Zhù Ying issued her orders, and Zhù Qingxue didn’t bother reading what they said — she simply recorded the commands first. Only after Zhù Ying left the study did she pick up the official gazette and look it over, discovering that it reported the Empress had died.
Zhù Qingxue made a calm notation on that copy of the gazette, placed it in the appropriate location so she wouldn’t forget about it later, and then began to think the matter through. The Empress was dead — surely that would have consequences? Oh! She needed to hurry and catch up with Grandmother. If anyone asked, Grandmother would definitely be able to explain.
She ran all the way out in pursuit. She knew where to find Zhù Ying. It was just past the first month of the New Year, and the residence was lively — Zhù Ying hadn’t gone out that day either, for “guests” had arrived, and Zhù Ying had been briefly delayed by the gazette before going to receive them.
The gathering was in the main hall, which was quite full. Zhao Su had come with his whole family, along with Lang Rui, his brother, Xiang An, and others who had all made their way over from Wuzhou. Also present were members of the A’Su family, including Peacock and company, all dressed in fresh new clothes, their faces bright with joy. Su Zhe and Lu Danqing were chatting with Peacock. Peacock hadn’t brought sea salt this time, but had carried over several dozen baskets of new tea on Su Mingluan’s behalf. Su Zhe said, “The construction outside isn’t finished yet — come stay with us.”
Peacock gave a single nod. “All right.”
Catching sight of Zhù Qingxue dashing in, the two exchanged a nod of greeting. Zhù Qingxue padded lightly on her feet and slipped in behind Zhù Ying without a word.
But the main event wasn’t about them — they were only here to watch. Gu Tong and the others had arrived!
The court had invested a military governor, and it was a momentous affair — carrying even a hint of “breaking precedent.” A military governorship had never before been a permanent position, yet Annan’s situation was unlike every prior example, and so it had become a standing official post. Moreover, the authority of a military governor far outweighed that of ordinary regional offices. Annan’s officials were not appointed by the court but decided entirely by Zhù Ying’s own establishment, which gave everyone cause to pay close attention.
This had been published in the official gazette. Not only Gu Tong and his companions — from the idle literati of the capital right down to the kitchen helpers in the Jiyuan Prefecture guild halls — everyone had caught wind of it. Gu Tong and his group naturally knew as well.
They had come to congratulate Zhù Ying and pay their New Year’s respects. Getting into Wuzhou was no easy matter, and they weren’t familiar with Annan, so they had first called on Zhao Su, who had sought Zhù Ying’s permission before bringing them along.
The men all bore a weathered look, streaks of silver threading their beards, their frames slightly fuller than before — none of them were young anymore.
They began with New Year’s greetings, then moved to felicitations. Gifts, of course, were not lacking: local specialties from various regions, southern goods, pearls and jade, silks and satins, rare curiosities — a thick list in all.
Zhù Ying didn’t look at it. She had sent many gifts herself over the years and understood the meaning behind each one better than any of these men. She simply asked, “It’s quite a journey to come all this way — what brought you free time at this season?”
“The guild hall needed to rotate its residents, and we couldn’t hold on to the same spot forever, so we cycled back. We thought your birthday was coming up and had already planned to return home for the New Year and pay our respects to you as our teacher,” said Gu Tong, “and then on the road we heard the good news of your promotion — we simply couldn’t miss that.”
Their backs were slightly curved, their necks seeming unable to hold quite straight. Zhù Qingxue thought to herself: Grandmother won’t like this manner. Don’t they know? Are these really Grandmother’s students?
Zhù Ying’s tone remained perfectly even. “Sit. Take your time.”
The men thanked her and took their seats, though none dared sit fully back in the chairs — their rigid propriety made them look rather pitiable. Zhù Ying asked, “What have you all seen over these past few years?”
There was a great deal to say. Gu Tong and the others knew they were being assessed and gathered all their energy to recount what they had witnessed: “The poor grow poorer while the rich grow richer, yet even that is subject to the unpredictability of fate — ruin can strike at any moment.”
