Since the time he was ordered to make stirrups, Hou Suo understood that to remain in the position of Director of the Imperial Household for long, he must learn to guard secrets with his life. As time passed, he increasingly realized that the matters he needed to keep confidential had gradually multiplied, including but not limited to woodblock printing and the production of sugar from sugarcane juice.
In the south, no one mastered the technique of sugar-making, nor did Hou Suo dare to widely disseminate such methods. Instead, he selected trustworthy craftsmen from within the Imperial Household and, under the escort of the imperial guards, sent them to Chongchang to boil the sugarcane obtained through trade into sugar, which was then transported to the capital. While selecting the candidates, he also wrote a letter to Ren Feihong, seeking her advice on whether there were any good ideas to make the boiled sugarcane sugar more aesthetically pleasing.
Ren Feihong had no ideas of her own, but she knew whom to ask.
One day later, Wen Yanran in Western Yong Palace received a letter from Jingcheng as usual. Ren Feihong, who had grown increasingly engrossed in the art of alchemy, inquired in the letter about how to remove the colored impurities from a certain solution.
This was not a difficult problem.
To encourage her dedication to the grand cause of alchemy, Wen Yanran had always been happy to share with Ren Feihong some knowledge that would not have much impact on the current state of technological advancement. After a moment’s thought, she listed a few easily achievable methods for her reference, such as water extraction and alcohol precipitation, alcohol extraction and water precipitation, washing with acid or alkali solutions, or using physical adsorption by adding diatomaceous earth, talcum powder, or activated carbon to the solution as adsorbents.
Diatomaceous earth and talcum powder could both be obtained from nature, and activated carbon was not difficult to produce either. One simply needed to select thoroughly cleaned hardwood, place it in a pot with vents, and heat it until the wood turned into charcoal.
Wen Yanran had already begun gradually delegating authority to the treacherous ministers of the Great Zhou she had chosen. However, the consequence of no longer attending to every detail herself was that she failed to discern the true intent of the Imperial Household from Ren Feihong’s euphemistically worded letter…
Censor-in-Chief Song Wenshu encountered Wang Qishi in the imperial city. Both were on their way to attend a council meeting that day. After exchanging polite greetings, they walked side by side toward the Central Secretariat.
Song Wenshu, having been asked by a fellow official a few days prior, said, “The Imperial Household has already allocated funds and sent personnel to the southern regions. At the Censorate, we haven’t caught wind of anything.” With these words, he indicated that the Censorate had uncovered no corruption within the Imperial Household significant enough to warrant discussion at court.
Wang Qishi sighed twice, unsurprised, and said, “To be honest with you, after today’s meeting, I will need to visit Western Yong Palace to plead guilty before Her Majesty.”
Song Wenshu was slightly taken aback. “What have you done?”
Wang Qishi replied, “I once advised Her Majesty to curb the conversion of zhe and hemp fields into cotton fields, lest the people be left with nothing to wear.”
The Emperor had paid no heed to his remonstration at the time. Though Wang Qishi could not openly defy the sovereign, he nonetheless kept a close watch on the situation in Jianzhou, waiting to see what impact the expansion of cotton fields would ultimately have on the surrounding populace.
Judging by his current stance, the situation now was evidently different from what he had anticipated.
Song Wenshu smiled and said, “Pray be at ease. Her Majesty is endowed with heavenly wisdom, and it is only natural that others cannot match her. The fact that she did not reprimand you that day shows that she understood you merely lacked understanding and had no malicious intent.”
The two had not taken particular care to keep their conversation from others. The Vice Minister of Revenue walking behind them, after a moment’s reflection, quietly tucked the memorial in her sleeve back a little.
She, too, had matters to remonstrate about this day. Matters of agriculture and sericulture across the realm had always been under the purview of the Ministry of Revenue. After the Emperor had pacified the Western Tribes and the Eastern Lands, she had confiscated the estates of the powerful local clans, declaring them all government-owned. She then granted the usufruct of these lands to the common people, who were required to pay a portion of their harvest as tax each year, while their poll tax was abolished.
At the time, with the wars just concluded, the officials had raised no objections to such arrangements. However, given the Emperor’s current inclinations, it was evident that she intended to continue this policy indefinitely – a prospect that inevitably stirred unease.
