Why wasn’t Meng Xizhao crying today?
Naturally—it was a day of great joy, not suitable for tears. If misfortune had occurred, a good sob would elicit the Emperor’s sympathy. But a fortunate event—especially one exceedingly beneficial to the Emperor—would make any more crying irritating.
And this was Emperor Tianshou: famous for his selfishness and capriciousness. His mind was likely already on the letter from Left Xianwang. Who had time to console Meng Xizhao?
Indeed, as soon as Qin Feimang helped Meng Xizhao to his feet, Emperor Tianshou hurriedly asked, “Did you bring Left Xianwang’s letter?”
Meng Xizhao did not hesitate. He reached into his chest, solemnly producing the letter: “All along, Your Majesty, I kept this letter close, touching it from time to time, fearing any mishap. Even if I had died a hundred times, it would not have been too much to ensure its safe delivery. Thankfully, the journey was smooth, and the letter has successfully reached Your Majesty.”
He turned and presented the contract with both hands to Qin Feimang, who accepted it and quickly moved toward the Emperor.
Emperor Tianshou nearly rose from his seat, eyes straining in eager anticipation.
He opened the letter and read swiftly. The document was bilingual: Chinese characters and Xiongnu script. Seeing that the horse price had officially been reduced from two hundred taels of silver to one hundred twenty, written clearly in black and white, the Emperor’s heart practically bubbled with joy.
Closing the letter, Emperor Tianshou looked at Meng Xizhao as one might regard a cherished son-in-law.
He sighed, “When I gave you the secret instructions, I did not truly believe you could accomplish this.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Seriously, you couldn’t phrase it like that! Didn’t your father teach you the ways of a sovereign?
Well, perhaps he did—but after fifteen years in power, Emperor Tianshou probably no longer followed his own lessons.
Meng Xizhao lowered his gaze, adopting a shy expression: “Your Majesty, I could foresee some of the outcome. After all, my past reputation… was quite poor. I did not achieve great honors, and Your Majesty’s court is filled with capable men. I am insignificant. That Your Majesty would grant me this opportunity stems only from your kindness, sparing me the shame of refusal.”
In other words: even if Your Majesty underestimated me, it is entirely my fault. You, as Emperor, bear no blame.
…
Emperor Tianshou was extremely pleased. Such a discerning and dutiful minister was rare indeed.
“Do not belittle yourself. You have accomplished this task and are a great merit-holder. I will not neglect your service.”
Meng Xizhao’s expression radiated profound gratitude, though inwardly he thought: Try to slight me, and see what happens.
The deeds he had done—no matter the world or dynasty—were destined to be remembered for ages. Even if omitted from the compulsory records, they would surely be included in the annals of distinction.
“If you dare slight me, just wait and see your own back get skewered!”
…
Of course, Emperor Tianshou had no idea just how defiant Meng Xizhao’s inner thoughts were. He reopened the letter and continued reading—and suddenly froze.
“How… how is it written here that Qi plans to purchase iron, cattle, and hides from the Xiongnu?”
Meng Xizhao blinked in surprise. Had Zang He not mentioned this part?
Then again, it made sense. Had he revealed it earlier, the ministers wouldn’t have come out of the city in full ceremony to welcome him.
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly. “Your Majesty, these were the conditions the Xiongnu set for the price reduction. Initially, they refused to lower the horse prices. I first negotiated with the Right Xianwang, but then the Chanyu passed away, and the Left Xianwang took power, nearly derailing the whole deal. I had to adopt a compromise: though the horse price was reduced, all the money we owed would still be paid, just under a different name. The difference would be made up elsewhere. As you know, Your Majesty, Xiongnu minds are… simple. When I explained it that way, they truly believed they weren’t losing out, and immediately agreed.”
Emperor Tianshou’s heart warmed at the explanation.
Indeed—the Xiongnu were obtuse, unlike him. The moment they saw these terms, they would realize no silver had actually been saved.
Though the same amount was spent, the horse price dropped, and they gained all these extra items. By any measure, Meng Xizhao had accomplished a feat.
…but buying so many cattle and sheep…
The Emperor frowned. “Qi doesn’t lack meat. Why didn’t you buy more iron instead?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Standing there asking that question was certainly easy for him.
He paused briefly, then without considering any explanation, gave Emperor Tianshou a sly smile. “Your Majesty, it was intentional.”
The Emperor, staring at his fox-like grin, raised an eyebrow in suspicion. “Oh?”
Meng Xizhao didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stepped forward two paces and spoke softly: “Your Majesty, may I ask you to excuse everyone else?”
Qin Feimang nearly interrupted, but Emperor Tianshou raised a hand and commanded the surrounding maids and eunuchs: “All of you, leave.”
Terrified, they hurried out. Qin Feimang hesitated, unsure if he should stay or leave, but Meng Xizhao smiled at him, signaling no need for him to depart.
