The cost of producing allicin was exorbitantly high. Even without considering the losses from failed batches, a single tiny pill cost no less than ten thousand coins.
Paradoxically, this exorbitant price put Wen Yanran somewhat at ease – due to factors such as production costs and storage conditions, allicin could, at most, circulate only among the top-tier officials at court, preventing it from exerting too great an influence on the Great Zhou dynasty.
Just then, an attendant came forward to report that Jianping had already delivered that day’s memorials for the Emperor’s perusal. Wen Yanran gave a slight nod and left the experimental site. After changing out of her outer garments, which carried various odors, in a side hall, she was about to head to Sangzhe Palace – the building within Jingyuan that served as her daily residence – when Cai Qu led a group of eunuchs forward. With an expression verging on anguish, they knelt and requested that the Emperor bathe and change clothes.
“…”
Wen Yanran took in the surrounding aromas and felt this was, admittedly, a reasonable request.
Since Jingyuan served as the imperial family’s recreational grounds, it had certainly received meticulous maintenance from several preceding generations of emperors who weren’t particularly fond of work. Within the gardens, the Tangbo Pavilion was constructed, channeling hot spring waters inside for the royal family’s bathing purposes.
Although Western Yong Palace also had side halls designated for bathing, when comparing the two, Jingyuan was undoubtedly more relaxing and comfortable.
The palace attendants would gather large quantities of fresh hibiscus leaves, wash them thoroughly, and mix them with a small amount of peppermint leaves – still referred to as “bakuo” at the time. These would be crushed together, and the filtered juice would be preserved for washing the hair of the imperial nobles.
To avoid shortages of medicinal herbs during autumn and winter, both Gui Palace and Taiqi Palace had established greenhouses cultivating numerous out-of-season plants, including hibiscus.
Although the ancients did not know that hibiscus leaves contained saponin, they had nonetheless learned through accumulated experience about the uses of many plants and animals.
While Wen Yanran soaked leisurely in the hot spring, Cai Qu stood outside the door, reading aloud the memorials on behalf of the emperor.
“A report from the east states that the esteemed General Tao will likely return to the capital around next month.”
In addition to returning himself, Tao Jia would also be responsible for matters such as the relocation of surrendered soldiers. Once all personnel had assembled, preparations could begin for the canal construction.
As for the remaining infrastructure issues left by the Right Camp, these fell upon the shoulders of the commanding generals, Shi Zhuhe and Chu Fu.
There was also Chen Ming, originally a captain, who, due to the shortage of personnel in the eastern regions, now remained in the Right Camp as a deputy general.
The court had also intended to appoint Ren Feihong to an official post, but she lacked interest in serving as a local official elsewhere and instead prepared to return to the capital, continuing her role as the Inner Court Attendant-in-Waiting within the Imperial Household.
Aside from these individuals, numerous elite soldiers who had distinguished themselves during the eastern pacification campaign were, according to precedent, selected to serve as officials at court – in order to cultivate a sense of belonging among administrative personnel, most, upon truly embarking on their official careers, were required to spend some time in Jianping, acquaint themselves with some colleagues, and only then could they be posted to local positions.
Cai Qu said, “General Zhong of the Left Camp has also submitted a memorial.”
Actually, Cai Qu’s speaking voice was quite normal, with just a slight pause in the middle. However, the Sovereign had always been perceptive and immediately sensed something. “What’s the matter with Minister Zhong?”
Cai Qu quickly replied, “General Zhong has recommended several young talents from the western regions to come to court.”
Wen Yanran nodded. “That is quite a common occurrence.”
Zhong Zhiwei was not only a general but also deeply trusted by the Sovereign. She had first been enfeoffed as Marquis of Changning, then later as Marquis of Qu’an, each fief more prosperous than the last. Considering she was still relatively young, her official career had essentially reached its pinnacle; what followed would be accumulating seniority. Unless some major event affecting the realm’s situation occurred, she would likely have to wait until after forty to possibly secure a position among the State Preceptor, Grand Tutor, or Grand Protector.
Given her current status and influence, recommending people was normal; not making recommendations would be the rare exception.
Cai Qu reported cautiously, “Someone from the Censorate has impeached General Zhong, alleging that she has been delaying her return to Jianping, maintaining military forces to assert her dominance, colluding with the barbarians in the western regions, and is suspected of forming a faction for private gain.”
