At this question, Meng Xizhao’s eyelids twitched faster than usual.
Cui Ye: “……”
He said nothing, staring at Meng Xizhao. After a moment, he asked again, “When do you plan to inform me of this?”
Meng Xizhao opened his mouth, managing a single syllable: “Uh…”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Long, slender fingers curled as Cui Ye suddenly stood and began to walk away.
Even the slow-witted Meng Xizhao knew he had to follow.
Though his legs were shorter, he ran fast enough to block Cui Ye in two strides. Facing the Prince’s wrathful gaze, Meng Xizhao finally found his voice.
“Your Highness, please calm yourself. I intended to wait until after the New Year to petition His Majesty. Who would’ve expected some surprise would force this news into your hands early? I did not mean to withhold it—I simply thought it wasn’t yet the right time…”
As he spoke, his usually firm voice grew softer.
He noticed Cui Ye’s expression remained unchanged, silent and heavy, almost frightening.
Meng Xizhao fell silent, hands at his sides, looking like a schoolboy unsure of what he had done wrong.
Cui Ye paused, then said, “When the edict arrives, only then shall you inform me. Do you think that will make me feel better?”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He shook his head silently. Even if he had felt that way before, he no longer dared think it now.
Cui Ye’s emotions surged violently. Pressing his lips together, he steadied his breathing and lowered his voice: “Do you know how long an external official takes before returning to Yingtian?”
Meng Xizhao suddenly felt like a fish caught in a net—he could see the pot awaiting him, yet there was nothing he could do except watch himself inch ever closer to it.
…………
The room fell silent for a moment, then Meng Xizhao’s cautious voice finally spoke: “Three years.”
After a beat, he hurriedly added, “But I won’t need three years—at most two, then I can return.”
Cui Ye smiled faintly. “Two years.”
Meng Xizhao instinctively tried to smile with him, but his mouth only twitched stiffly; Cui Ye’s smile had already vanished.
What was happening…?
Why did the Crown Prince seem so terrifying today?
“Do you know how many changes could occur in Yingtian Prefecture in two years?”
Meng Xizhao peeked at him, feigning indifference. “The world is always changing. My presence there or not doesn’t matter. Besides, Your Highness, aren’t you there? You’ll keep watch, right?”
He added a conciliatory smile. Yet Cui Ye only asked: “What if the changes involve me?”
Meng Xizhao froze.
Cui Ye stepped closer, reducing the space between them. Taller by a few inches, his eyes lowered ever so slightly as he closed the distance.
Although there was no overt aggression in those eyes, the posture, the closeness—it all made it feel like Cui Ye was staring Meng Xizhao down.
“What if, two years from now, I’m no longer in Yingtian Prefecture?”
Meng Xizhao froze. “How could you not be? Your Highness is the Crown Prince; you can’t leave Yingtian Prefecture, and His Majesty wouldn’t let you. You—”
Suddenly, it clicked. He realized what Cui Ye meant by “no longer in”—and his mind went blank. His eyes widened as he stared at Cui Ye, as if he had just heard something utterly incredible… and terrifying.
Cui Ye’s gaze scanned every inch of his face, missing not a flicker of expression.
Good news: Meng Xizhao mattered to him.
Bad news: this heartless little man only cared in matters of life and death.
…
No matter, Meng Xizhao told himself. At least he cared. His heart settled a little, and Cui Ye, turning back, silently returned to his seat, head slightly bowed, revealing just the nape of his neck.
It took Meng Xizhao several seconds to process the gravity of that terrifying thought. He hurriedly ran back, dragged his chair over—without worrying whether the spot was appropriate—and, once seated, asked urgently, “How could this happen?!”
“Is it the old illness again?! Didn’t Guard Zhang already go out to find a cure? He couldn’t find one? If he can’t… I’ll find someone. I happen to know a physician of remarkable skill; if Your Highness trusts him, I can summon him today!”
Cui Ye lifted his eyes, observed Meng Xizhao’s anxious expression, thought for a moment, and said, “There’s already progress. Zhang Shuo-gong sent a letter—once the other party leaves the pass, he’ll return with reinforcements.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He felt like hitting someone.
Even if it were Cui Ye across from him, Meng Xizhao found it hard to contain his temper. “Then why say such things?! Was that just to scare me?”
Cui Ye frowned. “Why would I scare you? I’m telling the truth. Zhang Shuo-gong hasn’t returned; whether it’ll help or not is uncertain. My old illness is like the gates of the Underworld itself—no one knows when it might strike again and take my life.”
