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Lizhu felt that what she said was perfectly rounded, without the slightest possibility of displeasing him.
She lifted her foot and walked into the government office. A group of officials followed closely by her side. Lizhu asked about the whereabouts of Prefect Cui Shiyong.
Lin Zhang replied: “Yesterday, the Prefect was busy dismissing subordinate officials. Today, he drafted a new roster. He said that since the Princess had arrived, he would present it to the Princess for her decision, and then he…”
“Then what?”
“The commoners said they wanted to erect a stele for the Prefect. The Prefect hurried out early in the morning to decline.”
Lizhu’s step on the stairs paused. She turned her head and looked at him:
“He’s been declining until now?”
Lin Zhang gave an awkward laugh.
Lizhu withdrew her gaze, surprised yet not surprised.
After yesterday, this Prefect had leapt into becoming the people’s ideal image of an upright official — his reputation in office greatly rising. In all his decades of service, he had never seen such glory. It seemed he was quite intoxicated by it.
“When I came, I saw many refugees gathered outside the city. The gate’s commanding officer refused to let them in. Who gave the order?”
Her tone carried a hint of interrogation. None of the officials dared to answer. It was still Lin Zhang who, after some hesitation, said:
“To reply to the Princess, the number of refugees is not small. First, there is nowhere to house them; second, it has not yet been decided whether to give relief. Before the regulations are set, letting them enter the city might cause unrest among the residents. Commander Xu’s action does have its reason.”
Lizhu glanced at him and smiled: “Well done.”
Lin Zhang and the other officials all breathed a sigh of relief.
Yesterday, they learned from Cui Shiyong that if any official document was to be issued, they must seek out Princess Qinghe, for his seal was in her hands.
Only then did they know that though, on the surface, the affairs of the commandery were led by Cui Shiyong, in truth, it was the Princess who held authority.
Aside from Lin Zhang, the few who now held important posts in the commandery were all among those who had offered resignations that day, so they were not familiar with Lizhu’s temperament.
Moreover, seeing that she possessed the beauty of blossoming spring and peach-like grace, it was easy for people to form, at first sight… an impression of benevolence without strategy.
Plainly speaking, they were afraid she would act out of misplaced compassion.
Though she was a Princess of the highest rank, when it came to political affairs, these people still did not think much of her.
Lizhu took the main seat and first had them present the roster the Prefect had drafted.
Xu Bi was absent, and apart from Lin Zhang, almost all were new faces.
Lizhu smiled as she listened to Lin Zhang introduce them one by one.
How long had she even been in Yiling?
Employing people was a great art — with so many subordinate officials, and so short a time, it was utterly impossible to grasp all their capabilities.
But after hearing them, Lizhu still circled a few names on the roster.
“Except for slight adjustments to the positions of these few lords, the rest shall assume office according to the Prefect’s drafted roster.”
With her circling, some were promoted to positions much higher than originally assigned — naturally, there would also be some who fell down.
Some rejoiced while some worried. Lizhu only pretended not to see, letting them exchange glances, whisper among themselves, and speculate on her intentions.
Had someone offended the Princess somewhere?
Or had someone sent gifts to the Princess?
Why were these few promoted, and those few demoted?
Each official had his own guesses, but no matter what, at this moment, none dared to question the Princess’s authority again.
The rise and fall of their positions all depended on a single thought of hers.
When the murmuring gradually quieted, Lizhu spoke with a gentle smile:
“Of course, these are only temporary minor adjustments. Prefect Cui is burdened with affairs, and I am merely substituting to oversee this matter of the refugee turmoil. If you all can handle this matter properly, I believe Prefect Cui will surely reward and punish clearly, and will not let great talent be wronged.”
Hearing this, the demoted officials straightened with renewed resolve, while those promoted were filled with fighting spirit.
Everyone could hear it — the one making decisions was not Prefect Cui, but the Princess Qinghe before them.
She wanted this refugee matter handled well; whoever could handle it well would be the one to rise.
The officials all answered in unison.
