Chapter 3: Write Me a Letter
The small fire was extinguished in time; it hadn’t even burned through the granary wall.
The arsonist was pressed to the ground. He had intended to commit suicide by poison, so his jaw had been dislocated.
Han Min looked back, then couldn’t help touching his own chin.
Thankfully, his was still intact.
Seeing his silly look, Fu Xun let out a soft laugh.
“Why are you here?”
Han Min replied, “I was originally going to take a look near the city gate. When I came out, I saw him sneaking around, so I followed him.”
He added weakly, “Turns out Your Highness had already arranged everything.”
Fu Xun said, “Come, I’ll take you to the city gate to have a look.”
He began walking away, and Han Min quickly followed.
The system returned to Han Min’s side.
“This is what you meant by being able to implicate the Duke of Gong and Magistrate Liu?”
Han Min simply smiled.
They reached the city gate with Fu Xun.
The militia of Liuzhou held up torches, illuminating the darkness.
The imperial court hadn’t sent many people; the food and medicine being transported amounted to no more than thirty carts.
Han Min stopped before one of the carts. He casually asked, “What’s loaded here?”
Fu Xun stood beside him. “Grain.”
Han Min grabbed a corner of one burlap sack, trying to tear it open.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have the strength.
Fu Xun understood, beckoned to a militiaman, and took the saber from the man’s hand.
He pulled Han Min back a little. “Let me.”
With the saber, he slit open the sack. Dirt mixed with rice spilled out onto the ground.
Han Min glanced at the nearby militia, then said to Fu Xun—half intentionally, half not, “His Highness urged and urged, even had to cut his own rations to provide for the people. And yet the court sends… this.”
Fu Xun didn’t respond. He only returned the saber to the militiaman and dismissed him.
As the militiaman left, the look he cast at Fu Xun contained unmistakable admiration.
Fu Xun also understood Han Min’s intent. After the man left, he said calmly, “I wasn’t that anxious.”
Han Min replied, “This is a public-opinion strategy. Your Highness doesn’t understand.”
Fu Xun added, “If you’re not anxious, then stay with me a little longer.”
Han Min glanced at him. Did he have something else planned?
The sky grew darker, and light snow began to fall.
Beside the main road in front of Liuzhou’s city gate, a temporary straw shed had been set up.
Han Min sat on a long bench before a square table, holding a warm bowl of tea, mind wandering.
The system asked, “This is the matter that can implicate the Duke of Gong and Magistrate Liu?”
Han Min nodded. “Mm.”
“How did you know the grain sent by the court would be like this?”
“A guess. Heavy snow this winter, grain prices soaring, the Duke of Gong overseeing logistics—he definitely pockets half. His subordinates are much more capable than he is. Plus, the Duke of Gong is determined to make Fu Xun suffer failure in Liuzhou. To them, whether this shipment reaches or not makes no difference. So they…”
The system sighed. “Utterly reckless.”
Han Min gasped. “Wow—you actually used an idiom!”
The system went speechless. Han Min chuckled, then said, “Most of the time, if the money is enough, anything becomes possible.”
The system fell silent. Han Min vaguely heard someone talking to him.
He refocused, holding the tea bowl, blankly staring at Fu Xun.
Fu Xun repeated, “How is your grandfather?”
Han Min answered, “He’s well, just afraid of the cold during winter.”
“Your elder brother?”
“He’s well too. I massage his legs every night—maybe one day he’ll recover.”
Fu Xun paused, seemingly unsure what else to say, so he asked again, “Your mother?”
“All well.”
Not wanting him to ask one by one, Han Min said, “My whole family is fine—my aunt, my younger brother, everyone. Thank you for Your Highness’s concern.”
With nothing left to ask, Fu Xun simply looked at him.
Han Min felt odd being stared at. Realizing something, he asked, “Then… is Your Highness well?”
Fu Xun nodded with noble restraint.
“And… your mother… I mean, the Empress?”
“She is well.”
Han Min thought again. “What about my senior brothers? And the friends we used to play with? Are they all well?”
Fu Xun nodded. “They’re all well.”
Han Min had grown up in Yong’an City with boys his age. The Han family had been demoted for two years, so he hadn’t seen his friends in that time. Afraid of implicating them, he also rarely wrote letters.
After a pause, Fu Xun asked, “You and Fu Rang—do you write often?”
Fu Xun was the third prince; Fu Rang the fifth, son of Consort Hui.
Consort Hui was close to the Empress. Among the brothers, Fu Xun was most familiar with Fu Rang.
Fu Rang was also around Han Min’s age, and the two were good friends.
After going south to Tongzhou, Fu Rang often used carrier pigeons to send letters to Han Min. Han Min couldn’t stop him from writing, so he would chat idly in reply. Fu Rang also occasionally shared court matters.
This time, Fu Xun coming to Liuzhou for disaster relief had also been revealed to Han Min by Fu Rang.
Han Min didn’t know why Fu Xun was asking; something about his tone felt strange.
Before he could answer, Wen Yan stepped forward. “Your Highness, our people have arrived.”
Fu Xun lifted his gaze. Han Min followed his line of sight toward the city gate.
Soldiers in neat formation escorted a convoy into the city.
Good warhorses pulled the carts. Each cart was escorted by a team of five soldiers, one of whom held a torch.
The convoy was long—torches forming a chain, like a fiery dragon.
Han Min stood and looked. There were several hundred carts.
