Longxing Prefecture had not been mentioned in the records.
This made sense. In the records, General Ding Chun struggled alone against the overwhelming Nanzhao forces, never winning a single decisive battle. Hongzhou remained under enemy control, and even Jiangzhou was barely defended.
In the book, Longxing Prefecture—formerly Hongzhou—had always been held by Nanzhao. Perhaps after Zhan Buxiu ascended the throne, he retook it, but at the time, he was busy campaigning elsewhere, and Hongzhou was insignificant, easily overlooked.
Now the plot had changed. What had once been an unremarkable city in the records was a golden nugget in Emperor Tianshou’s eyes.
Yesterday, the rewarded palace attendant had still been allowed to summon the returning general to report in person. After all, the attendant could only convey the victory; details of how Ding Chun’s forces achieved it, the duration of the campaign, or the internal state of Longxing Prefecture were matters for the professionals.
Only after understanding the full chain of events did Emperor Tianshou’s confidence surge. Without consulting any of the powerful ministers, he issued the decree directly in front of all the civil and military officials, leaving everyone completely stunned.
After the officials had withdrawn, the emperor suddenly spoke: “Minister Meng, come with me. I have something to discuss with you.”
As was well known, “Minister Meng” referred to Meng Xizhao, while “Old Yu” was how Emperor Tianshou addressed Meng Xizhao’s father, Minister Meng.
The others exchanged glances, curiosity clear in their eyes. Meng Xizhao roughly guessed what the emperor wanted to say, bowed, and then made his way upstream to find Emperor Tianshou, who had already returned to the harem.
Meng Jiu Yu felt a twinge of concern, but it was the New Year, and since the emperor had summoned his son alone, there was no need to worry that he intended any harm.
After a brief pause, Meng Jiu Yu walked out. Seeing him leave, Yan Shunying and Situ Huan exchanged a look. The two longtime rivals, in a rare moment of tacit understanding, quietly followed suit. They weren’t summoned, so there was no reason to linger.
Gan Taishi, standing nearest to the emperor, lifted his slightly clouded eyes, and after a moment’s thought, followed the emperor in the same direction. The attending eunuch guarding the passage didn’t even blink and allowed Gan Taishi to enter.
Meanwhile, Emperor Tianshou returned to his usual sunlit chamber, the Rinan Pavilion. He removed his heavy cloak, settled onto the dragon throne, and looked up at Meng Xizhao with a hearty laugh:
“Meng Xizhao, you’ve done it again! The improved gunpowder—its power is incredible. The craftsmen Ding Chun brought worked tirelessly to produce six thousand jin of it. Placed outside the gates of Longxing Prefecture, when ignited, not only did the gates fly open, but even the gate towers were blown apart!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Six thousand jin?!
In this era, with no cement or steel, city walls were painstakingly compacted by laborers. Their strength relied mainly on thickness. Longxing Prefecture, on the border and subject to constant warfare, had walls already showing wear—not like Yingtian Prefecture, which the fearful emperor ordered reinforced almost every year. Calling it “impregnable” would be an exaggeration.
If the walls were already questionable, the gates were certainly weaker. To dump six thousand jin of black powder on them in one go… Meng Xizhao was stunned.
What about the aftermath?! When he’d blown the gates of the Xiongnu palace, he had at least left a small opening for people to escape. Now the gate towers were gone—what if the Nanzhao forces returned?
Meng Xizhao suspected that Ding Chun, with his methodical personality, wouldn’t act so rashly. Casting a doubtful glance at the emperor, he composed himself and assumed a humble tone:
“Your Majesty, you overpraise me. The gunpowder formula was improved by the craftsmen; deploying the soldiers and reclaiming Longxing Prefecture was General Ding’s achievement. Combining this weapon with an able commander to unleash such thunderous force is entirely Your Majesty’s doing. I dare not claim credit rashly.”
