Liu Ao knew something about the court’s senior officials. Given Liu Songnian’s standing and influence, she had heard of the several successive prime ministers — had heard Liu Songnian’s assessments of them. Liu Songnian would also occasionally share his analyses of the broader political situation — something the vast majority of people would never have the opportunity to hear even if they wished. But Liu Ao still harbored a thread of feeling for “the court,” and for now set aside the less favorable things she might have said.

She spoke slowly: “Wang Shuliang and Shi Jixing are both able officials. Now that two have been added, there are four in the Council of Ministers — one can only hope that governance will become more harmonious as a result. With capable people selected in due course, there may yet be signs of a renaissance.”

She said this with genuine feeling. Zhù Ying replied, “Let us hope so. They should try their best — how much they can actually accomplish, that I cannot say.”

Liu Ao was inclined to press further, but mindful that Zhù Ying had only just finished managing Huajie’s funeral — personally keeping vigil through the night, and still needing to attend to affairs of governance — she held back the impulse and urged Zhù Ying to rest first. “With the court in such a state, the fact that they are too distracted to attend to us is not entirely bad — it gives you the chance to recuperate. The court’s officials are quite dreadful…”

Zhù Ying had been impassive throughout, but at this line — which had a distinctly Liu Songnian quality to it — she glanced at Liu Ao. Liu Ao did not think she had said anything wrong. This knowledge had, after all, come from Liu Songnian himself. Liu Songnian had once cautioned them: “Do not hear me call them foolish and conclude they are entirely without worth. Anyone who has reached that position must have gotten there for some reason. They may be useless at doing actual good, but in scheming and infighting they are never lacking.”

Liu Ao remembered that well. It was only that, having grown up in the inner chambers, she had had little contact with the officials of the outside world, and her grandfather’s influence had shielded her from above — she had never suffered firsthand from such people, so her sense of them was not visceral, and she had spoken rather lightly.

Zhù Ying herself was among the very worst of that breed; her understanding of the Council of Ministers was in no way inferior to Liu Ao’s. She heard Liu Ao out and offered no comment, simply instructing her: “Write another official document to the court — a second request. The wording should suggest we are unaware of the changes in the capital.”

“Yes.”

Liu Ao quickly composed the second document and brought it to Zhù Ying, who glanced over it and asked, “Wang Shuliang — have you met him?”

“A few times. Two of those were when I was quite small. I have only seen him once since growing up.”

Zhù Ying held up the document and waved it slightly. “You must be careful — after all, your families are old acquaintances. No matter how you obscure it, this document still carries the flavor of the Liu family. Now that he has entered the Council of Ministers, if your written work passes through his hands, he might well recognize it.”

Liu Ao asked, “Would you have me conceal it further?”

Zhù Ying asked in return, “What do you intend?”

Liu Ao said, “If it will not cause you additional trouble, I would still like to continue in the role I am currently performing. One should not allow such a possibility to derail work that is genuinely important. And besides, our two families are old acquaintances — even if he has some suspicions, he will seek confirmation from my family. Even if he truly discovers it, it does not rise to the level of an offense.”

Zhù Ying nodded. “Very well.”

Zhù Qingxue then stepped forward, took the new document, and went to dispatch it. Upon returning, she also brought back word from the messenger who had been sent to Chen Fang: he had reached the other bank only to find Chen Fang already gone. Chen Fang had not been able to see the letter Liu Ao had sent to inquire.

Liu Ao felt a small measure of relief. Since he had not seen the letter, it meant it was not a case of deliberate disregard — he had left in a hurry, or perhaps something truly significant had happened in the capital. The document just sent would serve as a test of sorts. If the reply came promptly, it would suggest that order had been restored to some degree. If the reply was not timely, things were not looking good.

Zhù Ying said to Zhù Qingxue, “Noted. Go and see what the others are doing and let them know — morning meeting tomorrow.”

Zhù Qingxue opened her mouth and produced a single sound: “Ah?”

