BEGW C58

Chapter 58

Nights in Zefang Commandery were ever chilly; worried that the water would turn cold when used, the soldiers had brought only hot water just now, which had to be left to cool here a while before use.

Mist coiled within the tent, softening the cold gleam on the armor.

By the time Jiang Yuxun came back to himself, he and Ying Changchuan were already seated face to face at the table in the tent, and there was a cup of ginger tea in his hand.

Having asked already, Jiang Yuxun did not bother to hide his curiosity: “…This minister seems never to have heard any news of Your Majesty being wounded during war.”

In recent years the Great Zhou had fought year after year, and Ying Changchuan had never had a moment of leisure.

How had he managed to conquer the world while bearing a grievous wound?

Across the table, Ying Changchuan smiled lightly and said offhandedly, “This wound was not taken in wartime.”

“It was not?” Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help being taken aback.

Mist curled within the tent, and even the gaze of the man opposite did not seem as sharp as usual.

Ying Changchuan casually took up the wick trimmer and snipped the wick; then he narrowed his eyes slightly, as if fallen into recollection: “In the eleventh year of the Former Dynasty’s Ling Emperor, Zherou invaded the Great Zhou from the south. During that time, the Sacrificial Heaven Terrace held great rites to the Dark Heaven several times, but the fighting remained tight and defeats came one after another.”

His slow, languid voice seemed, at that moment, to merge into the drifting mist.

Jiang Yuxun could not help nodding softly along with his words.

“The wuzhi then offered counsel to the Ling Emperor, insisting that the reason the rites had no effect was that the human victim’s rank was insufficient. Only by finding a nobler human victim to sacrifice to the Dark Heaven could the war be reversed.”

Jiang Yuxun’s eyes widened at once.

In the Former Dynasty, not only slaves could become human victims.

Nobles, even members of the imperial clan, were higher-grade offerings.

Hearing this, he could almost guess what followed…

“Thus the Duke of Jing of the Former Dynasty proposed taking his second son as the human victim for the great rite to the Dark Heaven. The Sacrificial Heaven Terrace agreed with pleasure,” Ying Changchuan said softly.

Just as expected!

Jiang Yuxun clenched the ginger tea in his hand, and his breath caught.

—The Duke of Jing of the Former Dynasty was a devout follower of the Sacrificial Heaven Terrace, and single-mindedly wished to cling to the imperial clan’s thigh; and his second son was Ying Changchuan himself!

“And then?” Jiang Yuxun could not help pressing on.

Candlelight reflected in his ink-dark eyes; his gaze grew especially bright.

In the eleventh year of the Ling Emperor, Ying Changchuan would have been only around ten years old.

He did not believe he could have escaped with his own strength.

At this point, Ying Changchuan suddenly began to smile a little: “When they were about to act, Zherou withdrew its troops.”

In the summer of the eleventh year of the Ling Emperor, Zherou suffered a great drought and the rivers ran dry.

Seeing this, the nomadic Zherou came south to harry the Great Zhou—who knew that as they fought, the rains would come.

The Zherou soldiers had no heart to continue and went back in numbers to tend their herds.

The war ended with the Former Dynasty paying indemnities and tribute.

The war being over, the sacrifice naturally no longer counted.

All tacitly ceased to mention the earlier mistaken divinations; only Ying Changchuan, who had nearly become a “human victim,” etched it deep into his mind.

So that was it…

At last, Jiang Yuxun understood.

Having gone through such messes,

How could he not loathe the Sacrificial Heaven Terrace!

…But, to return to the point—how had Ying Changchuan’s wound come about?

By reflex, Jiang Yuxun voiced what lay in his heart.

“The Duke of Jing fell gravely ill, and tried his old trick—seeking out wuzhi to extend his life,” Ying Changchuan said, taking a sip and sounding offhand. “Unfortunately, before they could act, amid the confusion he was killed by the ‘human victim.’”

There was a smile in his tone, but it chilled Jiang Yuxun to the core.

There was no need to guess—the “human victim” in Ying Changchuan’s mouth was himself.

Softly, Jiang Yuxun asked: “And Your Majesty’s wound was left then?”

“Mm.” Ying Changchuan smiled and nodded.

A thin layer of cold sweat broke in Jiang Yuxun’s palm.

—Ying Changchuan had taken the chance to kill the Duke of Jing; his mother had forced the matter down, and it was given out as “death by illness.”

Once the wound had healed, he too had been sent into the army.

At the end of the Chu dynasty, the court from top to bottom was chaos.

