Chapter 422: Meeting Zhao Ji

The Emperor's audience must be taken seriously, so after his daily morning exercises and a comfortable soak in a large wooden tub, Wang Yan discarded his previous clothes and donned a new thick dark-blue robe, over which he wrapped a finely crafted brown-black bear-fur coat, slipped into warm, comfortable deer-skin boots, tied his hair into a topknot, and secured it with a single green jade hairpin—looking sharp and spirited.

That morning, snow had begun to fall; in his inn room, the Da Guanren had set up a small red-clay brazier, upon which sat a tiny ceramic teapot, bubbling gently with steam. He placed a pinch of roasted tea leaves into a porcelain bowl, poured hot water over them to wash away dust, watched the leaves slowly unfurl, then drained the water and poured fresh hot water.

The tea he now drank was not simply steeped in plain water, but involved a complex process with many additions—favored by literati, even used in tea-tasting contests. Wang Yan had tried this method when he first arrived, but later began roasting tea himself. He also invented the lided teacup and other tea-related items, one of his industries.

Yet habits aren't changed overnight, and tastes vary. His tea had been introduced to the market, but it hadn't caused the massive sensation he'd imagined—it was still slowly fermenting. Some began to adopt it, others rejected it; gradually, among Song literati, two schools of tea-drinking emerged, and they'd often debate the matter—quite entertaining.

The Da Guanren lifted his teacup, took a small sip, felt the tea's original flavor bloom and collide in his mouth, savoring its fragrance. Outside the window, the misty snow blanketed the world, the ancient architecture unchanged for a thousand years, heaven and earth one hue—a perfect scene. The Da Guanren gazed silently, lost in thought…

Around ten in the morning, two eunuchs arrived outside the inn with a palanquin. Wang Yan went downstairs and met them at the door, bowing respectfully: "Wang Yan greets Your Excellencies."

"Captain Wang, please rise at once—don't humble us so; we cannot accept your bow, nor deserve the title of 'Your Excellency.' We are all under your blessing," said the lead eunuch, stepping forward to grasp Wang Yan's arm with a smile. "I am Hu Xiang, Palace Head, sent by the Emperor to escort you into the palace. The journey will take some time—please step into the palanquin."

Wang Yan shook his head, looking at the two palanquin bearers: "No need for the palanquin. I come from a remote village; I've never seen the imperial palace, and this is my first time in Bianjing. I'd prefer to walk with you two gentlemen. Please, Hu Palace Head, tell me about the sights—I'd like to broaden my knowledge. As for these two bearers, kindly have them carry the gifts I bring for the Emperor."

Hu Xiang nodded, not refusing. Though the palanquin had been approved by the Emperor, if Wang Yan didn't want it, so be it—it wasn't a problem. After confirming the gifts were neither weapons nor food nor dangerous, they were resealed. Wang Yan donned a leather felt hat to shield against the snow and followed the two eunuchs into the palace.

Along the way, Hu Xiang recited like a man listing family heirlooms, explaining each pavilion and its function. Wang Yan listened while gazing around. Compared to other dynasties, the Song palace was small and lacked a vast complex of buildings—but it was still the Emperor's residence, and the Song was not poor; far better than the Forbidden City he'd inherited in Great Ming, though considerably smaller.

The falling snow made the whole experience delightful. The only regret: he couldn't stand on high ground to overlook the entire palace—that would have been a different sensation. He treated it like a tourist attraction, and enjoyed it thoroughly.

Though the Song imperial palace was small, that was relative. Walking on foot, even with brisk steps, took them nearly half an hour to reach the Taiqing Tower. Hu Xiang took back his felt hat and brushed the snow off Wang Yan's bear-fur coat. Then, following Yang Jian—who had already been waiting there—they ascended to meet the artist-emperor, who, stirred by the snow, stood before a large desk, immersed in art.

He wore a long purple robe, resembling a Daoist style subtly refined, very elegant. His hair was loosely coiled atop his head, held by a white jade hairpin. Thick eyebrows, large eyes, a high nose, thin lips, and two upward-curled mustaches. He stood about 1.7 meters tall, slightly plump, round and fair, giving his face an exceptionally kind appearance. In his youth, he must have been handsome and dashing. Even now, by modern standards, he was a handsome uncle.

