Chang’an. The Palace of Weiyang.

Li Chi sat in the study and spent a moment simply breathing in the air of the room — deep, slow breaths, eyes closed.

It was a large study. But its significance lay not in its size, nor in anything it contained, but in the one character that could now be placed before it.

Imperial.

The furnishings had been arranged according to Li Chi’s own tastes — nothing ostentatious, no priceless treasures on display. He liked things plain and simple. Gilded splendor would only irritate him.

At the back of the study stood a massive bookshelf, tall enough that retrieving a volume from the highest shelf required climbing a ladder.

He loved this room more than he could say, because of the heavy, enveloping scent of books.

Once upon a time, he had loved reading more than almost anything — and had almost no books to read.

When his shifu took him along to scrape out a living on the road, finding a single book by chance was a windfall. He would read it over and over, until he had every word memorized.

He had always loved books so deeply that he would not let even a speck of dirt touch his hands while he read.

He also had a well-known reputation for loving money. Everyone under heaven had heard of it. You might think such a man’s favorite scent would be the smell of coins — but no. What he loved was the smell of new books, the faint, clean fragrance of fresh ink. He could hold a new book to his nose and breathe it in for a long, long time.

The desk in this study was not carved from precious timber, either. It was stone.

In all of recorded history, he was probably the first emperor to use a stone desk in his study. He’d never cared for fine wood — it wasn’t to his taste, it wasn’t practical, and the money could be better spent on something that actually mattered.

When Lian Xiyu had written to him asking what kind of wood to use for the palace furniture, Li Chi’s answer was: use stone wherever you can, and use ordinary stone at that — just something durable. He had Lian Xiyu calculate how much this would save, then put that money toward the community schools in Jizhou’s northwestern territories.

That region was harsh and remote. For the children of ordinary families there, education was nearly out of reach.

A bit of money saved from the palace’s furnishings, reinvested into ten years of schooling — that was something that made Li Chi feel genuinely satisfied. Not fine furniture.

He had said it plainly: if that saved money could educate a few hundred children, or a few thousand, some of those children might grow into people of great ability. And people of great ability could become the pillars of Great Ning for generations to come. A fine piece of furniture might be passed down for a few generations; a truly capable person could sustain a dynasty’s prosperity for many more.

“Your Majesty.”

A quiet voice at the door. Li Chi looked up to see Yu Jiuling standing outside. He smiled. “The ceremony hasn’t happened yet.”

Yu Jiuling had just opened his mouth when Li Chi added, smiling, “But you can go ahead and call me that. It sounds rather nice, actually.”

Yu Jiuling laughed.

He stepped inside. “Your Majesty, Xu Ji has arrived.”

“Where is he?”

“Waiting outside the palace. If Your Majesty wishes to see him, I’ll have him brought in.”

“Bring him in.”

Yu Jiuling bowed. “This subject takes his leave.” He turned for the door — and Li Chi called him back.

Yu Jiuling turned, puzzled.

“Say it again.”

Yu Jiuling smiled and bowed again. “Your Majesty.”

“That really does feel good to hear,” Li Chi said.

—

Before long, Yu Jiuling escorted Xu Ji to the door of the study. Every step of the walk from the palace gate had been careful and deliberate — even Xu Ji’s footfalls seemed to be measuring themselves.

When he saw Yu Jiuling, he smiled with great effort and spoke with particular courtesy, despite outranking the man by quite a bit. A Military Governor was designated Second Rank in the early years of the Chu dynasty, and elevated to First Rank by its end. Yu Jiuling was still a Third Rank General of the Household, considerably below him in official grade.

But Xu Ji wouldn’t dare put on airs before Yu Jiuling. He would gladly call the man elder brother if he thought it would help.

“His Majesty is waiting. Go in.”

Yu Jiuling smiled. Xu Ji quickly thanked him, and had just moved to step forward when Yu Jiuling, still smiling, said, “Something good is headed your way, Lord Xu. Allow me to congratulate you in advance.”

Those words hit Xu Ji’s heart like a sudden grip. Not frightened — startled. Startled, and then, in the same instant, a surge of excitement he could not quite contain. His hands trembled, briefly, without his permission.

“The General jests.”

He had barely begun his modest deflection when Yu Jiuling said, “Why would I jest with you? We’re not strangers. I’m telling you — something good is coming. Now go in.”

Xu Ji reined in the nameless elation rising in his chest and stepped through the door to the imperial study. He was so taut with nerves and excitement that his foot caught the threshold and he very nearly went down face-first.

“What was that?” Li Chi called from within.

Xu Ji quickly said it was nothing, just a stumble, and strode inside. He was barely through the door before he was already dropping to his knees.

“This subject Xu Ji pays his respects to Your Majesty. Long live Your Majesty, long live, long long live.”

The words came out so fervently that the corner of Li Chi’s mouth curled upward.

“Get up,” Li Chi said. “There’s no need for all that ceremony. What just happened? What tripped you?”

“Your Majesty, this subject was careless — walked too quickly and didn’t see the threshold, so I—”

Before he had finished, Li Chi raised his voice toward the doorway: “Ye Xiaoqian, come in.”

The newly appointed Commander of the Imperial Guard stepped in quickly and knelt. “Your Majesty, what is your command?”

Li Chi pointed outside. “Have the threshold at the entrance to the main hall removed. No need to keep it. It just tripped Xu Ji — nearly knocked down one of my most valued ministers. Can’t have it tripping anyone else, either. Get rid of it.”

The shock that moved through Xu Ji was seismic — something vast crashing through him in waves, impossible to hold back.

He couldn’t control himself. With a thud, he was on the ground — not kneeling exactly, but prostrated, pressed flat as though the weight of the moment had simply felled him.