“Everything seems to have taken a turn for the worse. Officials who once appeared competent have grown lax. They look busy, yet no one can say what they’re actually busy with. The busier an official is, the worse off the common people become. And when an official isn’t busy, the people don’t fare well either. ‘Governing through non-action’ — to achieve both non-action and governance at once turns out to be extraordinarily difficult.”
“We always knew that scions of wealthy families were rarely capable, but we never imagined there existed such a heartless type as this! A certain locality reported a disaster. He actually asked what percentage of the rice harvest had been lost. The answer was fifty percent. Then he asked what percentage of the wheat harvest had been lost. Fifty percent again. And he said — added together, that makes a full hundred percent, so where exactly is the disaster?”
“Armed feuds among villagers also seem to have increased. With no good officials, the people’s livelihoods grow desperate, and some have turned to banditry. On our way back, we ourselves nearly ran into some.”
“And then there’s the matter of concealed farmland…”
All these things were very remote from Annan. Before, Annan had been the domain of clan chiefs and operated in ways entirely different from court-administered governance — it was difficult for most there to grasp the full significance. Su Zhe and the others could follow the broad strokes but had no firsthand sense of it. Zhao Su, however, understood, and asked with curiosity, “Were there no bright spots anywhere?”
“There were — we encountered two such places. Officials with skill and compassion, who checked the powerful and provided relief in lean years; genuinely impressive in their way. But before long they were reassigned, and after that, nothing more was heard of them. Wherever they go, that place is fortunate — but it may not be their own good fortune.”
Zhù Ying asked, “If it were you — what would you do?”
Gu Tong and the others set aside Zhao Su and began to answer this question in earnest. The answer was one they had worked out long before: they ran through all that Zhù Ying had done in Fulu County and Jiyuan Prefecture, appended some of their own experience as local officials, and gave a response that was reasonably qualified.
Zhù Ying gave a nod. “Not bad. You haven’t forgotten your craft.”
The men all let out a breath of relief. They had come both to offer New Year’s greetings and to advance their own careers. What Zhù Ying had been examining was nothing from the classics — it had felt far more like an interview. This filled them with hope for the future. Men who had once held office found it very hard to adapt to a life stripped of authority, and they were still young, with many ambitions left to fulfill.
Zhù Ying said, “Go and get yourselves settled first. Once you’re home, take care of anything pressing as quickly as you can, and then stay put — don’t go wandering off anywhere far for now.”
Their spirits lifted further still. Su Sheng gave a quiet roll of his eyes.
Zhù Ying had someone escort them to their quarters. “Xizhou is newly established — make do in the residence for a few days.”
The men all protested that they wouldn’t dream of imposing, and were duly led away to a guest room that was somewhat on the small side. They raised no complaints. While the servants busied themselves with the luggage, the hosts gathered in the hall to drink tea and chat, talking of nothing but what had just transpired.
“It looks hopeful this time. The Administrator has always been magnanimous — we were the ones in the wrong before, after all.”
“Quite so. The Administrator never forgets old ties. Fortunately our families haven’t been remiss in courtesy either.”
“Only — we don’t know whether we’ll be reinstated to our former posts, or given something else entirely.”
They all pondered this, uncertain whether vacancies still existed in the central court, uncertain whether their old positions had survived.
Gu Tong listened to their discussion, his feelings a tangled mixture. Someone noticed he had been silent throughout and asked, “What about you?”
The one who asked felt a pang of his own. Gu Tong — one of Zhù Ying’s earliest students, once possessed of such brilliant prospects. Who could have foreseen…
Gu Tong said, “On the road here, I even found myself thinking — if it truly came to that, securing some position in Annan would be acceptable.”
“Ha!” The others erupted in teasing, calling out in mock surprise, then fell silent for a moment.
Having traveled this far and seen Annan’s present state — there was much to be built, much the same energy as Fulu County had once had. And with Zhù Ying at the helm, it genuinely stirred a flicker of anticipation. Still, one man managed to put on a bold front: “Look at the people in her administration. They regard us as traitors — it won’t be easy to get along with them. And back in the day, she didn’t summon us to head south with her either. Zhao Zhen and the others are still in the capital even now.”