Meng Xizhao furrowed his brows tighter than Cui Ye. He turned his head and exclaimed, “Tch, tch, tch! It’s the New Year—don’t talk such morbid nonsense!”
Cui Ye obediently replied, “Fine, we won’t. Let’s talk about your external posting instead.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
I was wrong. That previous topic was actually fine; we should continue discussing your potential sudden demise instead.
But Cui Ye didn’t give him the chance. “Where do you want to be posted, Er Lang?”
Meng Xizhao: “Longxing Prefecture.”
Cui Ye froze briefly; the surprise at the destination flashed and passed, and he began calculating the distance.
Then he murmured, “Eight hundred li…”
In this era, traveling more than a hundred li could mean never seeing each other again in a lifetime.
Eight hundred li—filled with countless uncertainties along the way. A slight misstep could separate them forever.
So it was no wonder Cui Ye felt so pessimistic. Traveling to the Xiongnu meant danger only from the elements, and with attendants and soldiers, it was relatively safe. But an external posting—especially to a remote and complex region—was truly perilous.
Yet Cui Ye knew Meng Xizhao had wanted this for a long time, and he was not one to shy from danger. No amount of advice would dissuade him.
Meng Xizhao, still reeling from the scare, did not comfort or argue. He quietly stared at the patterns on his sleeve. Though seated face-to-face, they seemed worlds apart, separated by an invisible barrier.
After a long silence, Cui Ye’s voice suddenly rang out: “After two years of external posting, Er Lang… will you forget me?”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him and answered flatly, “Of course not.”
Yet Cui Ye gave a cryptic chuckle: “I doubt it. About this matter, you’ve already forgotten me.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He hadn’t forgotten.
He simply didn’t see the need. They weren’t conjoined at birth, and he hadn’t sworn eternal fealty to Cui Ye. He only intended to assist him. Having his own thoughts—what was wrong with that?
Meng Xizhao didn’t understand why Cui Ye clung to this point. The way he looked at him felt oddly intense. Cui Ye, sensing Meng Xizhao’s gaze, felt a pang in his chest, a faint flutter in his stomach.
They stared at each other for a long while before Cui Ye finally smiled lightly. “Er Lang doesn’t understand me.”
Meng Xizhao blinked. “Then, Your Highness, you can explain—let me know what I don’t understand about you.”
Cui Ye shook his head. “It cannot be explained. If one day you understand, you will. If not, no words of mine could ever make you feel as I do.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Was it really that complicated just because I didn’t tell you I’m leaving?
His eyes—black and white, glistening like two black pearls—looked at Cui Ye with genuine confusion. Cui Ye fell silent again, but finally couldn’t resist: he reached out, placing his broad hand over Meng Xizhao’s eyelids.
“Enough. Don’t look at me like that anymore. If you keep staring, I won’t be able to let you go.”
Meng Xizhao’s lashes fluttered against Cui Ye’s palm like two tiny brushes, lightly tickling, sending a tremor through Cui Ye’s chest.
Cui Ye instinctively withdrew his hand. Originally, it had been he who reached out, but now he was the one retracting.
Meng Xizhao hadn’t thought much of the gesture, merely blinking habitually—but seeing Cui Ye’s strong reaction, he felt slightly embarrassed, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
Sitting awkwardly in his seat, his eyes drifting to the distance, Meng Xizhao suddenly remembered what Cui Ye had just said. He quickly turned back. “So… Your Highness isn’t angry anymore?”
Cui Ye replied calmly, “If I were angry, would you have stayed?”
Meng Xizhao shook his head decisively. “No.”
Cui Ye gave him a look that left the meaning for him to figure out: “Then it’s settled.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Well, no matter what, as long as he wasn’t angry, that was fine.
After sitting a while longer, Meng Xizhao checked with Cui Ye about when Zhang Shuo-gong would return, only to realize that by then, he would probably have already left—leaving him a touch disappointed. He had wanted to see the physician for himself.
Cui Ye also confirmed Meng Xizhao’s planned departure for Longxing Prefecture. Learning that he intended to leave only after his elder brother’s wedding, he calculated it would be just a month away, and couldn’t help feeling a quiet melancholy.
After a long while, Meng Xizhao finally rose to leave, bidding farewell to Cui Ye, who merely nodded and remained seated.
