At first, everyone was excited. But after traveling for two consecutive hours, fatigue began to creep in.
Still, they didn’t complain, instead pushing themselves forward, as if trying to exit Xiongnu territory in a single day.
Alas, it was impossible.
By noon, the convoy stopped to light fires and cook. Everyone busied themselves with meals and catnaps, oblivious to a few silent figures who had quietly joined them.
Yu Fulan had spent the past days in conditions worse than any wild animal, hiding during the day and napping briefly, sneaking out at night like a mouse to scurry across Xiongnu pastures.
All the while, he had to worry about the Crown Prince and others. Heaven only knew how shocked he had been, hiding in someone’s firewood pile, upon hearing the news of the old Chanyu’s death.
Being a trusted aide to the Crown Prince, even without Meng Xizhao revealing everything, he pieced together the situation from Meng’s actions over the past days—and how conveniently he had been dispatched a day before the royal wedding, only for the Xiongnu to descend into chaos after the old Chanyu’s death, concentrating all troops within the palace and leaving surrounding pastures empty.
Even using his wits, Yu Fulan reached the obvious conclusion:
The old Chanyu’s death was undoubtedly tied to Meng Xizhao!
He drew in a sharp breath. This Meng Shaoqing truly had audacity!
Yet, despite his shock and concern, with the palace on high alert and the Qi courier station surrounded, it made sense that Meng Xizhao had instructed him to wait outside until the situation was clear.
Having spent several days wandering outside in uncertainty, Yu Fulan’s temper had worn thin. Weathered and exhausted, he returned to the bridal convoy, wiping his hands with a towel soaked in hot water.
Turning to seek the Crown Prince, he bumped into one of Ding Chun’s bodyguards.
The guard froze in surprise.
Yu Fulan’s heart raced. After disappearing so many days, this person must have noticed something was wrong.
As he wondered how to bluff his way through, the guard exclaimed in astonishment: “Yu Dutou, you’re weary from travel… did you go out?”
Yu Fulan: “…………”
I’ve been missing for three days! And you didn’t even notice?!
I’m the head of the Crown Prince’s guards! Is my presence really so insignificant?!
…
Of course, it wasn’t entirely their fault. Yu Fulan had spent the last three days like a stray dog, while everyone left at the courier station had it even worse—every day lived in fear, terrified that at any moment the Xiongnu would rush in and slaughter them all as an offering to heaven.
When your life’s barely secure, who has time to notice if someone else is missing?
Clutching his injuries, Yu Fulan no longer had the energy to get angry. Skirting around the bodyguard, he approached the Crown Prince’s carriage.
He knocked on the door, and after being granted permission, pushed it open.
Inside, Meng Xizhao and the Crown Prince sat facing each other, enjoying a mutton hotpot.
Yu Fulan: “…………”
Sometimes it wasn’t just youthful indignation—it was this world being downright unreasonable.
Meng Xizhao was sneaking bites from Cui Ye’s pot, which was why he got to dip his vegetables. Just as he was savoring his food, he noticed Yu Fulan entering, barely reacting. It wasn’t until Yu Fulan left the door half-open and a cold draft hit Meng Xizhao’s warm face that he frowned and said, “What are you standing there for? Close the door.”
Yu Fulan wanted to overturn the pot in front of him, but before he could act, Crown Prince Cui Ye glanced at him lightly.
Immediately, Yu Fulan’s anger evaporated, and he obediently turned to shut the door.
Meng Xizhao, finally showing a trace of consideration, took a clean bowl and handed it to Yu Fulan: “Here, Yu Dutou, have some hot soup to warm yourself.”
“Did you manage to get the medicine all in?”
Yu Fulan didn’t dare let Meng Xizhao serve him. He took the ladle himself, poured two scoops of glistening mutton soup into the bowl, and carried it while warming himself. He replied, “All done. I even watched the livestock eat some before leaving, just as you instructed, Meng Shaoqing—half a bottle per trough. The cattle and sheep have big appetites, so nothing was missed.”
Even if a bit was missed, it wouldn’t matter much. The medicine had little taste and, in the harsh Xiongnu winter, the pills would dry out quickly, crack, and look more like animal droppings than medicine.
Meng Xizhao smiled: “Well done, Yu Dutou. It’s a shame this deed can’t be announced publicly. Such a great contribution, yet only the Crown Prince and I know. I hope you won’t worry—I will not forget your efforts. When the opportunity arises, I’ll make sure you are rewarded.”
Yu Fulan, who had been sulking moments before, now chuckled. “Meng Shaoqing, your words are kind. I only do this for the Crown Prince, for Qi. I care nothing for personal credit.”
Indeed, what he truly sought was the Crown Prince ascending to the throne.
Hearing him put the country above all, Meng Xizhao shook his head in amusement. That was simply how people thought in this era. The idea that every individual bore responsibility for the nation’s rise and fall—Gu Yanwu had proposed that centuries later—was far from their current reality. Here, the monarch came first, the state second; otherwise, Tian Shou Emperor’s indulgent reign would have been impossible.
Meng Xizhao couldn’t change such values, and the system certainly wasn’t something he could shake. He never tried. Great wisdom he did not possess, only cunning, and using it to find loopholes in this twisted yet “normal” world was his true aim.
