Lu Chonglou was staring at the promissory note he had just written, the more he looked at it the more he felt this document should not exist.

Li Chi glanced at him and laughed. “Hang on a bit longer — We’ll use your silver for now, and once later—”

Lu Chonglou said, “Your Majesty need not comfort me. I know. Once later, Your Majesty still won’t give the silver back.”

Li Chi said, “You’ve misunderstood. What We mean is — once Cao Lie returns, We won’t need to borrow from you anymore.”

Lu Chonglou was silent for a moment. “Then this subject is glad.”

Li Chi gave a sudden laugh.

The two of them sat together in the Eastern Warm Chamber for a long while, talking mostly of the future cabinet system. Lu Chonglou had given the matter no small amount of thought during these days — the powers and constraints of the cabinet scholars, he had worked out from every conceivable angle.

Li Chi listened as he went through it, looking over memorials at the same time, and when Lu Chonglou reached a crucial point, he set down his brush and listened carefully.

Now and then he would interject a remark, picking out some gap or inconsistency in Lu Chonglou’s reasoning, and send him back to fill it in.

Lu Chonglou was the sort of person who, if you put him at a banquet and asked him to make conversation and drink toasts, would be entirely hopeless. But ask him to think through the great affairs of court and the shape of the realm — and his mind moved with a brilliance that no one else could match.

A fine mind, wholly given to useful things, not a drop wasted on trivialities. This was precisely why Li Chi valued Lu Chonglou so highly. Used well, this man was not a Chancellor — he was more useful than a Chancellor.

Per Lu Chonglou’s vision, the cabinet would have a Grand Secretary, a Deputy Grand Secretary, and a full complement of cabinet scholars. The Grand Secretary’s authority would be considerable, but he would hold no power of sole decision — all matters of governance were to be deliberated and administered by the cabinet scholars together.

When Li Chi had heard it all through, he looked at Lu Chonglou and asked, “Tell me — after the cabinet system is established, what will be its greatest benefit?”

Lu Chonglou thought for a moment. “Your Majesty will have somewhat more leisure.”

Li Chi laughed. “That alone seems sufficient.”

Then something occurred to him, and he said with a smile, “There is one more thing We must entrust to you.”

Lu Chonglou bowed. “Your Majesty’s command.”

Li Chi leaned closer, and his voice carried almost a note of pleading: “You know how the Empress is — she loves nothing better than playing matchmaker. She tries and fails, and tries again…”

Lu Chonglou felt a jolt of alarm. “Your Majesty doesn’t mean to have the Empress serve as this subject’s matchmaker?”

Li Chi said, “What else? But don’t worry — We are aware the risk is too great, so We plan to wait until after you and Miss Zhao are wed, everything done and settled, and only *then* announce to the world that it was the Empress who arranged the match. It won’t interfere with your marriage.”

Coming from the mouth of the Emperor of Great Ning, these words carried just the faintest trace of self-abasement.

At that moment, a palace attendant came rushing in from outside, breathless: “Your Majesty — Her Highness the Empress is in labor!”

Li Chi shot up from the brick bed and flew out of the Eastern Warm Chamber like a gust of wind.

Lu Chonglou stood there blinking. Now what exactly was he supposed to do? Go home?

Meanwhile, on the post road roughly forty li from Chang’an, a convoy was pressing hard toward the city.

Perhaps because Chang’an was nearly in sight, everyone was exhausted and travel-worn — and yet they had all suddenly come alive with excitement.

In the carriage, Cao Lie sat with his eyes closed as if resting. But his mind had never quite settled.

The Emperor had summoned him back to Chang’an, and the letter had given a reason — short and simple: *We are short of money.*

But a man like Cao Lie understood all too well that the matter was likely not as simple as that.

He was returning from Shu Prefecture — and it so happened that Great Ning’s first Chancellor, Xu Ji, had recently been on inspection tour through Shu Prefecture as well.

A man with a mind as nimble and worldly as Xu Ji’s, for all his high position and forceful reputation, would naturally never put on airs with Cao Lie.

After all, it was not as though Cao Lie held any formal official post — and his rank of nobility was nothing exceptional either.

But Xu Ji understood very clearly: he would sooner offend a regional Military Governor than offend young Master Cao Lie.

All along the road back, Cao Lie had been turning over the matter of this return to the capital. He guessed the Emperor had summoned him back for two reasons.

The first — and most important — must be connected to Xu Ji. Perhaps not the present Xu Ji, but certainly the future Xu Ji.

The second… the Emperor genuinely was probably short of money.

The first reason gave Cao Lie no particular headache — his role and position had long since been set by the Emperor. All of Great Ning’s affairs of the rivers and lakes, everything under the surface of the realm, was in Cao Lie’s hands to manage. The jianghu was not a small matter — it was far from child’s play. At the small end it was brawling and bloodshed; at the large end it was whether the dynasty stood firm or not.

So whatever fate awaited Xu Ji, whatever grand game the Emperor was playing — Cao Lie felt no strong urge to concern himself with the details.

What truly gave him a headache was the second reason — the Emperor being short of money. That had been the hardest thing to navigate all these years. Handle it well, and the Cao family’s business would go on flourishing. Handle it poorly, and the family wealth would be slowly picked apart piece by piece.

The Emperor would allow you to be wealthy. He simply would not allow you to be wealthy enough to rival the realm itself.

So very early on, Cao Lie had set himself a personal standard: however much the family enterprise earned, none of it was truly his. He was simply holding the money in trust for the Emperor.