As steam rose within the hall, Wen Yanran’s gaze sharpened – at that very moment, a system notification scrolled across the air, visible only to her:
[System:
[Marquis of Qu’an Zhong Zhiwei]’s influence has increased. Dan Province [Stability] -1.]
The system never deceives players; it displays accurate data. As Zhong Zhiwei’s personal influence grew, her power as a military commander would inevitably provoke unease among others. Many novice players, when encountering similar situations, would choose to suppress such developments, only to witness the [Stability] statistic – which had initially dropped only by a single digit – suffer a clean and decisive halving.
Actually, to prevent players from gaining comprehensive knowledge of various regional situations, Guide to Becoming a Tyrant deliberately refrained from displaying local data too meticulously. However, after observing Wen Yanran’s path gradually deviate from the original objectives, the system made a highly biased adjustment.
Wen Yanran’s gaze swept briefly over the notification, and she chuckled lightly.
“Instruct Secretary Wang to draft an edict, stating that I have approved General Zhong’s recommendation.”
[System:
[Marquis of Qu’an Zhong Zhiwei]’s influence continues to rise. Dan Province [Stability] -2.]
Upon seeing this, Wen Yanran nodded with satisfaction and resolved to steadfastly support Zhong Zhiwei to the end – although her initial expectation for the general was merely that she would be able to go offline at critical moments, if Zhong Zhiwei eventually managed to establish separatist rule in the western regions, that would actually be quite a favorable development.
The system did not generate a third notification.
One cannot soak in a hot spring for too long. After fifteen minutes, Wen Yanran rose, dried her hair, changed into casual attire, and proceeded to Sangzhe Palace to attend to state affairs. Many of the veteran palace attendants were greatly impressed by this – it had been years since they had seen an emperor who went straight to work after bathing.
Great Zhou architecture had always emphasized spaciousness and openness, and the interior furnishings likewise followed a generous, expansive style. Wen Yanran’s current desk perfectly embodied the imperial majesty: on one side, piles of memorials; on the other, stacks of data reports.
Cai Qu placed the processed memorials into a wooden box and sealed it, preparing to have someone send it back to the city. As she walked out, she happened to encounter Zhang Luo. She immediately lowered her head in greeting and exchanged a few words about official matters.
Zhang Luo noticed the look of confusion on the newcomer’s face and could guess the reason for her perplexity.
As a Cavalier Attendants-in-Ordinary, he and Chi Yi had gradually been focusing more of their attention on the outer court, making it necessary to promote newcomers to handle palace affairs. Therefore, he was willing to offer some guidance to foster a favorable connection. He said, “Do not overthink this. The Sovereign understands clearly: General Zhong’s power base does not originally lie in the western regions. If she did not bestow some favors to win people’s hearts, how else could she establish her authority? The Sovereign recognizes her difficult position and will certainly not blame her.” He continued, “Although General Zhong should have returned long ago, there is still no one in the western regions capable of replacing her – that is why she has been delayed in departing. Do you truly believe General Zhong herself is unwilling to return to Jianping?”
If the court wished to stabilize the western regions, it had to send capable individuals there. And while those capable individuals completed their work, their personal prestige would naturally increase as well – these were all normal phenomena.
Cai Qu breathed a sigh of relief – Zhong Zhiwei had served as a commandant in the Inner Guard early on, maintaining frequent contact with the palace attendants, many of whom had received her kindness. Naturally, they would not want to see the central court harbor suspicions toward her.
“But Her Majesty did not reprimand the Censorate either.”
Zhang Luo chuckled warmly. “Naturally, Her Majesty would not reprimand the Censorate. Our dynasty has always exercised restraint over military officers. The Censorate impeaching a general leading troops beyond the capital is simply fulfilling its duty of loyalty. As long as the Sovereign remains discerning, there is no harm in it.”
His tone was mild, yet Cai Qu could detect a hint of irony in his words – had this been during the reign of Emperor Li, the sovereign would likely have grown suspicious of the general over such matters, then chosen to recall or suppress them, resulting in no one guarding the western regions and plunging the area into chaos once again.
However, the current emperor was different. No matter how outstanding the minister, the Sovereign could manage them with ease, naturally leaving no concern about military officers growing too powerful in the provinces. Meanwhile, all departments at court could attend to their respective duties undisturbed.
Upon hearing this, Cai Qu bowed to Zhang Luo. “Thank you, Sir, for your guidance.”
Zhang Luo waved his hand, still smiling warmly. “You serve at Her Majesty’s side -sooner or later, you will come to understand these matters yourself.”
