BEGW C75

Chapter 75

The official road had yet to be cleared. The people of Xikou City were all sheltering from the cold in their homes, and all that could be heard around was the whisper of falling snow.

Inside the side hall, there was only a single desk.

Jiang Yuxun had to guide the emperor around the damp spots on the floor, and the two of them took their seats opposite each other.

Outside, the snowfall seemed to have grown heavier. The fire in the brazier flickered faintly, casting a wavering glow across Jiang Yuxun’s face.

As he continued wiping the floor, he carefully recounted what had just happened.

His voice was low and muffled, rare for him to sound so dispirited.

“…As the saying goes, ‘He who does not think of himself is doomed by heaven and earth.’ To have selfish desires is no sin, but I believe what distinguishes man from beast is the ability to overcome instinct and greed at times. A man like Wei Shuxi—how is he any different from an animal?”

He was clearly furious, still unwilling to let go of the chance to curse Wei Shuxi even now.

Yet, after speaking to Ying Changchuan, the frustration in his chest gradually began to dissipate—almost magically so.

…Perhaps a man truly shouldn’t bottle up his anger.

After listening to everything, Ying Changchuan set down the teacup that had long since grown cold and turned his gaze upon the man sitting across from him.

Jiang Yuxun, meanwhile, couldn’t help but mutter a soft reflection in the presence of the emperor:

“As Minister of the Secretariat, I shouldn’t have acted so impulsively, nor lost my temper before so many people. In the future, I ought to be more composed in word and deed…”

The emperor chuckled softly. He neither agreed nor disagreed, but instead asked, “And what does my dear minister intend to do next?”

Jiang Yuxun’s expression immediately grew solemn. “In my opinion, given the current circumstances, it should be handled according to military law.”

In his eyes, there was no difference between natural calamity and warfare. In both cases, “profiteering” was tantamount to “taking lives.”

Ying Changchuan nodded slowly. “Then do as you see fit.”

His tone was perfectly calm, as though Wei Shuxi’s actions had not provoked his anger in the slightest.

Seeing this, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but ask curiously, “Your Majesty is not angry?”

In his mind, the emperor cared about the matter of Taoyan just as much as he did.

Wei Shuxi’s conduct had crossed the emperor’s bottom line as well—yet he appeared remarkably composed.

Before Ying Changchuan could respond, Jiang Yuxun suddenly added, as though recalling something, “…Ah, that’s right. I heard such things were already rampant in the former dynasty. When Your Majesty led troops to war, you must have encountered many such cases?”

“Indeed,” Ying Changchuan replied, casually pouring himself another cup of tea. “The previous dynasty had countless men who embezzled military funds and hoarded supplies for personal gain. Every winter, there were always soldiers who froze to death in the northern frontier.”

Having once been to the northern lands himself, Jiang Yuxun’s hand unconsciously tightened.

In such extreme cold, with little food and no proper clothing—it was no wonder that, in the former dynasty, ‘stationed in the North’ was synonymous with death.

As they spoke, a sudden commotion arose within the prefectural office.

Faint voices carried through the window to Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

“…The official road’s been cleared!”

“Does that mean we can depart?”

“Yes! Hurry and call for Lord Jiang—we’d best set out early, lest something else happen.”

It was time to head deeper into Taoyan Commandery.

As they spoke, a flurry of footsteps approached the side hall.

Jiang Yuxun set down his teacup and rose slowly, following behind the emperor.

Just as they were about to step outside, he couldn’t hold back from asking, “Your Majesty… was that why you chose to overthrow the former dynasty?”

The Chronicles of Zhou made no mention of the exact reason Ying Changchuan had ascended to the throne.

Later historians mostly assumed that, being too meritorious, he had aroused the former emperor’s suspicion, and thus rebelled for the sake of self-preservation.

But Jiang Yuxun had never believed such a claim…

The doors to the hall slowly opened, and a blade of icy wind sliced into the room through the crack.

Ying Changchuan halted mid-step, then suddenly turned to glance back at Jiang Yuxun. He smiled faintly. “No, that wasn’t the reason.”

