"Regent," I whispered to the wind, "I've learned, I've learned how to be a good emperor, how to protect this land. Do you see?"
Over the years, life has been like a fully drawn ox-horn bow, the string so taut it can produce a crisp, metallic sound, yet the arrows have indeed shot far.
The memorials on the emperor's desk were piled up so high they could bury half a hand. He went through one cinnabar brush after another, the handles of which gleamed from being held so tightly that the ends were worn into a curve that fit his fingertips.
One candle after another burned out, the wicks drooping on the edges of the memorials, leaving tiny scorch marks, much like the bloodshot eyes I developed when I stayed up all night reviewing them.
Even the knuckles of my fingers, which I used to hold the pen, had developed thin calluses. When I pressed them against my forehead, I could feel several fine lines, like creases on a piece of paper that had been folded repeatedly. They couldn't be wiped away or smoothed out.
Fortunately, the bright moon always curled up in the corner of the desk like a warm, fluffy ball of snow, its fluffy tail tip occasionally brushing against the edge of the memorial, carrying a faint scent of ink.
The snoring sound rolled like gentle waves by the stove, evenly enveloping the warmth, even making the inkstone on the table seem a little warmer.
Whenever I rub my aching, heavy temples, it raises its pink paw and gently tugs at my fingertips—those paws are soft and warm, still warm from stepping on a heater.
The warmth seeped into my bones through my fingers, making my tense shoulders and back feel more relaxed.
Even when my eyes swept over words like "disaster" and "taxes," the gloom in my heart could be dispelled somewhat.
Fortunately, all the officials in the court performed their duties, so even if a few wanted to take advantage of the situation, they couldn't stir up any trouble.
After all, the academy that the Regent Prince personally established back then has long since become a surging stream, flowing through the veins of the court and spreading in all directions.
Beneath the windows of the academy that emphasizes literature, impoverished scholars would read classics, histories, and policy essays until late at night, the oil lamp casting shadows on the wall that were sometimes long and sometimes short.
The policy essays he wrote were all imbued with a sharp, unwavering spirit.
Even when discussing "equal land distribution" and "low taxes," he dared to say bluntly, "Wealthy families occupy thousands of acres of land, while ordinary people have no place to stand; this is not a sign of a prosperous age."
Meanwhile, in the martial arts arena of the academy that focuses on martial arts, young generals are practicing military tactics around a sand table. In the horseshoe-shaped sand table, fine sand is drawn with grooves by their fingers.
The calculated marching routes always managed to bypass the conventional routes and strike at the enemy's weak points—just like the "surprise attack" that the Regent had taught them.
Even General Mu couldn't help but nod: "This spirit is just like that of the Regent back then."
These people have a light in their eyes—a light that comes from witnessing the starvation in their hometown and longing for peace throughout the world, a light that shines like stars in a cold night.
Having solid skills—skills honed through enduring the harsh winter at Chongwen Academy and honing one's physical prowess at Xuanwu Academy—skills as solid as a rammed earth foundation.
They were not afraid of the oppressive presence of powerful families, and when they saw those nobles wearing jade crowns and carrying family genealogies, they still stood up straight, even bowing only by 30 percent of their waist.
He even dared to slap his ivory tablet in the imperial court, reciting the pros and cons with words that pierced the heart.
A few days ago, the Censorate impeached the Minister of War for misappropriating military funds. The newly appointed censor was only in his early twenties and was a Jinshi (successful candidate in the highest imperial examination) from the last cohort of the Chongwen Academy.
My hometown is along the Huai River. Back then, we were almost forced to sell our land due to the land rent from the Wang family.
Standing on the throne, his voice remained perfectly steady as he read the numbers in the ledger with crystal clarity.
"In the winter of the third year, three thousand taels of silver were misappropriated from the border's grain and fodder reserves to purchase fifty bolts of silk from Jiangnan, which were then presented to the Duke of Wei as a birthday gift—"
Before he finished speaking, the grandson of the Duke of Wei dropped his jade ruyi scepter onto the gold bricks with a clang. His face was paler than the stone steps outside the hall, and he didn't even dare to raise his head.
When I last exposed those corrupt officials in the Ministry of Personnel who embezzled salaries, my knuckles turned white as I gripped the memorial, and my fingertips brushed against the words "embezzlement."
The ink stains had faded a bit, and I suddenly remembered how she looked standing in front of the academy gate back then.
It was an autumn day, and the ground was covered with fallen sycamore leaves, which rustled underfoot. Her blue dress fluttered in the autumn wind, and the hem of her dress swept across the fallen leaves on the stone steps.
His fingertips touched the character "忠" (loyalty) carved on the stone steps, his nails digging into the cracks in the stone, and even his voice was as deep as cast iron.
"The Emperor's court should be like an iron sieve, with eyes as fine as rice grains, keeping only the loyal and virtuous and not letting out the petty ants."
If one day the sieve breaks, mend it yourself; don't be afraid of offending anyone.
Three years after she left, I followed her advice and reduced the fiefdom of the Wang family of Taiyuan by thirty percent.
The Wang family illegally occupied hundreds of acres of fertile land along the Huai River, and set the rent higher than the government's taxes, forcing tenants to sell their children.
An old tenant farmer, holding his starving grandson, knelt in front of the palace gate and wept for three days. Finally, he smashed his head against a stone lion, and blood stained the lion's paws.
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