Just when I thought that casual essay had sunk without a trace, or that she had failed to grasp its meaning, new developments emerged at court.
That day, Second Sister Su Fei came to visit, her expression carrying a suppressed excitement. "Yuzhi, do you know? There's been a new turning point in the grain transport case."
My heart jolted, but my face remained calm. "Oh? Wasn't it still deadlocked?"
"Deadlocked, yes—but at today's court assembly, several censors and revenue clerks who usually keep a low profile jointly submitted a memorial," Second Sister lowered her voice.
"The memorial didn't name any specific family or person. It only addressed the long-standing abuses in grain transport and proposed several 'reform measures,' talking about things like 'clarifying river segments, assigning exclusive responsibility to specific offices, joint guarantees and audits, clear distinctions between merit and fault'… I can't remember all the exact clauses, but it sounded very well-structured.
Most importantly, after reading it, His Majesty neither approved nor rejected it outright, only instructed the Grand Secretariat to 'deliberate in detail.'
And that single phrase—'deliberate in detail'—completely disrupted the First Imperial Daughter's plan to resolve things swiftly by sacrificing a few pawns to save the carriage! Now all sides are bickering endlessly. The case is temporarily stalled, but the waters have been thoroughly muddied!"
Segmented responsibility, exclusive accountability, joint guarantees, clear merit and fault… weren't these precisely the core ideas hidden within my earlier musings?
Xiao Yuhuang had not only understood them, but had swiftly transformed them into concrete, "neutral" policy proposals that could be raised at court. She did not directly attack the First Imperial Daughter. Instead, she presented a solution that appeared to address systemic issues—and that solution itself became the wedge that broke the stalemate.
A fine sheen of sweat broke out on my back. I didn't know whether it was from excitement or lingering fear. The speed of her action, the deftness of her hand, far exceeded my expectations.
That night, the secret note Aunt Qin delivered bore firm, powerful handwriting: "The water now flows; the pivot begins to turn. Very good."
Just six characters, yet they carried immense weight. She had understood my meaning—and had successfully put it to use.
Immediately after, another line appeared: "Yet this only breaks the deadlock. To establish oneself, one needs control of finances. Old merchant clans mostly cling to the First Imperial Daughter. Any new thoughts?"
She was asking me: with most merchants attached to the First Imperial Daughter, how could her control over traditional merchant families and fiscal power be broken, and new economic strength cultivated for herself?
This was even more difficult than the grain transport case. Economic lifelines had always been the core of contention among all factions. I closed my eyes and pondered. Fragments of economic and financial knowledge from my previous life swirled chaotically—stocks? bonds? banks? Those concepts were far too advanced, utterly incompatible with this world.
Suddenly, I recalled some historical materials I had once read about merchant guilds of the Ming and Qing eras, and the early sprouts of capitalism. I also remembered some rudimentary knowledge from my previous life about supporting small enterprises and private lending.
Once again, I took up my brush, still under the guise of "idle talk" and "ancient anecdotes." One piece wrote about how a previous dynasty had once implemented systems like "flying money" and "convenient exchange," facilitating merchants and promoting circulation. Another chatted about how overseas lands had "merchant associations" and "trade guilds," where peers supported one another, shared risks, and could even pool small capital into major ventures.
Yet another seemed like a casual lament that "the marketplace abounds with ingenious skills, artisans possess clever ideas," yet "barriers between noble and humble block the way, capital is hard to gather," causing "bright pearls to lie buried in dust."
What I wanted to convey was this: develop convenient financial remittance systems, even at the most basic level; support emerging guilds and merchant associations; encourage the growth of private handicrafts and small commerce; break the monopolies that aristocratic clans held over capital and channels. Perhaps one could begin with matters of "benefiting the people" and "facilitating trade" that even His Majesty would welcome, quietly cultivating new economic networks.
This time, Xiao Yuhuang's response came much more slowly. It was not until five days later that Aunt Qin brought new word.
"Her Highness asked this old servant to pass on a message to Young Master," Aunt Qin said in an extremely low voice.
"'The idea of flying money—I have already entrusted someone to search old archives from previous dynasties and will seek an opportunity to raise it again as a 'convenience for the people' policy. As for merchant associations and artisan affairs, reliable people must be found to conduct discreet trials in the capital region and Jiangnan; haste is not permitted. Young Master's words are like a lamp in a dark chamber. Her Highness is deeply appreciative.'"
She was acting. And she was extremely cautious—knowing how to break grand ambitions into parts, cloak them in reasonable justifications, and advance step by step.
The heavy stone weighing on my heart loosened slightly. At least, I was not entirely useless.
With these hidden exchanges of "letters," a peculiar sense of tacit understanding and mutual reliance formed between Xiao Yuhuang and me. I provided bizarre, unconventional "ideas" and perspectives; she was responsible for transforming and implementing them, finding cracks within the tangled court situation and advancing carefully, step by step. We were like two chess players facing each other in the dark, separated by layers of curtains, cautiously moving our pieces by faith and a faint glimmer of light.
And the board on which this game was played was growing ever more perilous.
The Eighth Imperial Daughter, Xiao Linyue's "injury," finally "healed," and she formally returned to court. Her very first act upon returning was to thunderously investigate an old case in the Armory Bureau of the Ministry of War, dragging out two mid-ranking officials who had embezzled military equipment, and flinging a complete chain of evidence straight into the face of a Vice Minister of War under the First Imperial Daughter's faction.
Although that vice minister was ultimately punished only for "failure of oversight," with a reduction in salary and rank rather than a crippling blow, Xiao Linyue's move was undoubtedly a brazen declaration of war—showing that she intended not only to "root out traitors" in the northern borderlands, but also to settle accounts with "parasites" within the court.
The confrontation between the two factions at court grew increasingly white-hot. And amid this sword-drawn tension, Xiao Yuhuang continued to maintain her inscrutable quiet.
Yet through scattered remarks from Aunt Qin and Second Sister, I learned that recently, some officials frustrated and sidelined between the two major camps, some capable administrators pushed aside despite their talent, and even one or two young generals whose prospects had dimmed due to their families backing the wrong side, had begun—through various inconspicuous means—to make tentative contact with the Third Imperial Daughter's residence.
She was gathering those "marginal" forces cast aside by the mainstream. Like streams flowing into a deep pool—silent, unobtrusive, yet capable of converging into a flood in the future.
All of this unfolded beneath an appearance of calm. The capital remained prosperous. The sons of noble families were still absorbed in poetry gatherings, polo matches, and critiquing the latest rouge and powders.
The "fine tale" of the Prime Minister's son soon to be granted in marriage to the First Imperial Daughter continued to circulate in private—only now, as the political situation grew ever more tense, that "fine tale" was shrouded in an increasingly unfathomable shadow.