Chapter 296

No one in the court dared to oppose the emperor’s decree. Any civil official who might have wanted to raise arguments about benevolence or virtue had been cowed by the emperor’s repeated acts of violence and execution; their minds were muddled, still echoing with Lord Wang’s talk of loss and gain. Thus, they acquiesced to the demand that Bangguo pay three times the usual tribute, never considering whether Bangguo could actually provide such goods. They adopted the stance that their empire had already shown great mercy. By the time some officials returned home and fully grasped the situation, the matter was settled, and any hope of posturing as sages before the emperor had vanished. The civil officials gnashed their teeth at Lord Wang, muttering curses, and some even contemplated submitting memorials accusing him of shaming the image of a sage. Whether any were written, submitted, or ever reached the emperor’s desk, no one knew. Lord Wang remained himself, and those who envied or resented him continued their secret grumbling.

Wang Xiujin, upon hearing that the emperor demanded thrice the tribute, found nothing amiss. Bangguo had always pleaded poverty, but that didn’t mean they were truly poor. Bangguo liked to claim territories—this land theirs, that land theirs—but if the emperor ever felt displeased, he could simply conquer Bangguo and erase them entirely.

The monarch of Bangguo nearly fainted upon receiving the news: three times last year’s tribute, where could he find such wealth? He’d rather send his son as a hostage, but however unwilling, he dared not resist; he could only swallow his fate and curse the runaway princess, hoping she’d never be caught and returned. Grinding his teeth, Bangguo’s ministers berated the royal princess repeatedly, conjuring up all manner of torments in their minds, though it remained mere fantasy—the princess had not been recaptured.

The fugitive princess of Bangguo was far from living easily. She’d escaped through a window, only to fall from one den of evil into another. Her face, still somewhat attractive, and her fine attire caught the attention of thieves, who knocked her out, stripped her, and sold her to a brothel for a hefty sum, then promptly headed to the gambling house. When the princess awoke, her days of true suffering began. No matter how she declared herself the Princess of Bangguo, no one understood her words.

Bangguo, having lost its princess, could hardly search openly for her; they didn’t even post notices, merely asked passersby on the streets. How could they know she’d been sold to a brothel? The prince knew, but he did not inform Bangguo’s people; if they found her, so be it, and if not, it was none of his concern. Whether the princess suffered or not, what did it matter to him?

The news of Bangguo’s lost princess somehow reached the emperor of Koku, who, for reasons unknown, saw an opportunity: he proposed an alliance with Bangguo, using the pretext of demanding the princess from Daliang. Bangguo would lead the charge, while Koku waited for a chance. If they succeeded, Koku would seize Bangguo’s homeland and capture its monarch, gaining vast lands for free. If they failed, it wouldn’t concern Koku; Daliang’s wrath would fall solely upon Bangguo. The emperor of Koku was convinced his plan was foolproof, so he dispatched envoys to persuade Bangguo’s king.

Was the Bangguo king a fool? This generation’s monarch was far more cunning than Koku’s emperor. After the envoys finished painting rosy prospects, Bangguo’s king promptly arrested them. His goal was to curry favor with Daliang, not to become its enemy. If Daliang could drive the barbarians off the plains, it could drive Bangguo into the sea. He’d rather be poor than feed sea monsters. The envoys were sent straight to Daliang, in hopes the emperor would reduce the tribute back to previous levels and perhaps even waive it entirely—a hope too audacious to entertain.

After sending the envoys, Koku’s emperor waited anxiously for news, assuming the envoys had yet to convince Bangguo’s king, or that the message was still drifting across the sea. He waited, expecting word any day.

In the capital, Wang Xiujin and Li Linshan were preparing for their trip to Wang Village. They had many items to bring, but planned to stay at an inn in Wuxian, not the Wang family’s old manor in the village. Though the manor was under Wang Xiujin’s name, it remained a Wang property. Wang Xiujin, now part of the Li family, couldn’t claim the manor for them. If he returned only with his children, staying there would raise no gossip, but with Li Linshan accompanying him and no elders present, rumors would surely spread. To avoid unnecessary trouble, they decided to lodge in town.

They compiled a list of necessities, and the servants busied themselves packing. Li Linshan watched, while Wang Xiujin considered if anything had been overlooked. As they were still organizing things, the house steward hurried into the courtyard, “Young Master Sun, Young Master Xiujin, a royal attendant has arrived with a message—the emperor commands you to enter the palace at once.”

