In the fields of Tai Province, many were wailing loudly.
These people all hailed from prominent local clans. As they watched the Jianping army advance unhindered, their initial fear gradually gave way to deep regret after realizing they might escape with their lives.
One wept and said, “If the four clans, including the Wang family, had not each acted independently back then, the fate of Tai Province might have been different.”
An elderly man leaning on his cane shook his head and sighed, “Even if we were to start over, it would be the same. Clans like the Wang family have monopolized Tai Province for more than a day, yet the chaos in the province is no different from that of previous generations. They only knew how to rely on force but never dedicated themselves to properly governing the lands under their control. Even if they could gain the upper hand temporarily, in the long run, turmoil would inevitably arise.”
A young man wiped away his tears and added, “Not long ago, officials were sent here to survey the land…”
During Wang You’s administration, officials were also occasionally sent to survey the fields. Out of respect for her, the various clans would reluctantly make minor concessions, though even then they felt deeply aggrieved. Now, however, the land reclamation officials dispatched by the imperial court have reported all landholdings in full, allowing no concealment whatsoever. Despite their anguish, the clans have no choice but to comply.
After all, compared to the forced relocation of entire clans, the loss of family wealth is not entirely unacceptable.
In the Great Zhou, the punishment of exile has always been more severe than penal servitude – second only to the death penalty. Influenced by the times, families sentenced to exile are stripped of their assets, livestock, and valuables. The journey of over a thousand li from the western to southern lands must be made entirely on foot, making death along the way highly likely. Even for those who eventually reach the southern frontier, unfamiliar climates and environments often prove fatal. Many, weakened by exhaustion and illness, end up as servants or slaves of local powerful clans.
It is precisely for this reason that the Yun clan, despite being an ancient and prominent lineage, was scattered like clouds in the wind after their exile to the borderlands.
The local clans had no choice but to report the full extent of their landholdings, hoping the Emperor would consider Tai Province’s genuine need for a sufficient farming population and allow more people to remain.
Some, however, raised objections. The strategy for governing Tai Province appeared well-organized, clearly prioritizing the restoration of livelihoods – why then would such a harsh policy be imposed? Though a few astute individuals suspected this was merely a tactic to force them into honestly disclosing their land, most had already been thoroughly cowed by the military defeat. Any will to resist had long vanished, and they even felt relieved at their own compliance. The officials appointed by the inner court acted with ruthless efficiency, singling out several troublemakers for public execution. To this day, two towers of enemy skulls still stood outside the city walls as a grim warning.
At the same time, the authorities issued an order to reorganize the population into registered households. Private retainers and tenant farmers belonging to various clans were dispersed to different regions. People originally under the Li clan were relocated to areas once controlled by the Wang and other families, while the Wang clan’s dependents were similarly resettled elsewhere… Perhaps within a decade, those who were relocated might still remember the favor of their former masters. But after ten years, they would likely become indistinguishable from ordinary commoners.
Some secretly hoped that the emperor would soon return to the capital, allowing them to breathe a sigh of relief. However, just as preparations for the Emperor’s return journey were underway, another piece of news arrived –
He Tingyun, the former Censor-in-Chief, had reached Tai Province.
He Tingyun had always acted with decisive efficiency. Upon receiving the approved response, rather than returning home personally to pack, she simply wrote a letter instructing her family to send the necessary belongings via trusted aides. Meanwhile, she set out lightly equipped with only a small escort.
As soon as she entered the city, a junior imperial guard officer who had been awaiting her arrival escorted her to the Inspector’s residence. There, an inner court official led her into the presence of the Emperor.
Wen Yanran had been delayed in the Dan and Tai regions for quite some time, surrounded by officials with whom she felt unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Only in the company of people like He Tingyun did she regain a faint sense of the ease she had known back in Jianping.
“You must be weary from the journey. You may rest and recover today.”
He Tingyun bowed respectfully to the Emperor, then retrieved a letter she carried with her and spoke candidly. “Before departing, I received correspondence from Jianping. The Director of Imperial Household, the State Preceptor, and Attendant Song all earnestly urged me to implore Your Majesty to return to the capital.”
After all, the ruler of a nation must preside over the court to bring peace of mind. If Wen Yanran did not return soon, Yuan Yanshi and others might travel to plead with tears for the Emperor’s return.
With key policies already established and essential matters largely settled, Wen Yanran smiled and said, “With you guarding this place, I can return to the capital with peace of mind.”
The Jianping ministers, represented by the Imperial Household Department, had initially hoped privately that the Emperor would depart and return early so as not to miss the imperial birthday celebration. However, now it seemed that if the departure were delayed any further, by the time Wen Yanran returned, preparations for the New Year would already be underway.
