“The Xue clan is already a powerful aristocratic family in the south. It’s said that within their fortified manor, there are several thousand households—over ten thousand people in total. His Majesty has ordered them several times to dismantle their fortifications, but the Xue clan always uses the excuse of unrest in the northern regions to refuse. Now they’re even secretly communicating with officials in Hezhou, hiding so many refugees within their fortress… what are they planning to do?”
Pei Zhaoye smiled faintly.
“I’ve heard that since the start of this year, quite a bit of private iron has been flowing into Suinan. If someone has land, grain, and iron, what else could they do next—besides rebel?”
Hearing the word rebel spoken so casually from the mouth of a bandit leader, Xuan Ying’s expression changed drastically.
But Lizhu’s face remained calm, which left Xuan Ying puzzled.
“Your Highness doesn’t seem surprised?”
Of course she wasn’t surprised—because in her previous life, the rebellion had already happened.
By her count, it should be next year.
“Back when Prince Yue defected from the court, burned down Yandu, and took control of eleven provinces in the north, the Xue clan, as the foremost aristocratic family of the south, already harbored ambitions to contend for the world. That’s why they repeatedly obstructed the relocation of the capital from Nanyong.”
Lizhu continued, “Later, when the court settled in Luoyang and gradually gained a firm foothold in the south, the families that once relied on the Xue clan began to turn toward the court. The Xue clan has endured for a long time, now they finally think the time is ripe to rise in revolt.”
By this point, Xuan Ying’s brows had furrowed tightly.
“If that’s the case, Your Highness must not go to Qinghe Commandery, nor linger in Hezhou. You must return to Luoyang as soon as possible. If Suinan rises in rebellion, Your Highness won’t be able to leave at all.”
“No.”
Lizhu set down her sweet soup, her tone righteous and firm. “It’s precisely because of this that I cannot leave.”
Xuan Ying was completely bewildered. “Why?”
Because, although the Xue clan would be defeated in this war, the Nanyong court would only achieve a pyrrhic victory.
The immense military expenses and consumption of grain would leave Nanyong’s people exhausted and destitute, while the northern Yue began to stir restlessly, eager to invade southward.
Only one faction would profit from this war.
The Tan clan of Wan County.
“Xuan Ying, think about it—if the Xue clan truly rebels, who in the court has the ability to serve as the commander-in-chief?”
“There are countless ministers at court. Surely there must be someone—”
“No.”
Lizhu grasped Xuan Ying’s wrist and said solemnly,
“Only Tan Xun’s second uncle, the current head of the Tan clan in Wan County, Tan Rong, is suited for this.”
Pei Zhaoye cast her a sidelong glance.
“First, Wan County is the closest to Suinan. Second, the Tan clan, as an imperial in-law family, shares the same interests as my father, the emperor. Third—”
“The court doesn’t have that much money.”
Lizhu withdrew her hand, lowered her head, and stirred the sweet soup in her bowl.
“Only with Nanyong’s treasury combined with the Tan clan’s wealth can this war even be fought. If they win, the Tan clan will become a powerful aristocratic house equal to the Shen imperial clan. If they lose, the Tan clan and the Shen family will perish together.”
Of course, Lizhu already knew the outcome in advance.
That battle ended in a tragic victory. Tan Rong was rewarded with the position of Governor of Wan County, while his elder brother Tan Jing—Tan Xun’s father and the cousin of Empress Tan—rose to the seat of Chancellor.
From then on, the Tan clan’s dominance as imperial in-laws began, their power overshadowing the entire court.
Lizhu’s gaze shifted toward the young bandit chief beside her.
Pei Zhaoye said, “What are you staring at me for?”
Lizhu didn’t speak. She only kept looking at him.
Because the Tan family would become the strongest advocates of peace in the imperial court.
The future Chancellor, Tan Jing, would, when the Beiyue army invaded the border, propose paying annual tribute to Beiyue.
The tribute money came from the national treasury, and the cost was far less than waging war.
If war broke out, taxes would have to be raised, the local governments would need to provide funds, and if it led to uprisings, they’d have to spend even more money and manpower to suppress them. None of this would benefit his hold on the chancellorship.
He had calculated everything clearly.
But what he hadn’t accounted for was that Nanyong’s annual tribute would feed and strengthen Beiyue and Wuhuan, their appetite growing ever larger.
In the end, Beiyue and Wuhuan would march south, stepping over the corpses of Nanyong’s people, bringing about its fall.
Since Lizhu already knew that in the future, the land would be strewn with bones for a thousand miles, and Luoyang would be bathed in blood, she could not allow that future to begin.
However—
Lizhu thought of what Pei Zhaoye had said earlier.
He wasn’t happy.
He wasn’t happy in Luoyang, nor as a high official.