“Your Majesty, this cannot be — Your Majesty, please, this subject was merely careless, the fault was entirely mine, please retract this command—”

Li Chi rose from his seat and walked to Xu Ji. He reached down and helped him to his feet.

“A threshold,” Li Chi said. “How could it compare to you?”

“You governed Jizhou, and the people of Jizhou lived in peace and grew in prosperity. You governed Yuezhou, and the people of Yuezhou found renewed life and a new beginning. A man like that — if he truly were hurt by stumbling over a threshold, that would not be a small matter. It would be a matter that concerns every person under heaven.”

Xu Ji was too overcome to speak. He could feel it now, vaguely but unmistakably — what Yu Jiuling had called a good thing was truly, truly coming.

And the kind of good thing it was… might be the very thing he had dreamed of and worked toward for years. Just the thought sent every pore of his body opening wide.

He forced himself to be still. Don’t lose composure. Not now.

“This subject—”

He had barely started when Li Chi spoke first.

“What you have accomplished in Jizhou, and what you have accomplished in Yuezhou, prove one thing beyond any doubt: you have great talent. The talent to govern the world.”

Li Chi returned to the desk and sat, gesturing for Xu Ji to take a seat.

Xu Ji perched carefully on the edge of the chair, back straight, heart already a mess.

“The enthronement ceremony can wait,” Li Chi said slowly. “The welfare of the people cannot. The realm has countless things in need of renewal. The more capable a person is, the more effort is required of them.”

He looked at Xu Ji. “Since I arrived in Chang’an, more than a few people have already mentioned you to me.”

Xu Ji’s nerves spiked — those words could be good or bad.

But Li Chi’s next sentence let him breathe again.

“You have the makings of a Prime Minister. I don’t need them to tell me that. Could they possibly know you better than I do?”

Li Chi rose and began pacing slowly through the study.

“So here is what I have in mind. After the ceremony, you will take on the duties of Prime Minister. But first — the realm is vast, and you need to see it. I am giving you two years. Each year, set aside some time to travel the provinces and observe. Within those two years, compile everything you see and hear, and every governing principle you develop, into a written account for me to read.”

Xu Ji dropped to his knees again and pressed his head to the floor, bowing deeply, again and again.

“This subject will not fail Your Majesty’s trust. This subject would die ten thousand deaths—”

“Get up,” Li Chi said, smiling. “Come walk with me. Let me show you Chang’an.”

“This subject obeys.”

The two walked out of the imperial study and out through the Palace of Weiyang, side by side in easy conversation, and strolled into the streets of Chang’an. Li Chi seemed almost animated, pointing out one thing and another, a brightness in his manner.

After a while, Li Chi seemed to remember something. He stopped walking.

He turned to Xu Ji. “You’ve come back from the south. I’ve heard that in the Jiangnan region, many old families and local gentry — scholars and landowners — would prefer the capital to remain at Daxing City. Some have even said that if the capital is placed in the north, they will refuse to accept it. Has any of this reached you?”

Xu Ji had been riding the crest of his joy over the Prime Ministership, every pore still glowing with it — and this question landed on him like a bucket of cold water.

In an instant, he bent forward. “Your Majesty, there is no such thing.”

He kept his head lowered, tone solemn and sure. “This subject has come from Jiangnan, so this subject understands better than anyone what the people there truly think. The people have no opinion about making Chang’an the capital. Those who have opinions are a handful of old families still clinging to vanished illusions.”

He straightened slightly to glance at Li Chi, then quickly lowered his eyes again. “This subject can speak for the overwhelming majority of Jiangnan’s people: they fully support Your Majesty’s decision to establish the capital at Chang’an.”

Li Chi smiled lightly. “And you? What do you think?”

“This subject is in complete support. There is no place in the world that can be compared to Chang’an. Those people are shortsighted — they cannot see what is ahead. Your Majesty, on the other hand, sees a thousand years at a glance.”

“Your Majesty, this is a minor matter. This subject is willing to help manage it. I can assure you — the opposition is very small. A gentle warning is all it will take to silence them.”

Li Chi nodded. “You are already my chosen Prime Minister. Matters like this, of course, fall to you. I have explained my reasons for choosing Chang’an many times. I am not inclined to explain again. At this point, anyone who claims not to understand is simply pretending.”

Xu Ji stepped in at once. “They pretend not to understand, and this subject will ensure they think it over very carefully — very, very carefully.”

Li Chi laughed. “Exactly right. Let them think it over. Handle it as you see fit.”

“Your Majesty may rest easy. This subject will manage it flawlessly.”

He certainly could — because this particular issue touched his own fortunes directly.

“Those who are reluctant,” Li Chi continued, walking on, “may simply not know what Chang’an looks like. You might invite them to come and see it.”

“This subject obeys.”

Li Chi let out a slow breath. “Still, it falls heavily on you.”

Xu Ji, overcome with gratitude, felt something rise in his chest that demanded an outlet. Now, if not now—

“Your Majesty, even if it cost this subject his life, he would shoulder Your Majesty’s burdens and serve Your Majesty’s cause. My life belongs to Your Majesty!”

Li Chi reached over and placed his hand on Xu Ji’s shoulder.

“I have always believed in you. In my heart, you are the most fitting choice for Prime Minister. Only remember this — know right from wrong. Reflect on yourself often. Do not ruin yourself. Do not underestimate yourself. Perhaps one day, you will truly become one of history’s great ministers. These words — hold them close.”

Xu Ji’s emotion was almost beyond containing. He sank to his knees and pressed his forehead deep against the ground, bowing with everything he had.

This time, the gratitude was real. Unguarded, unperformed, from the very bottom of him.

Li Chi looked down at this young man prostrated before him, and quietly, in the privacy of his own heart, said:

I hope you understood what I meant.

—