After a mouthful of greens, he sighed: “Fortune ultimately sided with Qi. This time, timing, geography, and manpower all aligned. Otherwise, this medicine would have been difficult to administer.”
Yu Fulan nodded in agreement.
Indeed. The cattle and sheep would only behave properly in the deep winter, when nothing grew. Normally, they were let out to graze, and no matter how the medicine was applied, the animals would only nibble the leaves; the roots were consumed only when there was nothing else.
Their fortunate timing owed much to the Xiongnu themselves.
After all, the Xiongnu harbored no goodwill. They came neither early nor late, insisting on performing both the wedding and birthday ceremonies of the Crown Prince on the same day. When they arrived, it was autumn and the roads were passable. By the time the Qi convoy returned, winter had set in, with near-daily frost that could kill. Whether this was intentional or not, one thing was certain: they never considered Qi’s safety, leaving the escort’s journey to chance.
Now, karma had caught up.
Cui Ye set down his chopsticks. “This so-called sterilization medicine… really that effective?”
Meng Xizhao, twirling his chopsticks with a helpless smile, said: “I can’t guarantee it. The medicine arrived very late, and there was no time to test thoroughly. Even these pills were rushed production. I thought, no matter if it works or not, it’s worth trying. If it fails this year, I’ll continue development and try again next year.”
Yu Fulan, absent these past days, didn’t understand Meng Xizhao’s obsession with Xiongnu livestock. Still, as long as it caused trouble for them, Yu Fulan was happy—it meant fewer problems spilling into Qi territory.
Cui Ye, however, understood more than Yu Fulan did.
Originally, Meng Xizhao had told the Right Worthy King that he would cover the shortfall by purchasing copper and iron. The Right Worthy King was reluctant at first, then agreed, intending to demand a steep price. But at the negotiation table, Meng Xizhao suddenly changed tactics, saying it would also be acceptable to use cattle and sheep as the main exchange. The Xiongnu, who had little desire to sell minerals anyway, were naturally delighted.
With the Qi convoy departing the next day, urgency made them eager to agree.
Buying cattle and sheep at market price plus ten percent was an enormous bargain. This was an opportunity not to be missed. Unlike horses, cattle and sheep were easy to breed and plentiful in Xiongnu lands. Other merchants also traded for them, but who else would offer a premium like Meng Xizhao?
No matter how much Qi demanded, the Xiongnu would likely provide even more, coerced by a mix of pressure and incentives to sell greater quantities.
With this strategy, the number of cattle and sheep within the Xiongnu territory would sharply decline, and it wouldn’t be until the end of next year that they’d realize the birth rate had suddenly dropped.
Horses were a military resource, but cattle and sheep were the true lifeblood of the Xiongnu.
Meng Xizhao hadn’t instructed Yu Fulan to spread the medicine throughout all of Xiongnu lands—if he had, a year wouldn’t have been enough to finish the task. Instead, Yu Fulan targeted only the vast pastures near the royal court, the assets belonging to the nobles who surrounded the Chanyu.
As the nobles’ wealth shrank, the lives of ordinary Xiongnu remained largely unaffected. On the surface, it looked like the wealth gap had narrowed, but in the feudal-slave system of the Xiongnu, a large wealth gap was necessary for stability. Narrow it too much, and unrest was inevitable.
Either the nobles would raid the commoners, or the commoners would rise up to seize the nobles’ holdings.
Of course, before reaching that point, the nobles would likely look for alternative solutions—perhaps plundering from neighboring clans.
Meng Xizhao, however, had cut off those options. The new contract stipulated that grain purchases must be made at market price. Want grain? Fine—but not a single grain would come cheaply.
Cui Ye glanced at Meng Xizhao across the table, impressed.
Incredible. A single, seemingly simple contract achieved multiple outcomes: it not only secured vast quantities of Xiongnu resources, but also forced them to rely on the agricultural powerhouse of Qi. Grain, after all, was best grown domestically. Complete dependence on foreign trade essentially placed one’s neck in the other party’s hands.
And yet, what could the Xiongnu do? They didn’t know how to farm. Even when they did, disasters often struck. Now, with their cattle and sheep compromised, their only options were either to purchase from other nations or to steal.
This situation would take time to fully develop. Cui Ye understood that Meng Xizhao had likely already devised countermeasures. Still, he spoke up: “After the new year, troops north of the Luo River should be reinforced.”
Meng Xizhao chewed a piece of vegetable, smiled, swallowed it, and said: “Your Highness worries for the people. On behalf of the people, I thank you.”
Cui Ye gave a faint smile. They exchanged a brief glance, then, with tacit understanding, lowered their heads and continued eating.
Yu Fulan, quietly sipping his soup: “…………”
Even his meal no longer tasted good.
He had an odd feeling—he might be better off wandering outside than being here.
…
The return journey of the marriage escort moved slowly. It had taken nearly a month to reach the Xiongnu royal court, and while the return would be faster, progress was still limited. After three days, they had only covered an eighth of the distance; another four or five days would be needed to fully exit Xiongnu territory.
That morning, Meng Xizhao tilted his head to the sky. It was overcast, clouds thick and heavy, the sun entirely hidden.
It felt like it was going to snow. Meng Xizhao cocked his head and sought out Zhan Buxiu.
