Imperial horses were faster than those of the Ministry of Rites. Within half an hour, they reached Jiming Mountain.
Entering the grounds of Jiming Temple, Guard Zhang expertly guided them up a slope reserved for high-ranking officials and nobility. Many ladies, wishing to show devotion, would dismount and walk, but some elderly nobles—too frail even to stand—were carried.
Meng Xizhao lifted the curtain to see an almost centenarian matron being hoisted upward, supported by two young maidservants, barely able to stand even with a cane. He grimaced.
He could not fathom such stubbornness. At that age, if one wished to worship, couldn’t one do so at home, building a small shrine? No need to risk life and limb climbing the mountain just to show piety in public…
Quietly lowering the curtain, Meng Xizhao turned to see Cui Ye still with eyes closed, brows knit tightly. Even in rest, he seemed unable to find peace.
Being leaned on the whole way, Meng Xizhao’s shoulder was nearly numb.
But that wasn’t what frustrated him the most. What annoyed him was that he hadn’t agreed to come up the mountain in the first place.
Originally, he only intended to speak with the Crown Prince briefly. Who could have expected that once he got into the carriage, the Crown Prince would treat him like a human pillow—and Guard Zhang wouldn’t even give a word of warning before setting off? Meng Xizhao listened to the monks outside and Zhang Shuogong chanting “Amitabha,” and he felt a pang of worry.
How was he going to get back down later?
No, the real problem was whether he would even be able to come down at all.
…
It was said that the monks at Jiming Temple knew Cui Ye was the Crown Prince, but because the Crown Prince had said as a child that he didn’t want special treatment, they respected his wishes: at most, they kept his courtyard for his private use, but otherwise, they treated him like any other devotee.
Meng Xizhao figured that the monks’ confidence didn’t come from some transcendent detachment, but because Buddhism had held a lofty social status since the late Han period. The more chaotic the world, the greater the people’s demand for spiritual guidance. Poor Central Plains—ever since the Han Dynasty went downhill, they had hardly known a few years of peace. The Wei and Jin periods were worse: famine, land shortages, and tales like Guanyin Tu all originated then. The Sui and Tang briefly revived prosperity, but it soon declined faster than the Han.
Buddhism and Taoism grew stronger in this bitter environment, their influence rising year by year, alternating according to the emperor’s favor. One year Taoism was the state religion, the next Buddhism. By now, there was a fusion of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism. Emperor Tianshou didn’t follow just one—he believed in all. If someone presented a god with persuasive reasoning, he would accept it, feeling pleased.
The more gods, the more protection he imagined he received.
…Shameless.
Yet if one looked closely, Emperor Tianshou trusted Buddhism the most. Why? Simple: because of the Naga deity, a being like Fuxi and Nuwa, with a human head and serpent body, but considered a spirit rather than a god. In mythology, the Naga appeared solely to protect the Buddha. This aligned with Tianshou’s dream, where a snake delivered a ball. He believed the snake, drawn by his true dragon essence, came to solidify his rule and prolong his life.
Meng Xizhao thought otherwise—if he analyzed it, the snake’s message was more like: “Kid, all you can do is hold a ball.”
…
Anyway, because of the emperor’s favor and the traditions passed down, monks held very high status in this dynasty. Past offenses were ignored; no one was required to kneel to them, and alms-seekers were never refused even if the household was destitute—failure to comply could result in twenty strokes of punishment.
Thinking of this, Meng Xizhao felt both disdain and curiosity.
At last, they arrived.
Meng Xizhao woke Cui Ye, who seemed not to have slept at all. As soon as Meng Xizhao called, Cui Ye opened his eyes.
＊
Once everything was arranged, Guard Zhang went to the small kitchen to prepare medicine. Carefully, he brought the bowl to the main hall.
At the door, Yu Fulan stood watching. Suddenly, he said, “Give the medicine to me.”
Normally, delivering the medicine was his job, and Yu Fulan never contested it. Today’s request seemed odd, but Zhang handed over the bowl. Yu Fulan went inside briefly and came out again—without the tray or bowl.
Zhang glared. “Where’s the bowl?”
Yu Fulan: “Inside.”
Zhang: “…I know it’s inside. Did His Highness take the medicine?”
