The Xiongnu had no Observatory Bureau, but they had their own way of choosing auspicious dates.
They hired a few shaman priests, who performed frenzied rituals in the palace, waving herbs and bells. Had the Princess of Chu not been from Great Qi, with her pre-wedding restriction against visiting the groom’s home, they might have invited her to participate, subjecting her to the ritual as well.
Finally, after the grand ritual, the shaman approached the old Chanyu and spoke a single sentence. The wedding date was set: the twenty-ninth day of the tenth month.
Back then, Meng Xizhao had tricked Han Daozhen, claiming the old Chanyu wished to hold the wedding in the desert—a lie. No matter how confused, the old Chanyu wouldn’t brave the extreme winter of the desert. Even here, it was cold enough that water froze instantly under sunlight. In the desert, prolonged exposure would make blinking difficult, as the blood vessels in the eyelids would stiffen.
…
However, the old Chanyu really did intend to host the wedding for several days.
Originally, it was planned for seven days, but the Xiongnu nobles loudly persuaded him to shorten it. Last year had brought disasters, and now it was winter: no game, cattle and sheep not gaining weight, the landlords had no surplus grain—throwing a big feast now would leave them empty-handed after the wedding. What, drink the northwest wind?
The old Chanyu knew their reasoning made sense, but he was still angry. Instantly, he drew his whip and cracked it four times across four nobles—then felt satisfied.
…
Unfortunately, Left Xianwang was one of the four.
After all, he had been the loudest in advising the Chanyu. On top of that, these past days, the Right Xianwang had occasionally applied eye medicine for the old Chanyu, praising the close ties with Qi, saying that during his days in Qi, he probably forgot even his own ancestors.
When a person becomes muddled, they cannot see clearly who is truly loyal—they only hear what they like. Left Xianwang’s words weren’t flattering, but he was genuinely loyal to the Chanyu. Right Xianwang’s words sounded pleasant, yet secretly he had already surrendered to the Crown Prince, eagerly waiting for the Chanyu to pass away.
In the end, the wedding was set for three days. The Qi envoys, hearing the arrangements, raised no objections. Meng Xizhao even told the Xiongnu that once the wedding concluded, they would leave—without staying an extra day.
At this, the Right Xianwang pretended to persuade him to linger. “Why the rush?”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “We cannot delay. If we wait too long, we might even miss New Year’s Eve. Besides, in previous years, November brought heavy snow here. If we don’t leave early, we could get trapped, and His Majesty would not meet the Crown Prince—he might even blame us.”
The Right Xianwang nodded with a polite smile, but in his mind, he thought:
Keep weaving your tales…
You really think the Xiongnu are uninformed, that they know nothing of Great Qi? If the Crown Prince were truly so valued by the Qi Emperor, he wouldn’t be sent on this mission at this time. Even our muddle-headed old Chanyu knew: it’s too cold for his son to endure the journey, so Left Xianwang goes instead.
The Right Xianwang was only interested in the Shou/Lei. Meng Xizhao, skilled with words but weak in physical matters, was only mildly suspect in his eyes—not enough to consider him an enemy. After days of observation, he and the Crown Prince had already formed an idea of who the artisans making the Shou/Lei were. This time, he didn’t bother cozying up to Meng Xizhao, but simply exchanged formalities and left.
Meng Xizhao’s courtesy didn’t falter; he stood respectfully, watching the Right Xianwang depart.
Captain Jin Duwei, standing nearby, was fuming.
Yesterday, Left Xianwang had been whipped—on the face, no less—and didn’t attend today’s meeting, sending Jin Duwei in his place. Remembering the whip marks on Left Xianwang’s chin made him irritable; seeing the Right Xianwang’s charming demeanor only added to his frustration.
Meanwhile, Meng Xizhao, who had always claimed Jin Duwei as his sole close friend, now seemed considerably less warm toward him in Xiongnu territory.
