Chapter 572: Nourishing the People

Winter brought snow as the sun rose and set.

This year’s weather was abnormal; even in the south, a thin layer of snow had fallen, covering the cobblestones of Guanyi City’s streets, causing pedestrians to stumble and slip with every step.

The old shopkeeper of Huichun Hall shook the coarse cloth of his garment.

Made of wool felt-like material, it repelled wind and snow; a single shake and a palm wipe scattered the thin snow, preventing cold from penetrating his body—he had never worn such things in days past.

After Qin seized Chen’s former lands, state-run trade routes opened to all four directions, bringing wool and leather in endless supply from the Western Regions and the steppes; even the mountain guards at the farthest edge of the Western Regions’ holy mountain could drink tea from Jiangnan and ingest Central Plains herbs to strengthen their qi and blood.

Fishermen from Jiangnan could now wear thick gear and fish all night, ignoring winter’s chill; the era seemed unchanged in outward appearance, yet had undergone a cataclysmic transformation.

The old shopkeeper stepped out and saw the Mo Family’s mechanical carts on the road.

They resembled massive carriages, powered by mechanisms—slow compared to galloping warhorses, yet far more comfortable than walking on two legs.

They moved along fixed routes.

Only on main roads, and a single copper coin sufficed for a ride.

He could now pull out a copper coin as naturally as breathing, squeeze inside, squint, and listen to the passengers discussing recent events: after His Majesty the Qin Emperor subdued Ying Guo, war had vanished from all quarters, and the world had finally entered the long-awaited era of peace—three hundred years in the making.

Peace…

The old shopkeeper pondered those two words.

Sometimes, he did not know what they truly meant.

A cry rang out; the old shopkeeper turned his wooden face and saw a young woman inside the crowded Mo Family cart, exasperated: “You went off to play again?”

“Your tutor says you got nine out of ten calculations wrong!”

The child stubbornly retorted: “How do you know I’m wrong?!”

The woman reached out, pinched the child’s ear, and twisted it sharply:

“How do I know?!”

“Eight or nine years ago, when His Majesty the Qin Emperor pioneered universal schooling, I was the very first student to enroll. The tutor teaching you now? She was my junior classmate. You—you!”

“You haven’t even memorized the Nine Palaces Eight Shoulders Diagram!!”

Her voice carried urgency, frustration, and a touch of helpless amusement.

The woman looked no older than twenty-three or twenty-four; at this age in this era, women were long married with children. Eight or nine years ago, at fourteen or fifteen, enrolling in elementary school was natural for her.

To her, it was perfectly ordinary.

But her words stunned the old shopkeeper—he could not fathom why the phrase “the mere Nine Palaces Eight Shoulders Diagram” struck him so deeply, given his experience of both past and present.

Just over a decade ago, a humble herbalist had been noticed by the Xue family precisely because, at thirteen or fourteen, he had solved the Nine Palaces Diagram and became a minor arithmetic clerk. Now, this child was barely seven or eight, yet expected to master such things as a matter of course.

The feeling of change flowed like water, spreading silently.

The old shopkeeper stood dazed for a long while.

“...Peace.”

He watched the crowd on the street—no longer the opulent grandeur of old Chen’s capital, yet pulsing with an unspoken hope. Even if daily life remained unchanged, the eight words “The realm at peace, war no more” were enough to stir a quiet, profound emotion as he chewed them silently between his lips.

The old shopkeeper squeezed into the Mo Family cart and arrived at a small tavern far quicker than before. The fat shopkeeper’s hair was white, smiling as he raised the tavern’s flag; seeing him, he waved him over.

“Come, drink!”

The fat shopkeeper laid out a feast of meat and wine on the table, even stewed mutton; the old shopkeeper was startled: “You’re spending so lavishly today?”

The fat shopkeeper replied: “I don’t know why. Taxes were lowered again.”

“Mutton and pork cost less than before; cloth is much cheaper too.”

