“Wild cats are clever and nimble creatures; it’s normal that people don’t often see them. You can’t really blame the servants for that.”
Ruan Mianmian smiled, her lips curving playfully. “Your Highness, it’s rare for you to be so tolerant! For such little things, better to keep one eye open and one eye closed. Don’t say just our back garden—even the Imperial Garden can’t be entirely free of cats and mice. As long as they don’t dance in front of you, why worry about them?”
“You certainly take things lightly,” Lin Zhuo said with mild irritation. “Do you think that’s compassion? Do you know that sparrows eat grain? You feed them today, and next year they’ll breed even more. The people already struggle to survive—how can they afford to share their grain with flocks of birds?”
“Ah, Your Highness, I must defend the sparrows!” Ruan Mianmian leaned closer, eager to argue. “You only know they eat grain, but not that they also eat pests. If a field has a flock of sparrows to take care of the insects, imagine how much more grain the farmers will harvest by autumn! When you think of it that way, their merits and faults balance each other out.”
She leaned back against her soft pillow, smiling. “Besides, it’s good if they breed more! When I lived in the countryside, we could barely afford to eat meat all year. Come winter, we’d rely on Jian’er to trap a few dozen sparrows just to satisfy our cravings.”
Lin Zhuo: …
From her husband’s expression, Ruan Mianmian could tell exactly what he was thinking and hurried to raise her hand in protest.
“For the record, that was Jian’er’s doing—it had nothing to do with me! I only wove the basket, not for catching sparrows, mind you, just happened to be useful for it. And eating sparrows doesn’t contradict feeding them. Isn’t there a saying? ‘When prosperous, share blessings with the world; when poor… eat whatever you can.’”
Lin Zhuo twitched at the corner of his mouth. “It’s ‘when prosperous, benefit the world; when poor, preserve one’s virtue.’”
Ruan Mianmian giggled. “I’m from the countryside—it’s normal not to know the difference.”
Lin Zhuo: … And yet you somehow knew the first half perfectly well, didn’t you?
She tilted her head curiously. “Why is Your Highness free today? I heard the entire court is in uproar over Jiangnan switching from grain to mulberry cultivation. Even His Majesty is distressed. Yesterday Prince Qi spoke up for the gentry and was scolded harshly by the Emperor. I thought you’d be in no mood for women’s chatter—yet here you are.”
She picked up her embroidery and began stitching flowers as she spoke. Lin Zhuo snorted softly and took a sip of tea. “You’re well-informed.”
“I heard it this morning at Kunning Palace from Her Majesty the Empress,” Ruan Mianmian replied, glancing at him. “You didn’t get into trouble over it, did you, Your Highness?”
“My views differ from Prince Qi’s. Grain is the foundation of the nation. In Jiangnan, nearly half the farmland has been converted to mulberry fields. It’s no wonder Father is anxious. Everyone in court worries about it.”
“But Huguang prospers, and the world is fed,” Ruan Mianmian said, frowning slightly. “If Jiangnan produces less grain, it shouldn’t matter too much, should it?”
No wonder even the Empress was troubled, she thought. This must be serious.
“That’s an exaggeration,” Lin Zhuo said flatly. “And who can guarantee years of good harvests? When disaster strikes and the crops fail, can you imagine what those regions will become? Six years ago, I followed my eldest brother to Henan for disaster relief. I saw with my own eyes corpses strewn across the land, starving people… even parents eating their own children.”
He stopped there, unable to go on. Leaning back slightly, he was surprised at himself—how long had it been since he’d spoken so openly? Why, before this woman, did his guard fall away so easily?
It was Ruan Mianmian’s first time seeing him truly moved. She stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly reached out and clasped his hands tightly. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. That kind of suffering will never happen again—it mustn’t.”
“That’s just comforting words,” Lin Zhuo said quietly. “Unless a god descends from heaven, who can promise eternal peace? Drought, floods, locusts, blight—all sorts of calamities hang over the people’s heads.”
Ruan Mianmian fell silent, for she knew he was right.
After a while, she sighed softly and sat back down, picking up her needlework again and stitching absently. “These things—Your Highness knows them, other ministers surely do too, and even the Emperor shares your concerns. If so, why not just issue an edict to return the farmland in Jiangnan and reduce mulberry planting? Surely a united court can resist greedy merchants?”
“The problem is that unity doesn’t exist.” Lin Zhuo rubbed his temples. “You think Prince Qi doesn’t know our father’s intentions? And yet he dares to defy him.”
“Ah…” Ruan Mianmian had no reply. Throughout history, emperors had relied on balancing factions—yet such balance always birthed new divisions and rivalries. Indeed, as the saying went, where there are people, there is a battlefield.
“People die for wealth; birds die for food—it’s human nature,” Ruan murmured dreamily. “Then perhaps we should find new lands to farm, or crops with higher yields.”
“If you know that, do you think Father and the ministers don’t? But such things aren’t gained by mere wish,” Lin Zhuo said with a sigh. Still, he couldn’t help but admire her thoughtfulness—rare insight for a young woman.
“Ah!” Ruan Mianmian suddenly cried out. Lin Zhuo looked up sharply to see her sucking on her finger.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, I pricked my finger with the needle.”
She seemed distracted—their discussion had reminded her of the bag of sweet potatoes she’d once found before entering the Duke’s residence. I wonder if it’s still there? she thought. If it is, it might be of great use someday.
“Why do you put your finger in your mouth for that?” Lin Zhuo asked, puzzled.
Ruan Mianmian laughed. “I don’t know—my mother always did that when sewing. Speaking of which…”
She arched her brow mischievously and leaned closer, her tone deliberately coquettish. “I’ve missed such a perfect chance! I should’ve asked Your Highness to help me. Then you’d see how delicate and pitiful I am, and surely find me charming—wouldn’t you?”
Lin Zhuo shivered. “Spare me. That’s revolting.”
Ruan Mianmian burst into laughter, bending over in delight. “Your Highness, you really have no sense of romance! But that’s fine—I’m no good at those delicate-little-flower tricks anyway.”
“Delicate little flower?” he repeated.
“Yes! Pure and gentle little white flowers—so weak and fragile in the wind, just begging to be pitied.”
She swayed side to side theatrically, and Lin Zhuo couldn’t help but picture it. Unbidden, his thoughts drifted back to the scene at Qinghui Pavilion earlier that day.
His gaze fell upon her face again. She was bent over her embroidery, her pretty features exactly as when they first met.
Lin Zhuo couldn’t help but murmur, “And yet you say you don’t know such tricks? When I first met you in the Empress’s palace, weren’t you the very image of a soft, pitiful little white flower?”
(End of Chapter)