"Your Majesty, the provisions left by the Regent are only enough to last three months!"
Pei Xiang added from the side, clutching the letter from the neighboring country's envoy in his hand, his knuckles white, his voice as deep as waterlogged iron.
“The envoy from the neighboring country came again yesterday, crying and pleading. He knelt on the steps and refused to get up. His forehead was bleeding from the banging, staining the floor tiles red.”
They said they wanted to borrow three years' worth of water conservancy engineers from our dynasty, as well as 10,000 mulberry seedlings and 1,000 oxen for plowing.
This isn't a loan; it's clearly treating Zhaoning as a granary and a workshop, filling their bottomless pit! I think they've already received benefits and still want more—they're insatiably greedy!
I stroked Haoyue's smooth back, and the little one buried her head in my palm, purring softly, as warm as the handkerchief she used to warm for me.
Suddenly I remembered a winter night last year, when the charcoal brazier was burning brightly, and sparks were flying onto the copper stove, making a crackling sound.
The regent sat opposite me, wearing a plain cloak, pointing to the border on the map, his fingertip dipped in ink, and drew a circle at the "trade with neighboring countries" section.
"Between nations, there are never permanent friends, only permanent territories and peoples. Today he begs you, tomorrow he may be pointing a knife at you."
She was peeling an orange at the time, with orange pith stuck in her fingernails, and the air was filled with the fresh scent of oranges.
"Helping others is like feeding a hawk. You can give it meat, but you can't let it peck off your hand, and you can't let it forget who gave it the meat."
"Your Highness, remember this: kindness is the foundation, but sharpness is essential. You are responsible for protecting the millions of people of Chengxiao; you cannot allow them to suffer injustice."
I understand the reasoning, but when I looked at the devastation in the neighboring country after the disaster in the case file—a simple sketch of starving children with withered hands and feet—the lines trembled violently, as if the person who drew it was also crying.
The imperial edict, marked with the words "Three thousand houses collapsed, more than 20,000 people were displaced, and thirteen out of ten people exchanged their children to eat," was so dark and heavy that it almost seeped through the paper.
The lines depicting the cracks in the parched fields are like scars etched on the heart, wide enough to fit a fist.
He looked at the envoy kneeling on the steps, weeping bitterly. Blood from his forehead mixed with his tears, dripping onto the gold bricks and spreading out a small patch of red.
He said, “The people are starving to death. I beg Your Majesty to have mercy and give us more grain. I am willing to stay in Zhaoning as a hostage. I only ask Your Majesty to save our people.”
In the end, my heart softened, and my hand holding the pen hung in mid-air. A small patch of cinnabar spread on the paper, but it lingered and did not fall.
Haoyue suddenly patted the back of my hand with her little paw, very lightly, just like how she used to secretly touch my wrist with her fingertips when she saw me hesitate, with a hint of comfort.
A soft "woo-woo" sound came from her throat, and her snoring changed tone, sounding just like the way she used to gently persuade me.
"Your Highness, your heart must be soft, but your hands must not be soft. This is for the sake of the people of Chengxiao, and for the peace that so many soldiers risked their lives for."
I gripped the vermilion pen tightly, my knuckles turning white, and the veins on the back of my hand bulging.
The vermilion ink smudged on the paper, the ink spreading out like the blood mist from her explosion, before she wrote her reply, her brushstrokes much firmer than before.
With the ruthlessness she taught me, and with the steadiness she taught me: "The grain aid is limited to three months. Once the old grain is exhausted, we will stop. Not a single grain of new grain will be touched."
Craftsmen can be sent, but only for six months. They must return to their home country upon completion of the term. If they stay, they will be treated as traitors and their entire family will be exterminated.
If we want to make a trade, we'll offer them five years' worth of mining rights to three iron mines in the east, plus an annual tribute of 5,000 catties of cotton seeds and 1,000 sheepskins.
We must follow the Regent's old method of "exchanging technology for profit" when trading with neighboring countries, and not concede even a fraction of it!
If the envoy persists, throw the old trade treaty she signed back then in front of him, and let him see who is the one who provides the benefits and who is the one who can protect him!
Don't think that just because I'm soft-hearted, I've forgotten what happened to him when he detained my Zhaoning caravan at the border back then!
The moonlight streaming in through the window, just like when the Regent used to accompany me in reviewing memorials, gently spilled onto the desk, illuminating the pages so clearly that even the fibers on the paper were visible.
The well-worn copy of "Strategies for Diplomatic Relations" is still lying open. It was given to me by her own hand. The cover has some ink smudges, which were from her fingertips when she taught me to draw circles back then.
The spine of the book was sewn with blue silk thread. Last year, I accidentally dropped the book on the ground, causing a crack, and it was Su Xiang who sewed it up for me.
The title page contains the Regent's annotations, the handwriting bold and powerful, carrying both her characteristic sharpness and warmth.
"The heart must be soft, showing compassion for the suffering of the people, and never losing benevolence; the hand must be firm, safeguarding the interests of the nation and the people, and never losing authority—the combination of benevolence and authority is the way to govern a country and also the way to protect the people."
Your Highness, please remember: benevolence is not foolish kindness, and authority is not harshness.
The ink has faded somewhat, and the edges of the paper are worn rough, yet it still carries the warmth of her fingertips from back then.
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