“But we don’t understand these things. All we know is grain prices have stabilized—nothing like the days of Duke Li, when prices jumped every few days. Come, taste my cooking!”

The fat tavern keeper beamed. The old shopkeeper took off his thick outer garment and hung it aside, sat down, and the shopkeeper still poured him a cup of wine—one copper coin’s worth. The old shopkeeper lifted the cup, gazing outside.

Long, long moments passed. Finally, his wooden face softened into a gentle smile.

“Good days.”

The fat shopkeeper laughed heartily: “Yes! Come, drink, drink!”

Both were long past youth—especially the old shopkeeper, now over seventy. Had he not been a physician and tended his body, he’d have long since perished. The fat shopkeeper, too, was over fifty, his hair now mostly white.

The fat shopkeeper tidied up, wiped his hands, and sat down beside him.

One street. One tavern. Two old friends. One table of meat and wine.

The fat shopkeeper said: “Your one-copper-coin wine.”

“Here!”

The Huichun Hall shopkeeper, though fond of wine, never overindulged. He came only for one cup—worth one copper coin—enough to warm him, never to intoxicate. They clinked cups.

As always, the old shopkeeper raised the cup to his lips and drank it down in one gulp.

A fierce heat surged down his throat.

“Cough! Cough! Cough! Cough!!!”

His face flushed crimson; he coughed violently: “This—this wine—”

The fat shopkeeper said: “Grain prices fell. The wine’s quality improved.”

“Meaning,” he burst into laughter, “in the old days, with high taxes and expensive grain, your one-copper-coin wine was watered down!”

The old shopkeeper opened his mouth, but the liquor surged through him—dizziness, then exhilaration. He tried to rise, stumbled backward, and collapsed into his seat, pointing at the fat shopkeeper, unable to speak, only laughing.

Both roared with laughter, utterly delighted.

The fat shopkeeper said: “You know your characters—name this new wine for me.”

The old shopkeeper rose unsteadily, wrote two large characters on red paper in one swift motion, then flung the brush aside with careless abandon.

He held the cup of pure, unwatered wine and said:

“So this is what peace truly is—found only in the daily lives of the people.”

What passed for peace was merely in the everyday lives of the common folk.

The old shopkeeper pitched forward, collapsed onto the table, and fell into deep sleep. The fat shopkeeper slowly sipped his pure, one-copper-coin liquor, watching the crowd outside. Drunk, he leaned forward and saw the two characters on the new wine jar.

The old shopkeeper lurched forward, collapsed onto the table, and fell into a deep sleep; the fat shopkeeper slowly sipped the undiluted one-cash fiery liquor, watching the crowd pass by, and peered ahead through the liquor’s haze.

These characters did not resemble the illegible script of Huichun Hall’s medicine prescriptions—they seemed infused with the wine’s fiery spirit, their strokes bold and fierce.

The fat shopkeeper picked up his brush, added one more character: “Drunk.”

These two characters did not resemble the illegible script of a prescription written at Huichun Hall—they seemed infused with the fierce scent of liquor, and so the brushstroke grew bold and fierce.

Then he, too, slumped drunkenly onto the table.

After Qin crushed Ying Guo, its officials and noble families offered little resistance—how could they resist? Their emperor was a mere youth, yet the realm’s greatest general, a legend of martial arts, a titan of strength.

This sovereign could not be killed, no matter how hard they tried.

Even if the noble families poured all their strength into battle, they might only graze his skin.

There was no way to win.

Surrender. Surrender.

Yet they trembled, terrified of facing the man famed across the realm—and in some ways, across history—[Xiyu Yan Daiqing].

But thankfully, thankfully—

Yet their hearts trembled, for they truly feared facing the man whose fame stirred the world, and in some measure, echoed through the annals of a thousand autumns—[Xiyu Yan Daiqing]—but thankfully, thankfully.

It was a young man, calm, trustworthy, gentle in demeanor—Wen Qingyu.

As they conversed, the remaining lords of Ying Guo sighed: “We are truly fortunate Wen Qingyu came. We were terrified.”

