BEGW C68

Chapter 68

At the turn of late summer into early autumn, the cries of cicadas gradually faded into silence.

In the vicinity of the Liuyun Hall, the only sound left was the unceasing mewling of a small cat.

Ying Changchuan idly scratched the kitten’s chin with a finger. “Why are you watching to see if it will bite me?”

Just moments ago, the little cat had been shrieking for help. Now it not only closed its mouth, but—spineless creature—it even shut its eyes and tilted its head up in leisurely enjoyment.

Jiang Yuxun instinctively gripped the hem of his robe, and, in a sudden surge, let everything spill out: “…Because I once heard Princess Lianyi speak of Your Majesty’s childhood in Zhezhuo[*], so I became curious to know how exactly Your Majesty was injured by a cat, and where the wound was.”

The motion of Ying Changchuan’s hand teasing the kitten came to an abrupt halt.

He slowly lowered his gaze toward Jiang Yuxun, and, after a long moment, repeated quietly: “…Where the wound was.”

His voice was deep and calm, his expression just as lazily composed as usual.

Yet for some inexplicable reason, Jiang Yuxun sensed a faint trace of danger in him.

Outside the Liuyun Hall, not a crow cawed nor a sparrow chirped; in Jiang Yuxun’s ears, only the kitten’s soft purring remained.

As the Emperor of Great Zhou, Ying Changchuan was no longer the naïve little boy from the former dynasty who devoted himself purely to playing with cats.

Even if he remembered such an incident now, he would be unwilling for a subordinate to bring up the anecdotes of his boyhood.

…His curiosity had indeed overstepped the bounds.

Jiang Yuxun swiftly turned his eyes away. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly raised his hand, intending to salute, take away the dirty little cat, and be done with it.

But before Jiang Yuxun could act, Ying Changchuan’s voice came from beside him.

“Shoulder.”

Jiang Yuxun was startled. “What shoulder?”

The fresh breeze scattered the thin clouds, and the round moon instantly bathed half of Xianyou Palace in its glow, illuminating also the little cat’s dust-covered paw pads.

Ying Changchuan frowned slightly and moved the cat farther away.

The phrase “aversion” seemed to take tangible form in that instant.

“When I was a child, a cat scratched my shoulder,” Ying Changchuan said with a brief chuckle, suddenly sinking into recollection. “I teased it too much, so it leapt at me, leaving several deep bloodied marks. It did indeed frighten my aunt.”

His tone was unusually light, with a hint of nostalgia woven in.

…Aunt.

The “aunt” Ying Changchuan referred to was none other than Princess Lianyi.

It was the first time Jiang Yuxun had ever heard him use such a mode of address, and he found himself momentarily dazed.

“So after that, did Your Majesty stop liking to tease cats?”

Ying Changchuan paused briefly, then slowly shook his head. “I still like them.”

…As expected of you.

“Mew!”

Perhaps it had been dangling from Ying Changchuan’s hold for too long, for the small cat finally cried out again in displeasure.

Jiang Yuxun hurried forward to take it, and in the motion could not help but glance up at the Emperor in puzzlement. “Since Your Majesty likes them, why not raise one?” As he spoke, he could not resist poking the kitten’s belly with his finger, murmuring to himself, “Playing with it a little each day could even help you relax.”

Ying Changchuan brushed the dust from his robe, speaking with seeming casualness. “Soon. No hurry.”

Soon?

Jiang Yuxun, puzzled, took out a silk cloth and began wiping the kitten’s dusted paws.

He was the Emperor. If he wished to raise one, could he not do so at any time?

…Why was there the need to wait?

An establishment selling strong liquor had officially opened its doors.

Jiang Yuxun had planned to sneak out for a visit, but before he could set off, he happened to meet Xing Zhi in Xianyou Palace, come to submit accounts.

“No need for you to go, Master Jiang,” Xing Zhi said, tapping the abacus without lifting his head. “The tavern’s stock is already sold out; the next shipment won’t arrive until next month.”

