BEGW C66

Chapter 66

Jiang Yuxun’s voice floated through the half-open doors of Liuyun Hall and spread into the corridor beyond.

Eunuch Sang, who was standing guard outside, immediately widened his eyes in alarm.

He cast a hesitant glance toward the inside of the hall, then quickly lowered his voice and, without delay, sent away the other attendants lingering by the palace gates.

Meanwhile, within Liuyun Hall, a faint shift appeared upon Ying Changchuan’s expression.

He lowered his gaze toward the jade cup in his hand, as though giving careful thought to the matter. “Very well.”

…Very well?!

For a brief instant, Jiang Yuxun even suspected he had misheard. But as soon as that thought rose, regret followed close on its heels.

Why was I so honest just now?

Seeing Jiang Yuxun’s face full of self-reproach, Ying Changchuan set down the cup and asked, “What is the matter?”

Although he had no shortage of money after selling wine, Jiang Yuxun could not help but smart at the thought of those three years’ salary he had lost to fines.

What if Ying Changchuan intended to use this as yet another excuse to “acquire revenue”?

He asked, with some unwillingness and grievance, “Does Your Majesty truly mean to punish me?” Then he sighed, resigned as though submitting to fate, and added softly: “Might I ask what exactly Your Majesty intends as the penalty?”

Ying Changchuan did not answer him directly. Instead, after a pause, he said evenly, “I haven’t yet made up my mind. For now, let it be a debt you owe.”

At once, Jiang Yuxun beamed with joy, nearly unable to keep himself from blurting out “Excellent!”

He hastily loosened his tightly clenched hands, cleared his throat, and feigned solemnity as he replied, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the saying goes, *“Great lords are forgetful.”*¹ Ying Changchuan was weighed down with matters of state; perhaps by tomorrow morning this small incident would have been entirely forgotten.

Moreover, judging from his demeanor… it seemed the emperor had no intent to demand money from him.

As long as it was not a fine, anything else could be endured!

Jiang Yuxun slowly raised the wine cup, using the act of drinking to conceal the smile at his lips.

Even so, in the privacy of his mind, he added a quiet, stabbing thought: miserly.

At this very moment, the entirety of what lay in Jiang Yuxun’s heart was written upon his face—and fell directly into Ying Changchuan’s eyes…

The wine soaked in bayberries carried a trace of tart sweetness.

The Son of Heaven took a light sip, then said carelessly, “It was only a trifling matter, but alas, I have ever been stingy. I beg my beloved minister’s forbearance.”

“Pfft—cough, cough!”

Jiang Yuxun choked violently, wine nearly killing him as he sat across from Ying Changchuan.

He had only just slandered the emperor in his heart, and guilt surged within him.

How uncanny—could Ying Changchuan have heard the thoughts in my own mind?

After several moments of tense silence, Jiang Yuxun silently began crying out Ying Changchuan’s name in his heart.

—Your Majesty?

—Ying Changchuan?

—Ying Changchuan, Ying Changchuan!

When at last no reaction came, only then did Jiang Yuxun cautiously breathe easier.

The Prefect of Shuolin reported: last year’s envoys, dispatched to the state of Haifeng in search of rice seed, had now returned to Great Zhou.

And the breeding had already begun—at the latest, there would be harvest by autumn.

In addition to the rice seeds, they had also brought back many spices and crops native to Haifeng—such as cloves.

If one were to add them to braising marinades, the flavor would certainly become richer and more layered.

…

The official sent from Shuolin spoke slowly, his accent thick, yet he was still able to use the official language clearly.

The promotion of phonetic notation² had evidently achieved significant results within Shuolin already.

His voice echoed again and again in the vastness of Liuyun Hall, eventually passing through the openwork taotie³ screen and reaching Ying Changchuan’s ears.

