The majesty of the Sovereign was made known in a single stroke throughout the southern commanderies.
Chu Fu’s wholehearted effort in serving the court stemmed partly from a sense of shame at having survived while his comrades had fallen, and partly from lingering anger toward the prominent clans of the south after witnessing the downfall of the Marquis of Quanling.
Wen Jinming had operated in the south for many years, yet in the crucial moment, those families had refused to lend their full support, ultimately leading to such a devastating defeat for their lord.
Throughout the empire, many harbored wavering loyalties, biding their time for a suitable opportunity to target Jianping. Initially, they paid little heed upon hearing that the Sovereign intended to deal with the Cui and Chu factions. It was only when they learned of Jianping’s actions in the south that they realized the situation had already been settled.
Who could have guessed that the Emperor would act with such swift decisiveness!
Had they known earlier that Wen Yanran would impose such severe measures upon the southern commanderies, they would undoubtedly have seized the chance, employing various means to destabilize the Emperor’s rule. However, thanks to the sluggish communication methods of the era, by the time outsiders grasped the intentions of the central court, the issues in the southern commanderies had already been largely resolved, thanks in part to the cooperation of the Cui and Chu families.
Nevertheless, beyond imposing penalties, the Sovereign also extended some acts of grace. Among them, Cui Xinjing, a member of the Cui clan, was summoned to serve within the imperial palace. With Wang Youyin now appointed as the Attendant-in-Residence, Cui Xinjing herself filled the vacant position of Palace Attendant.
In Cui Xinjing’s view, the Sovereign seemed entirely unconcerned with her origins within the Cui clan. During daily court deliberations and governance, there was no apparent avoidance or reservation toward her.
Wen Yanran, of course, harbored no such concerns. If Cui Xinjing were truly as obedient as she appeared, she would simply become another reliable aide in the imperial service. Yet, if she indeed harbored divided loyalties, then according to the typical modus operandi of high-level infiltrators, she would certainly strive to perform well in the initial stages – seeking to gain the trust of the opposing side and waiting for the opportune moment to reveal her true allegiance. Such behavior would align perfectly with her long-term objectives.
Before taking action in the south, Wen Yanran issued an edict to Song Nanlou and others, ordering them to draw troops from the rear camp to sweep through the southern commanderies. Half of the necessary provisions and supplies were to be requisitioned from the local powerful clans and aristocratic families, while the other half were to be levied from Jianping. At the time, Cui Xinjing happened to be present and overheard the Sovereign instruct Song Nanlou and his men to completely pacify the southern regions within two months.
Even Cui Xinjing was taken aback upon hearing this. Had she not already gained some understanding of the Emperor’s temperament, she might have thought it the reckless talk of a child with no grasp of military affairs.
Trained under renowned scholars and considered a figure of note among the younger generation of her clan, Cui Xinjing, upon careful reflection, grasped the underlying reasons. When the Sovereign previously dispatched Song Nanlou and others to lead two battalions of troops to Gaoyi and Xiangqing commanderies, it was clear that beyond the stated purposes, there were additional objectives.
Firstly, it was indeed to supervise spring plowing and assist the commandery administrators in stabilizing the situation, while also deepening their understanding of the southern region. Secondly, it was to have light cavalry ride northward during the spring hunt to cut off the retreat of the Marquis of Quanling.
After the defeat of the Marquis of Quanling, the Sovereign issued orders: the ordinary soldiers of those two battalions of the Imperial Forest Army were promoted directly to squad leaders, squad leaders to company commanders, and company commanders to battalion commanders. Song Nanlou was appointed Guard General, while Wen Xun, due to her young age, was made an Assistant General, and Shi Zhuhe assumed the role of Military Advisor. The original force of a thousand soldiers was instantly expanded to ten thousand, and with the full cooperation of the Cui and Chu families, they swiftly uprooted the staunch resisters in the south with the force of a thunderbolt.
Song Nanlou, an outstanding figure among the scions of aristocratic families, possessed both commendable character and a resolute yet restrained approach to leadership. He never allowed his troops to engage in acts of cruelty against the common people. Moreover, their primary targets were the powerful clans and local magnates, ensuring that their campaigns would yield plentiful spoils. All seized assets – wealth, grain, textiles, and silks – were split equally: half distributed among the soldiers under his command, and half delivered to Jianping.
