Who the visitor was mattered little; his rank mattered even less. His appearance was merely a signal.
The Crown Prince showed a desire to intervene in court affairs, revealing a sliver of ambition. The ministers began to take notice.
No one fears a foolish prince, but a prince without ambition is dangerous.
Even the third prince, with his flaws, had supporters. How much more so a Crown Prince—an obvious target, yet holding the throne.
The ministers interpreted this as the Crown Prince attempting to expand his influence, and adopted a wait-and-see approach.
Who knew, the visitor went in, whispered a few words, and was politely ushered out by the Crown Prince.
Later, he returned to the Eastern Palace, and news soon spread that the Crown Prince had fallen ill.
The ministers: “…………”
Was it genuine or feigned? Was it of his own will, or the emperor’s design?
The Crown Prince secluded himself, neither attending lessons nor meeting anyone, leaving everyone outside uneasy.
The Crown Prince had already turned twenty since the New Year. Normally, by this age, a crown prince would begin lecturing and formally participate in court affairs.
Meanwhile, Emperor Tianshou’s obvious favorite, the Sixth Prince, had also reached the age suitable for marriage negotiations. Yet the emperor had made no mention of it—perhaps he intended to create a big move first: remove the Crown Prince from the spotlight, then have the Sixth Prince step forward, using the standards of selecting a crown princess to find a bride for the Sixth Prince.
Regardless of the emperor’s intentions, action was expected either this year at the earliest or next year at the latest.
This was also the perfect time for court ministers to take a gamble.
Support the Crown Prince? Make a bold move, risk a Xuanwu Gate–style upheaval, and seize the glory of aligning with the rightful heir. Or support the Sixth Prince, ensure a stable succession, and, if necessary, eliminate the Crown Prince quietly.
In terms of potential glory, the first option offered far greater rewards. The Sixth Prince relied primarily on his father’s backing, caring little about the ministers’ opinions; even if they displayed loyalty, he would likely see it as deserved.
The Crown Prince, however, was isolated. Anyone who extended support now would be offering timely aid, a genuine lifeline.
If asked who would make a better emperor, few harbored much hope for either. Look at the previous four emperors—were any truly competent? The Sixth Prince, though spoiled from youth, still seemed mild in comparison.
As for the Crown Prince, he appeared gentle and affable now, but who could know whether years of repression had twisted him? History repeatedly shows that rulers whose character is unreadable often reveal their true nature immediately upon ascending the throne.
Thus, the ministers weren’t truly concerned with following a wise or foolish ruler; they were calculating risk.
Backing the “big bet” meant committing everything: succeed, and the reward would be enormous; fail, and one would lose everything, even life itself.
Backing the “small bet” meant limited investment: win or lose, life would continue more or less unchanged.
Some were thrill-seekers, willing to risk everything for the chance at great gain. Others prioritized stability, mindful of their families, unwilling to gamble with lives already stretched thin.
During this period, anyone of status was preoccupied with these calculations, leaving spirits considerably lower than usual. Meanwhile, the Crown Prince, the catalyst of this anxiety, sat quietly in the Eastern Palace, reading the letter Meng Xizhao had written him.
Meng Xizhao’s handwriting, after reaching a stable proficiency, would appear to outsiders as shapely but lacking backbone—a sign of mediocre learning. To the Crown Prince, however, the crooked and uneven characters were endearing.
……
After finishing the three pages with a faint smile, the Crown Prince carefully put away the letter. Yu Fulan approached and whispered a few words in his ear.
Cui Ye nodded: “Understood. Prepare the carriage. I’ll leave immediately.”
Yu Fulan acknowledged and went to make arrangements.
Half an hour later, Cui Ye arrived at his own villa.
Since Meng Xizhao had departed for Longxing Prefecture, Cui Ye had avoided coming here. Even when venturing out of the palace, he stayed among crowds; this villa had been abandoned for nearly a month.
Zhang Shuo Gong paced anxiously in the courtyard. Upon seeing Cui Ye, he rushed forward: “Your Highness, he’s inside. I’ve arranged everything. He doesn’t know who you are.”
Cui Ye glanced at the tightly shut door. “Are you sure he’s the divine physician?”
Zhang Shuo Gong nodded repeatedly: “I personally witnessed him save someone from a fatal intestinal injury. Locals revere him. He is a senior disciple of the same sect as the elder divine physician I met before, and he can detoxify poisons.”
Cui Ye fell silent for a moment, then approached and opened the door.
An elderly man sat inside. Seeing Cui Ye, he rose.
