Suddenly I understood the weight of the word "responsibility"—it was never just the cold ink on a memorial, nor the "Your Majesty is wise" sung by officials in the court.
It is the hope shining in millions of eyes.
It's the light farmers see when they plant crops, the smile in a man's eyes when he talks about his child going to school.
It is the unwavering determination of the flower girl who says "I can do it too," and the straight backs of the soldiers when they hold their guns.
It's the earthy smell of the paddy fields, the crisp sound of rough porcelain bowls clinking together in the teahouse, and the soft whirring of arrows grazing the bullseye in the barracks.
It's a folk song sung by boatwomen in the water towns of Jiangnan as they row their oars, proclaiming, "Taxes are lighter, life is sweeter."
An even bigger idea quietly emerged, took root and sprouted in my heart: I want to be a monarch who is more powerful than my father and grandfather.
The goal is to ensure that all the people of Chengxiao Kingdom, regardless of age or gender, can walk with their heads held high—men can become officials and govern armies based on their abilities, and women can also become officials and defend against enemies based on their abilities.
We must ensure that farmers in the fields can sleep soundly without fear of exorbitant taxes robbing them of their harvest, floods and droughts destroying their homes, or the oppression of officials that they dare not speak out against.
We must ensure that soldiers on the frontier no longer have to brave the wind and snow to guard the passes, and that their families can look forward to their safe return, where they can eat hot meals and wear warm clothes.
I hid this ambition very well, only secretly sketching it in the dead of night, while looking at the dragon-patterned paperweight on my desk.
The paperweight was a gift from my father, made of black jade. The dragon scales were carved intricately. My fingertips brushed against the cool dragon scale patterns, as if touching the empire I would protect in the future.
From the paddy fields of Jiangnan to the grasslands of northern Xinjiang, from the teahouses in the east of the city to the flower shops in the west, from the drill grounds of military camps to the windows of schools, all are contained within these cool patterns.
Sometimes when Wancui came in to add lamps, the flickering candlelight cast the shadow of the paperweight on the memorials, making it look like a little golden dragon. When she saw me staring blankly at the paperweight, she just assumed I was tired.
He gently advised, "Your Highness, please rest early. You have to attend the morning court session at 3 AM tomorrow. You haven't finished memorizing the commentaries on the Book of Rites left by the Grand Tutor yet."
This morning he said he would test your understanding of the phrase "When the Great Way prevails, the world belongs to all."
I smiled and nodded, suppressing the thoughts in my heart even further, and touched the dragon scales a few more times with my fingertips.
It's as if I've secretly made a vow to this vast land: I will protect your peace and stability, protect the well-being of your people, and ensure that both men and women can fully display their talents.
On the day of his coronation, the sky was clear and the wind was warm. Even the ivy on the palace walls was a bright green, glistening with morning dew.
The sunlight made the golden bricks of the Hall of Supreme Harmony shine. Each brick was specially supplied by Suzhou Prefecture. When you tap them, they sound dull and heavy, exuding a century of history.
Even the copper bells on the eaves gleamed with a warm light, tinkling in the wind like the lullabies my grandmother used to sing to me as she sat on the veranda.
It's like the wind sweeping across the tip of a spear on a training ground, carrying the vibrancy of youth.
I was wearing a robe embroidered with the twelve symbols: sun, moon, stars, mountains, dragons, pheasants, sacrificial vessels, waterweed, fire, rice grains, axe, and embroidered axe. Every stitch was meticulously embroidered.
The gold threads shimmered in the sunlight, and the hem of the dress trailed on the gold bricks, carrying a heavy weight.
That is the weight of the nation, the hope of the people, and the responsibility passed down from our ancestors.
The jade belt was tied straight, and the white jade pendant hanging from the jade hook was a gift from my elder brother, the Crown Prince, when he taught me how to hold a spear.
He said, "Wearing jade brings peace of mind, holding a gun requires steadiness, doing things requires even more steadiness, and protecting the people requires even more steadiness."
Now, it's close to my heart, warm, as if he's still by my side, watching me step by step onto the imperial steps.
Step by step, I ascended the imperial steps, each step steady and firm, as weighty as practicing horse stance in the training ground, as solid as treading mud on a field ridge, as composed as reviewing memorials in the imperial study.
The coolness of the dragon throne seeped through the imperial robes, yet it strangely brought a sense of peace—more reassuring than the heaviest iron spear in the training ground, and more comforting than the emperor's embrace.
The officials knelt on the ground, a dense, dark mass, and their three shouts of "Long live the Emperor!" shook the palace, causing the dust on the beams to fall in a flurry.
My gaze swept over the officials below the steps, and I immediately spotted King Jinrui Zhao.
She was wearing a scarlet court dress, and the silver hairpin in her hair was the one I gave her when she returned in triumph. It was made of plain silver and carved with a small gun.
The tip of the spear still had a speck of vermilion I had secretly applied with rouge back then, shimmering in the sunlight.
Unlike other officials who bowed deeply, she simply bent slightly, her back ramrod straight.
There was no awe in his eyes, only a proud smile – like when he watched me practice a set of spear techniques at the training ground back then, I was so tired that I was covered in sweat and my headband had come loose.
But when she smiled and patted my shoulder, saying, "You have the bearing of royalty, you haven't disgraced His Majesty," her eyes shone brightly.
It's as if it's saying, "See, I knew you could do it, that you could protect this country and its people."
I looked at her and subtly curled the corners of my lips, my fingertips touching the bright yellow imperial edict inside my sleeve.
The brocade fabric was smooth and slippery, exuding royal majesty, yet it also concealed my secret thoughts.
The fingertip touched the last words of the imperial edict: "The Prince of Jinrui Zhao is hereby appointed as regent, to participate in the administration of state affairs, to control the military power of the realm, and to carry a sword in the palace without being bound by conventional etiquette."
The characters "佩剑上殿" (wearing a sword to the palace) were written in vermilion and were particularly eye-catching. I personally drew the strokes and spent three days working with Prime Minister Pei to add them.
I refuse to admit it. The other day at the training ground, I overheard her talking to Sister Yaoguang about how "the apricot blossoms in the northern border should be blooming, covering the mountains and fields in pink and white."
The wind blows like snow, but it's a pity I'm guarding the court this year and can't see it.
She had her back to me at the time, her silver armor was still on, and there were bits of grass from the training ground on her shoulder armor. Sunlight fell on her hair, and her voice carried a hint of regret.
Like a child who has lost their candy, yet it made my heart clench.
Fortunately, Prime Minister Su taught me that retaining talent requires a combination of soft and hard tactics—this imperial edict from the Regent is the hard one, binding her to the court and making her help me uphold this vast empire.
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