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

The news of Fang Zhaoru's journey to the west did not cause much of a stir in the capital, but the atmosphere in the school was quietly changing.

The white-robed national advisor, Fang Fuyao, overturned the teaching system that had been in place for two months.

Instead of having a single teacher lecturing on Confucian classics and arithmetic, the curriculum was completely separated and taught in separate subjects.

An old official from the Ministry of Works who understands construction explained geometry, a retired clerk from the Ministry of Revenue explained accounts, and a scholar from the Hanlin Academy who specializes in poetry explained prosody.

Suddenly, the school had many unfamiliar teachers and many lessons that others couldn't understand.

Wei Changming was promoted to teaching assistant despite not meeting the usual requirements.

He hadn't even graduated from school yet, but he was already teaching basic scriptures to freshmen who were several years younger than him.

On his first day of class, he was so nervous that his palms were sweaty. Facing dozens of bewildered eyes below, he completely forgot the opening remarks he had prepared.

Finally, he simply opened the book and, in his still somewhat hoarse voice, read the first sentence:

"The course of Heaven is constant; it does not exist for Yao, nor does it perish for Jie."

Fang Fuyao stood outside the classroom window, neither going in nor making a sound.

She listened to half of the class, watching the slightly thin boy go from being nervous at first to gradually getting into the zone, breaking down and explaining the difficult classical Chinese texts to the children.

He didn't speak very well, and even used two allusions inappropriately.

But there was light in his eyes.

Fang Fuyao turned to leave and happened to run into Li Huai, who was on patrol, under the corridor.

Li Huai glanced out the window and asked in a low voice, "What does the Imperial Advisor think?"

"Mr. Fang was right before he passed away."

Fang Fuyao's gaze never left the boy: "He's qualified to sit on this platform."

The gears of the academy found their rhythm, and another machine in the imperial court also began to run at high speed.

Wei Zhao ordered that Li Huai lead the effort, with the Ministry of Revenue, the Ministry of War, and the Ministry of Works working together to revise a completely new "New Wutong Commercial Law".

After this order was issued, Li Huai practically lived in the government office.

He led a dozen subordinates and dug out all the scattered regulations concerning commerce, customs, and postal services since the founding of the new Wu Kingdom, and sorted them out word by word.

How should the trade routes to the Western Regions be planned? Who will pay for the supplies that the White Wolf tribe needs to provide when they pass through the area? How will the taxes along the way be calculated?

When horses and furs from the grasslands come in, how much grain and ironware will be exchanged for? What items can be sold, and what items are prohibited?

Once the sea routes in the southeast are reopened, how will Shang Wanqing's newly built ships be escorted, and what percentage of port taxes should be set along the coast?

Each one involves huge interests and the livelihoods of countless people.

Li Huai stayed up for a full half month, and several strands of his hair turned white, his eye sockets became sunken, and he lost a lot of weight.

When he presented a thick first draft to the imperial study, he was so unsteady on his feet that he almost staggered.

Wei Zhao didn't let him say more, but only told him to go back and rest.

That night, the lights in the imperial study stayed on all night.

Wei Zhao turned the pages one by one.

He wasn't looking at the articles themselves, but rather at the people and events behind them.

He could see caravans from the Western Regions queuing up outside Yangguan to pay customs duties, and he could also see merchant ships laden with silk setting sail from Quanzhou port.

He could see a Northern Rong merchant arguing heatedly with a Xinwu official over the price of a horse, and he could also see a Jiangnan rice merchant sighing and lamenting over his account book because of blocked trade routes.

This law is not just words on paper; it is how the bloodline of the new martial arts will flow in the future.

As dawn broke, Wei Zhao finally finished reading the last part.

He didn't make many changes; he simply picked up his vermilion pen and wrote four characters at the end of the file.

"It's negotiable and negotiable."

This means that once the initial draft is approved, it can be presented to the imperial court for all relevant parties to discuss and finalize the details.

When Li Huai saw those four words the next day, his eyes immediately welled up with tears.

Half a month of hard work paid off.

Outside the imperial court, life in the inner palace seemed to slow down.

Wei Xuan is already three years old and can eat by himself holding a small wooden bowl.

Tuoba Yue set a rule for him: he must finish all his meals by himself and was not allowed to be fed by palace maids.

As a result, the little guy manages to precisely scatter half a bowl of rice on the table, the floor, and even his own clothes every meal.

"Let him do it himself!"

Tuoba Yue, hands on her hips, watched the palace maids scrambling to help: "They can't be fed by others for the rest of their lives now that they're grown up!"

Wei Xuan didn't care about that at all; he was more concerned about whether he could eat a piece of meat today and whether he could go to the Imperial Garden to chase butterflies after the meal.

In contrast, Liu Jingshuang's son, Wei Heng, was much more honest.

A three-month-old baby does nothing but eat and sleep, like a porcelain doll.

After Liu Jingshuang returned from the southeast coast, the fierce aura emanating from her body had faded considerably.

She would occasionally carry Wei Heng and take a slow walk around the Imperial Garden.

The child is very well-behaved, doesn't cry or fuss, and when awake, opens his bright black eyes and looks around curiously.

He would watch for a while, then yawn and fall into a deep sleep.

Liu Jingshuang would stop and look down at the little face in her arms, her eyes filled with an unprecedented tenderness.

She would think of the sea breeze from the southeast, the grain ships that had been burned to ashes, and the frivolous remark Wei Zhao had added at the end of the letter.

She unconsciously tightens her grip on the child.

That afternoon, after finishing his official duties, Wei Zhao had some rare free time to visit the inner palace.

As soon as he entered the Imperial Garden, he saw Tuoba Yue carrying Wei Xuan, whose mouth was full of rice grains, to wash his face. On the other side, Liu Jingshuang was holding Wei Heng and sitting on a stone bench, looking serene.

His worries about military reports and account books suddenly vanished.

Perhaps this is what he is willing to risk his life to protect.

This tranquility did not last long.

As evening fell, Hua Jieyu appeared in the Imperial Study.

She held an urgent briefing from Yangguang in her hand.

"Your Majesty, news from the Western Regions."

Wei Zhao took the letter and opened it.

The letter was short and written in Huo Qingluan's handwriting.

"The Jinle tribe has crossed the border smoothly and is heading west without any abnormalities. I sent scouts to accompany them for fifty li, and they confirmed that their troops did not split up, did not stop, and showed no signs of turning back. Therefore, we withdrew our troops and returned to the pass. There is nothing to worry about at Yangguan Pass, Your Majesty."

Wei Zhao finished reading, but his face remained expressionless.

Everything was going as expected. Kinler was a smart man; he wouldn't try anything funny in a place like Yangguan.

He carefully folded the report and placed it in a black lacquered wooden box on the left side of the imperial desk, which was used to store documents related to the Western Regions.

The box was already half full, containing the White Wolf Tribe's roster, a copy of the Landscape Painting, and a handwritten letter from Fang Zhaoru before his departure.

After doing all this, Wei Zhao leaned back in his chair, but his gaze never left the box.

The road to the west is open for the time being.

But Xinwu's troubles never come from just one direction.

His fingers tapped lightly on the table, his gaze slowly shifting until it landed on another map.

That was a defense deployment map of the southeastern coast, with several names circled in vermilion ink.

Qiongzhou Strait.

The islands in the South China Sea.

There were also Ke Zhenchuan's seven thousand remaining troops.

That's a knife hanging overhead, ready to fall at any moment.