Chapter 5

The Empress took a few seconds before barely restraining her overwhelming eagerness for talent. Without showing any emotion, she cast a subtle glance at Qi Wangzhu and gave a slight nod to signal him.

Although it was very discreet, Chu Yingzhao believed that as the male lead, there ought to be some sort of spiritual connection between them—

Zhang Aiqing, I’ve got your back, got it?

Qi Wangzhu understood and stepped forward, bowing slightly to Zhang Yanli.

“Esteemed sir, I am an official of the Ministry of Rites. With the imperial edict in hand, I must inspect this warehouse. Please grant me passage.”

Zhang Yanli looked up at Qi Wangzhu, his expression calm and indifferent.

“No.”

Qi Wangzhu raised an eyebrow slightly, keeping his voice gentle but tinged with a hint of puzzlement.

“Sir, I fear you did not hear clearly. I carry an imperial mandate; inspecting the warehouse is my duty.”

“I heard you perfectly,” Zhang Yanli replied without hesitation, his tone steady and resolute. “No.”

Qi Wangzhu’s smile faltered slightly, his voice dropping a few degrees.

“Master Zhang, this concerns state affairs.”

“Hm,” Zhang Yanli nodded, still indifferent. “But I said no.”

Chu Yingzhao’s shoulders twitched. She fought hard to suppress a smile beneath her veil: This is Da Mu, after all. Who’s repeating themselves like a broken record here... pfft.

Qi Wangzhu, however, lacked her good humor. His brow furrowed deeply.

“Why?”

Zhang Yanli stood straight. His voice still lacked any inflection, but carried an unexplainable finality.

“Several high-ranking officials have visited recently, each wielding ‘imperial orders.’ Yet each time one comes, dozens, sometimes hundreds of loads of grain mysteriously vanish from the warehouse.”

The Empress silently calculated the magnitude — a hundred loads equaled twenty thousand pounds. Was this merely corruption? No, this was outright robbery!

He paused, his gaze sharp as a blade as it swept across everyone before settling on Qi Wangzhu.

“At present, the entire capital’s reserves are but a meager remainder. Unless I stay here to guard it personally, I cannot comply.”

Outside the warehouse, silence fell like a shroud.

Qi Wangzhu’s eyes flashed with surprise. Chu Yingzhao was also momentarily stunned.

Only she could see the system interface flickering faintly — 25 points of loyalty.

The man stood there, back straight, gaze calm to the point of serenity. His sleeves were slightly grayed, evidence of little rest in recent days, yet his eyes bore no hesitation, only stubborn resolve and composure.

“What are you guarding?” Chu Yingzhao suddenly asked, her voice slow, tinged with contemplation.

Zhang Yanli met her gaze squarely, voice as calm as still water.

“I guard my own principles.”

Chu Yingzhao took a deep breath, suppressing the turmoil within.

“Very well.” After a moment, she removed her veil and met his gaze for several seconds before finally speaking.

“You guard with your life, fulfilling your duty. Today, I must enter the granary, but not to seize your principles — rather, to help them... endure a little longer.”

With that, she turned and strode toward the warehouse door.

—

“I, Your Majesty?”

The eighth-rank clerk suddenly turned around, nearly horrified at the Empress’s retreating figure before finally reacting and bowing low.

“I, Zhang Yanli, have been disrespectful. Please forgive me, Your Majesty.”

“What fault does my loyal official bear?” The Empress did not look back, casually waving her hand.

“Rise quickly and follow me. You have much work ahead. Where is the main granary? Lead me there.”

Zhang Yanli hesitated briefly, then slowly lifted his head, his eyes filled with increasingly complex emotions as he watched her fading silhouette.

He had thought that the path he guarded was solitary and misunderstood in this world, but...

He bowed his head, voice heavy.

“I obey Your Majesty’s orders.”

Silence enveloped the surroundings, broken only by the faint rustling of dry branches in the breeze.

—Chu Yingzhao’s heart trembled as well.