“Looks like we’ll get heavy snow today.”
Zhan Buxiu, feeding the horses, looked confused.
“What does snow have to do with me?”
Meng Xizhao regarded him with a hint of disdain. In the book, wasn’t this man supposed to be brilliant? How had he become so dense here?
Meng Xizhao leaned close and whispered: “During the negotiations, the Right Worthy King was present. He has been discreetly inquiring about Shou/Lei, and he won’t give up easily.”
Especially now, with the eldest prince imprisoned, his need for Shou/Lei had grown stronger.
Zhan Buxiu finally understood: “You mean he might send someone to steal it.”
Meng Xizhao nodded, then added: “But it probably won’t be the Shou/Lei itself—more likely, it’s people they’re after.”
Zhan Buxiu: “……”
He stared at Meng Xizhao in surprise.
Meng Xizhao met his gaze, initially puzzled, then realized, and sighed: “They’re not coming after me! Besides, even if they were, it wouldn’t matter—I don’t know how to handle Shou/Lei anyway. Just tell General Ding to keep a close watch on our convoy. The Right Worthy King is keeping a low profile. He won’t act openly. Stealth, disguises, or impersonation are possible tactics.”
The point being, they wouldn’t linger—they’d snatch what they wanted and run. The troops had to remain vigilant, eliminating any suspicious activity before it could develop.
Meng Xizhao felt a twinge of unease. The craftsmen were now experts at making buns; he wasn’t worried for himself or Zhan Buxiu. But who knew which unlucky person the Right Worthy King had fixed on? If they were captured and tortured by the Xiongnu… what a miscarriage of justice that would be.
Meng Xizhao entrusted Zhan Buxiu carefully, and he took the task to heart, observing all directions, arranging patrols front and back. The Right Worthy King’s people, though following them, had no opportunity to act.
They would just have to wait for the snow.
In the end, Meng Xizhao had no real talent for weather prediction.
…
That day, he predicted snow—but it didn’t come until two days later. At that time, Meng Xizhao was discussing matters with Cui Ye in his carriage.
The Left Worthy King said that after the succession ceremony, messengers would be sent to notify the emperors of neighboring states. A single messenger, being Xiongnu, would travel quickly—probably reaching Ying Tianfu in less than ten days. Even at full speed, their convoy couldn’t beat him there.
For such significant news, Meng Xizhao didn’t want the Xiongnu to deliver it to Tian Shou Emperor; where would the surprise be then? It was better for Qi to control the narrative.
Of course, Meng Xizhao couldn’t go himself. He was now a figure of importance; he couldn’t take on a messenger’s job.
So he asked Cui Ye who would be best to send.
He had someone in mind—Zhan Buxiu.
Once they passed Linlü Pass, the Right Worthy King would be unable to interfere further. Sending Zhan Buxiu alone with urgent haste over 800 li would likely allow him to reach the emperor before the Xiongnu did.
But he had one worry: he feared Zhan Buxiu might lose his composure upon first meeting the emperor.
…
Cui Ye, upon hearing Meng Xizhao’s concern, instinctively furrowed his brows.
Honestly, Meng Xizhao was perhaps too fixated on Zhan Buxiu—any opportunity, and he wanted to give it to him. He did think of giving opportunities to himself… but could that even compare? What kind of person was Zhan Buxiu, and what kind of person was he, Cui Ye?
After a pause, Cui Ye said without showing emotion, “Second Young Master’s concern is valid. In my opinion, Zhan Buxiu’s temperament is unpredictable. Better to assign someone more reliable.”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “Who?”
Cui Ye ran through the potential candidates in his mind, then settled on one and smiled. “Zang He.”
Meng Xizhao was momentarily taken aback. “How did you think of him?”
Cui Ye replied, “This man has a desire to prove himself. During negotiations with the Xiongnu, he tried to draw your attention. Why not give him this opportunity? Besides, his rank is neither high nor low—perfect for the task. He’ll handle it with ease.”
Meng Xizhao considered this.
But then a concern struck him. “Zang He came third in the imperial examinations. What about the Right Chancellor…”
The Right Chancellor had placed many officials under his influence. Meng Xizhao worried that Zang He might have already been co-opted, which could mean working for someone else.
Cui Ye chuckled. “Second Young Master, forget? These marriage envoy officials were all chosen by the Right Chancellor. If Zang He had any ties to him, he wouldn’t have even made the list.”
Meng Xizhao realized he had indeed forgotten this. He couldn’t help but smile. “It seems Zang He really is suited for this mission.”
Decision made, Meng Xizhao didn’t hesitate. He went straight to Zang He to inform him.
Zang He was stunned upon learning that Meng Xizhao intended for him to proceed ahead to Ying Tianfu. After a few seconds of processing the significance of this task, excitement surged through him.
“Thank you for your trust, Meng Shaoqing. I will not fail your expectations.”
Meng Xizhao replied, “We serve in the same court, Zang Da-ren. Our ranks are equal, no need for such formality.”
Zang He shook his head with a smile. “Equal for now. Once we return, that will no longer be the case.”