“Your Majesty,” the envoy spoke excitedly, “the envoys, upon reaching Haifeng, truly discovered the very rice of which Lord Jiang spoke. It is drought-resistant, can be planted on the hills of Shuolin, and moreover, it matures early. To count it all precisely, its growing cycle is more than twenty days shorter than ordinary rice. At most, one can reap three harvests in a single year!”

Having said this, he raised both hands to offer up a long wooden box. “Your Majesty, Lord Jiang, please behold: this is Haifeng rice.”

Although this grain had been in their possession for some time, and they already knew its virtues, the young envoy from Shuolin could not control the tremor in his hands as he lifted the box.

Born and raised in Shuolin, he had always grown up with hunger hovering like a dark cloud above him.

But in this instant, it was as if he finally glimpsed a strong wind sweeping across the wild plains, parting the heavy clouds and revealing the first ray of sunlight…

Eunuch Sang hurried forward, reverently took the box, wiped it with silk, and set it upon the emperor’s desk.

Jiang Yuxun could not resist turning to look.

The box, of purple sandalwood, was lined with the finest silk. Within lay the most modest of crops in Haifeng’s fields—yet it rested there as quietly as treasure.

Golden panicles, long and beardless, bore grains swelled to fullness.

Sturdy, emerald stalks rose straight, leaves narrower but erect, clearly more resistant to lodging than Great Zhou’s breeds.

Jiang Yuxun murmured, almost unconsciously, “How beautiful…”

The Shuolin envoy sniffled softly. “When your servant departed, back in the prefecture the seedlings had already begun to joint and tiller, growing like countless small trees in the fields. No doubt, by the time I return home, it will be a sea of golden waves stretching to the horizon.”

His gaze grew distant, as though travelling across ten thousand li, seeing his homeland far away.

The Son of Heaven smiled then, picking up the rice upon his table.

“In that case, someday I must personally travel to Shuolin to behold it with my own eyes.”

As he spoke, his fingers gently stroked the ear of grain.

It was midsummer, and within Xianyou Palace one could hear the shrill song of cicadas.

Ordinarily, such noise would stir impatience. But as Jiang Yuxun watched those fingers caress the rice, he suddenly glimpsed a tenderness within.

This time, Ying Changchuan’s intent was not conquest, not to menace the realm—he merely wished to witness a harvest.

At that thought, Jiang Yuxun’s heart trembled lightly, following the sway of the grain.

Hearing the emperor’s words, the Shuolin envoy grew near ecstatic. “This is the honor of my prefecture!”

Then, unconsciously, his eyes fell upon Jiang Yuxun.

The memory of seasickness still lingered in Jiang Yuxun’s heart—after the southern tour’s return to the capital, he had not wanted ever again to spend so long upon a boat. Yet now he could not refrain from saying: “This official also wishes to accompany Your Majesty.”

The growth of Haifeng rice was fast indeed, yet from breeding to promotion and prosperity still lay a long road.

But Jiang Yuxun could not wait to see it—the hills of Shuolin heavy with grain, the very air redolent with its fragrance!

“Good,” Ying Changchuan set the rice down, smiling as he looked at Yuxun. “Then it is settled.”

“It is settled.”

…

The carpenter Guan Shiming was then invited by Jiang Yuxun into Xianyou Palace.

He had originally planned to meet him at the Office of Seals⁴, but the emperor himself had been intrigued and summoned Guan Shiming to Liuyun Hall.

By this time it was already evening. The sunset’s fiery glow set ablaze the distant sky, burning into the eyes of all who beheld it.

The half-finished object Guan Shiming had crafted was large, requiring several palace attendants to carry it into the hall and place it before the Son of Heaven, removing the screen as they did.

Seeing the great wooden contraption before him, Ying Changchuan raised a brow with curiosity. “What is this thing?”

He walked forward, slowly circling to face the massive unfinished machine.

At once, sweat began to bead upon Guan Shiming’s forehead. “Y-y-your Majesty… th-this is a building…” His words faltered into stammering, thick with the accent of Guifeng Prefecture.