Gu Tong said quietly, “I meant it.”
“How did you come to think this way?”
Back then, he — Gu Tong — had dared to quarrel with his family and actually climbed over the wall to leave, precisely because he had glimpsed the hope of making the ideals in those books real.
“I believe in the Great Harmony. I only ever wanted to give full rein to my ambitions. My thinking was flawed in the capital back then. Now I no longer want any of those schemes and machinations, the flashy, elaborate games — just give me the opportunity, and anywhere is better than wasting years at home,” Gu Tong said softly. “Zhù Yan is already a Prefectural Governor.”
“Well, that’s because he… he…” The speaker made a clumsy turn in the conversation. “How can anyone afford to ignore the scramble for name and gain at the top? When the gods fight, isn’t it always the small people underneath who suffer the consequences? Without someone to shield you, the official’s path is treacherous! One ought to move in lockstep with the Administrator — apart from her, who would actually look out for us? Those other people — to get their help, you’d have to pay a steep price.”
Another silence settled over the group, and they soon arrived at a decision — from now on, whatever happened, Zhù Ying would be the leading figure of the “southern scholars.” No one else could hold that place.
Then someone said, “I wonder how the Administrator will arrange things for us?”
Back in the hall, after they had left, the very same question was being asked.
It was Su Zhe who asked it: “Grandmother, those people curry favor on the way up and kick you on the way down — they’re simply petty. They came because their careers have stalled and they’re calculating on you to pull them back up!”
Zhao Su offered a mild counterpoint: “Grandmother will have her own arrangements, and besides, these men’s families are rooted in Jiyuan Prefecture. If you plan to cut them off without careful management, you’ll need to handle the fallout carefully. But Grandmother — what can they actually do? I wouldn’t put them in the administration. Yet the counties and prefectures under Annan are genuinely short of people — especially those who can write and calculate, know the law, and govern the people. They are capable, with no real flaw except that their hearts lean more toward the court.”
Zhù Ying laughed in helpless exasperation. “Here you go again! You were like this when you were young! Who said anything about keeping them in Annan? I’m a military governor — recommending a few men for regional posts can hardly be called overstepping, can it?”
“Ohhh…” So they’d be placed outside the mountains. Well, that was another matter entirely.
Zhù Ying said, “What was that expression? Be honest — when it comes to governing a locality, Gu Tong and his like outshine people like Xian Yujing by a mile.”
Su Zhe said, “The common people are certainly in a hard way. But if we kept them here in Annan, it would be us who’d suffer. They might not think much of us ‘barbarians’ to begin with, and would think even less of women. Hmph!”
Zhù Ying said, “They still have some anxious days ahead of them.”
“Oh?”
“As soon as I bring up the matter of requesting repairs to the postal road, I can recommend Gu Tong and the others for official posts. What a pity — the Empress is dead, and the court is bound to be busy for a while. The state won’t grind to a halt over one person, but various nuisances will cause delays. There’ll be waiting ahead. This matter — don’t say anything about it yet. Wait until after the New Year, and then hang three days of white cloth. She was the Empress, after all.”
“Dead?” Su Zhe blinked, her voice dropping, her earlier indignation gone. “She was still fairly young.”
Zhù Qingxue let out a small “oh,” suddenly remembering what she’d come to ask. Noticing everyone looking at her, she hurried to say, “I was just about to ask what kind of trouble the Empress’s death might bring. Since Grandmother says it will only cause a brief delay — that’s nothing, then. We still have a mountain of our own business here in Annan. So it won’t be a complete waste of our time.”
She said it breezily. Wuzhou was a peculiar place. The first lesson of the Literacy Primer was considered “useless.” A text dense with praises of the Emperor had somehow failed to instill any great awe for the Emperor — to say nothing of the Empress. There had never been a lesson praising the Empress, and so the people of Wuzhou had no particular feeling for her. They had never been touched in any way by this Empress’s influence, and it was hard for their hearts to ripple at all over Luo Gui’s death.