That very afternoon, the government office began gathering manpower to discuss various disaster relief measures.
Pei Zhaoye was not there.
As early as when he had escorted Lizhu into the office, he had already wandered off toward the city’s eastern market, walking straight into a butcher’s shop.
“—How much for a jin of fine meat?”
“Nine wen.”
The butcher did not lift his head.
“Whose scale are you using? Is it accurate?”
The butcher finally looked up at him, pulling at the corner of his lips: “Which scale do you want?”
“Ruling’s or Jinyang’s, do you have either?”
“Both. The guest may go in and choose himself.”
After speaking, the butcher exchanged a glance with the man beside him and led Pei Zhaoye inside.
The stench of raw meat and blood hit straight to the nose. The ground was slick with grease and gore.
Yet, once they passed through the curtain into the innermost room, the smell disappeared completely. Several heavy chests stood in a row. Pei Zhaoye stepped forward and opened one casually — inside, all were iron weapons.
“—Master Pei, what a rare guest indeed. I heard that a few days ago, you led troops into Xiangcheng, rescued the Princess, and were most glorious. Could it be you’ve finally made up your mind and plan to join forces with Yanshan to raise the banner of revolt?”
Pei Zhaoye’s lips carried a cold smile as he turned around:
“So it’s you supplying weapons to Yanshan as well.”
Before him stood a young man of extraordinary grace.
Unlike Gu Bing’an’s refined gentleness, though this man too was dressed as a scholar, his attire was luxurious. Even the seemingly unremarkable embroidery on his robe was worth a thousand in gold.
This man was a private iron merchant from the Hezhou region, surname Xiao, given name Qiyuan.
Pei Zhaoye had known him since the days they first rose in Hongye Stronghold — their relationship was fairly decent.
It should be said that Xiao Qiyuan had thought this man possessed an extraordinary bearing and was destined for great achievements, so he had taken the initiative to make contact, hoping that one day they could conduct a great business together.
Unfortunately, he had waited and waited; several years passed, yet the hidden dragon still lingered in the abyss, showing not the slightest sign of soaring with the clouds.
“Xiao has not the lofty awareness of Master Pei. I only make money, whoever has money is my father.”
He said this with a smiling squint.
Pei Zhaoye also smiled: “Then the bastards from Jiacao Canal are your fathers too? You truly make a father of everyone, eating both meat and vegetables without taboo.”
Hearing him take the initiative to mention the repeating crossbows of Jiacao Canal, Xiao Qiyuan did not bother to hide it.
He lifted his robe and sat down on a soft cushion, leaning lazily against the low table:
“Jiacao Canal is not worthy of being my father. That father is another person. Since Master Pei has the nerve to provoke him, surely you can guess who it is?”
“Guess my ass.”
Pei Zhaoye knew he was hinting that the blame lay with the Tan family.
But when Pei Zhaoye thought of Hongye Stronghold’s destruction in his dream, in which these repeating crossbows had played great merit, he lost interest in exchanging more words with the man. He flung down a heavy pouch of gold.
“Ten thousand arrowheads, three hundred crossbows, eight hundred ring-hilted sabers, two hundred halberds, and armor — as much as you can get, the more the better. This is the deposit. Check first whether you even have that much stock.”
Having said this, he glanced at the finely crafted lampstand inside the chest.
He picked it up, weighed it casually in his hand: “This matter is confidential. You’d best keep your mouth tight. You and I know each other’s roots — since I dare deal in contraband salt, I’m not afraid of swallowing your trade along with it.”
Xiao Qiyuan was greatly alarmed: “You’re serious? Truly, the man who holds the Princess hostage speaks boldly.”
“…Hostage?”
Pei Zhaoye frowned.
“The common folk don’t know, but word has already spread through the underworld,” Xiao Qiyuan said with a knowing smile. “They say your subordinate, the Piercing-Tiger Danzhu, shot dead the Yiling commander on the city wall that day, then snatched Princess Qinghe’s Bronze Tiger Tally, allowing you to lead troops into the city.”
