For now, that was more than enough for Aman.
The aroma of pork sizzling in the pan filled the little courtyard. Zhao Ye had eaten all sorts of delicacies in the past, yet now, the simple smell of frying meat made him swallow hard.
“The water in the well is nearly gone,” Aman said as she fetched water. The bucket was filled with mud and gravel; looking down, the water itself was almost invisible.
Ningzhou hadn’t seen rain in a long while, and the only water source was the small river at the edge of the village.
But in summer, the men of Waguancun liked to bathe in the river, while upstream women washed clothes. That water was hardly safe for drinking—it was necessary to go further afield to fetch clean water.
Aman felt a twinge of unease. “Zhao Ye… has Ningzhou ever had a drought?”
If it did, life here would become even harsher.
“About ten years ago, there was one,” Zhao Ye replied. “That summer, over eight thousand people died of drought.”
Eight thousand!
Aman’s heart skipped. The number was horrifying.
“Ningzhou is at the far end of Daxia. Just beyond Ningzhou are two more counties before the border. There is only one canal supplying water to the entire region.”
For irrigation and daily life.
“And… reservoirs? There must be some, right? Otherwise, this summer will be unbearable.”
“Many officials here are corrupt,” Zhao Ye said, his eyes full of disgust. “Governors, county magistrates… even the prefect. They only care about lining their own pockets.”
He couldn’t do much. Now a commoner, even a minor county magistrate could lord over him.
Aman’s fists clenched. “So… they take the people’s taxes and refuse to build reservoirs or repair walls, keeping everything for themselves?”
“Mm.”
Fuming, Aman slammed her fists. “If I were an official, I’d chop their heads off first! Chop, chop, chop—cut them all!”
Slash, slash, slash—maybe then no one would dare embezzle.
Zhao Ye let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Aman… I was greedy too.”
His first accusation when he was deposed? Greed.
Aman sulked, retracting her fists. “That’s different. You were framed.”
“How can you be sure I was?”
Everyone cursed him; even the Empress Dowager had lost hope.
He had been the Crown Prince, the future ruler of Daxia, now turned into the shame of the dynasty.
“I…” Aman couldn’t quite explain. “I just… believe you were wronged.”
“Watch. One day you’ll clear your name and return to the capital.”
“Those who wronged you will beg for mercy!”
“Really?” Zhao Ye smiled.
The life had returned to his eyes. Like a withered tree sprouting green shoots, even the smallest sign of life made Aman happy.
“The pot seems to have burned,” Zhao Ye remarked.
“Oh no! My food!”
Aman dashed inside, panicked. Zhao Ye couldn’t help but smile at her flustered energy.
Ah… life could be like this.
A family enjoying the scent of cooking meat.
The aroma of that pork today drifted through Waguancun, no telling how many villagers it tempted.
The harvest this year was poor; farmers hoped the pigs they raised could fetch a decent price at year’s end. Most pigs went to Tu Honglie; killing pigs at home wasn’t practical—meat spoils quickly, and Ningzhou forbade selling privately. Only licensed merchants could sell meat; otherwise, there were punishments, fines, or confiscation. Peasant families could not endure such risks.
Tonight, the wind blew gently. Aman moved the little table outside; the patched-up stools and chairs were usable.
“Look! Two dishes and a soup today!”
A small plate of stir-fried pork, a plate of sautéed wild greens, and a bowl of wild vegetable soup!
In times like these, a meal with meat, vegetables, and soup was a rare blessing.
The pork Aman bought was just enough for one meal; more would spoil.
“Zhao Ye, taste this!” Her eyes sparkled, expectant.
She put a few pieces of meat in his bowl. A plate of meat and greens—greens plentiful, meat sparse—her handful gave him three or four pieces, leaving little behind.
“You eat too, Aman.”
Zhao Ye shared half of the meat in his bowl. The pork, stir-fried with wild greens, had a perfect balance of fat and lean.
One bite, and the aroma of fat lingered in the mouth—a satisfaction that steamed buns could never replace.
Aman chewed slowly, reluctant to swallow.
“You used to eat all sorts of delicacies. Nobles would never care for such food,” she said.
“Like the people at Tu Honglie’s told me: the master’s family took the best parts of the pigs; leftovers were often fed to dogs, never to the servants.”
“Zhao Ye, isn’t this just like… ‘wealth and feasts at the mansions while the poor freeze outside’?”
Zhao Ye paused mid-bite, looking at Aman.
Aman quickly waved her hands. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just feel that for common folk, having a meal with meat is so rare… that’s all. Don’t take it to heart.”
Afraid he might overthink, Aman reassured him. She hadn’t criticized him—just sighed at the state of the world.
“I understand.” Zhao Ye lowered his head, continuing to eat. True to his upbringing, even eating was elegant, visually pleasing.
Understand what?
He understood what?
“In the past, I ruled while others served… I never understood mortal hardships.”
The royal family, supported by the people, had the duty to govern and repay the people with peace.
This was the lesson of kingship—something Zhao Ye never forgot.
“What Aman teaches, I keep in my heart,” he said softly, smiling.
Holding a chipped bowl, yet in his hands, it looked as if it were carved from white jade.
Aman froze.
Wait… what did I teach him?
She hadn’t said anything!
Afraid Zhao Ye would over-interpret again, she stayed silent.
“Bang bang bang—”
As they ate, a sudden sound of something being smashed came from outside.