Emperor Tianshou disagreed. “No, you’ve done well, so you’ve done well. I will award you a year’s salary and a plot of fertile land. You’ve done well before, and from now on, you must continue to think of the frontier’s defense.”
This, of course, was a royal encouragement to devote himself more to experimental weapons research.
Unexpectedly, an official decree had brought an accidental personal benefit. Meng Xizhao’s smile became more genuine. “Your Majesty, I will devote myself wholeheartedly!”
The emperor nodded, waved him off, noting that it was still New Year’s Day, and the harem awaited his greetings. He had summoned Meng Xizhao despite his busy schedule.
Meng Xizhao hurriedly took his leave, his face radiating excitement. Even after exiting Rinan Pavilion, his expression didn’t waver in the slightest.
Gan Taishi emerged from a side hall. Watching the young Meng leave so cheerfully, he felt an inexplicable sense of danger.
This young man didn’t always seek the emperor’s favor, and he wasn’t the only one who performed for the emperor—but Gan Taishi felt that no combination of others could threaten him as much as this single youth could.
Why? Likely because this young man was extremely adept at pleasing the emperor—and, notably, he had once presented women to the emperor.
As the pioneer and peak performer in this “gift of women” strategy, Gan Taishi had benefited from it for decades. Now, a young upstart had appeared to compete for his place—how could he feel anything but alarm?
Within a year, the boy had risen three ranks. Allowing him further development would be disastrous.
Even worse, his father was a Minister of the Council. With two high-ranking officials in the family, who besides Yan Shunying could contend with them?
Gan Taishi, already old, had the will but not the strength to handle political affairs and had retired to a ceremonial post. Meanwhile, his own family had a dozen or so descendants in office, none of whom had distinguished themselves. He couldn’t bear to watch this young Meng climb like a shooting star while his own kin remained mediocre.
The old man narrowed his eyes, silently standing like a meditating monk. After a moment, he turned and entered Rinan Pavilion.
Emperor Tianshou was still there, the chamber warm with the heat of the earth dragon stove, the temperature nearly twenty-five degrees. He had no desire to step outside into the cold.
As he ate the thin fruits sent from Lin’an Prefecture, he sighed. According to records, Lingnan had the most abundant fruits, but they had been plundered by Yue tribes and laborers, leaving him with barely any proper fruits in winter.
After yesterday’s military reports, the emperor had sent Meng Xizhao back, instructing him to tell Ding Chun to press forward, ideally to capture the rest of Nanzhao in one push.
This explained why Emperor Tianshou had upgraded Hongzhou. Already confident in the gunpowder, this victory reinforced his belief. Even if he could not conquer all of Nanzhao, taking half or reclaiming lost cities would be well within reach. At that point, to govern this territory, he would need to establish a higher administrative level than a mere prefecture, facilitating future management.
In the main hall, he had seen the confused expressions of the civil and military officials, but he couldn’t be bothered to explain.
At the same time, he didn’t care to argue with them; after all, not everyone was as far-sighted as he was.
…
While he was eating, Grand Tutor Gan walked in. He didn’t need the eunuchs to announce him—Emperor Tianshou saw him enter and didn’t consider it unusual. The emperor straightened his posture and respectfully asked, “Grand Tutor, what brings you here?”
Gan Taishi smiled warmly, like a kindly old neighbor: “This humble minister comes to congratulate Your Majesty—congratulations on gaining another fertile city.”
Spinning tales with open eyes was apparently a necessary skill in the bureaucracy of Great Qi. Clearly, the city had been reclaimed, but from Gan Taishi’s mouth, it sounded as if it had simply appeared out of nowhere.
…
No matter whether it was called Hongzhou or Longxing Prefecture, in later times, this city would become nothing more than a name—the provincial capital of Jiangxi, Nanchang.
