Chapter 140

Ji Binglin had always been a pragmatic official, and he firmly believed that the emperor he served was also one who took a practical approach.

On matters concerning the court—both its strengths and weaknesses, the successes and failures of national policies—his ministers had always spoken with frankness to the sovereign.

Unfortunately, such blunt honesty had now been misdirected.

Minister Ji had hit the sore spot with precise accuracy.

That woman, once she left the Crown Prince’s residence, had acted as if she had broken free from her reins—indulging in freedom, surrounded by temptations.

Among the officials, there were sycophants like Ji Wujiang, always eager to fawn over her.

Among the noblemen from various states, there were smooth-talking figures like Liu Pei, skilled in flattery and adept at winning hearts.

Though she was cunning and possessed a bit of wit, she was still a young woman.

Once submissive and humble in his presence, she was now being elevated and worshipped by those wretched men at every turn—how could she not be swayed?

At first, Feng Liwu had utterly despised Jiang Xiurun’s heartlessness.

But now, he felt that though she had erred, it was merely due to her youth and ignorance—unable to distinguish a man’s true intentions.

Relying on her status as a royal princess, she had the privilege to act recklessly.

She had borne Ji Wujiang’s child, yet refused to marry him—a clear sign that she had recognized he was not a good man.

But if she were to agree to marry Liu Pei, would she even have the chance to regret it later?

That nonsense about ‘not minding that she had another man’s child’? Utter rubbish.

Anyone with eyes could see that Liu Pei’s true intention lay in Bo State—this was a political marriage aimed at annexation.

Ji Binglin’s words had stirred a storm in Feng Liwu’s heart.

His face darkened for a long moment before he finally waved his hand, ordering his men to pack up and return to Luo’an.

When Jiang Xiurun received the news that Ji Binglin and his party had left Mei city and were heading back to Qi, she let out a long sigh of relief.

She knew Feng Liwu’s temperament well—he was proud and aloof.

If he truly believed she had secretly borne another man’s child, then their fates would be severed for life.

Perhaps he would feel a trace of unwillingness, but he would never treat her with the same affection as before.

Back then, when Empress Wei had an illicit affair, Feng Liwu had erupted in fury.

If this were to sever all lingering emotions between them, so be it.

It would be a relief for both.

He could continue his path as the emperor of Qi, expanding his empire, while she could remain in the remote northern, governing her own small state.

As for Liu Pei’s marriage proposal, Jiang Xiurun naturally had no intention of accepting it.

Upon returning to Yang city, she first borrowed the royal decree from emperor Jiang to seize the estates and lands of the Shen family.

Those who had engaged in corruption and misconduct—men and women, young and old—were executed on the spot.

The remaining women and children were exiled as punishment, preventing the Shen family from stirring up further trouble.

Afterward, she strengthened the capital’s military forces and announced the passing of emperor Jiang.

In his own handwriting, emperor Jiang had explicitly declared in his decree that the throne would pass to the eldest princess, ensuring the bloodline of Bo State’s ancestors was carried forward.

Some questioned the authenticity of the decree, but Jiang Xiurun had the backing of General Jin Kui, and even the eldest prince himself affirmed that his sister was the reincarnation of the holy maiden Adaishan, declaring that her succession was a divine blessing upon Bo State.

Jiang Xiurun’s years of governance among the common people had earned her the people’s trust.

After all, she carried the blood of Bo State’s former rulers—compared to emperor Jiang, who was of Han descent, she bore a far closer resemblance to the wise sovereigns of Bo’s past.

Of course, among the ministers, some found this amusing.

Deeply influenced by Central Plains ideology, they firmly believed that “women and petty men are difficult to manage.”

Entrusting a woman with the rule of a state was the height of absurdity!

If this were an era of peace and prosperity, letting her stir things up might have been tolerable.

But with unrest on the rise, how could Bo State’s meager foundation withstand such turmoil? If this continued, wouldn’t it spell disaster for the state?

Thus, messengers flocked to the eldest prince’s residence, urging Jiang Zhi to take charge of national affairs and prevent a woman from ascending the throne.

But no one understood his sister’s abilities better than Jiang Zhi himself.

Back when the two of them were sent to Luo’an, they had been surrounded by peril—Shen Yong harbored ill intentions, and Empress Shen wielded power behind the scenes, exerting relentless pressure.

