The parchment map of the northern frontier drawn by King Zhao was worn smooth from being touched so much that the texture of the parchment became rough, and the small red dots marking the grain and fodder stations were almost faded.
The words she circled in red pen, "Five thousand more soldiers are needed for winter defense of Yanmen Pass," became even clearer.
When reviewing memorials late at night, Wan Cui would only drink the ginseng soup she brought after it had completely cooled down—the cinnabar on her fingertips would rub against the rim of the white porcelain bowl, leaving a small red dot.
It's like the urgency of "urgent report" and "handle quickly" on memorials has been subtly infused with the everyday atmosphere of life.
Gradually, he began to figure out the tricks of the trade from his initial awkwardness: when reading memorials on flood control in Jiangnan, he would subconsciously circle the phrase "dikes need to be inspected by officials from the capital to prevent local officials from using the dike repairs to line their own pockets."
I recall a river worker I met incognito saying, "Half of the money spent on repairing the dikes goes into the pockets of the officials."
The memorial approving the tax collection of prefectures and counties reminds me of the teahouse owner in the south of the city, whose knuckles tapped the abacus beads as she calculated the accounts.
She silently calculated in her mind, "If the tax is reduced by 30%, she can bring in two more loads of pre-rain tea every month and buy her youngest daughter a new jacket embroidered with peach blossoms."
Perhaps it's the royal blood in their bones that's vying for dominance—the Emperor once said that the Ning family members all have an indomitable spirit ingrained in their very bones.
Perhaps it was the heat from the spittle that splattered onto the back of my hand when the Grand Tutor held Mencius in his study every day, reciting "The people are the foundation of the state; when the foundation is firm, the state is at peace," that made it so memorable.
He said, "Your Majesty's pen writes not only the law, but also the livelihood of the people."
Perhaps it was when King Zhao patted my shoulder on the training ground and said, "To defend the land, first protect the people; the gun must be held by the people, regardless of gender," that the chill from the armor brushed against my neck.
Those once-boring articles of the Ming Dynasty Code and the difficult-to-understand allusions of the Zizhi Tongjian suddenly came alive.
No longer are they cold words on paper, but the cries of people in Jiangnan after the floods, clinging to the dikes and wailing, "Save my child!"
It is the crisp sound of horses' hooves breaking through the ice as soldiers patrol the border in the north, and the laughter of girls with their hair in double buns in the city.
It is the soft sound of an arrow tip grazing the bullseye when soldiers practice archery in the barracks.
That day, my father sat beside his desk, his fingertips holding the memorial I had annotated.
The fingertip brushed over the words, "Tax reduction must be preceded by an investigation into corruption. If taxes are reduced without investigation, the benefits will not reach the people, but will instead allow corrupt officials to use tax reduction as a pretext to amass wealth."
The line that read, "Imperial censors may be dispatched to inspect each prefecture and investigate where the taxes are going," was correct.
My writing was a bit hasty, but the last stroke was powerful, conveying all the urgency in my heart.
He suddenly chuckled, stroking his slightly graying beard. His voice was filled with satisfaction, and even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out.
"He's much more insightful than your elder brother was back then. It wasn't for nothing that I sent you all over the six prefectures of Jiangnan and the three counties of the Northwest to follow local officials to investigate disasters and assess taxes, and to see how those people were making a living."
"It wasn't for nothing that you spent those days under the scorching sun with King Zhao at the military training ground, listening to her tell stories of how the people of the northern frontier longed for peace and how they avoided the hooves of the Xiongnu."
These words made me blush, and my hands, hanging at my sides, unconsciously clenched, my fingertips brushing against the small, faded embroidery on the inside of my clothes.
The stitches were still crooked like worms crawling, but warmth spread from the embroidery.
It felt like carrying a small heater that had just been warmed by the sun for three winters; even the red marks on my wrists from days of writing and the soreness in my muscles and bones felt much lighter.
Even the ginseng soup that had cooled down on the table tasted sweet.
Days slipped away amidst the morning bells and evening drums, spring came and autumn went, the apricot blossoms in the Imperial Garden bloomed and faded, and fallen petals covered the steps.
A palace maid sweeping flowers, holding a bamboo basket, said, "Her Highness the Crown Princess hasn't picked any apricot blossoms to adorn her hair this year. In previous years, you would have already been chasing after Prince Zhao with a branch of flowers by this time."
I smiled and shook my head, my fingertips tracing the memorials on the table.
Suddenly, she realized that she was no longer the princess with a high ponytail, wielding a gun with great skill, and chasing after the guards in the training ground.
I followed my father to the outskirts of the city to watch the spring plowing. Standing on the ridge, I watched the farmers bend down and plant the rice seedlings into the water. Water droplets rolled down the green rice leaves and into the mud, splashing onto their rolled-up trouser legs.
The mud stains on the trouser legs, mixed with the saltiness of sweat, are the most genuine and down-to-earth feeling in this world.
I went incognito to a teahouse in the west of the city and heard a man in a coarse cloth jacket slapping the table and saying, "The newly built irrigation canal has reached the fields, so we don't have to rely on the weather for our livelihood this year."
Listening to the flower girl tiptoeing as she arranged bouquets of roses, her fingertips brushing against the dewdrops on the petals, she smiled and said, "The tax is lighter now, my mother told me to stock up on more roses and rose bushes."
She said that since Her Highness the Crown Princess can sit in the Imperial Study and review memorials, I can also earn more money and open a decent flower shop.
No need to set up roadside stalls anymore, no need to worry about wind and rain ruining the flowers.”
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