When Jiang Hanyuan returned in the evening and told Zhuang Shi she was tired and there was no need to specially summon the Regent Prince back, it wasn’t entirely an excuse. Traversing Chang’an’s streets and alleys while listening to Zhang Bao’s incessant chatter about this and that, half a day seemed far more exhausting than her time in the military camp. Combined with the warm bed and room, truthfully far superior to where she had slept for over ten years in the camp, drowsiness came quickly.
But no matter how comfortable the place, perhaps because it remained unfamiliar, she still didn’t sleep deeply. When Shu Shenhui’s hand approached earlier, she awoke abruptly. After the lights were extinguished and the person beside her lay down, though silence also filled her ears and even his breathing seemed to disappear, having just slept once, it was difficult to fall asleep again immediately. After lying for a while, she turned over.
As if responding to her movement, in the darkness, she suddenly heard the man’s conversational voice: “Zhang Bao mentioned you visited several soldiers’ homes during the day. If it’s merely delivering letters and carrying items, you needn’t personally exert yourself running about. For the remainder, entrust them to me tomorrow—I’ll have someone deliver them all for you. You can rest assured it will be handled properly without any mishaps.”
Jiang Hanyuan replied with eyes closed: “Thank you for the kind offer, but I’ll handle it myself.”
“Why?”
She initially didn’t wish to answer, but sensing he didn’t want to stop and was waiting, she hesitated briefly before finally responding: “Military camps easily contain tens of thousands of soldiers, most destined to remain nameless—mere foot soldiers on the roster. But to their parents and wives at home, they are irreplaceable sons and husbands. After years of separation, they surely miss them dearly. If I go, I might answer some questions and bring some comfort to their families.”
Once enlisted, opportunities to return home became rare, and many would be buried on battlefields with no possibility of ever returning home. He should understand this better than anyone. However, those in high positions like his—how could their vision encompass such matters? In their eyes, common soldiers were like symbols, perhaps worth less than a warhorse, and they couldn’t empathize like a border general who lived day and night alongside the troops.
“I know General Jiang has always loved his soldiers like sons, but the principle of stopping killing with killing, stopping war with war—he understands this better than anyone in the world.”
After a moment of silence, she heard him respond in such grave tones.
“Without diamond-hard methods, how can one harbor a bodhisattva’s compassion—is that what Your Highness means? Rest assured, both Father and I understand this.”
Jiang Hanyuan still replied with eyes closed but felt the man beside her seemingly turn his face toward her, making a soft sound of approval.
“Exactly—that’s precisely my meaning. If the late emperor hadn’t used thunderous methods to unify the nine provinces, our Central Plains would surely still be locked in mutual warfare with unceasing conflict, and common people seeking a stable place would find it as difficult as ascending to heaven. Now that the nine provinces are settled, recovering lost territory becomes urgent—an arrow nocked and ready to fire. Fortunately, our border warriors have commanders like you, father and daughter, and the Great Wei has generals like you, father and daughter. Why worry that the great enterprise won’t succeed?”
“I dare not accept such praise. For great enterprises to succeed, knowing military affairs alone is insufficient.”
“That may be so, but if we compare war to a great ship, then the commander is like its main sail. Without a sail of sufficient strength, how can the ship ride the winds and break the waves? Thus, since ancient times, there’s been the saying: ‘Gold is easily obtained, but good generals are hard to find!'”
Jiang Hanyuan originally didn’t want to converse much with him, but being drawn in, she found herself replying several times. As the conversation progressed, perhaps growing more comfortable, Jiang Hanyuan sensed he seemed infinitely more at ease than when he first came to bed.
“Lady Jiang, your father is the Great Wei’s main sail—like Qin’s Bai Qi and Wang Jian, Zhao’s Lian Po and Li Mu, Han’s Huo Qubing and Wei Qing. I hope you father and daughter will strive diligently. When success is achieved in the future, you’ll surely be recorded in history, your merits no less than those generals and ministers in the late emperor’s unification campaigns.”
