Chapter 287

Dealing with the State of Kou was not something that could be accomplished by mere words; there was far too much to be done, and if anything went awry, it would become a plan spanning several years. Yet no one would forget—neither the Emperor, who would remember the humiliation inflicted by that tiny island nation across the sea, nor the Fourth Prince, designated as the next heir, who would not let it slip from his mind. For the direct victims—the Li and Wang families—forgetting was even more impossible.

Wang Xiubo, upon returning to Feng’an, would often find time to stand by the seashore, gazing toward the distant, unseen coastline. The Chun clan, for all their faults, would never have fallen so far had it not been for the treachery of the Kou people. After years of marriage, Wang Xiubo was willing to believe that Chun’s suicide after childbirth was not due to coercion, but rather a reflection upon her own misguided actions.

As for the New Year, it seemed only the common people celebrated with genuine joy; the ministers were all on edge, and the palace was devoid of festivity. On the first day of the new year, Lord Wang was summoned by the Emperor for a private audience—what was discussed, no one knew. But by the second day, the Emperor issued a decree: from this year forward, the tributes from the States of Kou and Bang would be doubled. As for those wishing to request silver and grain from the Celestial Empire? They would have to pay; there would be no more handouts. In these anxious times, not a single civil official dared to voice opposition. Even if they had, there was little they could do—the decree was issued while morning court was still in session.

Wang Xiujin, upon hearing the decree, merely curled his lip. The grain should have been cut off long ago. What dignity of a great nation? When even their territory was being coveted, to still prattle on about dignity and appearances—unless one’s mind was unsound.

On the second day, Li Linshan accompanied Wang Xiujin back to the Wang residence; on the third, they visited several relatives; and on the fourth, they returned to the military camp. That very day, Wang Xiujin set out for the shipyard built by the sea, accompanied by Xiao, his personal attendant from the camp workshop, and a long convoy escorted by imperial guards, making haste toward the shipyard.

It took four days to travel from the capital to the shipyard; without the convoy, they could have gone even faster. Wang Xiujin, unskilled in horsemanship, was jostled so badly that his thighs and backside—still not fully healed—felt as if they were on fire. Fortunately, his wounds did not reopen. Xiao urged him to rest for a day, but Wang Xiujin waved it off; the priority was to get things done quickly. His injuries were minor, and as long as he took his medicine, there would be no trouble.

Unable to persuade him, Xiao could only comply, hoping the installation of the gun platforms on the ships would proceed smoothly, and that the test-firing of the cannons would succeed once the vessels were launched. Installing heavy artillery on a ship was no simple matter; many factors had to be considered. The veteran craftsmen, having accepted generous payments from their new employer before the holiday, paid no heed to the intentions of the overseers and were eager to work for their new master. As for those overseers, seeing the imperial guards accompanying Wang Xiujin, all fell silent, none daring to stir up trouble.

The shipwrights and cannon-makers gathered for lengthy discussions on how best to install the gun platforms, as well as the range and other technical issues concerning the artillery. Wang Xiujin sat nearby, listening attentively and occasionally offering his own ideas—such as the “great cannon” and the use of stone shot like the barbarians. The ship’s blueprints were revised repeatedly, redrawn again and again, until the final design emerged—so ungainly that Wang Xiujin could only describe it as two words: truly ugly.

But ugliness did not matter; only utility did. One copy of the plans was left behind, while another was dispatched posthaste by imperial guard to the capital, along with a letter for Li Linshan. Wang Xiujin did not know that his letter was intercepted and read by the Emperor before being delivered to Li Linshan. Upon hearing from the guard that Wang Xiujin’s wounds had not yet healed and that he had suffered additional injuries en route, the Emperor sent a bottle of the palace’s finest wound ointment as a reward.

There was nothing of consequence in Wang Xiujin’s letter to Li Linshan—mostly reminders to look after Yachang’s studies and other trivial matters. In truth, he had wanted to propose some ideas about naval signaling—flag codes and such—but uncertain whether the guard delivering the letter might pass it on, he refrained from putting it in writing.

The guards traveled swiftly, but shipbuilding was not so simple that a finished vessel could be produced the day after the plans were drawn, nor launched on the third day. Wang Xiujin applied the Emperor’s ointment to his wounds—not caring whether it was effective, so long as he could prove to the Emperor that he had used it if asked.

On the thirteenth day of the first month, Li Linshan received an imperial edict instructing him to lead a detachment to the shipyard and protect the craftsmen there; this time, no mishaps would be tolerated. Li Linshan picked his men from another unit, leaving Liu Qing in charge of training the new recruits. After a brief handover, he set out at once, hoping to reach the shipyard before the fifteenth and celebrate the festival with Wang Xiujin.

Yachang, abandoned by both parents, showed no sign of discontent, diligently studying with a book in his arms every day, his short legs running around the courtyard each morning—though the smile on his face was now rarely seen.