Whether it concerned Qin Feimang or not, Meng Xizhao’s calm demeanor put everyone at ease.
Thus, Qin Feimang remained, standing with Emperor Tianshou as they curiously awaited Meng Xizhao’s explanation.
Finally, Meng Xizhao’s excitement shone through. “Your Majesty, just before leaving Xiongnu lands, I secretly dosed the Xiongnu royal herd!”
Emperor Tianshou: “……”
Qin Feimang: “……”
The Emperor froze for a second, then instinctively slammed the table. “Nonsense! You mean to make Qi and Xiongnu enemies for life?!”
After striking the table, he pressed his lips together, yet curiosity overrode anger. “What kind of poison did you use?”
Meng Xizhao hurriedly explained: “Please calm your anger, Your Majesty. I enlisted the Crown Prince’s guards to help. By then, the Xiongnu court was in total chaos—the Crown Prince and Second Prince were vying for succession, and Left Xianwang suddenly declared support for the Second Prince, detaining the Crown Prince. All troops were concentrated near the palace. It was the perfect opportunity. I could not miss it. Truthfully, I did not intend for it to be so extreme, but the Xiongnu had truly gone too far in their arrogance!”
He spoke with such heartfelt sincerity that even Qin Feimang, normally unshakable, leaned in, captivated, eager to hear what exactly they had endured among the Xiongnu.
The Emperor asked more questions, and Meng Xizhao recounted the past two months’ trials—removing trivial details, tightening the story’s progression, heightening drama, and exaggerating the Xiongnu’s savagery—stoking the Emperor’s hatred for them.
Along the way, he edited the tale at least seven or eight times, emphasizing slaps to the arrogant, satisfying poetic justice, and maximum triumph. The Emperor listened, eyes narrowing and widening with each twist, clapping and laughing heartily at Meng Xizhao’s passionate narration: “Excellent!”
Qin Feimang: “……”
Am I in the Imperial Palace, or have I wandered into a teahouse storytelling session?
…
At this point, Meng Xizhao reached the topic of the hand/land mines.
“Your Majesty, do you recall the military board game I once presented, which included soil/land mines? I have always enjoyed tinkering, but with these mines, I was utterly inept. I spent some time experimenting, making no progress. Then, Your Majesty generously granted me a plot of land. I thought: what merit do I, Meng Xizhao, possess? You are the True Dragon, and I—a mere insect, destined to remain small. Yet even a small insect has ambition: to repay the True Dragon’s favor!”
He thumped his chest emphatically. “Thus, I decided to turn this land into a workshop. Hiring craftsmen, investing resources, whatever it took, I would convert Your Majesty’s gift into a means of repayment! I commissioned experts to study the soil/land mines. Who knew that through trial and error, they accidentally produced the very hand/land mine I used!”
Emperor Tianshou listened, astonished. The twenty-acre plot he had casually gifted was already yielding such an extraordinary return—more valuable than a box of supplements he once gave his father-in-law? Incredible.
Meng Xizhao continued: “The hand/land mine was only completed a few days before I left, untested. Fearing failure, I did not report immediately. And as everyone knows, the Xiongnu are violent—quick to strike. I thought, why not use them as the first trial? Success would terrify them, failure would cost nothing—they had always looked down on me anyway.”
From this, Meng Xizhao naturally led into recounting the humiliating threats the Xiongnu had issued before.
His way of speaking was far better than Zang He’s. The same story, when told by Meng Xizhao, stirred the Tian Shou Emperor’s emotions so much that he practically wished he could witness it himself. After laughing heartily for a while, the Tian Shou Emperor suddenly came back to his senses and quickly asked, “This grenade—does it really have that much power?”
Meng Xizhao nodded without hesitation. “It does. Even the Xiongnu palace gates were blown apart. Later, I even teased the Right Worthy King, saying that when I return to Great Qi, I will send them a new gate. His face turned as red as pig liver.”
At that, the Tian Shou Emperor burst into laughter again.
Qin Feimang looked at Meng Xizhao with admiration.
He had thought that after being gone for two months, Meng Xizhao would be forgotten by the emperor, given his short attention span. Who would have expected that he would return loaded with achievements—not only regaining imperial favor instantly, but even entertaining the Tian Shou Emperor like an amused fool?
…
The Tian Shou Emperor loved gossip. But given his status, he did not enjoy mundane domestic squabbles or jealousies among inner-court women. What he liked were unusual stories—things novel and bizarre, involving important figures, or deeply dramatic and emotional.
It was not that no officials had noticed this preference. The problem was, even if they did, it was hard to use it to their advantage. They all served under powerful superiors—who would dare to expose their own bosses’ scandals to please the emperor? That would be career suicide.
As for bizarre tales, they either had to make them up or go out and find them. The former required wit, the latter required effort—neither was easy.
So most who discovered this tendency resorted to telling romantic stories to attract the emperor’s attention.
