Chapter 22

Nie Qinglin, being young and inexperienced in the messy affairs of romance, couldn’t help but blush faintly.

The Grand Tutor’s words were teasing, yet his expression remained solemn—almost as if he truly believed she had taken some great advantage of his immortal-like demeanor.

For the rest of the journey, the little emperor clung tightly to the side of the carriage, gripping an embedded handle to steady herself, determined not to “accidentally take liberties” with the Grand Tutor again.

When they finally arrived, it was at a desolate, dilapidated village near the canal.

The village they visited was actually a settlement for displaced refugees near the capital.

In recent years, the Nie Dynasty had suffered continuous disasters—prefectures and counties were depleted, and the land lay in desolation.

(T/N: In the raw, it is stated as Wei Dynasty because the previous emperor, Nie Qinglin’s father, ascended the throne and was known as Emperor Wei Ming. However, to avoid confusion, not just for me but for everyone, I’m putting it as Nie Dynasty because Nie is the current royalty surname, hehe)

Desperate refugees flocked to prosperous regions in search of survival.

Yet, during one of the late emperor’s pleasure cruises, the sight of shanty towns along the canal and ragged refugees had ruined his mood.

Upon returning to the palace, he flew into a rage and ordered the refugees driven out overnight.

Some—children, the elderly, women—were even pushed into the river by soldiers, resulting in tragedy.

Now, under the Grand Tutor’s rule, though the aftermath of the disasters lingered and refugees continued to pour in, he did not drive them away.

Instead, he established gruel kitchens to help them survive the harsh winter.

Most of the funds for these gruel kitchens came from wealthy donors in the capital.

After the Grand Tutor’s sudden coup, those who hadn’t previously curried favor with him grew fearful.

When he casually mentioned the charitable kitchens, they rushed to donate silver.

In return, he bestowed honorary plaques based on their contributions.

The wealthy families competed to display these plaques, treating them as if they were “get-out-of-death-free” cards.

Thus, even while Feudal lords withheld tribute, the gruel kitchens never ran short of rice.

The Grand Tutor’s incognito visit was to one such refugee settlement.

The gruel kitchen staff assumed they were noble donors inspecting their charity work.

After polite greetings, they left them to their own devices.

The muddy paths were treacherous.

When Nie Qinglin hesitated before a particularly large puddle, the Grand Tutor—who had already crossed—glanced back, strode over, and effortlessly lifted her across like a chick, setting her down without a word before walking away.

As he released her, the Grand Tutor frowned slightly—this child was still too light…

Nie Qinglin had no time to thank him before he was already far ahead.

She walked slowly, listening to the refugees thanking the Ministry of Revenue officials: “Thank the Grand Tutor… Thank the Marquis of Dingguo…”

This was the voice of the people.

Individually insignificant, but together, they could move mountains.

She didn’t know how long Wei Lenghou had been planning these measures, but even if her father hadn’t been swayed by treacherous ministers into plotting against him, would he have tolerated a powerful minister winning the people’s hearts for long?

Her father’s death wasn’t unjust.

Even if he hadn’t fallen to Wei Lenghou’s blade, the desperate masses would have eventually overturned his extravagant, rotten reign…

This was Nie Qinglin’s first glimpse of refugee life—a stark contrast to the palace’s opulence.

The sight shook her deeply.

Finally, she sighed heavily.

Walking beside her, the Grand Tutor glanced over casually.

“Why does the young master sigh?”

Nie Qinglin watched a half-blind old man cradling his sick grandson and murmured softly, “I… sigh for the Grand Tutor. He gains no pleasure from this, yet his heart is worn thin… It was my father who failed the people.”

Then she froze—how had those inner thoughts slipped out? She stole a glance at the Grand Tutor and found him studying her with a complicated expression.

Since the coup, aside from his close allies, which official hadn’t flattered him to his face while secretly cursing him as a traitor behind his back?

If not for necessity, who would willingly take on this empire trampled by a tyrant?

Today, he’d inexplicably brought the little emperor here—why, even he couldn’t say.

Yet now, that soft, husky voice had put it into words:

“It was my father who failed the people.”

The Grand Tutor had long struggled with one question: Why had the little emperor, clearly affected when seeing him change clothes, spoken such cold words at the critical moment?