His movements were rapid enough to make the abacus nearly spark beneath his fingers.

“So fast?” Jiang Yuxun was taken aback. “Before opening, didn’t we already raise the price of liquor by thirty percent?”

Even before the tavern opened, many of the upper-class elite of Zhaodu had openly and privately sought out Xing Zhi to inquire about it.

At once, he had asked the Xuan Yin Bureau to send word to Jiang Yuxun, urging him to raise prices before opening day.

Jiang Yuxun, hardening his resolve, directly set the price thirty percent higher.

He had thought himself already quite ruthless—but even so, the costly strong liquor sold out in no time.

Xing Zhi, smiling slyly, finally lifted his gaze to Jiang Yuxun. “Zhaodu has never lacked for wealthy folk. Master Jiang, you truly underestimate the scions of noble houses and merchants here.”

“…That is true enough.”

Xing Zhi passed the completed account book to Jiang Yuxun, sipping tea as he said: “This year, our young master stockpiled about two thousand shi of grain—in current yield, that should produce at least three hundred shi of strong liquor.”

At the words “two thousand shi of grain,” the surrounding Xuan Yin Bureau officials drew in a sharp breath.

The annual salary of a Great Zhou “Nine Ministers” was but two thousand two hundred shi, so this venture was extraordinary in scale.

Jiang Yuxun nodded lightly. “By next year, the buyers of strong liquor will no longer be solely high officials and eminent noblemen.”

The Xuan Yin Bureau officials beside him had yet to shed the mindset that strong liquor was a luxury, and on hearing this, asked in puzzlement: “Why does Master Jiang say so?”

“They alone cannot absorb so much,” Jiang Yuxun said, glancing down at the ledger. “By next year, this liquor should be graded for sale. The lowest grade, unblended pure grain liquor, can be sold at one dou for one hundred qian.”

Nowadays, the price of purely fermented wine generally sat below forty qian.

Although strong liquor cost more than twice that, factoring in brewing costs, the figure was hardly excessive.

In the future, the Jiang family’s more private distillery would produce only top-grade strong liquor; ordinary strong liquor would be brewed elsewhere.

Jiang Yuxun smiled. “Only when output is high enough can it justly flow into Zhezhuo’s borders.”

“I see…” The Xuan Yin Bureau official nodded in vague comprehension.

Though young in years, Jiang Yuxun was affable by nature, without the airs of officialdom in the least.

Yet the way he spoke naturally carried a persuasive authority.

Whatever he said, the Xuan Yin Bureau trusted implicitly.

“…Indeed!” Hearing this, Xing Zhi suddenly took a deep breath and rose from his reed mat, bowing respectfully to Jiang Yuxun. “Once the large distillery outside the estate is completed, I wish to go north first for a look.”

Xing Zhi’s narrow brows and fine eyes lent him an air of sly worldly astuteness—yet at this moment, his gaze was unusually earnest, and his bearing grew steady.

Jiang Yuxun hurriedly returned the bow. “Xing Gongzi, you must not be so formal.” Then, meeting the other’s eyes, he asked, “Have you truly decided to go north?”

Xing Zhi nodded slowly. “Though business has shown some promise lately, I know all of it was only possible thanks to Master Jiang’s help. Without you, I would never enjoy today’s standing.”

His tone was firm—gone entirely was the idle, dissipated air that had once lingered between his brows; even when speaking, he now carried a hint of Jianghu gallantry.

Were there wine in the Bureau just now, Xing Zhi would certainly have drained a large cup in one go. “I have never forgotten the true purpose behind Master Jiang’s sale of liquor—nor dared to delay the grand plans of the court. Now that arrangements for the Zhaodu taverns are made, if I don’t seize this time to see the north, when else should I?”

Hearing this, Jiang Yuxun smiled with him.

—Men are born to yearn for the light.

In an age such as Great Zhou’s, with opportunity lying before them, no one can resist striving to carve out a career.

“Very well,” Jiang Yuxun raised his tea high toward Xing Zhi. “In a few days’ time, I’ll bid you farewell here in Zhaodu.”

