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

"He's willing to go."

Fang Fuyao stood at the door of the Imperial Study, and after saying those words, she said nothing more.

Wei Zhao's vermilion pen stopped in mid-air, the ink on the tip falling and creating a black dot on the southeastern defense deployment document.

He glanced at the blob of ink, then looked at Fang Fuyao.

"When are you leaving?"

He said, "Your Majesty may set the date."

Fang Fuyao said, "However, he has one request."

Wei Zhao put down his pen.

Did he say what it was?

He said he had only one request.

Fang Fuyao paused for a moment: "Before leaving, he wanted to go to Shili Pavilion one more time."

Wei Zhao remained silent.

He certainly remembered this place.

Shili Pavilion is not in the city, but ten miles away from the south gate of the capital.

When the old lady died, her coffin was sent out of the Wei family mansion, and the people spontaneously followed along the way.

When they arrived there, the procession stopped for half an hour, and many people knelt by the roadside burning paper money.

At that time, all nine sons of the Wei family had died, and the old matriarch was driven to the brink of despair.

The Great Wei court forbade the Wei family from entering the ancestral tomb, so the people erected a monument for them outside the Shili Pavilion.

There are only four characters on the monument.

Heroic eunuch.

Later, when the new Wu dynasty was established, Wei Zhao personally moved his mother back to the Wei family ancestral graves.

No one touched the stele at Shili Pavilion.

Every year during the Qingming Festival, local residents still go there to burn paper money, bring a pot of wine, and set out some coarse grains, as if they are offering sacrifices to someone who is unrelated to their own family but whom they cannot forget.

Fang Zhaoru has traveled all over the Western Regions and visited many other places over the years.

However, after returning to the capital, he never went to Shili Pavilion.

Wei Zhao tapped his fingers on the table.

What does this old man want to do there?

Should I go see the old matriarch, or should I go see my younger self?

Fang Zhaoru drew the landscape map years ago and led the White Wolf tribe away from the Western Regions.

That road was cut off for three hundred years, and the White Wolf tribe pursued it for three hundred years.

Now that he is finally ready to send the road back, he insists on making a trip to Shili Pavilion before leaving.

Wei Zhao did not believe it was a coincidence.

He probably wanted to tell the old lady that the Wei family was still alive.

It could also be a way of telling oneself that there is finally a chance to make up for the mistakes made back then.

"Prepare a carriage so that the flowers can understand words."

Wei Zhao said, "Don't make a fuss. He can go whenever he wants; there's no need to report to me."

Fang Fuyao glanced at him.

"Is Your Majesty not going?"

Wei Zhao leaned back in his chair, his gaze falling on the documents on the table.

He wanted to go alone.

Fang Fuyao didn't ask any more questions and turned to leave.

Wei Zhao, however, was unable to immediately pick up his pen again.

Behind that monument lie the lives of many.

The nine elder brothers of the Wei family, the old matriarch, and the common people who once stood by the Shili Pavilion and wept.

If Fang Zhaoru were standing there, he wouldn't just be seeing those four words, but rather the most outrageous years of the Great Wei Dynasty.

He himself had also seen his mother off there.

The wind was strong that day, and when the coffin was carried out, the area outside the Wei residence was crowded with people.

Some people dared not cry, some knelt in the snow, and some cursed in the direction of the imperial city for a full half hour.

He had just woken up in the mourning hall and didn't understand anything. He just felt that the world was incredibly absurd.

Looking back now, the hardest thing to repay wasn't a road, but the favors we owed.

Fang Zhaoru owes the White Wolf tribe a road.

Wei Zhao owes his mother a peaceful final resting place.

The people owe the Wei family a justice that is many years overdue.

This debt cannot be settled with a mere reward.

That afternoon, the carriage left the capital through a side gate.

Fang Zhaoru was the only person in the carriage, and the driver was an old man from the Brocade Robe Pavilion arranged by Hua Jieyu.

He didn't ask where they were going, but simply followed instructions and took them to Shili Pavilion.

After Fang Zhaoru got off the carriage, the driver stayed at a distance and did not follow.

The old man stood in front of the monument, looking up at the four characters.

The inscription has been exposed to wind and rain for many years, and the characters are not as clear as when they were first carved, but every stroke is still there.

Heroic eunuch.

Fang Zhaoru reached out and touched the corner of the monument without saying a word.

