Wang Sili truly admired Meng Xizhao with all his heart.
A situation that had seemed utterly hopeless was turned completely around through Meng Xizhao’s clever maneuvers. Even the Nanzhao royal family had been dealt with in one stroke. Their experiences, full of blood and danger, would leave them both infamous and famous for life. Yet Meng Xizhao’s casual words transformed what was in truth a harrowing capture into the story of heaven’s deliberate arrangement: they were all chosen, virtuous people.
But this was not even the most impressive part. Wang Sili marveled that Meng Xizhao wasn’t just spinning tales out of thin air—he restructured the facts according to the conditions at hand, turning the dead into survivors and the survivors into half-dead casualties. In the past, Wang Sili had even thought he could challenge Meng Xizhao… truly, he had been blinded, unable to discern who the real master was.
Because Wang Sili had initially reported seeing the auspicious sign, Meng Xizhao needed to coordinate with him. In a small room, they whispered together as Meng Xizhao went over every detail. Wang Sili listened attentively, seriously promising that once back in Yingtian Prefecture, he would recount the story to everyone to solidify it.
If one were to measure his loyalty to Meng Xizhao, it wouldn’t be absolute. But Meng’s power was so vast now that Wang Sili’s fate was entirely at his discretion. Moreover, once they returned, Meng Xizhao would inevitably receive more honors. As a favored official, he would be able to see the emperor’s face, while Wang Sili, even back home, would remain practically invisible.
Now was the time to cling to the right patron. After all, if Jia Renliang rose in rank and wealth, enjoying the emperor’s favor while Wang Sili had spent nearly a month carving a waist badge and couldn’t even enjoy a warm meal… that would be too pitiful.
Watching Wang Sili leave with renewed resolve, Meng Xizhao picked up his tea cup and took a slow sip.
He had no worry that Wang Sili would betray him. After all, the auspicious sign had been Meng’s idea from the beginning; if Wang Sili wanted to expose him as a fraud, he would first have to implicate himself.
As for whether anyone would try to approach Wang Sili later to fish for information… simple. Once the current heat had passed, Meng Xizhao would have Wang’s father assign him to a mid-sized county as an official.
He had always wanted to be the top man—now he had finally achieved it. Having a vice prime minister in the family certainly made things convenient.
Finishing his tea, Meng Xizhao returned to Cui Ye. Today’s medicine had just been delivered, and Cui Ye was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking it with an unchanging expression.
Every time Meng Xizhao saw this, he felt a pang in his teeth.
The medicine was so dark and foul-smelling that just the scent made him want to vomit, yet Cui Ye drank it as if it were water, neither too fast nor too slow.
Meng Xizhao bowed his head in admiration, and only after Cui Ye finished did he quietly step forward.
Cui Ye wiped his mouth with a cloth and looked up. Seeing him return, he smiled gently. “Erlang, you’re back?”
Zhang Shogong, holding the tray, immediately turned and left, refusing to allow his ears to be “contaminated” by the private moment between the two.
Meng Xizhao found his reaction strangely comical and turned back to Cui Ye. “I spoke with Wang Sili. He now knows how to report things when he returns.”
Thanks to Jin Zhu, when Qingfu had gone back to report, she had repeatedly urged him to inform Meng the Chancellor and the Crown Prince in full detail to avoid any discrepancies. Qingfu did not dare to be sloppy, so she told them everything, including that “they went up the mountain to observe the auspicious sign.”
Once they knew, the Tian Shou Emperor would naturally know too. But no one took it seriously—left ear in, right ear out.
Meng Xizhao planned to exploit that negligence, letting forgetfulness and inattention become the perfect fermenting agent.
Superstitions could be exploited on multiple scales. To deceive the common people, brute simplicity sufficed. To fool officials, one had to hit the right pain points. To fool the Tian Shou Emperor—a man who seemed confident but was a bit foolish—you had to make him feel that this matter wasn’t sudden but something he had already heard whispers of and anticipated.
Meng Xizhao had already planned exactly how to present it. The Crown Prince, upon hearing the plan, clapped his hands in approval—it was perfect. His foolish father would certainly be deceived.
At this point, Cui Ye asked about another matter: “I heard you want to find a stone carver?”
Meng Xizhao responded with a slight exclamation and sat beside him. “Yes, but they’re hard to find. Nanzhao hardly has any stone carvers; we might have to find one on the way back.”
Cui Ye frowned. “Why do you need a stone carver?”
Meng Xizhao winked. “Your Highness, have you seen the national treasure General Zhan retrieved from Nanzhao?”
Cui Ye: “……”
“No?”