Jin Duwei couldn’t help but consider a possibility: previously, Meng Xizhao had only interacted with Left Xianwang, so he constantly sought his favor. Now, in Xiongnu lands, surrounded by high-ranking, powerful nobles willing to offer small rewards, he might have already started mingling with others.
Recalling reports of the Right Xianwang visiting the Qi inn at night, Jin Duwei scowled and went to find Left Xianwang.
Meng Xizhao didn’t know that Left Xianwang had been whipped.
After all, this was Xiongnu territory, and Meng Xizhao had no foundation here. He couldn’t bribe anyone to gather information. Once back at the inn, he obediently stayed in his room, frowning as he ate buns.
His fondness for buns had already become well known. Having shown some flair in front of the Xiongnu, even his cooks were excited. Previously, when he requested buns, they would shirk the task, reluctant to make them. Now, they competed to prepare them—even if buns weren’t on the day’s menu, they would make a batch specially and deliver them joyfully to Meng Xizhao.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
Last night he had a nightmare, dreaming entirely of buns.
He once again regretted bringing two people along. One would have been enough, especially since the other seemed healthy along the way—he even gained a few pounds, hardly the type to fall ill.
Alas, hindsight is invaluable. He was merely following his habit of keeping a backup plan, fearing that if he brought only one and that person fell ill on the road, he’d have no help.
Staring at the plump, white buns, Meng Xizhao’s gaze gradually glazed over…
At that moment, there was a knock on the door.
Meng Xizhao’s spirits lifted, and he perked up immediately. “Come in!”
Teng Kangning pushed the door open, puzzled by Meng Xizhao’s excited tone—as if welcoming him warmly. Upon entering, he saw a plate of soup dumplings on the table.
Teng Kangning realized: it wasn’t him being welcomed—it was the beloved food. Anyone bringing it would be welcomed.
He started to retreat. “You eat first; I’ll come back—”
Before he could finish, Meng Xizhao pounced like a famished tiger, dragging him into the room.
Pushing the buns aside, Meng Xizhao asked Teng Kangning, “Have you figured it out?”
In recent days, whenever Meng Xizhao saw Teng Kangning, his first question was always about the progress on the contraceptive medicine.
Previously, Teng Kangning’s answers had been vague. Today, he finally nodded. “I’ve figured it out.”
He then produced a small porcelain bottle from his thick cotton jacket.
Meng Xizhao removed the stopper and found it filled with tiny black pills. He poured a few into his hand, eyeing them suspiciously. “Are you sure these can cause sterility?”
Teng Kangning gave a slight smile and held up a finger to Meng Xizhao. “One pill is enough.”
Meng Xizhao, who had never questioned the specifics of Teng Kangning’s contraceptive medicine before, blinked at him. “Does this suppress the desire to… you know, or does it make it so that even if someone… they can’t reproduce anymore?”
Teng Kangning answered firmly: “The former.”
His certainty made Meng Xizhao skeptical again. “Are you sure?”
Teng Kangning said, “If you don’t believe me, take one. I guarantee that after taking it, you’ll be more chaste and self-restrained than the eighty-year-old abbot of Da Baoyan Temple.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He fell silent for a moment, then lowered his head, continuing to examine the bottle.
What he really wanted was the second effect—rendering sperm or eggs nonviable for a more thorough sterilization. But the first effect would suffice: while it didn’t completely prevent reproduction, impotence would still achieve the goal of cutting off descendants. And because it wasn’t entirely absolute at first, there remained a slight chance of pregnancy—perhaps buying some time before the Xiongnu noticed something was wrong.
Meng Xizhao asked, “Have you tested it on rabbits?”
Teng Kangning replied, “Rabbits, mice—I’ve tried them all. Now, whether male or female, they obediently huddle together to eat, showing no mating instincts at all.”
Meng Xizhao paused. “Did the rabbits really take pills that big?”
Teng Kangning shook his head. “For rabbits, I only gave a small portion, about a fifth of the size. Even so, it was still a bit strong; a few died in the past few days.”
It wasn’t necessarily the medicine—they might have frozen to death in the cold weather.
