“You’re speaking from the victor’s standpoint, so you feel the victor is wronged,” Lin Yi countered gently. “But what about the common folk on the losing side? Their lives were already hard, barely scraping by. Then another country invades, the court conscripts their husbands and sons into battle, and none come back. Taxes and levies keep rising to fund the war, and in the end, the country still falls. Wouldn’t they feel even more hatred and resentment looking back?”
“Well…” A Fu was momentarily at a loss. After a pause, he said in a low voice, “Then… should they have killed everyone instead?”
Lin Yi shook her head slightly. “Let’s try another scenario: Suppose you’re a general ordered to massacre an entire city. You lead your troops in, wipe out the defenders, and push open the last door, only to find old people, women, and children hiding inside. Would you raise your blade and kill them all?”
“Uh…” A Fu thought hard. “I’d probably kill some, but not all.”
Lin Yi was a bit surprised. “Why?”
A Fu rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and gave a wry smile. “Because my soldiers also suffered casualties. I don’t know if those old and weak helped the defenders behind my back. But the ones too old to walk, or infants still in swaddling clothes—I probably couldn’t bring myself to do it.”
Hearing this, Lin Yi’s eyes curved into a faint smile. “That’s good. You have both resolve and mercy. My master also told me another story: There was a dynasty called Qing that fought against the Dzungar Khanate. At first, Qing conquered Dzungar, but then they rebelled. They were conquered again, rebelled again… For nearly seventy years, it went back and forth. The Qing court spent untold silver and lost many soldiers. Finally, the emperor was enraged and ordered the extermination of the entire Dzungar tribe. But one of his generals, A Gui, did not carry out the slaughter to the last. Instead, he absorbed and reformed them, trying to give them a way out. His intentions were good, but it planted a seed for trouble later—years after, rebellion broke out again.”
A Fu’s brow furrowed deeper. “So this won’t work and that’s not right either. Is the only way to truly eliminate future trouble to cut the roots?”
This time, before Lin Yi could answer, Gu Fang spoke first, his voice particularly calm in the night breeze. “No, cutting the roots is easy to say but hard to do. Some flee into the mountains to hunt, some go out visiting relatives, some scatter early, and others surrender or hide. Human lives aren’t weeds that fall with a gust of wind. To truly eliminate them all—easier said than done.”
“Yes, it’s very hard to kill everyone,” Lin Yi echoed softly.
Gu Fang turned to her, a smile in his eyes. “Xiaoyi has told so many stories. In your view, what’s the right thing to do?”
Lin Yi was caught off guard, then looked up to meet his gaze seriously. “Actually, there’s no absolute right or wrong. Paths are tried one by one. The people in those stories all firmly believed they were on the right road until one day they found it was a dead end. So maybe what matters isn’t finding the perfect answer at the start, but being willing to stop and try another path when you can’t go on.”
Gu Fang was stunned for a moment, then shook his head with a laugh. “You’re right. But,” he said, his gaze warm yet insistent, “I’d still like to hear—if Xiaoyi had to choose, which path would you try?”
“Me?” Lin Yi rested her chin on her hand and thought. “Probably assimilation.”
“Assimilation?” Gu Fang repeated softly, a thoughtful look in his eyes.
“Mm. It means gradually turning people who aren’t your own into your own.” Lin Yi’s voice was gentle. “Actually, for most common folks, it doesn’t matter much who sits on the dragon throne. As long as they can live steadily—have fields to farm, food to eat, a house to live in—would anyone willingly risk their head for rebellion? So if we can make the people after the war feel that the current state isn’t bad, maybe even better than before, then resentment will naturally fade, and hearts will slowly be won over.”
As she spoke, Lin Yi recalled the propaganda wars she’d heard of. Though the methods weren’t exactly above board, if they could spread, there was reason in them. Her eyes lit up, and her tone grew lighter. “Maybe in the future, before we fight, we can shout across the lines: ‘Our taxes are light, our kids can go to school, and the sick can get medicine.’ That might tempt some people, and we might not even need to fight!”
Gu Fang couldn’t help but laugh. “But right now, the common people of Great Qian are also suffering. Wouldn’t that be empty talk?”
“Can’t I even imagine it?” Lin Yi pretended to glare at him, but her eyes sparkled. “Besides, I’m here,” she said, unconsciously straightening her back.
Gu Fang gazed at Lin Yi for a long time without speaking. Only when a lantern under the eaves swayed in the wind did he let out a low laugh.
“Alright,” he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of a solemn promise. “Let’s try it together.”
A Fu stood to the side; his tightly knit brows had relaxed at some point. Watching the two of them shoulder to shoulder under the lantern light, he felt as if the summer night breeze carried a bright, gentle touch across his heart.
Lin Yi and Gu Fang chatted and laughed for a good while. When they came back to themselves, the night was deep. They bid A Fu farewell and returned to their room to rest.
The next day, Lin Yi slept until she naturally woke. When she opened her eyes, it was already broad daylight. She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging the thin quilt and dazed, when A Fu came to report: Prince Ning had replied, setting the meeting for three days later.
Lin Yi was still fuzzy from just waking up when she heard the news, so she just gave a blank “Oh.” Gu Fang was a bit more alert—though she had also coaxed him into sleeping in for a bit longer—and had already gotten up, sitting properly by the window, rinsing his mouth and washing his face.
