Pei Ying was unaware of the events unfolding in the front hall, as she was busy discussing preparations for "school" with Meng Ling'er.
"Me?" Meng Ling'er pointed at herself, utterly astonished.
Pei Ying smiled and gently patted the little girl's cheek. "Yes, my dear. You're so bright—learning more will only broaden your horizons. There's no harm in it. The teachers who will instruct you are all excellent scholars. Listen carefully, and if you don’t understand anything, you can always ask them or come to me afterward."
Meng Ling'er opened and closed her mouth, overwhelmed with things to say but unsure where to begin.
She remembered when she was very young, she once ran into the boy next door, Gou Dan, returning home with a small bamboo satchel on his back.
At the time, she asked him where he’d been—had he gone to pick fruit in the mountains? Gou Dan proudly lifted his chin and said no, he’d been to the county school.
She pressed him: What was a school? Was it fun?
He explained that a school was a place for learning, where teachers gave lessons and shared knowledge, and where many children his age or older gathered. He then briefly recounted what he’d learned that day.
She listened in wide-eyed wonder and declared that since they were the same age, she would go to school too. But Gou Dan shook his head and said there were no girls at school—she couldn’t go.
Furious, she immediately ran home to her father. Even now, Meng Ling'er could still recall how her father—who, in her young eyes, was already a high-ranking official—had shaken his head at her, his gaze filled with a complexity she couldn’t comprehend at the time.
"My dear, you’re a girl. School is for boys. You can’t go," her father had said.
She asked why, but he only replied that those were the rules.
Who made these rules?
Why were they made this way?
And why should she have to follow them?
As a child, she had been both confused and furious, but no one gave her answers.
As she grew older, she came to understand.
Girls couldn’t study because no teacher would accept female students. Over the years, Meng Ling'er had resigned herself to this reality—until one day, she was told that she could study, that she could be taught just like the boys!
The unshakable rules she had once known were now being shattered.
"Mother..." Meng Ling'er's voice trembled when she spoke again.
The little girl’s eyes reddened, tears welling up before spilling over like broken pearls onto her lapels.
Pei Ying pulled her into an embrace, gently stroking her hair. "Learning is a simple thing. In the future, women will receive the same education as men—and many will achieve even greater accomplishments."
Meng Ling'er murmured, "Really?"
Pei Ying kissed her forehead and wiped away her tears. "Of course it’s true."
Pei Ying thought to herself: Her arrival in this unfamiliar era was already set in stone. The world here was a pit of mud for women. But even if she was stained by its filth, she would lift her child out of it, ensuring her a life of comfort and prosperity.
Suddenly struck by a thought, Meng Ling'er straightened abruptly, her gaze flickering uncertainly at Pei Ying. "Mother... did you make some kind of deal with him? If you agreed to his terms... then I don’t want to go to school after all."
Pei Ying chuckled lightly, "Little one, you're young but full of thoughts. Don’t worry, it’s not what you’re imagining."
Meng Ling'er remained skeptical, "Really?"
Pei Ying sighed, "You’ll understand in a few days. Right now, I have business dealings with him, and given his high status, some in power have little patience for repeated offenses. Ling'er, you mustn’t act rudely around him in the future."
Meng Ling'er gave a soft acknowledgment, her heart settling slightly, though she still tossed and turned all night. By morning, dark circles hung beneath her eyes.
Now that she had her own room, she rose and went to find Pei Ying, only to be stopped by Xin Jin at the door, "Young mistress, please wait. Madam is changing her dressing."
Still groggy from sleep, Meng Ling'er responded with a slow "Oh," then stood in the small courtyard under the eaves, basking in the sunlight.
Xin Jin hadn’t lied—Pei Ying was indeed inside changing her dressing—but she hadn’t mentioned everything.
Inside the room, aside from Pei Ying, there was another person assisting with the task.
Pei Ying watched as Huo Tingshan poured the medicine Xin Jin had brewed onto a silk cloth, unsure of his intentions.
Hadn’t they settled things yesterday? Yet after a night’s rest, he acted as if nothing had happened.
She finally spoke up, "Such a trivial matter as changing a dressing shouldn’t trouble the general."
Huo Tingshan used a small twig to spread the medicine evenly across the silk. "It’s no trouble. Since Madam suffered due to the negligence of Youzhou’s patrol guards, and I lead them, it’s only right I make amends."