Brothers killing brothers, fathers and sons killing each other—such things were not uncommon.

But the Duke of Jing had not wanted to kill him for power’s sake—merely for the so-called “sacrifice.”

Absurd!

Jiang Yuxun’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.

The clinging mist dampened his lashes.

Seeing his expression grow exceedingly complex, Ying Changchuan couldn’t help asking with a smile, “What kind of expression is that, my beloved minister?”

Jiang Yuxun felt the word “pitiful” did not fit Ying Changchuan in the least. He bit his lip and said by reflex, “Your Majesty really has had it rather rough.”

Hold on—

Who in the world casually says the emperor has had it rough!

His words seemed a bit discourteous…

He shut his mouth at once, and after a few beats set down the cup, looking seriously into Ying Changchuan’s eyes: “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I should not have said that of you…”

Somewhat surprised, Ying Changchuan lowered his gaze to the person before him.

In those bright black eyes was only his own reflection; the earnestness there was something he had never seen.

As the Son of Heaven, he had seen countless people afraid, pleading.

It was the first time someone had apologized to him…

Struck by the unfamiliar feeling, Ying Changchuan blanked out for an instant.

“Ah—no,” Jiang Yuxun corrected at once, “of you.”

Perhaps being too far from Zhaodu, he had somehow lately kept forgetting to use honorifics… He must correct this.

“No matter,” Ying Changchuan smiled and rose. “It is late; the water should no longer be too hot.”

Seeing that he meant to end the topic, Jiang Yuxun rose at once and escorted the Son of Heaven from the tent: “Yes, Your Majesty.”

As the felt curtain lifted, a cold wind blew in through the gap.

Suddenly, what Ying Changchuan had said came back to him—there was no record of any of this in the History of Zhou.

Ying Changchuan’s mother had died a few years earlier.

Now in this world… was it not that only he himself and Jiang Yuxun knew of it?

This was truly a hidden plotline in history.

A strange emotion rose in Jiang Yuxun’s heart.

“Your Majesty—”

As Ying Changchuan stepped out, Jiang Yuxun suddenly called to him.

“What else is there, my beloved minister?”

Dim candlelight tangled with the warm mist, shining from behind Jiang Yuxun.

With utmost seriousness, he said to Ying Changchuan, “Rest assured, Your Majesty—this minister will keep today’s matter in strict confidence, and absolutely will not let a third person know.”

The Duke of Jing’s death could not be allowed to spread.

He did not know why Ying Changchuan trusted him thus; he only knew he must not fail that trust.

At his words, Ying Changchuan could not help smiling.

Thinking of his own spotted past, Jiang Yuxun could not help growing anxious: “Does Your Majesty not believe this minister?”

Clad in dark robes, Ying Changchuan halted and suddenly turned, letting his gaze fall on Jiang Yuxun.

For once, he stilled his smile and looked into the eyes before him, seriously: “Gu naturally does.”

Threads of mist filled the tent; the scent of ambergris seemed to thicken with it.

At last, Jiang Yuxun got his wish and sat in the tub.

After being left awhile, the water’s warmth was just right.

He could not help taking a deep breath and slowly sinking his body beneath the surface.

Black hair spread over the water’s skin.

But before he could relax, he realized, belatedly: this was Ying Changchuan’s domain.

“Cough, cough…” He choked on a mouthful, and finally sat up in the tub.

Through a gap in the screen, he saw the armor hanging on the rack.

—It was what Ying Changchuan had worn that day.

By reflex, he turned his eyes aside.

But as soon as his hand rested on the tub’s outer rim, a bizarre thought flashed through his mind… had Ying Changchuan touched this too?

There was only one bath in this sector.

Not only had Ying Changchuan used it—he would certainly use it again.

Jiang Yuxun: !!!

At the thought, he snatched his hand back as if scalded.

To prevent fire, no incense was burnt in the tent.

But the faint scent of ambergris still wrapped Jiang Yuxun at that moment.

Traces of Ying Changchuan were everywhere in the tent.

He drew a deep breath.

No—what was there to be embarrassed about?

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t used a hotel tub in modern times…

At the thought, he relaxed at once.

As a true native of the feudal age, if Ying Changchuan didn’t mind, then naturally neither did he!

The earthen vats in the camp were cramped, and water cooled very quickly; it had been a long time since he had had a proper soak.

Having talked himself round, he drew a deep breath again and slowly let his body sink into the wooden tub.

