BEGW C95

Chapter 95

Ying Changchuan did, indeed, fall silent.

But the warning bells in Jiang Yuxun’s heart did not fade in the slightest.

—With such a disparity in strength between them, this was never going to be a long-term solution.

The warmth born of shared breath coiled around Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips like a soft little snake.

The small military tent suddenly felt dangerous. Ying Changchuan, who should have turned away, instead did the opposite—slowly lifting his hand to grasp Jiang Yuxun’s wrist.

Then, with gentle pressure, he guided that hand toward his own lips.

An unfamiliar, tingling sensation surged up Jiang Yuxun’s palm in an instant.

This was cheating!

Jiang Yuxun widened his eyes and tried hard to pull away, but he was completely no match for Ying Changchuan’s strength.

In the next moment—

His hand was pressed firmly against Ying Changchuan’s lips.

“Your Majesty, let go—”

As if he hadn’t heard a word, the emperor lowered his gaze and looked at him with those ash-gray eyes.

Then, once again, he began to pepper light kisses against Jiang Yuxun’s palm, and along his trembling fingertips.

The tent was so quiet that even the soft sounds of kissing were transmitted clearly to Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

What should have been a faint noise was magnified endlessly by the deep night’s silence.

There was nowhere to hide.

When the lines on his palm began to burn uncontrollably, Ying Changchuan finally brushed lightly against Jiang Yuxun’s hand and, narrowing his eyes, asked in a low, hoarse voice,

“And now?”

Jiang Yuxun turned his gaze away and muttered,

“Right now… I don’t want to talk to you.”

Perhaps it was the chill from earlier, or perhaps the air inside the tent had grown too thick with intimacy—his words carried a faint nasal tone.

Spoken in that voice, “I don’t want to talk to you” sounded even more like sulking than the earlier “annoying,” utterly lacking in threat.

The moment the words left his mouth, Jiang Yuxun felt despair sink in.

Sure enough, Ying Changchuan was not intimidated in the slightest.

He even leaned down to kiss Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips again.

“And how exactly will you not talk to me?”

Jiang Yuxun struggled to pull his hand free while blurting out uncontrollably,

“From now on, I don’t want to say another word to you.”

The thoughts hidden in a person’s heart were often the simplest—and the most childish.

Growing up was nothing more than learning to cover one’s true feelings and pretend to be mature.

…Ever since graduating kindergarten in his previous life, Jiang Yuxun had not said something this blunt in a very, very long time.

Damn this unlucky debuff!

The smile in Ying Changchuan’s eyes deepened.

He even lifted his free hand and gently poked Jiang Yuxun’s cheek, thoroughly confirming the word “childish.”

Never before had the Son of Heaven found teasing someone to be such an entertaining affair.

And his behavior made Jiang Yuxun completely toss “the difference between ruler and subject” and “polite restraint” straight out of his mind.

He shot Ying Changchuan a sharp glare.

But before Jiang Yuxun could try to pull his hand away again—

The emperor suddenly pressed a kiss to his lightly trembling eyelashes.

Then he said softly,

“Alright.”

His tone was unusually serious, devoid of mockery or levity.

Is he finally going to let me go?

Before Jiang Yuxun could relax, he heard Ying Changchuan imitate his own tone, saying just as seriously,

“If my dear minister can endure it, then I naturally won’t force you.”

—Having long since figured out Jiang Yuxun’s temperament, Ying Changchuan had already learned how to exploit the rules to his advantage.

Zhuang Youli was extremely conscientious. That night, he drank only a little wine, and early the next morning he arrived at the firearms depot to hand over duties with Lord Fei.

Xing Zhi, who had gone hungry for several days, had finally recovered his strength.

Instead of immediately leaving Dingwumu Vast Grasslands and heading south to Zhaodu to recuperate as Jiang Yuxun had suggested, he chose to stay and make himself useful.

Early the next morning, Jiang Yuxun and Xing Zhi rode out together under Xuanjin Inspector escort toward the nearby pastoral settlements.

As they traveled, the two discussed the grasslands.

“As far as I know, Dingwumu may not be Zherou’s largest pasture, but it should rank within the top ten. It’s also one of their most important winter grazing grounds. Most Zherou regions have short summers, long winters, and frequent snowstorms. But this place is sheltered from the wind, sunny, warm, and receives little snow—its conditions are uniquely favorable…” Xing Zhi’s voice carried on the wind to Jiang Yuxun’s ears.

He paused, then added,

“It’s just bad luck this year—it was hit by the White Calamity.”

Jiang Yuxun nodded and supplemented,

“The Qiuqi territory lies farther south, with especially large winter pastures. Compared to summer grazing lands, the grass here is lower in nutrients, and losses are far worse if a snow disaster occurs.”

As he spoke, he frowned slightly and looked ahead from horseback.

The grass rippled in the spring breeze, cattle and sheep scattered across it like stars.

At first glance, it looked prosperous—but danger lurked beneath.

Though Dingwumu had suffered relatively light damage, it was still a winter pasture.

Its carrying capacity was far lower than the other two major grasslands.

Now was the season when livestock fattened rapidly. If nothing was done, it wouldn’t take long before the land was grazed bare.

By the time they finished speaking, they had arrived at a nearby settled grazing site.

Jiang Yuxun and Xing Zhi exchanged a glance, dismounted, and walked forward.