The two exchanged puzzled glances. The capital had been unusually calm lately; officials behaved, harvest reports arrived from every region, and even where disaster struck, the treasury was full enough to aid the populace—no risk of embezzlement. The great ships sent overseas hadn’t been gone long, so they couldn’t have returned so quickly. Neighboring small states were quiet as well, even Koku, which occasionally caused trouble for attention, had been docile. They could not fathom what urgent matter prompted the emperor’s summons.

They hurriedly changed into official uniforms and, at the gate, met the waiting royal attendant. Wang Xiujin handed over a purse, which the attendant slipped into his sleeve, whispering a few words. Wang Xiujin raised an eyebrow: Bangguo’s triple tribute hadn’t taught them a lesson? They were still sending people to Daliang? The attendant explained that Bangguo’s king had sent someone; upon reading the king’s letter, the emperor became furious and immediately summoned the two.

Wang Xiujin and Li Linshan boarded a carriage. On the way, Wang Xiujin relayed the attendant’s words, but the full story would only become clear once they reached the palace.

Upon entering, they greeted the emperor and empress, noticing that the study was crowded—not only themselves, but all senior civil and military ministers were present. They silently took their places at the back, exchanging furtive glances, their expressions grave.

“Show the merchant the letter we just received. After he has read it, let him tell me if we can build two more ships by year’s end,” the emperor addressed the civil officials, then turned to Li Linshan, summoning him to the military side. The content Li Linshan had written previously about attacking Koku, though flawed, was deemed adequate and currently reviewed by a general, who compared it to the map. Li Linshan realized the emperor was enraged and intended to strike Koku, not waiting for the next year.

Wang Xiujin carefully took the letter, read it swiftly, and could only think: Did Koku’s emperor have his head slammed in a door? Such an idiotic scheme—never mind whether Bangguo could defeat Daliang, how did Koku’s emperor imagine his plan would persuade Bangguo’s king? The current Bangguo monarch, though eccentric, only dared to act recklessly when supported by a strong backer; without one, he behaved meekly. With the American empire yet to rise, and Europe seemingly entering industrialization but still ambiguous, neither was a world power, nor could their influence reach Asia.

A nation that only dared to dream silently but never act would never be so easily coaxed into becoming a scapegoat. The intellect of Koku’s emperor was truly questionable. Rumor held that Koku’s royal family, to consolidate power, practiced not only close kin marriages but even sibling unions; whether true or not, if so, the emergence of a dull-witted emperor wouldn’t be surprising.

After carefully folding the letter, Wang Xiujin answered the emperor’s question: the shipyard was unlikely to produce extra ships before year’s end, but the vessels departing at year’s end would be much improved. Not only equipped with weaponry, their bows and sterns could open to load large items such as land cannons.

“Even so, cannons are heavy and require manpower to move them.”

“Carriages run because, besides the horses, they have two wheels. Cannons can be fitted with wheels too, eliminating the need for lifting—just push them along.”

“Quite right, quite right.”

“If we accelerate production, could one more ship be made after the New Year?” With the current fleet and Wang Xiujin’s proposed transport ships, conquering Koku would be easy; but the emperor was fixated on sinking the island, wanting to drive its people into the sea. Only when the island was gone would he find peace.

“In my opinion, the island should be preserved,” said the general. He had examined the maps brought back from the last expedition and found Koku’s terrain peculiarly strategic.

“Oh?” The emperor’s tone was sour, his gaze shifting repeatedly as he looked at the general. Under pressure, the general explained Koku’s geography, adding personal thoughts. Fortunately, none of the civil officials in the study were sycophants; otherwise, someone would surely have mocked the general’s worries, then boasted of Daliang’s grandeur and the inferiority of overseas peoples, perhaps even accusing the upright general of treason.

After hearing the general’s explanation, the emperor found it reasonable. Though he’d never commanded troops, he trusted the opinions of experienced generals. Studying the map, he became increasingly convinced: the island must be kept, though how best to do so required thought. But it must be attacked; the previous show of force with warships and cannons hadn’t cowed them—only pain would teach them submission.

Wang Xiujin breathed a sigh of relief for the general who had just voiced opposition. He had truly worried the emperor might act rashly out of disappointment, and wondered what he could do to support the general should trouble arise.