Fortunately, Guifeng was not far from Lanzé, where Jiang Yuxun’s original self had lived, and so Yuxun could barely make sense of him.

“Your Majesty, this is the ‘flower-lou loom’ that Master Guan has been devising of late.”

Seeing that his words had been understood, Guan Shiming exhaled in relief. “Yes, yes!”

The other officials present exchanged puzzled looks.

A flower-lou loom—also called a “pattern loom”—was a kind of weaving machine capable of producing intricate brocaded and patterned cloth. It represented the pinnacle of textile craftsmanship in ancient Huaxia.

The earliest pattern looms had been invented by women, predating the founding of Great Zhou, though they had since seen improvements. Nonetheless, the machine was still in an early and relatively primitive stage.

Zhuang Youli could not help murmuring, “But why does it look nothing like the machine I had imagined?”

Since Guan Shiming remained wiping sweat, Jiang Yuxun answered for him. “If I am not mistaken, Master Guan’s flower-lou loom has been improved upon his own design.”

Though only a half-finished object, Jiang Yuxun’s eyes shone with expectation.

For example, in cloth-making, one must first “spin” raw cotton into yarn, before one can “weave” that into cloth. The machinery required for spinning and weaving are entirely different.

Historians recorded that Guan Shiming had once improved spinning wheels—but had never delved into weaving.

Before seeing this loom, Jiang Yuxun had never imagined Guan capable of contriving it.

“Yes,” finally regaining himself, Guan nodded rapidly. “It is as Lord Jiang says!”

He dropped to his knees, gaze locked upon the floor, trembling in tension.

This loom had occupied his mind for years. But the materials it required, and the time, were simply too much for him to afford without support. Only now, having been recommended to the capital under official patronage, could he attempt its creation.

Jiang Yuxun voiced the prompt gently: “Master Guan, is this not the perfect time to introduce your work to His Majesty?”

Though still nervous, Guan knew the opportunity was rare beyond compare.

“Yes, Lord Jiang…” He inhaled, then finally raised his eyes toward the half-complete loom.

Barely in his twenties, long cloistered in a carpenter’s shop, his skin held pallor; yet his features were more delicate than Yuxun had expected, resembling less a craftsman and more the scholars of people’s imagination.

The lamplight fell upon the unvarnished loom, and seeing it, Guan felt a calm descend.

Slowly, carefully, he began: “The flower-lou loom stretches sixteen feet in length. It consists of ‘qu-pan,’ which raises and opens the warps, and also of ‘qu-jiao’⁵, which returns the warps to place. The qu-jiao are crafted of bamboo, and there are as many as one thousand, eight hundred of them…”

At this revelation, a collective hiss filled the hall.

One thousand eight hundred bamboo rods? No wonder so many days had been spent, and still only a half-product stood here.

As Guan described it, Ying Changchuan’s gaze swept toward the qu-jiao with distinct interest.

“How is this machine used?” the emperor asked, his faint smile never lessening the force of his presence.

Flustered by this direct inquiry, Guan began to stammer again. “T-to answer… f-first an artist… must—must…”

Unable to explain, Jiang Yuxun stepped in: “Your Majesty, Master Guan means that one needs an artist to draw the desired pattern upon paper. Then artisans lay silk threads upon the drawing to create a ‘pattern scheme.’ Next, this scheme is hung upon the loom, and the measurements and counts are set according to the design. Thus the cloth can be woven into brocade.”

“Yes, yes!” Guan Shiming glanced at him with deep gratitude. “Lord Jiang speaks truly!”

Jiang Yuxun studied the loom, inwardly struck with amazement.

Such a loom was vastly intricate, its making unfathomably complex. Yet Guan had not only built it—but without diagram!

…And yet, in history, such a genius had remained obscure, leaving no legacy until after death. What greater pity?