He continued speaking.
She didn’t respond to this passage that resembled a general inspiring subordinate warriors before battle with promises of glory. To put it harshly, it was like dangling a bag of wheat before a pack mule.
She was all too familiar with such tactics.
But her silence seemed not to affect his mood at all. He appeared to gain enthusiasm, speaking again: “Years ago, I visited Yanmen Xixing, staying in that area for some time. Back then, Qingmu Sai was still in Beidi’s hands. I remember climbing high to observe the terrain and military defenses across the way.”
He seemed to close his eyes, recalling what he had witnessed.
“Lady Jiang!”
She felt him suddenly turn his face toward her, calling her name, remembering something.
“Having spent years at the border, you must be familiar with that region’s geography. I have a map here—though it depicts things in detail, marking mountains, rivers, dangerous passes, and fortresses one by one, it’s still an old map from decades ago. With natural changes and human alterations, the markings should differ from present reality. Why don’t you come with me to see if there are any discrepancies with your knowledge? If so, you can point them out.”
Jiang Hanyuan could no longer keep her eyes closed. She opened them, looking through the dim night light toward the man beside her pillow, whose outline was traced by darkness.
He had already propped up his upper body with his elbow, looking down at her, his figure pressing down toward her.
“Now?” Jiang Hanyuan was momentarily stunned.
“Yes! Immediately!”
As his words fell, he rolled over and got off the bed, striding quickly to the desk and soon lighting a lamp.
The inner chamber brightened again. Without looking back, he busied himself dressing. After putting on his clothes in a few quick movements, while fastening his belt he glanced at her and, seeing she still lay motionless, raised an eyebrow: “You’re still not moving?”
As he spoke, he had already bundled up her clothes and tossed them all onto the bed.
“I’ll wait for you outside!”
His tone brooked no argument. Having said this, he walked out.
During the day, Jiang Hanyuan had heard from Zhang Bao about the Regent Prince’s daily habits.
According to Zhang Bao, the court held major assemblies every five days and minor ones every three days. For both types of court sessions, officials had to wait outside the Assembly Hall before the fifth watch, so naturally, the Regent Prince and Emperor also had to rise early before the fifth watch to prepare. The remaining regular conferences depended on circumstances—usually the Regent Prince would summon relevant officials for deliberation, so they weren’t as formal as the major and minor assemblies and could be later, but no later than the chen hour, and occurred almost daily. So in summary, after becoming regent, due to the major and minor assemblies, he spent at least ten-some days each month staying in the palace’s Wenlin Pavilion, always working late into the night before sleeping. On the remaining half of the days, even if he could return to the princely residence, in winter like this, he still had to leave while it was still pitch dark.
The little eunuch felt quite indignant on the Regent Prince’s behalf.
Nobles and ministers, at most, attended those ten-some days of major and minor assemblies per month. It was said that when the High King was present, some ministers privately complained about the hardship of attending court sessions, yet he endured this almost daily—to whom could he complain? These past few days, thanks to his wedding, the court had temporarily suspended major and minor assemblies, but presumably some matters would still seek him out—just the location would change from Wenlin Pavilion to the princely residence.
In short, the little eunuch felt the Regent Prince was overworked and extremely hard-pressed.
But at this moment, Jiang Hanyuan suddenly felt the little eunuch was wrong to feel sorry for him—perhaps he was thoroughly enjoying it.
This wasn’t just diligence—it was diligence to an outrageous degree.
With him already waiting outside, she had no choice but to get up, dress, and go out.
He had already opened the door and was waiting outside, startling two night-duty nannies who didn’t know what had happened and asked if they should fetch Nanny Zhuang. He had a lantern brought and carried it himself, then waved his hand, telling everyone to go to sleep. Seeing her emerge as well, he said, “Let’s go. I’ll light the way for you!” Then he took the lead.