The Vice Minister of Revenue had originally intended to offer a remonstration, but observing Wang Qishi’s predicament, she decided to wait a while longer.
After all, no unrest had yet occurred in the Western Tribes or the Eastern Lands. Judging by past precedents, when ministers failed to grasp the intent behind a decree, it was far more likely due to their own inadequacy than to any error on the Emperor’s part.
After the session at the Central Secretariat concluded, Wang Qishi, as promised, made his way to Western Yong Palace under the guidance of a palace attendant. The moment he stepped through the palace gates, he prostrated himself and performed the full ceremonial kowtow.
If one’s superior is a person of keen discernment, the best course of action upon realizing one’s own mistake is to be truthful and confess without delay, lest one suffer the torment of repeated setbacks.
Wang Qishi first reported on the state of clothing among the populace in Jianzhou. “Now, among the households that have switched to growing cotton, after paying a set amount of cotton as tax, they keep the remainder for their own use, enjoying more than enough.”
His earlier concern that a reduction in hemp fields would leave the common people without clothing had been entirely grounded in the perspective of a scholar-official, without considering the actual living conditions of ordinary folk.
For commoners, cotton was not a substitute for silk, but rather a replacement for hemp.
Moreover, compared to silk and hemp, cotton was far less laborious to cultivate. Even untreated cotton was quite soft, and the fabric made from it was both softer and more durable. Beyond being woven into cloth, it could also serve as stuffing for bedding.
Not only was the cultivation process simpler, but subsequent steps such as harvesting and processing were also considerably easier than with silk or hemp.
In the world from which Wen Yanran had originally come, cotton had indeed gradually supplanted hemp as the world’s most important textile crop. Unfortunately, as a student with a lopsided education, she did not possess a deep understanding of the history of the textile industry.
Wang Qishi said earnestly, “I clearly lacked understanding of agricultural matters, yet presumptuously offered clumsy and ill-informed remonstrations to Your Majesty. I have truly made a spectacle of myself.”
“…”
Wen Yanran propped her chin on her hand and regarded him in silence.
While his demeanor was certainly that of a loyal minister, the end result was that he had once again landed himself in a predicament.
Wang Qishi was a native of this world – how was it that he understood cotton even less than she did?
Could he not have conducted some investigation first, and then told her whether growing cotton was ultimately a good thing or a bad thing?
Wen Yanran considered how extensively cotton cultivation had already spread in Jianzhou and suddenly realized that even if she wanted to curb its momentum, it was likely too late…
The laws of nature were difficult to reverse by the personal will of a sovereign.
Moreover, commerce in Jianzhou had not been adversely affected. In this era, many crops never entered the market at all but were kept by the common people for their own use. Even if the expansion of cotton did deal some blow to the hemp and kudzu industries, the impact would fall only on powerful local families, who were far more resilient to such shocks.
Thus, on the whole, planting cotton brought far more benefits than drawbacks. What Wen Yanran did not know was that the Imperial Household was already plotting to sell cotton fabrics to the Western Regions via the Qiuche Kingdom.
Wang Qishi thought to himself: just as his teacher had said, the present Sage Sovereign was indeed a person without limits. Though she had grown up deep within the palace, she seemed to possess an innate understanding of agriculture. Not only did she know how to cultivate cotton, but she was also well aware of the high-yield rice varieties that were easy to plant in Luonan and elsewhere, and she clearly understood the strengths and weaknesses of various crops. In the presence of such a sovereign, the only viable path seemed to be that of a loyal minister.
After a long moment, Wen Yanran finally allowed a hint of a smile to appear – if those familiar with her, such as Chi Yi, had been present, they would have recognized the weariness beneath the monarch’s gentle façade – and said slowly, “For Minister Wang to recognize his own error is already exceptional. You need not be overly hard on yourself. The Great Zhou still relies on your service. I only hope that in your future remonstrations, you will act with the principle of ‘seeking truth from facts.'” With that, she had the palace attendant escort him out.
Wang Qishi silently savored the phrase “seeking truth from facts” in his mind, and gradually a sense of clarity began to dawn on him.
He had made up his mind: he would go to his teacher Yuan Yanshi’s residence that very day and convey the Emperor’s words to his fellow officials, so that all might have the opportunity to receive the sovereign’s instruction.
