A family of loyal martyrs, starting with nine wives to continue the family line.

In the summer of the third year of Xinwu, Wei Xuan turned three years old.

The little one can already speak in complete sentences and loves chasing after the butterflies in the Imperial Garden.

Tuoba Yue hadn't responded yet.

Wei Zhao happened to come in from outside the door, heard these words, and stopped by the table to take a look.

The words on the paper were more and more horrible, the ink was crooked and twisted, and the last blob was no longer recognizable.

This kid certainly knows how to make excuses for himself.

Before he was even three years old, and before he could recognize all the characters, he had already developed a thick skin.

"Father!"

Upon seeing him, Wei Xuan immediately jumped off the chair and ran to his legs: "When can I ride a horse?"

Wei Zhao bent down and picked him up.

"When you're a little older."

Wei Xuan immediately pressed, "How old?"

"Bigger than it is now."

"How big is considered big?"

"If you can trace these few characters, that would be a big achievement."

Wei Zhao put him back in the chair and pushed the destroyed piece of paper in front of him.

Wei Xuan looked down and his smile vanished instantly.

"This one is broken."

"If it's broken, rewrite it."

"Father, can we not write this?"

"cannot."

"Then I'll write it after I ride the horse."

"After you ride the horse, you still have to write it when you get back."

Wei Xuan looked up at him, as if judging whether there was any room for negotiation on this statement.

After a few moments, he realized that his father wasn't teasing him, so he could only pick up his pen again.

"Then I want to ride a big horse."

"Can."

"Not a pony."

"Here's a big horse for you."

Wei Xuan's eyes immediately lit up.

"real?"

"real."

Wei Xuan quickly grabbed the pen and drew a couple of lines on the paper.

The two characters were even more crooked, and a large amount of ink dripped down the tip of the pen.

He looked down at his work, remained silent for a moment, then looked up and said, "Father, I've finished writing."

"This is 'heaven'."

Wei Zhao pointed to the paper.

"You wrote about a cloud."

Wei Xuan thought for a moment and said seriously, "Clouds are also from the sky."

Tuoba Yue finally laughed so hard he bent over.

Looking at the little guy in front of him, Wei Zhao felt that the memorials and military reports that had been weighing on his mind were now somewhat scattered after he stirred them up.

It's not that he doesn't want to teach the children to ride horses.

However, Wei Xuan was still too young; the horse didn't recognize its rider, and the reins wouldn't wait for him to grow up.

Besides, while the palace may seem safe, if something really happens, no one can bear the responsibility.

But children don't understand these things.

He only knew that others could ride, and he wanted to ride too.

"In a few more months."

Wei Zhao reached out and ruffled his hair: "Father will have someone pick out a gentle pony for you first."

Just as Wei Xuan was about to cheer, Tuoba Yue added a comment from the side.

"It's a pony."

Wei Xuan's lips immediately pursed.

"I don't want a pony."

"Start with a small pony. Once you can sit on it steadily, then switch to a larger horse."

Wei Xuan turned to look at Wei Zhao.

"Father, may I ride a horse directly?"

Wei Zhao looked at his expectant little face and paused for a moment.

"cannot."

Why?

"Because you'll fall."

"Don't cry even if you fall."

"That's still not possible."

Wei Xuan was unconvinced and turned around to continue tracing the characters.

This time, however, he wrote with exceptional seriousness, even pursing his lips.

Tuoba Yue stood to the side with her arms crossed and whispered, "You've won him over this time."

"I was just telling the truth."

Were you like this when you were little?

Wei Zhao looked at her.

"What?"

"Chasing butterflies, wanting to ride horses, unable to sit still. When adults ask you to write, you use clouds and horses to fool them."

Wei Zhao was taken aback by the question.

His childhood in his previous life was indeed similar.

Back then, I was thinking about cartoons, sports fields, and whether I could play for an extra half hour after school.

As for horseback riding, he hadn't ridden it many times.

But I can't say these things to Tuoba Yue.

He smiled as he watched Wei Xuan's back as he bent over writing.

"More or less."

Tuoba Yue handed him the teacup.

Before becoming emperor, everyone started by chasing butterflies.

