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

The torrential rain that had been falling for three days finally stopped.

A hole was torn in the thick clouds over the capital, and the long-awaited sunlight shone down, making the wet bluestone pavement glisten.

Outside the palace walls, some daring people had already begun to bring out their damp bedding to air it out, and the air was filled with a damp, earthy smell and a faint musty odor.

After reviewing the last stack of memorials on the imperial desk concerning the revision of the new commercial law, Wei Zhao felt a bit dizzy and lightheaded.

He read the first draft that Li Huai presented to him word by word all night long. Every word in it was related to the future business lifeline of Xinwu, and he could not be careless in the slightest.

He stood up, rubbed his throbbing temples, and decided to go for a walk.

As I passed the back garden, my steps unconsciously stopped.

Tuoba Yue and Wei Xuan were squatting by the lotus pond, the two figures, one big and one small, gazing intently at the clear blue water.

The pond water had risen considerably after the rain, and the surface was murky, but the shallow water along the edge was crystal clear, and you could see a group of small, dark creatures swimming around in it.

Wei Xuan was wearing a pair of tiger-head cloth shoes. His two chubby little hands were supporting his knees, and his eyes were wide open, staring unblinkingly at the little black dots wriggling in the water.

"Father!"

He was the first to spot Wei Zhao, turned around and called out in a clear voice, then pointed at the pool water, his face full of curiosity: "What's this?"

Wei Zhao walked over, squatted down beside him, and glanced in the direction he was pointing. "Tadpoles."

"Tadpoles?" Wei Xuan mimicked his pronunciation, but his words were somewhat unclear.

"Yes, tadpoles. When they grow up, they will become frogs."

Wei Zhao spoke very softly, as if afraid of disturbing the fragile little lives in the pool.

Wei Xuan's eyes lit up instantly, as if he had discovered some incredible secret. He turned to look at Wei Zhao in surprise: "Really?"

Wei Zhao smiled and nodded: "Really. Come back in a few months, and they'll have grown legs and run ashore."

This answer is clearly beyond the cognitive scope of a three-year-old child.

Wei Xuan thought seriously for a while, his little brows furrowing, and then he asked a question that Wei Zhao had not expected:

"Will I change when I grow up?"

Wei Zhao was slightly taken aback, then smiled.

He reached out and stroked his son's soft hair: "Yes, you will. You will grow taller, run faster, and be stronger than you are now."

Wei Xuan then asked, "When I grow up, will I still chase butterflies?"

Tuoba Yue, who had been silent the whole time, finally couldn't help but burst out laughing.

She reached out and pinched her son's chubby cheeks: "Go after him, why don't you? Go after him for as long as you want, no one's stopping you."

Having received an affirmative answer, Wei Xuan immediately turned back with satisfaction and continued to study the tadpoles with great interest, muttering words and gesturing as if he were discussing with them about going to chase butterflies together in the future.

As Wei Zhao watched his son's retreating figure, the weariness he had felt from reviewing the memorials gradually dissipated.

He remembered the moment he first opened his eyes in the mourning hall after he had traveled through time.

At that time, let alone chasing butterflies, he didn't even dare to think about whether he would be able to leave that house alive the next day.

But now, his son can sit carefree by the pond, pondering the question of tadpoles and butterflies.

Children don't need to know how urgent the military reports from the North are, whether the supply lines to the Southeast will be cut off, or how many people will die from a wrong decision.

All he needs to know is that the tadpoles in the pond will grow up, and the butterflies in the garden will fly again tomorrow.

This is enough.

This is perhaps what he is willing to risk his life to protect.

That evening, when Wei Zhao returned to the imperial study, there was indeed another letter on his desk.

The letter was sent back via express courier from Yangguan. It was not sealed with sealing wax, and the envelope was made of the most common yellow hemp paper found in post stations, but the seal was neatly tied with fine hemp rope.

He recognized it immediately as Fang Zhaoru's handwriting.

Upon opening the envelope, there was only a thin sheet of scrap paper inside.

The paper was rough, and you could even see the uncrushed grass stems inside, but the handwriting on it was neat and upright, with each stroke revealing the integrity of a scholar.

The letter was unsigned and contained no official formalities.

"We have passed the old Yumen Pass. The road is longer than I remember, but we are not traveling slowly. Last night, Jinle sat with me by the campfire and said only one sentence—'If my people had had this map three hundred years ago, it would not have been lost to this day.' I did not answer, but I already knew the answer in my heart. There is no need to worry about it."

Wei Zhao held the letter and read it twice.

Jin Le's words were less a lament and more a belated explanation to Fang Zhaoru and the Xinwu court, three hundred years late.

He acknowledged the value of the Landscape Painting and indirectly recognized the significance of Xinwu returning it.

Fang Zhaoru's answer, however, was even more profound.

"I already have the answer in my heart."

What was the answer?

Is it to answer his own guilt for taking the blueprints away back then, or to answer the suffering of the White Wolf tribe for three hundred years of displacement?

Perhaps both.

But Wei Zhao preferred to believe that Fang Zhaoru was telling him that he had a clear conscience on his journey back west.

The heavy weight that had been pressing on Wei Zhao's mind about the west lifted a little further.

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

The box wasn't large, but it already contained more than a dozen documents.

There is a list of the White Wolf tribe's surrendered members, a copy of the Landscape Painting, several military reports sent back by Huo Qingluan from Yangguan, and now there is this family letter from Fang Zhaoru.

After doing all this, Wei Zhao's gaze did not leave.

His gaze passed over the black box containing the documents from the Western Regions and landed on another box next to it, painted in vermilion and gold.

That box contained all the military reports about the southeastern coast.

Shang Wanqing's urgent letter, Liu Jingshuang's defense map, and the secret report from the Embroidered Uniform Guard regarding the movements of Ke Zhenchuan's remnants.

One in the west, one in the east; one in peace, one in danger.

The two boxes were placed side by side on the large imperial desk, separated by no more than a foot, yet they resembled two distant mountains, one rising and the other falling.

As Fang Zhaoru traveled west and the White Wolf tribe submitted, the mountain to the west was gradually being cleared of a path, revealing the dawn of peace and trade.

Meanwhile, the mountain to the east was silently gathering storm energy on the sea.

Ke Zhenchuan's remaining 7,000 troops are like venomous snakes lurking in the islands of the South China Sea, ready to poke their heads out at any moment and bite into the richest southeastern hinterland of Xinwu.

Wei Zhao reached out and gently stroked the vermilion box containing the Southeast Military Report.

The box was cold.

He knew that compared to the visible and tangible road to the west, the vast, bottomless sea to the east was the real test for Xinwu.

He can't wait, and he can't afford to wait.

Before Ke Zhenchuan accumulates enough power to stir up a real storm, a sharper knife must be handed to Liu Jingshuang and Shang Wanqing.