Did he care whether there was more or less? He cared about more — too much money and you attracted everyone’s notice. Having only the Emperor notice was fine; having the whole court notice was a disaster.

He cared about less just as much — with less money, life became uncomfortable, and that simply would not do.

Among all the people older than Cao Lie in this world, how many could claim to live with his clarity of mind? Very few indeed.

By midafternoon, Cao Lie’s convoy had finally entered Chang’an. He didn’t bother to freshen up and went directly to Weiyang Palace to request an audience.

He waited outside the palace gates for a short while before a young eunuch came out and led him inside.

“My Lord Marquis — His Majesty says please wait for him in the Eastern Warm Chamber. His Majesty will return to see you shortly.”

Cao Lie made a sound of acknowledgment. “Where has His Majesty gone?”

The young eunuch replied, “Great joy in the rear palace today, my Lord — His Majesty has an heir. It’s a little Imperial Prince.”

Cao Lie paused. He stood still for a moment.

After a silence, he turned back. “Wait for me a moment — let me go back and fetch something. A day of such celebration, how can I come with empty hands?”

The young eunuch said, “My Lord Marquis need not return. His Majesty says — if you hear this news and start heading back to get something, tell you: there is no need to stand on such ceremony between us. Bring money.”

Cao Lie: “…”

The young eunuch had reproduced Li Chi’s words with such faithful mimicry that it rang entirely true.

Cao Lie asked, “Did His Majesty say anything else?”

The young eunuch said, “His Majesty also said — if my Lord Marquis didn’t bring money, then you’re welcome to go back home.”

Cao Lie: “…”

When he reached the Eastern Warm Chamber and stepped inside, he found that a meal had been laid out — and his heart warmed.

With the Empress in labor, the Emperor was certainly occupied. Yet he had not forgotten to have a meal prepared for him. The timing had been judged with care — they had probably only begun cooking once Cao Lie’s convoy was nearly at the palace gates.

He breathed in slowly, then let it out.

“Please don’t trouble yourself on my account, Eunuch — I’ll be fine here on my own.”

The young eunuch bowed. “Then I’ll take my leave, my Lord. If you need anything, please just call.”

Cao Lie, not standing on ceremony, sat down and started eating. The food was genuinely good — or perhaps he was simply that hungry.

He wolfed it down, then sat back to rest. He looked outside after a while and saw that night had fallen.

He wrapped his outer robe around himself and leaned back on the long chair, thinking he might doze for a moment. The road back had been truly exhausting. He closed his eyes, and in no time was genuinely asleep.

The men stationed outside the Eastern Warm Chamber heard the snoring, glanced at each other, and variously smiled, frowned, or fell into quiet thought.

*The rear palace.*

Li Chi sat at the bedside, looking at Gao Xining’s face with a heart full of tenderness — and a flicker of curiosity.

Gao Xining was leaning back against her pillows. She glanced at Li Chi sidelong. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Li Chi looked around, then lowered his voice. “I’ve heard that women who have given birth are very weak afterward. You… have eaten three bowls of rice.”

Gao Xining said, “Is three bowls too much? I worked so hard bringing that child into the world — I need to recover my strength.”

Li Chi’s voice dropped further. “I’ve also heard that women in labor will cry out in pain. I stayed right beside you the whole time, and I didn’t hear a single sound from you.”

Gao Xining said, “I am the Empress. Crying out would be undignified.”

She gave a dismissive wave. “Besides, it’s not as though this is anything so remarkable — you practice enough at something and you get good at it. One born, two born, you get used to it. Next time find three people to keep me company playing mahjong. We’ll play cards and I’ll have the baby in the middle of a hand.”

Li Chi: “…”

Gao Xining held out her bowl. “Get me another bowl of soup.”

Li Chi quickly rose, then sat back down. “The Imperial Physician said you should eat less — eating too much won’t be good for you.”

Gao Xining said, “Why not?”

Li Chi leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “If you eat too much, you’ll need to… relieve yourself, and that means straining, and straining will hurt again.”

Gao Xining paused, then nodded earnestly. “The Imperial Physicians really do know their craft.”

Li Chi: “…”

She stopped eating. Once Gao Xining had settled back comfortably, she looked at Li Chi. “What were you thinking out there just now, while you were waiting?”

Li Chi said, “I was hoping the little one wouldn’t give his mother too hard a time — just come out quietly and behave.”

Gao Xining sighed softly. “They say you didn’t look at the child at all when he arrived — you came straight in to see me?”

Li Chi smiled. “There’s no hurry to see the child. He’ll be there later.”

Gao Xining made a small, pleased sound and reached out from under her covers to pinch the tip of Li Chi’s nose.

She wasn’t free of pain — she had wanted to cry out. She had simply been afraid Li Chi would worry.

Her hand slipped back down. She fumbled around under her pillow for a moment, and pulled out a lollipop.

She held it out to Li Chi. “Here. I had this ready for you.”

Li Chi said, “Why are you rewarding me?”

Gao Xining first let out a soft laugh, then laughed out loud: “Ha ha ha ha — he he he he — the child came out, I took a look, and truly… truly he is *so ugly*. This lollipop isn’t a reward — it’s to console you. Go look in a moment and don’t blame me — ha ha ha ha — how can something be this ugly?”

She let out an “Ooh” of pain and quickly composed herself.

She pressed her lips together, still laughing. “Old Wu said that all newborns look a bit homely at first. I just didn’t expect…”

Li Chi was overcome with curiosity. He got up, went outside for a look, then came back.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, silent for a moment, and then — he too burst out laughing: “Truly ugly.”