Chapter 263

Leaning back in his chair, Wang Xiujin let out a yawn. After a morning of torment, he listened as the Fourth Prince, dark circles under his eyes, complained about last night’s meeting—a gathering where no one contributed anything of value besides endless arguing. Time wasted on pointless disputes, each man quarreling as if victory in debate would somehow give him the final say. As he grumbled and rubbed his aching head, the Fourth Prince muttered, “Father’s idea is good, but I think it’s hard to achieve.”

“There is no difficulty in this world that cannot be overcome by those with determination,” Wang Xiujin replied quietly. His views differed from the Fourth Prince’s; perhaps the prince, not yet having stood at the pinnacle of power, lacked a clear sense of the importance of unifying the written word and guiding culture. But now, with His Majesty seated high upon the throne, understanding more than anyone, once he set his mind to something, he would find a way to see it done.

The Fourth Prince nodded; there was truth in those words. If one put their heart into it, no matter how difficult, anything could be accomplished. It was like the training Li Linshan and his men undertook. The prince had once had the fortune to observe their drills—daunting at first glance, and he doubted anyone could complete the daily regimen. Yet when Li Linshan finished easily, the prince’s own curiosity was piqued to try. He failed at the very first stage. He deeply admired those soldiers who could complete the training, and felt grateful they served Great Liang—such warriors would surely be worth a hundred on the battlefield. He owed thanks, too, to the one who devised the drills, for more soldiers would survive because of it.

“Oh, by the way, someone reported at court this morning that Li Linshan led a force in a surprise attack against the attackers, encircling them on three sides and wiping them out—victory!” Remembering the training brought to mind the maneuvers. With Li Linshan’s encirclement ending the exercise, the participating officers would now gather to discuss their lessons and how to improve in the future. The emperor’s intent was for drills to become annual; this year two sides fought, next year another pair would switch. Never should border troops go idle for lack of war—the frontiers would not remain peaceful forever, and only by maintaining a high state of readiness, with soldiers always prepared for battle, would the nation remain strong.

Had Wang Xiujin known the prince’s thoughts, he would surely have added, “Education is the true foundation of a strong nation.” Both civil and military must be cultivated; one should not suppress the other.

Hearing of Li Linshan’s victory filled Wang Xiujin with pride, and at last eased the worries he’d kept hidden. Yet in front of the Fourth Prince, he showed nothing, naturally shifting the topic to the storybooks. At the mention of business, the prince gathered his thoughts and became serious. There could be many kinds of storybooks—not just for children, but also for adults to understand.

Few people could read. If most people were to learn about Great Liang’s policies, military, and development, it could only be through simple illustrated books. The two discussed publishing such periodicals, distributing them free to public libraries, where they could be borrowed. Costs could be recouped by other means—advertising, for instance: announcements of grand openings, sales, or new branches, charging fees according to the size of the notice.

The Fourth Prince listened intently to Wang Xiujin’s advice, increasingly suspecting that he’d offered too small a share of profits before. The good reputation Wang Xiujin deserved had instead gone to him, and all he could do to make up for it was offer more money. He casually suggested raising Wang Xiujin’s dividend, only to be immediately refused.

Wang Xiujin sighed, insisting again and again that money was not what he lacked; in fact, he was troubled by how to spend it.

The prince believed him. Wang Xiujin’s attitude toward wealth baffled many—he’d once donated his entire estate to the national treasury, causing some to call him mad, and others to resent him. For once he donated, so too did Lord Wang, and the rest had to follow suit or risk their official careers. Remembering this, the officials would grind their teeth in frustration.

Propping his chin, Wang Xiujin considered that Great Liang had the Mercy Temple for Children. Perhaps his mother could organize meals to be sent there every few days, and he could visit to see if any orphans might be taken on as apprentices. For those unsuited to apprenticeships, perhaps he could set up a simple workshop, giving them honest work and a livelihood. But then, thinking it over, Wang Xiujin decided to leave this to the Fourth Prince, for it would win him the reputation of loving the people as his own children. He mentioned the idea, and the prince, after listening, looked at him with a complicated expression.

The Fourth Prince was no longer the naïve noble he’d been at their first meeting years ago. With his own businesses and years of learning at the emperor’s side, he’d come to understand much. He knew Wang Xiujin was without guile, genuinely treating him as a friend, freely sharing any idea that might benefit him, never asking for anything in return. This selflessness moved the prince, but also deepened his sense of guilt.