The city lay in the heart of the Poyang Lake plain, with fertile soil, convenient transportation, and an extremely advantageous location. Its only flaw was that it was difficult to defend despite being easy to attack. But if one had the ability to hold it, it was like acquiring a huge granary for the country.
The Nanzhao emperor wasn’t foolish. He deliberately attacked Hongzhou during summer and autumn to intercept the grain fleets before they sailed north, aiming to expand his power. Although Ding Chun had reclaimed it, it was uncertain whether the city could be held in the future.
Not to mention, the city’s gate towers were completely ruined. If the Nanzhao forces dared a sudden counterattack, a fierce battle would surely ensue.
For now, Emperor Tianshou didn’t want to dwell on these worries. Just seeing the dispatch of victory was enough.
He kindly invited Gan Taishi to sit. “Yes, Ding Chun has done well.”
Gan Taishi settled comfortably, speaking as if in casual conversation: “I wonder, Your Majesty, what was the reason for summoning Meng Xizhao just now?”
The emperor recounted what he had just said to Meng Xizhao.
Gan Taishi immediately stood and congratulated the emperor: “Congratulations, Your Majesty—you have gained a capable minister. In my view, Meng Xizhao is more talented than most in the court.”
The emperor nodded in agreement. “I plan to assign him to the Secretariat after the New Year, as a Zhongshu Sheren.”
Gan Taishi’s eyelids twitched.
A Zhongshu Sheren?!
Wasn’t that the position Meng Jiu Yu had held ten years ago?
Meng Jiu Yu had been a top scorer in the provincial exams, striving his whole life, and only in his thirties did he achieve that post. And Meng Xizhao… he was only seventeen!
Infuriating! He had given away his own golden daughter and never attained such a post, yet Meng Xizhao, after presenting a courtesan, soared to such heights!
Seeing Gan Taishi’s stiff hand stroking his beard, the emperor assumed he thought the position unsuitable. Frowning, he said, “Grand Tutor, do you think the post of Zhongshu Sheren is inappropriate? I believe Meng Xizhao is closely connected with Minister Yan. Placing him in the Secretariat allows him to exert influence. If I sent him to the Menxia, as a Jishi Zhong, the rigid system there might overwhelm him.”
Gan Taishi: “…………”
The old man wanted to curse.
Zhongshu Sheren or Jishi Zhong—both were powerful positions! Was the emperor determined to place Meng Xizhao in close proximity to him, to make him a near minister?
The Zhongshu Sheren drafted imperial decrees; whatever the emperor thought, he was responsible for writing it down.
The Jishi Zhong advised and assisted the emperor, constantly at his side, managing state affairs.
In the Great Qi dynasty, both posts were springboards: a Zhongshu Sheren typically served two years before moving into one of the Six Ministries, becoming a third-rank Shilang; a Jishi Zhong could rise even faster—after a year, promotion was possible, eventually reaching third-rank posts.
A seventeen-year-old holding a fourth-rank position already distressed Gan Taishi. If, in a few years, Meng Xizhao became a third-rank official at eighteen, Gan Taishi feared he wouldn’t sleep a wink.
Finally relaxing his stiff movements, Gan Taishi resumed stroking his white beard, presenting a façade of concern for the emperor: “Your Majesty, this post may be too high for Meng Xizhao. At his age, having never experienced the imperial exams, I worry he may not endure such responsibility.”
He sighed deeply. “The ministers are extremely rigid about propriety, Your Majesty knows this best.”
The emperor instantly recalled how all the ministers had resisted his attempt to depose the empress.
A rebellious thought arose: “I will elevate Meng Xizhao. Who dares oppose? He has served Great Qi and is utterly loyal to me. If anyone tries to stop him, let them earn great merit—no need to go to the Xiongnu. If they can talk Nanzhao back to me with just words, then I will cease elevating Meng Xizhao and elevate him alone!”
Gan Taishi hurriedly shook his head: “Your Majesty, is it worth opposing the ministers over just one Meng Xizhao?”