Hearing this, Meng Xizhao didn’t feign humility—he simply smiled, acknowledging it, and said: “This mission is crucial. You must deliver the news to His Majesty before the Xiongnu messenger arrives. I’ve calculated—you should arrive at Ying Tianfu on the 12th or 13th, the 13th being a regular court day.”
Zang He paused, then smiled slowly. “Understood.”
Speaking with a smart man truly made things easier. Meng Xizhao told him to rest well that night and to depart early the next morning with two soldiers, leaving the main convoy to head for Ying Tianfu.
That night, the convoy camped early. Meng Xizhao, exhausted, went to sleep at once. Around midnight, he thought he heard some commotion but dismissed it and turned over to sleep.
At dawn, he rose to see Zang He off—and was surprised to learn that two Xiongnu thieves had been caught the night before.
Not by Zhan Buxiu, but by Yu Fulan.
Rushing over to investigate, Meng Xizhao saw Yu Fulan scowling, clearly in a foul mood. “I don’t know how it happened. These two tried to sneak up on me alone, with sedatives, aiming to ambush the Chief. Fortunately, I’ve been on high alert these past few days and avoided it.”
He kicked the Xiongnu on the ground in anger. “Speak! Why attempt to attack your Chief?!”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, stifling a laugh.
So the unlucky one was Yu Fulan—how absurd. He couldn’t understand why the Xiongnu thought Yu Fulan was the craftsman making Shou/Lei.
Meng Xizhao left them to Yu Fulan’s anger. Whether they lived or died, stayed or fled, it was no longer his concern.
Eventually, the heavy snow did arrive, making the journey even more difficult. Fearing illness among the convoy, Meng Xizhao ordered his attendants to brew medicine, giving everyone a bowl—treating the sick, preventing the healthy.
The herbs used were the ones he had tricked the Right Worthy King into providing. Meng Xizhao, valuing these herbs, hadn’t burned them all. A portion was mixed with ash to appear used up, while the remainder was packed and carried along.
After drinking the medicine, everyone grew even more grateful to him, marching with renewed energy.
On the day the Qi convoy crossed Linlü Pass and left Xiongnu territory, the Xiongnu soldiers reported the news to the Chanyu’s court.
The Second Prince was now the new Chanyu, the Right Worthy King replaced by the Second Prince’s brother-in-law, while the Left Worthy King remained in his original position.
The Left Worthy King’s influence was gradually growing. Captain Jin, once looked down upon by the nobles, now received frequent invitations to dine.
Learning that the Qi convoy had departed, Captain Jin sat in his room, uncertain how to feel.
That day, the Left Worthy King decided to support the Second Prince and immediately dispatched him to quell unruly crowds. At first, Jin didn’t notice, but the next day, during negotiations between the two states, he realized he was deliberately kept apart from Meng Xizhao.
Rationally, he understood why. Meng Xizhao was cunning, capable of sudden shifts in favor—best to keep a distance. For a Xiongnu like him, the safest approach was to avoid him entirely.
Captain Jin had already reconciled himself to this. Yet after Meng Xizhao departed, the permanent Qi envoy in Xiongnu territory visited him, bearing Meng Xizhao’s parting gifts:
Two jars of fine Ying Tianfu wine, a basket of Meng Xizhao’s favorite buns, and a small knife—made of the same material as the one previously gifted to the Left Worthy King, slightly less refined, but with his name already engraved on the handle.
Meng Xizhao watched as Captain Jin traced the Chinese characters engraved on the knife handle, and thought to himself: Meng Xizhao’s mouth was always full of harmless lies, though perhaps occasionally he spoke a truth or two—yet no one believed him anymore.
Between nations, true friendship was impossible; between people… even if it existed, it could not be openly displayed.
This parting, he knew, might last for years before they could meet again. Thinking of this, Captain Jin could only manage a helpless smile.
Meng Xizhao had been right all along—sometimes, not meeting was the best outcome.
While Captain Jin was lost in his own thoughts, the others pressed on, racing forward as if driven by a surge of adrenaline upon entering Qi territory. Meng Xizhao, however, remained calm, sifting through his luggage and deciding what to discard to lighten his load.
Some of the small standardized knives, roughly the length of a fruit knife but engraved with different names, could simply be thrown away.
Originally, he had prepared such gifts for several Xiongnu dignitaries, to be handed out at critical moments. In reality, only Captain Jin had received one; the Left Worthy King’s gift was never delivered. Meng Xizhao had suddenly decided it was better to give the Left Worthy King special treatment, making things easier for the future.
But these were quality tools. Throwing them away seemed wasteful. Perhaps he could bring them back, melt them down, and repurpose them.
As he pondered, a soft voice called from outside the carriage: “Meng Shaoqing, the princess requests your presence.”
Meng Xizhao looked up, puzzled.
Although summoned by the princess, he didn’t go immediately. They were still on the move; he had to summon courage to enter the princess’s carriage alone.
Better to wait until evening, after setting up camp, before formally paying his respects.
Perhaps the Princess of Chu had initially acted out of excitement, and realizing it was inappropriate, she quietly waited.
At dusk, the camp was set, and Meng Xizhao, guided by her attendants, finally approached.
“May I know why Your Highness summoned me?”
The Princess of Chu wore Qi-style winter garments, a fluffy fox scarf around her neck. Sitting upright, she gestured for him to sit, then shot a glance at her maid, who understood and stationed herself at the door.
