Chapter 562

Even if the King is anxious to continue southward and unify as soon as possible, there's nothing he can do—grain and fodder are his biggest obstacle, so it's not a matter of being anxious.

He decided to just lie low and wait for Xie Yuan to come help him oversee the big picture; first, putting the newly conquered land in order would be best.

He's also waiting for the new land to submit its household registers, to achieve actual control and get the full terrain map, to see if there's any new gain. But this can't be rushed—the household registration in Chang'an has just started, and the census needs time.

The disbandment funds for the Western Great Camp hadn't reached Chang'an yet, but the people had already been sent away by the King. After letting out a sigh of relief, the King also felt like going out for a stroll.

He had already told Zhu Ti that he wanted to reopen the Pagoda Tower in Chang'an, to seize the grain of the aristocratic wealthy merchants, and not let go of the silver either. In just a few days, walking again on Chang'an's main street, the King's feeling was completely different from before.

Chang'an had already grown peaceful among the populace; heavily armored cavalry could be seen patrolling the city gates, and they even felt a strange sense of safety. Having been through it once, then twice, the common folk felt that changing a person in the palace made no difference to them.

The streets were filling with people again; although the King had not yet taken the throne, he had already begun to act—his first order was to stabilize Chang'an's grain prices. He not only forbade wealthy merchants from driving prices up, but also forcibly ordered them to return to the previous stable rates; watching grain prices begin to fall, the people felt even more that everything was alright.

The King waved his folding fan, creating a gust, "... Back when we opened a shop in Youzhou, we even had to rely on the second brother to keep it going." He struck a pose of reminiscing about the past, though he was actually only in his early teens.

He took Wei Shen and Ling Yin out for a walk; the King dressed modestly, yet his gait was exceedingly arrogant. He strutted with a step that seemed to disregard his own kin, and the little Jin behind him imitated him, holding its head high—his arrogance was spot on.

From afar you could tell his identity—a spoiled aristocrat.

His cousin didn't stop him, but urged, "Go on, show off—when Master Xie Yuan arrives and sees you walking like that, who knows how much extra work he'll conjure up out of thin air."

The King's happy stride halted, and he began to sigh: "... Ah! This is the price of growth. I want people to work, but I have to give the teacher face—I'm just too concerned with appearances."

Wei Shen: ……?

Unable to retort.

Whenever they encountered a crowded shop, they always went in to stroll around, ostensibly to understand the people's livelihood.

In the blink of an eye, the King followed the two young gentlemen into a shop, "Oh oh, it's pretty popular~"

Wei Shen nodded along, "No matter how the outside world fights, it doesn't delay the people of Chang'an from spending money…"

This shop may or may not be a jewelry store; it sells a mixed assortment—hand strings and handheld items, as well as incense. It deals in refined wares, the kind ordinary commoners would never enter. The hand strings are made from stir-fried Zhu Ti, and the handheld items turn red thanks to the Baoguo Temple outside Chang'an.

That's a Buddhist temple that has become popular over the past two years; the nobles around Chang'an love to go there to burn incense and listen to the head monk's sermons. Nowadays many young gentlemen go out holding a string of handheld items—some jade, some various woods. At a glance, the King saw that several styles in this shop were knockoffs of his own Luofu Tower.

"What is Chang'an, after all?" These trinkets, ever since the world fell into chaos and the southern wealthy merchants stopped coming, have been unsellable in the northern borders. Look at Chang'an—no matter how the fighting goes, even shops that sell things you can't eat or drink remain bustling.

In short, they still have a foundation; the King felt sour.

Then it occurred to him that it now belonged to him, and he grew happy again—his neck was almost as high as little Jin's~

Who would have thought he sighed at the doorway, only to be overheard by a few young aristocrats coming up behind him?

Make way!

The King's remark "What is Chang'an, after all?" instantly stamped his identity in the eyes of several people—a country bumpkin from elsewhere.

A rustic from the Great Jin, indeed.

After being shouted at, the King immediately turned to see who was even more arrogant than him—three or four sixteen- or seventeen-year-old young gentlemen, the leader holding a folding fan just like him, now unfolded to block the lower half of his face, giving off an aura that the surrounding air was polluted.

He looked like a fat sheep; if this were the King's shop, he'd surely be pleased.

The King is a troublemaker, and Wei Shen is no less than a tyrant of Changzhou. Hearing them open with rebukes, he immediately sneered: "We weren't loitering to block the road—what are you barking about? Can't stand a crowd? You should have cleared the area beforehand!"

The frowning one who blocked his face stayed silent, while another, slightly younger, shouted even louder than Wei Shen: "You country bumpkin, who are you yelling at?"

"Whoever barks randomly gets yelled at!"

As soon as those words left his mouth, the King suddenly felt childish; he stepped aside, "Oh well, never mind them—how boring…"

The idle crowd grew ever more convinced they were two country bumpkins from the countryside, and grew ever more unreasonable. Wei Shen would not lose in a fight, nor would he lose in an argument. The leader, hearing their taunting back and forth, showed impatience; the shopkeeper came over, bowing and scraping, yet gave him no pleasant look. Not going with the shopkeeper to the private room, he instead turned his attention to the beast circling at the King's feet.

The dog was fluffy and remarkably mighty and handsome—a breed he had never seen before.

He tucked away his folding fan, pointed at little Jin, and said to the King, "Give me this dog, and consider it compensation."

As soon as he spoke, the idle crowd beside him fell silent at once.

The King once again sized up this shameless fellow, who wore an outfit of floating-light brocade; combined with the shopkeeper's deferential attitude, and his repeated address of "Young Master Wei," the man's identity was all but obvious.

The King intended to cut down the great clans of Chang'an—how could he not have done his homework? The list had long been prepared.

"'The Wei and Du of the southern city, remove five chi from heaven.'"

Not bad, not bad—this is the great Guanzhong Wei clan, a major aristocratic family; the King was no longer bored. He wore a blank, deaf-mute expression: "What? What did you say? How could you, so young, already have delusions of grandeur?"

You!

Wei Hang didn't even glance at the King and his two companions, heading straight for little Jin—whether he wanted to pet it or just grab it, the King thrust out his hand to block him: "No way! Is this outright robbery?!" The security in Chang'an is already chaotic enough; they're even robbing him right on his head.

Wei Hang wouldn't even glance at this nobody of unknown standing; when the King touched his arm, he shoved it away forcefully and snapped, "Get lost!"

Not to mention the King—even Wei Shen was shocked by his shameless audacity.

Wei Hang is just an ordinary person who has never trained in martial arts; logically, he couldn't possibly pry the King open. But, after all, they say "logically"—the King is no ordinary person.

This fellow, seeing how clean the ground was, shifted his thoughts and collapsed under Wei Hang's force…

Wei Shen saw the King so "delicate"—after only a second of confusion he understood, clicking his tongue: "Today he's short by a hundred thousand taels; he probably won't be able to get up."

Then, looking at the hateful Wei Hang, his gaze grew complex. Upon closer inspection, within his anger lay a hint of sympathy—"You're the kind who picks the thick knots in a hemp rope," he thought, "you've got luck."

He let out a miserable cry: "Young Master——!" and lunged forward…

……………

(……Southern City xxxxxx. Not watching TV dramas, it's an allusion.)