“Then what was it?” Jiang Yuxun lifted his gaze, meeting the emperor’s eyes.

His expression was earnest—almost expectant.

The wind howled through Xikou City, carrying Ying Changchuan’s voice toward him.

The emperor’s tone was calm and matter-of-fact, without the slightest concealment.

“I simply believed that no one under heaven was more suited for the throne than I.”

As a man of his time, he made no attempt to “justify” himself—he merely spoke his truth, plain and unabashed.

Having said so, Ying Changchuan pushed open the wooden door without a second thought and stepped out into the snow.

Behind him, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but laugh softly.

As expected!

He had known all along that Ying Changchuan was not the sort of man to be driven to rebellion.

An attendant approached outside and offered a fox-fur cloak. Ying Changchuan took it but did not yet drape it over his shoulders. Instead, he turned back toward Jiang Yuxun. “And what does my dear minister think?”

“Hmm?” Jiang Yuxun, adjusting his belt, looked up, startled for a moment—then smiled. “I think so too.”

—Because truly, while Ying Changchuan might have his flaws, the emperors of the former dynasty had been far more absurd.

The wind lifted the snow and mist, blanketing the entire prefecture.

Even through the swirling flurries, Jiang Yuxun could see the faint upward curve of the emperor’s lips—and the warmth in his eyes.

The Son of Heaven had never cared for the judgment of the world.

Yet at that moment, Jiang Yuxun’s words, like sunlight on snow, melted the frost that had long gathered in his heart—stirring within him a quiet joy he had not known before.

The carriage wheels of the Great Zhou were made of pure wood, dangerous to drive in the snow.

A single slip could send them spinning out of control and cause disaster.

Thus, Jiang Yuxun’s party chose to travel on horseback into the depths of Taoyan Commandery, leaving only the necessary supplies to be carried by wagon.

Tong Hailin, the Prefect of Taoyan, accompanied them.

As soon as they reached the roadside, Jiang Yuxun noticed him coughing incessantly.

“Lord Tong, have you caught a chill?” Jiang Yuxun asked anxiously. “The snow won’t stop for another day or two—if you’re unwell, it’s best you rest here in Xikou City.”

“…Cough, cough. It’s nothing serious,” Tong Hailin replied, pressing a fist to his lips. “An old ailment—no medicine helps.”

Liang Zhiwei, who was adjusting his saddle nearby, turned his head and said, “If you ask me, Lord Tong still hasn’t quite adjusted to the climate here in Taoyan. Every time the temperature drops, he coughs nonstop.”

Indeed, the difference in diet, water, and weather between north and south was vast. Having lived his life without ever venturing far, and now being advanced in years, Tong Hailin likely found it hard to adapt.

Jiang Yuxun was about to insist further, but before he could open his mouth, the older man had already mounted his horse and ridden forward slowly.

After a few steps, he turned back with a smile. “I’m the Prefect of a commandery—how can I falter now?”

As he spoke, the wrinkles on his face deepened with the smile.

The area around Xikou City had once been a swamp, but now, the miasmic marshes had been transformed into fertile fields stretching for thousands of acres.

Artificially dug creeks and canals connected these lands to the nearby towns and villages. Come spring, boats would be able to sail through them freely—the very blueprint Tong Hailin had drawn years ago was finally taking shape.

It was the fruit of his years of labor.

Unlike the timid official he once was—who would flee from trouble whenever it appeared—Tong Hailin now truly regarded Taoyan as his second home and devoted himself wholeheartedly to improving it.

Jiang Yuxun understood his resolve.

“Very well,” Jiang Yuxun smiled, mounting his horse behind him. “Just be careful on the road, Lord Tong!”

“Of course!”

…

Thick cloth had been wrapped around the horses’ hooves, allowing them to tread more steadily on the frozen ground.

Riding side by side, Tong Hailin and Jiang Yuxun conversed amidst the wind and snow about irrigation plans and the people’s livelihood in Taoyan.

“The official road was so badly damaged—are the people of Xikou living on the city’s grain reserves? Will it last them?”