Regardless, the contraceptive medicine worked. Meng Xizhao immediately put the pills away, looking at Teng Kangning with great satisfaction. “Good. You’ve accomplished a major task. Why are you still here? Go back and continue producing the medicine—make me a hundred bottles of these.”
Teng Kangning shook his head. “I can’t.”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “Why not?”
“I’ve run out of herbs,” he said honestly. “I added two special ingredients in this bottle, but I brought very little along the way. The last of it went into this bottle for you.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Why didn’t you say this earlier?!
He froze for a second, then panicked. “Then why don’t you go get more?”
Teng Kangning: “I don’t speak Xiongnu. How would I buy them?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
The Xiongnu had apothecaries, but they were run by Xiongnu themselves. A Qi person going there would be far too conspicuous.
And finding a Qi person in the Xiongnu lands to resell herbs? Not feasible. The Xiongnu’s control over trade was far stricter than Qi’s. Qi had black markets; the Xiongnu did not. Any black market trade would be crushed, with all participants—buyers and sellers alike—killed, ensuring that every bit of tax reached the nobles’ hands.
Trying to buy from Qi merchants would be just as conspicuous as going to a Xiongnu apothecary. And Teng Kangning didn’t need just a small amount—making the quantity Meng Xizhao required meant several pounds of each herb. In a time when herbs were measured by weight, this was practically announcing that he was up to something.
After a long silence, Meng Xizhao waved his hand. “Fine. Write down the herbs you need and how much of each. Leave the rest to me.”
Teng Kangning felt no guilt. In his eyes, this was Meng Xizhao’s responsibility. His own role was simply to stay in the pharmacy making medicine; money and herbs were for his employer to handle.
He wrote the two herb names on a piece of paper, noting the quantities: eight pounds, ten pounds.
Meng Xizhao took the note: “……”
He had the life of an ox.
Resigned, he sighed. After Teng Kangning left, Meng Xizhao donned his bear-skin cloak, rummaged through his luggage for appropriate small gifts, and set out to find the Right Xianwang—also hoping to snag a meal that, thankfully, still included buns.
Arriving at the Right Xianwang’s residence, he indeed found him dining with his consort, the Yishi. They had no tradition of gender-segregated seating, so Meng Xizhao sat down. The Yishi remained in her place, unmoving, ignoring him completely.
Meng Xizhao explained his purpose.
The Right Xianwang looked puzzled. “Burning herbs? For what purpose?”
Meng Xizhao replied evenly, “This isn’t burning herbs—it’s a ritual. We invite the deity of descendants to bless Her Highness the Princess, so that in the future she may bear the Chanyu a marvelous child, many sons and daughters.”
The Right Xianwang: “……”
Given the Chanyu’s age and condition, could he even father children?
He was highly skeptical, and dismissed Qi’s customs altogether.
Yet in recent days, dealing exclusively with Qi’s Ministry of Rites, he had seen the extremes: walls smeared with Sichuan pepper, wedding quilts stuffed with nuts, the princess stepping over a fire pit with protective leaves burned inside, seeds scattered in a strict sequence beneath her feet…
Even for a generally easygoing man like the Right Xianwang among the Xiongnu, listening to all this made him want to scream.
So many things!
Do you know how expensive Sichuan pepper is?!
And nuts? The annual tribute from the Jurchens was minimal—they expected them scattered in quilts?
The aromatic leaves burned in the fire pit were native to Nanzhao and southern Qi. In Xiongnu lands, they were worth their weight in gold.
…You really spend other people’s money without a second thought!
Even scattering seeds, the cheapest of the rituals, still made the Right Xianwang angry.
“A three-year drought, followed by a locust plague—we’ve had to send spies all the way to Qi and the Yuezhi just to secure food. And you… you’re still tossing grain around at a wedding as if it’s a game?!”
Moreover, the Ministry of Rites officer had the nerve to tell him that it wasn’t a waste: in Qi, after the newlyweds and guests had left, the chickens and ducks would come peck up the grain on the ground—a sign of good fortune.