Ever since Lin Yi discovered that Gu Fang didn’t have to attend court, she’d unabashedly urged him to sleep in more for energy. The first few times, he couldn’t refuse her; as it happened more often, he just went along with her routine, and they always got up together.
Once fully awake, Lin Yi recalled A Fu’s report and remarked to Gu Fang, “A Fu is so quick and thorough. Just one night, and he’s even set a date with Prince Ning.”
Gu Fang was drying his hands with a cloth. He turned his head, his eyes brimming with laughter, but he just looked at her without responding.
Lin Yi felt puzzled at his smile. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
Gu Fang put down the cloth and said leisurely, “It’s not that A Fu was too fast, but that Xiaoyi got up too late. It’s almost Si now (9-11 a.m.). A Fu just delivered this news this morning.”
Lin Yi: “…”
She opened her mouth, momentarily speechless. Thinking about it carefully, that did seem to be the case. But she couldn’t help muttering in protest, “My schedule is perfectly healthy! Early to bed, early to wake—full of energy…”
Gu Fang stood up, walked over to Lin Yi, and reached out to ruffle her sleep-tousled hair, his voice brimming with laughter. “Yes, very healthy. So, Lady Xiaoyi, would you like to healthily enjoy some breakfast now?”
Lin Yi looked up, pretending to glare at him, but his eyes were tender, without a trace of disdain—only indulgence. The feigned annoyance instantly dissolved, and she laughed, grabbing his sleeve and shaking it. “Yes! And I want you to join me!”
Shortly after Lin Yi and Gu Fang finished breakfast, A Fu came to report on the progress: the gift for Prince Ning’s residence was prepared; the initial candidate for managing the paper workshop, Liu Qing, was already waiting in the main hall and could be seen at any time; the invitations for the poetry gathering had been sent out; the tally of disabled soldiers would require a few more days to verify the rosters and confirm who was still alive.
Hearing about the poetry gathering, Lin Yi suddenly remembered her earlier strategy of matching the second half of lines to find a fellow time-traveler. She hadn’t expected that in just a few days, A Fu had already selected suitable talented men and drafted invitations, all while advancing many other tasks simultaneously. She silently marveled again at A Fu’s efficiency.
After hearing the report, Lin Yi and Gu Fang decided to go to the main hall first to see this Liu Qing. Since the man had been waiting, they shouldn’t delay. Along the way, A Fu briefed Lin Yi about the man: Liu Qing was originally a soldier under Gu Fang, retired due to injury, but he was shrewd and steady—a suitable person to run the paper workshop.
When they entered the main hall, a man immediately rose and bowed. After Lin Yi and Gu Fang returned the greeting, the man looked up, revealing a long, deep scar running diagonally from his temple to his jaw, a clear mark of battle.
Liu Qing seemed a bit uncomfortable with this. His voice was slightly strained. “I am Liu Qing. Thank you, General and Lady, for this opportunity. But… my face is ugly; I fear I might startle the Lady.”
“How could that be?” Lin Yi waved her hand with a smile. “This scar was earned on the battlefield, right? To me, it’s a mark of protecting the country—a badge of honor.”
Liu Qing was stunned for a moment, then broke into a genuine smile. “The Lady is kind. I heard that the Lady wants to improve papermaking, and the General also intends to reopen the old workshop east of the city. May I be so bold as to ask: Could the Lady briefly explain the papermaking process? I’d like to inspect the workshop first and plan ahead.”
He wants to do an on-site inspection and plan in advance. Lin Yi’s eyes flashed with approval—this was someone who got things done. “Of course,” she agreed readily, then turned to Gu Fang with a sparkle in her eyes. “Husband, why don’t we go together? After seeing the workshop, we can walk back slowly along the way. Consider it a date again—what do you think?”
Gu Fang looked at her sparkling eyes, couldn’t help but laugh, and nodded. “Alright.”
So the group left the mansion and headed slowly toward the workshop in the eastern part of the city.
Naturally, Lin Yi shared a carriage with Gu Fang. Fortunately, A Fu had been thoughtful—after seeing the wheelchair design earlier, he had immediately arranged for a modification to the mansion’s carriage: a slanted board that could be lowered at the back, and a special compartment inside to secure a wheelchair. When Lin Yi first saw the modification, she was both amazed and impressed, repeatedly praising A Fu and admitting she hadn’t even thought of it.
But speaking of it, the carriages of this era were really not suitable for long rides. Even though they were on official roads, the bumps were still obvious, and the speed wasn’t fast. Gu Fang said it would take at least a shichen (two hours) to reach the workshop east of the city. Lin Yi couldn’t help holding her forehead and sighing softly. “This carriage is shaking my bones apart.”
Gu Fang laughed upon hearing that, and said gently, “Bear with it. If you rode a horse, it would be even more jolting. I’ve been on campaign for years and got used to it long ago. Now, riding in a carriage feels steadier to me.”
Lin Yi: “…”
She silently clenched her fist. No way—shock absorption must be arranged, and cement roads must be put on the agenda! The material for shock absorption was readily available: the Eucommia ulmoides gum on the wheels of Gu Fang’s wheelchair was a decent shock absorber. As for rubber, that stuff was far away in the Amazon basin, separated from Great Qian by mountains and seas. Unless they leap into the Age of Exploration overnight, she’d never see it in this lifetime.