Jingyuan was home to numerous birds and beasts. To test medicinal properties, Wen Yanran ordered the Imperial Guard to deliver a considerable number of small animals, such as rabbits, to observe the effects of consuming the finished medicinal products.
Wen Yanran, in truth, held no great expectations – if the small animals could simply survive after taking the medicine, that could already be considered a stage-by-stage success.
The palace attendants delivered that day’s reports; a wooden crate filled with experimental records was placed beside the Emperor’s desk.
To facilitate data recording, the palace attendants selected to assist with experiments in Jingyuan had all received some education in their early years and were literate. Many among them even knew how to perform calculations, and they had undergone preliminary training before officially starting their work. Yet even so, their records caused Wen Yanran immense distress while reading them.
The units of measurement in this era differed vastly from those of later generations. For instance, a description like “a total of seven zhu of powder” would be difficult for many modern people to comprehend.
The Great Zhou dynasty employed units such as jin and liang, with sixteen liang equaling one jin, one liang equaling four fen, and one fen equaling six zhu.
Further down, there were units like lei and shu, with ten lei equaling one zhu, ten shu equaling one lei, and one shu representing the weight of a single grain of millet.
The decimal system truly is a wonderful civilization.
When Wen Yanran first encountered these units of measurement, she felt a strong urge to have a conversation with whoever had established them as public standards, asking why they had decided to mix decimal, quaternary, sexagesimal, and hexadecimal systems together.
Thinking about this, Wen Yanran realized that ordinary commoners couldn’t really be blamed for not knowing arithmetic – even by modern standards, this assortment would give people quite a headache to calculate…
Wen Yanran intended to reestablish a new set of measurement standards for use in experiments, adopting units more familiar to a transmigrator: qian, fen, and li, with decimal relationships between adjacent units.
However, even knowing that complex bases made calculations more difficult, people still preferred what they were accustomed to. The palace attendants, being native to this world, naturally weren’t keen on using the new system of units proposed by the emperor. Fortunately, the nature of their profession ensured that as long as Wen Yanran was determined to proceed with this, her intentions could essentially be carried through.
She wasn’t particularly skilled at persuading people, but the imperial prestige certainly was.
After promoting the new system for a while, the submitted experimental reports still contained some mixing of old and new units. Wen Yanran didn’t expect everyone to correct themselves quickly and had to make do with reading them as they were. To enhance the palace attendants’ motivation to learn the new units, she specifically decreed that those who used them well would receive monetary rewards as additional incentives.
Apart from proficiency in using the new units, those who mastered experimental procedures or proposed effective improvements were also eligible for bonuses. Rewards for the former ranged from one thousand to five thousand coins, while the latter could receive up to tens of thousands. Recently, a young attendant originally working in Jingyuan’s kitchens had received a reward of ten thousand coins for suggesting the use of pigskin glue to coat medicinal pills, thereby reducing the consumption of shellac. Though others did not understand, Wen Yanran realized that this pigskin glue could essentially be seen as crude gelatin – and gelatin, in modern times, is a common material for capsules. The combination of gelatin and shellac was roughly equivalent to coating an ordinary capsule with an enteric layer.
The second batch of pills after testing was placed upon the Emperor’s desk. Those made from allicin she named “Sulfur Elixir,” while those derived from salicylic acid she named “Wood Essence Elixir.” Due to differing shellac content, the former appeared darker in color.
“Deliver these pills to the residence of Erudite Lu.”
Wen Yanrun actually wished to conduct further meticulous testing of the medicinal properties, but Lu Zhongmao’s condition did not permit her to proceed steadily and cautiously.
Within Jianping.
Lu Zhongmao’s situation had already become quite dire.
Her physical constitution was not inherently poor, but her age was a factor, and she had recently overexerted herself. After catching a chill some time ago, she had fallen ill and been unable to recover.
Someone had privately come to advise Lu Zhongmao to resign from her position as Erudite of the Imperial Academy, suggesting that this calamity had befallen her precisely because she had distorted the sages’ intent while compiling the textbooks. Only by first resigning her post, then burning incense and praying – if her heart were sincere – could her condition naturally improve.
Those holding such views were not all seeking to trouble Lu Zhongmao; on the contrary, many who genuinely wished her well shared similar sentiments.
Limited by the era, even many officials at court believed more in fate than in science. Hence, when individuals like Dian Wue had previously raised the banner of divine mandate, tens of thousands were willing to live or die for their cause.
