As spring blossomed, Jianping began preparations for the Emperor’s spring hunt once more.
Wen Yanran had been on the throne for over a year now, during which the agencies under the Imperial Household responsible for clothing, food, shelter, and transportation had undertaken comprehensive reforms of their operations.
An official in charge of utensils inquired of his superior: “It is now the second year of Zhaoming – shall we craft some bronze items again?”
“How could that be!” The superior shot his subordinate a glare, promptly halting the suggestion. After a pause, his tone softened as he added, “You’ve just joined, so it’s understandable – but remember this well in the future: Her Majesty is not fond of bronze ware. If we are to craft anything, iron implements will suffice.”
In this era, copper was known as “red gold” and used as material for minting coins, making it particularly precious. While ordinary households could not easily use it, the Sovereign faced no such restraint – whether considering economic power or ritual standards, he was absolutely entitled to the highest treatment of this age.
However, though the rules permitted it, Wen Yanran himself did not care for it.
In response, the officials of the Imperial Household offered their own interpretation colored by personal admiration: Her Majesty was a sage ruler rarely seen through the ages, whose life was naturally characterized by utmost simplicity. The late emperor had favored vessels such as goblets, giant tripods, and large cauldrons made of red gold, but Her Majesty considered these items excessively luxurious and, after ascending the throne, gradually replaced them with ironware.
The official wiped his sweat and hastily bowed in acknowledgment – encountering a sovereign with such powerful self-restraint truly made her subjects tremble with awe.
This minor official did not know that the work of the Imperial Household not only made its officers tremble with trepidation, but also made the Sovereign herself tremble with trepidation.
Since ascending the throne, Wen Yanran had several close calls nearly falling into pitfalls due to insufficient attention to daily details – she had documented these harrowing experiences using her game panel’s built-in recording function. The last incident involved the Imperial Household nearly serving raw fish slices at her table; this time, they attempted to poison her digestive health with copper cauldrons.
Wen Yanran did not fear the consumption of precious metals, but she was rather concerned about heavy metal poisoning from consuming foods with excessive copper content. No matter how willing she was to trust the loyalty of the imperial physicians, she dared not place her faith in the medical standards of this era.
Her actions also exerted a certain influence on other households in Jianping. The city’s nobles, always attentive to the Sovereign’s movements, now took the Emperor as their benchmark and made adjustments to their own dining utensils – since even the Emperor herself no longer used items crafted from red gold, they naturally all switched to a simpler style as well.
The minor official thanked his superior for the reminder, personally and attentively poured tea and arranged fruits for him, and cheerfully inquired about matters within the palace.
The superior understood his subordinate’s intentions and, thinking it fitting to teach the newcomer some sense of propriety and tact, said, “There’s no need for you to expend such effort on me. As for matters within the palace, they are now managed by the two Attendants, Chi and Zhang. Those two are not like the Director – they are of the highest caliber, impervious to outside influence.”
The minor official quickly asked, “Are those two Attendants then the ones most trusted by the Emperor within the palace?”
The superior nodded and added with a smile, “There’s also General Zhong, but unfortunately, she has not yet returned.”
The superior’s words held truth. Though General Zhong had not yet returned, the Emperor greatly honored her by constantly keeping her in mind. Recently, she had been practicing her equestrian skills using the pony she had tributed, intending to switch to a full-sized horse once she became more proficient.
This afternoon, Wen Yanran, considering that the spring hunt was approaching, mounted her horse and rode at a slow, leisurely pace within the palace gardens.
The palace regulations were strict; even imperial relatives and regent ministers were not permitted to ride within the grounds. Upon hearing the distant sound of hooves, the palace guards initially moved to intervene, but after a single glance from afar, they lowered their heads – it was the Emperor herself, so all was well.