Zhang Shuo Gong had used a mix of coercion and persuasion to bring this man to Yingtian Prefecture. The old man, clever enough, knew he was dealing with someone of wealth or status and behaved accordingly.
Without wasting words, he sat and began taking pulses. Nearly two minutes later, he withdrew his hand.
His expression remained calm, but Yu Fulan and Zhang Shuo Gong felt their hearts pounding.
Cui Ye asked: “Divine Physician, what of my condition?”
The old man glanced at him. While cautious, his professional integrity remained: “Your pulse shows toxins accumulated over many years, now settled in your five viscera and six bowels. There is an anomaly in your pulse. Have you ever taken medicine to suppress its effects?”
Cui Ye regarded him for a long moment, then smiled faintly: “Indeed, I have.”
The old man did not seem pleased with the compliment; he shook his head helplessly: “That is the issue. All medicine carries some poison. That medicine may have temporarily alleviated your symptoms, but it mingled with the original toxins. The two counteract each other but cannot neutralize one another. In your youth, it may not have mattered, but as you age, a single outbreak could be fatal.”
Zhang Shuo Gong asked eagerly: “Divine Physician, can you remove both toxins?”
The old man stroked his beard and nodded: “It is possible.”
Upon hearing this, Zhang Shuo Gong and Yu Fulan were overjoyed. Even Cui Ye was momentarily stunned at the ease of the solution.
However, the next moment, the old man added: “Even if the toxins are removed, this gentleman’s lifespan has already been affected.”
Cui Ye froze.
Joy on Zhang Shuo Gong and Yu Fulan’s faces immediately stiffened. Yu Fulan frowned: “What do you mean? You say his lifespan has been affected… how severely?”
The old man pondered: “I cannot be certain. But if detoxification occurs promptly, he should be able to live another ten or so years.”
Zhang Shuo Gong: “…………”
The blow was immense.
Cui Ye didn’t even feel like venting his anger.
Yu Fulan looked equally stunned. Although in these times, many people died from a single illness, succumbing in their twenties or thirties, there were still those who lived into their seventies or eighties. His Highness, such a paragon of virtue and beauty—how could this happen?
Surprisingly, Cui Ye accepted the news the quickest. He smiled faintly at the old man: “Thank you for informing me, Divine Physician.”
The old man felt a twinge of regret himself. In all his years of practice, he had never encountered such a handsome gentleman, bearing deadly toxins, enduring pain for years, yet remaining so composed. He could not help but remark: “If you intend to detoxify, act quickly. Delay even a day, and your danger increases.”
Moreover, the old man had his own herbs drying at home and did not want to linger here longer than necessary. With that, he left. Zhang Shuo Gong arranged for someone to escort him to an inn. Returning, he looked at Cui Ye with a determined expression: “Your Highness, this one is no good. I’ll find another!”
Yu Fulan glanced at Cui Ye; though silent, his meaning was clear.
Cui Ye, however, didn’t look at either of them, his gaze lowered as if lost in thought.
Spring plowing was already halfway done. With predictions from Jin Wan and Daozhang Zangchen encouraging them, everyone was highly motivated—after all, the common folk were naturally diligent.
In recent days, Shi Dazhuang had been outside daily guiding everyone in making compost. Composting required less strength than plowing, so even women could participate, which often left Shi Dazhuang surrounded by a group of matrons.
As Prefect, Meng Xizhao made time to inspect the work himself. His reputation had begun to spread: even those who disliked him no longer dared to act against him. Spending half a day laboring alongside the commoners left him nearly crippled when he returned to the prefecture office.
Lying on the bed, groaning, Jin Zhu reluctantly picked up two golden gourds to massage his back slowly.
“Just for show, Your Lordship, you didn’t need to exert yourself. Now you’ll be sore for five or six days at least.”
Meng Xizhao responded with righteous indignation: “I really only did it for show! I didn’t even use much strength. One shovel barely touched the soil, but the repeated bending and straightening—it’s done me in!”
Jin Zhu: “…………”
She paused, placing the golden gourd aside, and spoke seriously: “My lord, I mean no offense, but your body is weakening. You used to enjoy excursions and could walk for miles. Now, confined mostly to the prefecture office, your muscles have stiffened. In my view, you should resume the exercise regimen you had before heading to the Xiongnu.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
This was his maid, or more accurately, his wet nurse.
He was about to argue when an awkward cough came from the door. Both turned to see Xie Yuan leaning on his cane.
Jin Zhu quickly stood and saluted: “Your servant greets Lord Xie.”
Xie Yuan smiled and stepped inside: “I have business with Prefect Meng. Please step outside, miss.”