Liu Ao gave her a quiet nod, and Zhù Qingxue walked away with a hint of uncertainty. In recent days, morning meetings in the administration had not been held very regularly, and many non-essential activities had been suspended — including some governmental affairs. The resumption of a morning meeting seemed to suggest a return to normal. But the court’s reply had still not arrived — what then?

Zhù Qingxue was very displeased with that wretched court! Yes, the change of prime ministers was a significant event — but if Huajie’s posthumous honors could not be seen through properly and honorably, Zhù Qingxue would be furious.

These past days Zhù Ying had also been a little frightening to be around. Zhù Qingxue swallowed the question she had been about to ask and went off to notify everyone one by one.

Not only had Zhù Qingjun come; Su Mingluan, Lang Kunwu, and the others had also arrived. Apart from those strictly required to remain at their posts and hold the border passes, nearly everyone had come to pay their respects at the funeral. A number had come out of genuine affection for Huajie, while others were more concerned with watching Zhù Ying’s reaction — to be sure, Huajie had been a good person, but that goodwill alone was not enough to make every person who had ever been in contact with her drop everything and rush over upon hearing the news of her death.

The following morning, the main hall of the administration was packed with heads and filled with a low murmur of quiet, slightly anxious voices. Zhù Ying had been silent for several days now. Given the scale of this gathering, people could only hope there would be no major changes.

Zhù Ying entered through the rear door, and the hall fell instantly quiet. All eyes followed her as she moved to the central seat. The moment she sat down, hearts leapt to their highest point of tension — people quickly arranged themselves in formation and together greeted Zhù Ying.

Zhù Ying said lightly, “Good. You all look better than you did a few days ago. Let us begin.”

Su Mingluan asked, “Has the posthumous rescript for Aunt been issued?”

Zhù Ying said, “We are not going to wait for that ghostly thing from the court. It has not replied — are we to just sit here waiting for it? Liu Ao.”

Liu Ao stepped forward and explained the court’s changes. Zhao Su and the others quickly understood why Huajie’s posthumous rescript had not arrived — it went without saying that whenever there was a change of hands, official affairs fell into a state of temporary disorder. That also explained why Zhù Ying was now convening everyone — Zhao Su felt reassured.

Zhao Su and the others had gathered privately among themselves as well. This time the discussion centered on Huajie and Zhù Ying. Huajie had passed; they all wished to see her off with the finest honors possible, and did not want to fall short of what she deserved — that was the first matter. The second was their worry about Zhù Ying. Nearly all of them knew Huajie and Zhù Ying simultaneously, and they knew how much Huajie had weighed in Zhù Ying’s heart. They were all concerned that Zhù Ying might be profoundly changed by this, or sink into a deep despondency.

Now, Zhù Ying’s information was as current as ever, her reactions still sharp, and a course of action ready at once — she had not waited until everyone had mourned and grieved and grown passive before they collectively came forward to urge her. Zhao Su found this most satisfying.

Zhù Ying said, “Everyone — speak. What should we do?”

No one spoke first; they waited for Zhù Qingjun to open. She considered for a moment, then said, “We are a protectorate. The new prime ministers are neither of them impulsive men. Even though the new postal road has been opened, we are still quite far from the capital — it remains best that we ‘treat each other with the courtesy due to honored guests.’ Better to observe quietly while continuing to encourage agriculture and keep a close watch on developments. Whatever happens and however we respond, what ultimately matters is that our own foundations be solid.”

Zhù Ying nodded, and asked the others. Zhao Su harbored a desire to take part in what lay beyond — Nan’an was doing well tucked away in its corner, but if he did nothing, he felt an itch he could not scratch. Factional struggles unresolved, popular unrest unsettled, the matter of succession undecided — Zhao Su saw all of this and was eager to seize some small advantage from it. Su Mingluan shared a little of this inclination. Zhù Lian, on the other hand, held a view similar to Zhù Qingjun’s — he also wanted to first strengthen their internal foundations before considering what lay outside.