Jiang Yuxun, moved to admiration, spoke out boldly before the court: “Master Guan is indeed a genius of Heaven, to have wrought this!”

“Indeed!” Zhuang Youli and others echoed, “Surely he must have built it countless times in his heart!”

Even Eunuch Sang added his praise.

At once, Guan’s face flushed scarlet. “My lords overpraise me!”

With the atmosphere warm, Jiang Yuxun pressed further: “Your Majesty, carpentry is boundless. Since Master Guan could fashion such a loom, to improve upon saddles, or even crossbows, would also be within his reach.”

Though Guan had never dreamed of such designs, hearing this now stirred in him a great desire to remain in the capital and achieve renown. “Yes, yes—it would be no difficulty!”

Clearly interested, Ying Changchuan asked, “My beloved minister means…?”

The emperor, of course, had already formed some inner decision as soon as he beheld the loom; but he deliberately passed the initiative to Jiang Yuxun, intending to raise his stature among the men of talent across the land.

Jiang Yuxun bowed solemnly. “This servant believes that Master Guan Shiming must be kept in the capital.”

His eyes settled firmly upon the loom. “The cloth it produces may not only supply ourselves, but also be traded abroad.”

He alluded to Kehan and Haifeng.

The emperor nodded slowly. “Indeed.”

Turning then, Yuxun added: “Yet beyond this, might Master Guan also devise machines easier for the common people, to lighten their toil?”

Of the four needs, “clothing, food, shelter, and travel,” clothing was placed first. In an age without heating, garments were as essential to life as food.

Seeing Guan hesitate, Jiang Yuxun pressed: “To my mind, such a loom, simple but effective, would be even more vital to Great Zhou than the flower-lou itself.”

Weaving tools were so inefficient that countless women spent half their lives before them, backs bent, bones harmed; bitter beyond words.

Far better to ease their labor, than to merely enrich oneself through luxury cloth.

At these words, silence fell in the hall.

The scions of noble families stood stunned for a moment. Then, at last, they nodded: “Lord Jiang speaks rightly—”

Indeed, Great Zhou was not only composed of nobility; above all were the common folk.

After a pause, Guan grasped the meaning, and with trembling awe, threw himself to the ground. “Rest assured, my lord—I can certainly do this!”

He had brought the elaborate loom because he thought the great and powerful would favor it. But Jiang Yuxun’s unexpected focus moved him deeply.

“Excellent.” Yuxun smiled, then turned to bow once more to the throne.

And unlike the usual petitions of officials, his tone was calm declaration: “Your Majesty, this is why Master Guan must remain in the capital.”

His bearing was serene, the words mild—and yet impossible to refuse.

Ying Changchuan looked deep into his eyes.

Outside, the setting sun had dyed all the hall in crimson.

Within Jiang Yuxun’s black gaze, fire was reflected.

The image suddenly recalled for the emperor the brilliant sunset upon the Yi River’s bank… light that now seemed to set all heaven aflame across Great Zhou.

Naturally, he would not let such a talent slip away.

Later, when Guan withdrew, Jiang Yuxun brought a map of the capital once more to Liuyun Hall.

He pointed upon it, saying, “If I recall, this mansion has stood empty since the former dynasty. It would serve perfectly as a residence for Master Guan.”

By now, night had completely fallen. Candles filled the hall, yet their glow could not rival day.

Bent over the map, Yuxun drew close beside the emperor. It was sultry with summer heat, and as attendants fanned them from behind, Yuxun’s black hair brushed across Ying Changchuan’s hand…a fleeting itch.

The emperor asked instead: “My minister, do you know this was once the residence of a marquis of the former dynasty?”

“I do,” Jiang Yuxun nodded readily, unflinching. “But only such a dwelling could match a man of Master Guan’s talent.”

To Yuxun, Guan was no mere carpenter—he was a scientist. And Jiang could not bear to see such men spend their lives in poverty.