The Great Zhou dynasty had always placed great emphasis on military merit. At his age and rank, Song Nanlou could be considered a young prodigy who had achieved early success. Yet, he harbored no trace of arrogance in his heart. He was acutely aware that the majority of his swift victories were due to meticulous arrangements from Jianping. The Sovereign seemed to anticipate the enemy’s every move. Even if a commander of only average military talent had been appointed in his stead, success would have been all but assured.
If it were a situation where others had failed and Song Nanlou alone managed to quell it effortlessly, then he would undoubtedly have merited credit from the court. But in this case, it was a task anyone could have accomplished. The fact that the Sovereign specifically granted him this opportunity to secure certain achievements was a clear indication of imperial favor intended for the Song family.
After his daily, inward expression of gratitude for the Emperor’s trust and confidence, Song Nanlou made his way to Shi Zhuhe’s quarters. He drew the other man into analyzing the Sovereign’s subsequent intentions and subtly inquired whether Shi Zhuhe might consider pledging his loyalty to the sovereign, as he himself had done.
Compared to his previous aloofness, Shi Zhuhe’s stance now seemed somewhat more flexible. Yet, he offered no definitive reply. “When the late emperor first ascended the throne,” he remarked, “he, too, bore the demeanor of a wise ruler. Let us observe a while longer.”
Within the Taiqi Palace.
It was now early summer, and Wen Yanran had finally shed the heavy cloak, able to move about with ease. Today, she changed into short robes that hardly suited the dignity of the Sovereign and went to the edge of the Star-Gazing Pool to skip stones.
Stone-skipping was a skill she had never mastered in her past life and had made little progress in since crossing over. However, her main purpose in coming to the Star-Gazing Pool was not physical exercise. The truth was, the palace offered far too few forms of entertainment. Even when she wished to relax, she struggled to find suitable activities. Wen Yanran had even inquired specifically with her attendants, only to receive the suggestion that Your Majesty could summon people to compose poetry, paint, play the qin, or sing.
Wen Yanran: “…”
Indeed, what constituted entertainment differed entirely across eras.
Having idly tossed the last piece of broken tile into the Star-Gazing Pool and wiped the dust from her hands, Wen Yanran finally turned her thoughts back to official duties. She instructed the inner attendants to summon officials from the Ministry of Works to await her in the front hall of the Western Yong Palace.
“If Attendant Cui is on duty today, have her come as well.”
The Minister of Works was named Huang Xu, born into the Huang clan of Jianzhou. Now in his fifties, he was an old minister from the reign of Emperor Li. Because he was not particularly eloquent, his presence at court was not strong. After the former head of the Ministry of Works was dismissed from his post, Huang Xu assumed the position of Minister based on his seniority.
Huang Xu’s own abilities were indeed rather mediocre. Every time Wen Yanran observed him at work, she was reminded of her own past self when she had idled away her time.
However, Wen Yanran felt there was a difference between herself and him – at the very least, her former self would not have appeared overly idle in front of her superiors.
Wen Yanran glanced at Huang Xu and addressed him, “I have summoned you, Minister Huang, with the intention of thoroughly repairing the water channels inside and outside Jianping before the autumn harvest.”
Having been passed down to the present day, the situation regarding sewage within Jianping had grown severe. Previous emperors, in order to prevent drinking water from contamination, had implemented various remedial measures and periodically levied corvée labor to have the channels cleared.
As a Minister of Works with relatively modest ambitions, Huang Xu harbored a natural aversion to all sorts of sudden, additional tasks. Unfortunately, the Sovereign had not sought his opinion before making the decision, instead directly instructing the Ministry of Works to commence operations.
Huang Xu bowed deeply. “The river channels within Jianping are long and numerous, requiring immense manpower and resources…”
Wen Yanran offered a faint smile. “We have already considered this. Labor can be drawn from the south.”
Huang Xu said, “Although many hidden households have been uncovered in the southern regions, the summer harvest has just ended, and it is now the season for sowing. Conscripting labor at this time would inevitably impact the local harvest.”
Wen Yanran glanced at him. “Then we shall summon those who need not till the fields to come and dredge the rivers.”
She did not intend to have ordinary hidden households dig the canals. Rather, she planned to call upon the young men of the powerful clans and local magnates. After all, in the Great Zhou, rebellion was an unpardonable crime. Though the involvement was too widespread for Wen Yanran to conveniently have all these people executed, it was entirely reasonable to reduce their punishment by one degree and sentence them to penal servitude.