“Don’t worry,” Tong Hailin coughed lightly. “Including the army’s fields, the cultivated land in Taoyan has more than doubled. With last year and this year both being good harvests, the city’s granaries are full—we’ll make it through the winter just fine.”

Liang Zhiwei nodded. “Yes, the granary workers are pounding rice every day, distributing rations at fixed times.”

After the harvest, the rice had to be threshed, dried, and stored. When needed, the husks were removed before cooking—only then could it be preserved long-term without spoiling.

“That’s good,” Jiang Yuxun exhaled in relief.

The trees along the road had been cleared, but after days of disuse, the path remained far more slippery than he had imagined.

Their pace slowed again and again. At first, they had been chatting along the way, but soon, everyone had to focus on the road beneath them and their mounts’ footing—no one had attention to spare for conversation.

As they went, Jiang Yuxun peered through the wind and snow at the roadside.

Most of the houses had been crushed under the weight of ice; the trees lay toppled and broken.

The only comfort was that, according to Tong Hailin, the villagers nearby had already evacuated before the road was blocked—some taking refuge with kin, others sheltering in schools.

The wind swept across the plains, numbing half of Jiang Yuxun’s body and stinging his exposed skin with pain.

He did not know how long they had been traveling when Tong Hailin’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Lord Jiang, that’s Lingping County ahead!”

Following his gaze southward, Jiang Yuxun could indeed make out a shadowed ridge on the horizon.

Ying Changchuan, riding in the lead, also reined in his horse.

Through the veil of snow, they could still discern a line of dark peaks stretching across the sky—the Fengling Mountains, lying at Taoyan’s southernmost border.

Before the road was blocked, reports from the counties under Taoyan had already arrived.

Even then, the number of collapsed houses made one thing clear—Lingping was the worst-hit region in the entire commandery.

When setting out, Jiang Yuxun had studied the maps and found the cause:

Lingping lay at the northern foot of Fengling, where cold air descending from the north met warm, moist air rising from the south.

Unable to cross the mountains, the cold air pooled here—eventually bringing calamity.

Just then, a sudden gust of wind swept through, scattering both clouds and snow, revealing the scenery on either side of the road.

Someone asked, “What kind of fruit trees are those?”

Tong Hailin answered loudly, “The area around Fengling is Taoyan’s largest citrus-growing region—the trees along the road are all orange trees!”

“Wait—don’t go any farther yet.”

Seeing the scene ahead, Jiang Yuxun quickly dismounted and strode into the orchard, asking, “Has anyone tended to these trees in recent days?”

The emperor too dismounted, walking forward at an unhurried pace.

The others followed.

“No,” Tong Hailin said, his face shadowed with worry. “The snow’s been too heavy. The people don’t even have warm clothes—they wouldn’t dare come out.”

These fruit trees were the lifeblood of the Lingping villagers.

When the snow first began, the locals had been desperate to do something, anything—but lacking experience with such cold, and faced with freezing winds, the authorities had no choice but to station guards here, sending back anyone who tried to come out.

Now the trees’ leaves were withering in the frost, their branches snapping beneath the weight of ice.

Some had already collapsed entirely, beyond saving.

Jiang Yuxun brushed the thin layer of ice from one leaf and turned to bow to Ying Changchuan.

“Your Majesty, these trees must be dealt with immediately, or the entire orchard will perish before winter ends.”

His expression was grave, his presence carrying a chill as sharp as the wind itself.

The emperor’s tone was equally serious. “The cotton garments should reach Taoyan within three days via the Chen River. Once they arrive, they will first be distributed to the stationed troops. As for the orchards near Fengling, the soldiers will take charge of repairs. Lord Jiang, you shall oversee this matter.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” Jiang Yuxun replied at once.

Though surrounded by many, it felt as if an invisible barrier encircled only the two of them.

Without any third party’s interference, they had settled the matter with a few exchanges.

Hearing their words, Tong Hailin couldn’t help but ask, “How does Lord Jiang plan to proceed?”

Among the group were several agricultural specialists brought along by Ying Changchuan, though most were older and had stayed behind to rest in Xikou.

