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Even if she could use her own money to procure grain, in the winter the price of grain was high. With her funds alone, how many refugees could she possibly save?
“…Greetings to Princess Qinghe.”
A voice suddenly sounded outside the carriage—it was a courier from the relay station.
“Since the Princess happens to be here, should this letter be sent to the government office, or delivered directly to the Princess?”
Lizhu abruptly raised her head. “What letter?”
“A letter from the Princess Qinghe’s residence in Luoyang.”
When Lizhu left Luoyang, her residence had still been under repair. It must have been completed by now.
Xuan Ying received the letter, opened it, and handed it to Lizhu.
“This letter is from Xu Pingqing, the steward of the private treasury in charge of finances.”
Lizhu immediately took it and skimmed through.
If her heart had merely felt heavy before, after reading this letter, Lizhu raised her head to gaze at the vast river before her—her heart sank completely to the bottom.
“…Not enough.”
She murmured: “This money is far from enough.”
“How can that be?”
Chang Jun hurriedly stepped forward and leaned over to look at the letter. “The Princess’s expenses come from the palace, and Your Highness has always been frugal. Over the years, with the income from two prefectures and thirty-two counties saved up—”
Then, seeing the number written there, Chang Jun’s tightly furrowed brows slowly relaxed.
He looked up and said:
“This is absolutely impossible. Someone is concealing the reports—embezzling the land income that should belong to the Princess.”
In her previous life, Lizhu had almost never worried about money, and so had never cared about her own fiefs. She had only known that with her expenses, even a few lifetimes would not exhaust what she possessed.
But now, in a moment of true need, she suddenly understood where her father’s past fury had come from.
The fief income was collected as tax according to the number of households within the granted lands.
Yet now, someone was concealing the population count, evading the taxes, and lining their own pockets.
Someone was stealing her money!
Lizhu took a deep breath and sat firmly in the carriage.
“…We can’t go to Wan Prefecture anymore.”
Chang Jun was astonished. “Why? Is the Princess not going to stop the Mountain Lord Pei?”
Since that Mountain Lord Pei had made such a thorough plan, it must be one he was determined to carry out.
If the Princess did not go to stop him, he might truly pierce a hole in the sky!
“He must seize the grain. Otherwise, within half a month, not only will Yiling begin to consume the stores meant for its own people, but it will also lose its credibility with Jiangzhou.”
The cold wind sweeping across the river stirred the gauze curtain of the carriage.
Lizhu gazed out; there were still several boats on the water, slowly sailing toward Yiling.
Soon, these refugees would become Yiling’s burden.
Lizhu sat silently inside the carriage, as the cold wind surged in from all directions.
Fear and confusion rolled over her like the waves of the river—wave after wave, battering against her amid the clamor surrounding her.
On faces yellow and thin with hunger flickered a fleeting light of hope.
Someone was supporting a woman who could not stop weeping.
The woman cried out, “My child… my child was pushed into the water, he’s still in the water!”
Her voice lingered, swirling through the winter wind.
After a short while, Xuan Ying heard faint, broken sobs coming from inside the carriage.
A pang rose in Xuan Ying’s heart; she wanted to lift the curtain and offer comfort, yet before she could move, she forced herself to stop.
“As long as the Princess wishes to cry, Xuan Ying will stay here and keep her company.”
Her voice was as gentle as a spring breeze.
But the river wind was damp and bone-chilling, seeping in through every gap.
“Xuan Ying, I’m so stupid.”
“The Princess is not stupid. The Princess is the most intelligent Princess under heaven.”
“…There’s only me left as Princess in the world now.”
She said dully, in frustration, “I truly am stupid. I can’t do anything right, can’t change anything.”
Clearly, after being reborn, she should have had the advantage.
Yet the tides of the world changed endlessly, not yielding to her will in the slightest.
Xuan Ying smiled and said: “What does it mean to do something well? What must be achieved to be called good? Two months ago, the Princess could only bow her head before the Empress, not daring to talk back even a single sentence. Two months later, the Princess could withdraw completely unharmed from all of the Empress’s repeated plots.”
“Within one prefecture, the appointments and removals of officials, the movements of troops—all follow the Princess’s intent. These refugees who have been properly resettled are also the Princess’s merit. Among the heroes under heaven, how many could accomplish what the Princess has done?”
Lizhu’s wet eyelashes trembled, then quickly drooped again in discouragement.
“…But none of these are what I most want to do. The thing I most want to do, I just can’t.”
“Whether it can be done or not, you’ll only know after you try,” Xuan Ying guided gently. “But what is it that the Princess truly wants?”
With her hair disheveled, Lizhu fell slightly into a daze.
Officials greedy for fame and wealth, noble clans oppressing the people below and betraying the sovereign above, foreign enemies watching like tigers, waiting only for chaos to strike a vicious blow. The common folk trampled beneath everyone’s feet, never able to rise.
The greed of the powerful easily grinds everyone into pieces, crushing them into flesh and blood that nourishes their power—until new nobles are born from the flesh of the old.
She was so weak, so timid, trying to step off the track of the carriage, to escape from this bloody Asura field.
Was she willing to stand by and watch? To live in safety within a small corner?
Was she willing to let the chance heaven had given her—to live anew—end up once again in ruin beyond redemption?
Amid the rippling of the river, Lizhu questioned herself again and again.
Yet even so, what rose within her heart was not the cruel desire to kill.
She wanted to save the people, and she wanted to save her husband.
