After A’Lei nodded, Emperor Yongle immediately switched from being a kind elder to showing the ugly face of a client daddy, making extremely demanding requirements that were almost like asking for “colorfully brilliant black.”

“The ship can’t be small—it needs to be this big.” Emperor Yongle pointed at his writing desk. “It must be carved with dragons and phoenixes, showing imperial grandeur, but it can’t be vulgar…”

A’Lei wrote rapidly, recording Emperor Yongle’s requirements, but gradually couldn’t keep up. From nodding agreement to giving up took only the time to drink a cup of tea.

“Your Majesty, is it too late to back out now? This commoner woman cannot accomplish this.”

Seeing he had frightened the young lady into giving up, Emperor Yongle realized he had gone too far. “Move your home workshop into the palace. The several Western missionaries in the palace who can repair clocks, the carpenters and blacksmiths from the Imperial Household Department—they’re all your assistants. You’re not alone.”

A’Lei breathed a sigh of relief. She also wanted to use this opportunity to challenge herself, so she continued taking notes. “Your Majesty, you mentioned two little figures popping out from the ship’s bow—what should they be carved to look like? Do you have portrait templates?”

Emperor Yongle paused. “This…”

Emperor Yongle looked at A’Lei’s generous and confident demeanor and momentarily saw someone else’s shadow—similarly from a noble family, similarly a duke’s eldest legitimate daughter, similarly fearless of heaven and earth, even of similar age.

Emperor Yongle sighed. “I married at sixteen, and Empress Renxiao was only fourteen. By eighteen, Empress Renxiao had already borne me four children. I remember clearly—she gave birth to our fourth child, Prince Han, on New Year’s Eve. Weakened after childbirth, and Father Emperor ordered me to go to my fiefdom in Yan territory, traveling thousands of li from the capital to Beijing in Yan territory.”

“The waterway at the beginning was fine, but the Grand Canal connecting north and south had fallen into disrepair from age, so we frequently had to disembark and travel overland. The carriages jolted terribly, the weather was cold, and both mother and child needed warmth, yet we worried about being overcome by fumes from charcoal braziers. Sigh, the Empress suffered greatly on that journey. She had originally been a strong woman who dared to gallop on horseback even while pregnant, but afterward she needed over a year of rest in the capital to recover.”

“While on the ship, I felt sorry for the Empress and boasted that I would write a memorial to Father Emperor suggesting the re-dredging of the Beijing-Hangzhou Grand Canal. If we could clear the waterway from south to north, people on both banks would benefit immensely, and it would facilitate transporting grain and goods to Yan territory, stabilizing the stubbornly high grain prices in the north.”

Recalling the past, the client daddy’s affection became different—his gaze turned frighteningly gentle. “The Empress and I made a pact that once the Grand Canal was cleared, we would travel south by ship, enjoying ourselves in comfort without the jolting of overland travel. We would grow old together, viewing the limitless scenery along the Grand Canal’s banks.”

“We even clapped hands to seal our oath.” Emperor Yongle clapped his hands together. “Just like this, palm to palm, making our vow. Now the canal has been cleared, and grain and timber flow day and night to the capital to build the new capital city. The canal banks have regained vitality, and people prosper by living near water. But…”

Emperor Yongle’s gaze dimmed. “My Empress always kept her word, except for this one matter where she broke faith and violated our oath.”

Who would have thought even emperors had moments of vulnerability and sorrow? A’Lei said, “But it’s not like Empress Renxiao wanted to break her promise—she… had no choice.”

“Your Majesty means the two little wooden figures appearing on schedule at the ship’s bow represent Your Majesty and Empress Renxiao, using this clock to express grief and mourning, allowing what couldn’t be realized in reality to be achieved in this ship clock.” A’Lei quickly changed the subject. “This commoner woman will make the wooden figures bear three parts resemblance to Their Majesties in their youth—how about that?”

A’Lei had guessed Emperor Yongle’s true intention.

Emperor Yongle led A’Lei to a small study where hung a small portrait of Empress Renxiao in her youth, her hair styled as an unmarried maiden’s—apparently from before her marriage.

“I knew the Empress from childhood. ‘The young man came riding a bamboo horse, circling the bed playing with green plums. At fourteen she became my wife, her shy face still unopened. At fifteen her brow first unfurled, willing to share dust and ashes.’ That year we became parents, thinking we could grow old together, but I couldn’t see her white-haired—I alone am growing old.”

Emperor Yongle ordered servants to set up a writing desk with ink and brushes. “Copy this portrait.”

A’Lei agreed and carefully traced the image, completing it only by dusk.

Emperor Yongle looked it over and nodded with satisfaction. “I have no portrait from my youth, but Prince Han’s heir apparent closely resembled me when I was young. Draw based on his appearance.”

