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Su Jing was born left-handed.
However, the Book of Rites states, "If a child can eat, teach him to use his right hand." Therefore, they all regarded the left hand as an "unclean hand," and holding utensils with the left hand was considered a desecration of ancestral spirits.
However, Su Jing lost his mother at a young age and was disliked by the emperor and empress dowager after his birth. Therefore, he had no tutor to teach him how to use his right hand, so he always used his left hand to live, holding chopsticks, pen, and sword.
Once, during a grand sacrificial ceremony in the palace, ten-year-old Su Jing knelt on a prayer mat in the main hall, holding a scroll for the dead in his right hand and a pen in his left to transcribe the sacrificial text.
The crown prince stood beside him, his gaze lightly sweeping over his fingers, and suddenly laughed: "Seventh brother, are you going to use your left hand again?"
The third prince scoffed, "Father values etiquette above all else. Are you trying to offend the gods by holding the pen with your left hand?"
Su Jing remained silent and continued writing the eulogy.
The next second, scalding hot tea poured from the spout onto Su Jing's left arm.
"ah--"
Su Jing abruptly withdrew his hand, the eulogy fell to the ground, and blisters quickly appeared on his skin, which was reddened by the scalding tea.
"Seventh brother, we are doing this for your own good," the Crown Prince said gently. "The left hand is considered unlucky; it must be changed."
The Third Prince chimed in, "Indeed, a grand sacrificial ceremony cannot be treated lightly."
Su Jing clenched his left hand, his knuckles turning white, but he remained silent.
Just then, footsteps were heard outside the hall.
The emperor stepped into the hall, followed by his civil and military officials. His gaze swept over the sacrificial text on the ground, then fell on Su Jing's swollen hand, and he frowned: "What happened?"
The Crown Prince respectfully said, "Father, my seventh brother insisted on writing the sacrificial text with his left hand. I was afraid of offending the gods, so I tried to dissuade him."
The emperor looked at Su Jing with icy eyes: "You dare to act recklessly during the sacrificial ceremony?"
Su Jing lowered his head: "Your subject knows his mistake."
"Step back," the emperor said, flicking his sleeve. "Don't make a fool of yourself here."
Su Jing silently stood up, her left hand hanging at her side. The scalded blisters had burst, and blood mixed with tea stains dripped down her fingertips.
Many years later, when Chu Yiran accompanied Su Jing back to Southern Su from Northern Qi, they returned with surrender letters from three border cities of Northern Qi. No one knew how they had done it. The emperor simply sat on the throne in the Golden Palace, squinting at this unfamiliar son: "Seventh Prince has grown up." Then he casually bestowed upon him the title of Prince Jing, enfeoffing him in Luoyang to guard the border of Southern Su for the rest of his life.
At that time, the territory of the Southern Su Kingdom was being gradually eroded by the iron cavalry of the Northern Qi. The area north of the Yellow River had fallen completely, and the Southern Su garrison could not even gather enough arrows—the crossbows in the armory had long been stripped of their gold ornaments by the nobles and melted down to make wine vessels.
On the day he was conferred his title, Su Jing walked into the palace on the moss-covered imperial road, each step feeling as if he were stepping on the rotten fate of the Southern Su nation.
Chu Yiran accompanied Su Jing back to the North Fifth Institute. The saplings that used to be there had grown much taller, with branches spreading out and looking full of vitality.
Su Jing patted the tree trunk and instructed the people below, "Move it along with the tree."
A guard came over to shovel dirt, and Chu Yiran and Su Jing went into the inner room together.
Su Jing picked up his pen to write a secret letter at his desk. Chu Yiran looked at the scars on Su Jing's arm and suddenly said, "Your Highness, wouldn't you consider practicing your right hand? My master also has some medical knowledge—"
“No need.” Su Jing’s pen didn’t stop; his handwriting was sharp as a knife, each stroke revealing an unquestionable determination.