The emperor: “……”
True, perhaps it wasn’t worth it.
Yet he could not swallow this resentment. After a moment’s thought, he asked Gan Taishi: “Then, Grand Tutor, where would you suggest I place Meng Xizhao?”
Gan Taishi finally smiled: “If I may speak, Your Majesty could send Meng Xizhao to serve externally for three years. When he returns, he will be of age, and with his talents, he will certainly bring back outstanding accomplishments. At that time, even if the ministers wish to complain, they will be powerless.”
The emperor paused.
Send him away…
But Meng Xizhao was so capable, so attuned to his thoughts—if he were sent away for several years, not seeing him would be such a loss.
Emperor Tianshou thought along those lines, but Gan Taishi’s persistent counsel gradually swayed him. In the end, the emperor truly felt that sending Meng Xizhao out for experience was the wiser move.
Naturally, he asked Gan Taishi where he thought Meng Xizhao should be assigned.
Gan Taishi suggested Qinzhou.
According to him, Qinzhou had several advantages: first, it was located in a strategically secure area atop the plateau—easy to defend, difficult to attack—so Meng Xizhao would be safe there.
Moreover, Qinzhou’s location was excellent, near the Yuezhi and Xiongnu, with several mountain passes. Many foreign merchants treated it as a primary supply station, bustling with people. Sending Meng Xizhao there to oversee trade and collect taxes promised ample opportunity.
Finally, the prefect of Qinzhou had recently died of illness. Currently, a deputy was acting as prefect, but his health was fragile, having fallen ill multiple times. If no one were sent soon, the deputy might die too, leaving Qinzhou completely ungoverned.
Hearing all this, Emperor Tianshou genuinely believed that Qinzhou was a crucial posting and that Meng Xizhao should take up the position immediately.
…
What a cunning old man.
He had only mentioned the benefits, never the drawbacks.
Qinzhou sat atop the plateau, with half its territory dominated by the famous Qinling Mountains. For someone like Meng Xizhao, accustomed to the plains of Yingtianfu, what could be good about a plateau? In an age without glucose or oxygen tanks, a plains-born official going up there was essentially gambling with his own immune system, risking survival.
Otherwise, why had the previous prefect died, and why was the acting deputy gravely ill?
As for being close to the Yuezhi and Xiongnu—was that really a benefit? Sure, it was a supply hub, but because of that, the city was a chaotic mix of people, with entrenched local clans of various ethnicities—a Great Qi version of Sicily.
Sending Meng Xizhao to manage taxes there was practically a death sentence. He would be depriving these clans of their income and seizing wealth from them—a dangerous, thankless task.
Most importantly, in Qinzhou, Meng Xizhao would hold only the position of prefect, a fourth-rank official.
As everyone knew, provincial posts were inherently ranked one grade lower than posts in Yingtianfu. A seventh-rank provincial post equaled an eighth-rank position in the capital; a fourth-rank equaled fifth-rank in the capital. Even if Meng Xizhao survived three years there and returned safely, he would have no pathway into the Six Ministries as a third-rank Shilang. He would remain stuck at the fourth-rank level, and if luck turned against him, he might even be demoted to fifth-rank.
By then, Emperor Tianshou might have forgotten him entirely, and past achievements would be meaningless—everything would be handled strictly according to rules.
After thoroughly impressing his ideas upon the emperor, Gan Taishi leisurely left the palace. As soon as he exited the gates, his household servants hurried to meet him, attending to him as if he were the retired emperor himself.
Indeed, the old man traveled not by carriage, but only by the traditional eight-pole sedan chair, receiving the same treatment as Meng Jiaojiao.
…
Meng Xizhao, of course, had no idea that in a few brief discussions, his future had already been mapped out. At this moment, he was busy paying New Year visits.
Meng Jiu Yu didn’t need to go out, as his parents were deceased. He would visit his father-in-law on the second day of the New Year; for now, he stayed home, waiting for visitors.