As the salve spread, the medicinal scent thickened in the room, masking the faint, elegant fragrance that had lingered before.
He glanced over. The beautiful woman sat beside a low table, her skirts flowing gracefully around her, her hair adorned with an exquisite gold-inlaid jade hairpin.
She had changed into the silk ruqun that young girl had purchased the other day—a pale yellow lower skirt and a violet upper robe—radiant and alluring. Now, her watery eyes held a trace of confusion, as if wondering why he was still here after yesterday’s agreement.
Huo Tingshan pretended not to notice her unspoken question. Once the salve was ready, he shifted closer to Pei Ying without a word, lifting her skirt once more.
Pei Ying’s brow twitched. "General, I can manage myself."
"Those who act decisively don’t fuss over trivialities," Huo Tingshan remarked leisurely.
Pei Ying was momentarily speechless as he proceeded.
The silk cloth was nearly overflowing with the dark brown salve, and handling it inevitably left stains. Huo Tingshan’s palm was already smeared with the medicine as he pressed the cloth against Pei Ying’s ankle.
The salve, brewed that morning, had cooled slightly but still carried warmth.
Yet the moment the silk touched her skin, Pei Ying flinched instinctively, her foot jerking back.
Huo Tingshan swiftly caught her calf with his other hand. "Enduring a brief discomfort is better than prolonged pain. Bear with it, Madam."
For easier application, Pei Ying’s leg rested on a small stool, her ankle slightly suspended.
Her skirt had ridden up just enough to reveal a slender, pale stretch of calf. Huo Tingshan’s large hand rested at the hem—half-covered by the silk, half in direct contact with her skin.
Meng Ling'er visited the finest silk emporium in Guangping Commandery, purchasing only the most exquisite fabrics. Huo Tingshan was no stranger to luxury, yet now even these silks seemed inferior to him.
The skin beneath his palm was tender and smooth as a flower bud tinged with pink, putting even the finest mutton-fat jade to shame. It was soft, fragrant, and bore the delicate refinement of one raised in indulgence.
A bizarre tale from the previous dynasty suddenly crossed Huo Tingshan’s mind.
Emperor Zheng'an of that era was obsessed with beauty, particularly flawless skin. As the ruler’s preference became known, women vying for selection into the imperial harem prioritized their complexion above all else. Even those with plain features could enter the palace—and even win the emperor’s favor—if their skin was peerless.
Among them was a daughter of the Chen family in Chang'an, famed for her skin, said to be so delicate it seemed translucent. The Chens presented their youngest daughter to the emperor, hoping to secure imperial patronage.
Indeed, Emperor Zheng'an was instantly captivated. Enchanted by her flawless complexion, he grew so obsessed that he could not bear to part with her. In the end, he ordered her skin flayed alive and preserved, wrapping it around his favorite trinket so he could carry it with him at all times, even during court sessions.
Huo Tingshan had never seen the Chen girl and could not fathom how her skin had so enthralled the emperor. But he knew one thing—if Emperor Zheng'an had laid eyes on Lady Pei, she would have met the same gruesome fate.
Unaware that Huo Tingshan’s thoughts had wandered to such macabre history, Pei Ying stiffened as he gripped her calf. The heat from his palm seeped relentlessly into her flesh, as if branding her bones.
Yet his expression remained indifferent, as though he merely sought to steady her. Once she was immobilized, he withdrew his hand and continued wrapping the silk bandage around her ankle. She had no grounds to protest.
Layer by layer, the silk tightened, and as the second fold pressed down, the medicinal salve within oozed out. By the time he finished, Pei Ying’s ankle and sole were smeared with the dark-brown ointment.
Huo Tingshan tied off the bandage. "Done. I’ll return tomorrow to change it."
Pei Ying’s delicate brows knit. "There’s no need to trouble yourself, General. If you have so much free time, perhaps you should focus on securing the scholars you promised."
He picked up a brocade handkerchief from the table and wiped his hands. "That’s hardly a challenge. Among my ranks is Gongsun Xiansheng, renowned across the land as the 'Gentlewind Recluse.' He is versed in all matters under heaven—astronomy, geography, and more. Besides him, there are several others. Meng Ling’er may choose whomever she pleases."
As he mentioned "Gentlewind Recluse," Huo Tingshan watched Pei Ying closely, yet she showed no flicker of recognition.
How could she not have heard of him? The man was a legend.