Lin Feng and the others had lived in the capital, but even he had had little contact with Luo Gui. Su Zhe had encountered her more frequently, yet Su Zhe had spent most of those encounters in a simmering resentment — so her grief was limited as well.
Zhao Su offered a measured assessment: “It will cause a fair amount of inconvenience, regardless. I wonder whether the matter of establishing an heir will stir any turbulence.”
Zhù Qingxue’s curiosity pricked up again, both ears almost visibly perking.
Zhù Ying said, “When soldiers come, send soldiers to meet them; when water comes, raise a dam. Whatever happens beyond the mountains, it’s all something everyone must learn to face. Things can turn suddenly good or suddenly bad. The people out there beyond the mountains are all living human beings — some clever, some foolish — and they won’t act the way you hope. You’ll meet all manner of strange and sudden events. Perhaps you’ll face an enlightened ruler; perhaps tomorrow he’ll be dead and his son is an idiot; and two days after that, the son is dead too, and up comes some unhinged grandson. Nothing stays fixed — ever. To seek a state of ‘no change’ is already to have fallen into a dead end. The iron must first be hardened from within. Come — we have a full gathering today. Let’s use the occasion to talk about what needs to be done this year.”
Zhao Su and the others had come in good cheer to pay their New Year’s respects, and now found themselves assigned new-year work. Outside, ordinary people happily sang songs, drank, and ate meat around the hearth fire. Inside the administration hall, a group representing Annan’s highest ranks were receiving their assignments.
Once the assignments had been laid out, they found not only that being given tasks during the New Year month was entirely normal — they were actually itching to start right now.
Zhù Ying summed it up in a single statement: “Annan is rough and unfinished — not sturdy enough to withstand a serious blow, let alone unrest, and least of all waste. Every quarter is like a sieve; the holes need plugging. Water control, roads, city walls, passes, and mining works already have arrangements — I won’t speak of those today. Let’s address just two other urgent matters.
“The first is documentation. Not only are local household registers incomplete — have the travel passes going in and out of Annan been properly managed? The second is military force. I am certain that a confrontation with the Western Tribes is coming. The arrangement we have was not reached with Kun Da Chi — it was made unilaterally by a border commander. How long can that commander keep Kun Da Chi in the dark? Before Kun Da Chi clashes with the court again, he will certainly be working to bring all the forces within his domain under control, and his attention is nearly upon this border. Whether these two matters are handled well or not will ultimately come down to a third — people.”
Documentation required large numbers of people trained for many years in writing and administration. But the matter of clerks and civil staff had been discussed before; they would continue with the existing approach. Zhao Su was the first to declare his position: “I will strictly manage all traveling merchants and traders! Household registers are a grinding, patient task — it’s been ongoing, and I haven’t dared let up.”
Zhù Ying gave a nod. “Good. Wuzhou and Xizhou — east and west — hold the gates firm.”
In the three years since Zhù Qingjun had taken the lead, a notable cohort of people had proved themselves through trials. Though most of them had experienced “battles” on a fairly small scale, and would still be found somewhat lacking against a properly organized state like the Western Tribes, they weren’t in too poor a position with Zhù Qingjun and others of rich experience at the front.
The problem lay in the soldiers themselves. The Western Tribes could at least be counted as a nation. Zhù Ying estimated that in a single engagement against her, they might deploy anywhere from several thousand to over ten thousand troops. Xizhou also had a broad expanse of flat plains — well-suited for cavalry. By comparison, Annan’s military strength was quite embarrassing.
Wuzhou had never maintained many soldiers to begin with, and after three years of war, most of the local troops had been demobilized and sent home — with a portion of them having sustained permanent injuries besides. Now there was road and bridge construction, canal digging, farming, city and house building — all of which needed these men too. As for children being born now: those born at this moment wouldn’t grow up in time to be useful. And while Annan might recruit refugees and migrants, it held little appeal for ordinary people near Jiyuan Prefecture and similar places — their lives were livable enough; there was no reason to move into the mountains.