Wei Zhao picked up the tea but did not drink it immediately.

This sentence sounded ordinary, but it made him pause for a moment.

When he woke up in the mourning hall, he was faced with nine coffins, white banners all over the room, and the Great Wei Dynasty that had rotted to the core.

At that time, he didn't dare to think about chasing butterflies, let alone whether he would survive the next day.

But now, Wei Xuan is haggling over the price of riding a horse in front of him.

The child didn't need to know the urgent reports from the border, whether the supply lines had been cut off, or how many people would die from a single decision. All he needed to know was when the horse his father had promised him would be brought to him.

This is good.

At least this child can grow up well.

After nightfall, Wei Xuan was already fast asleep.

Tuoba Yue tucked the blanket around him and placed the tree branch that he had used as a horsewhip during the day next to the small couch.

Wei Zhao sat at the table for a while, then couldn't help but say, "Should we keep this branch too?"

He said it was his horse.

"Where's the horse?"

They ran away.

Wei Zhao glanced at her.

Tuoba Yue said in a serious tone, "He rode it away."

Wei Zhao did not respond.

This woman's skill in coaxing children is just as good as the children themselves.

Tuoba Yue sat back down opposite him and stared at him for a few moments.

You seem to have something on your mind today.

"no."

"When you were reviewing the memorials, you looked at Wei Xuan's work three times."

He didn't sleep well.

"He kicked off the covers twice after he fell asleep, and his snoring was louder than yours."

Wei Zhao picked up the tea and took a sip.

They've been exposed.

He stopped trying to hide it and said in a low voice, "I was just thinking about some old things."

Tuoba Yue didn't ask any further questions, but only looked at the child on the small couch.

Wei Zhao knew she was waiting, and he also knew she wouldn't force him to speak.

Some things are better left unsaid.

The coffin in the mourning hall has been burned, and the dead will never come back.

But he still remembers how he felt when he opened his eyes that day.

It's not fear.

It seems absurd.

When others transmigrate, they become kings or chosen ones, but for him, the beginning is the death of his entire family in battle, the emperor's suspicion, the treacherous minister's power, and the invasion of foreign tribes.

Survival is difficult enough, let alone protecting the world.

At that moment, all he wanted to do was hold the knife.

Anyone who gets in our way will be killed.

Later, he gripped the knife more and more steadily, killed more and more people, and finally, Xinwu was established.

But now, looking at these children and the lights still on in the school, he realized that killing was never the goal.

If he can only maintain the new military by constantly killing, then what difference is there between this court and the Great Wei?

"Wei Zhao," Tuoba Yue called out to him.

"Um?"

"If you're tired, take a nap."

"Not tired yet."

"Stubborn to the end."

"I am the emperor."

Even emperors get sleepy.

Wei Zhao looked at her and suddenly realized that what she said made a lot of sense.

Emperors get tired, hungry, and sick, and they also want to watch their children ride horses.

But the people in the court didn't care about any of that; they just kept sending in memorials and pinning all the troubles of the world on him.

He got up and walked to the window.

"Go to sleep."

"And you?"

"I'll go to sleep after I finish reviewing the remaining memorials."

Tuoba Yue watched his retreating figure and didn't try to persuade him any further.

She knew what Wei Zhao had decided; a few words of advice were possible, but too much advice was useless.

When Wei Zhao returned to the imperial study, it was already past midnight.

The memorials on the desk were piled up like a small mountain, and the ink was half dry.

The Ministry of War sent military reports from the northern border, the Ministry of Revenue sent this year's grain rations, the Maritime Trade Office sent accounts for the Quanzhou fast ships, and the Embroidered Uniform Guard also delivered a secret report about the islands in the South China Sea.

He picked up the vermilion pen, wrote a few lines, and then stopped.

I can't concentrate.

Wei Zhao looked up at the window.

Most of the capital city was asleep, with only a few lights still on in the direction of the school.

The lights were far apart, appearing as just a few small dots in the night.

But those few small dots didn't go out.

He remembered the first thing he saw when he woke up in Qingyang Palace many years ago.

When he saw the nine coffins, he was thinking about how to survive.

Now he's thinking about how to keep these lights burning.