Meng Xizhao hesitated. It wasn’t vanity—he just felt uneasy in the princess’s presence.
After a moment, he said, “Your Highness, please speak freely.”
The princess stopped beating around the bush: “Meng Da-ren, after returning to Ying Tianfu, what should I do?”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “Your Highness, what do you mean by this?”
Fearing he might misunderstand, she clarified: “Meng Da-ren, you are my benefactor. I seek nothing more than safe return to Qi. I simply wish to know if you have any further arrangements.”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips, smiling: “Your Highness flatters me. What arrangements? You are newly widowed, your husband died on your wedding night. Even a common Qi woman would need time to rest after such hardship. Otherwise, the mind grows heavy, and illness follows.”
The princess stared, stunned, and after a moment realized: “…Indeed. Thank you for your concern, Meng Da-ren. I have felt unwell these past days.”
Meng Xizhao sighed: “Do not worry too much. The situation is not so dire. Focus on your recovery, and do not strain yourself like on the journey here. Matters outside, leave them to us, your ministers.”
Though he emphasized not to overexert herself, his gaze lingered on her, stressing certain words. The princess understood immediately.
With a faint smile, she nodded: “With Your assistance beside my father, I feel truly fortunate.”
Meng Xizhao smiled awkwardly, then rose. “I take my leave.”
“Farewell, Meng Da-ren,” she replied.
After he left, the maid looked puzzled: “Your Highness, what did Meng Shaoqing mean?”
The princess glanced at the charcoal brazier on the ground: “Do not trouble yourself with that.”
The maid nodded silently, while the princess suddenly turned toward her wardrobe.
She asked her attendant: “Do I have any looser garments?”
The maid blinked. “…No, Your Highness. Your clothes are all meticulously tailored by the palace seamstresses. How could they be loose?”
Meanwhile, Zang He, riding with two soldiers, rode the fastest three horses from the marriage convoy. Meng Xizhao had predicted they would arrive at Ying Tianfu on the 12th or 13th, but by the 11th, they were already outside the city.
Realizing they had returned too early, Zang He spent an entire day dawdling the final two hundred li. At the precise juncture between the 12th and 13th, he raised his official banner, calling out for the city guards to see:
“I am Li Bu Yuanwai Lang Zang He of the Ministry of Rites! Open the gates! I must see His Majesty!”
Ying Tianfu, a city that never slept, had well-lit streets, but its gates closed on schedule each day. Zang He’s shout drew nearby attention. Guards verified his identity; upon confirming it was indeed Zang He, they lowered the iron chain, the gates creaked open, and he galloped across the moat into the inner city.
Riding was prohibited within the inner city, but Zang He’s official status as a diplomat protected him. No one dared stop him, fearing he might carry urgent state matters.
Frenzied, he rushed as though he would storm the palace and awaken Emperor Tianshou himself. Yet in truth, he found a secluded corner, around a bend, and quietly hid.
Following him, the two soldiers were left speechless.
“Before, General Ding could never win against the civil officials. We even sympathized with him! But now… it seems failing to match wits is normal. Ordinary people can’t compete with someone with eight hundred schemes in his mind.”
Zang He waited in the alley until the hour of Mao, finally emerging—this time, truly going to pay respects to Emperor Tianshou.
The hour of Mao was the normal start of court. But during Emperor Tianshou’s reign, he rarely rose that early; often he wouldn’t appear until the third or fourth quarter of Mao, even approaching the hour of Chen.
Even then, the emperor’s attendance was spotty—perhaps five or six appearances out of ten. Today, he had not shown.
That was why Zang He chose this precise time. He returned with urgent news, and no matter what, the palace attendants would wake the emperor. If the emperor was up, why not attend court as well?
Sure enough, Emperor Tianshou was roused from sleep, immediately feeling irritable. Upon hearing that Zang He had returned, he paused—who was Zang He? Only after Qin Feimang explained that he was a member of the marriage convoy, riding all the way back from Xiongnu territory, did the emperor realize a major event must have occurred.
His first thought: Xiongnu was about to attack Qi.
But Qin Feimang added reason: if that were the case, the returning messenger would have been a soldier, riding at full speed for eight hundred li, not a civil official like Zang He. And he refused to speak until meeting the emperor in person.
That eased Tianshou’s mind. As long as it wasn’t an invasion, it wasn’t a major matter. Once he calmed, he felt annoyance anew: waking him up for nothing was infuriating.
“Court! I will lecture you properly before all the civil and military officials!”
In the waiting court, the ministers heard the news that the emperor would hold court today.
Meng Jiuyu had been listless lately, attending court in a half-hearted manner. Since Meng Xizhao had left, he and his wife had taken turns in nightmares—one day he dreamed, the next she did—always the same content: Meng Xizhao was in mortal danger.
Though he had been given the responsibility to safeguard him, Meng Jiuyu still felt unsettled.
He regretted not sending Meng Xizhao to Jimi Temple to become a monk, perhaps averting fate with prayers and good deeds. Now, seeing Meng Xizhao alive and in the Xiongnu lands, the weight of destiny pressed heavily upon him.
Recently, Meng Jiuyu had stopped trying to impeach others. Anyone reckless enough to provoke him was warned—mess with him, and exile for three thousand li awaited. In this way, he quietly enjoyed a month of calm—until today.