This was normal. Among the imperial clan, barring accidents, no one was ugly. Even if the first generation was unattractive, he was Emperor; his heir was Emperor too. The Empresses chosen were, at minimum, beautiful by the era's standards—everyone agreed they were lovely. Generation after generation, the genes improved; the later ones grew ever more handsome.

Tong Guan spoke at a moderate volume: "Your Majesty, Captain Wang has arrived."

Zhao Ji, absorbed in his artistic creation, looked up at the sound, seeing Wang Yan standing behind Yang Jian. Wrapped in bear fur, Wang Yan looked less slender than usual—instead, notably tall and sturdy.

"Ha! Ziyan, you've finally come."

"Your humble subject Wang Yan bows before Your Majesty." Wang Yan bowed deeply, formally. There was no kneeling ritual; meeting the Emperor required no more than a bow. He was a proper seventh-rank Zhi Guo Captain—a military officer, yet still an official—so calling himself "subject" was perfectly appropriate.

"Rise," Zhao Ji said with a smile, stepping out from behind his desk, studying Wang Yan closely, nodding in satisfaction: "Good. Truly young and accomplished. In the past year, you've done me great service."

"Your humble subject is a subject of Great Song; Your Majesty is the Father-King of Great Song. A subject aiding his Father-King is his duty. I am neither scholarly nor martially skilled, but I've achieved minor success in commerce and the study of things. To aid Your Majesty is the glory of my family."

Though these were flattery, the Da Guanren spoke without changing expression, upright and righteous, his voice strong and clear—as if merely stating facts.

"I know your loyalty," Zhao Ji said, smiling warmly at Wang Yan's serious expression, clapping his shoulder hard: "Strong fellow!"—like an elder's concern—then asked: "First time in Bianjing? Are you adjusting well?"

"Thank Your Majesty's concern—I just haven't slept well." Before Zhao Ji could ask further, Wang Yan launched into flattery: "Your humble subject is ignorant. In Yanggu County, the people were already prosperous. Only upon arriving in Bianjing did I realize the true grandeur of Great Song. I've read history: our Song's prosperity surpasses all previous dynasties—this is all due to Your Majesty's heavenly merit. Your virtue exceeds even Wu Di; your governance rivals the Three Sovereigns. You are the Sage Emperor—none other than Your Majesty deserves the title of 'Emperor of a Thousand Ages.'"

"Enough. You're young, but you've got quite the knack for flattery. I'll accept 'Sage Emperor.' But 'Emperor of a Thousand Ages'? I'm not worthy. My civil and military achievements still fall far short—those sixteen prefectures of Youyun…"

"Your humble subject always speaks truth. And I must correct Your Majesty: even if I flatter, I flatter the Dragon's back. With Great Song's strength, reclaiming Youyun is merely a matter of time."

Who in life doesn't crave fame and fortune? No one wanted to reclaim Youyun more than Zhao Ji. If he succeeded, his achievements would rival only Emperor Taizu Zhao Kuangyi—immense temptation, irresistible.

"You…" Zhao Ji laughed heartily, pointing at Wang Yan: "Come. We've stayed in Taiqing Tower long enough. It's snowing outside—come with me to the garden. Let's walk and talk."

"Your Majesty, wait—I have something to present."

"Oh? Another money-making invention?" Seeing Wang Yan nod, Zhao Ji smiled warmly: "Bring it up and show me."

Wang Yan turned to Yang Jian beside him: "Please, Master Yang."

From start to finish, Yang Jian had merely announced his arrival, watching Wang Yan flatter, marveling at the boy's skill. Hearing Wang Yan's words, he turned to the young eunuch standing by the stairs: "Go bring up Captain Wang's chest."

The young eunuch bowed and descended. Soon, two eunuchs carried a long, slender wooden chest up, setting it lightly on the floor.

