked, might even draw a knife.
Thus, the Ministry of Rites’ extreme caution wasn’t just for Daqi’s face—it was about self-preservation.
…
While the Ministry of Rites was busy, trouble erupted at the manor. One night, Jin Zhu rode home at full gallop, dust flying, storming into the mansion without care for whether Meng Xizhao was asleep. She almost tumbled to his bedside, startling Meng Xizhao into a floundering leap, reaching for his personal belongings.
He managed to ask, “Did rebels break in?!”
Jin Zhu blinked. “…Sir, you haven’t woken up yet, have you? What rebels?”
Meng Xizhao froze, clutching his blanket, staring at her dust-covered, disheveled figure. “Then… why are you—”
Only then did Jin Zhu remember her purpose. Her face broke into a triumphant grin. “Sir! It worked! That black powder you mentioned—they actually made it! Blew up a wooden table!”
Meng Xizhao immediately dropped the blanket and bolted out with her.
It was only then he realized that his formidable housekeeper was also a skilled female rider. According to Jin Zhu, she had been sponsored by a local garrison office to learn horseback riding, calligraphy, domestic skills, and even music.
Because of her beauty, she promised a profitable return on their investment, which justified the heavy expense. After six months formally attached to the garrison office, Madam Meng happened to see her and brought her home for Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao hadn’t realized the origins of his government-affiliated housekeeper. Curious, he asked, “How much silver did you get from my mother per year?”
In the past, Jin Zhu would have answered without a change of expression. But now, sensing that her master had begun managing businesses and running the manor himself—no longer the naive young man—she hesitated, then said, “I received a monthly stipend, which adds up to about 4,900 taels of silver a year.”
Meng Xizhao nearly popped his eyes out. “What? 4,900?!”
Jin Zhu remained silent. His reaction reminded her of the day Meng Xisang had received a similar shock. She wisely kept the additional hundred bolts of silk, hundred bolts of satin, and ten sets each of gold, silver, and jade headpieces unmentioned.
This treatment surpassed many concubines in the household. Madam Meng spent so much precisely because she trusted Jin Zhu to manage the entanglements surrounding Meng Xizhao. As long as Jin Zhu could control the flurry of companions, the cost was worth it.
At the manor, Meng Xizhao still felt dazed. As Deputy Minister of the Ministry of Rites, his annual salary was only about 200 taels…
The shock of this revelation even dulled his excitement at seeing the black powder detonate successfully.
The three groups of craftsmen were thrilled—they knew that even a small amount could blow over a sturdy elm table, splintering the legs. Imagine scaling it a hundredfold or a thousandfold… it would be like thunder incarnate, capable of snapping thick trees in two.
Listening to their excited reports, Meng Xizhao suddenly felt they lacked ambition. “Blowing up tree trunks? One after another, the forest’s already a mess! Where’s the sense of environmental care? If we’re going to blow something up, blow up the house! Go—”
He glanced at the craftsmen’s experimental model. “Make one ten times bigger than this and see if it can blow up the entire house!”
The craftsmen stared blankly.
Why destroy a perfectly good house?
They were thoroughly confused, suspecting that Meng Xizhao must be in a foul mood. They turned to Jin Zhu for guidance, but she simply gave them a calm, “I don’t understand either” look.
…
From that day on, the manor often erupted in loud commotions. The largest explosion even brought down part of a house. Several soldiers patrolling nearby wanted to rush in, but remembering Meng Xizhao’s orders—don’t enter unless someone inside calls for help—they hesitated at the door and eventually left.
Meng Xizhao’s life became a constant shuffle between the Ministry of Rites and the manor. He would collapse into bed at home, only to get up as soon as it was time to leave, whether on duty or on rest. Concerned, Madam Meng prepared tonics for him, but never found him, so she had to give them to Meng Xisang instead.
Meng Xisang, already irritated, drank these potent tonics and within two days was having nosebleeds. He also wanted to find Meng Xizhao, but like Madam Meng, he could never catch sight of him.
For a time, Meng Xisang worried that Meng Xizhao’s busyness was a front for secret meetings with the crown prince. Luckily, after observing for some days, he found nothing untoward and relaxed slightly.
If the crown prince knew what Meng Xisang was thinking, he would surely feel wronged—he had been unable to see Meng Xizhao for nearly a month.