Xing Zhi grinned. “Then I will not stand on ceremony!”

Envoys from Kehan had recently signed a major agreement with Great Zhou.

The tea they required was vast in quantity, and would take time yet to be shipped from Shuolin.

Thus the envoys remained in Zhaodu, touring the Yihe Plain with various court officials as guides.

Jiang Yuxun too hoped to learn more of Kehan during this stay—but now, as Grand Secretary, he had little time to accompany them.

First, he arranged for the horses brought from Kehan to be sent to the northern military pasture.

Then he swiftly dispatched men to distribute both newly cultivated wheat varieties and those sent from the Western Regions to all major military farms, ordering them to sow widely and replace millet with wheat.

He was in no rush to push the new wheat into civilian hands on a large scale.

—For now, countless commoners were watching the changes on the military farms; all he needed was for the yield to speak for itself.

If any civilians wished to plant wheat, the government would grant them facilities.

Before autumn sowing began, scattered households on the Yihe Plain had already taken seed wheat from the government, preparing to try it on their own fields in small plots for cultivation and seed-saving.

…

Yihe Plain, at the foot of Yueqiao Mountain.

Five or six villagers traveled together, headed straight for the official road.

As they were about to leave the village, a fellow villager stood halfway up the mountain with a bamboo basket, calling down loudly: “Tian Wuyi—where are you all off to?”

One of them turned back and shouted: “We’ve agreed to go into town to collect the government-issued wheat seeds!”

“Have you really decided?” The man on the slope glanced about furtively and then hurried down to lower his voice. “This year—will you not consult the shaman?”

The group’s faces suddenly tensed.

Under the Great Zhou’s policy of “rest fallowing,” each year the people had to set aside part of their land for lying fallow.

In past years, when sowing season came, villagers would habitually seek out shamans for divination to forecast the year’s harvest. The shamans would determine which plots to fallow, and even the exact sowing methods.

If a shaman predicted in advance that a great famine year was coming, the people would offer livestock in sacrifice.

Even after Ying Changchuan’s ascension, this practice was still hard to stamp out entirely.

Before Tian Wuyi could reply, the woman beside him called out loudly: “We won’t! Master Jiang’s word is never wrong—if it won’t be wrong, why waste money on that?”

“Exactly!” another said in agreement.

“It’s all for next year’s harvest anyway. Going to collect wheat seed from the government not only keeps us from being dragged into labor by the Xuan Yin Bureau, but is also free. Can’t go wrong!” The villagers spoke while walking toward the road, fearing to let others get ahead.

“Besides, Master Jiang said this wheat yields extremely high,” Tian Wuyi scratched his head toward his neighbor, “whether it tastes good or not, better to fill our bellies first.”

Though both banks of the Yihe had enjoyed a rich harvest this year, the fear of hunger still ran deep in their hearts.

They cared little about the new strain’s taste—high yield was enough.

Over the past year, the people had come to trust every word Jiang Yuxun uttered.

“That’s true…” The man who had called out originally dropped his basket and said, “I’ll go with you!” Then he too headed for the road.

“Come, come!” The first woman beckoned to the group. “Last year we missed the great chance to open wasteland in the military farms—this year we can’t fall behind.”

“Well said—let’s hurry!”

The crowd of wheat-seekers grew steadily, reaching over twenty by the time they arrived in town.

They had thought they could collect seeds immediately upon arrival—only to find the government gate already lined with people for a hundred meters.

The enthusiasm for sowing the new wheat was far greater than anyone had anticipated.

※

Now the new wheat seed had been distributed to the military farms and civilians along the Yihe, only waiting for cooler temperatures in a few days’ time before sowing began.

This new wheat differed from the old not only in yield.

Its greatest distinction lay in its use for food.

To promote flour production, milling equipment had to be in place ahead of time.

In later generations, once wheat flour spread, almost every household had a small stone mill.

But now all had just begun, and the government would need to provide these mills to both military farms and civilians who chose the new wheat.