Wang Yan thanked the bearers, knelt, opened the chest, and revealed a rectangular object wrapped in silk, along with several open-ended wooden strips—clearly meant to be assembled. He took everything out, and under Zhao Ji and Yang Jian's watchful eyes, moved with practiced speed, assembling rapidly. Soon, a support frame took shape. He placed it on the floor, then lifted the rectangular object, attaching its two protruding wooden rods to the base frame.

He stood, shook the upright object to confirm its stability, then turned to Zhao Ji: "Your Majesty, please look." With that, he tore off the silk covering, revealing the object to Zhao Ji.

"A mirror?"

Zhao Ji, standing behind, asked in surprise, stepped around Yang Jian, and stood before the mirror, astonished by the crystal-clear reflection. He joyfully turned in circles, admiring himself, then ordered a young eunuch to dress him properly, gazing at his reflection with delight.

Copper mirrors at the time were already quite clear after polishing. But compared to glass mirrors, they were inferior—not only in clarity, but also in cost, since copper was the raw material for coinage. A mirror of such size meant a fortune. Who could afford a full-length mirror like this?

Glass mirrors weren't rare either—medieval Europe already had them; Song just didn't. Those who could afford copper mirrors could afford glass ones. Those who couldn't afford copper mirrors couldn't afford glass ones either. Though cheap to make, they wouldn't be sold cheaply—prices would have to drop gradually.

"Excellent, excellent! This mirror is clearer and more pleasant to behold than copper," Zhao Ji said without restraint. His patience and warmth toward Wang Yan stemmed precisely from these constant new inventions—and the vast wealth they brought.

Wang Yan's standing in Zhao Ji's eyes was very high—not inferior to Cai Jing or Tong Guan. He wasn't foolish; he knew clearly what had happened in Yanggu County. Every change there was Wang Yan's doing alone. Unlike Cai Jing and others, who stirred chaos below while extracting less money—the contrast was stark.

Now another source of wealth appeared before his eyes—he was delighted.

Wang Yan always knew Zhao Ji wasn't stupid—he was negligent, but still possessed political acumen. Otherwise, he couldn't have ruled so long. He knew of the people's suffering, but chose to ignore it. Of course, he knew only the paper version of suffering; he never saw the real thing. Raised in luxury as Prince of Duan, he couldn't imagine how dire the common folk's plight truly was. He knew it was bad, but not how bad. Even if he knew, it wouldn't matter to him—no one could change it.

He pulled out a small piece of transparent glass: "Your Majesty, the real money-maker is this."

"Oh?" The vain Zhao Ji turned, took the object, then touched the mirror before him: "Are these two the same thing? What is this called?"

"Your Majesty has keen eyesight—they are one and the same. This is glass. The mirror is merely this glass coated on one side with a special material."

"Can this thing be used for more than mirrors?"

Wang Yan pointed to the window covered with paper: "Your Majesty, if this replaced the paper windows, sunlight would enter directly, allowing clear views of the outside without opening the window. On days like today, with snow falling, drinking tea, reading, writing, painting by the window—wouldn't that be a unique pleasure?"

As an artist, Zhao Ji had no lack of imagination. Gazing at the clean, transparent glass in his hand, he already envisioned that scene—how delightful it would be. He smiled warmly at Wang Yan: "Do you already have enough glass to replace every palace in my court?"

Wang Yan looked slightly uneasy and shook his head: "Your Majesty, forgive me. Since production is new and the time short, achieving such clarity and transparency is not easy. The glass I've brought can only replace one palace for now."

"No matter. I don't blame you. Take your time," Zhao Ji smiled. "Then let's start with Taiqing Tower—I spend the most time here. Yang Jian, you handle this."

"Your humble servant obeys."

"Come, let's go admire the snow." With that, Zhao Ji walked down the stairs, hands behind his back, leisurely.

Wang Yan and Yang Jian followed one step behind, one on each side, walking with Zhao Ji through the imperial garden. A path had already been cleared, but the snow fell heavily; even as young eunuchs swept it, another layer quickly settled, crunching underfoot.

"A blessed snow foretells a bountiful year. This year will be good."

