Paper-making and printing.
Paper had already been invented during the Han dynasty, but high-quality paper that was white and delicate was extremely expensive. Compared with bamboo slips and silk, it was also easily damaged, so it had not yet become mainstream and was only used by a small number of elite scholars for poetry and painting.
As one of the Four Great Inventions, paper-making and printing had extensive public records. To Jiang Congyan, these should have been the easiest technologies to develop. She understood them far more deeply than most. But she could not yet reveal them—doing so would make her the enemy of the entire aristocratic class.
The reason the aristocratic clans stood at the top of feudal society was precisely because they monopolized culture. They controlled inherited classical learning, orthodox teachings, and metaphysical studies. Not only commoners, but even lower-ranking scholar-officials lacked access to education. The aristocracy held absolute control over knowledge and discourse.
If one day everyone could read and write, the aristocrats’ monopoly on knowledge would be broken, and they would face an unprecedented crisis. That was something they would never allow.
For now, Jiang Congyan only had her subordinates verify whether the techniques were feasible. Even if paper was produced, it was only in very small quantities for internal use. As for printing, she had not revealed anything at all.
She only hoped that one day she could bring these things into the world openly, without fear of any power.
She quickly finished reviewing the account books and gained a clearer understanding of her assets.
“The silver from Chang’an’s profits will still be divided in half and sent back to Liangzhou. The Quyao supply route must be maintained—have him continue purchasing grain. The Liangzhou estates should be managed by Third Cousin, and all profits sent to my grandfather to support the Liangzhou army. As for Chang’an, I plan to entrust it to Uncle Zheng. He’s an old servant of the estate and very familiar with how everything works after all these years…”
She finished laying out her arrangements in one breath to Ruolan. Only then did she notice Ruolan’s hesitant expression.
“What is it? Did I overlook something?”
Ruolan sat down beside her. “My lady only thinks of others. Why not think more about yourself?”
Her gaze fell on the open account books. Every line on those pages represented years of the young lady’s effort.
“You are about to travel thousands of miles to the lands of the Hu people. If you don’t bring enough money or assets with you, how will you establish yourself there?”
Jiang Congyan shook her head. “If one wishes to establish oneself, wealth alone is not enough.”
“But having money would still make things easier.”
“Do I not already have money?” Jiang Congyan smiled faintly. “Just the wine shop and silver workshop alone bring in tens of thousands of coins each month. Even if I brought these businesses with me to the Xianbei court, without the right commercial conditions they wouldn’t generate value. It’s better to leave them here, where they can continue earning.”
“Besides, I never said I wouldn’t take the assets—I only said I wouldn’t take the businesses.”
At her teasing tone, Ruolan finally realized she had been fooled.
She rolled her eyes slightly but held back, knowing her lady’s temperament too well to truly complain.
Under the candlelight, the two of them reviewed accounts and names together, refining every last detail, arranging future communications, and selecting personnel for Ruolan to recruit the next day.
By the time they finished, it was nearly the third watch of the night.
Ruolan immediately urged her to rest, worried that her frail health could not withstand such late hours.
Early the next morning, Ruolan set out by carriage to carry out her instructions.
Meanwhile, Jiang Congyan went to the pavilion at Lishui Courtyard to see her father and ask for two things.
“You want Xie Shao to escort the wedding procession?”
“Yes.”
Jiang Huai’s expression turned strange as he studied his daughter, as though trying to see through her intentions.
“You wouldn’t happen to… like him, would you?”
“… ”
Jiang Congyan’s face remained expressionless.
Alright. So it wasn’t Xie Shao she liked, Jiang Huai concluded.
The silence grew awkward. Jiang Huai forced a smile. “Then why insist on him? You said yourself he’s just an ordinary Jinwu Guard with no particular merit. Why choose him?”
Because in the future, Xie Shao would rise from a minor Jinwu Guard all the way to Palace Attendant, then Commander of the Guards, and eventually Grand General of Huainan, commanding a hundred thousand troops.
Five years later, when Chang’an fell and the court was forced to move south, they would be constantly pursued by Xiongnu cavalry. That was when Xie Shao would rise.
Most of the Liang generals had already died when the Hu people breached the passes. The remaining officers, terrified by the ferocity of the Xiongnu and the overwhelming presence of Wudadihou, lost all will to fight and fled in all directions.
After Tuoba Xiao’s fall, Wudadihou had no equal opponent left in the world; everywhere his horses went became his hunting ground.
Xie Shao, originally a Jinwu Guard responsible for palace security, was tasked with protecting the royal family and nobles during the southern relocation. But as the army collapsed, he was forced to the front lines. Unexpectedly, his unit managed to protect the aristocrats from the Xiongnu blades, and within a year he rose rapidly in rank.
By the time the aristocratic families had stabilized in Huainan, he had already become one of the Nine Ministers as Palace Attendant, commanding elite guard units.
Yet he was not content to remain defensive. After establishing defenses along the Jiang-Huai line, he attempted to organize counteroffensives to reclaim lost territory. But the Southern Liang court had no morale left; the nobles only wanted safety and comfort, refusing to support him with men or resources.
In the end, their cowardice buried the Southern Liang dynasty itself.
Xie Shao, no matter how passionate, could not reverse history alone.
He was, alongside Han Yun, one of the other tragic figures of Southern Liang. Unlike Han Yun, however, he lacked aristocratic backing. And as his power grew, the nobility became wary of him, placing constant obstacles in his path and preventing him from consolidating the forces needed to resist Wudadihou’s cavalry.
The divide between noble and commoner did not just destroy the aristocracy—it destroyed the last Han dynasty of over two hundred years.
Right now, he was still far from his future rise. Jiang Congyan intended to give him a push—but of course, she could not say any of this aloud.
“I have my own arrangements. Father only needs to tell me whether you will help me or not.”
Her tone shifted slightly, turning a little spoiled.
Jiang Huai looked at his usually composed daughter acting coquettishly toward him, and his eyes suddenly stung.
He had once thought that after sending her to Liangzhou, the rest of his life would be spent in darkness. Even when she returned to Chang’an two years ago, he had not dared to approach her. He could only steal distant, blurred glimpses of her, and even that was enough.
Now it seemed heaven still pitied his loneliness, allowing him to taste the warmth of a father-daughter bond once more.
He quickly steadied himself, wiped his eyes, and smiled. “Alright. Whatever you want, Father will agree.”
Jiang Congyan was slightly affected by his emotion as well, but she quickly suppressed it and brought up the second request—an official appointment.
“I also want the Interpreter of the Honglu Temple, Wen Yu, to serve as the official envoy for the marriage procession.”
“… ”
Jiang Huai swallowed his tears again.
Another one.
Just how many men had his daughter met without him knowing?