He said, “The court will not immediately fall into ruin, and disorder there would not necessarily work to our advantage. No one can know what might happen once chaos breaks out, or what consequences might follow.”

Zhù Chonghua also felt that Zhù Qingjun and Zhù Lian had made sense: “If you want to pick a fight, you have to be ready for the other side to hit back. Even just opening your mouth to curse someone — they might turn around and slap you. It has only been a short time since our western campaign, and then building roads, digging channels, and clearing land, and just recently we fought another battle with the western tribes. All of it has been bone-breaking, draining work. If we want to do something else, we will need a breathing spell first.”

Others spoke in turn as well. Some who were more sympathetic to Zhao Su and Su Mingluan’s view included Lu Danqing, while those supporting Zhù Qingjun included Liu Ao. Liu Ao said, “In all things, what is most to be avoided is striking without justification. We must not be the ones to start a quarrel.”

Zhù Chonghua’s point was well taken — openly provoking the court was obviously not an option. As for doing something more subtle, the court would always have one or two astute people — that was not so easy to manage either. Quiet observation was the wisest course.

But Zhao Su and Su Mingluan were unwilling to change their minds, both maintaining that: “Even so, we cannot draw a circle and trap ourselves inside it.”

The two sides debated for a short while, then Liu Ao asked, “Military Governor, what is your view?”

Zhù Ying asked, “Would everyone say we cannot afford to be completely ignorant of what is happening beyond our borders?”

A somewhat uneven chorus of assent: “Yes.”

Zhù Ying said, “Understood. You have all made sense. We cannot close our eyes to the outside world — for if we cannot read the larger situation, we cannot control our own corner of it. Only the timing and the method require further consideration. For now, the court has not become clear, and to act rashly would not necessarily be to our advantage. Let us for the time being encourage agriculture and educate the people, and wait for the right moment.”

“Yes.”

Zhù Ying immediately assigned tasks. She asked Liu Ao’s Bureau of Rites, while managing the schools, to also begin organizing a unified examination system. Previously, candidates had been chosen at the village level and sent to the county, then from the county to the prefecture, and from the prefecture to the administration — because there had been too few people and too little experience. With Liu Ao now in place, Zhù Ying had someone she could rely on. Beyond student promotions, Zhù Ying also entrusted Liu Ao with preparations for Nan’an’s “civil examinations.”

Liu Ao accepted the charge.

She then asked the officials of each prefecture and county to remain alert and, in addition to their daily governing duties, conduct a new round of population and land surveys.

She also issued orders to the western border garrison commander to guard the passes closely. Whenever the court grew unstable, the borders tended to grow restless as well. At the same time, she told Zhù Qingtian to keep a close watch on developments from all directions.

Finally, she instructed Liu Yan to accelerate her progress and complete the remaining portions of the legal codes for submission.

With everyone given something to do, and each person privately considering how best to carry out their tasks, Zhù Ying announced the close of the meeting. She then had Zhao Su, Su Mingluan, Zhù Qingjun, Zhù Lian, and Wu Ren brought to her study for a second, smaller meeting.

——

The combination of five was peculiar. Given that it included people with opposing views, as well as Wu Ren who had not spoken at all, those who saw it assumed Zhù Ying intended to mediate between the two sides.

The five had a similar psychological readiness — though none of them planned to abandon their own position. At worst, they would tuck the plan away in their hearts for now.

The five settled into their seats in the study, and Zhù Ying said, “From now on, there is one more matter I want you to handle.”

“What?”

Zhù Ying paced over to the map and pointed to a location on it. “This spot here is a bit closer to Pu’an Prefecture, and a bit more out of the way. I intend to train a force of troops here.”

“What?” Zhù Lian said.

Zhù Ying said to Zhao Su and Su Mingluan, “You saw clearly — in the future, the world may not remain at peace. There will be opportunities for us to act. But no matter how good the opportunity, you must be prepared. We need to be ready.”