Meng Xizhao, however, had many people to see: the Zhan family, Han Daozhen—his former superior, who would draw gossip if ignored—and the Ningyuan Marquis’s household, whom he had benefited from greatly over the past year. Courtesy demanded he visit them.
As for minor officials like Zhao, Qian, Sun, and Li, a brief exchange of New Year greetings sufficed.
Qingfu was busy today, accompanying Meng Xizhao to the first few households, hauling gifts. Lady Meng had prepared several carts of New Year offerings in advance, and Meng Xizhao could easily take a portion.
By the afternoon, when Meng Xizhao ordered Qingfu to proceed to the next household, Qingfu, accustomed to rushing the carriage, suddenly stopped and looked back.
“Master, did you… say the wrong place?”
Meng Xizhao, legs tired from so much walking, raised an eyelid. “Who said wrong?”
“You… but—”
Meng Xizhao clicked his tongue. “What, even you want to boss me around? Are you going or not? If you don’t, I’ll go myself.”
Qingfu: “……”
He had no choice but to grit his teeth and nod. “I’ll go, Master. Please sit comfortably.”
Meng Xizhao finally lowered the curtain and leaned back in the carriage, taking the chance to rest.
Before long, they arrived.
＊
Amid the sound of firecrackers, the old year was driven out. On New Year’s Eve, Yingtianfu had never been silent, and by the first day of the lunar year, the city had erupted again with the bustling visits of friends and relatives.
For the Xie family, however, it made no difference.
The household remained as cold and quiet as ever.
Without a woman to manage household affairs, men naturally lacked attentiveness. During the New Year, the Xies felt especially desolate.
Although the house was normally quiet, during the holidays—even with the family gathered—there was an undeniable awkwardness.
Xie You, in particular, remembered the warmth of family celebrations, yet this year, he felt no sweetness at all, only bitterness.
No one in the Xie family needed to visit the palace for rituals, so they stayed home. On New Year’s Day, even visiting pottery shops would be inconvenient; the family’s relatively enlightened customs still required caution. Even Xie Yun behaved obediently, not mentioning a desire to see his beloved.
Xie You and Xie Yuan both held official posts, so they would normally be out socializing. But on such a special day, if they went visiting, the hosts probably wouldn’t even dare to smile.
Fine then—four elder gentlemen sitting together, setting up two chessboards and sparring over the pieces, could count as their own form of amusement.
When Meng Xizhao arrived, Old Jun Gong Xie, Xie Chuanzheng, was playing with his son with great enjoyment, while on the other side, Xie Yun was being thoroughly defeated by his brother Xie Yuan, preparing stubbornly to retaliate.
When a male servant came to report the visitor, the four men initially thought their ears were playing tricks on them.
Xie Chuan: “Who’s here?”
Xie You: “Someone actually came?”
Xie Yun: “Is it someone here to cause trouble?”
Xie Yuan: “……”
Some people just lacked the gift of speech.
…
When they learned it was Meng Xizhao, their surprise deepened.
Old Jun Gong furrowed his brow, seemingly lost in thought. He stood up and said to Xie You, “You two take care; I’ll go rest.”
Xie You glanced at her father but said nothing. Ever since Empress Xie had passed, her father hadn’t seen any outsiders or left the Xie residence. He had practically pioneered the idea of “no leaving the front gate.”
Once Old Jun Gong left, Xie You exchanged looks with her two sons, confirming they were ready. She then took the main seat and said to the servant, “Please, let him in.”
Meng Xizhao entered with Qingfu. Though he had not yet arrived, his smile came first, displaying a respectful demeanor toward his juniors.
By rank, everyone in the room should have been bowing to him, but Meng Xizhao didn’t yet have the nerve to make the emperor’s maternal uncle bow, so he first paid his respects to Xie You:
“My humble nephew greets Master Xie. A few months ago, the Court of Justice captured the true culprit for my elder brother. I have long been grateful, and today I come to offer my respects. I hope Master Xie will not mind this intrusion.”