The dangers had been immense.

Yet he, as an elder brother, had been a failure, always relying on his younger sister’s protection.

She had been just shy of seventeen at the time, yet she had handled everything personally—going so far as to offer herself to the Crown Prince to secure their livelihood.

Under his sister’s protection, he had been able to study at the academy, marry a virtuous wife, and have a loving child—his life had been smooth and untroubled.

How could he now have the audacity to compete with his sister for the throne?

His sister, aside from not being male, lacked nothing in wisdom and vision—why would she be unfit to rule?

Thus, though the ministers’ protests raged like an unceasing tide, the eldest prince remained steadfast as a rock, unmoved in his resolve.

And so, that winter, after emperor Jiang’s grand funeral, Bo State’s court officials unsealed an ancient ceremonial sandalwood box, retrieving the crown once worn by the holy maiden Adaishan—an heirloom adorned with the seven-colored gemstones of succession.

They carefully wiped away the dust, polished it anew, and placed it upon the head of Bo State’s second-ever empress.

The new empress took on the ancestral title of Bo State and proclaimed herself Empress Yaren.

“Yaren” meant “strength” in Bo State’s native tongue.

The moment Jiang Xiurun donned the crown, she fully understood the weight of her responsibility.

In the past, she had fought against fate for the sake of herself and her brother.

But now, with the crown upon her head, it was not just her own struggle—it was the fate of millions of Bo State’s citizens that rested on her shoulders.

Rescuing Bo State from its impending downfall would be an even greater challenge than any she had faced before.

She had thought rejecting the marriage proposal from the Prince of Liang would require some effort.

But unexpectedly, Liang suddenly fell into crisis, unable to even concern itself with alliances.

After the recent assembly of states, Liang had resumed its old tactics—coercing smaller states into lending troops and demanding tribute.

In the northern, Liang had long been dominant, and many rulers had chosen to pay tribute simply to buy peace.

But now, Qi had sent envoys to the various states, openly declaring that Liang’s extortion violated principles of righteousness.

The emperor of Qi, believing in the equality of all states, could not bear to see Liang engage in such oppressive acts.

Thus, Qi declared that if Liang were to launch an invasion due to unpaid tribute, Qi would send troops to intervene.

With the Qi emperor’s decree in hand, the rulers of the northern finally had the excuse and confidence to reject Liang’s demands.

Refusing to pay tribute was a minor issue, but offending the emperor of Qi was a major one.

And so, the fat morsel Liang had always feasted upon was suddenly out of reach this year.

Liu Pei even sent a letter to the Qi emperor, protesting that he should not interfere in the internal affairs of the northern.

The emperor’s reply was brutally mocking:

“A groom gathers his bride’s dowry—golden hairpins and jeweled headdresses beyond count. Rumor has it that the splendor is dazzling to the eye. Clearly, Liang is rich and prosperous. If your coffers are so full, why steal from the poor to feed the rich? The might of Qi is built upon upholding justice. Even if the northwest is far, those who transgress shall be punished!”

The letter was overflowing with righteousness, but it left an unbearable sourness in the mouth—especially for Liu Pei.

The moment he saw the mention of “dowry,” he immediately understood.

Damn it! Feng Liwu was drowning in jealousy!

Simply because he intended to marry Jiang Xiurun, he had provoked Qi into biting down like a rabid dog.

Stripping away the flowery language of the imperial edict, what remained was essentially this: “Since you’ve got the silver to marry my former woman, don’t think you can get rich while sleeping with my woman! Just wait for the armies of Great Qi to press into the borders of Liang!”

Since things had escalated to this point, Liu Pei naturally couldn’t just take the hit lying down.

His high-profile wedding in Mei city had enraged the Great Qi, and he was severely reprimanded by emperor Liang for it.

While Liang was suffering from having its sources of income cut off, Feng Liwu’s relentless retaliation continued.

Ji Wujiang narrowly escaped death multiple times, with blades and swords flashing past his body, leaving him so terrified that he no longer dared to step outside his residence.

Jiang Xiurun saw the methods used and understood immediately—she had only mentioned Ji Wujiang in passing to brush off Feng Liwu, yet it had nearly cost Ji Wujiang his life.