Zhu Zhanhe was busy helping Zhu Zhanji train the youth army. These young soldiers weren’t from military families and had no martial arts foundation—they didn’t even know how to hold a sword properly and actually pointed the blade toward themselves.

Some were even stupid enough during formation drills to confuse left and right, walking with same-side arms and legs moving together. Calling them a rabble would be insulting to ravens.

After a month, even demonstrating the simplest wild goose formation was unsuccessful. They scattered randomly like grass chickens rather than wild geese. During formation changes, they kicked each other’s bottoms and stepped on each other’s shoes, creating chaos like porridge.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Son of a… look what you did to my boy!”

“Was it you who kicked my butt? Come fight!”

“You’re just a confused goose head!”

The youth army came from proletarians across the land, joining the army just for a full meal. Chinese people’s deep-rooted attachment to their homeland meant few were willing to seek livelihoods in foreign places unless they couldn’t survive at home.

They spoke every accent and dialect, making communication difficult and relying on body language, which often caused misunderstandings leading to group brawls. For this reason, Zhu Zhanji spent his own money to give each person a copy of the “Hongwu Standard Rhymes” to correct pronunciation and eliminate incomprehensible dialects, but soon discovered it was completely useless. These books were basically used to prop up table and bed legs, or even rolled up to smoke tobacco leaves.

Only then did Zhu Zhanji realize almost none of these people could read—many couldn’t even write their own names. His “Hongwu Standard Rhymes” were like throwing flirtatious glances at blind men.

The formation drill completely failed. Zhu Zhanhe rode his horse to separate several pairs of fighters, then went to the reviewing stand to report to his older cousin.

Zhu Zhanhe looked ashamed. “Your Highness Crown Prince’s Grandson, this minister’s younger brother has truly done his best, but it’s this minister’s brother’s incompetence—unable to train them well, bringing shame to Your Highness.”

Zhu Zhanhe had grown thin from exhaustion this month. Previously, training the Tiancel Guard with cannons, firearms, gunpowder and other combat weapons hadn’t been this tiring. The Tiancel Guard were excellent soldiers selected from military families—generations of professional soldiers who had practiced martial arts from childhood with family traditions, quickly able to coordinate.

But Zhu Zhanhe truly couldn’t manage these young soldiers from across the land. Some were dull like the mentally disabled, others were cunning and slippery, refusing both carrots and sticks. They were like a concentration camp of intellectually disabled, ridiculous, and immature soldiers of the Ming.

Zhu Zhanhe felt he was about to collapse and asked the Crown Prince’s Grandson to face reality and find someone more capable.

But Zhu Zhanji wouldn’t let his cousin step down, because besides this foolish brother, everyone was laughing at the Crown Prince’s Grandson and the youth army. The youth army’s endless stream of ridiculous incidents had become essential after-meal entertainment for the capital’s imperial guards.

Twenty-eight thousand youth army soldiers on the training ground below were like twenty-eight thousand fierce, stupid, quarrelsome geese. At this level, a thousand regular troops could annihilate them all.

The troops were unpresentable and embarrassing. Zhu Zhanji comforted his cousin, “It’s fine, take it slowly. I’m not in a hurry.”

But I am! Zhu Zhanhe had already puffed up from a small pond fish into a puffer fish, and in time would probably puff into a dolphin.

Zhu Zhanhe said, “This minister’s brother suggests postponing training them with firearms and other weapons to avoid them injuring their own people. Let them first master swords, staffs, and other weapons.”

Thinking of the tragic fate of twenty-eight thousand copies of “Hongwu Standard Rhymes” wasted by the youth army, Zhu Zhanji nodded heavily. “I understand.”

“So now—” Zhu Zhanhe pointed at the lively scene of twenty-eight thousand geese pecking each other on the training ground, asking, “What should we do next?”

Zhu Zhanji looked at the sky—it was still early before lunch. “Have them form long lines and run until lunchtime.”

Zhu Zhanhe asked, “What about this afternoon?”

Zhu Zhanji had a headache. He was a Crown Prince’s Grandson tested in the power arena and had thought military training would be easy—just train them. He had also read various military treatises, but practical application was completely different. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way” and “constant effort can grind an iron rod into a needle,” but what about rotten wood?

He could only change people.

But Emperor Yongle specified only the youth army—no selecting from military families. Only now did Zhu Zhanji understand his grandfather emperor’s well-intentioned efforts to truly cultivate and temper him.

While Zhu Zhanji was at his wit’s end, A’Lei arrived dressed as a man.