“We feared it would be Yan Daiqing. Had he come, we would surely have been doomed.”

Wen Qingyu smiled warmly: “His Majesty the Qin Emperor is no bloodthirsty tyrant.”

“At most, you lose your former power and privilege—how is that doom?”

The noble families sighed deeply: “Our families have served as ministers for generations. Without power, we sink to the level of commoners—is that not the ruin of our lineage?!”

“Oh?”

Wen Qingyu’s smile grew even warmer, more sincere.

He raised his cup: “If so, perhaps I can help you?”

The noble families pleaded: “We know His Majesty’s might. We do not wish to fight him. We submit—but we beg him to preserve our families.”

Wen Qingyu smiled: “You are all excellent people.”

“Fine noble houses. I know you rarely commit corruption or abuse your power. Compared to Chen Guo, the Central Plains, or those slain by Emperor Jiang Wanxiang, you are among the best.”

“How could I not speak well of you?”

The elder nobles sighed in relief—when a calm voice spoke:

“Among noble houses, some abuse power and defy ancestral command; some amass wealth and oppress men and women; some rely solely on clan strength, caring only for their own interests. Noble houses, like people, contain both good and evil.”

“But do you know what matters most to His Majesty?”

The cold voice carried a quiet, unyielding tone.

As it fell, Wen Qingyu’s gentle, sincere expression froze slightly. The door to this hidden chamber suddenly burst open—and a young man, around thirty, as pure and clear as jade, stepped in.

Dressed in white, adorned with blue bamboo patterns, a blue sash tied his hair.

At his waist hung a long sword and a jade of pale green and white.

An elder scholar answered: “One who upholds good and eradicates evil.”

The young man smiled gently, like jade:

“The dead nobles matter most.”

Silence fell. The nobles’ faces turned ashen. Wen Qingyu sighed: “You say that, and how can I possibly help you?”

The elder turned pale: “You—you!”

“Who are you?! We will speak to His Majesty! To Wen Qingyu!”

“This concerns countless noble families—”

The gentle young man stepped forward half a pace and said calmly:

“Yes—it concerns the welfare of all under heaven!”

“How can your so-called aristocratic families be compared to the common people of the realm?!”

These words crushed all the old man’s hopes; he gasped for breath, then, as if by habit, asked as the clans always did when pressuring others: “Who—exactly—are you?!”

The young man, whose aura was pure and whose bearing was like jade, shook his sleeve and spoke evenly:

“I am Yan Daiqing.”

At those three words,

it was as if all the air in the room had been drained away.

The aristocrats fell utterly silent; a crushing despair settled over them. The old man’s face turned white, then green, then red—he was a renowned scholar, yet those three words alone caused him to spew blood and collapse backward.

“Ah, Grandfather! Grandfather, what’s wrong?!”

“Grandfather! Where’s the physician?! His pulse has stopped!”

“He’s… dead…”

“Grandfather was frightened to death by Yan Daiqing!”

Wen Qingyu’s lips twitched.

Yan Daiqing’s expression didn’t change; he looked at Wen Qingyu, whose expression didn’t change either.

Not at all refreshing!

………………

Sa Atanti sighed.

Mr. Wen Qingyu and Mr. Yan Daiqing seemed to have fought again; when angered, one felt the other had ruined his reputation, while the other insisted this time it was the first who had spoken those three words himself.

Sa Atanti sat atop the roof, just as she had in her youth in the Western Regions, a scroll on her knees, brush dipped in ink, writing one character after another with immense grandeur upon the white paper.

The historian’s brush is a blade.