The first person gained quite a lot. The second, too. But by the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth, the Tian Shou Emperor had heard so many that his standards had risen higher and higher. By now, almost no one could tell a story that truly moved him.
And Meng Xizhao, at this moment, was like the very first person to present such a story again.
Foreign gossip! Gossip about a foreign succession struggle! It involved nearly all the major figures of the Xiongnu—men and women, old and young. These people, who normally stood high above others, looking down with arrogance, were now dragged off their pedestals!
Moreover, Meng Xizhao spoke with complete frankness. Every few sentences, he would add his own commentary, showing not the slightest respect for the Xiongnu. Yet this irreverence struck exactly the right chord with the Tian Shou Emperor—each remark voiced what the emperor himself could not openly say.
From time to time, Meng Xizhao also slipped in a bit of “private goods,” casually mentioning how the Crown Prince had performed admirably before the Xiongnu, demonstrating the dignity of a great nation—far surpassing their first, second, and third princes. He would also remark on how skilled General Ding was at leading troops, and how the young commander he had recently promoted, though youthful, was more capable than many veteran generals. The Xiongnu’s so-called greatest warrior—the eldest prince—had not even managed to withstand a single move before being defeated.
The marriage envoy had entered Yingtian Prefecture before noon. Meng Xizhao arrived at the palace a quarter hour later. Now, the sun had already set outside, yet he had only just reached the part about asking Commander Jin to save them.
Right when the story was at its most gripping, the Tian Shou Emperor could not even be bothered to eat. It was only when Qin Feimang reminded him that, even if he himself was not hungry, Meng Xizhao must be, that he finally ordered food to be served—while also telling Meng Xizhao to keep talking as he ate.
…As if Meng Xizhao could actually eat under those conditions. In the end, it was mostly the Tian Shou Emperor eating while Meng Xizhao continued the story.
Such a thrilling and dramatic tale was likely the only one of its kind the Tian Shou Emperor would ever hear in his lifetime. As for the matter he had originally been curious about—the drug—he had nearly forgotten it. When Meng Xizhao brought it up again, the emperor was momentarily taken aback.
Meng Xizhao did not conceal anything. He explained directly that it was a sterilizing drug—one that would prevent livestock from going into heat. He also openly revealed his malicious intent: to sterilize the Xiongnu’s cattle and sheep while simultaneously buying them up in large quantities, leaving them with neither meat to eat nor profit to earn.
As for his motive, Meng Xizhao phrased it differently.
He said he did it because the Xiongnu had profited too much through unscrupulous means in the past, and he wanted to teach them a lesson—make them experience what it was like to suffer losses.
While listening, the Tian Shou Emperor’s expression had already begun to change slightly. He wanted capable officials, but not overly capable ones. Otherwise, it would highlight his own shortcomings and make him uneasy—could he truly control someone so formidable?
Meng Xizhao’s idea of targeting livestock to cut off the Xiongnu’s lifeline easily triggered the emperor’s suspicion. But before that doubt could fully take root, Meng Xizhao revealed another side of himself—reckless, short-sighted, and driven by impulse—easing half of the emperor’s concerns.
The remaining half dissipated when Meng Xizhao mentioned the Jurchens.
Of course—how could a young man in his teens come up with such ruthless schemes? So it was inspired by the Jurchens.
Seeing the emperor’s expression return to normal, Meng Xizhao quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
In truth, he had not wanted to tell the emperor about this at all.
But he had no choice. The Tian Shou Emperor was the one who made final decisions. If he refused to buy livestock and insisted on something else, then all of Yu Fulan’s suffering during those days—and Teng Kangning’s efforts along the journey—would have been for nothing.
So he had to explain it, to make the emperor understand that this plan could weaken the Xiongnu. Only then would he reluctantly support it.
During this, Meng Xizhao stole a glance at the emperor.
He could not go through such elaborate efforts every time. Not only did he lack the energy, but the Tian Shou Emperor would not always listen. If one day the emperor suddenly decided to act irrationally—refusing to consider facts and opposing him for no reason—there would be nothing Meng Xizhao could do.
So he needed someone who could speak to the emperor on his behalf—someone to handle these matters.
His first instinct was to look at Qin Feimang beside the emperor.
But after a moment’s thought, he shook his head inwardly.
Qin Daguan was far too shrewd—how could he possibly board Meng Xizhao’s ship? Without cooperating with Meng Xizhao, he was already second only to the emperor, with power over countless others. There was simply no room left for him to climb any higher.
For now, that matter was set aside. Meng Xizhao had finished his story, and the Tian Shou Emperor was thoroughly satisfied. He even felt that he would sleep especially well that night. He said to Meng Xizhao, “Take the next two days to rest at home. In three days, attend court—I will reward you all.”
Meng Xizhao immediately expressed his gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall take my leave.”