To outsiders, the Emperor on horseback appeared quite composed and self-assured. The imperial guards understood the reason behind this demeanor – it was not merely due to the recent great victory in the eastern lands, but more significantly because of the vast spoils sent by the veteran General Tao. As the commanding general responsible for quelling the rebellion, and in an era where soldiers were permitted to profit personally from warfare, Tao Jia could have pocketed the wealth he obtained. He could also have distributed the spoils to win over hearts and minds, or sent them to the capital to please his superiors. However, being an extremely prudent man who neither wished to be burdened with a reputation for greed nor desired to build excessive prestige and influence within the military through wealth distribution, he instead delivered the bulk of the treasures directly to the Emperor alone.
After receiving this wealth, Wen Yanran took a portion of it and distributed it as gifts to the soldiers stationed in the central region. These troops were also elite forces, yet they could not be easily mobilized; to prevent unrest among the imperial guards, they needed to be appeased.
Wen Yanran rode all the way back to Western Yong Palace. Her riding skills were not yet proficient, and upon reaching the entrance, the attending palace attendants carefully helped her dismount.
Cai Qu bowed. “Your Majesty, Grand Tutor Yuan and Censor-in-Chief Song have arrived and are currently waiting in the side hall.”
Wen Yanran nodded slightly and smiled. “I’ve kept them waiting for quite a while.” She first went to the inner palace to change her clothes, while instructing those around her, “Inform the kitchen to prepare; I will be hosting these two ministers for a meal today.”
The Emperor’s everyday outer robes and undergarments were all made of fine cotton, with very little embroidery. To cater to the Emperor’s habits, the Imperial Household had increased their efforts in developing cotton fabrics; compared to when she first transmigrated here, the textile techniques had matured considerably.
Yuan Yanshi and Song Wenshu had actually heard the commotion of the Emperor’s arrival quite some time ago. After waiting for another fifteen minutes, the announcement finally came from outside, and they both rose to greet the Emperor.
Upon seeing the Emperor’s attire, both were filled with admiration. Even if it were merely for show, persisting in such a simple lifestyle to this extent was genuinely no easy feat. Moreover, now that there was no one at court who could constrain the Sovereign, and Her Majesty’s conduct remained as consistent as ever, it sufficiently proved that this was simply his true nature.
Once Wen Yanran was seated, she bid the two ministers to sit as well and got straight to the point. “I have invited you both here today to discuss the matter of constructing the canal.”
Upon hearing the word “construct,” Yuan Yanshi and the other were momentarily startled. They didn’t bother asking why the Minister of Works, Huang Xu, hadn’t been summoned to join the meeting – by now, the Emperor had clearly gained a thorough understanding of Huang Xu’s fondness for slacking off.
However, subordinates like Huang Xu did have their advantages: as long as the superior took a firm stance, he would absolutely not dare to voice opposition.
Censor-in-Chief Song cupped his hands and said, “Would Your Majesty care to elaborate?”
Wen Yanran had someone spread out a map and pointed to the waterways on it. “I have given much thought to the state of the realm. The reason the southern regions have persistently resisted civilizing influences is largely due to poor transportation. If we can connect their local rivers with those of the Central Plains, travel and exchange will naturally become convenient in the future.” She then added, “If this project succeeds, we can further connect the southern waterways with those of the eastern and northern regions, thereby uniting the entire realm into one interconnected whole.”
This arrangement was not due to any objection to the western regions, but rather because she felt that the numerous mountains and forests in the Dan and Tai area made digging canals impractical.
Yuan and Song felt a tremor in their hearts upon hearing the faint yet unmistakable air of dominance in the Emperor’s tone.
In the minds of the Central Plains people, the western regions were considered uncivilized territory, while the southern regions were regarded as semi-civilized. The aristocratic families now settled there, such as the Cui and Chu clans, had originally migrated from their ancestral homes in the Central Plains.
The digging of canals was not merely an engineering issue; it also signified the Emperor’s intention to develop the south.
Yuan Yanshi lowered his head. Skilled at discerning the sovereign’s will, he now clearly perceived that the Emperor was not consulting her ministers today about whether to undertake this project, but rather discussing how to carry it out.