Is she also here to laugh at me? Zhu Zhanji’s self-esteem was wounded, but A’Lei had no interest in the flock of pecking geese. She just greeted Zhu Zhanji briefly and led Zhu Zhanhe away.

Zhu Zhanji was struck another blow and shamelessly followed them. Zhu Zhanhe asked, “Aren’t you supervising their running?”

“All they know is stupid running. Fighting isn’t about who runs fastest—I don’t want to watch anymore.” Zhu Zhanji asked A’Lei, “What are you doing here?”

A’Lei pointed at Zhu Zhanhe. “Looking for him.”

Zhu Zhanji regretted asking—truly asking for trouble.

A’Lei had Zhu Zhanhe sit down and took out paper and brush to sketch his portrait. Zhu Zhanhe was flattered. “Wait, let me wash my face.”

Zhu Zhanhe hurriedly ran off to wash and groom himself. Zhu Zhanji’s jealousy made his teeth ache from sourness. “Why don’t you paint me? Am I… not as handsome as him?”

A’Lei said, “You don’t look as much like His Majesty as he does…”

A’Lei explained the specific reason, but Zhu Zhanji still wasn’t satisfied and continued asking, “Who’s actually more handsome—him or me?” This was what he cared about most.

Regardless of era, there’s always the question “Am I more beautiful than Xu Gong from the north of the city?”

A’Lei: “Born from the same root, you’re both acceptable. Your Zhu family has few ugly ones.”

Zhu Zhanji held out his palm. “Fingers have different lengths—who’s actually more handsome, me or Second Cousin?”

A’Lei hesitated briefly. “The truth?”

Zhu Zhanji had an ominous feeling but still nodded. “The truth.” Like a hangnail on a finger—knowing it would hurt but unable to resist pulling it.

A’Lei said, “You.”

Zhu Zhanji had been thin since childhood, and the recently recovered Mu Chun was also thin—they were the same type. Having grown accustomed to her father Mu Chun’s appearance at home, A’Lei found Zhu Zhanji’s lean, sharply defined face more pleasing to the eye.

Zhu Zhanhe finished washing his face and retying his hair. The military camp had no hair oil, but following the example of the crude youth army soldiers, he spat twice into his palms, rubbed them together, and smoothed down his unruly hair until his topknot gleamed.

The military camp also had no mirrors, so he checked his reflection in a dagger blade, grinning widely to show all his teeth and check whether any remnants of this morning’s fennel meat buns were stuck between them.

After Zhu Zhanhe finished grooming and returned for A’Lei to paint him properly, he saw his older cousin unusually grinning foolishly at A’Lei.

It’s over—the Crown Prince’s Grandson has been driven mad by the youth army.

A’Lei was about to start painting when Zhu Zhanji reached out his hand. “Let me do it. My painting skills are slightly better than yours.”

Though A’Lei had directly called him handsome, Zhu Zhanji’s jealousy remained unresolved, and he didn’t want A’Lei staring at his cousin.

A’Lei had painted for half the day yesterday and was somewhat tired today, so she handed him the brush. “You don’t need to paint too well—three parts resemblance is fine.”

Model Zhu Zhanhe expressed no problem. “Resemblance doesn’t matter—just don’t paint me ugly.”

It seems that regardless of era or gender, beauty enhancement effects are extremely popular.

Thus, A’Lei began her design and development work in the palace’s temporary workshop, all to satisfy Emperor Yongle’s forever unrealizable regret.

In July, after more than two years of sailing, Eunuch Zheng He’s fleet returned. The great sea ships docked at Taicang Port in Suzhou. A’Lei set aside her current work and went to Taicang Port wharf to board a great sea ship.

“You’ve grown into a young lady.” Eunuch Zheng He warmly received her, pointing at the ship’s cabin packed full of goods. “Take whatever you want.”

A’Lei rolled up her sleeves eagerly. “I’ll need to choose slowly—don’t feel sorry for the goods, Eunuch Zheng He.”

As the two were chatting and laughing, a Kunlun slave wearing gold collars around his neck and head, bare-chested and wearing a skirt, barefoot, led a massive creature slowly emerging from the ship’s cabin. This creature was noble and proud, like an ancient divine beast recorded in the “Classic of Mountains and Seas.” A’Lei was immediately transfixed.

Eunuch Zheng He said, “This is a qilin, tribute to His Majesty from Malin and other nations.”

In the thirteenth year of Yongle’s reign, Emperor Yongle led civil and military officials in observing the qilin (giraffe) at Chengtian Hall (now Exit 3 of Nanjing Metro Line 2).

Historical records state: The qilin had front legs nine chi high, rear legs six chi, neck one zhang six chi, short fleshy horns on its head, ox tail and deer body, ate millet, beans, and wheat cakes, and no man could ride it.