Chapter 73

Lu Fang hesitated and asked, “Does spreading the Great Zhou Gazette to all nineteen provinces require a great deal of silver?”

He Zixuan nodded vigorously, “It costs a fortune—think about it, the Great Zhou has three hundred and twenty-eight states and prefectures, one thousand five hundred and seventy-three counties, stretching from the Eastern Sea to the Western Regions, and from the southern borders to the northern ones—how vast is that?”

Upon hearing this, Lu Fang frowned, as if realizing he had taken things too lightly before.

This world lacked the internet, mobile phones, and computers of his past life; spreading information quickly was no easy feat.

Had there been no military expansion in the northern and southern borders, perhaps the imperial treasury could have allocated funds to spread the Great Zhou Gazette.

But now is not the time for reform.

“Is there no other way?”

Lu Fang asked, unwilling to give up.

He Zixuan shook his head:

“As far as I know, none. Whispering talismans only work within limited distances; if you stationed someone every few miles, the number would be unimaginable. Teleportation arrays are even less feasible—the sheer quantity of Five Element stones required is prohibitively expensive.”

Lu Fang fell silent.

After a moment, he said, “As for whispering talismans, I think we could try something—there’s no need to station people at fixed locations. We could use the Great Zhou Gazette distributors instead.”

“Distributors?”

He Zixuan looked puzzled.

Lu Fang then remembered that “distributor” was not a term used in the Great Zhou, so he explained the concept to He Zixuan.

“Oh, you mean something like official merchants,” He Zixuan mused. “That’s actually a good idea—but the Ministry of Revenue would never approve of merchants selling the Great Zhou Gazette.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Spreading the Gazette lets the people read refined prose, understand state policy, and boosts commercial taxes to fill the imperial treasury.”

Lu Fang spoke seriously.

He Zixuan nodded in agreement. “You’re right—but the Ministry of Revenue already proposed selling the Gazette through official channels to profit the treasury. The spread may be slow, but the profits stay entirely with the state.”

“Besides, you publicly clashed with Minister Fan Sheng. Even if he had no legitimate reason, he’d still oppose you.”

“Even if the Ministry of Revenue agreed, the cost of paying Confucian scholars across the provinces to write the Gazette would be enormous.”

“Merchants everywhere would have to invest large sums of silver—they’d naturally weigh the profit. They might not even believe in the Gazette’s value. If not for your refined prose stories, the Gazette wouldn’t have become a sensation in the capital.”

“Simply convincing these merchants wouldn’t be easy.”

“In short, spreading the Great Zhou Gazette is far harder than you imagined.”

He Zixuan sighed, slumping into his chair and lifting his teacup to sip. “I advise you to drop the idea. By the way, His Majesty ordered you to visit the Celestial Observatory tomorrow to cleanse your Blood-Slaying Curse.”

“Understood.”

Lu Fang replied, shaking his head in resignation.

He Zixuan changed the subject: “Your draft of Romance of the Three Kingdoms is nearly exhausted. Can you still write more?”

Lu Fang smiled bitterly and nodded. He’d been so busy lately he’d almost forgotten Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

When he first entered the Lesser Upper Realm, he serialized two chapters per day; later, it became one per day. He’s already reached Chapter Sixty-Seven, and his backlog is nearly gone.

If I could give the Book Spirit Yan Chixia a physical form shaped from ink-flower, could it write the drafts for me? Maybe it’s worth exploring.

He Zixuan looked envious:

“You don’t know how well the Great Zhou Gazette sells because of your Dream of the Red Chamber and Romance of the Three Kingdoms. When I came here, I heard children shouting, ‘I’m Guan Yu, who crossed five passes and slew six generals—who dares fight me?’”

“Yesterday, I drank two cups at a dance house—everyone was talking about Romance of the Three Kingdoms.”