Yu Fulan: “No. I handed it to Meng Shaoqing to serve to His Highness.”
Zhang: “…………”
His temper flared. “Yu Fulan, what’s your problem?! Just one bowl of medicine, and it has to pass through three sets of hands! And what’s Meng Xizhao to you that you’re so eager to serve him?!”
Yu Fulan frowned. “I serve His Highness. Why would I serve Meng Xizhao? You, you big oaf, when will you start using your brain?”
Zhang paused, then grew angrier. “You call me stupid?!”
Yu Fulan pulled him aside along the wall, lowering his voice. “His Highness is in a bad mood today. If we don’t serve him with full dedication now, when will we? Do you think your own serving will bring a smile to him?”
Zhang still felt indignant. “Then Meng Xizhao can?”
Yu Fulan: “Let him try. He’ll probably do better than either of us.”
Zhang fell silent.
Indeed, the Crown Prince favored Meng Xizhao—a rare occurrence. Zhang didn’t understand why the prince would grow close even to someone like Meng Xizhao, but one ally was better than none.
Seeing Zhang understand, Yu Fulan pressed the point further, mending the tension between them. “The Crown Prince cannot always rely on just us two. Anyone with eyes can see His Highness’s situation is difficult. He needs capable people to help him. Division of labor creates a chance to break through. You protect him; I handle affairs. Different tasks, same essence—we’re all his trusted. No need to fight over hierarchy.”
Guard Zhang lifted his eyes and glanced at him. “Then what exactly is Meng Xizhao’s role?”
Yu Fulan blinked. “Hmm… to keep His Highness entertained?”
Guard Zhang: “……”
Inside the room, Meng Xizhao, whose task was apparently “to keep His Highness entertained,” leaned over the bowl of pale brown medicine.
Just one sniff nearly made him spit it out.
…Truly, appearances can be deceiving. That seemingly harmless, clear-looking medicine packed the punch of a biochemical weapon.
The last time he had drunk the shock-suppressing potion—pitch black and bitter—was already bad enough. This one, he reckoned, would be dozens of times worse.
With a hint of disdain, he held the bowl at arm’s length, then carried it inside to Cui Ye.
Cui Ye was still sitting at the table.
Meng Xizhao approached, briefly tempted to speak in a teasing voice: “Big Bro, time for your medicine~”
He couldn’t resist and let out a soft laugh.
Cui Ye looked up, a little puzzled.
Meng Xizhao quickly pressed his lips together and set the bowl before him. “Your medicine, Your Highness.”
Cui Ye lowered his eyes, glanced at the faintly translucent liquid, and without changing his expression, drank it slowly, mouthful by mouthful, until it was gone.
Meng Xizhao’s admiration for the Crown Prince shot up yet another level.
After Cui Ye put down the bowl, Meng Xizhao swiftly produced a handful of candies from his sleeve and arranged them in front of him.
“Peanut candy, dragon beard candy, almond candy, jasmine candy, and assorted sweets—Which would Your Highness like?”
Cui Ye didn’t want any, but he picked up one and rolled it between his fingers. “How did you bring so many candies?”
He smiled faintly. “Surely you didn’t bring them for me.”
Meng Xizhao blinked, sensing something off in the tone—like speaking with Emperor Tianshou, subtle meaning hidden in words.
“Of course not. I had no idea I’d be coming here with Your Highness today, nor that you would need medicine. I just brought them this morning to have a little something in the palace if I got hungry.”
Cui Ye knew and lowered his gaze, then took the almond candy and ate it, expression unchanged.
“It’s my fault,” Cui Ye said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
This was, without a doubt, the most polite Crown Prince he had ever met.
Well, the only one he had met, to be precise.
Meng Xizhao smiled. “Your Highness needn’t apologize. One may indulge a little when ill.”
Unlike Emperor Tianshou, who would act gravely ill even when perfectly healthy.
Cui Ye raised his head and gave a faint smile. “How have you been recently, Er Lang?”
Meng Xizhao paused, then replied, “Quite well. The Honglu Temple is running smoothly, the Participating Government is orderly, my father received the emperor’s favor, my mother recently celebrated her birthday in good spirits, and my elder brother is thriving at the National Academy. My younger sister, however, is still a bit odd, always trying to pry into things. I wonder if staying at the Honglu Temple has made me pick up some of the habits of the ‘barbarians’…”
Cui Ye: “……”
“I wasn’t asking about these things,” Cui Ye interjected.