※

Wheat was sown in spring roughly between the Beginning of Spring and the Pure Brightness Festival.

Once they had the seed, it would not do to linger.

The site for the cavalry grounds had already been chosen, and the time for Jiang Yuxun and the others to leave Zefang was at hand.

Before departing, they spent another day going east, to the vicinity of the Ci River, several dozen li from the Northern Pacification Army camp.

The Ci River was the first great river in the north, flowing from due west to the southeast.

Zefang Commandery had little rainfall, and irrigation relied upon this river and its tributaries.

The wasteland the Northern Pacification Army had opened lay near the upper reaches.

Downstream, where irrigation was easier and further from Zherou, had been left aside for the moment.

The Great Zhou would naturally not let that land lie fallow.

…

There was a thin veil of cloud in the Zefang sky.

A fine rain fell, and the barren land suddenly gained a touch of green.

With Zefang officials accompanying them, Jiang Yuxun and the others stood on slightly higher ground to look afar—though the land here still lay fallow, every few li a village stood quietly.

After the Pure Brightness Festival, people from near Zhaodu would migrate here.

While opening fields, the conscript laborers in Zefang Commandery had begun building dwellings.

The noon sun was somewhat fierce, and Jiang Yuxun narrowed his eyes toward the distance.

A Zefang official was introducing things to them: “…To make life convenient for the people, the newly built houses are all of the ‘one hall and two chambers’ layout. Besides the hall and chambers, we have also built for each household a privy-hut and pigpen. We have also left ample open space, so that in future they may add buildings themselves.”

He then led them into the nearest house to look closely: “This way, my lords.”

Walking at the fore, Jiang Yuxun reached out to feel the wall, and asked curiously, “May I ask, my lord—what are these walls built of?”

When at work, he was especially earnest.

Perhaps used to social death, his bearing too was calmer than before—wholly the poise of one used to great storms.

Seeing this, the local Zefang official grew solemn as well: “In answer to Lord Jiang—wood, straw, and earth, all locally sourced. If things go quickly, a house can be raised in about a month.”

Smiling, Jiang Yuxun nodded to him.

There was yet no furniture within; only an earthen kang lay built in the room’s corner.

Winters in Zefang were cold, and warmth relied entirely upon it.

As they spoke, they had already stepped out.

The local official led them to the back of the hall: “Here are the privy-hut and the pigpen.”

Jiang Yuxun and the others followed him into the backyard.

What he had just called the “privy-hut and pigpen” were, in fact, one and the same.

In the Great Zhou and nearby dynasties, farming households that were able would keep pigs.

The pigpen connected to a privy built slightly higher, forming a “linked privy-pen” characteristic of the age.

It saved space, facilitated composting, and reduced sources of filth.

The ancients stressed “serving the dead as the living,” and so later archaeologists have excavated many models of “linked privy-pens” from tombs.

In the museum where Jiang Yuxun worked, there was a whole case full of such pottery models.

Accustomed to the miniature models, he was seeing a real linked privy-pen for the first time.

Looking closely, he asked with curiosity, “Where do these poultry and livestock come from?”

Seeing his interest, the Zefang official gave a more detailed account: “If the common folk wish it, they may rent piglets from the government; when they are raised, return an equal number of piglets and that will do.”

“As for… oxen and farm tools—these are allotted one set per li.” 

These frontier settlers were organized into lü of twenty-five households each, living within the same zone, which at first glance resembled modern residential blocks.

Beyond the dwellings, each lü also had an ox shed and a small granary.

These granaries were raised pavilions made of wood, conducive to ventilation and dryness, and convenient for moisture and rot prevention.

For now, the lü still looked somewhat simple.

But they already possessed the conditions for continued development.

Hearing this, Jiang Yuxun nodded lightly.

As he spoke, he followed behind the Prefect of Zefang and reached the open ground behind the houses.

Thinking of the spinach seed the party had labored so hard to bring back from Zherou, Jiang Yuxun could not help stopping.

This spot seemed fit for a vegetable plot.

In this era it was not easy for commoners even to get their fill to eat; most people had no concept of supplementing nutrition with vegetables.

But in Jiang Yuxun’s view, the two did not conflict in the least.

He silently made a note of it.

Zefang’s location was very suitable for growing spinach.

Once there was more seed, it could be promoted among the local farmers.

The carriages followed the Ci River eastward.

Along the route were these same lü dwellings everywhere.

Seated by the carriage window, Jiang Yuxun looked out.

