BEGW C82

Chapter 82

Petals, carried by the spring breeze, drifted down into the hall.

Ying Changchuan suddenly turned to glance out the window. After pausing for a few breaths, he smiled at everyone and said, “It’s noon. Serve the meal.”

Hearing this, Eunuch Sang hurriedly bowed and silently exhaled in relief.

He quickened his steps toward the hall entrance and called aloud, “Serve the meal—!”

The eunuchs and palace maids stationed outside Liuyun Hall immediately bustled into motion.

The previously quiet Xianyou Palace was instantly filled with life.

The somewhat tense envoy, Ruogu, finally let out a breath. He hurried over and patted Ruo’gu’s* shoulder lightly, whispering, “Your Highness, let us have lunch first.”

Spring was in full bloom, and the scenery throughout Xianyou Palace was at its loveliest.

Thus, lunch was moved from Liuyun Hall to a newly built waterside pavilion not far away.

Ruo’gu, holding a cup of hot tea, looked bewildered as he glanced around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he could only follow Cijia out of Liuyun Hall.

As they walked, he whispered in Kahan tongue beside his companion.

By the time they reached the pavilion, Ruo’gu finally learned from Cijia that—in the Great Zhou—officials did not dare to casually discuss the emperor’s private affairs, let alone do so in his presence.

Hearing this, Ruo’gu’s steps halted, and his brows knit together.

Cijia also stopped, eyeing the young man beside him with confusion. “What is it, Your Highness?”

“So that means Minister Jiang touched upon the Great Zhou Emperor’s reverse scale?” Ruo’gu had formed quite a good impression of Jiang Yuxun after spending half a day touring Xianyou Palace with him. Thinking back on the strange tension in Liuyun Hall just now, a sudden guilt washed over him. “I mentioned Lord Jiang by name, so the Emperor questioned him.”

Unlike Jiang Yuxun, who harbored guilt in his heart, Ruo’gu—visiting Great Zhou for the first time—worried instead…

“Do you think… the Emperor will punish him because of this?”

He turned anxiously to Cijia, his face full of unease.

…

After the envoys departed, the vast Liuyun Hall held only Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan.

The Emperor rose and slowly walked behind Jiang Yuxun.

Rather than answering directly, he asked in an unhurried tone, “Is what my beloved minister wishes to ask a matter of public duty… or private sentiment?”

Jiang Yuxun’s entire body tensed.

Ying Changchuan’s question… was far from what he had expected.

Publicly, the imperial line required “palace consorts” to continue the dynasty.

Yet… not only did the Zhou Annals clearly record it, Jiang Yuxun knew that Ying Changchuan, in the original history, had intended to groom a successor.

He had simply died too early, before finding or cultivating a suitable candidate.

Even Jiang Yuxun himself knew that last year, the Emperor had selected several promising children from the Jiang and Lu clans and sent them to the academy to learn riding, archery, classics, strategy, mathematics, and even foreign languages from scratch.

He had clearly intended to choose a future successor among them.

Now that history had changed—there had been no Yi River rebellion, nor a need for a seven–year “Zhou–Rou War.” With firearms, Ying Changchuan would not die prematurely as he had in the original timeline.

The future held more than enough time to raise a worthy heir.

Thus, Jiang Yuxun no longer feared the empire lacking a successor.

…These tangled thoughts flashed through Jiang Yuxun’s mind in an instant.

The answer was already clear.

“Private sentiment…” Sitting before the couch, he grasped his teacup tighter in his anxiousness. He lowered his gaze and murmured softly—so softly only he could hear it—“My question arises from private sentiment.”

The heart he had been holding suspended finally fell back into place.

The question he had asked was not the question of the Grand Minister of Works of Great Zhou—

It was Jiang Yuxun’s own.

Behind him came a soft laugh.

Jiang Yuxun reflexively wanted to turn around, but the Emperor’s hand descended lightly upon his shoulder at that moment.

Ying Changchuan leaned down, whispering by his ear, “Liuyun Hall is not large. It fits two people just fine.” After a pause, he added with a hint of regret, “It’s only unfortunate that the wall is in the way.”

His words brushed his ear like a kiss.

Jiang Yuxun trembled.

He instinctively wanted to avoid it, but then heard the Emperor ask, “Besides that—does my beloved minister still have any concerns?”

To ancient people, the most important matters were one’s reputation in life and after death.

But Ying Changchuan had never cared for such things.

—He never acted with the intention of justifying himself to others.