However, on their first night there, Jiang Yuxun had already conferred with them at length, devising an initial plan based on the local conditions.

Now, seeing the orchard’s devastation firsthand, that plan became perfectly clear in his mind.

He glanced back at the emperor, who nodded slightly, signaling for him to continue.

Around Lingping were many such orchards—some vast, like this one, others small and scattered across fields and courtyards.

The soldiers could not possibly tend to every single one.

Much would depend on Prefect Tong to organize manpower and spread the techniques among the people.

Drawing his silver sword, Jiang Yuxun demonstrated directly.

With swift, clean movements, he sliced a frozen branch from a nearby tree.

“First, send men to prune the frostbitten branches—remember to go from light to heavy cuts. Start with the limbs that can no longer bear fruit but still consume the tree’s strength. Then gather straw and rice stalks to spread on the ground for insulation and moisture retention.”

Tong Hailin and the local officials nodded rapidly, taking notes.

The soldiers watched intently, afraid to miss a word.

Jiang Yuxun sniffed, sheathed his sword, and continued,

“After the snow melts in spring, there’s no need to clear away the straw. Once it decomposes, it will enrich the soil. Even in years without snow, you can use this method to test the results.”

At that moment, his expression was solemn, his dark eyes reflecting nothing but the white expanse of snow and the orchard before him.

Everyone—including the emperor—had their gaze fixed upon him.

Though young, every word he spoke carried conviction.

Then, noticing a young sapling nearby—its trunk thinner than a bowl’s width, trembling in the wind—he crouched beside it.

“For smaller saplings like this, wrap the trunk with hemp rope and straw to protect it.”

As he spoke, he gestured carefully, demonstrating.

The methods he described had been written into a memorial he’d submitted to the emperor the previous night.

Now, Ying Changchuan not only listened, but watched him closely.

Jiang Yuxun’s nose was reddened by the cold, his voice hoarse—but his focus was unwavering, as though the storm did not exist.

Every now and then, he turned to seek the emperor’s approval, or unconsciously nodded toward him as he explained.

—He had no idea how dazzling he appeared at that moment.

His long lashes, dark as crow feathers, trembled with the wind.

His eyes held no trace of fear—only determination and sincerity.

His calm, steady voice soothed the anxious hearts around him, softening even the harsh chill of winter.

“If there’s manpower to spare, build up the soil around the roots for warmth—or light fires nearby to drive off the cold.” He paused, glancing at the emperor and, almost playfully, blinked. “Your Majesty, would that work?”

For an instant, Ying Changchuan seemed to feel the brush of those lashes again—to recall the faint scent of wine that lingered on him.

His breath faltered slightly.

“Yes,” he said at last, smiling faintly. “That will do.”

“Good!” Jiang Yuxun’s eyes lit up, and he turned back to the trees, not realizing how that one glance had rippled through the emperor’s heart.

Ying Changchuan had long wielded absolute power—born from both necessity and mistrust.

He had never truly relied on anyone but himself.

And yet now, not only had he entrusted Jiang Yuxun with such a weighty responsibility, but also felt, deep down, a quiet and unmistakable pride.

He wanted to be the only one to witness Jiang Yuxun’s brilliance—

and at the same time, he wanted the whole world to see it.

…

The group had now reached north of Lingping County.

Here, the road forked again, leading toward two other southernmost counties of Taoyan.

Though the cotton garments were still three days away, there was no time to sit idle.

At Jiang Yuxun’s instruction, the local officials quickly divided their tasks—teaching the protective techniques, collecting straw and rice stalks—every man working without pause.

The devastation in Lingping was worse than expected.

Houses lay in heaps beneath the snow , making it difficult to tell where the roads ended and the ruins began.

According to the local officials, nearly seventy percent of the county’s houses had collapsed. Most of the townspeople had crowded into the newly built schoolhouse from the previous year.

Upon entering the city, the group headed straight there.

“…Lingping County has a small population—only about twelve hundred residents in total. Around eight hundred were affected by the disaster. Excluding those who have sought refuge with relatives, about six hundred survivors are now living here,” the county magistrate explained cautiously as he led them forward.