Meng Xizhao, puzzled, asked, “Then what would Your Highness like to know?”
Cui Ye’s fingertip traced the rim of the bowl, slowly moving. “I’ve heard that Er Lang is seeking a romantic confidante. Have you found one yet?”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He had only told Emperor Tianshou about this—how could Cui Ye know?
His ears reddened. He realized that while he could act however he wanted in front of the emperor or his parents, hearing it stated so openly by Cui Ye made him flush with embarrassment. He almost wished he could crawl under the table.
Cui Ye observed his discomfort, lips curling faintly. His finger movements along the bowl quickened slightly—a subtle communication impossible in this world if there were no body language.
Meng Xizhao watched the rhythmic movement of his fingers, then muttered, “Your Highness, please stop teasing me.”
Cui Ye halted, looking genuinely puzzled.
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips. “There is no romantic confidante. No woman takes an interest in me. My own maids would brave fire and water for me, yet if I dared make them concubines, they would fall to their knees, crying and begging me to retract the order.”
Cui Ye: “…Er Lang need not speak so harshly of himself.”
Sighing, Meng Xizhao rested his elbow on the table, propping up his chin. “I’m just stating facts. I’m not favored by women. Honestly, I don’t even understand it myself. Look—I actually think I’m okay-looking, right?”
Cui Ye instinctively glanced at Meng Xizhao’s face and nodded.
Not just “okay”—handsome, innocent, and charming.
Seeing Cui Ye agree, Meng Xizhao grinned. “And my family background isn’t bad either. Though my ancestors had no major foundations, we are a scholarly household. My great-grandfather was even a xiucai. As for my own learning… let’s not talk about it. Still, some women admire not a man’s knowledge, but his courage and character.”
Cui Ye: “……”
Recalling Meng Xizhao being scared into the river and his unwillingness to yield, Cui Ye couldn’t help but comment, “You seem to lack both.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He was about to retort, but hearing this nearly choked him; he had to swallow his words back down, glaring at Cui Ye with quiet grievance as if saying, How are you so tactless?
This time, Cui Ye truly smiled.
Seeing Meng Xizhao’s mood improve, he relaxed and continued: “Alright, Your Highness is right. I truly don’t have those qualities. But I do have some virtues—for instance, generosity, cleverness, many ideas. People around me are probably often happy. Yet, for some reason, no woman seems interested in me. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something inherently wrong with me that prevents women from being attracted to me.”
Speaking of which, Meng Xizhao felt a twinge of genuine emotion.
Because this was the truth. In his past life, it had been exactly the same!
Who wouldn’t want a sweet, romantic relationship? Especially during school days—campus romance just sounded so dreamy and heartwarming. But first, he had never met anyone he liked, and second, no one had ever liked him.
…How embarrassing.
From childhood to now, it was as if he were magnetically repellent to the opposite sex. Girls in class would pat his head, share small snacks with him, and at sports day, cheer for him like maniacs—but none of them ever felt that kind of affection toward him.
Sometimes, Meng Xizhao felt completely crushed. Why?! Was his face cursed with some solitary-star fate?!
Cui Ye, seeing his genuine distress, couldn’t help but comfort him. “Perhaps the time simply hasn’t come yet.”
Meng Xizhao looked up, and Cui Ye smiled at him. “Your destined partner will appear when the time is right. It will always appear.”
Hearing this, Meng Xizhao couldn’t help but give a small, shy smile. “Then I hope it’s just one person. I don’t like multiple wives or concubines. I just want, like my parents, a lifelong pair, one partner for life.”
A lifelong pair.
Cui Ye’s heartstrings stirred at those words.
He paused, then said earnestly, “Er Lang, if you hadn’t applied yourself to study, the entire Da Qi would be at a loss. Your intelligence… is the sharpest I have ever seen.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Oh no, there it went—another unintentional compliment.
Yet this one wasn’t really about scholarship. Even ordinary people, moved by emotion, could utter something like that.
So Meng Xizhao didn’t deny it this time. He just smiled awkwardly, accepting the words. He couldn’t keep claiming he had learned it from books or elsewhere—that would be obviously suspicious.
