Once a great enterprise is set in motion, it rolls forward like a massive wheel—even with corpses strewn across the ground, it must press onward without retreat.
Dark currents surged beyond Jinling, yet the eye of the storm remained calm. He had always been careful not to reveal the slightest flaw before Wanwan. He understood her too well—she was strong-willed, and if she knew of his secret schemes for the realm, she might sever ties with him completely. He could only proceed gradually. The court’s conscription order provided a dignified excuse; as long as he concealed it properly, when the time came to dispose of Murong Gaogong, he could claim the man had taken his own life in despair, or that Nuer’gan Regional Military Commission had ended Daye only to be annihilated by the southern army. In any case, he would minimize her hatred toward him. Once the deed was done, because their love still existed, she would ultimately forgive him.
Plotting against his wife’s family’s kingdom—he knew deeply that he wronged her, but with so many participants involved, it was no longer his affair alone. What kind of crime was treason? Enough to exterminate nine generations of kin. Everyone had staked their lives on this venture. If they abandoned the plan midway, the blood of the Qi people would stain the lands of Nanyuan red. On his shoulders rested the lives and fortunes of hundreds of thousands—he could only succeed, never fail.
What he could do now was treat her even better. She wasn’t someone who valued money or power; most of the time, as long as he stayed by her side, she was content.
Before New Year there was still leisure time. Those matters only required his decision-making; the actual implementation was handled by his subordinates, requiring no personal involvement. He spent a period of blissful time with her, enjoying their roles as surrogate grandparents. Having never given birth herself, she adored children extremely and often mentioned the princess in the palace before him.
“Jinsha is a year older than Dong Li—it would be wonderful if they could marry in the future!” she said, leaning against his side. “Emperor Qinzong’s civil and martial achievements mark him as a wise ruler of his generation. Most of his policies are correct, but this one regulation forbidding the Yuwen clan from marrying into the imperial family is too influenced by personal bias. What’s wrong with the Yuwen clan? They don’t have four eyes and eight legs—why aren’t they worthy of the imperial family? I’m so lonely here with no relatives or friends. If Jinsha could come too and keep me company, that would be perfect.”
He feigned displeasure: “How can you say you have no relatives or friends? Am I not your family? If another princess comes, and if His Majesty gets new ideas, the children would have to walk our old path too.”
She wrinkled her nose at this. “That’s all in the past—don’t bring it up anymore. His Majesty has only this one princess and naturally dotes on her extremely; he may not bear to let her suffer such hardships. I actually think the more intermarriages the better—future generations with blood ties would all be one family and wouldn’t harbor suspicions.” She then looked up at him with a smile. “The family I mentioned refers to my maternal side. Have you heard that verse—’closest yet most distant are husband and wife’? Only when two people love each other extraordinarily can they be called family. Once they turn against each other, they become irreconcilable enemies—how terrifying.”
She always had this prophetic kind of perceptiveness that made his heart tremble. The speaker might not intend it, but the listener couldn’t help but pay attention. After his initial alarm, he changed the subject with a laugh: “Why speak of such inauspicious things when we’re doing well? New Year is approaching—let’s talk about something auspicious instead.”
“Yes, yes, I’m being a crow’s mouth.” She made a gesture of wiping her cheek, laughing before sighing sadly. “I’ll be twenty-two after New Year—I’m slowly getting old.”
Age was always a melancholy topic for women. What she regretted wasn’t aging beauty, but withering before blooming. Having no children was a regret regardless of timing.
Liang Shi understood her thoughts and kissed her forehead: “If you’re getting old, am I still young? We’re nowhere near there yet—talk of aging is premature.” He paused briefly, studying her expression. “Do you like that child Dong Li?”
Wanwan nodded. “I do—he’s so adorable when awake, just like Jinsha.”
He had never met Jinsha, but presumably in her heart, all lovable children were similar.