Yu Fulan, waiting until Meng Xizhao left, entered and asked Cui Ye, “Your Highness, how is it? Is there any way Meng Xiuzhu could get His Majesty to rescind the order?”
Cui Ye’s expression remained blank. “No way. This actually suits him perfectly; he wanted to be posted elsewhere anyway.”
Yu Fulan paused a second, then gasped. “To Qinzhou?!”
Meng Xizhao must have had his reasons—but this reasoning was far too deep. Yu Fulan couldn’t fathom what advantage there could possibly be in Qinzhou.
Cui Ye said: “To Longxing Prefecture.”
Yu Fulan finally exhaled. That made sense—there was no way it was some godforsaken outpost—
Wait. Longxing Prefecture wasn’t that great either, was it?!
These two were like crows perching on someone’s head, each thinking the other was blacker.
…
Meng Xizhao left and reached the alley entrance. Qing Fu saw him and hurried over.
“Sir, why did the Crown Prince summon you? Is it nothing serious?” he asked softly.
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “Nothing. Just to inform me about my external posting.”
Qing Fu responded with a soft, relieved “Oh, that’s fine—”
Suddenly, realization struck him. He turned and stared at Meng Xizhao, wide-eyed. “Sir… His Majesty is posting you elsewhere?!”
Meng Xizhao, distracted, merely gave a casual “Mm,” then climbed into the carriage, instructing Qing Fu: “Stop standing there, let’s go back to the residence.”
It was the fourth day of the first lunar month. During the New Year, officials in Daqi enjoyed a seven-day holiday, and so did the Imperial Academy. Meng Xiang, meanwhile, was still at home.
His wedding was scheduled for the eighth day of the second month, and the leave had been applied for half a year prior, allowing him another five days off.
With marriage approaching, Meng Xiang had begun to cultivate the mindset of a husband. He read more seriously than before, even showing signs of academic improvement—a glimpse of the brilliance he’d had in childhood.
When Meng Xizhao came to visit, he found Meng Xiang bent over his desk in study, surprised by his arrival. Since taking office, Meng Xizhao had not come by as often, no longer as close as before.
Meng Xiang, though slightly disappointed, understood—his younger brother was now an official, wielding real power. He could not expect him to visit freely as before.
If he knew the real reason was Meng Xizhao avoiding being lectured… who knew what expression he would make?
At that moment, seeing him, Meng Xiang was genuinely delighted.
He invited Meng Xizhao in, offered the best tea leaves, brewed a pot, and with a kindly expression asked, “Er Lang, did you come to see me for something?”
Meng Xizhao silently nodded while holding the pale yellow tea.
“Big brother, you have more friends and experience. I want to ask your advice on something.”
Meng Xiang raised an eyebrow.
This was rare—usually he was the one instructing Meng Xizhao, not the other way around.
Feeling a bit proud, he straightened slightly, adopting a thoughtful, mysterious expression, and said, “Go ahead.”
Meng Xizhao, ignoring the subtle gesture, poured out his question like beans from a bamboo tube: “I have a friend who got very angry when he learned I intended to take an external post. He was upset because I didn’t consult him. But I felt I didn’t need to, since we’re just friends—my decisions are mine alone. Do you think I’m right?”
Meng Xiang blinked slowly, then suddenly exclaimed, “You want to take an external post?!”
“Such a big matter, and you didn’t tell the family? Didn’t consult us at all?!”
Meng Xizhao, upon hearing the questioning, pointed at him excitedly, like Columbus discovering a new continent: “See! See! I understand why you’re angry—you’re my brother, so being upset at my acting first and reporting later is natural. But a normal friend shouldn’t react this way, right? Could it be he doesn’t see me as just a friend… but as something else?”
Perhaps a subordinate who must obey, or someone starved for affection—someone the Crown Prince treats as almost family.
The distinction was vast, and Meng Xizhao knew he needed to approach the situation differently, hence seeking his elder brother’s advice.
Meng Xiang, seeing no trace of remorse and the way Meng Xizhao even used him as a reference point, felt like giving him a lesson on the spot.
Yet he paused, puzzled.
Friends??
Er Lang had long stopped mingling with the frivolous acquaintances of youth. His frequent companions were all colleagues—no one could truly be called a friend.
Well, Zhan Buxiu might count, but he was still off in Nanzhao commanding troops, wasn’t he?
Meng Xiang blinked and asked suddenly, “After your friend got angry, how did you deal with it?”
