Chapter 337: A Hundred Faces (IV)

The substitute was indeed clever; his pale gray eyes shifted slightly, and he roughly grasped the intent.

However...

Was the relationship between Lord Wenren and His Majesty really that close?

Helian Che was ruthless and brooding, born with a towering frame yet a mind no wider than a needle's eye, and his words were as unyielding as a fortress gate, locking all his countless thoughts tightly inside his own heart.

Even someone who had grown up beside him since childhood couldn't fathom his mind.

Where did this guy get the nerve to tell His Majesty to paint for him?

"Your servant is slow," he said, cupping his fists as a hint. "Could the Lord be clearer?"

Le Wuya was in a good mood and described in more detail the idol he had in mind, adding specifics—such as keeping the matter strictly under wraps, not letting it spread among the Jing tribe's people, and that this deity would refine alchemical pills, the materials for which he had already written out a list; the substitute could take it back with him when he returned to the Jing tribe, and so forth.

The substitute: "..."

That wasn't what he meant at all.

Seeing that the other man completely missed his point, he had to put it as tactfully as he could: "Lord Wenren, my master only ordered me to come to the capital to protect you; he gave no order for me to return."

Le Wuya blinked. "If you don't pass on my message, he'll get mad, you know."

The substitute: "..."

For a moment, he wondered if this Lord was too full of himself.

He had to spell it out more plainly: "Lord, my master is busy with affairs—I'm afraid he has no time to paint for you."

Le Wuya raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely confused. "Is he busy?"

He didn't think so.

Nanting, Tongzhou, Dansui—hadn't he always come and gone as he pleased?

The substitute: "..."

He wanted to say that when he left Yangshan, Helian Che was leading his seventh, eighth, and fourteenth adopted sons to fight over a piece of land with the Liao people.

Since becoming king of the Jing tribe, he hadn't had a single day of rest.

In rare moments of free time, he would go into the secret chamber in the main hall, doing who knows what.

Surely he was mapping out the grand plan for the Jing tribe's future.

Filled with endless reverence and admiration, the substitute straightened his back: "I'll protect you. Don't worry."

Le Wuya was even more confused now: "How are you going to protect me? You've already been beaten this badly by my men."

The substitute was speechless for a moment: "..."

He was actually quite skilled at both archery and horseback riding.

Even across the entire Jing tribe, he was one of the best shots.

But he couldn't exactly show up at Wen Ren's place with a bow and crossbow on a warhorse, could he?

Before the substitute could reply, Le Wuya went on: "...Besides, after I was attacked, I kept waiting for him to send someone to find me, so I could send a message back. I thought he'd send one of the Jing tribe's spies in the capital... I waited a long time, you know."

"If you won't pass on my message, wouldn't all that waiting have been for nothing?"

Le Wuya said it all so naturally, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which actually stirred a flicker of sympathy and guilt in the substitute.

But before that feeling could settle in, Le Wuya thought of something else, raised a finger, and added with enthusiasm:

"Oh, right, right—remember to tell him that spring and autumn in the capital are short; the weather turns cold in a blink. I want a nice wool blanket for my afternoon naps. Next time you come, bring it to me."

The substitute: "..."

He wasn't actually as quiet as Helian Che.

He was silent now simply because he had no clue what to say.

Seeing how shamelessly confident the man was, the substitute couldn't help but wonder—what made him think he could do this?

His Majesty did pay unusual attention to his affairs...

Could it be that His Majesty felt eighteen adopted sons weren't enough and wanted a nineteenth?

Come to think of it, the youngest always got the most favor...

With such doubts in mind, the substitute returned uneasily to the Jing tribe, faithfully reported Le Wuya's requests to Helian Che, and braced himself for an outburst of fury.

Sure enough, Helian Che's thunder rumbled softly: "Nonsense. He told you to come back, and you just came back? Did you arrange for others to keep an eye on him?"

The substitute replied cautiously: "...Your Majesty, I already made arrangements before leaving the capital."

Then, holding his breath, he awaited the next round of fury.

But to his utter surprise, all he received was a faintly approving "Mm" from Helian Che, followed by a question: "He only asked for a painting? Doesn't he want me to build a temple?"

The substitute thought: ...Is that sarcasm?