He probed: “How would you feel about bringing Dong Li back to the princess mansion? We Qi people have the custom of cross-fostering children. The young consort can’t personally care for him, and the dowager is getting on in years—great-grandchildren shouldn’t trouble the old lady. Rather than sending the child to those two concubines’ quarters, you might as well keep him. Having Dong Li by your side would be his fortune earned over several lifetimes.”
Her eyes immediately brightened: “Could I really raise him? I mentioned it to them before but worried about separating mother and child, feeling sorry for the young consort.”
“If you don’t raise him, should we give him to Tala Shi instead?” He stroked her face. “I’m most at ease with you. Children resemble whoever raises them. I only hope he develops noble bearing and doesn’t learn from those unseemly people. Ask Lan Zhou and his wife—they surely won’t object.”
Unable to raise a son, she could raise a grandson. Wanwan sighed softly: “Let’s see what Yun Wan thinks. If she can’t bear to part with him, we’ll drop the matter. After all, she suffered so much, and being the primary consort, if she wants to keep him herself, that’s also acceptable.”
She didn’t understand his thinking—he preferred having a child to distract her attention so she wouldn’t constantly focus on the war situation. The young lord had wet nurses and nannies; daily care wouldn’t require her involvement. With a child nestled in her heart, her emotions would soften, and even if changes occurred, the damage could be minimized.
He drew closer to embrace her, burying his face in her cloud-like hair: “Wanwan, you must understand my feelings for you. In this world, you are the person I can least bear to leave behind.”
She hummed in acknowledgment, stroking the back of his neck: “When we’re old, we two will depend on each other—neither will abandon the other.”
She thought so far ahead—simply a lifetime together.
The day they brought Dong Li over, she went personally, tactfully conveying the prince’s suggestion while observing everyone’s expressions. If she detected the slightest reluctance or unwillingness, she planned to abandon the idea. Unexpectedly, the young lady expressed tremendous gratitude that Dong Li could be raised under the lady’s care.
She knelt down: “This is such grace from you, my lady—my husband and I don’t know what to say. We couldn’t ask for more; we only fear troubling you.”
The dowager consort was pleased to see this arrangement, smiling: “No trouble at all. If more hands are needed there, we’ll assign two more. Originally Lan Zhou and Lan Ting were raised by those nannies; now they can raise Dong Li with familiar expertise and little effort. Oh my, elders naturally dote on grandchildren—our lord thought of this so well. Young lady, you must thank our lady properly and show more filial devotion in the future. As for our lady, she can use our Dong Li for entertainment. Such small children are most amusing—when summer comes and he stretches his arms and legs, he’ll be even more delightful.”
With Dong Li placed in her hands, Wanwan treasured him like a precious object, not daring to breathe heavily. After shedding his newborn redness, the child was now fair and clean, his tender skin like almond tofu. She looked and looked—what an adorable child, how lovable! From today he would be raised by her. Unable to bear children herself, she could only adopt others’. It was somewhat embarrassing, fearing others would mock her behind her back. But looking at the child, she couldn’t care about anything else—let them laugh if they wanted; keeping the child was what mattered.
“If you miss the young master, come visit the mansion,” Wanwan said warmly to Yun Wan. “First take care of your own health—once you’ve finished your month of confinement, you can move about.”
Tala Shi quickly chimed in: “Your Highness speaks truly. After such hardship, damaging your foundation would be terrible—you’re still counting on the future. Your Highness is merciful; the young master being by her side is great fortune. Put your mind completely at ease. If you miss him, come take a look—the two mansions aren’t far apart, very convenient.”
Who dared oppose the prince and dowager consort’s decision? By rights, having the grandson raised by the primary grandmother followed proper protocol, but as his paternal grandmother, claiming she felt no pain would be false. Born of a concubine, she would forever be inferior, never counting as respectable in their eyes. When raising her son wasn’t her place, and now her grandson faced the same fate. She could only watch her precious one handed to others, unable to show the slightest dissatisfaction, because in this household, she had no voice whatsoever.