Zhù Qingjun was utterly stunned. She had said something similar earlier — but surely she had not meant this? Her point had been to rest and recuperate now, till the land, grow the population, and be ready to conscript soldiers when needed. Secret military training was something else entirely — what was the idea behind that?

Zhao Su was also stunned. He was indeed itching to do something — but he had not meant to go this far. Was the scale of this not too large?

Su Mingluan was the most direct of them all. She asked, “Ancestor, people do not come back from death — Aunt also would not have wanted you to…”

She stopped herself. That seemed a bit much, didn’t it? What exactly was going on here?

Zhù Ying rolled up a ball of paper and threw it at her head. “Nonsense! If we are going to involve ourselves in outside affairs, we cannot walk out there with empty hands, can we? We still need our own strength. Without weapons, it is useless.”

Zhao Su said, “Wang Shuliang and Shi Jixing are not so bad as all that, surely — it should not come to the point of using troops…”

Zhù Ying said coldly, “You overlooked one thing — the court previously permitted localities to recruit soldiers. If Wang Shuliang and Shi Jixing remain true to their principles, they absolutely must find a way to rescind that. This is the single most dangerous thing. It must be guarded against.”

The group was startled. It was true… they had actually overlooked this. Nan’an itself was exactly that kind of entity, and so it was natural to forget that the court, whenever it had the strength, would never permit local regions to “hold private armies.” Of course Wang and Shi were not incompetent wastrels — but this particular issue was truly fraught with difficulty and prone to going wrong.

Zhù Qingjun said, “They would not use us as the first target.”

Su Mingluan said, “But if moving against others affects us, we should be prepared.”

Zhù Qingjun did not argue further and raised the practical questions: “How many people? Where do they come from? Where does the money come from? How is secrecy maintained? The able-bodied men all have wives and children at home, with fields to till — how do we handle it if harvests are affected?”

Zhù Ying said, “That is why I called you here.”

Zhao Su and Su Mingluan had the sharper political instincts; Zhù Lian and Wu Ren were tight-lipped; Zhù Qingjun had the experience of drilling troops, and Pu’an Prefecture fell under her authority. Secret military training required coordinated support from all parties.

Zhù Ying’s method was simple: extract resources from the overall total. For funds and grain, for example, divert a portion along the way, quietly funneling it to the military camp.

The location chosen was Pu’an Prefecture, because there were already military settlements there, making the conditions for training troops more favorable. Zhù Ying planned to conceal the soldiers under the name of “land reclamation.” The funds and grain would require the cooperation of the prefects and the Bureau of Finance; so would the transport of supplies. When the Military Governor colluded with these four to falsify records, there was almost no one in Nan’an who could see through it.

In her days as a court official, she had been quite adept at this sort of work — concealing things from those above and below alike. Now she was merely returning to old habits.

All five found it feasible. Zhù Qingjun asked further, “Ancestor, this is not something that needs to be kept secret — why do it covertly?” They were in Nan’an, not at the heart of the court’s territory, plotting some kind of rebellion. This could be done openly and honestly — and in Nan’an, whatever Zhù Ying said, who would dare object?

Zhù Ying said, “If we do it on a grand scale, people’s hearts will grow unsettled again — or they might think I have gone mad with grief. Chonghua was not wrong: we have barely had any days of peace at all. It is better they do not know.”

“Yes.”

Zhù Ying said, “I will personally oversee this matter. It will also give me something to do — keep my body moving.”

No one objected. What they feared most was Zhù Ying becoming irritable or sinking into gloom. If she was simply finding work to keep herself busy, that was perfectly normal. Each of the five quietly added one more task to their own plans and began privately thinking about how best to manage it.

Zhao Su had the least to actually do — he did not need to supply conscripts, only arrange for some of Wuzhou’s military supplies to be quietly smuggled to the camp. That freed his mind to dwell on the court — what exactly had happened there? Was there truly no way to make a move first…

——

Since the new postal road had been opened, communication with the capital had become far more convenient. A few days after Zhao Su returned to Wuzhou with his thoughts, the administration at last received an official dispatch from the court.