During the three years that had been her happiest, he had lived every day without once being himself.
Pei Zhaoye had thought she was about to spout more nonsense about amnesty, but to his surprise, she only looked at him for a while before averting her gaze.
“…Forget it, it’s nothing.”
He suddenly straightened.
Forget it?
What was she forgetting?
Lizhu turned to Xuan Ying and said, “I’m tired. Lock up the rest, seal it with a strip, and we’ll continue tomorrow.”
Just then, a maid came out from inside, saying the room had been tidied, the washbasin prepared, and everything ready for rest.
Lizhu yawned, the shadows beneath her eyes dark as bruises, and walked toward the room like a drifting spirit.
Pei Zhaoye reached out and caught her by the wrist. Xuan Ying’s gaze flicked sharply in their direction.
“What are you doing sleeping here? Aren’t there enough rooms in the Pei residence for you to sleep in?”
Lizhu’s eyes brimmed with tears of exhaustion, her voice small and hoarse.
“It’s almost dawn. I’m so tired… I can’t walk anymore.”
“It’s just a few steps. If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you.”
Xuan Ying’s lips twitched, as if on the verge of saying something.
Lizhu truly couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore.
She had barely escaped death in the first half of the night within the manor, then spent the latter half poring over those records. Now, even if someone made her sleep on the floor, she would fall asleep instantly.
With one last burst of energy, Lizhu shook off Pei Zhaoye’s hand and headed straight into the room.
Xuan Ying was just about to sigh in relief, when her eyes widened again.
That mountain bandit actually followed her inside!
In the inner room, Lizhu drowsily picked up a salt-dipped bamboo brush and had just put it to her mouth when it was snatched away.
“…I’m not joking with you. Go sleep somewhere else.”
Lizhu, too tired to argue, closed her stinging eyelids.
“Then help me brush my teeth first.”
“…”
Did she even realize what she was saying?
Pei Zhaoye looked at her long curled lashes, her slightly tilted face drawing closer, and was momentarily speechless.
After a pause, he held the bamboo brush and placed it gently into her mouth.
“Just now, when you said ‘forget it,’ what exactly were you going to say?”
The brush moved slowly between her teeth.
Back in the Princess’s Manor, whenever she stayed up too late and was too lazy to move, she would close her eyes like this, letting him wipe her face, brush her teeth, and wash her feet.
His movements were always gentle. As he supported her chin now, that same familiar warmth lingered between them.
She mumbled, “It’s just… forget it. Nothing important.”
“You want me to tell you the truth, yet you hide yours in your stomach, is that it?”
Pei Zhaoye handed her the cup of water.
After she rinsed her mouth with a few soft gulps, she still didn’t open her eyes.
Pei Zhaoye got the distinct feeling she was waiting for him to wipe her face.
…The princess really was different, she could order people around so naturally it almost made sense.
Pei Zhaoye cast a glance at the water basin beside them.
The sound of water trickled softly. He laid a warm, damp cloth over her small face, his movements awkward yet gentle as he wiped.
She suddenly spoke.
“The power of Dayong has waned. The Wuhuan people ravage the borders, and because of that, many children with mixed Wuhuan blood have been born.”
The steam from the cloth brought a faint flush to her cheeks. Lizhu opened her eyes and met Pei Zhaoye’s deep, shadowed gaze.
“The court is in turmoil, the bureaucracy steeped in corruption and darkness. It’s no wonder the Pei family abandoned the proper path, trading power for favor to secure their family’s future.”
“It was Nanyong that wronged you first. If you refuse to serve its court and risk your life for it, that’s only natural. After all, the Shen family’s dynasty should be protected by the Shen family themselves.”
That was good too.
This way, he wouldn’t have to go to war, wouldn’t have to face wounds or death.
After a long moment, Pei Zhaoye spoke.
“The records that mention me, have you read them all?”
“Only half a page left. I haven’t had time to finish.”
Lizhu smiled gently at him.
“If you don’t want me to read it, I won’t. I’ll tear that page out and give it to you.”
“…”
Pei Zhaoye suddenly touched his nose, a bit awkwardly.
“All right then, I’ll go. Since this place has been tidied, you should stay here.”
Lizhu turned, just about to leave the room—when suddenly her body lifted.
She froze, staring at the man who had picked her up and laid her softly on the bed.
The candlelight was dim. Pei Zhaoye cast a glance at the darkened wall beside the bed.
On it were marks he had carved long ago. When morning came, they would lie right before her eyes.
He had intended to erase all those childish, ridiculous words before anyone noticed—but now, he changed his mind.
“Sleep.”
Pei Zhaoye tucked the blanket around her.
“And by the way,” he added lightly, “you won’t be able to read that last page anyway. While you weren’t looking, I smeared all the ink.”