Jin Zhu sighed and left, golden gourd in hand.
Meng Xizhao silently rose, straightening his slightly wrinkled clothes. Had Xie Yuan not overheard Jin Zhu’s words, he would surely have thought the scene rather intimate—a daytime display of flirtation. But Xie Yuan had heard it all, his gaze filled with a hint of sympathy.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Feeling embarrassed, he grumbled, his voice rough: “If you have business, speak. Why stare at me like that?”
Xie Yuan, much older, looked at him like a younger brother and was unoffended, smiling gently: “Construction on the city gate tower begins tomorrow. I propose sending someone to Wuling Commandery for timber. The wood there is sturdy, and Longxing Prefecture is no longer as prosperous as before. It’s best to use quality materials for the gates.”
Meng Xizhao rubbed his nose: “Makes sense. But we don’t need to send someone personally. Just have a few merchants from the city handle it—they have the connections and it saves manpower.”
Longxing Prefecture was severely short-handed; if possible, they avoided sending officials out.
Xie Yuan nodded: “That’s reasonable. But there aren’t many merchants in town, so it may take some effort.”
Meng Xizhao strolled to his desk and sat casually. He considered it a minor matter, one Xie Yuan could handle.
Xie Yuan, knowing Meng Xizhao’s nature, followed and sat beside him: “There is one more matter.”
Meng Xizhao propped his head up, weary: “Go on.”
Xie Yuan: “The prefecture office is out of funds again.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He nearly leapt from his chair: “One hundred forty thousand taels, all gone?!”
Xie Yuan shook his head calmly: “No, my lord, that was your doing.”
Meng Xizhao: “…Nonsense! I haven’t even managed finances!”
Xie Yuan ignored his outburst and calmly began calculating: “The Longxing Prefecture granary can feed the people for twenty days. You wanted to purchase enough grain from outside to sustain them for three months, costing forty thousand taels. Repairing the city gate tower—bricks are free, but laborers need wages and three meals daily. Prisoner labor requires feeding as well. Combined with timber for the gate—another five thousand taels. You also tasked me with accounting for widows and orphans, managing the Relief and Orphanage Offices—paying staff and providing clothing and food…”
Meng Xizhao trembled as Xie Yuan enumerated each expense. He raised a hand: “Stop, stop. I get it. Yes, it’s all gone. Just tell me how much silver remains in the prefecture office now.”
Xie Yuan smiled faintly. “There are still twenty thousand taels left.”
Meng Xizhao was momentarily taken aback. “Still that much? That should be enough to get us through a while longer, right?”
Xie Yuan sighed and shook his head. “My lord, you truly have no sense of household management.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
But he couldn’t refute Xie Yuan—after all, it had indeed been Xie Yuan managing everything during this time.
He had no choice but to ask humbly, “Explain, then.”
Xie Yuan replied: “I’ve already planned the silver for repairs, so there shouldn’t be any immediate oversights. But the grain distribution, military rations, and subsidies—these are monthly necessities. Weapons and armor also require constant replenishment. Longxing Prefecture now barely has any tax revenue; merchants have fled, and the farmlands are only newly cultivated. Even if there’s a good harvest in three months, according to your approach, I assume you wouldn’t collect taxes from the people, right?”
Meng Xizhao lowered his head in silence. Indeed—his next report to Emperor Tianshou was going to request that Longxing Prefecture’s taxes be waived entirely.
After a moment, he said, “At least then we won’t have to distribute grain anymore.”
Xie Yuan nodded. “True. But the prefecture office would revert to the same empty-handed state, unable to issue rations.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He sighed. “So we must increase revenue.”
Xie Yuan was curious. “And how shall we do that?”
Meng Xizhao propped his chin on his hand. “I don’t know… I haven’t figured it out yet. Initially, I didn’t feel it was urgent, but hearing your explanation, it now feels pressing.”
Xie Yuan remained expressionless. “I have not deceived you, my lord; these are genuine difficulties.”
Meng Xizhao nodded, face troubled. “Alright, in a few days, let’s prioritize the memorial monument. Post announcements so the entire city sees it.”
Xie Yuan knew Meng Xizhao planned a monument, but he had only intended to inform the wealthy families. Now, making the whole city aware, Xie Yuan was somewhat taken aback.
It might be… embarrassing.
If everyone saw it, wouldn’t they all know the prefecture was so short of funds it had to solicit donations from ordinary citizens?
Meng Xizhao waved his hand. “Change the reasoning. The Relief and Orphanage Offices need manpower and funds, so we call on the people to show charity. Those with money donate; those without can volunteer.”
