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After the New Year, the Emperor grew deeply concerned about the education of his children. He even suggested sending his sons to the countryside, letting them experience the life led by royals before they tasted glory. Their meals wouldn't be lavish, but simple farm fare; their daily chores would mirror those of peasants. They must learn that founding an empire is no easy feat, nor is holding onto it. Should the empire ever be lost, their lives would be far harsher than tilling the soil. The royal family members all agreed, and dutifully sent their own sons to the farms, granting them even worse conditions than the princes.

When the royal heirs received the news, tears streamed down their faces. Surely, this was the idea of Prince Wang, for he had often voiced his desire to banish them from the academy, claiming their presence corrupted its atmosphere. They wanted to confront Wang Xiujin as they once had, but remembering what their elders had said before sending them to the academy, they all resigned themselves. Someday, when they had the power, they'd make Wang Xiujin suffer—so much that he'd wish for death but find no escape. Yet, judging from the present, that possibility was remote. Wang Xiujin was far more ruthless, persuading their elders to cast them to the farms as laborers. He even declared that if they wished to eat in autumn, they'd have to sow their own grain; their share at harvest would depend on how much they planted. If they failed, they'd have nothing to eat and couldn't buy grain elsewhere.

Wang Xiujin, unwittingly blamed, knew nothing of this. When Li Linshan told him all the royal children had been sent to various estates, Wang Xiujin wasn't naive enough to believe they were simply wandering about, though he hadn't expected the royal family to be so harsh, even using food as leverage. Still, Wang Xiujin thought it best to visit the children. Among the royal descendants at the academy, some were older, some younger. He wasn't worried about the older ones, but felt he should check on the younger, perhaps because, having raised a child himself, he was more thoughtful.

On a bright, sunny day, Wang Xiujin took his son and some food to the largest farm outside the capital. Three royal children were there, for the elders weren't foolish enough to place all ages together. After stepping down from the carriage with his son, Yachang insisted on walking himself. Wang Xiujin knelt and set his son on the ground; Yachang toddled along the uneven path, wobbling with every step.

Inside the courtyard, the steward led them forward. Yachang soon tired, clinging to Wang Xiujin's leg, gazing up with wide, blinking eyes. Wang Xiujin simply lifted his son, seeing nothing amiss. When they met the students, the children stared at the boy in Wang Xiujin's arms. Upon learning he was the prince's son, their eyes showed envy; in their memories, none had ever been held by their fathers. Wang Xiujin knew the old saying: "Grandfathers hold grandchildren, not sons." But he saw no issue in holding his own child.

"Are you really farming?" Wang Xiujin raised his brow. "You’re so young, yet made to work the fields? What are your families thinking?" The children, barely five or six, were shorter than the hoes they carried. Such thoughts he kept to himself.

The children glanced at one another. The youngest, quick of tongue and heart, blurted out that it was Prince Wang's instigation; otherwise, they wouldn't have to farm. As he spoke, tears welled in his eyes. Wang Xiujin was bewildered—what did this have to do with him?

He set his son down and pulled out a handkerchief, gently wiping the child's tears, his heart aching at their sorrow. "All right, no more crying. Your fathers said you couldn't buy grain, but they never forbade others from gifting it. After autumn, I'll have a hundred pounds of rice sent to each of you—enough to last."

Wide eyes stared at Wang Xiujin. "Does this truly have nothing to do with you?"

"Of course. I didn't even know why you came to the farm," Wang Xiujin sighed. In truth, he wasn't wholly innocent; the royal family might have taken his words to the Emperor. "Come, all of you, rise and return to the capital with me. You're barely taller than beans; when you're eleven or twelve and can handle a hoe, then you may come back to farm." He knew that poor children might work the fields at four or five, but these royal heirs weren't from impoverished families; thrusting them into hard labor would only overwhelm them.

The children's eyes grew round and bright, all looking to Wang Xiujin, afraid he might forget them. Though young, they were clever, not as calculating as older children, but already adept at using their own charms. To Wang Xiujin, it was mere innocence. He patted each child's shoulder. "Each of you will have a share. I'll speak to your families. Now, gather your things and return with me. Tomorrow, you'll resume your studies at the academy."