The national treasure was stored in an exquisitely ornate box. Zhan Buxiu had brought it for the Crown Prince to see, but at the time the Prince was overwhelmed with the situation in Ningren Prefecture and had no time for him. The treasure was simply placed in the warehouse with other spoils of war and left at that.
Meng Xizhao chuckled softly, then stood and walked to a cabinet. He pulled out a large, wide-bodied porcelain jar with a lid, carrying it over to a spot about half a meter from Cui Ye. Lifting the lid, he let Cui Ye glimpse the stone inside.
“This,” he said, “is said to be a celestial stone that the national advisor of Nanzhao personally witnessed falling from the sky over two hundred years ago. This stone supposedly has a peculiar effect: keeping it nearby will, after a short while, make one feel mentally clear and invigorated.”
Cui Ye was surprised and leaned in curiously to look, when suddenly—clack—Meng Xizhao replaced the lid.
Then he spoke seriously: “But I read in a book that celestial stones can be good or bad. Once, a farmer found one and used it as a pillow. Within half a year, he bled from all seven orifices and died. People at the time didn’t know why and assumed he caught some disease. When his son died the same way, and his grandson sold the stone while seeking his livelihood, the buyer died as well. Only then did people realize it was the stone itself—whoever used it would die.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Looking again at the porcelain jar, his gaze grew wary. He wanted to grab it and toss it out the window.
Furrowing his brows, he asked, “Erlang, are you saying this celestial stone might also be dangerous?”
Meng Xizhao: “That… I’m not sure.”
Cui Ye: “……”
Then why even mention it?
Meng Xizhao turned and placed the jar back in the cabinet. The porcelain would block some of the radiation, and the thick wooden cabinet would block even more. Given the circumstances, that was the best they could do; he couldn’t think of more precautions.
He quickly returned to Cui Ye’s side, his eyes sparkling. “Never mind whether the stone is good or bad. No matter what, it’s the national treasure of Nanzhao. Now, tell me—if I offer it to His Majesty, would he accept it?”
Cui Ye: “……”
He nodded slowly. “He certainly would.”
Meng Xizhao asked again, “Would he keep it close at hand, playing with it every day?”
Cui Ye blinked, taking longer to consider this. Thinking of the temperament of the Tian Shou Emperor, he shook his head slowly: “Father is fond of Nanzhao’s lands, and the abundance of snakes and beauties here. He always scorns the Nanzhao royal family. Father believes in all kinds of true deities, but not in shamans.”
So once he received the stone, he might be fascinated at first, keeping it in his chamber for a few days—but once accustomed, he wouldn’t care much for it.
The claimed “mental invigoration” effect had never been tested, and at least in the past few days, Meng Xizhao and Cui Ye had stayed in the same place with it, yet they still slept when tired and rested when exhausted. The effect of stones on fortune and spirit has always been mysterious: belief matters. Meng Xizhao believed that in this vast world, some things defy explanation—but this stone looked like an exaggeration. Perhaps only its descent from the sky was true; the rest was the national advisor’s embellishment.
As a stone, it was beautiful, but compared to gemstones or crystals, it was unremarkable. Its effect was dubious, and its original owner was Zhen Anluo. The Tian Shou Emperor disliked him, so naturally he would have little attachment to his possessions.
Meng Xizhao had already guessed how Cui Ye would respond, and he smiled slightly. “What if I carve it into a sphere?”
Cui Ye began to ponder, but suddenly realized what Meng Xizhao meant and stared in shock.
“A sphere?”
Meng Xizhao nodded and repeated, “A sphere.”
He extended his arm, making a motion mimicking a moving animal, then lifted his hand as if holding something imaginary. “Just like the ball the Great Elder Long Xian brought.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He was too shocked to speak for a long moment. Eventually, he awkwardly said, “Erlang, maybe there’s a better way. Father cares greatly about the ball in his dream—if he realizes you’re doing this to please him, it might backfire.”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “You mean His Majesty remembers exactly what the ball in his dream looked like?”
Cui Ye hesitated, then said, “I don’t know. Father seems…”
Meng Xizhao interrupted, “Has he never mentioned what it looked like?”
Cui Ye glanced at him and nodded.
Meng Xizhao laughed. “Exactly. People rarely remember dream details. Remembering them perfectly is abnormal. Even if he remembered at first, over time he would forget. Don’t be fooled by how clearly he describes it later—those details are added unconsciously. Don’t worry; once the moment is right, His Majesty will naturally believe that this sphere is the very one from his dream.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He said nothing further, but after thinking for a while, he raised another concern. “But Zhen Anluo will return to Tianfu with us. If you carve his national treasure into a sphere, won’t he tell Father it was just an ordinary stone?”