The situation was fairly precarious.
Zhao Su proposed: “First, send more scouts and informants to watch the Western Tribes — any movement at all, and we get advance warning. Second, temporarily reduce labor conscription and let the people recover for a while. If the Western Tribes strike suddenly, when we call for soldiers, the people will have enough reserves to respond.” He understood as well that once any state became aware of a new power next door, a probing test was inevitable. And if they knew it was Zhù Ying here, that probe was very likely to come on two fronts at once — civil and military. Preparations had to be made.
Zhù Qingjun said, “Why not select one thousand strong soldiers and train them specifically as cavalry? Draw from those of former slave backgrounds who now have families and homes — such men are most willing to defend what is theirs. The Western Tribes in Annan are a foreign force. Cavalry raids have remarkable surprise value, and once they meet a setback, they tend to fall back.”
Both were sound. A further discussion ensued. The construction works could not stop — whatever they did, this was the foundation. In the end they settled on Zhao Su’s first suggestion together with Zhù Qingjun’s proposal.
After that came the winter wheat harvest and spring plowing. Only when everything had been arranged did Zhù Ying declare the meeting adjourned.
Zhang Xiangu had known nothing of the earlier proceedings. She only knew that at the evening banquet, Gu Tong and the others had appeared as well. They were all people she recognized. Seeing that everyone had “grown older,” the objections she’d harbored toward them were temporarily suppressed, and she simply said, “Good that you’ve come, good that you’ve come,” without saying much more to them — she busied herself instead talking to A’Pu.
A’Pu was a little embarrassed, feeling that he was a grown man now! His remark set everyone laughing again. Lang Rui said, “Yes, yes, yes — you’re a grown man all right, you little squash!”
A’Pu flew into a fury and jumped up to hit him.
The room was full of warmth and laughter.
Gu Tong and the others had no opportunity to probe or inquire further that evening.
After the banquet that day, Zhù Ying didn’t spend all her time in the residence. She preferred to accompany Zhang Xiangu on strolls around Xizhou City. Using a gentle donkey to carry Zhang Xiangu — wrapped snugly in layers of clothing and sitting steadily on its back — Zhù Ying would lead the donkey on foot, taking her to visit various construction sites. Zhang Xiangu loved watching those, and she also loved granaries, loved the sight of children dashing about everywhere. She loved the fields of crops, and would lament with some anxiety that Xizhou’s winter wheat had been planted in a way that worried her.
A few more days passed, and it was Zhù Ying’s birthday. Xizhou was newly established, and everything was done simply — the occasion had nothing of the opulent splendor of her capital celebrations, yet it was far livelier than anything she had known in the capital. Su Zhe and the others had originally wanted to tidy up the whole city, hang lanterns and colored streamers, but there were still several active construction sites within the city that couldn’t be dressed up properly, so they abandoned the idea and confined the decorations to the administration hall and the streets in front of it.
The people of the city, hearing it was Zhù Ying’s birthday, were delighted. They seized on the occasion for another lavish feast, singing songs well into the night.
The following day, Zhao Su left his son Zhao Ji in the administration hall: “In Wuzhou, this boy would be spoiled rotten. In the administration hall, he won’t be treated as more precious than anyone else — that’s how he’ll develop some real capability.” Then he took his leave of Zhù Ying.
Qi Niangzi was to travel with him, and Zhang Xiangu was quite reluctant to see her go. She began preparing things for Qi Niangzi to take with her. Qi Niangzi said, “Since my father passed, I think of the residence as my own maternal home. What daughter brings gifts when she returns to her own family, only to take home even more on the way back? These things were all bestowed upon you by the court — you should be enjoying them yourself.”
The two went back and forth for quite some time. Meanwhile, Zhao Su was already asking Gu Tong, “Have you packed your bags? I’ll take you all with me. The roads around here aren’t easy to travel.”
And with that, he handily swept Gu Tong and the others along with him as he left.