Hearing his master's remark, Yang Jian offered a timely compliment: "With the Sage Emperor's protection, Great Song enjoys perfect weather."

Zhao Ji had heard too many flatteries to be moved by this one. He glanced sideways at the impulsive boy beside him, who was gazing everywhere: "Ziyan, I hear you passed the prefectural examination at fifteen. Had your parents not passed away in succession, you might have passed the metropolitan exam too—truly gifted. Have you continued reading the classics these past years?"

"Ziyan" again… the Da Guanren shook his head: "I dare not deceive Your Majesty. I still read, but daily business keeps me busy—I've let it grow rusty. Is Your Majesty going to test me?"

"Ha! I had no such thought—but now that you mention it, I do. Compose a poem on today's heavy snow, using what you've learned. Quality doesn't matter—just write. Take your time, no rush."

Being a leader really is the best—you can play with someone at will, and they still have to thank you.

After walking a while, the Da Guanren feigned answering Zhao Ji's questions while secretly thinking. When he judged the time right, he bowed: "Your Majesty, I've composed a rustic verse."

"I've already said it before: regardless of good or bad, just go ahead and do it. Speak."

"One piece, two pieces, three or four pieces, five or six, seven or eight pieces, nine or ten, countless pieces..." In Zhao Ji's bewildered gaze, the Da Guanren cleared his throat and spoke slowly: "They fly into the plum blossoms—and vanish!"

Indeed, a time-travel without poetry isn't a good time-travel.

Zhao Ji paused, repeated the final half-line, looked at the blooming plum blossoms nearby, and clapped his hands in delight: "Excellent, excellent! Though it's a crude verse, it carries its own charm—perfect for this scene. Good! Good! For this line alone—'They fly into the plum blossoms—and vanish!'—you shall have an extra cup of wine at lunch. Speak now: what reward do you desire?"

"For the Emperor not to punish me is already my fortune; I dare not ask for any reward."

Yang Jian spoke up: "Wang Xiao, you don't understand. The Emperor is a sage ruler whose word is law—why are you being so timid?"

Carefully watching Zhao Ji, Wang Yan said: "Shall I speak then?"

"Speak."

"Your humble servant wishes to request one of Your Majesty's calligraphy or paintings. Last year, the inkwork Your Majesty bestowed upon me—the true example of your unique Crane Script—I cherished it deeply and practiced it daily. A year has passed; I believe Your Majesty has further improved. Now I humbly beg for another piece, so I may study it carefully."

Zhao Ji laughed heartily, thoroughly pleased: "Tonight I'll write one and send it to you."

"Thank Your Majesty for the gift."

After wandering a while longer, Zhao Ji asked aimless questions on all manner of topics, finally turning to martial affairs: "Ziyan, I just remembered—you don't just read books, you also excel in martial matters. Since childhood you've trained strength with your family's guards, and you've never ceased your practice. Last year I even heard you defeated that man known as the Number One Martial Artist in the world..."

Seeing his brother had forgotten the name, Yang Jian stepped in smoothly: "Your Majesty, it was Lu Junyi, who once served the Northern Army."

"Yes, Lu Junyi. Such a famed name—he couldn't possibly be weak. To defeat him, you must be exceptionally skilled in Wu Gong. Lunch is about to begin; why not demonstrate your skills in a sparring match? It'll loosen your limbs and give you a better appetite."

Wang Yan smiled bitterly: "Your Majesty is clearly testing me today."

Yang Jian continued his dutiful flattery: "It's because Your Majesty intends to promote you. Others would give anything for such a chance to be tested by Your Majesty—you don't know how lucky you are."

"Thank Your Majesty for your favor. If so, then I shall humbly show my clumsiness. May I ask, which master shall I spar with?"

Zhao Ji waved his hand without turning around. A tall, sword-carrying soldier stepped forward, bowed deeply to Zhao Ji, received his nod, then turned and saluted Wang Yan: "Da Yu Qi, Zhou Hong, at your service, Wang Xiao."

——————Extra Notes——————

Thank you, Brother Ling Liuer, for the 500-coin reward.

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