Meng Xizhao: “That’s why I need a skilled craftsman. If it were just a matter of smoothing it into a sphere, I could do it myself. I tried a small hit, and the treasure is brittle—it chipped immediately.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
You actually hit it already?!
Sometimes, Meng Xizhao’s treatment of priceless treasures astonished even Cui Ye.
Meng Xizhao continued meticulously arranging every matter. Now, with Cui Ye needing to preserve his health, he had become a hands-off overseer. Most of the time, he lay in bed, drifting between sleep and wakefulness.
They weren’t in a hurry, and the soldiers below quickly followed suit, moving at a measured pace.
With Ningren Prefecture secured and the Nanzhao forces scattered, it was the perfect time to press the advantage. Ding Chun and Zhan Buxiu each led troops in separate directions—one south, one west—capturing every settlement they came across. Occasionally they encountered tougher resistance, but more often than not, the enemy collapsed almost as soon as battle was joined.
Their rate of territorial expansion into Nanzhao lands was astonishing. Every three days or so, a dispatch would arrive in Yingtian Prefecture bearing news of another victory.
The Tian Shou Emperor grinned crookedly, though he was slightly displeased that Zhen Anluo had still not been brought before him.
Meanwhile, Wan Huaixin, who returned with the reports, cried so much that snot and tears ran freely, claiming that the Crown Prince had fallen ill immediately after Ningren Prefecture was taken—and worse than ever. Meng Xizhao had sealed off the Western Palace where the Crown Prince stayed; aside from physicians and the prince’s personal attendants, no one was allowed inside.
Of course, Wan Huaixin dared not exaggerate. He didn’t even know what the Crown Prince was suffering from, so he couldn’t give specifics. All he could do was cry, lamenting his “failure” to complete the task, insisting it wasn’t his fault.
But his tears triggered a rumor in the court: that the Crown Prince was gravely ill, perhaps even near death.
At that moment, the most anxious person was Meng Jiuyu.
It was a case of rain on top of a leaking roof…
His son had just been rescued, and now the Crown Prince had collapsed. If—heaven forbid—the Crown Prince were to die, all the heroic deeds his son had risked his life to accomplish would count for nothing.
Meng Jiuyu paced frantically, unable to sit still in his study. He finally stepped into the courtyard, only to find he wasn’t alone—Meng Xiang also happened to be there.
Meng Jiuyu: “…Dàláng, what are you doing here?”
Meng Xiang: “I…I’m worried about Erlang.”
Meng Jiuyu sighed. “Our Erlang really has a string of bad luck. Every time he seems to gain ground, he immediately plunges into another crisis. I’ve always said, the Crown Prince shouldn’t be involved. Look—it’s exactly as I feared. To achieve greatness, one must at least have good health! I swear… sigh! Tell me, if the Crown Prince doesn’t survive this, how can our Erlang hope for any reward?!”
Meng Xiang sighed in response. “Yes… Erlang’s eye for choosing people… sigh… he should at least pick someone with a good constitution.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…”
Something about that sounded off.
“What did you say, Dàláng?”
Meng Xiang cleared his throat and shook his head. “Nothing, just talking to myself. Father, I’ll return to my quarters. Tomorrow at court, someone will likely make moves against the Crown Prince and Erlang again. I need to stay alert and act preemptively.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
This only made him feel more exasperated.
Since taking the position of imperial inspector, his eldest son seemed to have flipped some internal switch—every day acting like a sharp-eyed strategist. Meng Jiuyu was only naturally vigilant, but Meng Xiang… he surpassed him, creating enemies even when none existed.
Recently, regarding the Gan family, since it was proposed by Grand Tutor Gan that Meng Xizhao be assigned elsewhere, Meng Xiang had anticipated complications. Even though Meng Xizhao would have taken the initiative regardless, Meng Xiang, being protective of his “brotherly” bond, had to vent his frustrations somewhere.
When Meng Xizhao returned victorious and news arrived, Meng Xiang barely had a day to celebrate before a new enemy emerged.
Rumors spread questioning how Meng Xizhao could enter the Nanzhao court so swiftly—had he done something dishonorable? They whispered that he served closely in the Western Palace beside the famed Princess Rosa Hua, implying Meng Xizhao’s loyalties might be divided.
Meng Xiang nearly flipped in anger. Back home, he drafted a memorial, with the county lady advising him on phrasing to resonate with both the Tian Shou Emperor and the Cui royal family.
It’s worth noting: the person spreading slander did so privately over drinks.