Dressed in a pale-blue summer robe, Jiang Yuxun made his way slowly up the mountain.

The Emperor, in plain black civilian garb, walked at his side.

Behind them trailed dozens of Xuan Yin Bureau officials.

Jiang Yuxun had already ordered a mill built nearby on the mountain.

Today, he would bring the Emperor to inspect it; if all went well, it could quickly be promoted in all new wheat areas.

Stepping unevenly along, Jiang Yuxun explained to Ying Changchuan:

“…A stone mill is used to grind flour. Smaller millstones can be turned by human power, but larger ones require animals or other means—such as wind or water.”

Windmills and watermills had each, in their fashion, influenced history.

But the lands of Great Zhou lay deeply under the sway of the monsoon—wind was unreliable.

By contrast, there was abundant mountain and water—even the arid North could rely on the Cishui River for watermills.

Thus Jiang Yuxun had decided directly to promote the watermill.

As they spoke, the party arrived at the newly built mill.

Made of wood, it sat above a narrow stream, appearing no different from an ordinary house without close inspection.

After the long climb, Jiang Yuxun exhaled a long breath. “…At last. Your Majesty, let’s go in and have a look!” He pushed the mill’s door open.

“Alright.” Ying Changchuan nodded and entered with him.

The little stream was but two meters wide, and the mill above it was small indeed.

Seeing this, Qi Pingsha, commander of the Bureau, gestured for his men to halt and stand guard outside.

Windows on both sides let in a trace of moisture.

Jiang glanced back instinctively—the mill’s upstream was a small waterfall.

Ying Changchuan seemed interested in this mill, and looked out with Jiang Yuxun. “Why build the mill under the waterfall?”

“To answer Your Majesty,” Jiang Yuxun replied earnestly, “this mill uses water power to turn the stone—so for stronger force, naturally, the greater the volume and fall of water, the better.” He placed his hand atop the great stone disk at the mill’s center.

Just then, the massive stone turned slowly under the push of the water.

Even with all his strength, Jiang Yuxun could not stop its rotation.

“Your Majesty, see—this is the power of the water.” He pointed beneath the grindstone. “From here, you can see the stream below.”

Ying Changchuan looked down through a gap—there, in the water, lay a great wooden wheel, slowly turning under the current.

Above it was a wooden column connected to the indoor stone, the two turning together now.

The watermill was of the utmost simplicity—its workings clear at a glance.

From Ying Changchuan’s look, Jiang knew at once he understood the mechanism.

“In this small watermill, the structure spans the stream—but at Cishui in the North, one cannot build this way,” he wrinkled his nose. “Costs too high—no need at all.”

Cishui’s narrowest point spanned hundreds of meters; naturally, one could not build such ‘bridge-house’ mills.

In the small mill now, only Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan remained.

With the murmur of water in their ears, Jiang crouched down on the floor, drawing seriously on a plank with a twig.

He shifted to leave space for the Emperor to peer down.

He thought the Emperor would only stand and watch his movements.

Yet, unexpectedly, Ying Changchuan crouched down elegantly beside him.

Their breaths were suddenly drawn close together.

Seeing the familiar dark robe, Jiang’s eyes widened. “…Your Majesty?”

“What is it?” Ying Changchuan asked lightly.

“Why are you crouching down?”

You are the Emperor, for heaven’s sake!

Ying Changchuan gave a soft laugh, tilting his head to look into Jiang’s eyes. “It’s fine—there’s only us here.”

The faint scent of imperial dragon musk was caught in the wind and carried to Jiang’s nose…

Outside, the Bureau kept their watch.

Yet here he was alongside the Emperor, secretly crouched low.

A strange thrill rose swiftly in Jiang’s chest.

Cool droplets drifted in through the window, landing on his neck in time with those words “only us.”

He shivered slightly, remembering his purpose.

Jiang gripped the twig again and continued his drawing.

The fresh mill still had a layer of wood shavings unswept; with little effort, he drew the outline of a waterwheel on the floor.