“Don’t look like that. Even if you don’t do it, I will myself. But if I do, the criticism will be all the greater. Better you take the credit,” Wang Xiujin guessed what the prince was thinking and sighed inwardly. After so long at the emperor’s side, the prince was still so unchanged—Wang Xiujin was truly worried for the nation’s future. “Enough, you treat me as a brother, I naturally have to lend you a hand.” With that, he rose and took his leave.

Watching Wang Xiujin’s receding figure, the prince thought: Whether with the storybooks or the Mercy Temple, either would win him praise, the people’s hearts, and the esteem of scholars. To have Wang Xiujin as a friend was a blessing. Taking a deep breath, he set off for the palace. He had to report to his father—he would do both things, and do them best.

Leaving the studio, Wang Xiujin did not take his carriage but wandered the bustling streets with his servant. Vendors displayed all kinds of wares on both sides of the crowded marketplace. For once, Wang Xiujin enjoyed the simple pleasure of strolling and shopping, buying all sorts of things—useful or not, so long as they interested him, he spent without hesitation. His servant followed, arms laden with purchases. By the time they returned to the carriage, they were both carrying bundles. The coachman hurried over to help, and Wang Xiujin found it all quite amusing. After experiencing the joy of shopping, he seemed to understand why women loved it so much. Inspired, he began to consider building a large arcade on the bustling street.

Buildings could now be constructed three or four stories high—perfect for a market: the ground floor for snacks and groceries, the upper floors for shops, each specializing in different goods. Wang Xiujin carefully planned it out, but soon realized the problem of too few product varieties. For instance, shoes in this era were sold in clothing stores—there were no specialty shops for footwear, and even if a supermarket was built, there’d hardly be anything to sell. Halfway through outlining his plan, Wang Xiujin was ready to give up, simply because of the lack of variety.

Suddenly, it occurred to him that every industry needed competition, not monopoly. His businesses, protected as imperial enterprises, were above reproach from the powerful, but over time, this would stifle the sector—as he often lamented, it risked becoming as rigid as the old scholars of the past. His ventures would stagnate.

How to change this? Leaning back, Wang Xiujin felt at a loss. He had expanded too quickly in recent years. Counting his holdings, he realized his one fear: his businesses, while dazzling on the surface, lacked solid foundations. The only reassurance was his ability to see people’s “labels”—without that, he would likely have gone bankrupt long ago.

Setting aside the mall idea, he resolved that for the next few years, his aim should not be expansion but consolidation—strengthening the foundation of his enterprises. With this new goal, his mind settled. As for the “brick” he’d tossed at the Fourth Prince, what kind of “jade” it might elicit was no longer his concern.

In the military camp, Li Linshan sat at the lowest seat, listening to the generals’ quarrels. Each time they shouted about whose troops were superior, unease crept over him. He recalled Wang Xiujin’s suggestion to name armies by geographical location, rather than after their commanders—a notion he’d dismissed at the time, but now found increasingly sensible. At least, geographical names would reduce the number of critical petitions from the civil officials. Still, it was not his decision alone; he would need to discuss it with his grandfather and father.

The disputes among military men were more direct than those of the civil court; a disagreement quickly escalated to blows. But at least their fights were less humiliating than the scholars’ bickering. In the military council, meetings inevitably turned from shouting to fistfights—the strongest ruled, and dissenters could only swallow their objections. Old General Li watched with a cheerful smile, unconcerned; after all, his troops had won the maneuvers.

After the meeting, the generals entered the palace to report to the emperor—another long session. The emperor had not rested for two days, attending to both civil and military affairs without pause. As for the Fourth Prince’s proposal, the emperor had no time to consider it and simply told his son to consult Lord Wang.

Hearing that the suggestion had come from his youngest son, Lord Wang sighed. His youngest had now tied his fate to the Fourth Prince; if the prince succeeded to the throne, all would be well, but if another took power, both the Wang and Li families would face disaster. Despite his worries, he still did his utmost to advise the prince, explaining whom he needed to consult. The more he spoke, the more he felt his youngest was wasted as a merchant—he ought to be a strategist.

“Little Father.” Yachang, having hurried home because of the Fourth Prince’s sudden visit to the Censorate, rushed into the house and threw himself at his “little father.”