The Right Xianwang wanted to smash something.
The Xiongnu didn’t have chickens or ducks.
Chickens were not native to their lands. Ducks, sure, a few wild ones passed through in summer, but most flew north toward the Jurchens. Only a very few came their way.
He had already been enraged by the Qi officer’s explanation, and now listening to Meng Xizhao speak, he felt numb.
Good herbs could be boiled into medicine to save lives… and the Qi people were using them as kindling for a ritual, calling it a blessing to the gods…
If it weren’t inappropriate to show anger openly, the Right Xianwang would have hired shamans to exorcise Meng Xizhao’s karmic misdeeds himself.
…
In the end, the Right Xianwang grit his teeth and agreed. Twenty-some pounds of herbs, after all, were cheap compared to an entire palace wall covered in Sichuan pepper.
Having achieved his purpose, Meng Xizhao prepared to take his leave, but the Right Xianwang suppressed the urge to gag, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him back to his seat.
Meng Xizhao froze, instinctively thinking he was about to be attacked.
But no—Right Xianwang merely baring his teeth, smiled grimly, and said, “Meng Shaoqing, the Chanyu asked me to deliver a message to you.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Suppressing a smile, he nodded silently. “What did the Chanyu want to say?”
The Right Xianwang sighed. “The Chanyu said that these past years have been difficult for the Xiongnu. Natural disasters have been relentless. Many cannot even fill their stomachs, let alone feed their horses. Crop failures and horse shortages have caused a significant reduction in production. Therefore, the Chanyu wishes the price of horses this year to rise.”
The original Plan Two had been forced to fail when Meng Xizhao unexpectedly produced the thunder device, leaving only Plan One viable.
Hearing this, Meng Xizhao was surprised.
He hadn’t expected such a coincidence—he had just proposed raising horse prices, and the Xiongnu were thinking the same. Perhaps it was a case of kindred minds… or, more aptly, enemies crossing paths unexpectedly.
Blinking, Meng Xizhao glanced aside, adopting a thoughtful pose. “I see. Natural disasters and human calamities are unavoidable. Not to mention, our eastern Hebei last year suffered the same drought and locust plagues as you, and this year was floods. Jiangnan, once prosperous, was raided by Nanzhao from the north, losing much. The emperor was frantic and could only repair one wall after taking from another. We, too, must tighten our belts.”
In short: the neighbors had no surplus either.
The Right Xianwang: “……”
Forcing a grin, he said, “Meng Shaoqing, you jest. In Qi, even at weddings, people scatter grain on the ground.”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “That was in previous years. Lately, it’s become less and less.”
Don’t believe it? Go verify in Qi yourself.
The Right Xianwang stiffened.
This was the problem of hosting a foreign guest: Meng Xizhao could speak freely, as the Xiongnu wouldn’t verify immediately. But the Right Xianwang couldn’t lie—Meng Xizhao was on Xiongnu soil; if he doubted, he could check himself.
The Right Xianwang: “…………”
Forget arguing—he wasn’t a match for Meng Xizhao’s words. Might as well follow his ancestors’ example and play the bandit.
His expression darkened. “Meng Shaoqing, as an ally of the Xiongnu, shouldn’t you aid us in times of hardship?”
Meng Xizhao’s eyes widened. “Your Highness, the Xiongnu are in trouble, and Qi will surely send help! To be honest, our emperor has always worried about the Xiongnu’s safety. If the Jurchens harass your pastures and frighten your cattle and sheep, His Majesty will immediately scold them. The Jurchens are traitorous. He will never be a true friend to them!”
The Right Xianwang: “……”
Normally, one would just say they wouldn’t be friends. Why add ‘true’? Were they planning to be surface-level friends?
Meng Xizhao edged closer. “Your Highness, do you need help? One word from you, and I will send a letter to the imperial court in Yingtian, requesting His Majesty dispatch an army to drive the Jurchens from your pastures!”