Upon grasping the Sovereign’s underlying meaning, Huang Xu naturally turned pale. The Great Zhou had always treated its scholars and gentry with generosity; rarely were they subjected to hard labor. In contrast, Cui Xinjing merely paused briefly before steadying herself.
Wen Yanran said, “Minister Huang, have notices posted in all regions to seek out talent in engineering. Whether recommended by others or through self-nomination, all candidates must write a response addressing how to manage Jianping’s water channels. Those whose responses are deemed unqualified shall receive no reward; those with lower-grade responses shall be granted monetary compensation; those with mid-grade responses may participate as clerks; and those with top-grade responses shall serve as deputies to the chief officials. If a candidate hails from the south and has clansmen implicated in the Northern Park case, the penal servitude of ten individuals from their family shall be waived.”
The majesty of the Sovereign grew with each passing day, and Huang Xu had little room for opposition to begin with. Moreover, the Emperor had laid out the entire process in detail – from where the funds and labor would come to how the plans should be formulated. Huang Xu understood clearly that the sovereign before him was not one who could be fobbed off with empty words, as the late emperor had been. Thus, he had no choice but to assent outright.
After Huang Xu departed, Cui Xinjing stepped forward into the hall. She first performed a deep, formal bow before speaking with utmost reverence. “My elders at home are advanced in years. I, Xinjing, am willing to take their place in serving the penal sentence on behalf of the venerable ones in my clan.”
According to the customs of the time, it was indeed the duty of the younger generation to serve in place of their elders. Thus, Cui Xinjing’s request was perfectly appropriate.
Wen Yanran offered no immediate judgment, saying instead, “Ill-treatment of the elderly is hardly an act of benevolence. Moreover, if all members of the Cui family were sent to dredge the canals, there would likely be no one left to manage affairs in the south on my behalf. Regarding the Northern Park incident, sentences shall be determined by the severity of the crimes. The principal offenders shall provide sixty percent of their clan’s population for canal construction; the rest shall be reduced proportionally. The minimum shall be forty percent. To prevent undue injury, those conscripted shall be selected from among the strong and healthy youth.” She glanced at Cui Xinjing. “The Cui and Chu families have contributed merit in the aftermath and may deduct an additional ten percent of the required labor.”
She had intended to say more, but her gaze suddenly grew fixed for a moment. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed Cui Xinjing.
Her long-quiet game interface had actually begun to flicker again – and this time, it stabilized quickly. Wen Yanran glanced over and saw a line appear on the surface of the panel: “Welcome to the use of the ‘Guide to Becoming a Tyrant’ game assistance system.”
Wen Yanran: “…”
If her memory served correctly, she had already seen this message on her very first day here.
Of course, the game panel did not commit the emotionally wasteful act of simply restarting and replaying the entire previous process. After the welcome message, a new line of information appeared: “Conditions met. Version update commencing.” One minute later, the text changed to: “Version update complete.”
Wen Yanran reached out and pulled a soft cushion into her arms.
She suspected that this utterly useless interface, which seemed more suited to a tyrant than she herself did, had finally broken. Otherwise, how could it possibly have updated so quickly?!
Wen Yanran could not see the game system’s log files; otherwise, she would have discovered several lines of prompts added within, such as: “Tyrant points insufficient. Activating backup plan,” “Switching energy acquisition method,” “Energy acquisition failed. Continuing to switch acquisition methods,” and so on. Finally, it settled on acquiring energy through daily log-ins.
…As a bound game system, the player was absolutely online every day. However, the easier a task was to accomplish, the harder it was to harvest energy from it. Thus, this was a final contingency plan that even the world’s consciousness, during the design phase, never imagined would be of any use. Even if some energy were accumulated, it couldn’t provide custom prompts – it could only display some fixed features that should have been updated for the player long ago.
Wen Yanran saw that an overly simplistic game panel had added a “Map” option, clearly displaying the terrain – from mountain ranges to rivers – of various regions across the Great Zhou. Unfortunately, upon checking several times, she confirmed that this did not include traces of human activity.
Accustomed to the game interface’s extreme uselessness and harboring absolutely no expectations for it, Wen Yanran studied the map function and decided it was acceptable. After all, she had plans for projects like canal construction later on, and this feature would give her a clearer understanding of the relevant engineering work.
Perhaps sensing the host’s inner thoughts, the newly stabilized game panel flickered twice softly, as if voicing a feeble protest…