The children nodded vigorously. Compared to farming, school was bliss. Yachang, still clinging to his father's leg, blinked sympathetically at the others, amazed at how easily his father had won them over.

Obediently, the children ran to fetch their belongings. They hadn't brought much, and now, even less. They only needed to change out of their work clothes. Soon, they returned, and the stewards breathed sighs of relief. Having the little nobles labor in the fields had been a constant worry—afraid they'd be hurt, and anxious about whether the late-sown crops would yield anything. They were grateful Wang Xiujin had taken the children away.

Wang Xiujin escorted them back, delivering each child to his household, repeatedly stressing that they were not yet taller than hoes and should wait until they were stronger before working the fields. Tomorrow, they should return to their studies. Each family heard the same, and only after all were settled did Wang Xiujin relax. As for the older children, he left them be. When he was five or six, he'd worked the land himself; those older than he had been then could well benefit from the experience.

Returning home with his son, Wang Xiujin sighed, "Really, three- or four-year-olds—forget hoes, they can't even drive the oxen. Yet they're made to farm." Seeing Li Linshan at home, Wang Xiujin couldn't help but vent.

Li Linshan raised a brow. "I've never farmed myself; I don’t know how tall a hoe is."

"When I was five, I went back to the village to farm, still shorter than a hoe. My elder brother couldn't wield one either. Forced by circumstances, we fashioned tools to ease the work. Otherwise, that year, our family might have... though, perhaps we wouldn't have starved," Wang Xiujin finished, his anger dissipating. "Back then, we had no choice. These children do. There should be moderation in all things, but they've gone too far."

Li Linshan squeezed Wang Xiujin's hand. He knew nothing of what happened after the Wang family returned to the village, nor had he ever asked. He feared learning that Wang Xiujin had suffered while he hadn't been there to help or care for him; guilt weighed heavy on his heart. "Was it very hard? If only I could have brought you home then."

Wang Xiujin chuckled. "You had no authority at the time. Even if you’d spoken up, it would’ve been useless." Having lived a lifetime, Wang Xiujin was no ignorant youth, blaming others for not lending a hand in hardship. No one owes anyone anything—not even parents owe their children. "Honestly, it wasn't too difficult. We had oxen in the fields; all I needed was to follow behind and swing the whip, keeping the ox on track. The land was vast, so the ox could roam. Mornings, we'd sell buns, with my elder sister and brother helping. I did little myself. Truly, that period was wonderful for our family."

Wang Xiujin reflected. Compared to Li Linshan, his hardships were nothing. In his previous life, he'd survived the apocalypse, knowing the struggle to stay alive on the battlefield. Li Linshan, so young then, had been forced by his own mother to leave. However distant, however lacking affection, Li Linshan’s heart must have suffered deeply. "There's little point in dwelling on the past."

Yet Li Linshan couldn't help caring, though he knew Wang Xiujin spoke the truth; his grandfather had wished to erase any memory of their betrothal. Squeezing Wang Xiujin's hand, he could not voice his regret, but resolved to do better in the future.

"Let’s have roast meat tonight," Wang Xiujin, sensing the heaviness in the air, shifted the topic.

Li Linshan readily agreed. Meanwhile, the forgotten Yachang made a sound, tumbling off the couch onto the floor, startling both fathers. They rushed over, picking him up. The floor was thickly carpeted, but the couch was not low. Yachang was dazed; he’d only rolled over—how had he ended up on the floor?

"Did he hurt himself?" Wang Xiujin looked at his stunned son, fear rising. "Quick, fetch the doctor!"

Li Linshan's heart was in his throat. If the doctor hesitated, he'd ask his grandfather to summon the imperial physician for Yachang.

When Yachang came to himself, he saw both fathers anxiously watching him. Leaning against Wang Xiujin’s chest, he blinked his large eyes, then began to cry. Hearing his son's wails, Wang Xiujin was relieved, gently patting his back and soothing him. After a while, his arms tired; his son was growing heavier.

Li Linshan took Yachang into his arms, and the boy immediately stopped crying, though, from sobbing so hard, he kept hiccuping.

The doctor arrived, checked Yachang’s pulse and bones, and declared it was merely a fright. He prescribed a calming remedy—two doses would suffice.

Author’s note: Writer’s block! Writer’s block!