The Tian Shou Emperor nodded. Meng Xizhao stepped back a few paces, then turned and walked out of the hall. Qin Feimang, meanwhile, said to the emperor, “Your Majesty, I will go see off Vice Minister Meng.”
The Tian Shou Emperor yawned and said nothing, which meant he did not care.
Meng Xizhao, of course, had heard Qin Feimang. Once outside, he deliberately slowed his pace. When Qin Feimang caught up, Meng Xizhao smiled and cupped his hands in greeting. “Qin Daguan, I trust you have been well?”
Qin Feimang replied, “Serving in the palace, one is naturally well every day. Unlike Vice Minister Meng, who has faced hardships and dangers along the journey—it could not have been easy.”
Meng Xizhao merely pressed his lips into a faint smile. “Please don’t tease me, Daguan. I exaggerated a bit in front of His Majesty. In your youth, you traveled far and wide—you even accompanied the Princess Royal of Shang State to Jincheng. You should know that in this marriage envoy, aside from the two princes, I was the most comfortable of all.”
Jincheng was what would later be Lanzhou; passing through it was the shortest route out of the frontier toward Xia State.
Qin Feimang recalled those sandstorm-filled days from more than a decade ago, and the smile at the corners of his lips faded slightly.
He had noticed that every time he tried to get closer to Meng Xizhao, to build a better relationship, Meng Xizhao would always bring up the one topic he least wanted to hear, ruining his mood entirely.
But this time, instead of turning back halfway, he remained silent for a moment before asking, “How is the Princess of Chu now?”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “The princess is troubled and dispirited. She has little appetite. Fortunately, we have now returned to Yingtian Prefecture. I will have to trouble you, Daguan, to remind the imperial physicians at the Imperial Medical Bureau to take good care of her.”
Qin Feimang hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he agreed.
As they spoke, Qin Feimang escorted Meng Xizhao all the way to the palace gates. The two parted there. After Meng Xizhao had walked some distance away, he turned back to look at the now-empty gate.
In truth, this matter should not have been entrusted to Qin Feimang.
After all, he was a palace eunuch—and one who served by the Tian Shou Emperor’s side. He could not even grow too close to the imperial consorts, let alone a princess.
Since as early as the Tang Dynasty, there had been rumors of inappropriate relations between eunuchs and women of the inner palace. Later, during the fragmented era of the Central Plains, it was not merely rumors—there were real cases of eunuchs having illicit affairs with consorts, even taking princesses as their private possessions.
Thus, this dynasty had learned its lesson. Eunuchs were used sparingly in the inner palace, kept mostly around the emperor and the princes, while many were assigned to the Imperial City Directorate.
But “used sparingly” did not mean “not used at all.” Some tasks simply could not be handled by palace maids and required men. In that sense, the lesson had been learned in vain.
And the most typical example of this was Qin Feimang—Qin Daguan.
Perhaps in this world, only Meng Xizhao knew his secret.
Qin Feimang was cautious by nature and had spent years within the deep palace. If anyone were to slip up, it would never be him. Not the Tian Shou Emperor, nor anyone else—even the Princess Royal of Shang State herself likely did not know that Qin Feimang harbored special feelings for her.
Having feelings did not mean he would act on them. After transmigrating, Meng Xizhao had casually brought up the matter of the princess’s marriage alliance to Meng Jiuyu. Meng Jiuyu told him everything he knew.
When the Princess Royal was to be married off, Qin Feimang had originally been slated to accompany her. But at that time, the Tian Shou Emperor had only just ascended the throne and took the matter very seriously. He believed that a successful marriage alliance would count as one of his own achievements. Unlike now, when he delegated most matters, back then he personally reviewed the escort list and attendants.
And during that review, he removed Qin Feimang.
The reason? He felt Qin Feimang was too tall and refined-looking—he might give the ruler of Xia State the wrong impression. It would be better to keep him behind.
But at the time, Qin Feimang was the chief eunuch serving the princess, responsible for all her affairs. Bold as he was, upon learning he would not be allowed to accompany her to Xia, he actually went to plead with the emperor, asking only to escort her as far as Jincheng. Once the envoy left Qi territory, he would return.
As for what happened afterward, even Meng Jiuyu did not know much—only rumors.
It was said that shortly after leaving Qi, the princess suffered some unknown shock. One night, she fled alone. Accustomed to luxury and unfamiliar with the roads, she was quickly found by the guards. She resisted with all her strength, refusing to go back. In the end, the guards had no choice but to knock her unconscious, bind her, and escort her all the way to Xia in that state.
What happened next was common knowledge—the princess survived only two more years in Xia.
Meng Jiuyu and Qin Feimang did not have much of a relationship. They had never even shared a meal. Their interactions were limited to one giving silver and the other receiving it. Yet after more than a decade of such dealings, they had come to understand each other quite well.