Meng Xiang had many friends, including Bu Tian, now under the young master Li Ping. Li Ping was clever in both making money and managing subordinates. When Bu Tian was with Meng Xizhao, he merely recorded important guests and social connections, but Li Ping took it further—ensuring that even servants standing “invisible” could overhear private conversations.
Li Ping had no grand political ambitions; he acted solely to help his friend and cousin, Meng Xiang.
Meng Xiang, similarly determined, wanted to excel as an imperial inspector. He arranged for Li Ping to relay intelligence, sought advice from his mother and the county lady, and even funded two local taverns to gather information. Luckily, few knew of these measures. Otherwise, they would assume he was preparing to become a spy for the Great Qi Empire.
However, by now, word had spread. Meng Xiang’s memorial was presented in court the next day, and after careful preparation, his arguments landed with precision. He fired questions like a rapid volley, leaving opponents speechless. Even Minister Situ and Minister Yan looked on in surprise, first at Meng Xiang, then at Meng Jiuyu.
Their expressions conveyed the same thought:
—What on earth do the Meng family members eat growing up? How does each one surpass the last in eloquence?
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
He wanted to say: it’s not my teaching—they’re self-taught. Believe it or not.
Regardless, after this episode, Meng Xiang’s reputation soared, though it also revealed his external intelligence-gathering activities.
Meng Jiuyu was truly at his wit’s end now, torn between hoping for the Crown Prince’s speedy recovery and wishing his youngest son would return soon.
“Come back quickly, or else I won’t be able to control Dàláng!” he muttered to himself.
Yes, as the old saying went, one troublemaker is best countered by another. To rein in Dàláng, he’d need an even bigger handful of trouble to return.
…The Secretariat would certainly never have a dull moment from here on out.
＊
Since Meng Xizhao had joined forces with the Qi army, no letters had come from home.
Mainly because the Meng family assumed he had been rescued and would return within a few days. Who could have guessed the delay would stretch so long? Now they didn’t dare write, uncertain of the Crown Prince’s condition. If his health was truly precarious, sending a letter could cause complications.
They didn’t dare write—but others did.
Meng Xizhao sat in the sleeping hall, reading the letters sent by Zang He by candlelight.
Another day had passed in a blur of inverted day and night. Each time Cui Ye awoke, he felt every muscle aching, his back as if crushed under the wheels of a heavy carriage, tight and stiff, needing time to loosen before he could move.
Earlier, Cui Ye had boasted that when he finally saw Meng Xizhao, he would employ a “self-inflicted suffering” trick, letting Meng Xizhao witness his miserable state to frighten him. But when the day actually came, he didn’t dare even frown. Meng Xizhao’s gaze—those black eyes glinting with moisture—would fix on him unblinking. Even without a word of concern, it made Cui Ye’s heart ache with regret.
So he stayed lying down upon waking, only sitting up discreetly once the pain subsided enough to move.
As soon as Meng Xizhao noticed, he turned, tossing the letters aside and moving to help him.
Cui Ye smiled faintly, sweat beading on his nose, and tried to distract Meng Xizhao: “What’s that?”
Meng Xizhao glanced at the scattered letters he had tossed: “Zang He sent this. He says that in Yingtian Prefecture, opinions about me are still divided. The public doesn’t yet know, but everyone is delighted that the Nanzhao royal family has been captured—they think the soldiers out on campaign can finally return home.”
Cui Ye also smiled: “Turning swords into plowshares, laying down arms and returning to the fields—always what the people most hope for.”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together in a smile, then murmured: “Zang He also said that Deputy Wan’s behavior upon returning was a bit exaggerated. Now, many in Yingtian Prefecture think you are on your deathbed.”
Cui Ye: “Well, when they see me return in one piece, they’ll be in for a shock.”
A shock, perhaps, but more likely just a sense of regret.
Naturally, those with such thoughts were mostly aligned with Grand Tutor Gan. Cui Ye’s being alive hindered them; for the others—like Chief Military Advisor Geng or Minister Yan—they didn’t particularly hope for the Crown Prince’s early demise.
After all, even a disfavored heir is still the heir. If he were to fall, the court would inevitably experience a period of turmoil.
Meng Xizhao pondered for a moment, then looked up. For the first time, he showed a trace of hesitation toward Cui Ye: “Could you do me a favor?”
Cui Ye, noticing this, blinked in surprise: “Why are you still so polite with me? Erlang, tell me what you want—if I don’t have it, I’ll fetch it for you.”
Meng Xizhao: “…But this favor is somewhat… unusual.”
Cui Ye smiled reassuringly: “It doesn’t matter, Erlang, speak freely.”
Meng Xizhao looked at him and finally said outright: “Can you tell me what Consort Gan used to look like?”