Those complicated official systems and cumbersome procedures give me a headache just thinking about them. If they are not handled well, it will delay the allocation of disaster relief funds and the military intelligence on the border.

It would disappoint the emperor and cause the people to suffer.

I fear that the gray-haired ministers in the court, like Shou Zhuo, will point at me and say, "How can a woman participate in politics? This is a violation of the imperial order."

They could drown me in their spittle, calling me a sinner who "brought chaos to the court."

I was even more afraid that my father would stop helping me up with a smile when I fell while practicing shooting, because I was "restless" and wanted to do "outrageous" things.

He brushed the dust off me and said, "Yuanhe, don't be afraid, try again, you'll be able to stand up next time." But instead, he looked at me with disappointed eyes and said, "How can you be so insensible?"

After all, those "rules" instilled in her from childhood, those ideas that "women should stay in their boudoirs and never step out of their doors."

Like thorns stuck in my heart, they have long since taken root and spread, densely entwining my heart. Every movement causes pain, and they cannot be easily pulled out.

I would even secretly think that if I obediently learned needlework and embroidered beautiful handkerchiefs for my father and mother, I could make them happy.

If one stays obediently in the palace, practices calligraphy and reads books every day, and doesn't cause any trouble, then one won't have to face these heavy responsibilities.

She could continue living as the little princess who could secretly practice shooting in the martial arts arena and go out of the palace with her father and mother to relax, leading a simple and carefree life.

As if she could see through my hesitation, Queen Zhao raised her hand and pushed the still steaming cup of tea in front of her towards me.

The teacup made a soft "clink" sound when it touched the table, as if gently waking me up.

Her voice remained gentle, but with a touch more determination, like the strength with which she gripped the gun—steady and powerful.

"Your Highness, you understand the principles, but you lack the courage to take the first step."

As the eldest princess of Chengxiao, you should naturally share the burdens of the royal family and seek happiness for the people.

What His Majesty wants is not a child who is only obedient and follows the rules, but a royal child who can shoulder responsibilities and protect the country.

Look at those people working hard to make a living in the market and on the farm; they are all striving for their lives and for the people they cherish.

You too can fight for what you want to protect—for those who, like you, yearn for freedom, for this land and its people, and for yourself.

The steam from the teacup rose slowly, blurring my vision and obscuring the scene before me, but making my thoughts clear.

I gazed into King Zhao's eyes, which were filled with unwavering determination and trust. My reflection was mirrored in them, as was the morning light streaming in through the window, so bright that it was impossible to look away.

Suddenly, I felt that the heavy cowardice in my heart seemed to have lightened and dissipated, like mist blown away by the wind.

Yes, I am the eldest princess of Chengxiao Kingdom. I not only want to hold a gun to protect myself, but also to protect those who, like me, are trapped by "rules" and yearn to live their own lives.

This road may not be easy; there will be storms, doubts, and criticism from others.

But as long as King Zhao is there, as long as I hold the gun tightly, as long as I remember those vibrant smiling faces I saw in the market and the farm.

Remember their love for life and their expectations for the future; they will always keep going.

As the imperial carriage of King Jinrui Zhao rolled over the bluestone slabs, the clear "crunching" of the wheels gradually blended into the silence deep within the palace walls.

First, it was half-blocked by the vermilion palace corner, then drowned out by the soft ringing of the copper bells on the eaves, and finally even the moss scraps clinging to the axle were swept away by the night wind.

I remained seated on the rosewood chair in the bedroom, my fingertips unconsciously sinking into the lotus scroll pattern on the armrest.

The patterns were carved by an old craftsman from the previous dynasty, and the deep grooves are still inlaid with the patina of many years.

It remains sharp even after decades of use, causing a sharp pain in the palm of the hand, which feels more real than the inexplicable tangled mess in the heart.

The moonlight outside the window, like silver gauze soaked in a cold pool, seeped in through the peony vine pattern on the carved window lattice.

First, it landed on the jade bottle on the table, reflecting the crackled ice patterns on the bottle's surface until it shone brightly, then silently spread across the gold brick floor.

The gold brick was specially supplied to Suzhou Prefecture. It had a dull sound when tapped, but now it felt as if it were covered with a layer of frost. The moonlight moved extremely slowly, inch by inch, millimeter by millimeter.

It was as if someone was using their fingertips to dip into the frost, meticulously counting the hours until the night was over, not daring to breathe too heavily for fear of disturbing the tranquility of the entire hall.

I repeatedly rubbed the hem of my shirt with my fingertips, and the raised embroidery became warm from the touch—it was the little gun that Wan Cui had secretly sewed a few days ago while I was napping.