Xie Yuan was stunned. “Volunteer?”
Meng Xizhao winked. “Labor without pay, helping care for the elderly and children without parents.”
Xie Yuan: “…………”
All his years of reading sage texts seemed wasted. Meng Xizhao could conceive a brilliant plan with a mere blink: no money spent, yet a good deed accomplished. Everyone benefits—he gains reputation, the citizens gratitude, the elderly and children support. How did he never think of that?
This approach would solve the prefecture’s manpower shortage and eliminate much of the previous expense. Only a few supervisors would need to be employed.
Xie Yuan immediately started thinking through the practicalities. Suddenly, he paused. “My lord, what if no one volunteers?”
Meng Xizhao chuckled. “They will. At the Relief Office’s entrance, we’ll post a board like the notices, listing today’s volunteers. Everyone can see who is doing good. Oh, and each volunteer completing ten days of service gets a badge. Make it attractive—so they can proudly display it.”
Xie Yuan looked at Meng Xizhao with deep admiration. “Truly, you are remarkable, my lord.”
Meng Xizhao shook his head. “These are just temporary measures. They work for these two offices, but other areas still require hired labor. You were right; we need to increase revenue.”
Xie Yuan knew this too, but frowned. “Longxing Prefecture can’t even collect taxes now.”
Everyone is already tightening their belts; collecting taxes might incite unrest.
Meng Xizhao said, “Then don’t tax locals. Tax outsiders instead.”
“Merchants chase profit. As long as there’s money to be made here, even if the Nan Zhao army approached, they would still risk coming to trade. They left previously only because this place lacked what they wanted.”
Xie Yuan: “…And now we have it?”
Meng Xizhao didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he asked, “What did Longxing Prefecture’s revenue rely on before?”
Xie Yuan: “The grain grown by the people.”
Meng Xizhao asked again: “And the merchants who came here before—what did they buy and sell?”
Xie Yuan thought: “Mostly medicinal herbs. This area produces rhubarb, atractylodes, plantain seed, snake-tongue grass, indigo root. But it’s spring now; herb merchants come in autumn. Even if they come now, the mountains lack herbs for the people to gather.”
Meng Xizhao responded thoughtfully: “Then we can develop herb cultivation. If they grow wild, they can grow domesticated too.”
Growing herbs is more profitable than grain, but most farmers hesitate to abandon staple crops for fear of disaster. They feel secure growing food.
This requires government promotion. Xie Yuan thought it feasible and nodded.
Yet it still wouldn’t solve the immediate problem; herbs take time to mature.
Xie Yuan raised this concern. Meng Xizhao simply smiled at him.
Xie Yuan: “…My lord, no need to tease me.”
Meng Xizhao lightly snorted. Teasing was his delight. He rubbed his face and said: “Herbs can become Longxing Prefecture’s primary source of future revenue. The land is fertile, conditions perfect; any herb can grow. Let’s strive to make this a city of herbs, attracting all herb traders here. In the meantime, while herbs aren’t yet famous, we can sell other goods.”
Xie Yuan frowned in curiosity. “Sell what?”
Meng Xizhao beckoned him closer.
Leaning in, Xie Yuan saw Meng Xizhao whisper a single word: “Snakes.”
Xie Yuan: “…………”
He was stunned—for two reasons. First, Meng Xizhao had dared to speak the true name of Changxian, the divine snake. Second, Meng Xizhao actually wanted to go into the snake trade.
Yet, amid his shock, he began to realize… maybe it wasn’t impossible.
Longxing Prefecture had plenty of snakes. Ever since Emperor Tianshou renamed them “Changxian,” people no longer killed them on sight, fearing legal repercussions. Naturally, the snakes began multiplying.
However, the emperor favored pythons. He had little interest in Longxing Prefecture’s small snakes. Merchants willing to take risks would go to Nan Zhao or Dali to obtain pythons, carefully raising them to sell to Yingtian Prefecture.
Merchants were, indeed, some of the most stubborn people in the world. If the price was right, they could even transport ten-meter-long pythons.
But this made each snake extremely expensive. When Meng Xizhao initially had Jin Zhu purchase Bai Suzheng and Xiao Qing—both young, small, and lacking impressive markings—they still cost three thousand taels.
Following Meng Xizhao’s reasoning, Xie Yuan felt he began to understand. “Have the people catch snakes. Since Longxing Prefecture’s snakes are smaller, the purchase price can be lower.”
Meng Xizhao wore a look of childlike diligence. “Naturally, don’t sell the common species. Rarer ones, ideally those not found in the north, will sell better.”