He stood there for a long time.

Half an hour later, the coachman heard him speak.

"Do you think the Wei family will blame me?"

The driver sat on the shaft of the cart, not daring to respond.

Fang Zhaoru didn't wait for a reply, but continued while looking at the inscription on the monument:

"When I left the Western Regions with the map, I felt like I had only drawn a map. People were paid to do things, and if the road was blocked, so be it. What did it have to do with me?"

"Later, the White Wolf tribe chased me for decades, and I realized that every mountain pass on the map could be their way home."

"But I was already old by then."

As he said this, he looked down at his hands.

The finger joints were large, and ink stains remained under the fingernails.

These hands have painted mountains and rivers and written many articles, but they have never truly sent that road back.

Until Wei Zhao appeared.

Fang Zhaoru had actually met many emperors, as well as many people who wanted to become emperor.

Some people talk about benevolence and righteousness, but hold a knife in their hand.

Some people talk about the world, but all they care about is their own throne.

Wei Zhao is different. He can kill and he can also do accounting. He is willing to hand over a trade route to the White Wolf tribe, but he lays out the rules and the knife beforehand.

Such a person wouldn't simply hand over Fang Zhaoru the drawing just because he had done so.

That is why Fang Zhaoru dared to go.

When Wei Zhao learned of this, Fang Zhaoru had already returned to the residence.

"He stood there for half an hour."

Hua Jieyu stood by the table and said, "His expression didn't change after he returned. He only asked me to tell His Majesty that he could set off at any time."

After hearing this, Wei Zhao's finger stopped on the edge of the table.

He did not ask Fang Zhaoru what he said in front of the monument.

Some questions shouldn't be asked.

Once the question was asked, it became something the court had to record, and something the emperor and his ministers had to respond to.

But the words spoken at Shili Pavilion belong only to the dead and the elderly; there is no need for a third person to explain them.

"Have the Ministry of Rites prepare the imperial edict."

Wei Zhao said, "We will discuss and decide on this at court in three days."

Hua Jieyu nodded and turned to walk out.

She turned back as she reached the door.

"Should we prepare a team of guards for Mr. Fang?"

"Not too much."

"What about the White Wolf tribe?"

"Tell Jinle that Fang Zhaoru is the Pacification Commissioner of the Western Regions, not their prisoner."

Hua Jieyu smiled.

"What if Kinler doesn't listen?"

Wei Zhao looked up at her.

"Then let him hear it."

Hua Jieyu didn't ask any more questions, pushed open the door and walked out.

Three days later, the morning court session began.

Fang Zhaoru stood in the row of military officers, with white hair and beard, wearing an old blue robe, looking completely different from the armored generals around him.

But no one dared to underestimate him.

In the main hall, officials from the Ministry of Rites first read out the imperial edict.

"Fang Zhaoru is familiar with the mountains and rivers of the Western Regions and knows the old routes of the White Wolf Tribe. He is hereby appointed as the Pacification Commissioner of the Western Regions, to accompany the White Wolf Tribe westward, and to be responsible for negotiating trade routes, arranging supplies, and settling soldiers and civilians along the way. Wherever he goes, he shall determine his own conduct except for the laws of the country and military orders."

After the reading was completed, no one in the hall spoke.

This official title may not sound high, but it carries much more weight than that of an ordinary envoy.

The journey to the Western Regions passes through Yangguan and Yumenguan, and also through the former territory of the White Wolf tribe.

If Fang Zhaoru were merely a civil official accompanying the emperor, he would have no choice but to wait for orders from the capital in the event of a dispute.

But the Pacification Commissioner is different; he can handle things on the spot and even mobilize local officials and troops along the way.

This was the power Wei Zhao granted him, and also a guarantee for the White Wolf tribe.

Kinler wanted someone who knew the way.

Xinwu didn't give him an old man who had been taken away, but someone who could speak on behalf of the court.

The Ministry of Rites official closed the imperial edict, and Chao Fangzhaoru looked at it.

"Lord Fang, do you have any objections?"

Fang Zhaoru stepped forward, cupped his hands, and said, "Your subject obeys the decree."

His voice wasn't loud, but it carried throughout the entire hall.

Wei Zhao sat on the dragon throne and glanced at him.

The white-haired old scholar stood among the military officers, his back ramrod straight.

There was neither sadness nor excitement, as if they had been waiting for this day for a long time.