Chapter Ninety-Seven Farce
Huo Yunxing could almost picture four gorgeous women embracing him and showering him with concern – a terrifying scene indeed.
"No, let's talk this over." Huo Yunxing immediately backed down.
"I promise you, it's just a matter of going to court to discuss matters, I'll risk it all."
His face was filled with sorrow, as if he were heading not to the imperial court, but to the execution ground.
A faint smile flickered deep in Huo Lin's eyes, so fleeting it was almost imperceptible.
Why didn't you do this earlier?
"Very well. I will be waiting for you at the morning court tomorrow, Imperial Uncle."
Another day passed, and the next day, in the Golden Palace.
The ministers reported on the disaster in the north and the military situation in the south in turn, each word like a huge stone weighing on people's hearts.
Huo Lin sat upright on the dragon throne, his face cold and stern.
When locusts pass through, nothing grows, and planting next year becomes a problem.
Relying solely on government-provided porridge is far from sufficient, especially considering the ongoing epidemic.
The atmosphere in the court was oppressive, but just then, a lazy voice broke the heavy silence.
"Your Majesty—"
Huo Yunxing drew out his words as he slowly strolled out of the queue.
"I think that, as for the disaster victims in the north, well, there are many people and great strength. Why not organize them to go to the southern border to help fight the war? This will not only expend some energy and prevent them from causing trouble, but also replenish the manpower of soldiers. It's a win-win situation."
He spoke with such conviction, as if he had come up with some brilliant plan.
The court fell into a deathly silence.
The Minister of War's lips twitched, and he almost couldn't catch his breath.
"Sending starving, untrained disaster victims to fight a war? Does the Carefree King think the border isn't chaotic enough already?"
The Minister of Revenue was even more disoriented: "We're already short of military rations, how can we feed hundreds of thousands more? Is Your Highness trying to force this old minister to his death?"
"You, you..."
Several elderly imperial censors, their white hair trembling with anger, pointed at Huo Yunxing but could not utter a complete sentence, only glaring at him angrily.
Huo Lin's temple throbbed twice as he coldly glanced at Huo Yunxing.
"Your Majesty's proposal is highly inappropriate. The disaster victims are weak and frail; how can they be conscripted into the army? Let this matter rest. You may leave!"
Huo Yunxing shrank back under that gaze and awkwardly touched his nose.
"I'm just doing this to share the burden for the court..." he muttered as he returned to the queue.
Subsequently, whenever a minister raised a slightly more complex issue, he would either yawn, drift off into thought, or ramble on about irrelevant things.
"Oh dear, more military rations. Is all you people in the Ministry of War ever willing to do? If you can't win, just run away. Run far away, find a place with plenty of food, and fight again. Why fight to the death?"
"You come to court so early every day without even having eaten. Could you come later in the future?"
...
There are countless examples like this.
After what seemed like an eerie affair, he had disrupted the tense atmosphere of the court, creating quite a commotion.
Huo Lin felt a throbbing pain in his temples, more tiring than if he had been reviewing memorials all night.
For a moment, he didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing to summon Huo Yunxing to court.
After finally enduring the court session, Huo Lin practically fled back to the Imperial Study.
He rubbed his throbbing temples, feeling utterly exhausted.
[Disaster victims are gathering, water resources are scarce, and the soil is compacted...]
[Drawing water from distant sources won't quench immediate thirst, and drilling wells risks contaminating shallow groundwater already polluted by locust plagues.]
Jiang Huan brought food to Huo Lin, and listening to Huo Lin's heavy heartfelt words, every word felt like a small hammer hitting her heart.
Faced with such a series of natural disasters, the ancients were indeed at a loss for what to do.
She carried a bowl of freshly stewed pear soup, which Xiao Zhao slowly pushed closer to the imperial table.
Huo Lin did not look up, still staring at the report in his hand, his brows furrowed with an unyielding worry.
"emperor."
Jiang Huan gently placed the pear soup on the corner of the imperial table, speaking in a very soft voice, as if afraid of disturbing his tense nerves.
"Have some soup to soothe your throat."
Looking at Huo Lin's dry lips, Jiang Huan felt a tightness in her chest.
Huo Lin was pulled back from his heavy thoughts by her voice.
He looked up at Jiang Huan, his eyes weary and deep.
[Her leg hasn't healed yet, but she still brings me food every day. She's really working so hard.]
A slight thought stirred within him, a fleeting warmth passing through him, but it was quickly overwhelmed by deeper worries.
[I have no appetite. If only this pear soup could be made into a hundred servings to distribute to the disaster victims.]
Huo Lin had no appetite, but since it was made by Jiang Huan, he didn't want her hard work to go to waste, so he reached out to pick up the soup bowl, though his movements were obviously stiff and weary.
His gaze never left the unfolded report, and his brow remained furrowed.
Jiang Huan's gaze quickly swept over the report that Huo Lin was reading, an urgent report from Yunzhou County, the hardest-hit area.
The text describes in detail the post-disaster scene: fields were scorched earth, the land was as hard as stone, the few remaining shallow ponds emitted a foul stench, and cases of diarrhea and fever had begun to appear in areas where refugees had gathered. It was a truly heartbreaking description.
Huo Lin's inner voice rang out again, filled with a deep sense of powerlessness.
[The shallow water sources have all been destroyed; even digging three feet into the ground yields water that is extremely turbid, and drinking it will cause illness.]
Throughout the entire court, not a single person could come up with a solution.
Jiang Huan listened to Huo Lin's thoughts and felt conflicted.
She does have some knowledge reserves, which can be used to address immediate needs.
But if Huo Lin asks, how will she explain her superpowers?
But then she thought again, if she didn't help Huo Lin, no one else would.
Forget it, at worst we can just say she's the reincarnation of Zhuge Liang.
While the solutions are still clear, Jiang Huan plans to go back immediately and write them down.
"Your Majesty, please enjoy your meal. I will not disturb you any longer."
Huo Lin didn't think much of it and replied, "Okay, go ahead."
Upon hearing this, Jiang Huan immediately signaled Xiao Zhao to push her away.
Upon returning to Weiyang Palace, Jiang Huan immediately instructed, "Xiao Zhao, bring me the writing brush and ink from the study, and be quick."
Her voice carried a barely perceptible urgency, as if she were afraid of forgetting those methods if she waited too long.
Although Xiao Zhao didn't understand why, seeing her mistress's solemn expression, she didn't dare to delay and quickly prepared the things and placed them on the small table next to her wheelchair.
Jiang Huan spread out the Xuan paper, and her movements as she ground the ink were somewhat hurried.
Those scattered bits of modern knowledge, which might save her life, churned and collided in her mind, gradually taking clear shape.
She picked up her pen, dipped it in thick ink, and slowly lowered the tip.
Time passed, and Jiang Huan sat in her wheelchair. The ink on the Xuan paper spread out on the small table in front of her had dried.
The neatly arranged, elegant handwriting was the suggestion she had spent the entire morning writing down.
Jiang Huan picked up the Xuan paper and looked at it several times.
After confirming that all the key points had been clearly stated without using any overly sensational terms and while highlighting the core principles, she carefully folded the Xuan paper and put it away.
Though the paper is thin, it may carry the faint hope of millions of disaster victims.
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