Wang Qishi did not realize that ever since the young emperor had ascended the throne, the secret ambitions he had once harbored, those dark aspirations he could not share with anyone, had long since dissipated to who knows where…
After the man had departed, Wen Yanran sat alone in her chair for a while, and eventually decided to go out for a stroll to ease the frustration weighing on her heart.
She had been too negligent. After all, the comment section could only tell her which ministers were loyal; it could not tell her how competent those loyal ministers actually were.
The Emperor, accompanied by her attendants, strolled casually to the Tianfu Palace. She then made her way to the study with practiced familiarity and sat down. The young Daoist official, holding his breath, entered softly to present a cup of tea before retreating outside the hall.
It was not that they were overly timid, but today, after the Emperor’s arrival, her demeanor was unlike usual. She sat silently in the room, her gaze deep and contemplative, as though she were confronted with a problem exceedingly difficult to resolve.
The Daoist officials were deeply concerned. Their guest was the Sovereign, and if she were truly in a foul mood, the one who would suffer most would certainly not be herself. They could only quickly summon back the State Preceptor, who had been performing the daily rituals for the ancestors of the Wen clan.
When Wen Jingmei arrived, he too was somewhat surprised. He first performed a ceremonial bow. “Greetings, Your Majesty.” Then he asked, “Does Your Majesty seem troubled in heart?”
In the final years of the Changxing era, when the court and the realm were in a state of precarious turmoil, the Emperor had remained composed and unshaken even in the face of a mutiny by the imperial guards. What matter could be troubling her now?
Wen Yanran spoke slowly. “I was just thinking – why is it that there is no omniscient talent in the court?” Otherwise, how convenient it would be for her to feel her way across the river.
Wen Jingmei immediately understood – the Emperor was indeed vexed once again by the scarcity of capable talent.
Measuring others against her own caliber, the sovereign naturally found it difficult to be impressed by anyone.
Wen Jingmei said, “Your Majesty has established official schools throughout the realm. In time, there will surely be a steady stream of talent entering the court.”
Upon hearing this, Wen Yanran smiled, straightened her sleeves, and set up a chessboard. “Enough. Let us speak no more of such matters. Since I have come today, I shall play a game with you.”
Wen Jingmei was among the few in the Great Zhou who truly understood the Emperor’s actual skill at chess. Although the sovereign had been quite unskilled when she first ascended the throne, she had improved considerably over the past two years. Given her natural aptitude, if she were willing to devote herself to it, her accomplishments in the art of chess would undoubtedly far exceed her current level. Yet the myriad affairs of state left her little time to spend on personal interests.
After a game concluded, Wen Jingmei said, “Excessive worry harms the body. Your Majesty would do well to find more moments of ease in daily life.”
Wen Yanran asked curiously, “And how do you suggest I find such ease?” Was the State Preceptor about to offer some excellent recommendation for entertainment?
Wen Jingmei thought for a moment, then offered a suggestion without much confidence. “The weather has grown hot lately, making hunting somewhat inconvenient. How about a game of pitch-pot?”
Hearing this, Wen Yanran could not help but laugh. “Are you worried that I will fail to hit any prey at next spring’s hunt, and thus thinks I should practice my aim in advance?”
Wen Jingmei replied, “Your Majesty successfully struck a wild boar this year. Surely next year will see even greater improvement.”
Wen Yanran shook her head. “That had little to do with my own skill; it was entirely thanks to the Imperial Household.”
Wen Jingmei smiled. “Your Majesty’s perception is truly astute.”
The Emperor, clad in her cyan outer robe, leaned against the armrest and said with mock solemnity, “We simply refrain from stating it aloud.”
There was little in the Great Zhou worthy of entertainment by modern standards. When Wen Yanran departed from Western Yong Palace, she borrowed only two volumes of rare miscellaneous books describing the customs and landscapes of distant lands. In return, she had the Imperial Household send to Tianfu Palace some early-ripening watermelons from that year’s harvest, along with a bottle of berberine fashioned into the shape of medicinal pills.
In the understanding of Great Zhou physicians, watermelons were cold in nature, and excessive consumption could easily lead to digestive troubles. When others received such rewards, they naturally perceived the emperor as considerate. Yet Wen Jingmei, being among the few at court most familiar with the sovereign, could always detect a faint, subtle hint of playful mischief in her gestures…