Having said this, he straightened, signaling Qingfu to bring forward the gifts.
“These are New Year’s offerings for Master Xie and Jun Gong Fangling. They are small and humble, not worthy of your respect, but I hope Master Xie will graciously accept them.”
Xie You: “……”
He was a little at a loss. The Xie family had not received New Year’s gifts in over a decade.
The servant carried two heavy boxes, clearly struggling with the weight, suggesting valuable contents. Xie You glanced at Meng Xizhao, silently observing his expression. After a moment’s thought, he allowed the servant to accept the gifts.
He didn’t know what Meng Xizhao’s true intentions were, but he doubted it was anything to do with asking favors—he didn’t have the power for that anyway.
Seeing Xie You accept them, Meng Xizhao’s smile brightened further. He smoothly took a seat and engaged the family in polite conversation, keeping it brief. Their faces were stiff, but he noticed it clearly.
Xie Yun, in particular, looked as if he had seen a ghost, apparently believing Meng Xizhao had come to settle accounts.
After some small talk, Meng Xizhao revealed the purpose of his visit:
“May I have a moment to speak with Elder Brother Xie? I have always admired his literary talent and would like to discuss it with him in person.”
Xie You: “……”
Xie Yuan: “……”
And what about me?
Xie You, noticing his eldest son’s clueless expression, paused before nodding. “Da Lang, take Master Meng to your room and let him see the articles you have been working on lately.”
Meng Xizhao couldn’t help but look at Xie You with a satisfied expression. This was the discerning eye of a former imperial uncle—far superior to ordinary people!
Though confused, Xie Yuan was not afraid. After a moment, he stood and gestured for Meng Xizhao to follow.
Once they left, Xie Yun frowned at Xie You. “Father, what do you think he’s here for?”
Xie You lowered his gaze. “Perhaps it’s the Crown Prince who sent him. Let’s wait quietly and see.”
In Xie Yuan’s room, once the door closed, Meng Xizhao immediately dropped the outwardly respectful demeanor and simply looked at him.
“I did not come at the Crown Prince’s instruction,” he said.
Xie Yuan: “……”
“Then why, Master Meng, have you come to the Xie family?”
Meng Xizhao: “Naturally, I came to see you.”
Xie Yuan paused.
The Xie family knew about Xie Yun’s two recent failures, having scolded him twice—the first for incompetence, the second for acting on his own and angering the Crown Prince. After the second incident, Xie Yun had even let slip that the family occasionally communicated with Yu Fulan to share updates on the Crown Prince. Yu Fulan had not minded, but the Xie family received a handwritten note from the prince the next day: just two words—“Behave.”
The family had felt hollow upon reading it. Even Xie Yun had given up hope of advancing through Meng Xizhao’s favor.
Yet now, Meng Xizhao had come to them of his own accord.
Xie Yuan, perplexed, asked, “Master Meng, is there something you need?”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “Yes, there is one matter.”
Xie Yuan: “Please, go ahead.”
Meng Xizhao smiled, taking a chair. “I know that you, Elder Brother, are currently serving at the Baohe Hall, copying official documents day after day, much like myself. I wonder if you wish to engage in something more practical.”
Xie Yuan: “……”
His gaze toward Meng Xizhao immediately became strange.
After considering carefully, he cautiously asked, “May I ask, Master Meng, is this by the Crown Prince’s instruction?”
Meng Xizhao paused, quickly shaking his head. “Not at all. The prince doesn’t concern himself with your matters—you know that.”
Xie Yuan: “……”
Yes, we know. But you don’t need to say it so loudly.
After a moment of silence, Xie Yuan’s confusion only grew. “Then why are you telling me all this?”