For a moment, Jiang Yuxun found himself speechless.

“…No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “None for now.”

“That is good.” Ying Changchuan smiled softly. “It’s getting late—let us go eat.”

Jiang Yuxun quickly set down his teacup. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Proper kneeling posture was exhausting. Even after years in this world, he still struggled to adapt.

When handling documents, he always slouched behind his wide robes.

Today, since Kahan envoys were present, he had no choice but to sit upright; after a while, his legs went numb.

As he tried inching himself up from the mat, Ying Changchuan seemed to notice his discomfort and extended a hand.

—The Emperor’s meaning was unmistakable.

Jiang Yuxun hesitated briefly before placing his hand in his. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“No need.” Ying Changchuan exerted a light pull and helped him rise.

Strands of black hair brushed past his lips—their distance instantly closer than propriety allowed.

Jiang Yuxun barely had time to steady himself before the Emperor’s low voice sounded at his ear: “Should you have any worries in the future, you may ask me anytime.”

Then he released him.

Jiang Yuxun could only nod hurriedly.

The Emperor’s words made him recall the questions he had asked in Yuyang Palace, and the emotions he had felt then.

…At the time, he had thought the Emperor’s private life had nothing to do with him, and had sworn never to pry again.

So why—why had such doubts arisen this time?

Before he could ponder further, a sudden noise sounded from outside the hall.

He lifted his head instinctively.

—The Kahan prince, Ruo’gu, who had left early, was standing at the doorway, clutching the doorframe in a daze.

Beside him, the wooden door was still swaying lightly.

…It seemed he had walked into it.

Who knew how long he had been watching? In the instant their gazes met, a flush rose across the youth’s honey–colored skin.

Before Jiang Yuxun could utter an explanation, Ruo’gu suddenly flashed a foolish grin at him and Ying Changchuan, then stumbled back two steps.

“You two carry on, carry on—I won’t disturb you!” With that, he bolted away—

Not giving Jiang Yuxun the slightest chance to explain.

Jiang Yuxun: “…”

Forget it. He was used to it.

Kahan’s extreme cold and dryness were unsuitable for cultivating heat-loving cotton.

This time, the Kahan delegation had come to establish trade for cotton seeds.

It was currently the season for selecting seeds for planting. Though fields were not yet sprouting cotton, Ningping Granary still had stock.

Great Zhou’s tax reforms were already taking the shape of the “Two-Tax System.” Before implementation, the national treasury and granaries needed to be thoroughly audited.

When Ying Changchuan decided to visit Ningping Granary to inspect its contents, Ruo’gu’s group—here for cotton—followed him to the granary city outside Zhaodu.

Carriages of this era were uncomfortable and jarring on uneven roads.

But with newly improved “arched saddles,” more people chose to ride.

It was the most pleasant season in Zhaodu.

Aside from Ruo’gu’s odd, lingering glances between him and the Emperor, the journey was comfortable.

Kahan nobles’ wool garments were too heavy for Zhaodu’s spring; before heading to Ningping Granary, they changed into the cotton robes popular among Great Zhou nobility.

Along the way, Ruo’gu praised their comfort constantly, comparing them favorably even to silk.

Originally, Ningping Granary was scheduled to take six years to build.

Now, construction had progressed nearly twice as fast, and the granary’s scale had expanded by a full third.

A new canal connected it to the Yi River, allowing grain from the southern prefectures to be delivered directly by water.

…

In ancient times, common folk might go years without new clothes.

Thus, cotton and cloth did not need long-term storage like grain; they were strategic reserves against disaster.

The cotton storage area in Ningping Granary was modest and concentrated along the waterways. The granary buildings were simple earthen structures, unlike deep-dug grain silos.

When soldiers guarding the site saw the Emperor’s arrival, they bowed together. “Greetings, Your Majesty—”

“Rise,” Ying Changchuan said with a nod.

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

Though the Emperor traveled discreetly, security remained strict.

Soldiers lined the official road. Forests and fields along the way were all under watch. Inside Ningping Granary, heavily armored guards stood everywhere.

The Kahan envoys couldn’t help glancing at them—until their attention fell fully on the sight within.

The earthen storehouses were filled with cotton, piled like small hills.

A bright light flashed in their eyes.

At this moment, Jiang Yuxun stepped forward at the doorway and said, “Prince Ruo’gu, Lord Cijia—this is the cotton storage of Ningping Granary…”

Though Cijia had visited Great Zhou before, cotton was still a novel wonder to him.

