Starting with a Wei Wu soldier

It was the 25th day of the twelfth lunar month in the fifth year of the Qiming era. There were only five days left until New Year's Eve.

The festive atmosphere of the New Year in Chang'an was already so strong it was almost palpable. Lanterns were hung in front of every household, Spring Festival couplets were pasted up, and paper-cut window decorations were ready. Children, dressed in new clothes, chased and played in the alleyways, clutching newly bought firecrackers in their hands, lighting one every now and then with a crisp "pop," startling a flock of sparrows.

The East and West markets were packed with people. People buying New Year's goods filled every street and alley, the sounds of hawking, bargaining, and greetings mingling together. Foreign merchants also followed local customs; some hung red lanterns at their shops, while others imitated the style of the Central Plains people by writing Spring Festival couplets—though their characters were crooked and uneven, their earnestness drew the attention and comments of passersby from Chang'an.

The festive atmosphere is even stronger inside the Taiji Palace.

Palace servants bustled about, busy hanging lanterns, pasting New Year pictures, and arranging New Year offerings. The imperial kitchen cooks were busy from morning till night, steaming New Year cakes, frying meatballs, and braising preserved meats, filling the palace with their aromas. The ladies of the various palaces were also preparing New Year gifts—gifts for the emperor, the empress, the princes, and the noblewomen—each gift carefully selected and meticulously packaged.

However, inside the West Warm Pavilion of Chengxiang Hall, there was a bustling scene that seemed completely out of place with the New Year celebrations.

The abacus clattered and clicked from morning till night.

Su Xiaoxiao sat behind the huge rosewood desk, with six account books of varying thicknesses spread out in front of her.

From left to right, they are:

The Ministry of Revenue's "Complete Compendium of National Taxes in the Fifth Year of the Qiming Era"—as thick as a brick—records the tax revenue and expenditure of all prefectures and counties in the country that year.

The "Annual Profit and Loss Book of Branches in Various Regions" of the Imperial Household Trading Company is thinner, but the densely packed numbers are dizzying to read.

The Imperial Medical Bureau sent over the "Budget for the Procurement of Medicinal Herbs in the Sixth Year of Qiming"—this was the thinnest book, but it had a handwritten note attached to it by Lan Fenghuang, the handwriting crooked and messy, like a handful of beans that hadn't been picked up yet: "Young Miss, could you approve an extra three thousand strings of cash for the wound medicine? I promise to send you ten jars of Miao wildflower honey next New Year!"

Su Xiaoxiao saw the note, a slight smile appeared on her lips, and she wrote "Approved" on the budget book. Then she took another sheet of paper and wrote three lines:

"Two jars of wildflower honey will suffice. The three thousand strings of cash have been approved and will be disbursed in four installments over the four seasons. The accounts must be kept separately, and the Censorate will review them."

She put down her pen and turned to the next book.

That was the "Estimated Annual Revenue from the Northern Border Trade" sent by the Anbei Protectorate. Wang Zhong was a reliable and meticulous man, and his report was crystal clear: The trade market had been open for six months this year, and the Tiele, Wuliangha, and Hongjila tribes had traded a total of 3,200 horses, 20,000 head of cattle and sheep, and 50,000 hides, in exchange for 8,000 shi of grain, 5,000 bolts of cloth, and 3,000 pieces of ironware. The imperial court collected 40,000 strings of cash in taxes from this transaction.

Su Xiaoxiao did the math: if the border trade is open year-round next year, it could at least double. Eighty thousand strings of cash would be enough to support a border army of five thousand men.

She nodded in satisfaction and wrote "Approved" on the booklet.

The next book was a detailed list of overseas trade revenue sent from Guangzhou by the Maritime Trade Commissioner's Office. Liu Yan, that fellow, truly lived up to his merchant background; his accounts were more detailed than anyone else's: twelve Persian ships, nine Arab ships, seven Indian ships, fifteen Champa ships, ten Srivijaya ships... The types of goods, estimated value, and tax rates for each ship were all listed in detail.

Su Xiaoxiao's eyes grew brighter as she looked at the string of numbers.

The total tax revenue from overseas trade was 120,000 strings of cash.

120,000 strings of cash.

Adding the 40,000 strings of cash from the border trade, plus the salt tax, tea tax, customs duties, commercial taxes...

She picked up her pen and began to calculate quickly on a blank sheet of paper.

The abacus beads clicked and clattered, as fast as a downpour hitting banana leaves.

The accountant stood aside, not daring to utter a sound.

He had served in Chengxiang Palace for three years and was already used to the Imperial Concubine's schedule—rising earlier than the Emperor and sleeping later than the head lady-in-chief of the Shanggong Bureau. He had seen the Concubine work for three consecutive days without sleep, just to check a questionable account; he had seen the Concubine breastfeed the Second Prince while fiddling with an abacus with her foot; he had seen the Concubine smile at the account books late at night, and he had also seen the Concubine sigh at the account books late at night.

But he had never seen the Empress with such an expression before.

It wasn't happiness, nor was it worry, but rather a kind of... ultimate tranquility.

It was as if those densely packed numbers were not numbers in her eyes, but a living world.