With the Commissioner of the Three Departments trampling civilians in Shandong, Meng Jiuyu’s personal attendants were reduced. Habitually standing in his place, not lifting his gaze to Emperor Tianshou, he pondered whether to offer incense at the Grand Temple of Gratitude after court. Suddenly, the palace attendant called a name:
“Ministry of Rites, Member of the External Staff, Zang He—”
Meng Jiuyu stared blankly at the floor tiles. After a second, he sprang upright.
“Who?! Who did you say?!”
Zang He had neither changed clothes nor washed. Even when an attendant offered a basin of water, he only dabbed at himself, enough for appearance’s sake. Real washing was unnecessary—after all, his dust-streaked appearance reflected the hardships of the journey; letting it disappear would erase that story from the eyes of the officials in Ying Tianfu.
Thus, he strode into the Hall of Supreme Governance covered in dust.
Emperor Tianshou, initially irritated, noticed his disheveled state and muttered inwardly: what could be so urgent? Had the Crown Prince died? Or the princess?
No wonder he was a father.
Zang He approached quickly. Passing Meng Jiuyu, he noticed the minister’s eyes widen in shock—as if Zang He’s mere presence heralded disaster.
Unaware, Zang He barely glanced at him, then knelt before Emperor Tianshou.
With a solemn expression, he announced loudly:
“Your servant pays respects, Your Majesty. On the twenty-ninth of last month, the Xiongnu Chanyu and Princess of Chu held their wedding. On the wedding night, the Chanyu suffered a sudden heart affliction and passed away in his sleep.”
Emperor Tianshou’s eyes widened sharply.
A stir arose nearby. Zang He turned to see a high-ranking official’s legs nearly give way; he was steadied by someone behind him.
Zang He was puzzled, but soon the court erupted in murmurs:
“How could this happen?!”
“Too coincidental… won’t the Xiongnu hold us responsible?”
“My God, what of the Crown Prince and others… they’re still in Xiongnu territory!”
Only then did Meng Jiuyu recover from shock, wailing in grief:
“My son!—”
The Left and Right Chancellors, present today, frowned but remained calmer. The Left Chancellor glanced at Meng Jiuyu behind him. Truly a father—first worried for his son, then considering the emperor he revered.
Emperor Tianshou remained shocked for a moment, then regained composure and asked urgently:
“What did the Xiongnu say?”
Zang He had already realized who the unfamiliar high-ranking official was and felt a twinge of unease. He turned his head back, unwilling to maintain the tense atmosphere, and recounted everything in one breath:
“Initially, the Xiongnu believed the princess had caused the Chanyu’s death. They mobilized their army and surrounded the Qi relay station. Their eldest prince even threatened to kill all Qi nationals, including the Crown Prince and the princess. It was General Ding who led the troops to resist the Xiongnu, while Meng Shaoqing alone confronted the Xiongnu eldest and second princes, driving them back. Afterwards, he approached the Xiongnu Left Xian Wang to negotiate; Left Xian Wang agreed not to pursue the matter. By the second day of the eleventh month, the Crown Prince and the others had already left Xiongnu territory. Following orders from the Crown Prince and Meng Shaoqing, your servant hastened back to Ying Tianfu to report this to Your Majesty.”
Meng Jiuyu froze for a second, then practically leapt from his colleague’s side.
He nearly died of fright! So… nothing serious happened after all!
Meng Jiuyu exhaled violently, wiping the sweat from his brow.
But the others weren’t so relieved.
Could it really be let go so easily? The Chanyu was dead—surely they would bear grudges and plan future revenge!
Zang He continued, noting that the princess had returned with them. The ministers were convinced—of course she would return! Otherwise, why send back the princess?
Hearing their whispers, a shadow of grimness crossed Zang He’s eyes. Indeed, even standing here, these people thought only the worst. If a Xiongnu envoy arrived, who knew what they would do? Perhaps they would seize the opportunity before the marriage convoy returned, assign blame, and even convince the emperor to hold court judgment in advance.
Zang He was not yet used to court politics, but Meng Jiuyu was long familiar with such behavior. He quickly asked, “External Staff Member Zang, Meng Shaoqing sent you back only to report this matter?”
Nothing else? Nothing like, go find Meng Canzheng and assure him that Meng Shaoqing is safe and he need not worry?
Zang He nodded. “There is more. Meng Shaoqing negotiated with the Xiongnu Left Xian Wang—and the new Chanyu, An Nuwei—regarding lowering the price of horses. Before the late Chanyu’s passing, the deal was already agreed. After his death, Meng Shaoqing added further conditions. The handwritten agreement from Left Xian Wang remains with Meng Shaoqing, stipulating a forty percent reduction: from the original two hundred taels of silver plus five shi of grain to one hundred twenty taels of silver, effective from next year.”
The court erupted in astonishment.
This was more shocking than the Chanyu’s death or the princess returning.
A horse price fixed for twenty years, something the Xiongnu had stubbornly refused to adjust, had suddenly been lowered?
And only officially after the late Chanyu’s passing?
Was Meng Shaoqing practicing sorcery? Had he slipped some mind-altering potion to the Xiongnu?