He listened intently, nodding frequently.

“…When storing cotton, one must pay special attention to fire, moisture, and mold. Zhaodu’s climate is dry, so the latter two pose little trouble. Thus preventing fire becomes the priority.” As he led them deeper, Jiang Yuxun continued, “This is why Great Zhou built the cotton granaries beside water.”

Cijia instinctively looked toward the river. “So that is why.” He followed closely.

Just as they stepped through the door, Jiang Yuxun turned back and smiled. “Though Kahan need not worry about that. Ordinary storage will suffice.”

Cotton was inconvenient and uneconomical to transport.

Thus, Great Zhou would process all cotton into thread—or even unfinished cloth—before sending it north.

Cijia smiled. “Indeed.”

The quiet Ruo’gu finally spoke, asking about spinning.

Before coming, Jiang Yuxun had thoroughly reviewed the improved spinning and weaving machines with Overseer Guan.

Despite remembering the embarrassing incident earlier, he answered professionally and without hesitation once asked.

The granary city fell silent.

Everyone watched and listened as he explained the entire textile process.

No lamps could be lit in cotton storage, so the doors were built unusually large.

Thick beams of sunlight poured in through the entrance, illuminating the soft white cotton with a warm glow.

That radiance fell over Jiang Yuxun.

He picked up a tuft of cotton to hand to Ruo’gu—only to meet Ying Changchuan’s gaze.

The Emperor, in his crimson robe, nodded gently toward him.

Light reflected from the cotton softened the gray of his eyes.

He did not realize that, along with unconcealed affection, rare pride glimmered there.

To him, the man before him was no longer the scarlet blaze upon the Yi River.

He had become the dawn itself—the very sunlight.

Sometimes dazzling, sometimes gentle, yet impossible to hide, illuminating everything.

Near Zhaodu, no wasteland remained.

The people no longer feared hunger.

Thus, households and military farms alike set aside large areas for cotton this year.

It was sowing season; outside Ningping Granary, commoners queued to collect seeds.

Come midsummer, the Yi River banks would bloom with white tufts like fallen clouds.

Across the river, workshops were under rapid construction.

Once cotton was harvested, it would be sent directly to the mills by water, ready for the women to spin.

The Kahan envoys were primarily here for trade; aside from cotton, they would bring back tea, dried vegetables, medicinal herbs, and spirits.

Though Ruo’gu wanted to stay longer, he could not remain until midsummer.

After touring Ningping Granary and briefly visiting the workshops, they departed around noon.

※

Great Zhou and Kahan were now allies.

Special hospitality was expected.

Near Ningping Granary lay a forest—the Pinghua Park, a royal hunting ground built in the previous dynasty.

Since Ying Changchuan’s ascension, it had fallen into disuse.

Today, guards were stationed throughout.

The Ministry of Works, hoping to please the envoys, had arranged a small hunt.

Pinghua Park contained forests, meadows, and numerous rare animals for viewing and hunting.

There was even a detached palace.

Despite the Emperor not using it, the estate had been maintained and preserved its former glory.

Ribbons of water flowed from Mount Yueqiao, threading through the entire park.

The air was full of birdsong beneath its lush canopy.

No sooner had they arrived—before the officials guarding the grounds could even begin their introduction—than Ruo’gu, bold as ever, rode forward and said to Ying Changchuan:

“I heard that the Great Zhou Emperor is unmatched in martial skill and riding. I wonder if I might have the honor of competing with Your Majesty today?”

He had planned this before coming, even practicing the sentence with Cijia.

His pronunciation carried a heavy accent, but the sentence was delivered fluently.

Before the Emperor could answer, Ruo’gu turned to Jiang Yuxun.

Sunlight filtering through the leaves illuminated the youth’s dark skin.

Ruo’gu patted his horse and gripped the saddle tightly. “And I heard these saddles were made according to Lord Jiang’s suggestions. Surely Lord Jiang also has expertise in riding?”

Jiang Yuxun blinked, startled, and hurried to reply, “I—” He could ride, but was no expert.

The other young Kahan nobles perked up.

Having heard tales of Jiang Yuxun before coming, they felt a mix of admiration and challenge.

In Ningping Granary earlier, they had to trail behind and listen as he lectured; they could not get a word in.

But here—at last—they had ground to stand on.