Unlike the grassland seen earlier, here the herders still lived in felt tents—but beside the tents stood large wooden enclosures, inside which hundreds of lambs were penned.

Instead of riding out to graze, the herders unloaded piles of hay and several large wooden barrels from ox carts.

They didn’t recognize Jiang Yuxun. Seeing unfamiliar figures dressed like Zhou officials, they muttered in confusion but continued their work.

Though Xing Zhi understood Zherou customs, he mostly dealt with nobles and merchants and knew little about animal husbandry.

“Lord Jiang, what’s in those barrels on the ox carts?” he asked curiously.

Jiang Yuxun walked over, grabbed a handful from one barrel, and said,

“This is wheat bran.”

Xing Zhi froze, then repeated,

“…Wheat bran?”

“Bran is the outer layer of wheat. Once wheat is milled, it naturally separates into flour and bran,” Jiang Yuxun brushed his hands clean and smiled. “These days, Great Zhou’s military horses eat bran mixed with pasture grass. The combined feed is far more nutritious than grass alone.”

A Xuanjin Inspector added,

“Young Master Xing may not know—nowadays, people in Zhaodu widely grow wheat. Every household produces a great deal of bran each year. Besides grain, the court purchases bran from the people and transports it to the military horse farms in Zefang Commandery.”

The batch before them had been transferred from the horse farms just days ago.

Xing Zhi’s eyes grew brighter the more he heard.

“So that’s how it is!”

Previously, he—like many others—had worried that after the White Calamity, the Qiuqi people might become a burden to Great Zhou.

Now, those concerns had been completely resolved.

The herders poured the bran-mixed feed into troughs, and the lambs immediately surged forward to eat.

By now, it was already late; ordinarily, the herders would have returned to their tents to rest.

Yet after feeding the lambs, they mounted their horses again, carrying shovels and spades toward the northwest.

Standing atop a small hill, Jiang Yuxun did not follow them but instead gazed into the distance.

On the horizon, hundreds of people were gathered, digging narrow trenches.

They weren’t turning soil—they were digging firebreaks.

Zherou’s herding practices were crude. They often used controlled burning to improve soil quality and reduce weeds and pests.

The method was simple and effective, but fire was merciless. Almost every year, uncontrolled blazes erupted on the grasslands, threatening both people and livestock.

This habit couldn’t be changed overnight.

Thus, after the Qiuqi tribe surrendered to Great Zhou, Jiang Yuxun immediately advised the Zefang governor to organize herders to dig firebreaks across the grasslands—in exchange for wheat bran.

Learning this, Xing Zhi laughed in admiration.

“Firebreaks benefit the herders anyway, and they even get bran in exchange. No wonder they’re all so motivated.”

After a pause, he sighed again.

“This is truly killing two birds with one stone!”

After so long in Zherou lands, Xing Zhi’s former dandy air had faded almost entirely. He now appeared steady and mature—very much like the great merchants Jiang Yuxun had seen in modern times.

The praise sounded completely natural coming from him.

Yet after he finished speaking, Jiang Yuxun smiled and gently shook his head.

“What is it, Lord Jiang?” Xing Zhi asked nervously. “Isn’t it two birds with one stone?”

Jiang Yuxun looked back toward the distance and replied softly,

“It’s three birds with one stone.”

As he spoke, he patted the white warhorse beside him.

Not only Xing Zhi, but the surrounding Xuanjin Inspectors also turned their attention to him.

Jiang Yuxun pointed northwest.

“Right now, at the transition between spring and summer, the most common wind on Dingwumu actually comes from the southeast. But as you can see, the herders are digging firebreaks in the northwest.”

“…That’s true,” Xing Zhi said. Having lived in the north for so long, he knew the wind patterns well.

Summer winds came from the southwest.

If the goal were simply fire prevention, the firebreaks should have been dug in that direction.

At this realization, Xing Zhi’s breath caught—

He spun to look at Jiang Yuxun.

Jiang Yuxun clearly knew the wind patterns; this was no impulsive decision.

It was a carefully considered plan.

The firebreaks he ordered dug were not meant to stop accidental grassfires.

They were meant to block deliberate arson by the Zherou armies entrenched in the northwest.

Seeing Xing Zhi’s expression, Jiang Yuxun knew he had understood.

He glanced northwest once more, then led his horse down the hill.

“Better to be prepared in advance.”

What he didn’t say was that in the original history, Zherou had done exactly this.

—During the seven-year war, they had repeatedly used terrain and favorable winds to set fires in autumn and winter, attempting to burn Zhou troops and camps, inflicting heavy losses.

Knowing this, Great Zhou had to prepare.

Once a grassland fire spread, it would advance in long lines across vast areas.

To protect people and livestock, the firebreaks had to be extremely long.

Though Jiang Yuxun knew Zherou would attempt such tactics, he didn’t know when the wind would change, or when they would strike.

With the Zhenbei Army on full alert, he couldn’t send troops across the grasslands to do this work.

Only the herders could.

Before leaving the hill, Jiang Yuxun couldn’t help but glance northwest once more.

He suspected the three Zherou kings were waiting patiently—

…for the wind to change.

 

• 「白災」 (White Calamity) → a historical term for snow disasters causing massive livestock deaths on the steppe.
• 防火隔离带 (firebreaks) were historically crucial in steppe warfare; arson was a real and devastating tactic.
• 麸皮 (wheat bran) as animal feed reflects advanced agrarian–pastoral integration—this is statecraft, not just logistics.