Meng Xizhao answered truthfully: “What else could I do? Obediently listen, and then say a few kind words.”
Meng Xiang: “…………”
He knew his younger brother’s temper all too well.
Since abandoning his previous indulgences, Er Lang’s arrogance and assertiveness had soared like a celestial monkey shooting straight to the sky. Even his former superiors could not coax a single polite word from him. If this were an ordinary friend, Meng Xizhao would never bother speaking kindly to placate them.
He only acted so after noticing the other person’s inexplicable anger—otherwise, he would merely smirk coldly and walk away. No servitude; that was Er Lang’s proper stance toward people.
Meng Xiang’s eyes widened in realization.
This “friend” could only be the Crown Prince.
He was simply too cautious to say it outright, so he came to Meng Xiang under a pseudonym.
Realizing this was a conflict with the Crown Prince, Meng Xiang’s spirits immediately lifted. He set aside Meng Xizhao’s posting plans—they were still just in the planning stages—but the Crown Prince being angry at Er Lang was a concrete, undeniable fact.
Meng Xiang prepared to analyze the Crown Prince’s mindset with all his skill. Yet as he started, he suddenly froze.
He looked sharply at his brother. “You… think this friend has no right to be angry?”
Meng Xizhao, puzzled, replied: “Of course not. Why should a friend interfere with what I want to do?”
Meng Xiang: “…………”
He felt like tearing his hair out.
He suddenly realized he had completely misunderstood the relationship between the Crown Prince and Er Lang.
It wasn’t Er Lang desperately chasing after the Crown Prince—it was that the younger one was nonchalantly toying with him!
Think about it! Er Lang is being posted away for a full three years, the Crown Prince cannot leave Ying Tian Fu, and even if he wanted to see him, he couldn’t. And yet, the Crown Prince gets angry, and Er Lang thinks it’s unreasonable, that he shouldn’t be upset!
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!
Meng Xiang’s gaze at Meng Xizhao became almost painful: “Er Lang!”
Meng Xizhao jolted. “What?”
Meng Xiang pointed at him, struggling for words: “Even if he is your ‘friend,’ you can’t be this heartless! He’s angry because he won’t see you for years, can’t accompany you, won’t know if you have a headache or a cold—that is anger? No! That is concern! And you can’t even understand that. What kind of friend are you?”
Better to separate early! That way I don’t have to constantly worry the Crown Prince might wake up one day and take his frustration out on your audacious self!
Meng Xizhao felt completely baffled by the scolding. “So… I’m the one at fault?”
Meng Xiang nodded emphatically. “Naturally, yes, it’s you!”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Heh—after all that, it turns out I was wrong.
With that conclusion reached, Meng Xizhao left with a peculiarly odd expression. Whether he truly accepted it or not was known only to himself.
By the time Meng Xiang recovered from his heartache and wanted to ask about the posting, Meng Xizhao had long vanished.
…
As for the posting itself, no need for him to inquire further. Meng Jiuyu, though on leave, hadn’t entirely idled. He spent half his days handling official matters, and upon seeing the drafted list of officials for external appointments, he stormed back to the Department of Administration in a fury.
His first instinct was to confront Meng Xizhao.
He assumed the list was Meng Xizhao’s own doing. But upon hearing Meng Xizhao shake his head, saying sincerely, “Father, this truly isn’t my doing—I never wanted to go to Qinzhou,”
Meng Jiuyu paused for a second, and his anger flared anew. “Then it’s someone else’s doing! And I’d better not find out who!”
Meng Madam, after a while, understood the situation. She was shocked by the news, then caught on to a hidden meaning in Meng Xizhao’s words: “You said you don’t want to go to Qinzhou… does that mean you have another prefecture in mind?”
Meng Xizhao blinked and smiled at his parents. “Yes, indeed, I do.”
Meng Jiuyu was momentarily stunned. “You really want to be posted elsewhere?”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “Father, I feel constrained in Ying Tian Fu. If I go elsewhere, I can accomplish more.”
Meng Jiuyu: “……”
He didn’t immediately lose his temper.
Mainly because he saw nothing wrong with being posted externally. Every proper official would eventually serve away from the capital. After all, he himself had been a prefect for three years in his youth—his eldest son was even born during that time.
Thinking carefully, sending Meng Xizhao elsewhere wasn’t a bad thing. Recently, he had risen too quickly. Staying in Ying Tian Fu, once the emperor’s favor waned, many would surely find ways to undermine him.