Then again, she seemed the type of sheltered noblewoman who knew nothing beyond her courtyard walls.
Pei Ying truly hadn’t. She was familiar with the "Lotus Recluse," but the world was vast, and talents were countless. The title "renowned across the land" was endorsement enough.
There was a saying: You may be gold, but Chang'an gleams with splendor. It served as a reminder—mere brilliance was commonplace among geniuses. Only the truly extraordinary stood out.
Pei Ying inclined her head. "I appreciate your efforts, General."
Just as Huo Tingshan was about to respond, Xin Jin’s voice came from outside. "My lady, Colonel Chen requests an audience."
Since striking their agreement the day before, Pei Ying had asked Huo Tingshan for an assistant. He had assigned Chen Yuan to her.
Pei Ying was quite satisfied with Chen Yuan—he spoke little, remained silent, and executed orders swiftly. Now she could add another commendable trait: high efficiency.
"Xin Jin, come help me out," Pei Ying said cheerfully.
Before the words even settled, Huo Tingshan swept her off her feet, carrying her out in long strides. "Madam’s eyes may be big, but they don’t seem to work very well," he remarked.
Pei Ying: "..."
Xin Jin, who had already stepped one foot inside, paused briefly before lowering her gaze and fetching a small stool for Pei Ying to place outside.
When Meng Ling'er saw Huo Tingshan carrying Pei Ying out, her mind momentarily blanked. Still, she remembered Pei Ying’s repeated warnings from the day before and reluctantly greeted him with a stiff, "General."
Huo Tingshan spared the girl only a glance, dismissing her, and instead fixed his attention on Chen Yuan.
Chen Yuan hadn’t come alone—two soldiers from Youzhou accompanied him, each holding a sack. After setting Pei Ying down, Huo Tingshan strode over.
Chen Yuan opened one of the sacks at his approach.
Inside, Huo Tingshan found a heap of seashells. He turned back to Pei Ying. "What do you need these oyster shells for, Madam?"
"To make treasures that can be sold for silver, of course," Pei Ying replied.
She didn’t possess the ability to turn stone into gold, so a steady stream of wealth could only come from business ventures.
Once, Pei Ying had overheard a student complain: why did nine out of ten protagonists in time-travel novels always choose to make and sell soap when they ended up in ancient times? Couldn’t the authors write about something else, like glass or cement?
Now that Pei Ying had arrived in this unfamiliar dynasty and experienced firsthand its primitive, technology-starved environment, she could answer with complete sincerity:
Because of cost-effectiveness. Soap was exceptionally cost-effective.
The process was simple, the time required short, and the profit margin compared to material costs was staggering.
In contrast, glass required a firing temperature of at least 1,500°C, and cement production demanded similar heat.
Against these alternatives, soap was the ideal choice for accumulating initial capital—minimal investment, maximal returns, practically a money-printing machine.
Hearing Pei Ying mention silver, Huo Tingshan plucked an oyster shell from the sack.
The shells had been cleaned, their flesh removed, and thoroughly dried. They looked utterly ordinary, nothing special.
"What kind of treasure does Madam intend to make?" Huo Tingshan pressed.
"Something similar to soapberries, but far more effective—scented soap," Pei Ying explained.
Soapberries, the fruit of the soapberry tree, had been used since antiquity—before the Song Dynasty, before soap existed—for cleaning both body and clothes. Later, during the Western Jin Dynasty, "bath beans" emerged.
Yet here in Great Chu, not only was there no soap, even bath beans were unheard of.
At the mention of creating something akin to soapberries, Chen Yuan’s expression shifted slightly, as if pained.
Huo Tingshan moved to the other two Youzhou soldiers and ordered them to open their sacks.
One contained wood ash, while the other reeked sharply—filled with chunks of lard.
Oyster shells were cheap, especially since Pei Ying only needed the husks. Chen Yuan had bought them at a low price from the fish market, selecting dead ones to process later.
But lard was different. Though pork wasn’t as prized as mutton, it was still meat—expensive.
Of the three sacks, the lard was by far the costliest.
And now, hearing Pei Ying’s plan to make something resembling soapberries, Chen Yuan couldn’t help but struggle to comprehend.
Soapberries could be easily gathered from the mountains, and if one found it too troublesome, a handful of coins at the market would buy a large pile of them. The cost of buying lard could cover a family of seven’s soapberry expenses for over a decade. Wasn’t this putting the cart before the horse?