Probably.

He relayed Le Wuya's meaning faithfully: "That Lord Wenren said, please weigh it yourself—he does this for the shared grievance between you and him. But secrets are kept through caution; even if you raise construction and erect an idol, you must strictly control who knows, and..."

He paused, steeling himself: "He asks that you... not slaughter the innocent."

Of course, Le Wuya's original words had been far less polite.

"Weigh it yourself, but don't have the workers finish the job and then kill them off to seal their mouths. Wouldn't that be unjust for them?"

Helian Che was silent for a moment. "Understood. You may withdraw for now; set out for the capital on another day."

The substitute knew he hadn't fulfilled Helian Che's commission and felt guilty, so he eagerly said: "This subordinate will depart immediately..."

"No rush." Helian Che rose to his feet. "His wool blanket isn't ready yet."

The substitute: "...???"

He didn't understand.

But he was deeply shaken.

...

While Le Wuya waited contentedly for his woolen blanket, Fifth Prince Xiang Zhiyun returned to the capital from Dian, dusty and travel-worn.

After this ordeal, Xiang Zhiyun had grown darker and leaner, but the spark in his eyes was far sharper than before he left.

Beaming, he reported in a clear voice: "Your Majesty, after repeated examinations in Dian, I have confirmed that the medicine 'Ghost Head Shake' is indeed remarkably effective! For those afflicted with miasma poisoning, with alternating chills and fever and uncontrollable shaking, simply taking the bark, decocting it into a decoction, and drinking it will bring recovery within days. Even in severe cases, five or six out of ten recover."

"I tested it again and again, giving the medicine to nearby malaria patients, and the results were nothing short of miraculous—no doubt about it!"

He was animated, brimming with pride and excitement: "If this medicine can be made into pills or powders, it won't just protect our troops and reassure our border folk—it'll be a blessing to everyone under heaven!"

"Therefore, I handpicked craftsmen skilled in horticulture to procure three 'Ghost Head Shake' plants, packed them with roots and soil intact, and rushed them back to the capital day and night. I humbly ask Your Majesty to order the Imperial Medical Academy to conduct detailed research, give it a proper name, and promote its wide cultivation and use. I've ordered the remaining imperial physicians to stay in Dian for now, to continue sourcing materials locally and verifying its efficacy..."

At that, he lowered his gaze, his tone turning modest: "I am unsure if this action is appropriate, and humbly submit it for Your Majesty's decision."

He'd crafted this speech with his advisors, weighing and polishing every word.

In the past, he'd stumbled and blundered—done way too many unseemly things.

Winning back the emperor's favor in one stroke—that was the goal today.

Sure enough, Xiang Zheng's face lit up with undisguised approval as he smiled: "Good! Very good!"

After a brief pause, he spoke again: "By decree: Promote the Prince of Hui Commandery to Prince of Hui, bestow the golden book and golden seal, raise his annual stipend by two thousand shi of grain; also grant ten bolts of gold-woven python silk and thirty thousand strings of cash."

At that, Xiang Zhiyun's soaring spirits deflated, and his shoulders sagged involuntarily: "...Ah?"

Xiang Zhiyun knew this was a monumental achievement.

But he also knew full well this should've been Xiao Liu's credit.

Back in the capital, Xiang Zhiyun had heard that Xiao Liu, soon after joining the Ministry of Works, had run into the mudslide in Dansui. He'd gone to supervise in person, only to be ambushed by schemers and badly hurt.

In contrast, sure, Dian was full of miasma and looked dangerous, but all he had to do was sit somewhere safe and wait for the Imperial Medical Academy to send periodic reports.

The most he'd done was hike up mountains on nice days to hunt for more wild 'Ghost Head Shake' trees.

It was less official duty, more a workout.

The dangers of Dian were nothing next to the cutthroat intrigue of Dansui.

Any grown prince could've done this job.

And originally, it was Xiao Liu who'd spotted the value of 'Ghost Head Shake' in that seemingly unrelated murder case of Scholar Tian killing his son.

It was Le Wuya who'd personally investigated it.

And now, he was the one reaping the rewards?

Xiang Zhiyun said, alarmed: "Father! This is just my duty—I truly don't dare accept such a heavy reward!"