Jiang Hanyuan silently followed the person ahead, crossing most of the princely residence from one end to the other, finally arriving at Zhaoze Hall. He led her to a locked room, opened it, and entered. The room was extremely spacious with curtains drawn on four sides and three walls lined with bookshelves holding vast collections—it looked like his private study. He lit all four corner whale-oil torches, and when the room was brilliantly illuminated, he rolled up a floor-length curtain on the southeast side. Behind it was revealed another world entirely—a map hanging on the wall, seven feet long and five feet wide, densely marked with numerous locations and directions.
Such a large map was extremely rare, but that wasn’t all—in front of the map on the floor was an enormous rectangular sand table, about twenty feet long and fifteen feet wide, occupying half the room. On the sand table, every detail was represented: mountains, rivers, forests, deserts, cities, even villages and roads. The models were exquisitely crafted, like a miniaturized landscape, with various colored flags planted at locations the owner considered important.
Such a sand table, with its vast area and intricate construction, was something Jiang Hanyuan had never encountered in her life.
She also immediately recognized that the map showed the many prefectures of Hebei and the more northern regions of Shuo, Heng, Yan, and You—places that formerly belonged to Jin but were now entirely under Beidi control. The sand table on the ground was more specific, focusing on areas extending from Yanmen as the center to Heng and Si prefectures.
Geographic maps were not accessible to ordinary people. Even commanding generals could only temporarily possess them during wartime and had to promptly return them to court afterward, with private retention or copying strictly forbidden. If this were true for ordinary maps, needless to say, for such a large map and the enormous, expertly crafted sand table based on it, this was Jiang Hanyuan’s first time seeing such things. She guessed the map must be a precious chart left by some previous dynasty.
She was somewhat overwhelmed by the enormous sand table before her, and her mood became inexplicably excited.
“Come here!” He stood beside the sand table, glanced at it, then turned and beckoned to her.
For some reason, his gesture and expression at that moment suddenly gave Jiang Hanyuan a sense of familiarity. She was slightly dazed, dismissed her stray thoughts, and quickly walked forward.
She first looked at the map. Not only did it cover a vast territory, but the locations depicted were indeed more abundant and detailed than any she had seen before.
“The original came from the Jin court—someone offered it when seeking to serve during the Huangfu clan’s downfall. The original was too worn to use, so this is a copy. As for the sand table, after returning from my northern inspection years ago, I was inspired to create it based on the map and my memories. Every grain of sand and stone, every city and tree you see was crafted entirely by my own hands without assistance, taking me half a year.”
He introduced the sand table to her.
“What do you think of this?” Finally, he asked, looking at her.
“Excellent.” Jiang Hanyuan spoke truthfully.
“I knew you’d like it! Earlier, when I called you, you were still dawdling and reluctant to come!”
The Regent Prince’s brow showed some youthful satisfaction. “Back then, I was still Lord Anle with much free time.” He added this, then his expression quickly became serious as he looked at her again.
“Lady Jiang, you should be very familiar with the border region. Please look to see if there are any omissions or corrections needed.”
Jiang Hanyuan was indeed extremely familiar with the northern border line extending from Yanmen as its center, currently in a state of confrontation. She could even say that along that line, down to the smallest village or bridge, she knew them all by heart. This east-west route stretching over a thousand li—formerly she had followed her father on border patrols, and after age seventeen, she replaced him, personally traversing it once each year.
She concentrated intently, comparing the map and sand table, examining markings one by one, including the smallest village units. Whenever she found something inconsistent with her knowledge, she pointed it out. Shu Shenhui sat at a nearby desk, took paper and brush, listened intently to her words, and wrote swiftly, recording everything. Sometimes when encountering something interesting, he would interject with questions, which she answered in detail.