“Some debated Cao Cao and Liu Bei discussing heroes over wine; others praised Zhang Fei’s roar that drove back five hundred thousand troops; others recounted Zhao Yun’s seven charges through enemy lines to rescue his lord; others spoke of Zhuge Liang’s debate with a hundred scholars, borrowing arrows with straw boats, burning the Red Cliffs, outwitting Zhou Yu three times, and ‘Since Zhou Yu was born, why was I born?’…”

“Just listening to them made me feel exhilarated!”

“Literary Marquis, you won’t kill them all off again, will you? You killed Lin Daiyu, Miaoyu, and Wang Xifeng in Dream of the Red Chamber—many people are still angry with you.”

He Zixuan gave him a look that said, “You’re not that foolish, are you?”

Lu Fang laughed. “Guan Yu will die. Zhang Fei will die. Liu Bei will die. Zhuge Liang will die. Everyone dies eventually.”

He Zixuan blinked, incredulous. “Literary Marquis, you’re joking with me.”

“I’m serious.”

Lu Fang didn’t care—he’d asked for it.

Moments later, He Zixuan’s screams echoed from the Literary Marquis’s mansion.

…

The Imperial Palace of Jingcheng.

At the gate of the Celestial Observatory.

After waiting a few minutes, Lu Fang finally met Director Zhou Heng, an elderly man with gray hair and beard, who greeted him with a kind smile and ushered him inside.

At the end of the straight corridor stood a ritual hall shaped like the River Map and Luo Book, with eight dragon-carved stone pillars arranged at the eight directions of the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams.

In the center, a figure stood with his back turned, gazing at the pillars.

Zhou Heng bowed slightly. “Your Majesty, the Literary Marquis has arrived.”

The figure turned around—it was indeed Emperor Zhou, Ji Feng. Lu Fang quickly bowed, inwardly sighing, “What bad luck—I should’ve come later.”

“No need for formalities.”

Emperor Zhou smiled lightly. “Literary Marquis, do you know what these are?”

Lu Fang looked up where the Emperor pointed—toward the eight stone pillars of the Five Elements and Eight Trigrams. Upon closer inspection, he noticed only three of the dragon carvings were golden; the rest were transparent.

“Your servant dares not speculate.”

Lu Fang replied cautiously—he had no idea what these pillars were. Better to say nothing than risk saying the wrong thing.

Emperor Zhou, still facing away, spoke solemnly:

“These are the Dragon Aura Pillars, used by the Celestial Observatory to sense the fate of the Great Zhou. Each pillar is two zhang long. Originally, the Great Zhou’s fate measured only five zhang—because of you, it rose to six zhang half a month ago.”

Lu Fang had heard of this—the Great Zhou’s fate had increased by four chi half a month ago, forcing the northern barbarian infestation to retreat, leading to a great victory for the Zhenbei Army.

But it wasn’t solely his doing. Without Pei Kuang, Lingxiao Daoist, and the others, he could’ve done nothing alone.

Thinking of this, Lu Fang spoke seriously: “Your servant dares not claim sole credit. This achievement is the result of everyone’s united effort.”

“Hahaha…”

Emperor Zhou threw back his head and laughed. “Don’t be so modest. Merit must be rewarded—I will certainly grant rewards according to contribution, and you are undoubtedly the foremost. Coincidentally, I just met you today. I heard you wish to spread the Great Zhou Gazette?”

Lu Fang replied eagerly, “Your Majesty, if the Gazette could be spread across all nineteen provinces, it would benefit both the people and the state without downside.”

Emperor Zhou fell silent for a moment, then sighed. “The northern and southern borders are constantly threatened by barbarians and demons—we must expand the army to deter them. The Minister of Revenue keeps begging me for funds. There’s simply no way to fund Gazette dissemination now.”

Lu Fang sighed inwardly. If the Emperor himself had said it, spreading the Great Zhou Gazette was unlikely in the near term.

Emperor Zhou continued: “But it’s not impossible. The path would be fraught with peril—but if you’re willing to undertake it, your chance of success is four in ten.”