Even the Right Chancellor looked dumbfounded. How could the Xiongnu—supposed enemies after the Chanyu’s death—so obediently accept this deal?
At that moment, the court suddenly burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! Excellent! Truly excellent, Meng Shaoqing!”
Even Emperor Tianshou could not contain his delight. “He actually accomplished this for me!”
Hearing this, the ministers realized: the emperor had known all along. Meng Shaoqing had acted with the imperial mandate. Seeing the emperor happy, the ministers quickly joined in congratulations, praising the yet-to-return Meng Shaoqing, and lauding the emperor for having such a capable official at his side.
The emperor, in good spirits, indulged in their congratulations, waving a hand to quiet them before turning his curiosity to Zang He:
“How did Meng Shaoqing get the Xiongnu to lower the price? Didn’t the eldest prince intend to kill you? How did Meng Shaoqing ensure your safety?”
Zang He smiled wryly. “Your Majesty, I do not know.”
The emperor blinked. “You don’t know?”
Zang He explained: “Meng Shaoqing ventured alone into danger. Only he knows what truly happened. During negotiations, when the Xiongnu considered backing out, it was Meng Shaoqing’s clever maneuvering that ensnared them. I was only involved in the first half; the rest, Your Majesty, requires Meng Shaoqing to report in person.”
The emperor, satisfied with just half the story, thought: Meng Shaoqing had achieved what I had sought to accomplish over a decade ago—waiting days, even a month, would be no concern.
Zang He, truthfully recounting what he knew, had embellished slightly and added modest self-promotion. Even this portion alone thrilled the ministers, turning the hall into a lively scene resembling a tea gathering.
Once Zang He finished, Emperor Tianshou waved his hand decisively:
“Excellent! Reward! Zang Qing has merit; I confer upon you the title of Grand Master of Xuanzheng, with the Silver-Green Fish Pouch!”
Zang He immediately bowed to accept.
The Grand Master of Xuanzheng, like Meng Jiuyu’s Taibao title, was an honorary post without real power—though it appeared to carry a slightly higher stipend.
Yet being a fifth-rank honorary title, the emperor granting it signaled future promotion—to an actual fifth-rank office.
Bowing, Zang He understood that if he had not been chosen by Meng Shaoqing to return early with the news, he would have blended with the masses upon the main army’s return, never skipping two ranks and gaining such exposure before the emperor.
Zang He respectfully accepted Emperor Tianshou’s reward, yet in his heart, he felt a deeper gratitude toward Meng Shaoqing.
Exceptional talent was rare enough, but to see someone so capable who did not crave credit, who willingly shared glory with others unrelated to the matter—that kind of character, in the murky and corrupt court, was a refreshing current.
He remembered this kindness and would never forget it.
＊
Seven days later, on the twentieth day of the eleventh month, the marriage convoy finally returned to Ying Tianfu.
Along the way, they had stayed at relay stations, with officials sending messages at every step. The court had long known their expected date of return. So as people eagerly admired the changing sights of their hometown, they noticed, just outside the city gates, a dense throng of people.
Someone quickly reported to Meng Shaoqing. He drew back the curtain, squinting to see what was happening.
But it was too far to make out clearly.
Scouts were sent; after a short while, one came rushing back excitedly: “Your Highness! The great officials Yan Xiang Gong and Situ Xiang Gong, along with the ministers, have come to welcome us!”
Meng Shaoqing was momentarily stunned.
When they left, only Yan Xiang Gong had accompanied them with a handful of attendants. Now, they returned with the full assembly of the highest-ranking officials. Clearly, Zang He had done a commendable job.
Shaking off his surprise, Meng Shaoqing quickly slipped back into the carriage to tidy himself and ready his demeanor. Once prepared, he instructed those outside, “Tell Yu Dutou the weather is fine; let His Highness also step out and see Ying Tianfu.”
The order was carried out.
Meng Shaoqing watched as the message reached Yu Fulan, who nodded, and only then did he sit back in the carriage.
If not now, when to assert presence? Not only must he assert it, but do so grandly—so everyone could see that the Crown Prince, unshackled by Emperor Tianshou, was his own man.
Aware that the ministers were present, the entire convoy straightened and walked proudly forward, soon arriving before the assembly.
The day was relatively warm, around five or six degrees. Ding Chun, mounted on a tall horse, tightened the reins and dismounted first, followed by his troops.
Yan Xiang Gong smiled at Ding Chun. “General Ding, thank you for your hard work along the way.”
Ding Chun returned the smile. “Protecting His Highness and relieving Your Majesty’s concerns is the duty of a humble soldier.”
Yan Xiang Gong: “…”
The Xiongnu must be an extraordinary place; even Ding Chun, upon returning, spoke with a new polish, no longer the rough soldier he had been.
Finally, the Crown Prince emerged from the carriage, surrounded by officials and guards, moving to the ministers.
Yan Shunying noticed that the Crown Prince seemed different from before.
Previously, he had been refined but lifeless, always smiling but like a doll. Now, he barely smiled, yet simply walking at the forefront with composure gave the impression he had truly come alive—a spirited young man.
Though Zang He credited Meng Shaoqing entirely for their safe return from the Xiongnu, Yan Shunying felt it could not all be his doing. The Crown Prince leading the convoy safely back proved his own capability.