The Right Xianwang: “…………”
Having the Qi army enter Xiongnu territory to defend their grasslands? Only a fool would do that.
The Right Xianwang’s chest ached with frustration. He knew Meng Xizhao was being deliberately provocative, but he was too good at pretending—if he lost his temper, Meng Xizhao would likely cry and tug at his heartstrings.
If only he knew the phrase “tea words and tea speech,” he would have carved it on Meng Xizhao’s forehead.
With a slap on the table, he could no longer restrain himself. “Meng Shaoqing, don’t change the subject! I’m talking about raising the price of horses!”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him, unmoved, and sighed softly. “Then raise it.”
The Right Xianwang stiffened. It couldn’t be that simple.
Sure enough, Meng Xizhao lifted his head, gazing at him with mock regret. “But in that case, Qi won’t be able to purchase horses from the Xiongnu anymore.”
The Right Xianwang: “……”
“You’re not fighting Nanzhao?”
Meng Xizhao: “We are.”
“Then what will your cavalry ride? Those poor horses you raised yourselves?”
Meng Xizhao lowered his head, fingers intertwined, silent.
The Right Xianwang let out a self-satisfied cold laugh. See? Trying to take advantage of the Xiongnu—who didn’t know you lacked horses?
At that moment, Meng Xizhao lifted his head and gave a wry smile. “Qi doesn’t produce horses, and the ones we raise aren’t of good quality—an indisputable fact.”
The Right Xianwang was about to nod, ready to press the advantage, when Meng Xizhao shifted his tone: “That’s why our country has been striving to overcome this difficulty.”
The Right Xianwang: “……”
What?
Meng Xizhao looked at him and smiled innocently. “Actually, even if Your Highness hadn’t mentioned it, we’re aware of the Xiongnu’s situation these past years. Our own lands aren’t in the best shape, and your… err, feathered friends are hard to sustain—surely you’ve suffered disasters too. But rest assured, Your Highness, we Qi people will never hold a grudge for you raising horse prices. In trade, it’s all about mutual agreement. If the goods are in Xiongnu hands, you set the price however you like—we won’t complain.”
He sighed. “That said, we must also save ourselves.”
A bad feeling crept over the Right Xianwang. “…How do you intend to save yourselves?”
Meng Xizhao studied him for a moment, then pursed his lips into a smile. “I can’t reveal everything, of course—it’s our country’s trump card. Rest assured, when it’s used on the Nanzhao battlefield, you’ll see for yourself.”
The Right Xianwang, always prone to overthinking military matters, stared in suspicion, pondering whether Qi had another hidden trick, when Meng Xizhao suddenly chuckled. “Well, you must be curious. Qi and the Xiongnu are allies, and we’re friendly, Your Highness. I can share a little secret with you… but you mustn’t tell anyone.”
The Right Xianwang: “……”
Who said I’m curious? I’m not curious! But no matter how he reasoned, he couldn’t resist leaning closer.
Meng Xizhao whispered, “Our artisans have developed a weapon that can project attacks from a distance. It still has many flaws, but it can at least ease our shortage of horses. When Nanzhao cavalry charges, we can use this weapon to kill their riders, then send out our own cavalry. Since we can’t buy horses from the Xiongnu, our cavalry numbers will drop sharply, but it should still suffice.”
The Right Xianwang: “…………”
For a moment, he didn’t know if Meng Xizhao was speaking the truth or bluffing.
Feigning calm, he asked, “Enough for this year, but what about next year? If next year’s sufficient, then the year after? Meng Shaoqing, you’re not supposed to be so short-sighted.”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly. “Your Highness is right. But who knows if Nanzhao will even exist next year?”
The Right Xianwang stared blankly.
Meng Xizhao was too good at pretending—even the vaguest hint could seem real. The Right Xianwang didn’t believe his suggestion that Nanzhao might be annihilated next year, but that didn’t put him at ease.
Because whether Nanzhao survived or not, if Qi really stopped buying horses this year, the Xiongnu might not survive next year.