Meng Jiuyu once said that Qin Daguan was greedy for money but not for women. Other eunuchs took wives, but he did not. His deputy, Wan Daguan, had multiple wives and concubines—more than some old marquises—but Qin Daguan’s private residence did not have a single woman in it.
Moreover, though Qin Daguan appeared cold and utterly loyal to the emperor—listening to no one else—Meng Jiuyu felt that he was, in truth, a man of loyalty and sentiment. Years ago, when Meng Jiuyu had made a mistake and nearly been punished by the emperor, it was Qin Daguan who spoke a word in his defense. At the time, Meng Jiuyu had not even offered him silver, and afterward, Qin Daguan never asked for any—nor did he ever bring it up again.
Now, years had passed, and their relationship remained the same—one giving money, the other receiving it—as if that incident had never happened.
But Meng Jiuyu knew that it had happened, and he had never forgotten it.
So when it came to Meng Xizhao wanting to curry favor with Qin Daguan, Meng Jiuyu not only wasn’t worried—he strongly supported it. What was a bit of money? Give it, give it all! He was practically waiting for the day Meng Xizhao would stumble, so that Qin Daguan could step in and save his life.
…
After hearing his father’s reasoning, Meng Xizhao became even more certain of his own guess.
Qin Feimang really did have feelings for the Princess Royal.
The book hadn’t made it very explicit—it was the kind of detail left for readers to infer. Qin Feimang didn’t have much presence in the early parts of the story. As one of the corrupt officials, he didn’t draw much attention. The moment that made people remember him came much later—on the day Zhan Buxiu finally broke into the imperial palace.
When the Tian Shou Emperor learned that Zhan Buxiu was about to breach the palace, his first instinct was to flee. He abandoned everyone else and took only the Sixth Prince—his beloved son born to Consort Gan. The two of them secretly entered a hidden tunnel, one that had been dug by the founding emperor of Qi, meant to preserve a final spark of the Cui family in times of crisis.
It was night, and the emperor’s eyesight was poor. Aside from him, only Qin Feimang—his most trusted attendant—knew the way through the tunnel. Qin Feimang led the way at first, but partway through, he suddenly disappeared.
Panicking, the Tian Shou Emperor chose a direction at random and stumbled forward. When he emerged, he found himself face-to-face with the rebel army.
The rebels were stunned. He had delivered himself right into their hands. What luck—clearly, justice rewarded those who acted on Heaven’s behalf.
…
The Tian Shou Emperor and the Sixth Prince were captured. During this time, the emperor shouted that Qin Feimang had betrayed him. When Zhan Buxiu heard this, he frowned and ordered his men to find Qin Feimang.
After all, he was a corrupt official. Even if he had led the emperor into their hands, Zhan Buxiu had no intention of sparing him. About two days later, Qin Feimang was found. He still had gold and silver valuables on him, as if he had intended to escape on his own.
The rebel soldiers cut him down with a single stroke and presented the valuables to Zhan Buxiu. When Zhan Buxiu opened the bundle, he found that besides the money, there was a small silk pouch. Inside it was a carefully preserved gold hairpin—the kind worn only by young, unmarried girls.
Zhan Buxiu immediately showed a look of disgust and tossed everything into the pile of spoils, intending to distribute it among the soldiers later.
The book never specified the design of the hairpin, only noting that its owner must have been under fifteen. Meng Xizhao could not be completely certain that it had belonged to the Princess Royal—but given Qin Feimang’s life, she seemed to be the only young girl of that status he could have encountered.
That was why, the last time he had seen Qin Feimang, Meng Xizhao had deliberately tested him. His reaction had already convinced Meng Xizhao he was right. And today only confirmed it again.
The Princess Royal was long gone, her life extinguished—no one could bring the dead back. But those still living… they might yet be saved.
＊
After leaving the palace, Meng Xizhao was escorted home by guards from the Palace Command. It was already late, yet the entire household was still brightly lit. All four members of the Meng family sat waiting in the front courtyard, eagerly anticipating his return.
The moment they saw him enter, all four sprang to their feet.
The first to reach him was Madam Meng.
Lifting her skirts, she hurried over, grabbed his shoulders, and looked him over from head to toe several times. “You’ve gotten thinner.”
Meng Xizhao nodded, replying in a mournful tone, “Of course—I ate too much meat.”
Madam Meng: “…”
What kind of logic was that?
Meng Xi’ang also stepped forward, his expression full of emotion. “Second Brother, you’ve accomplished great merit. But as your elder brother, I still hope you’ll accomplish fewer feats like this in the future—it’s too dangerous.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…”
Why did that sound so off? Wasn’t that supposed to be his line?
Meng Jiaojiao, meanwhile, walked over pitifully and tugged at Meng Xizhao’s sleeve. “Second Brother, I missed you so much. We’ve never been apart this long before—you even missed my coming-of-age ceremony.”
Meng Xizhao had known before leaving that he wouldn’t make it in time and had prepared a gift for her in advance. Hearing this, his heart softened. He reached out and patted her head. “That’s my fault. Tell me—what compensation do you want?”