Though Meng Xizhao was absent, Cui Ye had been leaving the palace more frequently. Yu Fulan, thinking he was up to something, went to ask if he should summon Meng Xizhao. The crown prince, tense, refused.
Yu Fulan even considered sneaking him in quietly without telling the crown prince, but seeing Zhang Shuogong recovering from injuries yet still a little unsteady, he shook his head and abandoned the idea.
On the fifth day of the eighth month, the Left Wise King’s main force entered Yingtian Prefecture through the northern main gate. Sixty-seven riders, each on a tall steed, followed by twelve wagons without canopies, all carrying gifts for the Heavenly Longevity Emperor, covered with a single sheet of animal hide to obscure the contents.
Even from just this imposing sight, and the hide itself, unfamiliar in the Central Plains, the local Daqi citizens were already impressed—and intimidated.
Meng Xizhao, with Han Daozhen, stood at the city gate to greet the Left Wise King’s procession. As they neared, the king remained on horseback—a blood-sweating horse, no less, the very one intended as a gift for the Heavenly Longevity Emperor. Its coat gleamed in the sun with a reddish shine that made people stare, and at least Han Daozhen’s eyes were glued to it, unable to look away. Seeing Han Daozhen’s mesmerized expression, the Left Wise King sneered.
Seeing Han Daozhen unhelpful, Meng Xizhao stepped forward. “I am Meng Xizhao, Deputy Minister of the Ministry of Rites. This is Minister Han Daozhen of the Ministry. The Emperor, upon learning that Left Wise King would visit Daqi, specially appointed us to welcome you. Traveling from afar must have been exhausting. Perhaps you should first rest at the newly built villa before proceeding to the palace to pay respects to His Majesty.”
This was not the Left Wise King’s first visit to Daqi. Twenty years ago, as a young man, he had accompanied the Chanyu—not to request a princess’s hand, but to negotiate the import of horses. At that time, he was not the Left Wise King, just a warrior at the prince’s side.
Last time they stayed at a relay inn. Why was it now a villa?
He didn’t ask Meng Xizhao, but glanced at a subordinate with a Daqi-like face. The man spoke fluent Central Plains language: “What is this newly built villa?”
Meng Xizhao sighed inwardly. Fluent speech didn’t mean much if your phrasing sounded foreign. He smiled. “Knowing that Left Wise King would soon arrive in Daqi, I felt your visit deserved a residence befitting your status. This villa is larger than a relay inn and incorporates suggestions from former Xiongnu envoys to ensure your comfort.”
As for the villa’s future use for other envoys, and the many opinions he incorporated from Juqu Huijue, that didn’t need to be shared.
Only then did the Left Wise King graciously glance at Meng Xizhao. Compared to other Daqi people, this one showed some understanding.
Yet he wouldn’t think highly of Meng Xizhao. The Xiongnu looked down on Daqi people by nature; Meng Xizhao’s actions might even mark him as spineless in their eyes. But between being spineless and being tactless, the Left Wise King preferred the former.
From start to finish, neither the Left Wise King nor his retinue dismounted or gave notice. They spurred their horses forward, with Meng Xizhao standing before them but powerless to intervene, only shielding the elder Han Daozhen and stepping back to make way.
After they passed, Meng Xizhao and Han Daozhen exchanged glances, no longer as confrontational as before. Both wanted to sigh—but dared not, as the Xiongnu were still watching. A sigh could provoke the Left Wise King.
Once the group was escorted to the villa, Meng Xizhao showed them its facilities. True to steppe architecture, the style was rugged. Unlike Daqi buildings, he had incorporated elements from four countries. If there were Nanzhao people in Daqi, he would have included their style too. Of course, when introducing it to the Left Wise King, he only highlighted the Xiongnu-inspired elements.
Anyway, he wasn’t familiar with the other countries, couldn’t understand them, and as long as he didn’t comment, the Left Wise King wouldn’t care about the strange details. He probably assumed they were all Daqi-style anyway.
Meng Xizhao hadn’t left yet. It was still early in the day, and even after resting, it was only mid-afternoon. He thought the Left Wise King would go straight to the palace—but he had clearly overestimated the Xiongnu’s attitude as guests.