Huo Tingshan couldn’t quite understand it either, but he had no intention of interfering.
"Please grind these oyster shells into powder, Captain Chen," Pei Ying instructed Chen Yuan before turning to the other two Youzhou soldiers. "Cut the lard into small pieces and render it over low heat. Place the wood ash in a heated pot, add water, stir well, and filter it through hemp cloth."
After carefully specifying the measurements, she let them get to work.
Meng Ling'er frowned in confusion. "Mother, will this really make something better than soapberries? But even if it works, lard isn’t cheap. We’d have to sell it for more than the cost of the lard just to break even. Why would anyone spend extra money when soapberries only cost a few coins?"
Huo Tingshan glanced at Meng Ling'er.
This little girl seemed slightly sharper than her late father.
Pei Ying smiled. "Of course, we won’t sell it to common households. Our customers are the wealthy and powerful—those who don’t care about silver and chase novelty and exclusivity, willing to spend extravagantly for it."
Just like certain modern luxury brands that openly declared they didn’t cater to anyone earning less than seven figures a year.
The same logic applied to the soap. It was best sold to the noble families of Chang’an. In those illustrious households, even the servants earned several times more in a month than a borderland farmer could scrape together in the same time—let alone the masters’ lavish spending.
Meng Ling'er nodded, though not entirely convinced. "Mother, how much do you plan to sell this soap for?"
Pei Ying grinned. "Ten taels of silver per bar."
"Ten taels?!" Meng Ling'er shrieked.
Huo Tingshan’s hand, which had been stroking his chin, froze mid-motion.
Meng Ling'er’s eyes widened. "Mother, who would pay that? Ten taels is three years of savings for common folk who don’t eat or spend a single coin!"
A single ox cost four thousand coins—two taels. Ten taels could buy five oxen!
Pei Ying didn’t elaborate. "You’ll understand when the time comes, my dear."
Guangping Commandery, Youzhou Manor, Study.
Qin Yang hurried in with a silk scroll. "General, this is the message from Youzhou."
Huo Tingshan took it, broke the wax seal, and skimmed through it, his expression darkening.
The men in the room exchanged glances before Chen Shichang, Xiong Mao’s cousin, spoke up. "What troubles you, my lord?"
Huo Tingshan handed him the scroll, letting him read for himself.
Chen Shichang took it, and the others crowded around, towering men huddled over a single document.
Xiong Mao didn’t join them—words made his head ache—and waited for Sha Ying and the others to summarize it for him. "Well? What does it say?"
After reading, Chen Shichang understood Huo Tingshan’s grim mood.
The message came from the Minister of Revenue. The state’s finances and military provisions fell under the Minister’s authority, and the scroll outlined four key matters.
First, regarding the collapse of the Great Wall. A few days ago, the last summer rain fell, and after the downpour, patrolling guards discovered that a section of the Great Wall in Yishui Commandery had crumbled.
The collapse of the Great Wall was no trivial matter—it had to be repaired immediately. Thus, without even consulting Huo Tingshan, the Minister of Revenue took charge and allocated funds overnight for the repairs.
Second, the Minister of Revenue expressed his longing for the army.
There was a type of farmer known as "soldier-farmers"—literally, soldiers who acted as farmers. In times of peace, these soldiers tilled the land to sustain the army and provide tax grain. When war came, they would take up arms and fight.
Maintaining an army on the march was an enormous drain on resources. The daily provisions for the soldiers alone amounted to a staggering sum, requiring substantial financial support from the province. Therefore, beyond mere sentimentality, the Minister of Revenue also subtly inquired about Huo Tingshan’s expected return.
Third, the matter concerned the Armory Supervisor. The previous batch of two thousand stirrups and high-cantle saddles had been completed through relentless overtime work, but an immeasurable number still needed to be forged immediately. The Minister of Revenue hinted that the pace was too rushed—could they slow down? The Armory Supervisor was overwhelmed.
Fourth, and lastly, the Minister of Revenue reported a "minor issue" to Huo Tingshan.
The frontier region of Youzhou had never been a peaceful place. Foreign tribes harassed its borders frequently, and the Youzhou army had been deployed countless times in response.
Where there was war, there were casualties. Wounded or fallen soldiers received subsidies, and the third "minor issue" the Minister of Revenue reported concerned these subsidies.
