Within the Gui Palace, the hall serving as the office for the Ministry of Works was named “Qiheng.” Originally, given the leisurely disposition of its presiding officer, the place was not particularly busy on ordinary days. However, since the new emperor ascended the throne, it had gradually begun to show signs of being understaffed.
One supervisor analyzed, “Although a considerable amount of materials has already been procured, the cost of constructing the city is immense. What we have accumulated so far amounts to only forty to fifty percent. Let’s not be overly optimistic too soon.”
Huang Xu, who had been receiving personal audiences from his direct superior quite frequently these days, found himself compelled to intensify his study of professional knowledge. He remarked, “To have secured forty to fifty percent of the materials before construction even begins is already an extraordinary achievement.” He added, “A canal is being built in the south, and the excess earth and stone excavated from it can be transported directly to the new city site for use in its construction.”
The same supervisor from earlier said, “Even if we have sufficient materials, the matter of where to consign labor for the city’s construction must still be carefully considered.”
Huang Xu casually produced a document, tossed it onto the table, and sighed, “What we fail to anticipate, Her Majesty has already arranged well in advance – over in Luonan, quite a number of people have arrived.”
The supervisor exclaimed in surprise, “Has Luonan fallen into turmoil again?”
Huang Xu let out another sigh. “It’s not turmoil – they’re facing grain shortages in their country, which is why they’ve fled to Zhou territory.”
The supervisor was horrified. “Could such a development also be part of Her Majesty’s design?”
Huang Xu sneered, “How could it not be?”
As the Minister of the Ministry of Works, he had access to well-informed sources and knew that the Emperor had previously sent a personal message to Xiao Xichi, instructing her to engage in trade with the southern coastal states – exchanging zhe for grain.
Seeing the opportunity for profit, the powerful families of Luonan had eagerly jumped in, forcibly seizing vast tracts of land and conscripting common people through military might to cultivate their fields. This region had always been a producer of early rice, with grain supplies never falling short year after year, yet now, famine had emerged.
Since Luonan bordered Great Zhou, the suffering people, unable to endure hunger and forced labor, fled into Zhou territory. Xiao Xichi then sent men to gather them together and transport them to the canal site.
At the time, Wen Yanran had made such arrangements with the intention of supporting Xiao Xichi’s autonomous rule over her region. However, the Grand General of the South was unfailingly loyal and naturally acted entirely in the Emperor’s best interests.
After the initial period of panic, the famine-stricken refugees gradually calmed down. After all, they had to work wherever they went, and compared to other places, the treatment in Great Zhou was far better. As long as they could get enough to eat, they didn’t really care who they were working for.
Huang Xu let out a knowing laugh. “To be honest, I suspect the powerful families in Luonan who allowed so many starving people to cross the border didn’t have good intentions. What they failed to anticipate was that the Emperor’s plan to build a new capital would actually make it convenient for local officials to implement relief through work programs, giving these people a proper place to go.”
If something like this happened once, it could be considered a coincidence, but it couldn’t be a coincidence every single time. Huang Xu had long since been thoroughly convinced, confirming that the Sovereign possessed the ability to arrange matters years in advance and neutralize all the schemes and intrigues that stood in her way, dissolving them without a trace. If there were levels to the art of steering the tides of fate, then the Emperor had likely reached the realm of the antelope hanging its horns – so seamlessly subtle as to leave no trace behind.
The supervisor asked, “What about funds and grain supplies…”
Huang Xu replied, “Over the past two years, the south has enjoyed abundant harvests, and the treasury has accumulated significant surpluses. There is no shortage of grain.”
He harbored a thought in his mind – grain stored in warehouses could not be kept for too long, lest it spoil, and needed to be used in a timely manner, like currency, before it became inedible. With the south currently enjoying a surplus, it was naturally most effective to utilize it locally. The Emperor’s determination to build a new city likely took this factor into account as well.
“As for funds – do you know how much commercial tax the south collected in the first half of this year?”
As he spoke, Huang Xu raised a number to his subordinate.
The supervisor exclaimed in astonishment, “As much as 250 million coins?” He knew that commercial tax revenues were high in the west because the two prefectures of Dan and Tai could engage in trade with foreign lands through states like Qiuche. As for the southern coast, although there were many tributary states, regions like Luonan had limited financial resources and were rooted in agrarian civilization, not excelling in commerce and trade. He had never imagined they could yield such a staggering sum.