By the afternoon, Meng Xizhao and Han Daozhen were nearly numb from sitting so long. Only then did the Left Wise King’s subordinate—the Jin Commandant, who looked remarkably Daqi-like—come out and tell them that the king had already rested, and that they should return. Tomorrow morning, the Left Wise King would go to the palace to see the Daqi emperor himself.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Han Daozhen: “……”
Truly… truly a bunch of barbarians!
But what could they do? The king was in charge, and they were just there to serve him.
Leaving the villa, Meng Xizhao and Han Daozhen returned to the Ministry of Rites, both wearing serious expressions.
Internal disputes aside, in this situation where they faced a common external concern, they could still trust each other. Han Daozhen, though a bit superstitious and petty, was ultimately a Daqi man and wouldn’t act against Daqi interests.
Sitting down, Han Daozhen actually treated Meng Xizhao as his deputy and began consulting him: “What do you think we should do tomorrow?”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “What else? Get up early, wait at the villa’s gate. We can’t just let the Xiongnu walk into the palace themselves. Do they even know where the main gate is? Let’s not risk them going the wrong way.”
Han Daozhen nodded. “Alright, you’ll go with me tomorrow.”
After saying this, he didn’t leave. Meng Xizhao had been about to instruct someone to notify the palace so the Heavenly Longevity Emperor wouldn’t have to wait, but seeing Han Daozhen hesitating, seeming like he had more to say, Meng Xizhao smiled. “Minister Han, do you have something to say? Speak freely. We’re both officials of the Ministry of Rites. No need to hide anything.”
Han Daozhen: “……”
That brat, you don’t understand.
You think that once the Xiongnu are pleased and sent off, everything’s done? Not even close. There’s a whole stack of matters still coming.
From the rumors Meng Xizhao could hear, Han Daozhen, having served in the court for so many years, naturally knew them too. This time, the Xiongnu were here to request a princess’s hand. Judging by the emperor’s attitude, it was as if the princess was already wrapped, tied with a red ribbon, and ready for express delivery to the Xiongnu. The marriage alliance was a done deal.
And the personnel responsible for sending off the princess?
The Ministry of Rites had to provide people, the Privy Council had to provide people, the royal family had to provide people, and their Daqi “foreign ministry”—the Ministry of Rites—also had to provide personnel.
Of those sent from the Ministry of Rites, eighty percent were the minister himself, Han Daozhen, and twenty percent were Meng Xizhao, the deputy minister.
There was precedent. Nine years ago, when Princess Zhao was sent to the Xiongnu, the minister of the Ministry of Rites escorted her. Fourteen years ago, Princess Shang—now posthumously titled Grand Princess of Shang—was sent to marry into the Xia state, and the minister escorted her as well. Different ministers, but one pattern:
Both ministers died not long after the mission.
The one who escorted to Xia caught a chill on the road. He recovered, but the aftereffects persisted. After returning, he coughed incessantly, had to resign, and died within a year.
The one who escorted the Xiongnu fared worse. No problems on the way, but returning, they were trapped in a snowstorm at the border. The accompanying physician fell ill first, then the minister himself. Without treatment, he ran a high fever for three days and literally burned himself to death.
Only after this death did Han Daozhen become minister. He had thought himself lucky to avoid such misfortune for eight years—until now, when reality smacked him in the face.
Han Daozhen was deeply worried. He even considered tricking Meng Xizhao into thinking the mission was pleasant, then petitioning the emperor to let him take it—yet upon reflection, it was unwise.
The deputy minister’s rank was still insufficient, and the Heavenly Longevity Emperor was a man who valued appearances; he certainly wouldn’t agree.
Thinking of this, Han Daozhen felt a wave of despair.
My life is over! —
Meng Xizhao sat across from him, watching his expression shift repeatedly—from anxiety, to bitterness, to utter hopelessness.
Finally, Han Daozhen lost all faith in life. He wobbled to his feet, intending to return and light three incense sticks for the Three Pure Ones, praying for a swift death if it was to come.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Some old men are just impossible to understand.
By August, it was already autumn. Unlike modern times, summer in Daqi was scorching, and autumn was refreshingly cool. In early August, fans were no longer needed; winter would only be colder.
Meng Xizhao arrived at the villa early in the morning, with Han Daozhen slightly later. They exchanged a silent look, then sat together, waiting for the Xiongnu to rise.