The post road dispatches moved faster than Chen Fang himself; he was still on the road, while the obituary had already reached Zhù Ying’s hands — Zheng Xi had died.

Zhù Ying calculated his age and was not entirely surprised. She personally wrote letters of condolence to Yue Miaojun and Zheng Chuan, asking them to grieve in moderation, and if there was anything they needed from Nan’an, they had only to say so. She also reminded both of them to keep a low profile and try not to express too many opinions over the next two years.

She also sent a generous funeral gift along with the letters.

Zhù Qingjun had also returned to Pu’an Prefecture and personally surveyed the terrain, then sent word back to Zhù Ying: the location was suitable. But first the budget and military supplies had to be organized before work could begin. She had experience with this, and sent Zhù Ying a list of requirements to facilitate the coordination.

Zhù Ying had a rough figure already in mind. She then had Wu Ren recalculate, and after comparing all three sets of figures and making minor adjustments, the plan was finalized. The two of them and Su Mingluan then quietly set about making the necessary arrangements. The days passed swiftly.

The court’s reply also arrived at last, delayed as it was — the Court of State Ceremonial was now under Chen Fang’s authority. He had stamped the document in great haste and submitted it to the Council of Ministers.

In the Council of Ministers, it was feared that what people most dreaded had now come to pass: Zheng Xi had died, leaving only Shi Jixing, Wang Shuliang, and Xian Jing. Shi Jixing picked up the document, read through the entire situation, and said with a smile to Wang Shuliang, “Nan’an’s official documents are interesting. This does not look like Zhù Zizhang’s own hand — it seems she has a ghostwriter whose writing is not at all bad.”

Wang Shuliang’s curiosity was piqued. He took it up and read it, and his brow came very close to furrowing — the flavor was not quite right. He said, “She has been in the south for nearly twenty years. If she did not have a few ghostwriters, that would actually be strange.”

“Fair enough. Shall we approve it then?”

“Go ahead.”

Wang Shuliang set aside Liu Ao’s draft document and studied it privately for some time, then pulled the personnel records and official histories of Nan’an’s officials from the Ministry of Personnel. He noticed the surname “Liu” appearing repeatedly throughout. Zheng Xi, Xian Jing, and Chen Meng might not have known all of Liu Songnian’s granddaughters — but Wang Shuliang at least knew who among them was outstanding.

He drew a sharp breath, then paid a visit to Liu Ao’s father from the Liu family to ask — is this your family’s girl?

Having his answer, Wang Shuliang held himself back, and held himself back some more — and in the end could not hold it in. He wrote a letter to Zhù Ying: the young woman has made her way to you, and he hoped Zhù Ying would exercise some restraint and refrain from having the aunt and nieces do anything too outrageous — the great-grandfather’s whole family is still on this side, after all. Please do not expose them to criticism and censure.

The “hostages'” grandfather and great-grandfather had personally made the arrangements to place them with the “captor,” leaving Wang Shuliang no choice but to keep his letter very restrained.

By the time the letter arrived, Zhù Ying was amused. Wang Shuliang was at least capable of human feeling. She had not planned for the Liu women to be doing anything else just yet — and if they were willing to come, she would of course find them a good situation.

She wrote Wang Shuliang a reply: they could not possibly be more outrageous than I am. Do not worry.

What kind of terrible reply was this? This time Wang Shuliang was genuinely angered — he was absolutely never going to write to Zhù Ying again.

Zhù Ying paid no mind to whether or not he wrote back. Everything that needed to be said had already been said. She prepared to leave under the pretext of “taking a tour of inspection,” heading toward the new military camp. The administration would temporarily be left in Liu Ao and Su Mingluan’s joint care, while she brought Zhù Qingxue along.

On the day before setting out, she received an item from the official court gazette: Yao Chenying had been appointed as prime minister.

Zhù Ying glanced at it, had Su Mingluan send out copies, and then with no expression whatsoever, she mounted her horse and rode away.