Wanwan brought the child back, placing the cradle in the main room. Whenever she opened her eyes, she came to look at him—nominally her grandson, but in her heart she treated him as her son.
She still remembered that her lost child had also been a boy. If he had grown stronger and been born safely, uncle and nephew would have been close in age, like brothers. Wanwan leaned over the cradle, calling Tonghuan and others to look—when the young lord woke and opened his eyes, golden rings were visible in them, the Yuwen family’s distinctive feature.
She loved the child dearly, relying on her previous experience with Jinsha to care for Dong Li excellently. Only the boy suffered from breathing difficulties, which worried her during attacks. Sometimes she’d put on clothes in the middle of the night to check on him in the wet nurse’s room, only returning to sleep peacefully after seeing the young lord was fine.
Fortunately the ailment didn’t occur frequently. As long as the wet nurse controlled her diet properly, avoiding triggering foods, the child remained healthy and lively. She cupped her hands to hold him, rocking gently: “When you’re bigger, go to the capital with your grandfather to meet Jinsha. She’s a beautiful girl, but sadly lacks love and affection. Will you bring her back and treat her well?”
Xiao You began teasing her: “Goodness, birds of a feather flock together! The young master is still so small, yet you’re already worrying about his marriage? That princess in the capital belongs to uncle’s generation—you can’t play matchmaker randomly.”
She made a sound of understanding, quite regretful: “You’re right, his father and she are the same generation…” She kissed his little face: “It’s this lady being confused. Never mind, we’ll find someone else—there are always good girls somewhere. Where can’t fragrant grass be found?”
She held him to watch birds and winter crickets. The child was too small and would doze off shortly, but she always had sufficient patience to wait for him to wake before continuing to play with him.
She devoted excessive energy to her grandson, making even Liang Shi jealous: “Mind your own health—getting up at night will make you catch cold.” When she tried to get out of bed again, he firmly pulled her back: “If you won’t listen, I’ll send him back to the prince’s mansion. I let him stay to amuse you, not to exhaust your life.”
She pouted pitifully: “I feel like Dong Li is our boy who came back to my side after going around in circles.”
He frowned and forbade her from saying more: “How can you have such absurd thoughts? A miscarried child doesn’t even have complete souls—what’s lost is lost. Looking like this, you’re suggesting I’m inadequate and want to hurt my feelings again?”
She quickly shut her mouth. Actually she knew the problem wasn’t on his side, yet she kept making herself uncomfortable, truly disappointing his good intentions.
She pillowed herself in his neck hollow, eagerly asking: “Has the court’s decree come down? Who will serve as Grand Marshal?”
He said with eyes closed: “Guan Rong, Right Assistant Commissioner of the Five Military Commissions.”
Wanwan was somewhat pleased: “So you don’t have to go?”
He opened his eyes to glance at her: “Shouldn’t good men campaign on battlefields?”
But she shook her head: “I’d rather my man be more mediocre and stay far from weapons of war.”
He knew he could never meet her expectations again. The court hadn’t authorized him to lead troops—not for other reasons, but to have him organize provisions. That was also acceptable; Guan Rong was his close friend, and the subordinate generals were all his people. Even if he moved slowly, he could still command from headquarters. But kingdoms must be conquered personally—no one could become emperor through sandbox deployments alone. His expedition was only a matter of time; the days he could accompany her grew fewer each day.
He turned his head, pressing closer to her, whispering in her ear: “Whether those two hundred thousand troops are sufficient remains uncertain. If reinforcements are needed, who else would go if not me? You women don’t understand war’s cruelty. Once Nuer’gan attacks the central plains, foreign conquest must employ the most brutal methods—then it becomes catastrophe. Would you want to see that? Lan Zhou requested to campaign; I approved, making him deputy general under Guan Rong’s command. Look, even our son goes to battle—how can I, his father, remain behind him?”