Then Cui Ye asked, “If you feel this way in your heart, then why did you make such a show of going to the Hongchun House?”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him.
Cui Ye had leaned slightly forward while asking, and Meng Xizhao wondered if he had been setting up this question all along.
But Cui Ye wasn’t the gossipy type. So he answered honestly: “First, there were some things I couldn’t say openly. Second, I hadn’t been there for a long while. I thought I should go and check in, to put certain people at ease.”
The “certain people” Meng Xizhao referred to were his parents, his maternal grandfather’s family, and other familiar faces, so they wouldn’t worry about him being upset. Cui Ye, however, automatically imagined the emperor, the Third Prince, Grand Tutor Gan, and other high-ranking officials.
Worried about misunderstanding, Meng Xizhao added: “I only had a meal there. Nothing else. I didn’t even listen to the music. You may have heard, I ordered over twenty girls in one go. I just wanted to do something… I simply lacked the ability.”
Cui Ye studied him for a long moment, then suddenly smiled. “I understand. You need not explain yourself to me.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Was it really possible to fire a cannon after the battle like this?
But since Cui Ye said it, there was nothing to argue. Besides, once he got the answers he wanted, Cui Ye changed the topic: “The person who impeached you in court is Yang Shouye, one of the scholars at the Zizheng Hall. You should know who the Grand Scholar of Zizheng Hall is.”
Meng Xizhao paused, then nodded. “Yes. Grand Scholar Lin Qinlin, father of Consort Xianfei.”
Some things didn’t need to be stated plainly. Meng Xizhao understood and smiled. “I wonder if Your Highness has heard, my Jiao Jiao has been frequenting the Yongjin Tower lately, sitting there for an hour just to order a few dishes.”
Cui Ye’s expression revealed a trace of amusement. “I didn’t know about this. I only know that the Prince of Linjiang often goes to the Yongjin Tower.”
The newly titled Prince of Linjiang was formerly the Fifth Prince. Although the emperor had granted titles to all adult and nearly adult princes today, there was no rule requiring a prince to reside in his fief. They could remain in Yingtian if they wished.
The reality: everywhere else in the realm was too poor, but Linjiang—being near Hangzhou—was still wealthy. Yet a prince with grand ambitions could hardly be satisfied with Hangzhou alone; his eyes were on all of Da Qi.
He would never mention relocating to his fief to Emperor Tianshou, unless the emperor had grown tired of him and literally kicked him there.
Meng Xizhao didn’t particularly resent him. After all, the Fifth Prince was somewhat clever. He wasn’t as ostentatious as the Third Prince, choosing a more subtle, stealthy approach. His interactions with Meng Jiao Jiao were also secretive. If the Meng family hadn’t been on the verge of collapse, their relationship might never have been exposed.
But having a plan meant he couldn’t stay secret forever. One day, he would propose to Meng Jiao Jiao. Worse, if he presented this to Emperor Tianshou as true love, the emperor—so prone to romantic sentiment—would be moved to tears, fulfilling in his son what he himself had failed to achieve.
Good news: the Third Prince wasn’t married yet. Fifth in line, no rush.
Bad news: the Third Prince was already betrothed, and the Fourth Prince was seeing someone, meaning next year, the Fifth Prince would likely propose.
Originally, that was the planned story. If the Participating Government hadn’t fallen, the Fifth Prince would have chosen an auspicious day, like the Flower Festival, to create a perfect pretext.
Now, however, the situation was uncertain.
Meng Xizhao noticed the Fifth Prince had intentions to befriend him publicly.
His momentum seemed strong recently. Besides meeting him at the Qionglin Banquet, he had even visited Meng Xizhao’s residence at Buxuntian multiple days in a row. Meng Xizhao had avoided him each time, yet you can’t stay hidden forever. The saying goes: a thief cannot outwit the guard for a thousand days.
Deep in thought, Meng Xizhao was suddenly brought back by Cui Ye’s voice: “Do you need me to help?”
Meng Xizhao was taken aback, suddenly snapping back to reality. He stared at the crown prince, blinking in surprise, and quickly shook his head. “No, no need…”
Cui Ye frowned, puzzled at his resistance.