The main granary doors creaked open, releasing a nauseating stench of sour rot. Once filled to the brim with abundant grain, the space now housed bags of blackened, moldy, foul-smelling grain. The faint moonlight filtering through the door cast horrifying shadows on the mold spots.

Chu Yingzhao stood before the entrance, her expression composed as her eyes slowly swept over the interior. She said nothing. Zhang Yanli stood to one side, head bowed, neither humble nor defiant, awaiting her questions.

“You say you’ve reported this repeatedly to the Ministry of Revenue?”

Her voice was low, almost emotionless.

Zhang Yanli bowed slightly.

“Yes. The granary’s old grain has piled up for years due to mismanagement. Since my transfer here, I have reported over a dozen times, but no one has heeded my warnings.”

“No one has heeded you. Good.” Chu Yingzhao repeated coldly, her tone steady and commanding.

“Hear the edict.”

Together, they stepped forward and bowed.

“I am present.”

“Zhang Yanli, you know the warehouse well. Immediately organize the granary guards to open the warehouse and sort the grain individually,” she ordered, her gaze flickering over the weary, helpless guards while recalling the books she had once read.

“Gather able-bodied youths among the displaced, grouping ten per team, divided by area, to enter the granary in batches and sort the grain.”

She paused, then quickened her pace:

“All grain shall be handled in three categories: edible reserves will be stored centrally with serial numbers for future distribution; lightly moldy grain will be washed, dried, and cooked into thin porridge; completely spoiled grain will be burned on the spot.”

“Your Majesty, most of the displaced are starving. I fear...” Zhang Yanli hesitated.

Chu Yingzhao raised a hand, cutting him off.

“Shadow.”

A dark figure slipped out from the shadows and stood silently beside her.

“Deploy accompanying secret guards and soldiers to maintain order. Arrange for covert patrols—anyone caught hoarding or causing disorder shall be seized immediately,” she said calmly. “Beheadings will be made public.”

“Qi Wangzhu, you are responsible for immediately sealing off all nearby wells and rivers. All water sources must be boiled before use. Establish water boiling stations, segment the zones, and allocate water by headcount,” she continued. “Everyone must complete personal hygiene and wash their hands before receiving grain.”

Qi Wangzhu appeared somewhat puzzled but did not voice it directly, instead gently remarking, “Your Majesty, this may be difficult to enforce; the people might... not understand.”

“They will understand one day, just not now,” Chu Yingzhao’s speech grew faster, almost wielding an unspoken authority.

“You deliver the grain. They will skip over understanding and move straight to compliance.”

*

At dawn, as night faded and the pale morning light cast a gray-blue hue over Mengyuan Granary’s surroundings, displaced persons gradually gathered silently on a nearby clearing.

They staggered forward, exhausted, their expressions weary and steps heavy, though none dared to approach closely—

The soldiers guarding the warehouse had changed vastly since the previous night.

The princess’s personal guards stood firm at the front, gripping long halberds, vigilant of every movement in the crowd. Their weapons gleamed coldly, faintly reflecting the morning chill.

The displaced stopped instinctively, watching from afar. Huddled together in the chilly early spring air, they whispered among themselves.

At that moment, a warm, savory aroma drifted through the air.

Almost instantly, everyone lifted their heads simultaneously! Their previously dull eyes sparkled with life—the scent of food! Real, cooked, edible food!

Near the doorway, several people carried out a large pot slowly. Steam rose, releasing a faint but tantalizing fragrance that spread with the morning breeze, instantly whetting everyone’s appetite.

Those closer could even see faint grains of rice at the pot’s bottom—

Yes, the porridge was watery and thin, the rice-to-water ratio barely worthy of the name “porridge.”

But at that moment, to all eyes, it was porridge.

“There’s really rice...” someone murmured, eyes fixed on the pot, lips trembling with disbelief.

The crowd’s murmurs rippled like stones dropped into a lake, spreading waves of whispered voices. Some wiped tears, others’ eyes green with hunger, yet none dared approach due to the guards’ sharp blades.

