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

By mid-August, the mornings and evenings in Beijing were already cool. The summer heat was gone, and the breeze carrying a hint of autumn's crispness was now refreshing on one's face.

Wei Zhao ordered the Ministry of Works to send a batch of high-quality silver-bone charcoal and charcoal stoves to the school ahead of schedule.

It's not quite time to actually burn charcoal for heating yet, but it's always good to have some on hand.

The place where children study must not be cold.

When Li Huai encountered Fang Fuyao, who was engrossed in a pile of academic records, in the imperial study after the decree was issued, he couldn't help but jokingly remark:

"The Imperial Preceptor is busier than us who are fighting in wars these days. His Majesty's attention is almost entirely focused on the schools."

Fang Fu shook his head without looking up, his vermilion pen rapidly marking a list. Hearing this, he simply replied indifferently:

"Those who return from battle always have time to rest. But the affairs of the school never stop for a single day. The more characters these children learn, the more solid the foundation of Xinwu becomes. Prime Minister Li will not fail to understand this."

Li Huai met with a lukewarm response, touched his nose, and said nothing more.

He knew the Imperial Advisor was telling the truth.

Fighting is like cutting away the rotten flesh, while running schools is like nurturing new blood.

Wei Zhao happened to come out of the inner palace and overheard their conversation, a smile appearing on his face.

He didn't interrupt, but simply walked behind the imperial desk and sat down.

The court has indeed been much more stable lately. The dust has settled in the west, and there have only been minor skirmishes in the north. As a result, some ministers have begun to propose that, while the country is at peace and the treasury is still relatively full, another official post road should be built from the capital directly to the three southeastern prefectures.

The reasons are quite valid. The southeastern coast is now a vital hub for new military spending and grain reserves. Once trade routes are opened, the flow of people and goods must keep up.

A wide and flat post road could reduce the travel time of caravans by at least 30%.

Wei Zhao did not rush to approve the reply. He asked Li Huai to take people from the Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Works to calculate the costs first.

Three days later, the accounts presented by Li Huai caused a collective gasp of astonishment in the court.

Wei Zhao wasn't surprised when he saw the number.

He closed the ledger and said calmly, "Repair half of it first."

The entire court was stunned.

"The construction stopped when it reached the Huai River from the capital."

Wei Zhao drew a line on the map with his finger: "South of the Huai River, there is a dense network of waterways. Let the merchant ships take the waterways. This way, we can save half the money."

He had it all figured out perfectly in his mind.

Road construction is a long-term project, but right now, Xinwu has more urgent needs for funds.

The ships that Shang Wanqing built in Quanzhou were all behemoths that devoured gold.

The vast network that Liu Jingshuang laid out along the southeastern coast required money and provisions to support every beacon tower and every hidden sentry post.

Li Huai bowed and accepted the order without asking a single question.

He understood that the half of the money His Majesty had saved was not intended for the national treasury, but rather to be invested entirely in the invisible battlefield in the southeast.

The turmoil in the imperial court did not reach the inner palace.

Life in the imperial harem was like a long, quiet summer afternoon.

Wei Xuan had grown taller and was now able to hold a wooden bowl painted with a little tiger and eat in a very proper manner.

Although he could accurately scatter half a bowl of rice on the table, the floor, and his own clothes after each meal, Tuoba Yue insisted that he do it himself.

"Let him do what he wants!"

She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the palace maids who wanted to help: "We can't let ourselves be fed by others when we're all 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 chase butterflies in the Imperial Garden after the meal.

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

The four-month-old baby does nothing but eat and sleep. When awake, he doesn't cry or fuss, but just stares at the world with his big, dark eyes.

After Liu Jingshuang returned from the southeast, her fierce and ruthless aura diminished considerably.

She often carried Wei Heng and walked slowly in the Imperial Garden in the afternoon.

The child was very well-behaved. When she held him in her arms, he would occasionally make a few indistinct, babbling sounds, as if he were speaking to her in a language that only the two of them could understand.

Whenever this happens, Liu Jingshuang would stop and look down at the soft little face in her arms, her eyes filled with 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 would unconsciously tighten her grip on the child.

This world must ultimately be protected.

After nightfall, Wei Zhao dismissed all the eunuchs and closed the door to the imperial study alone.

The daytime hustle and bustle and tranquility faded away, leaving only himself and a room full of documents and memorials.

He walked to the large imperial desk and carefully placed the documents he had reviewed during the day into categories.

On the left side of the imperial desk were all the documents concerning the Western Regions.

The stack of documents wasn't thick. The top one was still the family letter that Fang Zhaoru had sent back from an unknown post station deep in the vast desert more than half a month ago.

The letter paper was slightly curled at the edges, and the ink on it had long since dried.

Since then, no new news has come from the west.

No message is the best message.

Wei Zhao knew in his heart that the group that was trekking back home was still moving forward.

He carefully organized the stack of documents about the Western Regions and put them back into the black lacquered wooden box.

Then, his gaze fell on his right.

There was another stack of documents.

A stack of documents from the southeast, several times thicker than the stack from the Western Regions.

The top one is a shipbuilding progress report sent by Shang Wanqing from the Quanzhou shipyard. The paper still has a faint smell of tung oil. It says that she has built the fifteenth fast ship, which is 25% faster than Ke Zhenchuan's old ship.

Below is Liu Jingshuang's military report on the deployment of troops, which details the troop deployment and the location of beacon towers along the coast of the three states. It is calm and meticulous, with no omissions.

Further down are the secret reports from the Embroidered Uniform Guard regarding maritime surveillance, recording every encounter with pirate patrol boats, every fruitless pursuit, and the blood debt of the forty-seven people in Zhangjia Village.

Page after page, page after page.

These documents from the southeast, like the ever-rising tide, piled up silently on his desk, growing higher each day, exuding a salty, fishy smell as if a storm was brewing.

Wei Zhao stood silently, placing the two stacks of documents, which were of vastly different thicknesses, side by side.

One in the west, one in the east.

One still, one moving.

One is taking firm root, while the other is brewing a monstrous wave.

He reached out and neatly rearranged the thick stack of documents from Southeast Asia, aligning every corner meticulously, as if only in this way could he suppress the impending chaos.

After doing all this, he didn't look at it again, turned around and blew out the candle on the table.