On the fifteenth, when Wang Xiujin saw Li Linshan arrive, wind-burned and travel-worn, he was utterly surprised. Upon hearing the reason for Li Linshan’s arrival, Wang Xiujin rolled his eyes—he had already done what needed to be done. If they’d waited for the Emperor to think of it, the blueprints would have long since been spirited away. Wang Xiujin and Xiao handed over two detained overseers to Li Linshan for handling. They had not interrogated these two to determine whose orders they followed—simply found their behavior suspicious and locked them up. In ancient times, this had its advantages: they could detain people without anyone objecting, and others were more likely to worry about being implicated themselves—or even curry favor by coming forward to inform.

Li Linshan had not expected anyone to be so bold. He ordered the two overseers to be taken into custody. The overseers, already anxious since being detained without interrogation, were now stunned. They were not being handed over to the authorities, but to military officers for disposal—they were doomed. They should never have listened to the whispers of those petty schemers in the first place.

During the shipbuilding, Wang Xiujin did not return to the capital. Manager Wang came several times: once for matters concerning the crab-rice business in Liangzhou, and again regarding the new workshop. The crab-rice operation in Liangzhou was to be halted; the shop staff need not worry, as the store would switch from a grain business to a clothing shop, ensuring no one lost their job. As for the farmers, if they wished to continue growing rice, the shop could help them source crab seedlings, though not as cheaply as before. After the autumn harvest, the shop would no longer be involved; if there was unrest, they’d simply close the store, even the clothing shop, and be done with it.

Manager Wang, of course, would not handle things as bluntly as his master. Understanding the decision to abandon Liangzhou, he began to make his own plans. “And the workshop?”

“Once the craftsmen have arrived, split them up according to the blueprints I previously gave you. Those involved in final assembly must sign a confidentiality agreement.” Wang Xiujin’s mind was wholly on the shipyard; he wished the ships could be built sooner.

Manager Wang nodded. He did not understand why his master would ignore so many lucrative businesses to endure hardship here. The shipyard, though purchased with his own money, amounted to doing unpaid work for the royal family—and still required more investment. Manager Wang respected every decision his master made. Because of this respect, he had never considered any alternative, despite frequent offers of great wealth. He had never thought of leaving his master’s service.

The two overseers taken away by Li Linshan were thoroughly interrogated. From their confessions, Li Linshan uncovered some clues. Adhering to the principle of rather detaining the wrong person than letting the guilty escape, he brought in many more suspects. The more he investigated, the more the case expanded—until ultimately it pointed to the former Chancellor, who was imprisoned but had not been executed by drowning.

Li Linshan wrote a memorial and sent it, along with the detained suspects, to the capital. His role in the matter ended there. Whether the Chancellor would be made a scapegoat depended on whether the Ministry of Justice could extract any useful information from the prisoners.

Wang Xiujin never asked about the matter; it was Li Linshan who volunteered some details. After hearing it all, Wang Xiujin stood by the shore, gazing into the distance. The construction of the maritime Great Wall was ongoing, the work unceasing. Though labor at sea was harsh, the wages were generous; it was not forced labor, and more workers came of their own accord. Wang Xiujin had once seen drawings of the gates of this sea wall and could not help but think that the ingenuity of their ancestors far surpassed that of later generations.

“Linshan, if the day comes when Kou must be razed, I will go to war,” Wang Xiujin declared—not out of impulse, but from a hatred of Kou that seemed etched into his very bones.

Li Linshan stood by his side. “War is not only fought with blades. All that you have done is in preparation for it. You have already done your part. As for an expedition, you, Xiujin, are not suited for it. Know your limits.”

Wang Xiujin gave a bitter smile and said nothing. He understood Li Linshan’s words. Lately, perhaps because of his efforts against Kou, he kept recalling fragments from textbooks in his former life—each memory filling him with fury.

“Come, it’s time for your medicine,” Li Linshan said, understanding Wang Xiujin’s anger toward Kou. If not for their instigation, Lady Chun of the Wang family would not have caused such trouble. Though the family’s foundation remained intact, the scandal had left a stain on his elder brother’s reputation in some circles. With Wang Xiujin away, the family relied on Xiubo to hold things together—but a man with a tarnished reputation could hardly support the house.

Wang Xiujin had no idea what Li Linshan was imagining. He himself had never dwelled on whether the Wang family could endure. The rise and fall of a clan, in his eyes, was not so important. If there was ability, the family would prosper; if not, clinging to empty prestige was pointless.

Those sent back to the capital were not treated well. After being harshly handled by Li Linshan, then further interrogated by the Ministry of Justice, they were left with nothing more to say. Former Chancellor Liu was summoned once more for questioning. The authorities wanted to know why he had employed shipyard workers, and whether he had other agents outside.