“Creak—”

The wooden door atop the granary platform opened slowly. A young woman in simple attire stepped out, her pace calm as she entered the crowd’s view. Backlit, a faint glow haloed her silhouette.

The soldiers remained motionless, but most displaced were stunned by the sudden change, and silence fell.

“I will open the granary to distribute food to the disaster victims. But this grain is for those who obey the rules and are willing to work,” her voice rang out steadily, cutting through the crowd with undeniable authority and dignity.

From her vantage, the displaced’s gazes varied—some vacant, some dazed, but others showed flickers of suspicion and hope.

“I need manpower,” Chu Yingzhao’s voice was calm yet resolute. “Those willing to help sort grain and clean the warehouse will receive an extra ration daily.”

A stir rose among the crowd; some lips moved as if unable to believe their ears.

She paused, emphasizing once more:

“To receive relief grain, you must obey the rules and follow orders! Everyone has a share; everyone can have porridge. But anyone who causes trouble or steals will face no mercy.”

Her words spread on the morning breeze, yet the crowd’s initial reaction was silence.

The displaced stared blankly at the figure on the platform. Some lips moved but no sound came; some seemed to understand but stood frozen.

—

“Everyone will get porridge?”

Someone murmured doubtfully.

“Who is she? Where did she come from? Why does she care about us?”

“No such good fortune exists…”

Low murmurs stirred again among the crowd, mingled with coughs and groans—weak and chaotic, like dry leaves rustling in the wind.

They were too hungry, too exhausted, worn down by long despair. Even with food and promises before them, they dared not trust easily—

Who would truly save them?

They had been abandoned too many times.

Yet the aroma lingered in the air.

Several at the front stared fixedly at the clerks by the porridge pot, eyes shining with unspoken emotion. They stepped forward instinctively but were soon driven back by the guards’ halberds and glares.

In the midst of this suppressed, chaotic silence, a faint voice suddenly emerged like a dust mote falling into a deep pool, sending ripples.

“I... what is ‘I’? Is it something used by officials? Or... only by the emperor?”

The voice was fragile and confused, coming from a child hidden among the adults, whose small frame was well-covered. Yet the question pierced the heavy dusk like a slender beam of light, making the scene even more eerie and solemn.

Then, like a thunderclap, the hesitant crowd erupted!

“The Emperor?!”

“The Emperor is here?!”

“The Emperor has come!”

The crowd instantly boiled over; many widened their eyes, faces etched with disbelief and frenzy.

Soon, some fell to their knees with a thud, crying and begging:

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for your mercy! Thank you for saving our lives!”

That kneeling was a fuse, igniting all those shackled by despair and numbness.

More and more knelt, wailing or bowing their heads. Their voices merged into a torrent of long-suppressed agony and sorrow. Formerly numb faces were wet with tears as if clutching at a lifeline before drowning.

At that moment, Chu Yingzhao felt only unreality and a surging, fierce emotion—

An almost uncontrollable fury, like flames bursting through ice. This anger did not arise from nowhere but from her knowledge, experience, and education clashing violently with this scene.

Why should they kneel to thank fate?

Minister Yao should kneel. The old man who pontificated in court yet couldn’t even count the displaced in the capital—he should kneel.

The ministers of Justice and Rites should kneel. Their eloquence obstructed disaster relief, preserving their own interests.

The officials who visited the granary should kneel. They stole hundreds of loads of grain, draining the treasury for personal gain, leaving no reserves to aid the starving.

She looked upon the ragged, emaciated displaced kneeling before her, as if placing all their hope on her—the very oppressors who exploited them all their lives.

They were so starved they could barely stand, yet still humbled themselves to please power—or perhaps merely fate.

Chu Yingzhao’s fingers clenched slightly; her sleeve rustled softly in the morning breeze, but her expression remained calm, her gaze profound as she surveyed everything.

“Rise.”

The young sovereign’s voice was steady, yet carried an unyielding force.

“Obey the rules, follow orders, and you will survive.”

There was no pity, no charity in her look—only iron resolve and promise.

Kneeling to anyone is useless. First stand up, then you can live.