It was natural that the Nanzhao Emperor felt great apprehension toward Zhan Shenyu.
Zhan Shenyu had led campaigns against Nanzhao for just over a year. In less than two years, Nanzhao had not won a single battle, suffering successive defeats. The psychological scars were immense.
At that time, Nanzhao’s capital was still Yongzhou, in the area of present-day Nanning, Guangxi. Unlike other kingdoms, Nanzhao frequently relocated its capital—even the nomadic Xiongnu were less mobile. The reason? Poverty.
The people were poor, and the emperor was not wealthy either. With little property to keep, moving was not a concern.
Thus, Nanzhao had a custom: whenever a territory was conquered, the emperor relocated the royal family there, securing control through various institutions. Typically, they would only conquer new lands after many years. The constant movement caused little objection.
At its height, Nanzhao’s capital even included what is now Dali, the present capital of the Dali Kingdom. Nanzhao viewed Dali as having taken their lands; Dali considered Nanzhao merely celebrating the liberation of former serfs. Neither side showed much courtesy.
…This tension explained why the two nations always looked askance at one another.
The current Nanzhao Emperor, in temperament, bore some similarity to the Tianshou Emperor. Both were ambitious, valuing military conquest and showing strong will.
Yet the Nanzhao Emperor was not as eccentric. He had no bizarre hobbies, his appreciation of women remained within normal bounds, and he was intelligent. Under his rule, Nanzhao fared reasonably well.
But that was the past. Now, older and weary from repeated defeats by Qi, his decisiveness and martial vigor had waned. Yet even diminished by fifty percent, he remained a stronger ruler than the Tianshou Emperor.
……
When Longxing Mansion was recaptured by Qi, the Nanzhao Emperor was not heartbroken.
He had anticipated that the mansion was indefensible. Its location was poor; unless he advanced north and captured Jiangzhou and neighboring Ezhou as well, holding it was impossible.
Years of war strained both Qi and Nanzhao. Birth rates lagged behind death rates, and the population of young men declined. Had he not previously seized several Qi cities, cultivating near-fanatical loyalty among the populace, domestic chaos would have followed.
Even in his weakened state, he knew urgent measures were needed. The war could continue, but must not escalate; if exhausted by conflict, neighboring Dali might seize the opportunity.
Thus, his initial objective was pragmatic: seize grain, capture manpower, and bolster the morale of previously defensive soldiers by allowing them to taste victory.
This strategy was not his alone. Plans had been made for Longxing Mansion’s recapture: seize crops, capture capable Qi soldiers, and then determine whether to kill or spare them.
Yet they did not anticipate Qi would return so quickly, equipped with unprecedented new military technology.
After Longxing Mansion fell, Nanzhao sought to study the Qi explosives. But unable to steal or reproduce them, they could only deploy agents abroad to investigate. Curiously, the information was gathered not in Qi, but in the distant Xiongnu territory.
Initially, the emperor had not intended to send spies so far, but his daughter insisted—better to act cautiously. Two low-ranking men were sent, posing as ordinary foreign merchants. They only knew that last year, during the Qi princess’s marriage alliance, the device had been used in the Xiongnu palace. Afterward, the Xiongnu treated them kindly. How the device worked, and who made it, remained unknown.
Had Jizhou not fallen, the Nanzhao Emperor might still have been preoccupied with understanding explosives.
But now, with Jizhou in crisis, explosives were forgotten. Living in Renning Prefecture, just a few hundred li from Jizhou, he considered the recaptured cities as dear as his own children. Unlike Longxing Mansion, losing any of them felt like losing flesh.
Urgently, he summoned his strategists to discuss the next steps.
His strategists? One was named Luo Mailong, his son; the other, Luo Sahua, his daughter.
These two were twins, and in Nanzhao, there was no superstition against twins—especially not a dragon-phoenix pair. From the moment they were born, the emperor had been very fond of them, elevating their mother to Empress. After her death, he personally raised the children.
Luo Mailong was the crown prince, his position rock-solid; as long as he did not sabotage himself, the throne would inevitably be his.