【Emperor Li Huiguan I, virtue surpassing all emperors, merit overshadowing the Red Emperor】

【He first assumed the full title of Emperor of Great Qin】

【At twenty, he set about governing the four directions; by thirty, he ruled over millions, first unifying the realm through martial prowess, finally winning distant peoples through civil virtue】

【His talents in both civil and military affairs surpassed all before him; he marshaled heroes, gathered the wise, favored clever strategy, delighted in honest counsel; he rescued the people from fire and water and placed them upon soft mats; he transformed bandits into gentlemen, sighs into songs】

【Food and clothing were abundant; punishments lay unused; the chieftains of the Tujue submitted as vassals; the Northern Frontier and Western Regions became commanderies and counties】

【All under heaven became one state; the Nine Provinces and the Four Seas were unified】

【Since the Three Dynasties, never had the Central Plains known such glory】

————《Historical Records · Annals I》

“Hey! Hey!! A Zhao!”

A voice came; Sa Atanti looked down and saw the young man Xue Changqing—he too had secretly entered the battlefield, following General Yuwen Lie’s army, a fresh scar on his face.

This fellow had told Xue Daoyong he wanted to go to war.

Xue Daoyong told him to go to the fiercest front.

He meant only to let Xue Changqing be tempered, to burn off his lingering restlessness—but Xue Daoyong had merely given a pep talk, never imagining he was speaking to an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old boy.

Xue Changqing took him seriously.

Without another word, he rushed straight to the front, clashed with Yuwen’s army, and adopted a pseudonym.

He personally earned battlefield merit; watching comrades fall one by one, his eyes turned red, and he became a true Qilin Soldier, slaying many foes before collapsing from exhaustion upon the field.

Sa Atanti was always calm, yet when she believed Xue Changqing had died, her vision blurred and she nearly fainted.

Later, when she found him using a miraculous technique, the boy was still recovering with his comrades at the rear, loudly demanding to return to the front to crush the fleeing enemy and earn more merit.

Xue Changqing, who had spent years bickering and playing with Sa Atanti, saw the girl in tears, his head spun, and he proposed marriage—whereupon the girl, raised in the Western Regions alongside Mr. Yan Daiqing and Mr. Wen Qingyu, the former tribal priestess, publicly “forced a kiss” upon him.

All his battlefield comrades froze.

Xue Changqing froze even harder.

Watching the boy, Sa Atanti dragged the still-injured Xue Changqing back and beat him senseless; by the time the report reached the front, the army was still engaged, and the Emperor was campaigning across the land.

The Almighty Lei Laomeng froze.

The Almighty Lei Laomeng pondered.

The Almighty Lei Laomeng, behind the frontlines, crafted everything needed for the wedding himself.

Xue Changqing and Sa Atanti married on the battlefield.

When the news reached the rear, to the ears of Yan Daiqing and Wen Qingyu,

it was already an invitation.

Xue Daoyong’s laughter never ceased; this time, he didn’t just clap Wen Qingyu on the shoulder—he clapped Yan Daiqing on the shoulder, then Wen Qingyu again, then Fang Qiao on the shoulder, then Xu Tiange and Pan Wanxiu on the shoulder.

“Young people, young people.”

“Hahahaha!”

Later, Mr. Yan Daiqing felt as if a little daughter he had raised had been snatched away by a reckless, brash youth—his stomach ached terribly, and to escape the pain, he went to Ying Guo and vented his fury upon the clans.

This time, Ying Guo stood against the clans.

There were two Yan Daiqings!

At that moment, Xue Changqing’s eyes sparkled with a dopey grin as he shouted to Sa Atanti:

“What do you want?”

Xue Changqing scratched his head. “I just wanted to call you.”

Sa Atanti said: “I must continue writing.”

Xue Changqing called again: “A Zhao!”

Sa Atanti: “Mm.”

“A Zhao! A Zhao!”

“Mm.”

Even though Sa Atanti was busy, she always answered Xue Changqing’s calls—so his smile grew even wider, his mouth stretching to his ears, until he finally remembered his urgent matter and said:

“Ah, right—I came under military orders. There’s a critical matter requiring the Emperor’s personal decision, but no one has been able to find His Majesty anywhere.”

“You are His Majesty’s Imperial Historian and his Chronicler of Daily Affairs.”

“So I thought—you might know where His Majesty is right now?”

“A Zhao, where is His Majesty?”