Meng Xizhao now had a vague realization: Cui Ye didn’t seem to have a very broad heart either—probably a genetic trait. Fearing misunderstandings, he hurried to explain. “As for Jiao Jiao, I already have a plan. The Participating Government isn’t a pushover; as long as she’s unwilling, no one can force her. Regarding the princes… Your Highness, please trust me this once. Just sit back and watch the tigers fight; there’s no need to jump in and get blood on yourself.”
Cui Ye said, “Since when have I ever not trusted you? That really hurts my feelings.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
After all that talking, that was his main point?
…
About an hour later, Meng Xizhao finally pushed open the door. Outside, Yu Fulan and Zhang Shiwei were idly cooling off under the grape trellis. Seeing him, they hurried over.
Yu Fulan jumped ahead of Zhang Shogong. “How is His Highness, Meng Shaoqing?”
Meng Xizhao was momentarily stunned by the question. “He’s fine! But I think His Highness must be hungry; he finished all the sweets I brought! You should prepare some food and send it in immediately.”
Yu Fulan: “……”
What?
Zhang Shiwei: “……”
What… what… what?
They exchanged a stunned glance. Zhang Shiwei hurriedly asked, “His Highness… His Highness isn’t unwell?”
Meng Xizhao really thought their reactions were strange. Unwell? They had spent the entire afternoon sitting there, listening to city gossip like it was a storytelling session, all while eating sweets, and now Meng Xizhao had nothing left for himself on the way back.
Then again, earlier during the first day of the lunar month, when he encountered Cui Ye, the prince had seemed weak, and this morning too. Now, however, there was no problem. Meng Xizhao stroked his chin and voiced his theory: “His Highness’s old condition must be improving. The medicine should not be stopped; it’s effective. It would be wise to take a few more doses to strengthen recovery. You must pay attention—don’t let anything delay His Highness’s recovery.”
Having said that, he left, intending to descend the mountain along the same path. In their shock, neither of them stopped him or mentioned that Qingfu was waiting at the foot of the mountain.
Zhang Shiwei felt an impulse to curse.
Nonsense! Have you ever heard of painkillers curing poison?
Recovery… recovery my foot!
He was the type of person who, when agitated, went straight to fists and blades for bad news, and verbally cursed at good news.
Luckily, as someone close to the crown prince, he at least knew to curse silently. Afterward, he nervously glanced at Yu Fulan. “Is what he said… true?”
Yu Fulan, calmer, nodded. “His Highness’s symptoms fluctuate with his mood. When his heart is troubled, the attacks are severe; when he is at ease, the attacks are mild.”
Yet the prince hadn’t experienced a mild episode in months. A few months ago, during the empress’s death anniversary, he had been in such pain for three straight days that reason itself couldn’t control him. On the way back to the palace, an accident almost occurred. Fortunately, it was Meng Xizhao who encountered him that day. Had it been someone else, and the prince’s identity revealed, with the news spreading further, Yu Fulan had no idea how he would have managed.
Yu Fulan wanted to sigh, but at that moment, a hand suddenly waved in front of him.
Instinctively, he leaned back, pushing Zhang Shogong’s hand away. “What are you doing?”
Zhang Shogong looked at him fervently. “Think about it: from now on, on the first day of each month, you bring His Highness to Jiming Temple, and I’ll drive a carriage to bring Meng Xizhao along. How does that sound?”
Yu Fulan: “…………”
Absurd!
But… maybe not impossible?
＊
Meng Xizhao, holding the story in his hands, usually found it advantageous, but sometimes he took things for granted.
For example, he assumed Cui Ye was in the process of detoxification and nearly done, when in reality, he hadn’t even started—nor had any intention of doing so.
Or, he assumed the Fifth Prince would wait patiently until next year to act. In truth, the prince had only considered Meng Jiao Jiao as one candidate for a consort, still in a period of hesitation. But in the blink of an eye, the Meng family’s status suddenly improved. Not only was Meng Cenzheng still highly favored, but even his youngest son had become a favorite of the emperor.
Originally, when everyone had bet on Meng Xizhao, the Fifth Prince saw clearly that he was inadequate. Knowledge alone was meaningless—there were plenty of learned men; when had the emperor ever favored them? Flattery was what mattered.