Meng Jiaojiao’s eyes lit up instantly. “I want you to stay up tonight and tell me how you outwitted the Xiongnu! The whole of Yingtian is talking about it—they say you were calm in crisis and masterful in strategy. I really want to know how you managed it!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
With a sister like you, I must have committed some terrible sin in a past life.
Fortunately, his parents were still reliable. They sent Meng Jiaojiao off to the side. In truth, Meng Jiuyu also wanted to know the full story, but it was too late in the day, and Meng Xizhao looked exhausted. Reluctantly, he gave up the idea and told him to go rest.
Meng Xizhao promised he would recount everything in detail the next day.
When he returned to his own courtyard, Jin Zhu had already gathered the servants and was waiting.
The moment she saw him, her face lit up with excitement. “Young Master!”
Yin Liu was just as excited. “Young Master!”
Qing Fu, however, had tears streaming down his face. “Young Master, you’ve finally come back!”
Meng Xizhao felt a warmth settle in his chest—this was what it felt like to come home.
He walked over, about to praise them, when the three of them suddenly crowded around him.
Meng Xizhao: “…What are you doing?”
All three stared at him with sparkling eyes. “Young Master, hurry and tell us how you tricked the Xiongnu!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Get lost!—
After telling the story once to the Tian Shou Emperor, his throat already felt inflamed. There was no way he was doing it again. That night, he collapsed into bed and slept immediately.
The next morning, he learned that Meng Jiuyu had already gone to work. After thinking for a moment, he called Jin Zhu over.
“How have things been with Sang Fanyu lately?”
Jin Zhu hadn’t seen him in quite some time and was still excited. She even took the initiative to massage him—something she had never done before, usually leaving it to the other maids.
His ability to tell a story was far better than Zang He’s. The same incident, when recounted by Meng Xizhao, stirred the Tian Shou Emperor’s emotions to the point that he almost wished he could witness it in person. After laughing heartily for a while, the emperor suddenly reacted and asked, “This hand grenade—does it really have that much power?”
Meng Xizhao nodded firmly. “It does. Even the Xiongnu palace gates were blown to pieces. Later, I even teased the Right Worthy King, saying that when I returned to Great Qi, I would send them a new gate. His face turned as red as liver.”
Hearing this, the Tian Shou Emperor burst into laughter again.
Qin Fei Mang looked at Meng Xizhao with admiration.
He had thought that after being away for two months, once Meng Xizhao returned, the emperor—with his notoriously short memory—might not even remember him. But who would have expected that he would come back loaded with achievements, not only regaining imperial favor in one stroke, but even amusing the emperor to the point of seeming like a simpleton.
…
The Tian Shou Emperor loved gossip, but given his lofty position, he had no interest in mundane household squabbles or petty jealousy among women of the inner quarters. What he liked were the unusual, the curious—stories involving important figures, or deeply dramatic, tangled romances.
It was not that no officials had noticed this preference. The problem was, even if they did, they could not easily exploit it. They all served under high-ranking superiors—how could they expose their own bosses’ scandals to please the emperor? That would ruin their own futures.
As for “curious” stories, they either had to be fabricated or sought out in the world—one requiring wit, the other effort. Neither was easy.
So those who discovered this preference mostly tried to attract the emperor’s attention with love stories.
The first person to do so gained greatly. The second also benefited. But by the third, fourth, even fifth and sixth attempts, the emperor had grown experienced, his threshold for being moved steadily rising. Hardly anyone could tell a story that truly pleased him anymore.
And now, Meng Xizhao was like that very first person again.
Foreign gossip! Intrigues of succession among foreign royalty! It involved nearly all the important figures of the Xiongnu—men and women, young and old. These people, who normally held themselves high above others and looked down on everyone, had now all been dragged down from their pedestals.
Moreover, Meng Xizhao spoke with complete irreverence. Every few sentences, he would insert his own commentary, showing not the slightest respect for the Xiongnu. Yet precisely because of this, every word struck directly at the emperor’s heart, voicing thoughts the emperor himself could not openly express.
From time to time, Meng Xizhao also slipped in some deliberate praise—mentioning how well the Crown Prince had conducted himself before the Xiongnu, displaying the bearing of a great nation, far surpassing their first, second, and third princes; or remarking how capable General Ding was at leading troops, and how the newly promoted commander, though young, was more skilled than many veteran generals, defeating the Xiongnu’s so-called greatest warrior in a single move.
The bridal procession had entered Ying Tian Prefecture before noon. Meng Xizhao only arrived at the palace a quarter hour later. Now, the sun had already set, yet he had only just reached the part about asking Commander Jin for help to save his side.
At the most gripping moment, the Tian Shou Emperor could not even be bothered to eat. Only after Qin Fei Mang reminded him that even if he himself skipped the meal, Meng Xizhao must surely be hungry, did he finally order the meal to be served—while also telling Meng Xizhao to continue speaking as he ate.