The water clock dropped mark by mark, time flying silently by. Unconsciously, by the time Jiang Hanyuan had finished examining the entire border line she knew so well, it was already late at night, approaching the yin hour.
He appeared completely without fatigue, his spirits doubled. Setting down his brush, he rose and walked over, stopping before the map, looking up for a moment. His gaze finally settled on the vast area north of the border line, pointing and saying: “Shuo, Heng, Yan, You! Wait—someday we’ll restore their proper colors on the map!”
He looked toward Jiang Hanyuan standing beside him, eyes bright: “When that time comes, Lady Jiang, I can accompany you riding freely—wherever you wish to go!”
Jiang Hanyuan knew he was merely expressing momentary feelings, voicing his aspirations.
The “Lady Jiang” in his words might not necessarily refer to herself—it was just that the person standing beside him at this moment happened to be her.
As for the future, if such a day truly came, who would be beside him was uncertain. But one thing was definite—that person would certainly not be her.
She didn’t particularly want to continue this topic, smiled briefly, and glanced at the water clock in the room.
Following her gaze, he paused.
“It’s too late—we should return! Thank you for your help tonight.”
He walked over, gathered the stack of dictated records from tonight, lowered the curtain to cover the map and sand table, then extinguished the torches. She followed him out, returning to Fanzhi Courtyard.
Chang’an’s long night, the courtyards quiet and still. On both sides of the shaded pathway between courtyards, because sunlight barely reached them during the day, snow still accumulated. On the road paved with azure slate stones, a dim light flickered—the glow from the lantern he carried to light their way.
After coming out, though he didn’t speak again, his mood seemed still fixed on moments before. After walking some distance, he suddenly turned his head, studying her once, then again.
Jiang Hanyuan initially pretended not to notice, but after he repeatedly looked at her several times, no matter how good her composure, she couldn’t help it. Turning her face, she looked back: “Why does Your Highness keep looking at me?”
He laughed, his eyes reflecting snow-light in the lantern’s glow: “Nothing much,” he explained, “just suddenly remembered something. Since you grew up in military camps, I wonder if you saw me when I visited your father’s station for border inspection? I was seventeen that year—you should have been only twelve or thirteen?”
After speaking, he looked her up and down, as if trying to see her appearance from that time in her current self.
Jiang Hanyuan’s heart suddenly raced. After a pause, she replied in a calm tone: “I never had the honor of seeing Your Highness. I was at another camp at the time.”
He withdrew his gaze and nodded: “I thought as much. If you had also been near the general then, I would certainly remember.”
Jiang Hanyuan said nothing, just walked forward. Suddenly, a night wind carrying residual snow and cold air swept through the wall, causing the lantern in his hand to sway. In the flickering light, their shadows intertwined and swayed. He held the lantern away from the wind, then raised it before her to illuminate her feet. Suddenly seeming to notice something, he stopped, set down the lantern, and motioned for her to stop as well. Puzzled, she looked up to see him removing the black brocade-lined outer robe he wore and draping it over her shoulders.
“You’re cold, aren’t you? You came out too lightly dressed. It’s my fault—sometimes I’m too hasty. I rushed you earlier.”
As he helped her into the garment, he spoke in gentle tones with some self-reproach.
Jiang Hanyuan paused, immediately refusing and trying to return the clothing: “I’m not cold—Your Highness should wear it yourself…”
“Don’t argue with me about this! Let’s hurry—it’s warm inside.”
His words carried a tone that brooked no refusal. Having said this, he picked up the lantern and continued forward.
Jiang Hanyuan remained standing in place. After walking a few steps and realizing she hadn’t followed, he turned around. Perhaps because his mood was still quite pleased, he glanced at her with a somewhat teasing tone: “The renowned General Changning—how can you be so dull-witted? Do you want to stand here catching a cold? Aren’t you coming?”
Jiang Hanyuan suddenly snapped back to awareness, silently gripping the garment’s front, and followed with a lowered head without a word.