Meng Xizhao was indeed a master of flattery. At just over ten years old, he had already reached a sixth-rank official position. With Emperor Tianshou’s tendency to indulge favorites to the extreme, he would continue rising rapidly!
Originally, the Meng family had only Meng Jiuyu in their favor. Now with Meng Xizhao, Meng Jiao Jiao’s status in the Fifth Prince’s heart also rose. Not only that, the prince was now considering making their relationship public.
Previously, they had met secretly, partly to stay low-profile. Now he had changed his mind, and Meng Jiao Jiao’s treatment changed as well.
However… he had changed, and Meng Jiao Jiao was no longer the same girl as before.
Today, she arrived again in a sedan chair at the Zhan family.
Meng Jiao Jiao had always been outgoing. She had more than twenty handkerchief acquaintances; meeting one per day would take nearly a month. But both her and Lady Meng’s reputations weren’t very good.
The handkerchief friends greeted her with smiles but often spoke ill of her behind her back. Meng Jiao Jiao knew, and didn’t care, because she too engaged in gossip behind others’ backs.
Now, these were her handkerchief acquaintances; once grown, they would be rivals competing for eligible young men. There were only a few
quality suitors, and these young ladies, raised with the standards of a primary wife in mind, naturally had sharp eyes. Secretly, they all compared themselves, subtly vying for advantage.
But none of this concerned Zhan Hui—she had barely met any men in her life. She couldn’t enter Meng Jiao Jiao’s circle, wasn’t her rival, and wouldn’t be gossiping about her behind her back.
At first, Meng Jiao Jiao had found Zhan Hui a bit dull, but after seeing the books she had read, she thought otherwise. Zhan Hui was well-educated, versed in poetry and prose, yet unlike the young ladies she knew who masked their knowledge with false humility to subtly assert their superiority, Zhan Hui was genuine.
So, with her task in mind, Meng Jiao Jiao came a few more times. Though Zhan Hui didn’t talk much, she never left the conversation hanging. Whatever Meng Jiao Jiao said, Zhan Hui listened, and if she went silent, Zhan Hui would invite her to do something together—embroidery, chess, and the like.
Meng Jiao Jiao wasn’t skilled at needlework, and Lady Meng didn’t care; she only needed her to manage the accounts. Outsiders, however, often mocked her, and Meng Jiao Jiao would snap back on the spot, pretending indifference—but deep down, she hated being ridiculed for her poor embroidery.
When she faltered in front of Zhan Hui, the latter couldn’t help but laugh—not maliciously, but purely at how Meng Jiao Jiao had managed to embroider the orchid wrong, turning it into something like a chicken’s claw.
Meng Jiao Jiao, embarrassed, pretended to strike her, but Zhan Hui saw she wasn’t serious and laughed even harder. Having grown up without women around, Zhan Hui’s temperament was a bit rough; at least among the noble girls Meng Jiao Jiao knew, none would shield half their face with an arm while laughing so hard they nearly ran out of breath.
Meng Jiao Jiao snorted, tossing aside her embroidery hoop, feigning anger, though a smile still tugged at her lips. “You’re all bad people. Do you know what my second brother said yesterday when he saw what I stitched?”
She paused, then mimicked Meng Xizhao’s startled stance: “Good heavens, Jiao Jiao, you’ve embroidered a harbinger of fortune! Give it to me, with claws so realistic. Offer it to His Majesty, and our family will prosper!”
Zhan Hui’s face flushed as she laughed. “Thankfully, my brother wouldn’t tease me like that.”
Meng Jiao Jiao: “Speaking of your brother, isn’t he on leave today? My second brother too—last night he hinted that they’re probably up to some secret schemes again.”
Zhan Hui pressed her lips into a smile. “There’s some truth to that, but my brother wouldn’t tell me.”
Meng Jiao Jiao sighed like a little adult. “Yes, all big brothers are like that. My eldest is fine, but he still worries about my sister-in-law. My second brother, hmph, hasn’t found me a sister-in-law yet, and his eyes are already off me.”
If his eyes were truly off you, he wouldn’t have gone through all that trouble to have you find me.
Zhan Hui thought this to herself, then pushed the piece of watermelon she had cut toward Meng Jiao Jiao. “Have some to cool down.”
Meng Jiao Jiao lowered her head and ate a slice.
