“Certainly not,” Zhao Song said with pride. “Among all the forts in the world, those that can rival our Zhao Family fort number no more than a few dozen.”

In other words, the Zhao Family fort could be counted among the top ten in all the land.

And how many forts were there in the realm?

Even if not tens of thousands, there were surely five, six, or seven or eight thousand at least.

Zhao Hanzhan could not help but marvel, “Fifth Great-Uncle, you are truly remarkable.”

Zhao Song shook his head. “This is all your grandfather’s doing. Without his efforts, the Zhao clan could never have built a fort like this.”

As patriarch, Zhao Changyu could hardly have only looked out for his own family’s interests.

The influence he held in his hands was seen by Zhao Song and the others as divided into two portions: one entirely under his direct control, which now had presumably passed to Zhao Zhongyu; and the other, the Zhao Family fort, managed by Zhao Song — yet in truth it belonged to the Zhao clan as a whole.

But it was always Zhao Changyu who had contributed the larger share of the funds, as well as the strategies. Zhao Song quietly told Zhao Hanzhan, for instance, “When Emperor Hui ascended the throne, your grandfather had once counseled Emperor Wu to set him aside, and Empress Jia bore your grandfather a deep grudge for it and had him demoted and exiled. Around that time, your grandfather wrote to me saying that the power of the empress’s family had grown too heavy, and that he feared the realm would fall into disorder in time. He urged me, to the best of my ability, to take in displaced refugees — for it would give them a means of survival and, in turn, protect the Zhao clan.”

Zhao Song led Zhao Hanzhan along the main street to the old family home, then brought her up to an overlook terrace from which the entire Zhao Family fort could be surveyed below.

This was the main residence of the Zhao main branch — no one dared lay claim to it.

Zhao Song gestured toward the fort below — nearly the size of a small county — and said, “More than half of the people living in this fort today are refugees taken in over the past decade or more.”

He went on, “That the Zhao Family fort has come to be what it is today is entirely thanks to your grandfather’s far-sightedness and capability.”

To sustain so many people, they could never have relied solely on the agricultural output of the land from the beginning — every deficit had been filled by Zhao Changyu alone.

The entire clan knew this well, which was why his death had grieved them so deeply.

With the guiding hand of their helmsman gone, no one knew what lay ahead for the great ship that was the Zhao clan.

Zhao Song’s heart was heavy with worry. In his view, Zhao Zhongyu could not hold a candle to Zhao Changyu, and Zhao Ji fell even shorter than Zhao Zhongyu — the Zhao clan’s future was bleak indeed.

But there was no need to burden Zhao Hanzhan with these concerns. He pressed his worries down and turned to her with a smile. “This is the main residence — and although it is your eldest uncle’s branch of the family who has inherited the title, Erlang is still the eldest son of the eldest branch. This is your family’s home, and no one can take it from you.”

“Shangcai is still rather far away, and if anything happens, we would be too far to help,” Zhao Song said. “If you moved back here, there would also be the study your grandfather left behind — it would be convenient for Young Master Fu and Erlang to read here.”

Zhao Hanzhan still declined. “I have heard that Father was particularly fond of Shangcai — Erlang himself was born there. I was young when Father passed, but my longing for him has never been any less for it. I would like to observe the mourning period for Grandfather in Shangcai.”

She smiled and added, “Though perhaps I might bring some books along — I do hope Fifth Great-Uncle will allow this.”

“Those are books left behind by your family’s own ancestors — of course you may take them to read,” Zhao Song thought for a moment and smiled. “Very well. Erlang has never been one for study, and it will be some time yet before he marries and has children of his own who might put these books to use. In the meantime, with Young Master Fu here, at least these books will not be wasted.”

Zhao Hanzhan understood the implication in his words and spoke plainly. “While observing the mourning period, there will be much time. Besides copying scriptures and sutras to pray for Grandfather and Father, Young Master Fu and I will sort through the study and, as much as possible, make additional copies of the books — so that Erlang will have his own set as well, and spare the trouble of carrying the originals back and forth with the risk of something being lost.”

Both parties reached an understanding, and they shared a mutually satisfied smile.