Luo Sahua, on the other hand, was considered the pinnacle of Nanzhao womanhood. Beautiful and intelligent, she navigated the palace with ease, winning the emperor’s favor while maintaining a close bond with her twin brother. Though a princess, her status surpassed all other princes except Luo Mailong. Even after taking a husband, she did not move out; she remained in the western palace while her brother resided in the eastern palace. The western palace housed a dozen men, all her personal attendants, and her children also lived there, enjoying privileges nearly equal to imperial grandchildren.
This pair of children not only grew up well-adjusted, but upon reaching adulthood, they quickly repaid the emperor’s care. It was Luo Sahua who suggested his personal campaign, and Luo Mailong who devised how to extract every last advantage from Longxing Mansion.
By comparison, the Tianshou Emperor was pitiable—he had produced a host of inept sons, and the only competent one he treated like a hog.
……
Summoned by the emperor, Luo Mailong and Luo Sahua quickly arrived. Learning of the emergence of such a formidable Qi general, their brows furrowed.
Strong neighbors were one thing; a naturally gifted general was another. Historically, any renowned general who suddenly emerged displayed extraordinary skill: defeating larger forces with fewer troops, striking unexpectedly, exploiting weaknesses…
For ordinary commanders, resources dictated outcomes; for prodigies, a single person could turn the tide of battle.
Luo Mailong and Luo Sahua shared the same thought: if Zhan Buxiu was truly this formidable, they should send an assassin to eliminate him. Success would save future trouble; failure would not matter.
As the three of them whispered plans, a young soldier ran in.
Princess Zhen’an Luo held up a hand to stop her children, then asked the soldier, “What is it?”
The soldier stammered, “Your Majesty, a scout reports that Jiangzhou has had an incident.”
Zhen’an Luo paused. What could possibly happen in Jiangzhou? Even if something occurred, it would normally be advantageous—they were on Qi’s territory. Yet the soldier’s strange expression suggested Nanzhao had suffered a setback.
Curious, Zhen’an Luo asked, “What happened?”
The soldier glanced at him nervously and whispered, “Your plan has failed. Guan Yousan’s connection to us was discovered, and his recruitment has been exposed. Now all of Jiangzhou knows. They call Guan Yousan a traitor and scoundrel, and claim that to seize Jiangzhou and Longxing Mansion, Your Majesty would even send your daughter to him. They say you lack virtue for such deeds.”
Zhen’an Luo: “…………”
He reacted instantly, slamming the table. “Nonsense! When did I ever say I would send my daughter to Qi? And who is this Guan Yousan? His recruiting has nothing to do with me!”
The soldier was equally stunned; given the detailed rumors and Zhen’an Luo’s usual behavior, it all seemed plausible.
……
After the soldier recounted the full story, Zhen’an Luo nearly twisted his nose in anger.
He raged against the shameless Qi people for spreading lies. Yet rumors were not easily dispelled, particularly since he could not control the internal spread within Qi.
A few days later, news from Qi reached Nanzhao, confirmed even by the Qi emperor, and publicly posted for all citizens. Zhen’an Luo nearly mobilized troops to march on Yingtian Prefecture.
Fortunately, Princess Luo Sahua calmed him, returning to her palace with a stern face.
She was upset not only because the rumors escalated, but because they implicated her directly. People claimed she was the princess allegedly “sent,” that Guan Yousan’s audacious deeds were all due to her seduction. The rumor even claimed she promised him the highest honors, a thousand acres of land, and ten thousand taels of gold if he succeeded.
……
Setting aside the impossibility of such titles in Nanzhao, the idea of a thousand acres was plainly a Qi invention—their people were not so obsessed with land.
Her maid protested on her behalf, yet Luo Sahua remained composed, thinking instead about the source of the rumors.
Why would such a slanderous story spread? Who so maliciously tried to pin this on Nanzhao?
Luo Sahua restrained her anger, ordering an investigation. At the same time, Meng Xizhao returned with five hundred elite troops—not ordinary palace guards, but first-rate warriors, usually tasked with protecting the imperial city. The emperor demanded meticulous care in matters of security.
