Her fingertips curled unconsciously, pressed against her slightly cool palm.
Weighing the pros and cons, the survival of the community, personal honor and disgrace... countless thoughts collided fiercely.
Qin Zhaoyue stood there expressionless.
She appeared calm and composed, but in reality, she was making rapid calculations in her mind.
Her remarks about the conditions for the surrender of Southern Xinjiang were almost entirely improvised in her haste.
On the way here, all she could think about was killing her second brother and breaking his "status," and she never even considered bringing the entire southern border into her territory.
From a practical governance perspective, whether or not it is included may not make much difference; being able to open a stable mutual market is already considered an achievement of the goal.
It involves population migration, labor resettlement, and policy implementation, which brings countless troubles and makes conflicts almost inevitable.
Anyway, she's not the Empress. She's been offered empty promises so many times in her past life that she's become quite adept at it now.
In the end, she's just a princess, so she doesn't have to take responsibility for what she says.
But then she thought of the Book of Merits, which was related to the life of her mother.
Regardless of the actual benefits, as long as Southern Xinjiang verbally promises to submit and work together, wouldn't she, as the initiator of the negotiations and the one who resolved a war without bloodshed, have accomplished a great feat? Wouldn't her merit points come pouring in?
Although she didn't know exactly how much it would take to save her mother, that didn't stop her from having a flash of inspiration and making this grand promise.
Whether there are dates or not, let's cast a line first and see what happens.
If they manage to retrieve it, it would be another insurance policy for the Empress's survival.
As she was pondering, Qin Jingheng slowly moved closer to her, breaking her reverie.
"Stand there, don't come any closer," she immediately said, her tone cold.
"Why..." Qin Jingheng said, his voice tinged with grievance.
"nausea."
Qin Jingheng: "..."
He felt as if he had been silently stabbed in the heart again.
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