Before he could finish speaking, someone shouted behind him, “Yes! I heard Lord Jiang’s father is the Great Zhou General Who Pacifies the South! Don’t you Zhou people say… a tiger sire breeds no feeble cubs? With such a father, surely Lord Jiang does not fear a contest!”

They were of Jiang Yuxun’s age.

Hearing “General Who Pacifies the South,” Jiang Yuxun’s earlier intent to decline abruptly vanished.

—He could lose face, but not the father of his host body.

How could the general’s son shy from a challenge?

“Very well.” Jiang Yuxun tightened his reins and let his gaze fall toward the forest. He raised a brow. “Then let us see who passes through the woods and reaches the tall pavilion in the northernmost part of the park first.”

The extravagant luxury of the former dynasty was fully reflected here.

Even from afar, the towering viewing pavilion stood clearly visible.

“Good!” Ruo’gu glanced at it and nodded. “Just as Lord Jiang says!”

The other nobles were eager. “Shall we begin now?”

“We may.” Jiang Yuxun flexed his hands, excitement brightening his eyes.

Dressed in pale jade riding clothes, with his hair tied in a high ponytail, he carried a grace sharpened by rare vigor.

Ruo’gu still did not forget to draw in the Emperor. “What about Your Majesty? Since Lord Jiang is joining, surely you will as well?”

He even cleared his throat to hide his intention.

Jiang Yuxun: “…”

What was that supposed to mean?

The youths from both nations were already riding toward the forest’s edge.

Before Ying Changchuan could answer, Ruo’gu furtively glanced at his companions, then slipped his horse closer to the Emperor and Jiang Yuxun.

Lowering his voice, he whispered, “Your Majesty, Lord Jiang—about that last time… I apologize.”

He threw them a look of mutual understanding.

Kahan customs were apparently a bit too… straightforward.

The mortifying memory resurfaced in Jiang Yuxun’s mind.

With birds chirping and leaves rustling, Ruo’gu grinned and said, “Don’t worry! Once we enter the forest, we’ll go our own way. No one will disturb you no matter what you two do.”

He heavily emphasized whatever you do.

The wording in Jiang Yuxun’s ears felt outrageously misleading.

Did Ruo’gu think he and Ying Changchuan would do something strange in the woods?!

Heat rose instantly to Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

Determined to clarify, he stammered, “…No—you misunderstood last time—”

Before he could finish, the Emperor chuckled. “His Highness is thoughtful.”

Not helping!

Jiang Yuxun stared at Ying Changchuan in disbelief.

Ruo’gu, however, bowed with a grin, then shouted something in Kahan tongue and charged into the woods with his companions.

Their horses streaked past, leaving only shadows in their wake.

“They started early?!”

“After them!”

“Quit talking—catch up!”

The Zhou youths gave chase.

In mere moments, only Jiang Yuxun and Ying Changchuan remained.

A soft spring breeze drifted by, bringing with it a faint floral scent.

On horseback, Jiang Yuxun suddenly felt nervous—almost afraid.

Watching the others disappear, he asked softly, “…Your Majesty, shall we not go?”

He looked toward the main path. “Everyone here is skilled in riding. Even if we do not go, we will not lose. Perhaps… we should take the road and not join the contest.”

He very much wanted to avoid entering the forest alone with Ying Changchuan.

But at that moment, the Emperor’s black stallion drew closer.

His gaze landed lightly on Jiang Yuxun’s lips.

“Does my beloved minister not wish to enter the woods?”

“…Correct.” Jiang Yuxun replied earnestly.

The Emperor laughed quietly and looked into the distance. “One must not break one’s word.”

…He was right.

Jiang Yuxun had already agreed to Ruo’gu.

Just as he braced himself, his arm suddenly weakened—followed by the sensation of his feet leaving the stirrups.

“Your Majesty?!” He instinctively grasped the Emperor’s arm.

Before he knew it, he was seated in front of Ying Changchuan—

On the same horse.

The black stallion neighed and pawed at the ground.

“Let’s go—”

“Wait—!”

Too late.

As if understanding its master’s command, the horse surged forward at full speed into the forest.

A massive boulder loomed ahead. Instead of avoiding it, the stallion leapt cleanly over it.

Wind roared past Jiang Yuxun’s ears. He clutched the horse’s dark mane.

Ying Changchuan wrapped an arm lightly around his waist. “Do not fear.”

Through the wind, the warmth of his touch seeped through the layers of cloth.

Everything—including the forest around them—seemed to whisper the same truth:

In this moment, there was only the two of them.