The five hundred troops immediately set to work in Longxing Mansion, rooting out spies—most were Nanzhao agents, some from Dali or Tianzhu.
The latter two were simply unlucky. Cultivating informants was never easy; many had been in place for decades. There was no “exchange of agents.” Capture meant torture, then death.
Nanzhao was not always unscrupulous, unlike Emperor Zhen’an Luo, the founder of covert schemes. His son, Luo Mailong, preferred direct confrontation, while Luo Sahua, lacking troops, relied heavily on clandestine methods.
Thus, among the captured spies, many turned out to be her own agents.
……
Luo Sahua’s anger only grew. Meanwhile, her remaining spies—those who had narrowly survived—began to send back useful intelligence.
Guan Yousan had been captured because his childhood friend, Sun Houquan, had been apprehended. Sun’s capture happened because the prefect of Longxing Mansion had exceptionally sharp eyes. Within just a few days of arriving at Longxing Mansion, he noticed something amiss. Later, he took Sun Houquan to Jiangzhou and secretly arrested Guan Yousan. Although Guan Yousan commanded a sizable force, his failure to act first left him trapped like a fish in a net.
Afterward, the prefect returned to Yingtian Prefecture to report the incident. It was only after his return that the rumors began to spread from Jiangzhou, and soon the same news reached Yingtian Prefecture.
Luo Sahua was not naïve. The Qi forces, unaware of the truth, did not notice anything suspicious. She, however, knew the facts and immediately concluded that the prefect of Longxing Mansion had engineered the entire affair to curry favor.
At this stage, she was angry at Meng Xizhao, seeing him as a scheming little man. But when she ordered a focused investigation into him, the results shocked her.
……
The son of Qi’s foremost treacherous minister, a favorite of the Qi emperor, Meng Xizhao effectively ran Longxing Mansion as his personal fief, sidelining other officials—essentially a local despot.
And this “despot” was adept at winning hearts. Without firing a single arrow, he had hired a Taoist and persuaded the citizens of Longxing Mansion to farm energetically. As for the already-emptied government offices, he managed to turn a few broken stones into substantial silver and a reputation that many could only dream of.
This was without her knowing about the collective donations from wealthy households. If she had, she would have been even more astonished.
Yet these achievements were not Luo Sahua’s main concern. What preoccupied her most was that he had been part of the delegation sent to the Xiongnu the previous year—and upon returning, he claimed the foremost credit.
Luo Sahua did not know the details of his dealings with the Xiongnu. The news of those transactions had not yet reached Nanzhao. While she pondered this, her spies reported another piece of information: Zhan Buxiu seemed to know Meng Xizhao.
Not long ago, Zhan Buxiu had suddenly broken off from the main army, hastened to Longxing Mansion, stayed overnight at the government offices, and only then returned to the outskirts of Jiangzhou. After his return, Ding Chun ordered the troops to stop their drills and quietly recuperate.
Now that the Nanzhao forces understood their actions, the foul stench lingered, metaphorically and literally.
……
Had it not been for previous intelligence, Luo Sahua might not have suspected Meng Xizhao. But with these clues, she immediately understood why Zhan Buxiu’s soldiers had been so loud that day, and why the army, which had been stalled outside the city for months, suddenly became alert after Zhan Buxiu made a brief sortie.
With old grievances compounded by new ones, Luo Sahua was furious.
She commanded her subordinates: “Go and bring him to me! I don’t care what methods you use, but he must come alive!”
＊
Meng Xizhao had no idea that his cleverness was about to backfire. Upon returning to Longxing Mansion, he was met with throngs of citizens lining the streets to welcome him.
Overwhelmed, he could not understand why the people were suddenly so enthusiastic. It was only after returning to the mansion that Xie Yuan explained:
First, news of the Jiangzhou incident had reached Longxing Mansion. Previously, people had considered Meng Xizhao’s actions in capturing spies excessive. Now they realized how shortsighted they had been. Were it not for the prefect’s keen judgment, Longxing Mansion might have suffered another calamity.