Four million taels of silver, one hundred thousand shi of grain—painful gifts from the Qi emperor, yet the Xiongnu always received them gratefully. For twenty years, they had relied on this wealth to grow. By now, it had become routine; even the Chanyu’s treasury officials planned for this money years in advance.
If Qi really stopped buying…
In the dead of winter, sweat broke out on the Right Xianwang’s forehead.
Not just because he worried for the Xiongnu, but for his own future.
He had suggested raising horse prices; now, failing to do so, Qi might cancel purchases entirely. Once the Chanyu learned of this, even his silver tongue wouldn’t save him from a beating.
Sweating but feigning indifference, he forced a cold laugh and said with disdain, “Meng Shaoqing, are these your personal views, or those of your Qi compatriots? Such matters—you can decide them?”
Meng Xizhao, sipping water, raised an eyebrow. Then he reached into his sleeve and drew out a roll of pale yellow silk.
The Right Xianwang recognized it: when the Qi crown prince visited the Chanyu, he had brought such a silk scroll, containing a letter from the Qi emperor, stating that the princess had been delivered safely, and expressing hope for continued friendly relations between the two nations.
He watched blankly as Meng Xizhao carefully unfurled the scroll, almost reverently.
Meng Xizhao faced it with respect and pride. “Before departure, His Majesty entrusted me with a secret order, placing several hundred members of the escort under my command. If necessary, I have the authority to deploy them in service to Qi, to ease His Majesty’s burdens.”
He looked up at the Right Xianwang and smiled. “Your Highness, when will the Chanyu be available? I wish to pay my respects at the palace and discuss ceasing horse purchases.”
The Right Xianwang: “…………”
At that moment, he felt like a prairie marmot, wanting to scream in frustration.
…
Meng Xizhao left the Right Xianwang’s mansion, outwardly calm, but anyone who looked closely could see he was in high spirits.
When Commander Jin learned of this, he could no longer sit still.
He barged into the Left Xianwang’s room, door unknocked, and shouted at the injured prince, “Your Highness! Meng Xizhao has betrayed us!”
The Left Xianwang: “……He’s a Qi man. How can he betray us?”
Commander Jin: “But he first courted you, and now he’s cozying up to the Right Xianwang. He’s a fence-sitter!”
Mention of the Right Xianwang made the Left Xianwang fall silent.
Born a warrior, the Left Xianwang did not have the lofty background of the Right Xianwang. From the start, the Right Xianwang had been the Chanyu’s playmate, six years younger than the Chanyu, and naturally closer.
The Left Xianwang, still young, now stood on equal footing with the Right Xianwang—and even held the left position. Of course the Right Xianwang resented this. Over the years, he had subtly and overtly targeted the Left Xianwang many times. Yet the Left Xianwang did not bear grudges; he was a broad-minded man. Otherwise, how could he have raised over a hundred adopted sons? Even if he had been struck this time, a hand of the Right Xianwang was behind it. But he wasn’t truly angry—he was only disappointed.
Twenty years… twenty full years, and still he could not earn the Chanyu’s full trust. Just a little provocation, and the Chanyu would lash at him.
The Left Xianwang remained silent, a hint of sadness in his gaze. Commander Jin felt a surge of pity. He half-squatted, a gesture of Xiongnu subservience, to bring himself to eye level with the prince.
“Your Highness, I don’t want to see you beaten anymore.”
The Left Xianwang replied calmly, “The Chanyu was simply too angry this time.”
“But no matter how angry, he should not strike you!”
Even the despicable Emperor Tianshou never laid a hand on his heir. And that tyrant who nearly sent the entire court to the afterlife? Even he knew better than to hit his ministers. He might scold or execute, but striking was a humiliation—useless, unrewarding. Of course, he did not do it.
…
The Left Xianwang said nothing. Commander Jin grew more anxious, pressed his lips together, turned pale, and suddenly ran off.
The Left Xianwang did not lift his head nor stop him.