Huang Xu nodded. “You wouldn’t know, of course – this is all thanks to the profits from zhe sugar. The southern zhe harvest only begins in March and April, and given the current momentum, commercial tax revenues in the second half of the year are likely to be even higher than in the first.”
Zhe from the southern regions had always been valuable due to its sweet taste, but transporting it was exceedingly troublesome. After being collected from places like Luonan, it would pile up in the storehouses of Chongchang. It was not until the Imperial Household sent people there – who, through some unknown process, turned the zhe directly into sugar – that the situation changed. This sugar was snow-white and crystal-clear, resembling crystal, making it highly suitable for transport and trade.
The supervisor drew a deep breath and murmured, “So that’s how it is. So that’s how it is!”
This man had finally come to realize that the issues which had seemed so intractable to them had all been precisely anticipated by the Emperor. She had long since set in motion her plans against Luonan, and now she had secured both people and wealth, while the court officials had neither the means nor the standing to oppose her.
Huang Xu stood up and said, “I plan to go find Minister Lu and the others to jointly submit a memorial requesting that Her Majesty bestow a name upon the auxiliary capital.”
This was, in itself, a gesture of taking a stance.
The supervisor said with eager courtesy, “It is quite hot today, Minister. There is no need to rush so urgently.”
Huang Xu sighed – he felt he had sighed more today than he usually did in an entire month. “I would rather not rush either, but what if, by the time we delay, the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Revenue bypass us and submit their own memorials? What then?”
In the absence of someone like Emperor Li to draw all the resentment, the high ministers at court were hardly a monolithic bloc themselves.
Huang Xu always demonstrated an extraordinary capacity for action when it came to extolling the virtues of the Sovereign. The Emperor, who was spending the summer heat on the outskirts of the city, received the ministers’ signal and soon gave her response – she personally bestowed upon the auxiliary capital, then under construction, the name “Taikang.”
Wen Yanran thought to herself that the meaning of “Taikang” was actually quite auspicious, but since it was associated with a ruler who had led his kingdom to ruin, future generations would likely have to avoid using this name.
As noon approached, meals began to be laid out within the Gui Palace.
An attendant presented a dish called “Crimson Brocade Meat” – essentially sweet and sour pork. Wen Yanran had personally written the recipe a few days earlier. Just then, tribute had arrived from the south, so the imperial kitchen used pineapple and zhe sugar to prepare the dish.
In truth, Wen Yanran’s original words had been, “Let’s try something with southern characteristics.” She had actually been referring to pineapple. However, when heard by the Imperial Household officials, it was automatically interpreted as zhe sugar. When the meal was served, they even placed a small jar of the sugar on the Emperor’s desk.
Wen Yanran noticed the small jar of sugar but didn’t pay it much mind. On one hand, her enthusiasm for fine cuisine had gradually been worn down by the culinary standards of the Great Zhou; on the other, she had grown increasingly accustomed to the ingenuity of the ancients.
A dynasty capable of producing concrete could certainly produce white sugar – there was nothing particularly surprising about that.
She found that although the Crimson Brocade Meat did not quite match the flavors she remembered from before her time travel, it was still barely palatable. She instructed the imperial kitchen to prepare more and distribute it to the court officials – first to the Grand Tutor, the Grand Guardian, the State Preceptor, the Censor-in-Chief, the ministers of various ministries, and only then to Chi Yi.
As for Zhang Luo, he had been inside Jianping for the past two days.
Wen Yanran smiled and said, “When Attendant Zhang returns, summon him to see me.”
The will of a Sovereign with sufficient authority was always carried out to the fullest. That very afternoon, having just arrived at the Gui Palace and changed his clothes, Zhang Luo promptly came to pay an audience with the Emperor herself.
Wen Yanran asked, “The summer heat is oppressive – how are conditions within the city?”
Zhang Luo replied, “Following established protocol, the Imperial Medical Bureau has dispatched physicians to the various wards and markets. The Deputy Imperial Physician personally visits the city each day to conduct inspections, ensuring that the institute’s officials do not perform their duties perfunctorily.”