Second, crops sown in early spring had now begun to bear ears. While the true yield could only be counted at harvest, the emerging ears already allowed people to estimate quantities. Barring disasters, results were generally predictable.
During this period, Shi Dazhuang spent every waking moment in the fields, guiding farming techniques while also improving fertilizers. Wherever the new fertilizers were applied, yields visibly increased by half compared to previous seasons.
Those who distrusted the authorities regretted it bitterly, while those who had used the new fertilizers often woke laughing in the middle of the night. They were grateful to the agricultural master and to Prefect Meng who had brought him.
Only after understanding these developments did Meng Xizhao smile with relief. “It’s just the first year; everything is new. In the following years, yields will stabilize, and people will gradually get used to it.”
Xie Yuan shook his head with a smile. “Perhaps, but these tangible achievements will not be forgotten by the people.”
Meng Xizhao smiled quietly. He cared little for fame; he would not remain in Longxing Mansion long. The new fertilizers and the seeds selected by Shi Dazhuang would inevitably be promoted nationwide. He considered himself merely a guide; Shi Dazhuang was the true hero. Meng Xizhao would take credit for the results if necessary, but the glory was Shi Dazhuang’s.
Shi Dazhuang would not enter officialdom. Even if praised as a second Yandi, there would be no problem.
As for Meng Xizhao, he could not. Though like fire ready to ignite, without sufficient power, he would be targeted by collective forces. History had provided ample cautionary examples—the deceased Zhan Shenyou and his notorious living father.
Moreover, as a favorite in everyone’s eyes and a schemer in the eyes of other ministers, why care about a flawless reputation? It was enough that it seemed credible.
His indifference toward fame left Xie Yuan momentarily speechless.
To be honest, he felt he could never live up to someone like Meng Xizhao.
Scholars crave wealth, power, or posthumous fame; usually at least one. Xie Yuan wasn’t interested in the first two, yet for the last, he had many expectations.
After all, he was still a mortal man—not someone of Meng Xizhao’s lofty moral standing.
Meng Xizhao thought: …I don’t even know if I’m really that lofty.
Some things couldn’t be explained, so he didn’t bother. Instead, he took out the ink artworks he had brought from Yingtian Prefecture and personally delivered them to the elderly landowner who had donated generously.
The paintings had been promised two months ago. If he hadn’t gone to Yingtian Prefecture this time, he wouldn’t have known when the lazy Emperor Tianshou would actually honor it.
Even so, the emperor had written reluctantly, telling him never to trouble him with such matters again. He was the Son of Heaven; his artworks couldn’t be freely given away.
Meng Xizhao kept agreeing, and once he left the palace, he sneered inwardly.
Forgotten the pain after the wound has healed, huh? Isn’t that exactly what you did when Longxing Mansion was in need of funds? Use someone, then discard them—this is you, isn’t it?
Regardless, the promise was fulfilled. The old landowner received the artwork, other wealthy households got imperial gifts, and everyone was pleased.
Once the gifts were in hand, there was no need to hide anything. Meng Xizhao even commissioned a scholar to write an article praising the contributing wealthy households, explaining the story behind it. The commoners were grateful, while those wealthy families not called upon felt regretful.
Why weren’t we invited for this good deed?
Isn’t it just tens of thousands of taels of silver? We have plenty too!
Soon, many people came to the government office with money. Meng Xizhao raised an eyebrow; he couldn’t refuse money that was offered voluntarily—it would be improper. Failing to seize an opportunity for gain was inviting disaster.
…
This time, though, there were no artworks or imperial gifts as rewards. Some were disappointed, but Meng Xizhao had a solution. From the money donated by these wealthy households, he took a portion and used it to build a tall building in the busiest street of Longxing Mansion, naming it Changxian Tower.
This tower served no food, no tea, sold nothing. Inside, both sides were filled with snake cages—iron and rattan. Each cage had a distinct landscape theme, carefully crafted by several artisans Meng Xizhao had hired. Miniature benches, tables, and beds were included. Though snakes didn’t need them, people loved the detail.
The higher the floor, the more luxurious. On the top level were two crowning treasures.