Meng Xizhao noticed the boy was rather stubborn-minded.
“Just because it’s not the Crown Prince’s idea, does that mean it can’t be my own? I admire you, Elder Brother. You’re far too restrained in that Academy. Soon new appointments will be made, and if you keep quietly enduring, they might send you off to some remote, deadly prefecture. While all under heaven belongs to the king, it’s best to avoid places that could cost your life. Only by surviving can you truly realize your ambitions.”
Xie Yuan slowly widened his eyes.
Was Meng Xizhao really from Daqi? Speaking so bluntly…!
Having spent most of his life in literary circles, Xie Yuan found this straightforward style hard to adjust to. After a long pause, he finally said, “I don’t possess any real skill. I am just a scholar, nothing more.”
Essentially, a small-town scholar of Daqi.
But even a small-town scholar wasn’t worthless; earning a stepping-stone through scholarship itself showed some ability. Moreover, Xie Yuan had a rare gleam of character—the kind of unyielding spirit like Wen Tianxiang.
He would rather die than open the city gates, rather die than surrender, rather die than flee, rather die than bow.
And in the end, he died in scattered pieces.
Having such a principled character alone was enough to secure Xie Yuan a place in history. Coupled with his latent abilities, which had been suppressed by superiors and constrained by his background as a disposable figure, he hadn’t had the chance to fully demonstrate himself.
Meng Xizhao had a natural admiration for such people and was eager to give Xie Yuan a real opportunity. More importantly, he trusted him to handle responsibility.
“Whether you have ability is not up to you, nor up to me, but to the people under heaven. If you truly are useless, then I will see for myself. But if, as you say, you have skill, rest assured—I will immediately return you to Yingtian Prefecture.”
Meng Xizhao said this with a smile, teasingly, so Xie Yuan wasn’t offended. In fact, the remark sparked a quiet defiance in him.
Daqi scholars were like this: they could humbly belittle themselves, but if anyone else agreed with that assessment, they’d roll up their sleeves to “prove them wrong.”
Xie Yuan didn’t doubt Meng Xizhao’s capabilities. If he intended to take someone along, it would succeed. What surprised him was that Meng Xizhao was planning an assignment away from the capital; he had assumed Meng Xizhao would stay in Yingtian, serving as a central official.
Stirred by Meng Xizhao’s words, Xie Yuan no longer resisted the olive branch. Whether or not it was the Crown Prince’s idea, Meng Xizhao was the prince’s trusted aide. Following him was a safe choice.
Once he committed, Xie Yuan sat down and asked, “Where would we be assigned?”
Meng Xizhao blew on his teacup, pondering, then said, “If all goes well, it would be the newly promoted Longxing Prefecture.”
Xie Yuan froze; he wasn’t in court and had no idea what Longxing Prefecture was.
Meng Xizhao suddenly realized he had forgotten to mention: slapping his forehead, he said with a laugh, “Ah, I forgot to tell you, Elder Brother. Yesterday brought a dispatch of good news: Hongzhou has been recaptured. Today, His Majesty announced in court that Hongzhou will be upgraded to Longxing Prefecture. I plan to go there as the Prefect, and you can be my deputy, serving as the Assistant Prefect.”
The Prefect was equivalent to the mayor of a prefecture-level city, while the Assistant Prefect managed finances, law, and defense—the chief administrator of the area.
This was a position of real authority. By rights, Xie Yuan should have been deeply moved. After all, a stranger was willing to entrust him with such responsibility.
But Xie Yuan was only left with one thought:
You’re no different from the bunch of fools in court! They would have sent me to a remote, hazardous prefecture, but you—you’re asking me to willingly go to one!
No matter the current name, the place was practically a nightmare prefecture! You just said it was dangerous, yet you expect me to go there, thinking I’ll be fine?
Though furious inside, Xie Yuan reddened but couldn’t voice his thoughts.
He wasn’t Meng Xizhao; he adhered strictly to scholarly decorum.