With Feng Liwu’s ruthlessness, he would never rest until Ji Wujiang was dead!

Left with no choice, she not only strengthened the security around Ji Wujiang’s Prime Minister’s Residence but also carefully drafted a letter to Feng Liwu.

In it, she clarified that Ji Wujiang was not the father of her child and accused him of being too cruel—was he planning to slaughter all the men in the world?

Though Bo and Great Qi’s capital, Luo’an, were separated by towering mountains and vast rivers, Feng Liwu somehow managed to have his reply delivered in record time.

When Jiang Xiurun received his letter, she was barefoot, standing on a field ridge outside Yang city.

Even before ascending the throne, she had already made arrangements to secure the people’s food supply.

She had entrusted her sister-in-law to use their shops across various states to purchase high-yield rice seeds from the south at a high price.

Due to the cold and dry climate of the northern, crops mainly consisted of millet and wheat, with very little rice cultivation.

However, after surveying Bo’s terrain, Jiang Xiurun discovered a vast stretch of land outside Yang city, connected to Mei city, surrounded by mountain ranges that formed a natural basin.

Thanks to this mountainous enclosure, the region enjoyed mild winters.

If irrigation channels could be built to direct water from Mei city, and the fields were properly maintained, harvesting rice three times a year would be entirely feasible.

Rice was a rare commodity in the northern, highly sought after by the aristocracy.

By exchanging the limited rice yield for millet and coarse grain, she could feed the many starving citizens of Bo.

However, when she proposed this idea in the royal court, it was met with fierce opposition.

Even the elder ministers who usually supported her found it absurd, arguing that planting rice in the barren northern was unheard of and utterly preposterous.

But designing irrigation channels was Jiang Xiurun’s specialty.

After surveying the land with experts, she personally drafted precise engineering blueprints, marking areas for water retention and dam construction with detailed accuracy.

Her thorough preparations caught the court officials off guard.

Though some remained skeptical, others began seriously considering the feasibility of her plan.

Construction on the irrigation channels continued even through the winter, as the proximity to Mei city made water diversion convenient.

By spring, the cultivated seedlings had sprouted, and under the guidance of veteran rice farmers from the south—whom the empress had specially invited—Bo’s farmers meticulously transplanted the young rice shoots into the paddies.

Initially, the southern farmers had been bewildered by the idea of growing rice in the northern.

But upon arriving at the land known as Funiu’ao, they couldn’t help but nod approvingly.

The rich, black soil, the warm winds sweeping through the fields, and the fresh, sweet water all signaled one thing—this rice would grow beautifully.

Gaining the approval of the veteran farmers, Jiang Xiurun, who had been feeling her way through this endeavor like crossing a river by groping for stones, finally let out a quiet sigh of relief.

These rice seeds were fast-growing; if the heavens were merciful and granted the people of Bo a good harvest, the first batch of rice would be ready by early summer.

Although she had been patrolling the fields all day, her boots caked with mud, her mood remained light and content.

Taking a deep breath of the warm wind carrying the earthy scent of the soil, she slowly unfolded Feng Liwu’s letter.

She had expected the pages to be filled with threats.

Yet, to her surprise, the words within were as gentle as a spring breeze brushing against her face.

The letter spoke only of how, in the midst of his official duties, he often reminisced about the nights they once spent working side by side, sharing a desk by candlelight.

That very desk they had once used together had been left untouched in the imperial study, exactly as it was, in hopes that one day they might sit there again, trimming candle wicks as they worked.

Furthermore, upon hearing that she had inherited the throne of Bo and was now preoccupied with state affairs, leaving little time for matters of the heart, he expressed his approval.

To aid her governance, he had carefully selected ten carts’ worth of classic texts on rulership and philosophy, hoping she would take the time to study them.

Additionally, knowing of the popular children’s toys in Luo’an, he had ordered the Imperial Household Department to produce a large batch and send them for her young son to enjoy…

The letter, long and flowing, read like a husband’s letter from afar—full of warmth, care, and tenderness, as if he were a distant spouse inquiring about the well-being of his wife and child back home.

Jiang Xiurun could barely bring herself to finish reading it.

Instead, she fixated on analyzing the strokes of the calligraphy, scrutinizing whether the handwriting had been forged by someone imitating Feng Liwu’s penmanship.