Considering this, Meng Jiuyu nodded. “Indeed. Strategic withdrawal can be wise. Where do you wish to go—Lin’an Prefecture or Dongping Prefecture? Jingzhao Prefecture is farther, but the populace is well settled there, easier to achieve first-class merits. Yangzhou works too, close to Ying Tian Fu, and the current prefect’s performance this year is poor. His Majesty will likely replace him.”
All the locations he mentioned were among the most prosperous in Daqi. Meng Xizhao blinked, then said: “But Father, I want to achieve merit by going out. These prosperous prefectures don’t give me much opportunity. So, I still prefer somewhere else.”
Meng Jiuyu felt a sudden, uneasy premonition. “Then where exactly do you wish to go?”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “Longxing Prefecture.”
Meng Jiuyu looked at him as if frozen in place.
After a long moment, he finally recovered enough to point a finger at Meng Xizhao, ready to scold him—but was too late.
Meng Madam had already exploded first: “Absolutely not! I do not agree!”
Meng Xizhao touched his face and, in the softest, most audacious voice, said, “Mother, this isn’t something you can control.”
Meng Madam: “…………”
Meng Jiuyu’s anger flared as well: “How dare you speak to your mother like that!”
Meng Xizhao spread his hands. “Exactly. The Emperor himself wants to post me elsewhere. What use is it if Mother objects? I’ve made up my mind—I’m going to Longxing Prefecture. None of you can stop me. And if you do, I’ll petition His Majesty, saying that I wish to guard the frontier wholeheartedly and might as well remain outside, never returning.”
Meng Jiuyu: “……”
Meng Madam: “……”
Such impudence!
How could they have raised such an unfilial son?
Meng Jiuyu’s fingers trembled again, but people do learn from experience. Previously, he had raged at Er Lang until nearly fainting, yet Meng Xizhao had remained stubbornly self-willed. As he said, they, as parents, could no longer control him.
Finally, Meng Jiuyu glared once, let his arm drop, and thought it better to return to check the dispatches from Longxing Prefecture. At the very least, he needed to confirm whether the chaos there had been fully subdued.
But Meng Madam did not leave.
She stared at Meng Xizhao for a long moment, silent.
Her expression was often used on the old Duke, and whenever he saw it, his heart would shudder involuntarily.
Yet, one thing overcomes another: just as she could bring the old Duke to heel, her son could render her helpless.
Pressing her lips together, she stepped in front of Meng Xizhao and asked, “Er Lang, tell me the truth. Why do you want to be posted elsewhere?”
Meng Xizhao looked at her, paused for a moment, and said, “Mother, don’t overthink it. Initially, I only planned to leave for a few years after you arranged my marriage. But the more I thought, the more I realized that going out offers far greater prospects. So, I must thank you, Mother. You’ve pointed me toward a clear path.”
Meng Madam: “…………”
After all that, it still comes back to me!
Her expression clouded, and finally, she walked away unsteadily.
Meng Xizhao watched her leave, secretly smiling, then swaggered back to his bedroom to take a midday nap.
The next morning, Meng Xizhao was yanked out of bed by Meng Jiuyu.
A gust of cold wind hit him, making him shiver and fully awake. Seeing his father, he grumbled: “Father, it’s only the fifth day of the lunar year—I don’t need to be on duty yet!”
He tried to crawl back under the covers, but Meng Jiuyu, with the strength of lifting a chick, hoisted him up again. “I know! I’m here for an important question. Eyes open! Look at me and tell me, do you really intend to go to Longxing Prefecture?”
Forced to open his eyes, Meng Xizhao looked at him in confusion: “Yes. In a couple of days, I’ll go petition His Majesty about it.”
Meng Jiuyu remained silent for a moment, then relaxed his grip, letting Meng Xizhao fall back.
His head hit the pillow: “……”
Truly, he is my father.
Sighing, Meng Jiuyu sat beside the bed. “Fine, fine. Since things have come to this, I’ll help you. You don’t need to speak to the Emperor yourself. I’ll handle it, and it will prevent His Majesty from thinking you’re picky or overly principled.”
Meng Xizhao immediately sat up, staring at his father in disbelief: “Am I dreaming? Father, you’ve actually come to reason?”
Meng Jiuyu glanced at him: “If you think you’re dreaming, go ahead and slap yourself.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
No need for that.