Back at home, Zhao Song could not help sighing again. “If only Erlang had even half of Third Young Miss’s cleverness — even half would do.”

Zhao Ming asked, “Father, in your opinion, who is more clever — Third Young Miss or Zhizhi?”

Zhao Song thought for a moment and replied, “The student surpasses the master. At her age, Zhizhi had nowhere near this degree of perceptiveness and patience.”

Speaking of patience, Zhao Song found his thoughts running further.

He paused, then asked, “How are the gifts I asked you to prepare coming along?”

“All ready.”

Zhao Song considered for a moment, then said, “Their circumstances are difficult. Add a bit more money to the trunks. Now that Ji Yuan has followed Third Young Miss, we cannot let him feel he has been slighted.”

True, staying with Zhao Zhongyu would have maximized Ji Yuan’s interests — but asking him to travel back through the chaos to reach Zhao Zhongyu was impossible now. Given that, he might as well let Third Young Miss do her best to keep the man.

“Ji Yuan is a man of great talent, and what is more, he knows the foundations of our Zhao clan inside and out. We must do all we can to keep him.”

Zhao Ming asked, “And what if he cannot be kept?”

Zhao Song replied irritably, “If he cannot be kept, what choice do I have but to send him off with a generous sum? What else can I do? Day in and day out — can you not spare me your irritating questions just this once?”

Zhao Ming said, “Father, I ask these questions so that you think through all the unfavorable possibilities. It is for your own good, not to provoke you on purpose.”

He muttered under his breath, “The way you speak so fiercely, I almost thought you meant to kill him — that if you could not have him, you would destroy the man.”

Seeing that his son had the audacity to speak of him this way, Zhao Song grew so furious he reached for something to throw.

Zhao Ming had sensed it coming well in advance. He scrambled up and bolted.

Meanwhile, Zhao Hanzhan and Fu Tinghan were browsing through the Zhao family’s library — calling it a library would not be far off, for it was a two-story building.

Pushing open the door, one entered a central hall used for receiving guests, furnished with low tables and floor mats. To the right stood a folding screen, and behind it a wooden reclining couch with a low table and brush rest set upon it — a place for the master of the house to read and rest. To the left were five rows of bookshelves lined with bamboo slips and scrolls, and behind the last row of shelves was a staircase leading up. The second floor likewise had a reclining couch, with every remaining inch occupied by more shelves.

Despite how many shelves there were, bound volumes of paper made up only half the collection — the other half consisted of silk cloth inscribed with text and bamboo strips.

Zhao Hanzhan randomly drew out a scroll and unrolled it, running her fingertips over the characters, matching them against the memories within her mind before she could make them out.

Fu Tinghan was also leafing through his own memories, and said with feeling, “If it weren’t for the original memories, reading these bamboo strips would leave us practically illiterate.”

He looked over at Zhao Hanzhan. “I heard that Professor Zhao read widely in the library, with particular expertise in classical texts and history — have any of those been recorded in this collection?”

Zhao Hanzhan reached out and took the scroll he was holding. She glanced at it, and found it described Sima Yi’s period of biding his time and concealing his ambitions under the Cao Wei regime.

She raised an eyebrow slightly, and rolled it back up. “This may well be worth drawing some lessons from.”

Right now, the two of them were still tender young shoots — they, too, would need to lie low for a while.

“But today, Professor Zhao was quite formidable,” Fu Tinghan said — referring, of course, to the moment she had seized Zhao Hu and dragged him toward the burial chamber.

Zhao Hanzhan offered an apologetic look. “I lost control of my temper for a moment. Remind me next time.”

Fu Tinghan could not help but press his lips together to hide a smile. “If you truly don’t want to change, then don’t.” Besides — would she still be Professor Zhao if she did?

Zhao Hanzhan’s gaze drifted over the shelves, and her eagerness was impossible to conceal. Having spent two years as a library administrator in her past life, she had a natural and deep-seated love of books.

For so many books to sit here gathering dust was simply too great a waste. She rolled up her sleeves and called out to Fu Tinghan, “Come — let’s gather some books and take them with us.”

—