Xiao Jingyan interrupted him.
A gleam of profound calculation flashed in the prince's eyes. The sharp instincts honed from years at the heart of power struggles led him to a decision.
"The memorial to the throne must be sent, but its contents must be altered."
"Tell your uncle to... stay his hand."
Song Yubai was puzzled. "Why?"
Xiao Jingyan stood up, walked over to Song Yubai, and patted his shoulder.
"Xu Qinghuan is a sharp sword, far too keen and far too shocking to the world. If we make a grand spectacle of praising her now, it will only serve to destroy her. She would be torn apart by those pedantic purists in the court who only know how to read dead books, and the conservative factions protecting their vested interests."
"We need to protect her."
"Let her finish this game of chess here in Taoyuan County. Tell your uncle to just keep crying poor, but secretly, he must cooperate with every move the Xu family makes."
"Do you understand?"
Looking at the young prince before him, a tempest of shock and realization surged within Song Yubai's heart.
This was clearly an alliance!
His Highness the Third Prince intended to take Xu Qinghuan, and indeed the entire Xu family, under his wing, using them as his most powerful trump card in the battle for the throne!
And he himself would be the bridge between this trump card and the imperial court.
An unprecedented sense of mission welled up within him. Song Yubai straightened his back, his gaze as resolute as iron.
"I understand! I am willing to serve as the vanguard... between Your Highness and the Master!"
Xiao Jingyan smiled.
This time, it was a genuine smile.
"Go. Watch closely and learn well. Every brick in this Taoyuan County is a masterpiece of brilliance."
...
Half an hour later, at the relay station.
A swift horse galloped off, leaving a trail of dust in its wake, carrying an urgent message tube marked with three feathers.
Inside the tube was the family letter Song Yubai had stayed up all night to revise. The letter contained not a single word of complaint; instead, between the lines, it was filled with thrilling revelations and tantalizing prospects. The handwriting was even somewhat messy, betraying his intense excitement.
Meanwhile, far away in the capital, the Right Vice Minister of the Ministry of Revenue was sighing with a bitter face at his empty silver vaults.
The Capital, Ministry of Revenue Office.
Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, pressing down oppressively. Outside the window, the old scholar tree stood like a decaying sculpture, exuding an aura of death that made it hard for anyone to catch their breath.
The Right Vice Minister of Revenue, Song Zhiyuan, was slumped in his grand armchair. His official hat was tilted to one side, and his usually meticulously groomed long beard was now as messy as withered autumn grass.
On the desk before him lay two completely empty account books. The national treasury of the Great Qian Dynasty was truly cleaner than a freshly washed face.
"My Lord, the Ministry of Works is pressing us urgently, sending demands one after another like death warrants."
A clerk, hunched over, stammered out his words: "They say that the glazed tiles for His Majesty's Longevity Palace are still nowhere to be seen. If the funds aren't secured by the end of the month, they're going to halt the construction."
"Halt the construction?"
Song Zhiyuan slammed his palm heavily onto the desk, rattling the brush holder so hard it clattered. Pointing right at the clerk's nose, he scolded, "Let them halt it! The northern border troops are short a full eight hundred thousand taels of silver for their pay. The soldiers guarding the frontier are still braving the freezing cold in thin, unlined garments, and he wants to build a Longevity Palace at a time like this? Does he expect to enjoy a long life in his palace, or is he planning to have the Northern Cang cavalry wish him a happy birthday when they trample through the gates of the capital?!"
Instantly, you could hear a pin drop in the main hall.
If such words were to leak out, they would be enough to bring about a fatal disaster. But everyone present knew the glaring truth—this job was a hot potato for whoever took it. Ever since the Jiazi National Disaster, those humiliating treaties had practically sucked every last drop of blood from Great Qian. Although Song Zhiyuan held the prestigious title of Vice Minister, his daily work was essentially that of a beggar chief, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, struggling to keep things afloat.
"My Lord, how about... we find some excuse to increase the taxes a little more?" someone ventured, shrinking their neck back timidly.