“Below the stone are two kinds of wooden wheels—one is the flat type, like tonight’s. The other is the upright type—here, what I’ve drawn.”

In speaking, he realized he too had said “us,” as the Emperor had earlier.

But the words were already out—since the Emperor took no offense, Jiang, long resigned, let it stand.

Droplets continued to fall, dampening their hair.

Unlike Jiang, who flinched now and then, the Emperor seemed untouched by cold.

He nodded. “With the upright wheel, you can build the mill beside water—no need to span the stream.”

“Yes!” Jiang drew in a bent wooden column. “This column—biggest difference.”

As he spoke, his fingers absently stroked the twig; fair, slender digits were soon flushed by the rough bark.

Ying Changchuan looked aside instinctively, then rose to his feet.

“Your Majesty?”

Had he tired of the wheel so soon?

Unaware of the cause, Jiang quickly dropped the twig and rose with him.

Today the Emperor was his principal in this project—though puzzled, Jiang eagerly shifted to another topic. “The outer husk of wheat is called bran; with water it can be feed for chickens—a double benefit.”

In the mill’s corner lay a sack of unshelled wheat.

Jiang said as he readied to demonstrate: “These have been washed and dried—just pour them into the hole in the stone’s center.”

He was bending to tip the sack when, loaded as it was, he nearly dropped it.

“Your Majesty, wait—I—”

Before he could set it down and ladle slowly, Ying Changchuan came to stand behind, lifting the heavy sack himself. “Careful.”

Golden wheat poured into the stone’s mouth with a “rustle” sound.

This time, their bodies pressed close together.

Jiang carried a faint trace of wine scent—warmth mingled with it from the Emperor’s nearness.

A strand of long hair brushed his cheek, unsettling the Emperor’s breath a moment.

Ying Changchuan felt the other’s body quiver faintly, and in the next instant, saw the tips of his ears flush red.

“Yes…yes, Your Majesty.”

The great stone turned slowly under the water’s push.

In moments, it yielded pure white flour.

Now, within the mill, only the two of them remained.

Water’s murmur and the sack’s rustle blended, sealing them from the outside world entirely.

Spray dampened black brocade.

And in that moment, the Emperor allowed himself to gaze upon the pale jade-like nape beside him.

Smooth black hair, tied into a ponytail, slid toward the shoulder with each movement; only the few wetted strands clung to skin, trembling with each breath.

The fragrance of wine filled the mill.

…He lifted his other hand unconsciously, intending to brush those strands away.

But at that instant, Jiang drew hastily aside, inhaling sharply. “After—after that, sweep what’s left into a sieve, sift it once, then repeat as before.”

His voice held a trace of nasal tone.

He took the sorghum-branch brush and swept the millstone, unaware he had left the sack to the Emperor.

The stone ground swiftly; Jiang had to sweep often.

Ying Changchuan cooperated silently, adjusting speed as he poured wheat in.

Sunlight filtered through mist, refracted into rainbow hues.

For a fleeting moment, the Emperor thought—if time froze here, perhaps it would not be bad at all.

“Your Majesty, why are you still holding it?” Sweeping done, Jiang at last noticed the sack, startling. “Put it down quickly!”

Lowering his gaze, Ying Changchuan hid his eyes as he set the half-empty sack down.

When Jiang moved to sweep again, he said softly, “Wait a moment.”

“What is it?” In the sun’s glow, Jiang’s dark eyes shone bright; his tension, uncertainty, and doubt lay plain to the Emperor.

Smiling, Ying Changchuan lifted a hand to roll up his sleeve.

His long fingers brushed warm skin at the wrist.

Jiang instinctively tried to draw back, but was gently stayed. “Careful not to let your sleeve catch the flour.”

The Emperor’s tone was utterly frank—as though there was no private intent in the gesture.

“Oh—oh…yes, Your Majesty.” A few breaths later, Jiang’s wrist trembled slightly, and obediently held its place.

[*]: Zhezhuo (折柔) — the name of a place in the story’s world, likely a province or region under Great Zhou’s governance.