At that, Xiang Zheng actually stepped down from the dragon throne, walked over slowly, and reached out to gently squeeze his shoulder, saying solemnly: "If I say you're worthy, you're worthy."

What his palm met was a young, solid arm and sinew—vigorous and full of strength—and it inexplicably lifted Xiang Zheng's mood.

Come to think of it, Xiao Wu wasn't as martial and robust as Xiang Zheng had been in his youth, nor did he have the ethereal looks of Xiao Liu and Xiao Qi, who'd taken after their mother, but he was still decent-looking and had a clean temperament.

Besides, Xiao Wu had been healthy since he was a kid, and now he had a wife and son.

Unlike Xiao Liu, his fate wasn't lonely, and he wasn't cursed by bad omens...

As Xiang Zheng patted him, lost in thought, Xiang Zhiyun stood frozen.

It was the first time since he'd grown up that Xiang Zhiyun had been touched so intimately by his father.

Maybe because it'd been so long since he'd felt such favor, his first reaction wasn't gratitude but a jolt like lightning—a chill shot up his spine, and goosebumps nearly crawled past his neck to his face.

But he quickly swallowed the rising nausea and weirdness, telling himself: Father had finally acknowledged him, finally seen him.

Even if it meant stealing Xiao Liu's due...

...So be it...

He steeled himself, blinked, and tears welled up: "Your son... thanks Your Majesty for this immense grace!"

Xiang Zheng looked past him at the bright, clear sky outside Zhaoming Hall. He smiled faintly, thinking of something pleasant, and patted his shoulder again.

For a moment, it was all father-son affection and sovereign-minister harmony.

...

Xiang Zhijie had no idea about the father-son drama playing out in Zhaoming Hall.

Or rather, even if he'd known, he wouldn't have felt jealous.

Such overwhelming fortune, he figured, was more than he could handle.

A while back, Xiang Zhijie had gone to the palace and presented Imperial Consort Zhuang with the tea he'd brought back from Jinzhou. Taking advantage of his wounds still healing and Imperial Consort Zhuang being unable to punish him with kneeling, he sweetly and boldly told her about his marriage proposal to Helian Che.

Matters of great importance in life should be told to one's elders.

Before Imperial Consort Zhuang could lose patience and throw him out, he entrusted her with another important matter from this visit:

The Jing tribe had a deity called Maning Tianmu.

Hearing the deity's name, Zhuang Lantai was somewhat puzzled: "What kind of deity is this?"

"Just know of it. One day, Father will come to ask you about it."

Zhuang Lantai frowned: "That makes no sense. If he comes to ask and I know nothing, what then?"

Xiang Zhijie bowed slightly: "You need not know much—only that it is said to be very efficacious. After all, there was once a Jing tribe palace maid in your household."

At the time, Zhuang Lantai's look at him seemed to say that after all these years, you have truly gone mad.

What about a Jing tribe palace maid?

The Jing tribe was full of beauties.

Even now, there were still many Jing tribe palace maids in the palace.

By now, Consort Zhuang must surely understand what his seemingly disjointed words had truly referred to.

...

Xiang Zhijie pulled himself from his recollections, cheerfully flipping through the recent records of the Ministry of Works.

Mao Rui stepped inside, offered a bow, and said: "Sixth Prince, there is a matter upon which I must seek your instruction."

"Minister Mao, no need for formality—speak freely."

Mao Rui had never been one to mince words, so it was unusual that he didn't get straight to the point today.

Mao Rui chose his words carefully before speaking: "This isn't a big deal, honestly. The Guanshan Camp has submitted a blueprint, claiming they've developed a new kind of firearm capable of storing shot."

Zhi Jie asked: "Is it practical?"

"It's usable—I've already seen the finished product and tested it myself." Mao Rui nodded, but his face showed some reluctance. "However, the one who developed it... is the captain of the Second Squad of Guanshan Camp, Le Jue."

Zhi Jie gave an "oh" and asked again: "Then is it practical?"

Mao Rui, sharp as ever, caught on right away: "I understand, Your Highness. I shall submit a memorial to the throne tomorrow."

Zhi Jie nodded with a smile: "I appreciate your trouble, Minister Mao."