He suddenly realized—what Fu Xun said on the city tower earlier, “they will arrive tonight,” didn’t refer to the imperial shipment, but to his own people.
Han Min stared at Fu Xun in shock. Words failed him. He cupped his hands in silent salute.
Impressive. Truly admirable.
Fu Xun let out a soft laugh and stood.
Han Min suddenly thought of something. “Wasn’t the court forbidding you from bringing troops?”
Fu Xun walked out of the shed. “The Duke of Gong’s failure forced my hand. Bringing soldiers is merely expedient. A general in the field may disobey the sovereign’s orders.”
Han Min followed. “True.”
With the sand-mixed grain as justification, Fu Xun now had proper cause.
Han Min remembered another issue. “With grain prices so high, where did you get the money?”
Fu Xun turned and looked at him steadily.
Han Min was startled. Pointing at himself, he asked uncertainly, “Are you trying to say—you sold your estate like I did?”
He looked so earnest it was funny.
Fu Xun turned his head to hide his laughter, afraid Han Min would get mad.
“When we were studying at the academy, you once proposed a policy uniting soldiers and farmers. I have been experimenting with it over the past few years. This year it finally saw some results. I originally planned to release some grain to stabilize prices, but then Liuzhou’s earthquake happened.”
Han Min finally remembered that he had said something like that long ago.
It had been just a casual remark, yet Fu Xun remembered.
Fu Xun stopped in front of a grain cart and checked the sack of white rice grains.
He scooped some up in one hand and showed Han Min.
Han Min smiled.
In times of disaster, nothing steadies the people more than grain.
Fu Xun retied the sack and led him to the roadside.
Han Min folded his arms and watched the endless carts flow past, entering Liuzhou.
A natural sense of grandeur welled up inside him.
Fu Xun looked at his profile. “Thanks to you.”
Han Min quickly said, “I only mentioned it casually. It was Your Highness’s wisdom.”
Fu Xun did not respond. In the torchlight, he looked at him with a faint smile—until his brows suddenly furrowed.
He raised a hand and hooked the long hair ribbon resting on Han Min’s shoulder.
Han Min wasn’t yet twenty, so he still tied his hair with a ribbon.
Fu Xun had merely noticed it slipping and wanted to fix it.
He had no improper intention.
But with just a bit too much force—he tugged the ribbon loose.
Black hair fell over Han Min’s shoulders and back.
Han Min turned and frowned at him.
Fu Xun held up the ribbon. “I’m giving it back. Why glare at me?”
Han Min took it, turned away, held one end in his mouth, and retied his hair.
The convoy was so long that even after he finished, the end still hadn’t arrived.
Fu Xun suddenly asked, “Was the bamboo whistle I gave you broken?”
“No.” Han Min patted himself. “I just left it at home because I came out in a hurry.”
Fu Xun produced another bamboo whistle from his sleeve.
Han Min took it and blew toward the sky twice.
A hawk sliced through the night, diving down.
Han Min extended his left arm, letting it land there.
The hawk shuffled closer. Han Min noticed a tuft of white feathers on its head. “It’s the same one?”
Fu Xun commanded troops in the northwest, where there were many hawks.
He liked raising them, over a hundred in total.
Fu Xun rubbed his nose and looked away. “Yes. This one is for you.”
Han Min stroked the hawk’s head. Smiling, he called, “Turnip-head.”
Fu Xun corrected him, “Its name is Yanzhi.”
Han Min pouted. “Turnip-head it is.”
Fine. Turnip-head then.
After a pause, Fu Xun said quietly, “The whistle and the hawk are yours. You… write me letters.”
Han Min blinked. “Huh?”
Fu Xun explained patiently, “Write me letters—just like you write to Fu Rang.”
Han Min finally understood. “…All right.”
As they spoke, a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old youth approached, wearing the same armor as the escort soldiers, hand resting on his sword as he jogged over.
“Second Brother Han.”
Han Min turned and stared blankly for a moment before recognizing him.
“Wei Huan?”
Wei Huan approached, saluted Fu Xun, then said to Han Min, “I saw you from afar, Second Brother Han, and when I came closer—sure enough, it was you.”
Han Min smiled. “You’ve grown taller in these two years. Why are you in Liuzhou?”
Wei Huan scratched his head shyly. “I kept causing trouble in Yong’an. My brother couldn’t stand it—Second Brother Han knows he’s got a temper. He got angry and sent me to serve His Highness. Then I followed His Highness to Liuzhou for disaster relief. I just returned with the convoy.”
Han Min was friends with Wei Huan’s older brother.
Wei Huan noticed the hawk perched on Han Min’s arm.
“Your Highness told Second Brother Han to write letters?”
Han Min froze. “How do you know?”
Wei Huan answered honestly, “Oh, because the Fifth Prince always waves your letters around in front of His Highness. And when His Highness enters the palace to greet the Empress, the Empress and Consort Hui quietly ask too.”
“Ask what?”
“Ask if His Highness doesn’t get along with you—otherwise, why do you only write to the Fifth Prince and not him?”
Only after saying everything did Wei Huan remember that His Highness was right beside him.
Fu Xun’s brows knotted; his expression darkened.
Wei Huan quickly covered his mouth and stepped back. “Your Highness?”
Author’s Note:
Fu Xun: I am accomplished in both letters and martial arts. I strategize flawlessly. I have no weaknesses.
Wei Huan: Han Min never writes you letters.
Fu Xun: tearful cat face jpg.
thanks for translation!