In truth, the City Bureau submitted daily reports on the city’s conditions to the Emperor’s desk. Nevertheless, Zhang Luo still came to present his own observations and findings in meticulous detail to the Sovereign.
Zhang Luo said, “When I was returning to the city, I happened to come across the Imperial Academy holding a debate session.”
Wen Yanran looked at Zhang Luo, her expression signaling him to explain in detail what exactly this so-called debate session entailed.
Zhang Luo reported, “The Imperial Academy formulates a topic, then has the students draw lots to form teams – one side taking the affirmative position, the other the negative. They then present their respective arguments and collectively discuss the merits and demerits.”
He and Chi Yi had joined forces to reform the Imperial Academy. Those young students, hardly a match for these two powerful eunuchs within the palace, had been subtly divided and organized without even realizing it. A few perceptive individuals, such as Lu Zhongmao, actually felt this approach was quite beneficial, as it helped sharpen the young scholars’ critical thinking skills.
Wen Yanran: “…”
She realized that this seemed to be the prototype of a debate team from her later era.
The wisdom of the ancients was truly unfathomable.
Just as the Emperor was marveling at the wisdom of the ancients, the native inhabitants of Great Zhou were likewise marveling at the wisdom of the Emperor herself.
The Marquis of Qu’an possessed a villa on the outskirts of the capital. Today, Attendant Chi happened to pass by this location and, taking the opportunity, dropped in to visit her colleague, drinking tea and playing chess with Minister Zhong.
Zhong Zhiwei had become one of the most prominent figures in the court. Her residence saw a constant stream of visitors each day. Former subordinates and fellow ministers came calling one after another. Though she was not naturally inclined to socializing, she had no choice but to host banquets for several days straight.
Others now understood why the emperor had bestowed such a spacious residence upon Minister Zhong. Had the Marquis of Qu’an’s mansion been any smaller, many guests would have been left queuing up in the streets.
Generally speaking, close ties between external court officials and the inner palace could easily arouse an emperor’s suspicion. However, the Imperial Guards had always maintained close relations with the inner attendants. Chi Yi, moreover, had assumed command of the internal security forces after Zhong Zhiwei left the capital. Their bond was unlike that between ordinary parties. Now that the Marquis of Qu’an had finally returned to the capital, it would have been strange had Chi Yi not paid her a visit.
Today, Chi Yi did not discuss state affairs with her old acquaintance from the inner palace. After finishing their game of chess, she summoned musicians to play the zither. Only as she was preparing to leave did she say, “Though the Yan clan has been destroyed, their family lingered in Dingyi for many years, with deep roots and extensive connections. I urge you, General, to remain vigilant.”
Zhong Zhiwei smiled and replied, “I will write back frequently, ensuring Her Majesty remains promptly informed of conditions in the border regions.”
Though the two excelled in different areas of expertise, they shared a sincere and profound admiration for the Emperor’s abilities.
Chi Yi took her leave and returned to the palace, contemplating the situation of generals across the various regions along the way.
During the late emperor’s reign, aside from the Central Camp, all other major military camps had been kept in a state of suppression, resulting in a shortage of troops across these garrisons. After the present emperor ascended the throne, she promoted many young and capable individuals to serve as commanding generals, bringing stability to the provinces. Now, all quarters – east, south, west, and north – appeared to be flourishing. Yet in Chi Yi’s eyes, there lurked the potential danger of regional commanders amassing power and becoming overly autonomous.
Chi Yi did not believe that a problem she herself could identify would escape the Emperor’s notice. After reflecting for a long time – only fully grasping the picture after Zhong Zhiwei returned to the capital – she came to realize: the Emperor had once ordered generals such as Shi Zhu and Song Nanlou to forcibly dismantle local fortified manors while simultaneously conducting thorough audits of hidden lands belonging to powerful clans. This had fostered deep enmity between the two sides, fundamentally reducing the likelihood of military commanders colluding with local magnates.
Zhong Zhiwei might not have consciously understood this strategy, yet by simply maintaining her loyalty and integrity, she naturally converged with the Emperor’s overarching design. The more Chi Yi pondered, the more she felt that to have encountered such a ruler was an extraordinary stroke of luck.