She wanted him to stand tall and upright, to live a long life, and to share a peaceful and prosperous world with her.
She had no choice, no way to retreat.
Because any future other than this—she could not accept.
After who knows how long, Xuan Ying and Chang Jun finally heard sound again from within the carriage.
“…Gu Bing’an mentioned in his letter that Pei Zhaoye bought private iron within the city. Send word to Lu Yu and tell him to find out who this person is. He must have some connection with the uprising army of Yanshan.”
Pei Zhaoye was not a rebel. He would not seize the government’s grain.
Even if he did seize it, there must be a justifiable reason for it… If there was no reason, then she would create one for him.
Lizhu said, “We’re not going to Wan Prefecture. I’m going to Yanshan.”
•—–٠✤٠—–•
“Mountain Lord, in about two more hours we’ll catch up with the convoy escorting the grain. Do you want to sleep for a while first?”
Danzhu climbed out from the cabin and yawned.
“Gu Bing’an’s already got everything ready. Get some sleep. Save your strength—once we disembark, who knows when you’ll have another chance to rest.”
Pei Zhaoye, who was sharpening his sword, gave a low hum in reply. He poured water over the blade, washing it until it gleamed brightly.
Danzhu stood at the bow of the ship, stretching his limbs.
In the snowy night, the surrounding guard boats lay black and heavy upon the river’s surface, not one of them lit a lamp, drifting silently downstream amid the wind and snow.
“At this hour, the Princess must already know. Wonder if she’s smashing things in anger—hehe, just thinking about it, it’s kind of cute.”
Gu Bing’an said, “Cute? Not necessarily. Could just as well be thunderous fury.”
“Then the Mountain Lord can take it. It won’t be smashed onto me anyway.”
Qiu Er said, “…But the Mountain Lord’s sword can still slash you.”
Danzhu: “…”
Too lazy to bother with the few of them, Pei Zhaoye sheathed his sword and turned back to his cabin.
In three days combined, he had slept no more than five hours—not from busyness, but because he could not fall asleep.
That dream had grown clearer and clearer in his mind.
Blood soaking Yushan, scattered corpses, Gu Bing’an’s severed neck, the whistle of the arrow that killed Danzhu behind him—every detail vividly distinct.
It felt as though he wasn’t a bystander at all, but standing right there in the bloody wind of that night, fallen in the snow, unable to rise.
The closer he drew to Wan Prefecture, the stronger the killing urge that howled in his blood became.
Why must they annihilate everything?
After turning fourteen, he had never once left Hezhou, never had dealings with the Tan clan, and even so—that man still refused to let him live in this world.
Casually letting him be born into this world.
And now, just as casually, wanting to brush him away like dust.
As though people like them were things no one cared about at all, their joys and sorrows born only to be trampled underfoot.
A sharp pain throbbed at his forehead.
The air inside the tightly shut cabin was thin, sealing off all sounds from outside. He was submerged in viscous darkness, and amid the faint rocking, he felt for a moment as if sinking into a swamp.
Pei Zhaoye turned over, pressing his forehead against the cabin wall. From inside his chest folded garment, a length of pale pink silk peeked out.
The veins that had risen on his forehead.
His breathing grew heavier with each movement, and the throbbing pain there gradually eased.
…It ended faster than any time before.
Pei Zhaoye opened his dark, heavy eyes, rose to wash the soiled silk handkerchief, then lay back down on the couch.
This time, he finally fell asleep.
At dawn, the moon shone over the gorge as the grain convoy passed before the narrow valley.
The officials in charge of escorting the grain urged the soldiers onward. Seeing one of them slow his steps in weariness, he immediately drew his whip and lashed out.
“Faster! We can’t linger in this place!”
One soldier, dissatisfied, muttered in complaint: “We’ve been marching all night, everyone’s exhausted. Why not let us rest a bit before entering the valley? We’ll move quicker afterward.”
“So much nonsense. Are you the officer here, or am I?”
The one holding the whip glanced ahead.
“Captain Tan himself has brought men to personally oversee this grain transport, who dares delay? Move faster, all of you!”
The person mentioned, Commander Tan, was none other than Tan Rong, who should have remained within the city.
At this moment, he rode a date-red horse, leading his troops at the front of the procession, vigilantly surveying his surroundings.
After that conversation with his wife, Tan Rong grew suspicious. Erring on the side of caution, he decided to personally lead men to escort these provisions back to Wan County.
The current situation was chaotic; carelessness was not an option.
Especially at this Yixian Valley.
Tan Rong raised his hawk-like eyes. If an ambush were to be set, this place was most suitable for it.
“Commander, should we make camp here and wait for daybreak before entering the valley?”
His deputy advised thus, but Tan Rong said: “Once past this valley, we are not far from the city. The city has four to five thousand regular troops… I doubt bandits would have the audacity.”
The night is long and dreams are many.
It would be better to enter the city quickly to set his mind at ease.
Tan Rong, confident in his own bravery, always sought quick and decisive resolution in battle. He did not hesitate much now.
If there were really any foolhardy petty thieves, they were nothing to fear…
Rumble rumble—
The troops entering the valley abruptly looked up, gazing towards the heights above.
It was rolling stones!
Hooves scrambled, soldiers panicked. Tan Rong reined in his horse and shouted:
“Quickly, enter the city and summon reinforcements! What rebellious bandits dare this? Cease at once! When my city’s great army attacks from both front and rear, I will personally take your heads!”
From among the jagged, steep cliffs came a cold, ghostly, sneering laugh.