He sighed openly: “I admire him too greatly.”

…Admire?

The word was heavy; Ying Changchuan rarely heard it spoken.

But Jiang was excited, his voice echoing through the hall.

And to the emperor’s ears, it struck discordant.

Did Jiang Yuxun admire such men?

The shadow of displeasure passed across his brow.

And yet, when Jiang grew anxious at his lack of reply, and hastily said: “What is more, I’ve learned that although Master Guan is only in his twenties, he already has three children; his wife is again with child, and his parents and siblings all labor in his shop. If we wish to keep him, we must care also for his household.”

At these words, upon the mention of wife and children, the emperor’s mood seemed to ease—and at the word “we,” grew positively gentle.

He finally looked to the map and nodded. “What my minister says is true.”

Eh? For him to change so quickly…

Surprised, Jiang pressed: “For in my view, not to mention marquises and nobles—even the emperors of the former dynasty are not to be compared with our artisans of Great Zhou!”

The Son of Heaven’s grey eyes brightened with laughter. “Yes.”

See? I knew it—he is not one to care for rank over worth.

Jiang Yuxun drew forth another roll of design plans—blueprints of the mansion. “Your Majesty, look here—these structures in the rear court, once used for ancestral rites, can now serve as workshops. Moreover, the site is close to Yuyang Palace, convenient for us to visit him in the future.”

Carried along by enthusiasm, Jiang Yuxun spoke swiftly, never noticing his pronouns. Yet the emperor savored them.

Attendants gently fanned, breezes stirring Jiang Yuxun’s hair to brush once again against the emperor’s hand. Unable to resist, Ying Changchuan touched lightly with his fingertip—like cold mountain springs slipping away, carrying heat with them, but leaving a restive spark within.

Entirely unaware, Jiang Yuxun asked earnestly: “Your Majesty, might there be any deficiencies in my plan?”

“Master Guan cannot draw. In the long run, that will cause inconvenience,” the emperor replied, voice lower, tone different than usual. “…We might assign someone to teach him drawing, and also recruit suitable apprentices.”

“Yes, yes!” Jiang Yuxun nearly forgot Guan’s weaknesses. “This very matter I’ll arrange without delay. In fact, many carpenters are now reported from various places—we can choose apprentices from among them.”

“Indeed.”

Time had grown late. Jiang Yuxun began gathering the maps upon the desk—yet suddenly froze.

Wait—what had the emperor just said?

Had he not used the word “we”?!

Jiang Yuxun stiffened, thunderstruck.

The emperor had ever stood apart, never saying “you and I.”

For a moment, Jiang Yuxun doubted his own hearing.

Seeing him pause, Ying Changchuan looked down with a smile. “Does my minister have something more?”

Jiang ground his teeth. “Just now, I think I heard wrongly…”

Together, they rolled the scrolls. “What did you hear?” the emperor asked.

“To me it seemed—Your Majesty said… a strange word…” Jiang said vaguely, hoping the matter would be dismissed. Surely, even if the emperor had spoken so, he would deny it.

Yet Ying Changchuan, most casually, dropped the heaviest of bombs.

“‘We’?” He looked at him and smiled. “And what is wrong with that?”

Jiang Yuxun: ?!

What is wrong?!

Seeing him so righteous, Jiang Yuxun wondered at once whether it was he who had gone mad—or the world itself.

¹ Common proverb, implying officials often forget lesser matters.

² Refers to a system of phonetic marks (like primitive pinyin or similar linguistic aids) disseminated to promote literacy.

³ Taotie (饕餮): a mythological beast motif commonly carved in Chinese bronzes.

⁴ Office of Seals (Xuanyin Jian): an imperial bureau managing official seals and archives.

⁵ Qu-pan and qu-jiao: essential components of the loom; the latter are bamboo rods that separately lift and return warp threads, enabling complex brocade weaving.