Heh… interesting. Seems the winds of change were sweeping not only the Xiongnu but also their Great Qi.
As the two groups converged, the two prime ministers immediately led the ministers in formal greeting. Cui Ye smiled slightly. “No need for courtesy. Stand at ease. I see the effort you have all made.”
The Right Prime Minister quickly demurred; the Left Prime Minister glanced at the still-good-natured Crown Prince and lowered his head.
The Crown Prince and the Right Prime Minister’s polite exchange left Meng Jiuyu fuming behind them. He glanced toward the Crown Prince but couldn’t see well, his view blocked by the wide sleeves of the Crown Prince’s robes, concealing Meng Shaoqing entirely.
After a long wait, the prime ministers finally concluded their formalities, and those behind could step forward to pay respects.
When the Crown Prince stepped aside, Meng Shaoqing emerged. Looking at the ministers, his eyes glistened with tears. “I never imagined I would see you all again. Yan Xiang Gong, it was you who sent us off, and now you come to welcome us back. I am here to express my gratitude on behalf of everyone!”
Yan Shunying: “…………”
We’re not that close! I haven’t even spoken to you! Stand in front of all these people and don’t start making familiarities!
Still, he had to maintain a smiling expression, conveying that Meng Shaoqing was grateful and a model youth.
Seeing this, Meng Shaoqing knew it was settled. The prime minister’s outward demeanor aside, his behind-the-scenes thoughts did not matter; publicly, they had to appear warm.
In the court, most officials were like fence-sitters. With this display, Meng Shaoqing’s future dealings would proceed much more smoothly.
Although Yan Shunying did not respond emotionally, Meng Shaoqing had Plan B.
At that moment, Plan B glared at him, clearly displeased that Meng Shaoqing had only spoken to Yan Shunying and ignored his own real father.
Meng Shaoqing met Meng Jiuyu’s gaze. Shock turned to expression, shifting from excitement to grievance, then to extreme grievance.
Pouting, he cried out, “Father!”
He took a few steps and knelt before Meng Jiuyu, tilting his head back and wailing, “Father, your child has been unfilial! I almost could not return to care for and serve you!”
Meng Jiuyu: “…”
He had wanted to cry, and now still did, but also felt the urge to scold.
You ungrateful little brat! Couldn’t you say something auspicious first? Keep going like this and you’d really deserve a good beating!
Even so, his heart softened. He bent down and lifted Meng Shaoqing. “You’re back… you’re back, that’s all that matters.”
Meng Xizhao, instead of crying, wiped both his tears and runny nose onto Meng Jiuyu: “Father, you have no idea how terrified I was! The Xiongnu Crown Prince tried to kill me multiple times—they’re so barbaric! I barely survived to see you again!”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
And this outfit… was brand new.
Meng Jiuyu felt a mix of worry for his son and annoyance at his ruined clothes, thinking he was about to care only for the garments. He quickly called a halt: “Alright, alright. Let’s go home and talk there. Everyone is watching. You’re not a child anymore—you can’t keep crying like this.”
Hearing this, Meng Xizhao obediently stopped. He wiped away his tears and hurried over to Cui Ye, whispered a few words, and saw Cui Ye nod in acknowledgment.
Finally, he returned to Meng Jiuyu with a radiant smile, ready to go home with him.
Everyone watched Meng Xizhao’s behavior and noticed his deep respect for the Crown Prince. It seemed natural, yet somewhat odd, because few dared to display such familiarity with the Crown Prince so openly.
But Meng Xizhao had spent two months alongside the Crown Prince. In that context, such behavior appeared perfectly reasonable.
The ministers pondered quietly, while Meng Jiuyu furrowed his brows in realization.
No wonder this kid had boldly claimed before that he would one day walk openly with the Crown Prince… he had been waiting for this moment all along!
In that instant, Meng Jiuyu’s heart ached to return home immediately, eager to pull his son aside and learn everything that had happened on this journey.
Yet someone was even more impatient than he was.
Before they even reached the inner city, Qin Feimang arrived. The Emperor could not wait and had commanded that Meng Xizhao be brought to the palace immediately.
No one dared disobey imperial orders. The Palace Guards hurriedly escorted Meng Xizhao inside.
With summer past, Emperor Tianshou had moved residence. Qin Feimang led Meng Xizhao in, expecting the usual scene—an initial outburst of tears before speaking—but today, Meng Xizhao had changed his approach.
Upon seeing Emperor Tianshou, he hurried forward a few steps, lifted his face, eyes shining with reverent admiration as though beholding his own faith incarnate.
“Your Majesty!”
“I knew I could see you again! Your Majesty’s dragon aura has protected me, even in Xiongnu lands, guiding me safely. During these past two months, countless times I dreamed of returning to Great Qi to see Your Majesty. Now, my dream has come true!”
“Thank you for Your Majesty’s protection. Thank you for saving me! I kowtow to Your Majesty!”
As he moved to kneel, Emperor Tianshou’s heart was touched—what a good child.
He quickly commanded Qin Feimang: “Hurry and help Meng Shaoqing rise!”
Qin Feimang: “…………”
Of course.
As expected, with Meng Xizhao back, the number of times he had to help someone up was about to increase significantly.