Her eyes… they truly seemed to have witnessed Liang itself.
Huan Jun’s pupils shrank sharply, and he instinctively retorted, “Impossible!”
But in the next instant, his expression changed. His face turned sharp, and his tone carried a note of reproach. “Princess, mind your words.”
After the imperial edict for a political marriage had been issued, Jiang Congyan had been granted the title Princess You’an, and everyone now addressed her simply as “Princess.”
Jiang Congyan did not rush to argue. She merely sat across from him, her dark eyes quietly fixed on him—so calm it was as if she had only stated a simple fact.
Huan Jun had been angry at first, even thinking her words alarmist and absurd. Yet for some reason, under her steady gaze, the storm of emotions within him gradually subsided. In its place, a chilling thought surfaced—
What if she was telling the truth?
He wanted desperately to suppress that thought. He could dismiss her words as baseless—mere wild talk from a sheltered young lady. Why should he believe it?
But as time passed, and as her gaze lingered on him, his mind grew clearer instead of calmer. When he looked into her eyes again, he found them no longer merely bright and lucid, but unfathomably deep—so deep that he almost dared not meet them, for fear he might see his own unease reflected within.
Jiang Congyan said nothing more. She simply sat there quietly, yet it felt as though a vast and weighty scroll of history was slowly unfolding before him.
Those eyes of hers… truly seemed to have seen both the past and the future of Liang.
Its rise and decline, its prosperity and ruin—all had once flowed through her gaze like written words.
Huan Jun’s expression shifted repeatedly. At last, he rejected self-deception and gathered himself, studying the young woman before him with renewed focus.
“On what grounds does the Princess say this? Our Liang is vast, rich in resources, and populous. We have numerous troops, capable generals, and fine weapons. Even if the northern tribes invade, how could they possibly break through our defenses so easily?”
Jiang Congyan lifted her lashes slightly. Though he spoke in rebuttal, she knew—he believed her.
“The world is complex, and circumstances change unpredictably. Even the most skilled astrologers cannot foresee exactly what the future holds. Perhaps something as insignificant as a butterfly could stir a great storm.” Her voice was soft, as light as that butterfly. “But some things are inevitable. For example—the court’s long domination by aristocratic clans, their inherited privileges, the difficulty for common-born scholars to rise, the neglect of figures like Lord Zhou and Duke Wen, and the near disappearance from court of the line of the Founding Emperor and Crown Prince Zhaowen. And also—”
She turned her gaze toward the pale green willow trees beyond the lattice window, her tone carrying a trace of helplessness.
“The increasingly colder climate.”
“Throughout history, eras of prosperity and periods of division have evolved alongside climate cycles. When the climate is warm, harvests increase and populations grow, giving rise to flourishing ages. When the climate turns cold, crops fail, northern nomadic tribes move south to raid, and the land falls into turmoil and fragmentation.”
“Unfortunately, we are now entering a glacial period.”
She spoke those last words with particular weight.
Thus, no matter what, the conflict between the nomadic tribes and Liang could not be reconciled. And Liang itself lacked the strength to completely drive them away.
Liang did possess many capable generals—but none could compare to the two peerless figures: Tuoba Xiao and Wuda Tihou. While Tuoba Xiao still lived, he restrained Wuda Tihou in the north, maintaining a delicate balance that allowed Liang to survive between them. But after Tuoba Xiao’s fall, internal strife among the Xianbei weakened that balance. With his rival gone, nothing remained to stop Wuda Tihou’s southward advance.
This was not the first time Huan Jun had heard the term “climate cycles.” The смен of seasons—cold and heat—was familiar enough. But this was the first time he had heard climate discussed on such a grand, historical scale. His eyes flickered as he pondered.
He carefully reflected on each point she had raised. The more he thought, the more alarmed he became. For he knew that the problems she described were already deeply entrenched within Liang—like roots twisted tightly into the very foundation of a great tree. They could not simply be cut away without destroying the whole.
When the Founding Emperor first established the dynasty, he had promoted talented men regardless of birth. Though the aristocratic clans were powerful, they had not been able to dominate everything. Crown Prince Zhaowen had upheld this principle as well. But after the late emperor ascended the throne, in order to secure his rule and consolidate power, he relied heavily on the aristocratic clans, elevating those who had once been suppressed. Meanwhile, the ministers who had followed the Founding Emperor were demoted, dismissed, or marginalized. By the time of the current emperor, there was no longer any place at court for men of humble origin.
The aristocratic clans now stood at the very top of the feudal order. They monopolized key official posts, controlled vast lands, and enjoyed numerous privileges—exemption from taxes and labor, protection for their relatives, the ability to recruit followers and retainers, grants of land, servants, and wealth. Some of these privileges were even hereditary.
High-ranking officials from these clans controlled the government, and in turn issued policies that further benefited their own families—seizing public lands, dividing military resources… and so the cycle continued. The clans grew ever more powerful, while the common people and tenant farmers bore the suffering.
The strongest of these clans had, in effect, become warlords in their own right.
Corrupt governance, constant warfare, and frequent natural disasters had already led to uprisings across the land. Under such conditions, the eventual fall of the realm was almost inevitable—it was only a matter of time.
Though Huan Jun himself was born into an aristocratic family, he disliked the conduct of these elites.
Since the previous emperor’s reign, when the clans had fully risen to political dominance, they had indulged in extravagant excess—competing in displays of wealth. Some spent tens of thousands of coins on a single day’s meal, yet still complained there was “nothing fit to eat.” They built lavish estates and vied with one another in luxury, making life even more unbearable for the common people below.
Serving in the Ministry of the Imperial Treasury, Huan Jun was well aware of just how extravagant the upper officials had become. He despised such a society—but felt powerless to change it.
No… that wasn’t right.
He suddenly raised his eyes, his gaze sharpening as it locked onto Jiang Congyan.
“The Princess did not say all this merely to make me lament.”
“Princess… what is it you want me to do?”