On both banks of the Ci River were irrigation channels half a meter wide; as the people had not yet arrived, the joins between channels and river were blocked with planks.

As he watched, he could not help saying, “I feel there’s something missing…”

Zefang’s land was very flat, a sweep of brown stretching to the horizon—spectacular from afar.

“Missing what?” asked the official riding with him, puzzled. “The lü here were all built by reference to the houses near Zhaodu; in principle, they should have everything.”

Built by reference to Zhaodu?

At that, Jiang Yuxun finally realized what had felt odd!

“I’ve got it!” He lifted the curtain to look out. “Near Zhaodu, almost every household has a well, and the Yi River flows past; there’s no lack of water at all. But Zefang isn’t the same.”

The Ci River, born of snowy mountains, rolled east—but its banks lay barren.

Even in early spring, there was only scant green.

At his words, the official seated beside him understood at once: “Right! Here in Zefang, there’s only one well per lü. If we meet a particularly dry year, there will be serious trouble.”

The officials in Zefang were not locals; unaccustomed to the climate, they had actually overlooked such a small matter.

At the thought, he couldn’t help a retroactive fear.

Jiang Yuxun nodded: “Though these past years have had abundant rain, if one does not plan far ahead, near worries are inevitable. We should excavate cisterns near each lü—at least enough to ensure one season’s water and irrigation.”

“Yes, yes!” The man beside him nodded quickly. “This must be arranged at once—we absolutely cannot wait until the wasteland is fully opened.”

As he spoke, Jiang Yuxun reached to his right: “One moment—let me note that down.”

“Yes, Lord Jiang.”

He often kept his notebook in that spot.

But today there was nothing by the wall of the carriage; he groped and came up empty.

He paused, then remembered—his notebook seemed to be lost.

Thinking of what it contained, he asked the others, unwilling to give up: “Has anyone seen my notebook in this carriage?”

“Notebook?” The man beside him shook his head, confused. “Haven’t seen it.”

“Alright.” Jiang Yuxun nodded, a little disappointed.

So it really had been lost in the north.

At dawn the next day, they would all return to Zhaodu.

Having just come back from the Ci River to camp, and about to pack, a soldier came into his tent: “Lord Jiang, His Majesty asks that you come to the main tent.”

“Yes,” said Jiang Yuxun, rising, and he couldn’t help asking curiously, “Did His Majesty say what it was about?”

As he spoke, he lifted the felt flap and stepped out.

The soldier thought a moment and replied, “It seems to be about the settlement of fields.”

“I see…”

Before leaving the Northern Pacification Army’s camp for Zherou, he had had a soldier deliver the notebook on this matter to the emperor; he presumed His Majesty had read it and wished to discuss the details.

It was around six or seven in the evening; the sun had already dipped toward the horizon.

Following the soldier, he headed for Ying Changchuan’s tent.

A rain had fallen yesterday; pools of water lay on the ground.

Watching his steps, he moved with extra care.

He had barely entered the compound, still short of the main tent, when the soldier stopped.

Jiang Yuxun stopped as well and looked up, puzzled: “Why have we—”

In the next instant, he saw the Son of Heaven in a crimson gauze robe standing not far away, eyes lowered upon him.

Jiang Yuxun bit off his words and bowed: “Paying respects to Your Majesty.”

“Dispense,” Ying Changchuan said lightly. “My beloved minister went to the Ci River bank today?”

As he spoke, the soldier who had brought Jiang Yuxun there withdrew to a distance.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As he recalled what he had seen, Jiang Yuxun said, “The new houses along the Ci River are all completed; when the people arrive next month, they can move in directly.” He paused, then added, “But after this minister and the other gentlemen looked things over, we were unanimous that cisterns should be dug in advance near the lü.”

Ying Changchuan nodded and flipped through a booklet in his hand: “Besides that, is there anything else my beloved minister would say?”

A breeze carried the soft lap of water to Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

Anything else?

He grew nervous.

If His Majesty asked that—was there a gap yet in the field-settlement?

He thought hard, then, recalling later history, asked by reflex, “Does Your Majesty perhaps think border roads should be built in Zefang?”

In later times, border roads were laid across the north, intersecting the north-south official roads to form a great network.

With settlers soon to arrive, it did seem time to build roads.

The more he thought, the more reasonable his guess seemed.

When he finished, he looked at Ying Changchuan with utmost sincerity: “The northern lands are broadly open and flat; building official roads is relatively easy. Once completed, not only will troop movement and defense be facilitated, but Zefang’s transport will be more convenient.”