…As if Meng Xizhao could actually eat under such circumstances. In the end, it was the emperor who ate, while Meng Xizhao stood beside him and continued narrating.
Such a thrilling, dramatic story—this might be the only one the emperor would ever hear in his lifetime. As for the matter of the drug he had been curious about at the beginning, he had nearly forgotten it entirely. When Meng Xizhao brought it up again, the emperor even paused in surprise.
Meng Xizhao did not conceal anything. He explained directly—it was a sterilizing drug, capable of preventing livestock from going into heat. He also openly admitted his malicious intent: to sterilize the Xiongnu’s cattle and sheep while simultaneously buying them up in large quantities, leaving the Xiongnu without meat to eat and without profit to earn.
As for his purpose, Meng Xizhao phrased it differently.
He said he did it because the Xiongnu had earned too much ill-gotten wealth in the past. He wanted to teach them a lesson—to let them experience loss for once.
At first, the Tian Shou Emperor’s expression had already begun to change. He wanted his officials to be capable—but not too capable. Otherwise, it would highlight his own inadequacy and make him uneasy. If Meng Xizhao could think of attacking the Xiongnu through their livestock, cutting off their lifeline, the emperor could not help but draw parallels—and even grow wary of him.
But before that suspicion could fully take root, Meng Xizhao revealed his own impulsive, short-sighted side—appearing reckless and driven by emotion. This eased half of the emperor’s concerns.
The other half dissipated when Meng Xizhao mentioned the Jurchens.
Of course—a mere youth in his teens—how could he possess such ruthless thinking? So it was inspiration borrowed from the Jurchens.
Seeing the emperor’s expression return to normal, Meng Xizhao also breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
In truth, he had not wanted to tell the emperor about this matter at all.
But he had no choice. The emperor was the final decision-maker. If he refused to purchase livestock and insisted on doing something else, then all the hardship Yu Fulan had endured those days—and all the effort Teng Kangning had put in along the journey—would be for nothing.
So he had to say it. Only by letting the emperor understand that this plan could weaken the Xiongnu would he reluctantly agree to support it.
While speaking, Meng Xizhao stole a glance at the emperor.
He could not keep going to such lengths every time. Not only would it exhaust him, but the emperor would not always listen. What if one day the emperor decided—on a whim—to adopt some absurd policy of ignoring facts entirely, deliberately opposing him? Where would he go to reason then?
He needed someone who could speak to the emperor on his behalf—someone to handle these tedious matters.
His first instinct was to look at Qin Fei Mang beside the emperor. But after a moment’s thought, he shook his head inwardly.
…
Qin Fei Mang was far too shrewd. Why would he board Meng Xizhao’s ship? Without aligning himself with Meng Xizhao, he was already second only to one man and above ten thousand others. There was no further room for advancement.
For now, Meng Xizhao set this matter aside. His story finished, the Tian Shou Emperor felt thoroughly satisfied, as though he would sleep especially well that night. He said to Meng Xizhao, “Take these next two days to rest at home. In three days, attend court. I will reward you all.”
Meng Xizhao immediately expressed his gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Then this minister shall take his leave.”
The emperor nodded. Meng Xizhao stepped back several paces and turned to leave the hall. Qin Fei Mang then said, “Your Majesty, I will escort Vice Minister Meng out.”
The emperor merely yawned, indicating his indifference.
Naturally, Meng Xizhao had heard him. Once outside, he deliberately slowed his pace, waiting for Qin Fei Mang to catch up. Smiling, he cupped his hands. “Grand Attendant Qin, long time no see. I trust you have been well?”
Qin Fei Mang replied, “Serving in the palace, one is naturally well every day. Unlike Vice Minister Meng, who has faced dangers along the way—it could not have been easy.”
Meng Xizhao only smiled faintly. “You flatter me, Grand Attendant. I exaggerated somewhat before His Majesty. In your younger days, you also traveled far and wide—you even accompanied the Princess of Shang State to Jin City. You should know that among the bridal procession, aside from the two princes, I had the most comfortable time of all.”
Jin City—later known as Lanzhou—was the nearest route out of Qi toward Xia State.
Recalling the sand-filled winds of over a decade ago, Qin Fei Mang’s smile faded slightly.
He realized that every time he tried to build rapport with Meng Xizhao, the latter would always bring up exactly the wrong topic, ruining the mood.
Yet this time, he did not turn back halfway. After a moment of silence, he asked, “How is the Princess of Chu now?”
Meng Xizhao sighed. “The princess is deeply troubled and in poor spirits. She barely eats. Now that she has returned to Ying Tian Prefecture, I must trouble you, Grand Attendant, to remind the Imperial Physicians to take good care of her.”
Qin Fei Mang hesitated, but eventually agreed.