She no longer spoke of the Zhan family as destitute. Seeing the barren state of their house, she even considered helping them get a better one.
But Meng Xizhao had warned her: the Zhan family were friends, not servants. She couldn’t treat them with the attitude of a benefactor; that would be too much.
Meng Jiao Jiao inwardly protested: if you have friends you dare not tell your parents about, that’s one thing; but you secretly make friends and pull me into it—if rumors of her father causing General Zhan’s death circulate outside, our frequent visits would naturally dispel them.
Meng Xizhao remained firm, and Meng Jiao Jiao, now used to moving about stealthily, actually followed his guidance. As a result, no one in the Meng household yet knew that the Zhan siblings had become friends with their child.
Wiping her mouth, Meng Jiao Jiao announced her plan for the day: “During the Qiqiao Festival, let’s go boating on the lake together.”
Zhan Hui blinked. “Boating?”
Meng Jiao Jiao nodded. “During the day, yes. At night, we must return home. My mother always sets up a decorative pavilion in the yard several days in advance. My eldest and second brothers help too. If I don’t return, my mother will be upset.”
Zhan Hui was momentarily taken aback.
Meng Jiao Jiao hadn’t realized at first, as she wasn’t naturally considerate. Now she did, and her face instantly turned red as if dyed.
She knew she was in the wrong but couldn’t bring herself to apologize, so she just fidgeted awkwardly.
Zhan Hui met her gaze and, though slightly hurt, smiled faintly. “Alright, but I don’t like being with too many people.”
Seeing her smile, Meng Jiao Jiao relaxed instantly and, like Meng Xizhao, swung her legs. “No problem, just the two of us. I won’t bring many maidservants!”
…
Next door, the old patriarch of the Zhan family, hearing the two girls chatting and laughing, felt much more at ease.
＊
The two-month term hadn’t ended, yet Zhan Buxiu had already delivered people to Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao rested his palm on his brow, squinting at the ten men before him.
Their spirit… seemed different from ordinary people.
He left the ten soldiers there and grabbed Zhan Buxiu’s sleeve, bringing him inside to speak privately.
Now that the manor was built, the main courtyard followed the standard three-entry, three-exit layout. Shi Dazhuang was still hard at work, sweating in the fields. Outside, in the first courtyard, almost no one was around.
“In just such a short time, they’ve already trained to this level?”
Zhan Buxiu answered, “You wanted them to guard the manor, didn’t you? These are all promising recruits. They follow my orders without exception. I had them listen to you, and they naturally obeyed.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He turned to look at the ten soldiers standing rigidly with their hands behind their backs, then turned back. “Can they take on a hundred men?”
Zhan Buxiu: “Not possible.”
Meng Xizhao: “……Then what am I supposed to do with them?”
Zhan Buxiu paused, then explained, “A soldier capable of taking on a hundred men, even without ambition, can become a general. These men can’t take on a hundred, but taking on ten is no problem. They’ll be more than sufficient against anyone trying to infiltrate the manor.”
After a pause, he added, “Don’t treat them like ordinary guards. You can have them oversee the regular guards. I’ve trained them for over a month, and they’ve already gained some experience in how to command others.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
No wonder he’s destined to be emperor.
Han Xin had said of Liu Bang: a good general can command troops, but can’t lead them well. Zhan Buxiu, on the other hand, could both command and lead. One man alone was equivalent to several founding generals—no wonder he conquered the realm so quickly.
After a moment of reflection, Meng Xizhao nodded. “I’ll take them. Coincidentally, I just gathered the craftsmen; your timing is perfect.”
Then he remembered something. “You just sent these people over. Won’t your superiors notice something’s off?”
Zhan Buxiu paused, lowered his arm, and replied, “The Inspector saw my training was effective and promoted me to full commander. My current superior is the Military Commander, with over two thousand under him. He won’t notice what’s happening here.”
Meng Xizhao stared blankly.
He had been a deputy in the Ministry of Rites for several months with no promotion in sight, forced to find another path. And Zhan Buxiu, barely a month in the military camp, had already had the “deputy” stripped from his badge?!
Is this the allure of the main character, or Zhan Buxiu’s own charm? It’s so unfair!
Meng Xizhao clenched his fists. No, he had to step up his game too.