In the final days before departure, Wen Yanran devoted her time to meticulously reviewing the official records of the bureaucrats in Tai Province. As someone well-versed in the demanding routines of office work, she sometimes felt a sense of déjà vu while reviewing memorials – her work schedule seemed scarcely improved by the experience of transmigration. Once this was done, she preliminarily assigned the principal officials for each commandery. She transferred the former county magistrate of Shunhui and the County deputy of Dongzhi to Tai Province to serve as commandery administrators. In addition to promoting local talent, several civil officials who had accompanied her submitted memorials volunteering to remain in Tai Province, including Cui Xinjing and Gao Changjian. However, Wen Yanran only approved the former’s request.
Gao Changjian understood the reasoning clearly: his tenure in the central administration had been too brief, and unlike Cui Xinjing, he had not performed distinguished service, such as undertaking diplomatic missions to Tai Province. He had not yet met the qualifications for an external posting. The Emperor needed to observe him more closely before making a decision.
More than half a month later, when Li Zengyu, who had already retired to his home after accepting blame, learned of this news, he fainted on the spot. As a former official of the Ministry of Personnel, he should have participated in the appointment and dismissal of officials at this critical juncture of Tai Province’s reconstruction, accumulating further merit for himself. Instead, he was confined to his home, missing a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for advancement.
At the northern front camp.
Previously, Song Nanlou had been appointed as the chief commander here, and Shi Zhuhe had accompanied him. Before the campaign against Tai Province began, Song Nanlou was summoned by the Emperor to the frontline, and many soldiers departed with him. For the time being, Shi Zhuhe was left in charge of the northern camp.
At this moment, Shi Zhuhe once again took out the Emperor’s letter and examined it carefully.
In the letter, the Emperor noted that according to past reports, the northern regions had often seen the emergence of unidentified bandits, leading local powerful clans to build fortified estates for self-defense. Now, with the northern front camp’s forces redeployed westward and local defenses weakened, it would be unsurprising if a few “enlightened individuals” among those elusive bandits seized the opportunity to confront the government troops. Once the camp was overrun by bandits, local officials, struck by grief upon hearing the news, would have no choice but to temporarily take over the camp.
Although Shi Zhuhe had never spoken directly with the new emperor, he sensed a trace of playful mockery in the letter. The so-called “bandits” were certainly not genuine outlaws. Northern clans were accustomed to constructing fortified estates, where they concealed large populations and privately maintained armed retainers and dependents. To maintain the status quo, they periodically orchestrated incidents of “bandit raids” to justify the necessity of these strongholds. Any local official dispatched to investigate these matters would naturally become a target of such “bandits.”
It had been some time since Wen Yanran ascended the throne, and the northern clans, well aware of the young emperor’s uncompromising nature, naturally sought to exploit the weakened defenses of the front camp and cause trouble.
Over the years of prolonged turmoil, the Right Camp established in the Dan-Tai region had long become an empty shell. Apart from Wu’an, there were almost no soldiers left who could be deployed. If the front camp could also be hollowed out, conducting operations would become much easier.
The Emperor’s remark about officials “struck by grief upon hearing the news” and “having no choice but to take over” was actually informing Shi Zhuhe that if he were defeated and killed, the covetous clans nearby would surely seize the opportunity to bring the front camp under their control while simultaneously destroying any evidence that might incriminate them.
At the end of the letter, Wen Yanran also reminded Shi Zhuhe to pay attention to the geographical surroundings of the camp.
Putting herself in the enemy’s shoes, she carefully outlined a potential battle plan: The front camp was well-fortified and easily defensible. If Shi Zhuhe chose to remain entrenched and refuse engagement, the so-called “bandits” would have little recourse. However, soldiers required supplies, and according to the Great Zhou’s military system, the area surrounding the front camp contained extensive military farms. If the enemy seized the opportunity to cause chaos during the autumn harvest, the camp would be compelled to respond.
Furthermore, there was a river near the camp used for transporting goods. If the autumn harvest were disrupted and the “bandits” cut off the waterway, could the camp’s forces still resist being lured out?
Wen Yanran was aware of the assessment that Shi Zhuhe lacked military expertise, so she analyzed the situation with particular care and even drew a map for him based on the system’s terrain data. Her expectations were not high – she only hoped Shi Zhuhe could hold the camp until Song Nanlou returned. She believed that, having explained the situation so clearly, he would surely harvest the autumn crops in advance and then stay within the camp, patiently awaiting the commander’s return.
Inside the military tent at the front camp.
Shi Zhuhe stood by the window, rereading the letter. The Emperor was known for a sharp and forthright personality, and the detailed predictions and analysis of the surrounding situation in the letter clearly carried an implied message.
In terms of ability alone, Shi Zhuhe was already deeply impressed by the new emperor. Due to years of study and observation, he had some vague understanding of the northern situation. Yet the Emperor, who had spent most of their life in seclusion within the palace, understood it so clearly – truly remarkable. As for the topographic map of the camp’s surroundings, it was evidently drawn with great effort. Apart from the somewhat lacking artistic quality, it was almost flawless.