By now, they had reached the palace gates. After parting, Meng Xizhao walked some distance before turning back to look at the now-empty entrance.
In truth, this matter should not have involved Qin Fei Mang.
After all, he was a palace eunuch—one who served directly by the emperor’s side. He could not grow too close even to the imperial consorts, much less to a princess.
Since the Tang dynasty, rumors of improper relations between eunuchs and palace women had circulated. Later, during the fragmented eras, such scandals were not just rumors—there were even cases of eunuchs keeping princesses as personal captives.
Thus, in this dynasty, lessons had been learned: fewer eunuchs were used in the inner palace. Most were assigned to serve the emperor and princes, or sent to the Imperial Security Bureau.
But “fewer” did not mean “none.” Some tasks could not be handled by palace maids and required men. So, in truth, the lesson had not been fully learned.
The most typical example was Qin Fei Mang himself.
Perhaps in this world, only Meng Xizhao knew his secret.
Qin Fei Mang was cautious and spent his life within the palace. If anyone were to slip up, it would not be him. Not the emperor, not others—not even the Princess of Shang herself likely knew that he harbored feelings for her.
Having feelings did not mean acting on them. After transmigrating, Meng Xizhao had casually brought up the story of the princess’s marriage alliance with Meng Jiuyu, who then told him everything he knew.
At that time, Qin Fei Mang had originally been meant to accompany the princess. But the Tian Shou Emperor, newly enthroned, took the matter of the marriage alliance very seriously. He personally reviewed the escort list—and removed Qin Fei Mang.
The reason? Qin Fei Mang was too tall and refined in appearance—he might give the ruler of Xia State the wrong impression.
Still, Qin Fei Mang had been the chief attendant of the princess. He boldly petitioned the emperor to at least accompany her to Jin City before returning.
As for what happened after, even Meng Jiuyu only knew fragments. It was said that shortly after leaving Qi, the princess fled alone one night, for unknown reasons. Having lived in luxury, she knew nothing of the roads, and was quickly found. She resisted fiercely, refusing to return. In the end, the guards had no choice but to knock her unconscious, bind her, and escort her all the way to Xia.
She survived there for only two years.
Meng Jiuyu and Qin Fei Mang were not close. They had never even shared a meal. Their relationship was simply one of giving and receiving bribes. Yet after more than a decade of such dealings, they understood each other well.
Meng Jiuyu once said: Qin Fei Mang was greedy for money, but not for women. Other eunuchs took wives—he did not. His deputy had multiple wives and concubines, but Qin Fei Mang’s private residence had not a single woman.
And though he appeared ruthless and utterly loyal to the emperor, listening to no one else, Meng Jiuyu always felt he was, in truth, a man of loyalty and sentiment. Once, when Meng Jiuyu had nearly been punished, it was Qin Fei Mang who spoke a word on his behalf—without asking for payment, and never mentioning it again.
…
Because of this, Meng Jiuyu not only did not oppose Meng Xizhao’s plan to win Qin Fei Mang over—he fully supported it.
Was it not just money? Give it, give it all! He was counting on the day Meng Xizhao might fall into trouble, and Qin Fei Mang would save his life.
…
Hearing his father’s reasoning back then only strengthened Meng Xizhao’s suspicions.
Qin Fei Mang truly did love the princess.
The novel itself had not made it explicit—it was left for readers to infer. Qin Fei Mang had little presence early on, overshadowed by other corrupt officials. The moment that made him memorable came much later—when Zhan Bu Xiu finally stormed the palace.
The Tian Shou Emperor tried to flee, taking only his beloved Consort Gan’s son, the Sixth Prince. They entered a secret tunnel—built by the dynasty’s founder as an escape route for the royal bloodline.
In the darkness, with failing eyesight, only the emperor and Qin Fei Mang knew the way. Qin Fei Mang led—until suddenly, he disappeared.
The emperor, panicked, chose a path at random—and emerged directly in front of the rebel army.
…
He and the prince were captured. The emperor cried out that Qin Fei Mang had betrayed him. Zhan Bu Xiu, hearing this, ordered a search.
Two days later, Qin Fei Mang was found—carrying gold and valuables, as if trying to escape alone. The soldiers killed him on the spot.
Among his belongings was a small silk pouch. Inside was a gold hairpin—one worn only by young, unmarried girls.
The novel never described the pattern, only noting that its owner had likely been under fifteen.
Meng Xizhao could not be certain it belonged to the princess—but given Qin Fei Mang’s life, who else could it be?
That was why, when he had tested Qin Fei Mang before, the man’s reaction had confirmed his suspicions.
Now, he was certain.
The princess was long dead—nothing could bring her back. But the living could still be saved.
…
Cui Ye: “…………”
He slowly lifted his head, looked at Yu Fulan, and suddenly asked, “Commander Yu, would you like to go out and make achievements of your own?”
Yu Fulan: “???”
Aren’t I already doing that?