Xie Yuan nodded, then raised another concern. “What if outsiders refuse to buy? Perhaps they still want pythons.”
Meng Xizhao shrugged. “Not everyone can afford a python. Those who can’t can spend a hundred or two hundred taels to raise a small snake for fun.” He paused, then added, “Besides, every sale needs proper marketing. Don’t worry; I’ve already thought of that.”
Xie Yuan blinked, unsure what “marketing” meant, but seeing Meng Xizhao’s confident expression, he chose to trust him.
That evening, Meng Xizhao summoned the reclusive Daoist Zang Chen.
Refusal wasn’t an option—Meng Xizhao held all the Daoist’s secrets. He dared not show disrespect.
They whispered together, and Meng Xizhao shared his plan. Zang Chen gasped in alarm. “Th-This… this is impossible!”
Meng Xizhao asked calmly, “Why impossible? You convinced Jin Wan so convincingly; how could this fail?”
Zang Chen: “…But Jin Wan had nothing to do with snakes!”
Everyone knew the emperor’s obsession with snakes. If he discovered Zang Chen had lied, he might be summoned personally. Zang Chen had no such ambition—he was content deceiving a city of common folk.
Flustered, the Daoist looked anything but divine, appearing almost pathetic.
Meng Xizhao reassured him: “…What are you afraid of? I’ll protect you. Besides, haven’t you always wanted fame? This will make your reputation soar.”
Zang Chen scowled. “My lord, all things in excess are harmful.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “You’re worse than I am at being a charlatan! If the emperor summons you, just pretend you cannot go, claiming the deities dictate your fate. Let him and your deity clash—he’ll back off naturally.”
Zang Chen’s pupils dilated, stunned.
Meng Xizhao, irritated by his foolish expression, finally got him to agree to the plan and waved him out.
Meng Xizhao then poured himself a cup of tea, downing it in one gulp to calm himself.
He turned to the letters delivered yesterday, reading them again. He had written three letters to the Meng family, each different but filled with care. Today, no letters had arrived.
Normally, the Crown Prince’s couriers should be faster than the administrative ones…
Ah, he wondered what was happening over there.
It was already late, yet Xie Yuan had not returned to his room.
Since arriving at Longxing Prefecture, he had exerted himself daily, making decisions with extreme caution. Not only did he wish to accomplish something, but the state of the prefecture weighed heavily on his mind.
Yet Xie Yuan was a man of rules. His “ideas” came only from observing precedent, unlike Meng Xizhao, who constantly broke conventional thinking to devise solutions no one else could imagine.
That didn’t mean Xie Yuan lacked his own strategies.
If he couldn’t think of a solution, he relied on Meng Xizhao. He realized this prefect was ambitious, with a long list of things to accomplish. Once one problem was solved, his mind immediately jumped to another—like his recent inquiries about Jiangzhou, likely to plan something there.
Seeing Meng Xizhao act so, Xie Yuan devised his own approach.
For example, today, he exaggerated the problem’s urgency to force Meng Xizhao to produce an immediate solution.
He told him only twenty thousand taels remained. True—but that balance would only materialize in two months. Currently, only forty thousand taels had been spent on grain; one hundred thousand remained untouched.
Having obtained a reliable solution from Meng Xizhao, Xie Yuan immediately went to the city hall, reviewing past tax records and Longxing Prefecture’s geography, thinking carefully about which areas would be suitable for pilot herb cultivation.
Xie Yuan thought through the matter until the middle of the night.
By the time he left the capital office, the moon hung high in the sky. A young servant supported him as they silently returned to his room; neither wanted to speak. Exhausted and sleepy, he would likely collapse onto his pillow the moment he sat down.
Nearby, Xie Yuan heard footsteps. Turning, he saw two figures hurrying along the main avenue of the prefecture.
One of them paused upon seeing him.
Xie Yuan stared blankly. It was Cui Ye. Cui Ye glanced at Xie Yuan’s still-weakened left leg, saw he could stand with a cane, and judged he was fine. Then he turned away and continued forward.
Zhang Shuogong followed, saying nothing to the eldest son of the Xie family. Unlike Yu Fulan, Zhang Shuogong was an orphan, with no ties to the Xie household.
Only when the two had walked far away did Xie Yuan blink slowly and turn to his servant. “I suppose I’ve really been too tired lately.” He laughed at himself. “I actually saw His Highness pass right in front of me, and not a word was spoken. Truly delusional.”
The servant gave a complex look. “Master, you didn’t see things. That really did happen.”
Xie Yuan: “…………”