Wen Yanran was unaware of Shi Zhuhe’s assessment of her drawing skills, nor could she explain to him that while she had studied drafting in university, she had certainly never learned to draw with a brush…
A mid-ranking officer entered Shi Zhuhe’s room. This man, originally a subordinate of the Song family, had known Shi Zhuhe for a long time and could be considered a trusted confidant.
The officer lowered his voice, “They haven’t yet made a move. Are you truly planning to strike first, General?”
Shi Zhuhe stood up and replied calmly, “Of course we must strike first.”
Although he usually exerted only fifty percent of his effort, he never neglected his duties. Moreover, this time it was the Emperor’s personal directive. Since Shi Zhuhe now held the title of deputy commander, he would not defy orders.
A loyal minister of the Shi family had once been forced to hang himself by Emperor Li for speaking bluntly. Though Shi Zhuhe had not witnessed that event, he had heard elders recount it. With that commandery administrator’s abilities, he obviously knew how to preserve his own life. Yet having witnessed such a chaotic era, if he chose to remain silent and protect himself, even if he avoided infamy, could he truly have continued as a celebrated minister of a prestigious clan with a clear conscience? That was why, back then, he wrote that memorial that directly confronted the central government – not only mentioning the Emperor Li and the powerful eunuchs, but also implicating many high-ranking court officials. Afterwards, some said the commandery administrator was courageous and resolute, while others called him isolated, resentful, and narrow-minded. In his youth, Shi Zhuhe did not understand, but as he grew older, he gradually grasped that elder’s intent. That man clearly saw severe problems in the world but did not know how to resolve them.
Shi Zhuhe now shared the same feeling as that elder. When he pondered the affairs of the world, everything seemed shrouded in mist, with no clear path in sight.
Like Ren Feihong, he hailed from a family that had suffered under the Emperor Li, but Shi Zhuhe’s personality was more restrained. He already sensed that while Emperor Li’s incompetence was a significant factor in the empire’s precarious state, the root cause lay in deeper structural issues within society itself. A wise ruler could only temporarily alleviate the symptoms, not eradicate the underlying problem.
However, after news of the Emperor’s actions in the Western region reached the north, Shi Zhuhe began to vaguely feel that the answer he had long sought might lie with the Emperor personally.
His military talent was so limited that it had become a running joke in commentary sections. Yet he excelled at managing troops. Once the soldiers were prepared, he immediately ordered everyone to change their attire and follow him out of the camp under cover of darkness.
Ten days later.
Wen Yanran leaned against the soft cushions inside the carriage, resting with her eyes closed.
A palace attendant presented a plate of pear slices drizzled with honey. Finding it overly sweet, Wen Yanran only took one piece with a small silver fork and shared the rest with those around her.
The urgency for her return to Jianping was partly due to the unrest in the north. To reassure Yuan Yanshi and others, Wen Yanran had specifically written back, informing the senior ministers that she already had plans in mind.
She was not deceiving these court officials. Even before leaving the capital, she had sent separate letters to Shi Zhuhe and Wen Xun, advising the former to be cautious of local powerful clans, and reminding the latter to conduct military drills with the Rear Camp forces near the northern region during the autumn harvest. There was no need to actually engage in combat – simply demonstrating military might to deter any disloyal elements would suffice.
“Your Majesty, an urgent message has arrived from Jianping.”
Wen Yanran gave a slight nod. The imperial guard responsible for delivering the news was brought before the carriage and reported, “Your Majesty, Deputy Commander Shi of the Front Camp has suppressed nearly twenty thousand bandits…”
Thud, thud-thud.
Several close advisors, upon hearing the report, were so startled that they dropped their ceremonial jade tablets. The situation in the north differed from that in west – powerful bandit groups frequently emerged, and although the court had dispatched forces multiple times to suppress them, the results had always been limited. When Wen Yanran was stationed in Wu’an, many feared that these bandits would take advantage of the Emperor’s absence to cause unrest. Unexpectedly, unrest did occur, but the outcome was far different from what they had imagined.
Compared to the officials who lost their composure, the Emperor remained as composed as ever – even now, no unusual sound came from inside the carriage.
Wang Youyin silently picked up her ceremonial tablet. Though she had no evidence, her intuition told her this matter was likely also connected to the Emperor.
Her Majesty had once set a trap, luring the western forces deep into Dan Province before encircling and annihilating them. She had probably employed the same strategy in the north this time – deliberately leaving Jianping to create the illusion of a weakened central authority, then launching an ambush and suppression once the troublemakers acted.
Inside the carriage, Wen Yanran, who had nearly choked on a piece of pear, silently drank half a cup of tea – What’s going on? I haven’t even made a move against the north yet. How did they suffer such heavy losses so suddenly?
Her gaze sharpened as she noticed the system had been unusually quiet lately. Just as she was about to open the panel to check, she spotted a faint, barely noticeable line of small red text next to the [War Sandbox] module: “Function under maintenance. Temporarily unavailable.”