There, officials from the Ministry of Revenue were arguing about tax quotas, soldiers on the frontier were waiting for provisions, merchants from the South China Sea were anxiously awaiting payment, and herders from the northern deserts were calculating how many kilograms of tea they could exchange for this year.

Those people, those events, are all contained in these numbers.

And she was the only one who could figure all of this out.

"Snapped!"

With the final crisp click of the abacus beads, Su Xiaoxiao put down her pen.

She stared at the final number on the paper, remaining motionless for a long time.

The accountant couldn't help but lean over for a look, and then gasped in shock.

He counted the number three times before he could get it right.

"Mother...Your Majesty, this...this is..."

Su Xiaoxiao raised her head and looked at him.

That gaze, calm as still water, made him involuntarily lower his head.

"What's wrong?"

The accountant swallowed hard and said in a trembling voice:

"This...this is more than last year...30% more?"

Su Xiaoxiao nodded.

"Three to two."

The accountant opened his mouth, as if to say something, but couldn't utter a word.

Su Xiaoxiao didn't explain. She simply folded the paper carefully and placed it in a specially made brocade box. Inside the box were several such papers, each a summary of the year.

five years.

Five years' worth of accounts are all here.

Five years of ups and downs, all of it has happened here.

She gently closed the brocade box and looked out the window.

Outside the window, the sun was setting. The golden afterglow shone brilliantly on the glazed tiles of Chengxiang Hall.

"Another year has passed," she said softly.

into the night.

The lights in Chengxiang Hall were still on.

Su Xiaoxiao sat at the desk, with a new booklet in front of her—her own private accounts.

As a concubine, she received a stipend from the imperial court. As the daughter of a former merchant, she owned her own businesses. As the emperor's most trusted "purse," she also had a special "secret inner treasury fund"—used for things that couldn't be made public.

She checked them one by one:

Five thousand strings of cash were allocated as compensation to the families of fallen soldiers—this money went through the imperial treasury, not the national treasury, to avoid the clerks wasting time calculating and manipulating the accounts.

Two thousand strings of cash were allocated to the Imperial Medical Bureau for "special research"—Lan Fenghuang needed money to raise those insects, grow those herbs, and try those new prescriptions.

One thousand strings of cash were allocated to the Imperial Academy as a "subsidy for students from poor families"—this was proposed by Lin Wan'er, who said that some students were too poor to even afford writing materials and needed a helping hand.

Three thousand strings of cash were allocated as "exploration fees" for the Western Regions caravans—this was personally instructed by His Majesty to send people to more distant places to see what was in those blank spaces on the maps.

Each stroke is clear and distinct.

She moved the abacus, checking the numbers. The abacus beads clicked and clattered, carrying far in the quiet night.

Soft footsteps came from outside the door.

Su Xiaoxiao didn't look up, but the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

"Heng'er, why aren't you asleep yet?"

The door was pushed open a crack, and a small head peeked in.

That was Chen Heng, seven years old, Su Xiaoxiao's biological son. He was wearing a nightgown, his hair was messy, but his eyes were bright.

"Mother, why aren't you asleep yet?"

Su Xiaoxiao waved.

Chen Heng ran in, climbed onto the chair next to her, and sat down properly.

Su Xiaoxiao looked at him, her eyes full of tenderness.

"Mother is doing the accounts. She'll go to sleep when she's done."

Chen Heng said "Oh" and leaned over to look at the account books.

"Mother, what are these?"

Su Xiaoxiao pointed to the rows of numbers:

"This is money. Money from the national treasury, money from the imperial household, money from our family."

Chen Heng blinked, seemingly understanding but not quite.

"What's the point of calculating money?"

Su Xiaoxiao smiled.

"There's not much to calculate about money. But we need to figure out where the money went, how it went, and whether it should have gone at all."

She paused, looking at her son:

"Your father conquered such a vast empire; there are too many people to manage and too many places where money is needed. Every penny must be spent wisely. How can this be managed without careful consideration?"

Chen Heng nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

He was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked:

"Mother, are you tired?"

Su Xiaoxiao was stunned.

Tired?

Of course it's tiring.

I'm busy from morning till night every day, with endless accounts to calculate, countless folded documents to read, and a constant stream of people to entertain. Sometimes I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, but I still have to keep going.

But she couldn't say she was tired.

Because she was a Noble Consort, the emperor's most trusted person, and the "purse strings" of this vast empire.

If she says she's tired, what will her subordinates do?

She gently patted her son's head.

"Not tired. Mother is not tired."

Chen Heng looked at her, then suddenly reached out and grasped her fingers.

That little hand was soft and warm.

"Mother, when I grow up, I will settle the accounts for you."

Su Xiaoxiao's eyes reddened slightly.

She took her son into her arms and held him tightly.

"Alright. When you grow up, you can help your mother settle accounts."

Late at night.

Chen Heng had already fallen asleep in Su Xiaoxiao's arms. His small body was curled up in a ball, and he was sleeping soundly.

Su Xiaoxiao gently placed him on the couch and covered him with the quilt.

She returned to her desk and looked at the account books that were still not finished.

Outside the window, the moonlight was like water.

The lights in Chengxiang Hall were still on.