"Increase my foot!" Song Zhiyuan's eyes widened into furious circles. "Jiangnan has already been taxed an extra thirty percent just for military training funds. If we increase it any further, are you complaining that the refugees haven't formed a large enough mob, or do you think the rebels are taking too long to rise up?"
The hall fell into utter despondency. An oppressive sense of impending doom roamed through every corner of the Ministry of Revenue's main hall.
Just then, the urgent clatter of horse hooves shattered the dead silence.
"Report!!!"
A relay courier tumbled off his horse, practically sliding across the floor as he rushed into the hall. He held high a bamboo tube marked with three bright red feathers. His voice was as hoarse as if it had been ground against a stone mill: "Urgent dispatch from Yuzhou! Eight-hundred-li urgent! It's... it's a family letter from Young Master Song!"
"Yubai?"
Song Zhiyuan's brows knitted tightly together. That bastard boy had run off to the desolate lands of Yuzhou, claiming he was touring the mountains and rivers. How dare he use an eight-hundred-li urgent military dispatch just to send a family letter? Was he afraid the censors of the Censorate wouldn't drown his old uncle in their spit?
"That rebellious brat, he must have caused some heaven-shaking disaster out there again!"
Cursing under his breath, Song Zhiyuan snatched the bamboo tube, flicked off the wax seal with his fingernail, and shook open the letter. The handwriting on the paper was messy and twisted, with ink splattered across the page. It was obvious that the writer's fingers had been trembling violently, in a state of extreme excitement.
The very first line made Song Zhiyuan's breath catch in his throat.
Uncle! Stop complaining about being poor! Quickly, cooperate with me to put on a show! Your nephew has discovered a mountain of gold in Taoyuan County, but this gold mountain requires a massive undertaking, and we need your esteemed prestige to hold the stage!
"Put on a show? A mountain of gold?"
Song Zhiyuan let out a scoff at this absurd nonsense. "He's gone mad. The brat must have been possessed by some evil spirit out there! I'm sitting here worrying about where to find a rope to hang myself, and he actually has the nerve to spin these ghost stories?"
His subordinates exchanged glances, secretly thinking that the Song family's only heir had truly ruined himself in the Central Plains. However, as his eyes slowly moved down the page, Song Zhiyuan's face turned from red to blue, and from blue to white. The hands holding the letter began to shake uncontrollably.
The words in the letter were extremely brief, yet every sentence was astonishing:
Does Uncle know that gold and silver, when hoarded and kept still, are nothing more than stubborn rocks? Only when they circulate and flow can they transform into lifeblood.
There is a Lady Qinghuan of the Xu family in Taoyuan, who is truly a prodigy. First, she used absurdly cheap cement to pave roads for the masses, and then she built a Glazed Heavenly Palace, setting astronomical prices that enticed wealthy merchants from all corners to spend their gold like dirt!
Those so-called expensive luxury items are nothing but a sharp blade slicing the fat off the rich on behalf of the imperial court! Cleansing mud at five taels a piece, fragrant dew at fifty taels a bottle—in essence, these are surplus taxes levied upon those misers!
Uncle! How is this mere business? This is clearly the Xu family draining the long-hoarded savings of those wealthy merchants and landlords to feed the frontier armies of our Great Qian!
These unfamiliar concepts felt like a heavy blow to his chest. As the chief accountant of Great Qian, Song Zhiyuan might not have been exposed to any foreign economic theories, but he possessed a profound insight into human nature.
He knew all too well where the root of Great Qian's illness lay—the wealth was entirely buried in the cellars of the local gentry and wealthy landlords, left to gather rust. With a severe shortage of silver circulating in the market, the common people naturally couldn't survive.
Xu Qinghuan's method was tantamount to forcefully carving open a floodgate in a stagnant pool of dead water! Using those transparent stones that couldn't be eaten or drunk, she was actually exchanging them for the real gold and silver held by those old misers?
"Brilliant... truly brilliant!"