But upon reflection, the answer was obvious.

He himself had beheaded the emperor’s foolish father.

How could a fragile young boy overcome such blood-soaked vengeance?

This was the bitter fruit of his own actions.

He’d never expected the coddled dragon pearl to voice sympathy—let alone from the son of the very tyrant he’d overthrown.

The irony was palpable.

Had this child been born in peaceful times, he might have made a compassionate ruler.

But alas…

“Young masters, come here! This humble Daoist has fatefully crossed paths with you—shall I read your fortunes?”

The speaker was a gaunt, sallow-faced Daoist holding a divination banner.

His dirty beard lacked its usual ethereal flair, and his eyes were clouded.

Clearly a wandering charlatan, likely here for free gruel—until he spotted wealthy visitors in this backwater.

The Grand Tutor’s approachability had limits.

He ignored the ragged figure.

But as guards shooed the old man away, his murky eyes suddenly sharpened.

He strained forward, muttering, “Can it be…? The physiognomy described in my master’s texts—this lord bears the rebellious bone forehead and dragon-phoenix eyes! A true dragon destined to overturn heaven and earth!”

(T/N: Rebellious bone/trait, specifically, a prominent occipital bone, historically seen as a sign of treachery or rebellion.)

He lowered his voice theatrically.

The Grand Tutor, initially dismissive, paused at this.

Amused, he said, “Old man, your tongue is honeyed. Then tell me—what of my younger brother’s fate?”

The Daoist eagerly studied Wei Lenghou’s rare noble features before turning to Nie Qinglin—and stiffened.

“This… is a young lady in disguise!”

Nie Qinglin thought, This Daoist’s eyes are sharp, but her expression didn’t flicker.

Affecting a slightly deeper voice, she said, “You’re not the first to mistake me for a woman. Careful—do you want silver or a flogging?”

Years of imperial bearing and male pretense lent her authority.

The old man, seeing no reaction but slight annoyance, assumed it was a youthful androgyny.

Apologizing, he examined the “young master’s” face—then fell silent.

Assuming he was playing coy, the Grand Tutor signaled a guard to toss him silver.

“Speak, or we’ll take the coin back.”

The Daoist trembled.

“I studied under the famed mystic Ghost fortune teller. Though I’ve only grasped fragments of his art, I dare not lie—even in poverty. But what I see… you may not wish to hear.”

Nie Qinglin, assuming this was part of the Grand Tutor’s “mandate of heaven” propaganda (like Chen Sheng and Wu Guang’s “fish-belly scrolls”), smiled.

(T/N: Chen Sheng and Wu Guang, rebel leaders during the Qin dynasty (209 BCE), staged a divine omen by writing “Chen Sheng shall be king” on silk, hiding it in a fish’s belly, and having it “discovered” to legitimize their uprising—a classic propaganda tactic to claim Heaven’s mandate.)

“Speak freely. My… elder brother and I won’t punish you.”

The old man whispered, “Though fair-faced, this young master bears a fatal aura… unlikely to reach adulthood.”

“Audacity!”

Before the words fully landed, the Grand Tutor erupted in fury.

Guards immediately kicked the Daoist to the ground.

Nie Qinglin puzzled why the Grand Tutor was so into the play today.

Besides, the old man was quite pitiful, so she quickly tried to smooth things over, “Forget it, just a vagrant’s nonsense.Elder brother, why anger yourself? Let’s go.”

The Grand Tutor snorted coldly, ignoring both her and the groaning old man as he stormed back to the carriage.

Nie Qinglin, unsure what script he was following now, hurried after him, anxious not to displease him.

The poor Daoist, still clutching his silver, moaned as a kindhearted villager helped him up.

“They said speak freely, then attacked me…”

The woman sighed.

“Fool! Telling nobles they’ll die young? Lucky they paid you—others would’ve beaten you dead without consequence!”

“Ah, but my master taught me never to lie… Pity that gentle boy. Such a fate!”

“What if he’d been a girl?”

she teased.

The Daoist’s eyes lit up.

“A girl? Now that’s a destiny! Dragon bones with a phoenix head—destined to wed royalty, cherished for life! But not quite the usual empress aura… More like… dragon nesting with phoenix? Or phoenix entering dragon’s den? Baffling! Truly baffling!”