Xiao Qiyuan pocketed the gold, his smile ambiguous:
“Now that Yiling Commandery is entirely in your hands, that beautiful little Princess naturally rests within your grasp. Ordinary women no longer interest you — Princess Qinghe is the daughter of Nanyong’s number-one beauty, Mi Jiang. And you still claim you aren’t tempted? What, is the thing between your legs just for display?”
Pei Zhaoye twirled one of the arrowheads in the chest between his fingers.
He only found it amusing.
The commoners regarded that mediocrity Cui Shiyong as Yiling’s virtuous official.
The outlaws of the greenwood saw him as the man who commanded wind and rain behind Yiling’s scenes.
That little Princess, loyal and patriotic, clearly bore no ambition — yet all she did was pretend to be meek while pushing others forward as her shields.
Forget it.
For the sake of how well she had satisfied him last night, he could shoulder it.
After all, he was a man of generous heart.
Pei Zhaoye cast a glance toward Xiao Qiyuan.
“If you can’t control your cock, go find a blacksmith to forge you a casing and seal it shut. Don’t think everyone’s as filthy as you. Handle the matter properly. I’m leaving.”
Xiao Qiyuan watched his departing back and sneered.
Did he not know what a nineteen-year-old man was like?
What was he pretending at — some paragon of purity and virtue?
When Pei Zhaoye returned to the government office, it was already evening.
Winter nights fell early. Fortunately, it hadn’t snowed. As he approached the office, he saw the two guards at the gate standing idly, looking like they were waiting for their shift to end.
But the moment they saw him, both men straightened at once, nodding nervously.
Their lips moved, but for a while they couldn’t remember how they ought to address him.
Pei Zhaoye walked past them with a half-smile.
“…General Pei, take care!”
The two had strained for quite some time before finally squeezing out those five words.
The smile in Pei Zhaoye’s eyes chilled slightly.
“Who told you to call me that?”
He stopped.
Heads lowered, one of the guards answered, “It was… the Princess. Before our shift this afternoon, the order came down — from now on, whenever you come to the office, we’re to address you as General.”
Pei Zhaoye often came and went through the government office, and it wasn’t very fitting for people there to keep calling him “Master Pei of the Mountain.” So Lizhu had given the order.
Yet that single “General Pei,” when it fell upon Pei Zhaoye’s ears… was oddly delicate.
Of course he knew that such a title was not a formal rank. Under Nanyong’s administrative system, temporary generals appointed for wartime duties were also called “General.”
Simply put — it was worthless, a title one could toss around casually.
Even so, something deep within him seemed inexplicably touched, and a complex ripple stirred in his heart.
After asking where the Princess was, Pei Zhaoye followed the covered corridor inside.
Before even stepping through the door, he heard voices from within.
“…Messengers have already been sent to inform each county magistrate. Once the numbers of people each county can take in are reported tomorrow, we can, the following day, post the list as the Princess instructed, so the refugees may go apply.”
“The river channels have gone unrepaired for years — this time, relief through labor will solve two great troubles of the commandery at once. The Princess truly has a wise heart…”
Candlelight filled the inner room brightly.
Documents were piled high upon the table, some even spread across the floor.
The officials at discussion were all talking at once.
Pei Zhaoye saw the figure at the center suddenly rise, step past the table to pick up a rolled bamboo slip, then sit back down again — continuing to read with brows tightly knit amid the noise.
When she worked in earnest, there wasn’t the slightest trace of a smile in her eyes — there was a kind of solemn adorableness about her.
Of course, at this moment she was not truly adorable — it was only that, in his eyes, she looked captivating no matter what expression she wore.
Especially that hand holding the brush.
Fair and slender, as though molded from freshly fallen snow, yet when it touched the paper, it carried great strength — like a blade without edge or gleam.
After the officials dispersed, Pei Zhaoye quietly entered the room.
Lizhu lifted her head. She felt the lamplight within the chamber flicker, and when she looked up, she saw Pei Zhaoye placing a gilded lampstand on her desk, pouring lamp oil into it.