Having someone to help is a blessing. He didn’t care if his father was being slightly sarcastic—he smiled brightly and thanked him: “Thank you, Father. Half of my future achievements will belong to you as well!”
Meng Jiuyu snorted. “I gave birth to you; half of your achievements were mine from the start.”
He paused, then continued: “Ding Chun has stationed three thousand troops in the city, forming a new garrison with the remnants of the old Hongzhou forces. Longxing Prefecture currently has no prefect, only a deputy. But that deputy was an utterly mediocre man. When the Nanzhao forces invaded, he hid in his cellar to survive, living on raw vegetables and rice. Only when Ding Chun arrived did he dare come out.”
Meng Xizhao asked: “What happened to the original prefect of Longxing Prefecture?”
Meng Jiuyu realized he’d forgotten to mention it: “Killed by the Nanzhao forces on the day of the invasion.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
No wonder the deputy behaved that way.
Going out meant certain death; hiding, at least, bought him a little time.
Logically, he could understand the deputy. But aside from that, he had no sympathy.
As a local magistrate, he only thought of self-preservation, while the citizens had no idea how many had perished during his hiding.
Even if he had fled with them, it would have been better than playing the part of a giant field mouse.
Meng Jiuyu told him all this to explain that Longxing Prefecture had suffered greatly, and the people had no attachment to the former officials. In fact, they resented them. This wasn’t entirely bad: citizens tend to blame individuals rather than institutions, and a change in governance could quickly improve the situation.
Moreover, being appointed as prefect there wasn’t without advantage.
Elsewhere, a new magistrate or prefect would have to confront local strongmen and petty tyrants to assert authority. In Longxing Prefecture, Meng Xizhao need not worry. Any defiant strongmen had been killed by the Nanzhao forces, and those who had collaborated were captured by Ding Chun. The worst offenders were publicly executed; the others were imprisoned for life.
In short, in one sentence: everything was in chaos, starting out in full “hell mode,” but the upside was that in this hell, there were no demons, not even a single minor fiend in sight.
Meng Xizhao listened to Meng Jiuyu speak so fluently, clearly confident that the internal situation in Longxing Prefecture posed little difficulty. As long as the old methods of governance were followed, things would gradually improve. What worried Meng Xizhao most, however, was that the Nanzhao forces might not be satisfied and could return.
He thought to himself: it’s probably not that simple.
The Nanzhao were after food. Now that they had it, and with the timing of the harvest uncertain, they might have returned for more only after satisfying their immediate hunger. Moreover, Ding Chun and his troops hadn’t stayed idle—they would have moved on to other targets after Longxing Prefecture, making it hard for the Nanzhao to turn back to trouble Longxing Prefecture.
Instead, it might be the rebellious forces in Jiangzhou, who had been lying low for months, that would seize the opportunity.
Think about it: Jiangzhou had been stirred up because it wasn’t entirely peaceful, but compared to Longxing Prefecture, Jiangzhou was practically habitable. A large nearby city with no oversight, citizens still living in fear—wasn’t this practically a giant natural breeding ground for trouble?
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, sensing that the situation there might be far worse than he had imagined.
But he couldn’t tell Meng Jiuyu all this—revealing any foreknowledge would probably make Meng Jiuyu faint in shock again.
After finishing the briefing on Longxing Prefecture, Meng Jiuyu went on to outline what Meng Xizhao should do upon arrival, what to watch for, and how to act. Meng Xizhao listened carefully, but whether he would follow the advice… well, the sky was high and the emperor far away; his father wouldn’t be watching.
When Meng Jiuyu prepared to leave, Meng Xizhao remembered something and called after him: “Father! Wait, one more thing.”
Meng Jiuyu, puzzled: “What is it?”
Sitting on the bed, Meng Xizhao smiled ingratiatingly: “Father, if you help someone, help them thoroughly; if you deliver the Buddha, deliver him to the West. Since you’re already planning to speak to His Majesty to have me sent to Longxing Prefecture, why not go a step further and help me bring someone along to keep me company?”
Meng Jiuyu: “…You don’t mean you want me to send the Crown Prince with you, do you?”
Unless the Crown Prince decided tomorrow to renounce the throne and become a prince—well, even then, it wouldn’t matter. Longxing Prefecture already had a prince: the exiled Prince Ning.
Meng Xizhao smiled: “Of course not. I mean Xie Yuan. He’s quite capable. I want him to go with me, serve as a subordinate official there.”
Meng Jiuyu was momentarily stunned: “Who is Xie Yuan?”