In his letter, he wrote: "Among the Fifth Battalion was a soldier named Ma Wei, a native of Changheng Commandery in Youzhou. He fell in battle against the Xianbei bandits a year ago. Records show that Ma Wei left behind only his forty-year-old mother and a five-year-old younger brother.
Ma Wei’s subsidy was entrusted to a fellow soldier from his hometown, a man surnamed Fang, who was to deliver it to his family. However, Fang’s nephew had a gambling addiction. He stole the subsidy and squandered it all. Fearful for his nephew’s life, Fang kept the theft a secret.
This matter only came to light recently when Fang accidentally revealed it while drunk."
Finally, the Minister of Revenue noted that while the soldier surnamed Fang and his nephew had been punished, and the army had long established an ironclad rule against misusing subsidies, the sums allocated to wounded and fallen soldiers were substantial—enough to tempt anyone.
He proposed reducing the subsidies to lessen the temptation and trouble for those entrusted with delivering them.
As for how much to reduce, the Minister also offered a suggestion: cut them by half. After all, even at half the original amount, the subsidies would still slightly exceed those offered by other provinces.
In short, the entire letter was the Minister of Revenue lamenting his financial woes, subtly hinting at Youzhou’s strained treasury and urging Huo Tingshan, as the highest authority, to tighten the purse strings.
"Grand General, even if we must reduce the subsidies for the wounded and fallen, we cannot simply slash them in half," Sha Ying murmured.
Xiong Mao quickly voiced his agreement.
Both men had risen through military ranks and understood the brutal reality of the battlefield—where lives hung by a thread.
If the subsidies were halved overnight, who would ensure the livelihoods of the families left behind?
Those who never returned, wrapped in horsehide for burial, were not just soldiers. They were someone’s son, husband, or father.
The letter was placed back on the desk. Huo Tingshan picked it up, his eyes skimming over it once more before he suddenly released it, letting the parchment flutter to the ground. "Cut the subsidies? What nonsense. I suggest he keeps his suggestions to himself."
Yet everyone in the study knew that if the Minister of Revenue had written such a letter, the treasury must indeed be running dry.
"Have all the treasures seized from Beichuan County and the Governor's Mansion been transported back?" Huo Tingshan turned to Qin Yang, as this task had been handled by his camp.
Qin Yang promptly replied, "Reporting to the Grand General, everything has been sent back. By my calculations, the batch from Beichuan County was delivered to Youzhou even before the Minister of Revenue sent word, but the shipment from the Governor's Mansion is surely still en route."
The implication was that the Minister of Revenue had received one batch, but it still wasn't enough.
Huo Tingshan rubbed his temples.
At this moment, Chen Yuan suddenly spoke up, "Grand General, if Lady Pei still requires additional preparations, should we continue assisting her?"
"What does Lady Pei need to do?" Chen Shichang asked, puzzled.
Sha Ying also inquired, "What is Lady Pei preparing?"
Chen Yuan glanced at Huo Tingshan, who stood with his arms crossed, lost in thought and offering no objection, so he explained, "Lady Pei intends to make something similar to soap pods and has ordered me to procure lard and other materials."
The moment these words were spoken, everyone present drew a sharp breath.
Lard—to make something like soap pods?
Soap pods were cheap; a large basket could be bought for just a few coins. But lard? A few coins wouldn’t even buy a sliver of it.
Xiong Mao frowned and said, "Grand General, isn’t Lady Pei just fooling around?"
"My lord, could it be that Lady Pei still resents you for not letting her leave?" Chen Shichang ventured after some thought.
Huo Tingshan snapped out of his thoughts and lazily lifted his eyelids. "Instead of figuring out how to raise funds, you’re all fussing over the few pounds of meat allocated to my wife? Do you really think pinching those petty coins will solve Youzhou’s financial troubles? If that’s your logic, you might as well wash up and go to bed—dreams are where you’ll find such miracles."
The generals flushed with embarrassment under his reprimand.
Xiong Mao thought to himself that this wasn’t the same at all.
If Lady Pei had bought the meat to eat, he wouldn’t have said a word. But this? Using lard to make something like soap pods? That was sheer waste.
"The matter concerning my wife is not up for further discussion," Huo Tingshan declared, turning to Sha Ying. "Sha Ying, go tell Hu Lan that I’m unimpressed with the two gifts he sent me. What I prefer is something more... golden and silver."