They were Xiongnu—who lacked courage? It was only that sometimes, after living as a compliant dog, one needed someone to unchain his neck, someone to give him a push. Self-driven people were rare; most were forced forward.
＊
The next day, the Right Xianwang delivered all the herbs to the relay station.
Meng Xizhao, to avoid suspicion, had not just requested two kinds or a few dozen pounds, but more than twenty, almost thirty pounds. Even the Xiongnu delivery men carried the sacks themselves. Meng Xizhao walked over, opened several sacks, and raised his eyebrows in approval.
The Right Xianwang had been quick—gathering such a quantity in the Chanyu’s impoverished court was no small feat. Clearly, he had taken care to ensure it.
Soon after, Cui Ye descended, wrapped in a cloak.
The Xiongnu lands were bitterly cold. This was around the coldest time, though the heavy snow had yet to fall. Cui Ye could not endure the cold; these days he had stayed indoors at the relay station, for even a short exposure left his hands like ice. Meng Xizhao dared not let him venture out.
Seeing the sacks on the floor, Cui Ye asked in confusion, “Why have the Xiongnu brought these here?”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “To burn for fun.”
Cui Ye: “……”
A question mark practically appeared over his eyes.
Aside from the portion set aside for Teng Kangning, the rest was indeed to be burned—wasteful, but unavoidable. That was exactly what Meng Xizhao had told the Xiongnu.
Following his principle of either not lying or going all out in the performance, Meng Xizhao sent Yu Fulan to fetch the Princess of Chu. After all, the blessing ritual was for her, so she had to be present.
Before the runaway marriage incident, the Princess of Chu, like the crown prince, stayed in the new palace and went nowhere. After the incident, especially after passing through the Right Xianwang’s territory, Meng Xizhao almost daily devised reasons to summon her to the relay station, letting her stay a while before returning.
Gradually, everyone—the palace staff, the relay station personnel, even passing Xiongnu—became accustomed to this scene.
When the Princess of Chu arrived and sat in the main hall, Meng Xizhao called over a few more people.
Listening to Meng Xizhao, they all looked dumbfounded. “Our Qi actually has a blessing ritual like this?”
Meng Xizhao: “Of course, it’s been a tradition since the Yue Dynasty.”
They continued staring, baffled.
Meng Xizhao raised his gaze, silently watching them.
Everyone: “…………”
These people were smart enough. After a brief jolt, they caught on and began chatting among themselves: “Yes, yes, it really is a custom.”
Seeing their obedience, Meng Xizhao felt gratified.
Though his reputation in Qi remained poor, within this small escort, he had elevated himself completely. Even without the secret order from Emperor Tianshou, they were willing to listen. Ding Chun no longer avoided him, and when he noticed something amiss, he would ask if help was needed.
Cui Ye, sitting to the side, observed Meng Xizhao smoothly commanding the group. After a long while, he gave a faint, inscrutable smile.
Zang He, standing nearby, heard it and looked over, concerned for Meng Xizhao.
Was the crown prince angry? Perhaps Meng Xizhao had stolen his spotlight, even seeming to overshadow him.
Cui Ye ignored Zang He’s gaze, but Yu Fulan noticed. Seeing his expression, she instantly understood what he was thinking—and grew furious.
“What do you know? Our crown prince is all show. He might look displeased, but inside, he’s proud! You, a mere minor official, could never understand the deep friendship between the crown prince and Meng Shaoqing!”
…
Amid the undercurrents among colleagues, Meng Xizhao remained unconcerned. Let them stir as they liked—it didn’t affect him. Here, he quietly conducted this bizarre ritual, which made even the Princess of Chu cough from the incense, when suddenly a Xiongnu knocked on the door of the relay station.
Seeing this scene that looked like an exorcism, the Xiongnu man froze for a moment.
Zang He stepped forward, frowning. “What is it?”
The Xiongnu blinked and finally regained his composure. “Commander Jin sent me to deliver a message. Your Meng Shaoqing is requested to go hunting with him.”