“The jinshi who passed the imperial exam last year. He now serves in the Baohe Hall, the son of Xie You, the junior minister of the Court of Justice, and previously the nephew of Empress Xie.”
Meng Jiuyu: “…………”
So he’s the Crown Prince’s cousin!
Meng Jiuyu had to admit it—Meng Xizhao wasn’t just networking with the Crown Prince, he was even connecting with the Xie family, pulling every string he could. Truly, he didn’t seem afraid of what the Emperor might do once he found out…
His thoughts tangled, Meng Jiuyu remembered a saying he’d heard as a child: “With enough lice, you don’t itch; with enough debts, you don’t worry.”
…Indeed, a profound truth.
Meng Jiuyu took the matter forward, and Meng Xizhao felt relieved.
He couldn’t always speak for himself, especially on matters like persuading Emperor Tianshou to rescind an imperial decree. If he did, the Emperor might think him too troublesome.
His father, as a Privy Councilor, had the authority and connections to speak effectively. But using him too often wouldn’t help—the effect would diminish.
In the end, his problem was that his own network was too limited. The people who could directly speak to Emperor Tianshou were unwilling to unite under his cause. Qin Feimang counted as half a helper, but every time he wanted something done, it came at great cost.
And some matters, even with great effort, he was unwilling to handle.
Clearly, he needed someone bold, high-ranking, and most importantly, ruthless enough to act as his messenger.
Such a person didn’t exist yet—but if not, he could just create one.
As he thought, the carriage stopped. Qingfu lifted the curtain: “Sir, we’ve arrived.”
Meng Xizhao got out and surveyed the estate. It seemed little had changed since he last saw it. He nodded, then headed toward the main hall. “Go fetch Shi Dazhuang. I’ll wait here.”
Qingfu ran off to find him.
The farmer, hardworking as always, had resumed work in the experimental fields even before the New Year. Upon hearing that Meng Xizhao wished to see him, Shi Dazhuang hurried over without changing clothes, wiping his hands. He bowed repeatedly: “My lord, you’ve arrived. I wish you a Happy New Year, and may all your endeavors be prosperous.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
If I become prosperous, will you even survive?
He waved dismissively: “Enough with the formalities. I have questions. How are the seeds and fertilizers coming along?”
Shi Dazhuang: “The seeds have already been selected, but sowing won’t happen for another half month. The weather is too cold now—if sown, the seeds won’t sprout.”
“And the fertilizer?”
The simple farmer smiled: “I’ve followed your instructions and recorded every type on a sheet of paper—now over seven hundred sheets. From the previous crop, we discovered that composting bones, pig hair, pig manure, and eggshells with sheep droppings gave the best results. As for the quicklime you mentioned… I tried several times, but it always burned the seedlings.”
Meng Xizhao felt a pang of discomfort at the thought.
After a pause, he said: “Organic fertilizer leads into inorganic fertilizer—you’ll still need to keep experimenting.”
Shi Dazhuang didn’t understand the first part but nodded enthusiastically at the second: “Yes, I’ll work hard, my lord!”
Satisfied, Meng Xizhao asked again: “And your wife—she should have given birth by now, right?”
Shi Dazhuang nodded repeatedly: “Yes, yes, she’s given birth just before winter—a little girl, and quite plump, over seven jin.”
Meng Xizhao responded with an “Oh,” then asked, “She’s not pregnant again, right?”
Shi Dazhuang: “……”
Lord, I may look dark, but I am not that kind of cruel man.
He silently shook his head at Meng Xizhao, indicating his answer.
Meng Xizhao finally smiled: “That’s good, that’s good.”
Before Shi Dazhuang could understand exactly what he meant, Meng Xizhao suddenly looked at him warmly: “Here’s the thing—since I will soon be dispatched to another post, and that place is poor with insufficient food, they urgently need an agricultural expert like you to assist the local people with farming. Would you be willing to go with me? But know this—the place is truly impoverished, and your wife just had a child. If you go, you would be going alone.”
Upon hearing this, Shi Dazhuang immediately accepted without hesitation: “My lord, I am willing! What we do is for the benefit of the people. If you invite me, how could I possibly refuse?”
Meng Xizhao looked at him, deeply gratified: “You truly are the savior of the people in Longxing Prefecture.”
Shi Dazhuang chuckled and rubbed his head. Then, suddenly, realization struck him.
Wait—Longxing Prefecture???