Fortunately, the visitors woke earlier than usual. Before mid-morning, they had prepared and stepped outside. The Left Wise King, dressed in Xiongnu noble attire, saw them but said nothing, merely instructing his men to pack the gifts. The prized blood-sweating horse was to be led straight into the main hall.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
A blood-sweating horse is still a horse. Horses like to relieve themselves anywhere. Do they not care about the hygiene of the Daqi palace?
While everyone was busy, Meng Xizhao noticed that the Jin Commandant held considerable status among the group. With his Daqi-like features and partial Daqi blood, he had somehow reached the rank of commandant under the Left Wise King—a noteworthy achievement.
After returning yesterday, Meng Xizhao had even made a point of brushing up on the structure of the Xiongnu royal court. The Xiongnu were divided into three parts, and the rank of commandant wasn’t exactly civilian nor purely military. Simply put, the Left Wise King was the person the Chanyu trusted most, and the commandant was the person the Left Wise King trusted most.
After observing him for a while, Meng Xizhao pulled his gaze back.
After nearly half an hour of commotion, Meng Xizhao followed the Xiongnu into the palace.
Inside, the Heavenly Longevity Emperor was in a rather sour mood.
Yesterday, he had waited all afternoon and they didn’t show up. Today, they had even gotten him up so early. Luckily, it was a regular court day and all the officials were present—otherwise, would he have been the only one receiving this group of Xiongnu barbarians?
Annoying. It’s just a princess marriage. He’d already agreed in writing. They could have dropped off the gifts and quietly stayed at the inn, sparing him the early wake-up.
All the civil and military officials were closely watching the Left Wise King. Not seeing him arrive yesterday, they knew there would be excitement in today’s court session. But no matter what the event, once the Xiongnu were involved, it was hard to eat a bite.
Everyone knew the Xiongnu looked down on them, but all they could do was endure. Civil officials fumed inwardly, while military generals clenched their fists.
This turtle-paced life of endurance—when would it ever end?
Despite all resentment, the Left Wise King entered the hall.
The four rows of officials cleared the central path. When they saw two horses accompanying the king, some even exclaimed.
But they didn’t say, “What beautiful horses!”—they said, “Why are they relieving themselves?”
…
The Heavenly Longevity Emperor sat far away on a high platform, unable to see the unsightly details, his gaze locked on the two exceptional horses.
Blood-sweating horses!
No other country had them; the Xiongnu had only brought them back from distant lands.
Rumor had it that Xiongnu horses were becoming rarer, and a single horse could sell for a hundred thousand gold coins.
Truly magnificent creatures!
The emperor, like Han Daozhen, couldn’t take his eyes off them, ignoring the Left Wise King’s disregard entirely. The king bowed to the emperor and then stepped aside, showing no intention of speaking. Instead, he had the Jin Commandant read a pre-prepared speech.
First, praise the emperor’s wisdom and military skill. Next, praise the Xiongnu Chanyu’s governance and valor. Then, remark on the hard-won peace between Daqi and the Xiongnu over the years. Finally, express the hope that these gifts would persuade the emperor to select a legitimate princess to send to the Xiongnu, strengthening the bond between the two nations.
Notice the wording: “select,” not “grant.” The two nations were treated as equals—perhaps even the Xiongnu had higher standing. And they were requesting a legitimate princess, meaning the emperor’s own daughter.
The Xiongnu had different rules than Daqi. Their distinctions between children of the primary wife and concubines weren’t so strict. The Xiongnu queen was called the Da’e, while other consorts were just E. So by “legitimate,” they simply meant a daughter of the emperor, not necessarily of the queen.
Of course, they did want a queen-born daughter—but there was only one, and the emperor wasn’t planning to appoint another queen in the future.
The emperor had already intended to comply. The officials barely reacted; this was routine, done many times with little debate. Only Meng Xizhao, standing next to Han Daozhen, furrowed his brow.
The crown prince was also present, seated below the emperor, his eyes fixed on the blood-sweating horses like everyone else. Occasionally, his gaze shifted to Meng Xizhao, who, fully dressed in official attire but still a bit out of place among the other officials due to his youth, remained focused entirely on the Xiongnu. Even after the Jin Commandant’s lengthy speech, he didn’t glance at the crown prince once. It was as though the Kunyu Hall incident had truly never happened—they did not know each other. From start to finish, he acted like a proper Ministry of Rites officer.
The crown prince silently lowered his eyes.