Gu Tong and the others waited at home in a state of restless anxiety through that year’s autumn harvest. As another New Year drew near, they grew busy again — preparing gifts, making ready to visit Zhù Ying in Xizhou a second time. They didn’t dare go too early, lest their purpose be too transparent. They had to aim for around the first month of the New Year, to make it seem less obviously calculated…
While they were still deliberating, they suddenly received official communications from the Ministry of Personnel, each conferring an official post. All were regional positions, scattered to the four corners of the country, with no connection between them. There was no room for pickiness now. They arranged sacrifices and offerings to their ancestors, and meanwhile continued packing their gifts, still hoping to stop by Xizhou before they departed for their posts.
The group joined forces on the road, first calling on Zhao Su, and after receiving documentation bearing Zhao Su’s seal, they made their way through the relay-station system all the way to the administration hall. This year was different from the last — the postal road was smoother, and travelers and merchant caravans on it had grown considerably denser. Gu Tong paid attention and asked around, and learned that there was now a major market inside Xizhou City; Annan had two large markets in all — Wuzhou in the east, Xizhou in the west — and there were even some Western Tribe merchants coming to Xizhou City to trade, and so on.
Arriving at Xizhou City, sure enough, the place had changed again. Most construction sites were gone, and the city’s layout had taken coherent shape. Gu Tong, who had spent time in the capital, noticed that Xizhou’s layout bore the hallmarks of a proper city — there were residential wards and market districts, official offices, places of recreation. Trees had been planted along the roads — new plantings, apparently, yet growing well enough.
The administration hall no longer looked bare either. Flowering trees and the like had been put in, and since it was autumn, they were in full, lovely bloom. A pity that Zhù Ying was not in the hall at the moment; Zhù Qingye arranged for the visitors to rest at the city’s official post-house inn — which had been completed and was now open.
Early the following morning, they went back to the administration hall to inquire — and this time, Zhù Ying was in.
Zhù Ying was sharing an early meal with Jing Gang. Jing Gang had returned from his mourning leave. His father had lived to a thoroughly venerable age — a death to be celebrated rather than grieved. Jing Gang had gone home, held the burial for the coffin that had been kept at a temple, and then prepared a calling card and came to Xizhou to pay his respects to Zhù Ying. Being in mourning clothes, he had originally planned to stay at the post-house inn, but Zhù Ying had him stay at the residence instead: “There’s nothing here to be particular about.”
Jing Gang looked somewhat dispirited; he spoke little. The administration hall staff were all fairly understanding with him.
On hearing that Gu Tong and the others had arrived, Jing Gang managed a faint smile. “They’ve finally come to their senses. You needn’t mind me — go and deal with them.”
Zhù Ying stuffed the remaining half of a steamed bun into her mouth. “Eat slowly. I’ll be back shortly.”
She walked to the front hall, tucked the napkin she’d been using into her sleeve, settled into her seat, and asked, “What is it?”
Gu Tong and the others immediately dropped to their knees, tears streaming down their faces. “Teacher!”
Zhù Ying had seen scenes like this countless times. She signaled for someone to help them up and said, “The official documentation has come down? When do you take up your posts?”
Gu Tong and the others choked with emotion: “Teacher — your kindness is as great as a second birth! From this day forward, we follow only your lead.” They then swore oaths by heaven and earth — that if they should ever betray her, may they be condemned by heaven and earth, and so on.
Having said all that, they each reported their respective positions.
Zhù Ying frowned. “Each of these places comes with a measure of trouble. They offer a chance to demonstrate your abilities, but equally they test them. Fortune and hardship walk together — be cautious. As for reckless actions — let there be no recurrence. If there is, no one will be able to protect you.”
Everyone replied in unison: “Yes!”
They then produced their gift lists, explaining that time was pressing, they needed to return home and set out for their posts, and asking their teacher to take good care of herself, and so on.
Zhù Ying had no desire to detain them. She had only a document drawn up, saw them out of the residence — and promptly turned back toward the dining room. She still hadn’t finished her breakfast.