One wall was built from transparent white crystal, bound with golden filigree copper wire. If kicked hard, it might collapse—but it held only small snakes, so no danger.
Inside the crystal wall, many colorful, patterned snakes slithered among exquisite decorations. Even those who feared snakes found the scene mesmerizing, thinking snakes weren’t so frightening after all. Not only that, they found it beautiful and wanted to own it.
…
Meng Xizhao left this ancient-style snake flagship store in Longxing Mansion open for public viewing. Guards at the entrance simply ensured visitors behaved. He recorded the event in official notes and sent them to Yingtian Prefecture, reporting how popular Changxian Tower had become. The public’s admiration was unparalleled.
Everyone had contributed to building this tower; now all citizens could see its beauty. Meng Xizhao decided to build a similar tower in Yingtian Prefecture for the emperor, using funds collected by the people—a gift from Longxing Mansion to Emperor Tianshou.
The emperor was pleased to receive such a free gift and wrote back expressing his delight.
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly and again asked the scholar to write an article, quoting the emperor’s letter. Soon, everyone knew an identical Changxian Tower would be built in Yingtian Prefecture.
Yingtian Prefecture was the fashion trendsetter of Great Qi. Changxian Tower’s fame grew, and wealthy donors were notified. Each sent a representative to work with the artisans in Yingtian Prefecture.
They were overjoyed; once the tower was complete, the emperor would visit. Typically, each household sent their eldest son, along with a few attendants.
The attendants did the actual work; the eldest sons waited to meet the emperor.
Whether they actually met him… that was up to them. Meng Xizhao only provided the opportunity; seizing it depended on their own capability.
These eldest sons left excitedly, and the city’s liveliness didn’t diminish—it increased. Meng Xizhao’s anticipation had drawn merchants who followed the scent like moths to a flame.
…
Small snakes couldn’t sell for high prices, but beautifully patterned ones, sold with decorated cages and some ornaments, could fetch several hundred taels. Poor-quality snakes without extras might only bring a few dozen.
Naturally, that was retail. Merchants buying to resell at a profit paid wholesale, much cheaper.
Even so, a single snake could earn the catcher ten taels of silver. In this age, one tael could support a family for a month; living outside the city, three months was feasible.
Initially, some ruffians made a fortune. Seeing how lucrative snake-catching could be, many people flocked to it. Soon, funerals in the city increased noticeably.
…
There was no avoiding it—snake-catching was extremely dangerous. Ordinary people couldn’t tell which snakes were venomous. Without experience, accidents happened. Meng Xizhao had sent people to warn about the dangers, but greed is stronger than fear; people risked their lives for money.
In the end, Meng Xizhao had no choice but to tell everyone to move in pairs rather than go snake-catching alone. That way, if something went wrong, someone nearby could help—and perhaps save a life.
Everything has pros and cons. The city was lively, and the snake-catching trade gradually formed an integrated industry. While some people still died from accidents, the catchers kept coming, and even swindlers appeared, capturing snakes from elsewhere and falsely claiming they came from Longxing Mansion to sell to the merchants.
Meng Xizhao thought: …The ingenuity of the people truly knows no bounds.
Recently, Xie Yuan walked with a confident air. As the co-administrator of tax collection, he watched the government coffers swell day by day, and his mood was naturally elated.
He went to Meng Xizhao to share the good news, only for Meng Xizhao to douse him with cold water: “This is just a temporary measure. It can’t serve as the long-term economic backbone of Longxing Mansion. You should focus your energy on herbal medicine—that’s a sustainable source of income.”
Xie Yuan blinked in surprise. “But selling snakes is more profitable.”
Meng Xizhao said, “Then sell them for now. When that market slows, shift to cultivating herbs.”
Xie Yuan didn’t understand. “How could the snake trade ever slow? Everyone loves snakes.”
Meng Xizhao: …Do I really need to spell it out?
Each ruler brings his own ministers. People had adopted Emperor Tianshou’s twisted sense of aesthetics; once he died, even two years wouldn’t be enough before everyone realized snakes were terrifying, and the snake business would naturally falter.