Chu Yiran hesitated: "But in this palace, it's ultimately inconvenient to use your left hand."
Su Jing raised his eyes, his gaze cold and desolate: "The inconvenience is not in the left hand, but in people's hearts."
“Rules are dead, but people are alive,” Su Jing continued. “And those so-called rules are always made by those in power. Rather than following them, we should rewrite them.”
Chu Yiran opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say.
"Wenxi," Su Jing said softly, "we don't have time. Maybe this time we'll never come back."
Chu Yiran knew exactly what he meant. From being sent to Northern Qi like an object to being enfeoffed as Prince Jing and then sent to a remote place, the emperor had always chosen to abandon him.
Now that the princes have all gone to their respective fiefdoms and the emperor's health is deteriorating, it will probably not be long before the crown prince ascends the throne.
Su Jing folded the secret letter and handed it to Chu Yiran. Chu Yiran took out a copper whistle, tied the letter to the pigeon's leg, and then went to the window to release it into the sky.
After they had rested, they were ordered to go to Luoyang. The first thing Su Jing did upon returning to Luoyang was to deal with the surrendered soldiers in the three border cities.
"Your Highness," Chu Yiran said, gazing at Su Jing's cold, sharp profile, "were all the surrendered soldiers from the three northern cities truly spared?"
Su Jing remained noncommittal: "The people of the border towns in Southern Jiangsu have suffered humiliation at their hands for many years."
"Among the surrendered soldiers, there were also farmers who had been forcibly conscripted."
"So what?" Su Jing raised his eyes, a chilling glint in them. "Blood debts must be repaid in blood; it's only right and proper."
“Your Highness, killing surrendered soldiers is an ominous sign,” Chu Yiran approached, lightly tapping the map on the table with his finger. “If we kill all the surrendered soldiers, the border people of Northern Qi will surely resist to the death. But if we pardon their able-bodied men and incorporate them into the military farms—”
Su Jing frowned: "Wenxi, one cannot be soft-hearted when it comes to military affairs."
"Those in positions of power should be as ruthless as stone," Chu Yiran retorted, "but when wielding the power of life and death, one must always leave a shred of compassion—"
Su Jing scoffed lightly, "You're quite kind-hearted."
Chu Yiran sighed, "Your Highness..."
Before he finished speaking, Su Jing suddenly put down his pen, stood up, walked to his side, and leaned closer.
The candlelight cast a soft shadow on his face, softening his gaze. He lowered his head slightly, his voice gentle and soothing, with a hint of coaxing: "I'll do as you say, okay?"
Chu Yiran's breath hitched.
Su Jing rarely showed weakness, let alone spoke in this tone. At this moment, he was extremely close, his breath almost brushing against Chu Yiran's ear. The candlelight cast their intertwined shadows on the window, creating a somewhat ambiguous and tender atmosphere.
—But Chu Yiran knows him too well.
Su Jing's compromises were never an admission of defeat, but rather a more subtle form of control.
"...What is Your Highness plotting now?" Chu Yiran asked helplessly.
Su Jing spread his hands: "I promise you, I'll only kill a few troublemakers to deter Northern Qi, and the rest, as you said, send the women and children back, and send the able-bodied men to the army, okay?"
Chu Yiran remained silent, and Su Jing leaned closer: "...Hmm?"
Su Jing's scent lingered in his nostrils, and Chu Yiran's mind went completely blank, so he could only nod haphazardly.
Su Jing did indeed listen to him, but he chose a few of the most aggressive surrendered generals to behead in public, and then buried their entire families alive. Su Jing also ordered the heads of the surrendered generals to be hung on the city walls of the border as punishment and deterrence.
Those Northern Qi generals who surrendered still stared wide-eyed before they died, their necks severed jaggedly, not by a single cut, but by repeated chopping with a blunt weapon. Blood trickled down the wall, leaving several dark red streaks that, from a distance, resembled dried tears of blood.
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