Wanwan couldn’t help feeling alarmed: “Does Nuer’gan Regional Military Commission really have such capability? I heard they have only forty to fifty thousand troops—yet they require the court to deploy Andong Guard forces?”
He smiled, brushing the disheveled hair from her face behind her ears: “Rebels are only a small part. Now leading the banner are frontier garrison troops. They haven’t received military pay for five years. Who becomes emperor isn’t their concern—they just want full bellies. Cut off people’s livelihoods, and they’ll cut off your kingdom. It’s that simple.”
What he said made sense. Who should be blamed? Blame only that emperor in Xihaizi Palace who, occupying high position, failed to shoulder responsibility. With violent rebels disrupting government, his only thought was conquest. Even if pacified, what then? Treating symptoms without addressing causes—who knows when it might recur?
She nestled in his embrace, sighing: “I also advised His Majesty toward frugality, but he wouldn’t listen. Hopefully this incident serves as warning, showing him how urgent the situation is—the string of governing the country and pacifying the realm should finally tighten.”
She showed feminine mercy, capable of repeated tolerance, but he knew Murong Gaogong would never again have opportunity for correction. Great war had begun—either you die or I perish. Now he need only ensure rear stability. As for front-line warfare, expeditions authorized by court would encounter no obstacles en route. With proper planning, he might even take the Forbidden City without bloodshed.
He planned step by step until finally reaching her mansion’s Chang Wei. Regardless of who originally dispatched them, none were as reliable as his own people. So this group couldn’t remain—all must be eliminated and replaced with his guards.
He began beating around the bush amicably: “Before troops move, provisions go first. Andong Guard’s military supplies come from Nanyuan. Now everywhere must reduce expenses; our mansion must also endure hardship for a while.”
Wanwan naturally didn’t object, calculating savings from food, clothing and daily expenses. For instance, meals invariably featured dozens of dishes merely for appearance—two people couldn’t possibly finish such amounts! Switching to homestyle stir-fries that could suffice would save considerably.
She told him her thoughts; he only smiled: “Pinching pennies saves how much? The princess mansion’s greatest expense is personnel—the ceremonial guard His Majesty provided, the subordinates Xiao Duo left behind, plus Imperial Guards who came from Beijing. Calculate how much monthly support they require. Nanjing is our domain; local people have long been cultivated. To protect both mansions’ security, why take such roundabout measures? In my opinion, dismiss all idle positions—either return to the capital or join the military fighting northern barbarians, at least earning merit. Staying here consuming dead wages only wastes their prime years, don’t you think?”
Wanwan had also considered this—supporting so many people created truly enormous expenses. She nodded in agreement: “I’ll have Yu Chengfeng handle this, compiling rosters for my review. All who can be dismissed should be dismissed.”
But he said Yu Qixia needn’t be involved: “I see the Chang Wei are all full of patriotic fervor. I’m organizing a guard unit here, lacking precisely such talent. Later I’ll personally ask them to serve in the military. After hostilities end, they can seek imperial merit and secure their futures.”
Wanwan naturally thought this couldn’t be better. Seeing her agreement, he began disposing of those people. Would he really place them in the military? Absolutely impossible! He would lead them outside the city under cover of night to eliminate them completely, because his plan could tolerate no errors.
But however thoroughly calculated, he overlooked Jin Shi. Those eight Imperial Guards under his command, like Jin Shi himself, refused to leave the Grand Princess mansion regardless of inducements.
Jin Shi’s response was firm and clear: “We servants were ordered to protect the Grand Princess. Where Your Highness is, there we remain—we dare not violate imperial decree.”
Wanwan was helpless. With everyone else gone, keeping these eight didn’t matter much. Asking Liang Shi’s opinion, he couldn’t act too extremely and had to temporarily restrain himself, slowly making other plans.