Walking at the rear of the group, Jiang Yuxun surveyed the surroundings carefully.

Many of the displaced residents peeked out from the schoolhouse, whispering to one another in curiosity as they spotted the newcomers.

They had learned to speak the official dialect over the past few years, but among themselves they still preferred their local tongue.

Jiang Yuxun listened for a while, yet could make little sense of their words.

After a moment, a few bolder children came running out, stopping under the eaves to stare at him more closely.

Lingping was a remote county deep within Taoyan. Many of its residents lived their entire lives without ever seeing a stranger.

Now, they hid shyly behind the wooden pillars, their wide eyes filled with curiosity, pushing and nudging one another.

“Stop pushing!”

“Crouch down a bit—let me see too!”

Jiang Yuxun glanced toward them with mild confusion, and at once they fell silent, returning his look with timid smiles.

“The schoolhouse here is quite well-built,” said Zhuang Youli, who had been too busy with recent affairs to dwell on his earlier grievances. He leaned closer to Jiang Yuxun. “And it looks like they’re clearing the snow from the rooftops regularly.”

Following his gaze upward, Jiang Yuxun nodded.

Lingping was a region of frequent rainfall, so the locals built their roofs with steep slopes to drain water efficiently.

Such design also made it easier to clear snow in the winter.

He lifted his head to find a dark-tiled roof rising sharply above him, intact and sturdy.

But just as relief flickered through his mind, his expression suddenly changed—

Hanging from the eaves was a row of icicles, each over a foot long and glinting like blades beneath the sunlight.

His eyes dropped to the stone pavement below, where a scattering of shattered ice lay—proof that these deadly shards had already begun to fall.

A chill ran down his spine.

A dozen townspeople stood directly beneath the eaves, watching curiously, entirely unaware that the icicles above their heads were trembling violently, cracks spidering through them—they could fall at any moment.

“Watch out!” Jiang Yuxun shouted instinctively. “There are icicles above you! Get away from there!”

The people, not long accustomed to the imperial tongue, took several seconds to react before raising their heads.

Hearing his warning, Ying Changchuan and the others in front stopped and turned around.

The massive icicles hung like swords pointed at the earth. Startled, the townspeople hastily tried to flee indoors.

But the tremors from their movement only made the icicles shake harder, swaying wildly.

Just as they were about to break loose and come crashing down, Jiang Yuxun saw that a few elders and small children—no older than three or four—hadn’t understood his warning at all. They stood frozen in place, gazing up at him in confusion.

“Run!” he shouted again, his voice sharp with urgency. Without a thought, he sprinted toward the eaves.

The icicles quivered violently. A spray of frost and snowflakes fell from above.

Jiang Yuxun glanced up, teeth clenched, and lunged forward—grabbing the nearest child and yanking him away from danger.

The child screamed. Panic erupted instantly, chaos filling the schoolyard.

“Bang—!”

An icicle more than a foot long crashed down, stabbing into the flagstones where they had stood moments earlier.

The rest of the crowd managed to stumble back in time, but the slick, ice-coated ground made footing treacherous.

Jiang Yuxun, though he’d avoided the falling shards, suddenly lost his balance.

Before he could brace himself, a sharp pain tore through his back as he hit the ground.

“Ah—!” The child in his arms was still crying, and more icicles came crashing down around them, splintering on the stones.

The pain spread through his body, blurring his thoughts into white noise.

Snowflakes and shards of ice drifted down, landing softly on his brow.

Through the haze of his vision, he caught sight of a familiar figure breaking through the frozen mist—rushing toward him faster than anyone else.

…It was Ying Changchuan.

And for once, the emperor’s voice was not calm—it trembled with unmistakable fear.

The Son of Heaven had lost his composure.

“Jiang Yuxun—!”

The shout cut through the storm, reaching his fading consciousness.

And in the moment before he blacked out, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but blink weakly, a faint smile forming at the corners of his lips.

…Was this the first time Ying Changchuan had ever called him by his name?