But this was not urgent; it could be done in the future as well.

Ying Changchuan’s hands paused: “What my beloved minister says is sound.”

Then, at last, his gaze returned to the booklet: “Gu has examined the settlement plans—proceed as usual.”

Yesterday’s spring rain had pooled into a puddle on the ground.

In a single night, tender green had appeared at the water’s rim.

A light wind crossed the steppe and stirred the Son of Heaven’s crimson robe, lending him an air of languid ease.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” At that, Jiang Yuxun let out a breath and stepped forward to receive the booklet with both hands.

Ying Changchuan gently passed it back into his hands.

“Eh?”

Strangely—why was there another in Ying Changchuan’s hand?

Jiang Yuxun glanced, puzzled, at the Son of Heaven’s hand.

“What is my beloved minister looking at?”

Whether it was an illusion or not, Jiang Yuxun felt there was something odd in his tone…

He asked honestly, “Why is there another booklet in Your Majesty’s hand?”

Ying Changchuan smiled and slowly extended the other booklet.

By reflex, Jiang Yuxun took a step closer and looked down.

In this era, booklet covers were made of silk and could not be written upon.

Just as he was wondering what it was, a breeze from the puddle stirred and flipped it open.

Eight large characters appeared before him: “Speak cautiously, act prudently; speak cautiously, act prudently.”

Jiang Yuxun: !!!

No—why was that notebook in Ying Changchuan’s hand?

Even if he was the emperor, he could not steal someone’s personal effects.

…He had misjudged the man!

His eyes flew wide, and he stared at Ying Changchuan in disbelief.

Before he could recover, Ying Changchuan said, feigning puzzlement, “Has my beloved minister not recognized it?”

Better to be shattered than stained; keep a clear name in the world.

…He might as well kill him!

Still stunned, Jiang Yuxun utterly lost his sense of measure: “Th-this is this minister’s notebook—why has Your Majesty stolen it?”

Ying Changchuan slowly drew his brows together: “This object was delivered to Gu by the soldier at my beloved minister’s behest.”

His tone was no different from usual, yet from it Jiang Yuxun heard both righteousness and innocence.

He paused a moment and suddenly understood what had happened.

—The soldier he had sent had taken the wrong notebook!

Damn—he had misunderstood Ying Changchuan?

He had just spoken to the Son of Heaven in that tone—would it cause trouble…

Knowing the culprit, Jiang Yuxun wilted in an instant.

“Th—” He was hesitating, about to apologize, when he saw Ying Changchuan slowly lower his gaze to the booklet.

The afterglow of evening roused the steppe from winter; the setting sun reddened the shallow pool behind them.

A light wind stirred, raising ripples one after another.

The shadows of Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan were reflected in that red—and gently swayed with the ripples.

The young Director in azure forced calm: “Your Majesty, please return the booklet to this minister—”

Uncertain how much the Son of Heaven had seen, Jiang Yuxun still moved by instinct to block.

But Ying Changchuan did not give him the chance.

Sensing what he meant to do, he lifted his hand and raised the booklet lightly.

Without thinking further, Jiang Yuxun rose on tiptoe to grab it.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch the cover, Ying Changchuan stepped lightly back.

The booklet slipped away again!

No—how could he be so childish?

With a rush of heat to his head, Jiang Yuxun took another step to snatch it.

This time his fingers touched the edge.

Lines of wild geese flew northward.

Their small reflections broke the gently swaying red.

A faint breath of ambergris was carried to his nose by the wind, and only as his fingers met the booklet’s edge did he realize, half a beat late—

At some point, there was less than a hand’s breadth between him and Ying Changchuan.

It seemed… a little too close.

Footnotes:

1. Lü: A traditional grouping unit of households (here twenty-five) used administratively and for mutual defense or production in settlements. 
2. Pavilion granaries: Raised, stilted wooden granaries designed for ventilation and moisture control, widely used historically to protect stored grain. 
3. Cisterns in settlements: Common water-security practice in semi-arid regions—excavated storage near village clusters to ensure domestic and irrigation supply through dry spells.
4. Wuzhi: A term referring to shamans/diviners in certain historical Chinese contexts; here, ritual specialists advising on sacrificial rites. 
5. Dark Heaven (Xuantian): A deity title in Chinese religious cosmology often associated with the northern celestial deity; invoked in state rituals for warfare or calamity. 
6. “Linked privy-pen”: A historical farmstead feature in North China where the household latrine was structurally connected to the pigpen to maximize composting efficiency and space.