Seeing him quietly sit there, Meng Xizhao assumed he had agreed and began explaining the next steps.
This was why Meng Xizhao had come today: to pull Xie Yuan onto his side. But this required Xie Yuan’s cooperation—he alone couldn’t make it happen.
Xie Yuan’s face seemed to scream: “I’m about to walk into a den of thieves!”—a look of despair.
In truth, this wasn’t Meng Xizhao’s original plan. He had intended to go to Jiangzhou, safely within Daqi’s territory and rife with hidden currents, perfect for stirring things up.
But Jiangzhou’s status was too low; even with great achievements, he would likely return as a mere fourth-rank capital official—not much different from now.
Longxing Prefecture was different. Though still considered a remote, rugged area, it had been officially upgraded to a prefecture.
It was like a top-tier university in later times: status aside, its benefits were far greater.
Moreover, Longxing Prefecture was just south of Jiangzhou—neighboring territories. It wouldn’t hinder Meng Xizhao from pursuing his own ambitions.
Thanks to Emperor Tianshou and his whimsical, eccentric mind, Meng Xizhao would save himself at least two years of effort.
…
Leaving the Xie residence, Meng Xizhao returned home in high spirits. For the next few days, he could relax and enjoy the New Year.
Yet while he was at ease, others were left fretting.
The envoy sent by the Crown Prince returned with news: Emperor Tianshou, amid all the official appointments and transfers, had actually placed Meng Xizhao on the list for an external posting—and the destination was the remote Qinzhou, extremely far from Yingtian Prefecture.
The Crown Prince froze, then abruptly stood.
Just how far was Qinzhou?
To put it in perspective, the straight-line distance was the same as traveling to the Xiongnu royal court—about three thousand li.
But the journey itself was far from easy. A large convoy might reach the Xiongnu court in a month, yet even a single traveler could not make it to Qinzhou in less than a month and a half.
The route was riddled with mountains; bypassing them would take nearly three months before one could reach the prefecture.
The Crown Prince, who had long harbored disdain for his biological father, felt that disdain intensify.
Sending Meng Xizhao to such a remote region—what was the Emperor planning? Exile, perhaps?!
He was anxious, but he couldn’t approach Emperor Tianshou directly; that could backfire. After careful thought, he decided it was best to inform Meng Xizhao first, so they could think of a solution together.
Under no circumstances could the appointment be finalized; once issued, it would be irreversible.
Zhang Shuo-gong was still away and hadn’t returned for the New Year, and Yu Fulan was far too conspicuous, so the Crown Prince dispatched another person to summon Meng Xizhao: a secret guard, skilled in combat but always disguised as an ordinary, obedient attendant.
Meng Xizhao would later learn that this same person had faithfully conveyed his words to the Crown Prince, word for word, which always left him with strangely mixed feelings whenever he saw the guard.
On that day, hearing the urgency of the message, Meng Xizhao assumed something serious had occurred and hurried along.
Arriving at the separate residence, he found the Crown Prince pacing like an ant on a hot pan. After a few words, the Prince explained the situation, yet Meng Xizhao showed no trace of surprise, only giving a thoughtful hum.
The Crown Prince’s expression instantly twisted: “…You seem to have anticipated this?”
Meng Xizhao blinked, smiling lightly. “Not exactly. I did want an external posting, but I didn’t know who pushed things along for me. Somehow, it was done without me having to say a word.”
He paused, shaking his head. “But Qinzhou? There’s no way I’m going there. It’s too far, too remote. And if I went, I’d be stuck there for three full years. I’d rather be posted somewhere else.”
He spoke while thinking deeply. After a long moment, he lifted his head—and saw the Crown Prince’s face, dark as a cauldron bottom.
For the first time, Meng Xizhao felt the heat of the Prince’s barely concealed anger.
“You intend to leave Yingtian Prefecture?”