“`html
“You’re really something…”
Those three simple words made Qiao Huan feel a bit misty-eyed.
They also reminded her of the stories Ren Hong had shared with her in her earlier years.
And she recalled her mother telling her that the elder’s achievements shouldn’t just be viewed through the lens of political games or wars. But once the perfection of the “Qianxiang Calendar” allowed history to turn a page and the Gregorian calendar started to take hold, her name would exist in a far deeper manner.
But for now, this woman, unexpectedly stepping into the limelight from behind the house, would be sealed in this Year Seventeen of Yuan Zhao, no, the Seventeenth Year of the Gregorian Calendar.
By the time Qiao Huan was sent back by Qiao Yan along the same route, and had returned to her bed in the dormitory, she slowly began to come back to her senses.
This farewell felt a bit like a distant memory, but she seemed to have grasped some hidden understanding in her heart.
On the evening of the third day, she suddenly heard the bell ringing twice in the academy.
And the next morning, there was a third ring.
The previous generation that witnessed the Han dynasty collapse beyond recovery also witnessed the unlikely rise of Da Yong amidst the throngs of its people.
Now, they too would rest peacefully in this new land.
“Though at their ages they could be considered long-lived, and I didn’t know any of them, I can’t help but feel…” Zhang Changpu gazed at the white-clad funeral procession on the hillside, lamenting, “incredibly sad.”
“Perhaps because this is genuinely the end of an era,” Qiao Huan replied.
In the dimming light, Qiao Xuan led the funeral procession with the yellow canopy and ceremonial carriage, accompanied by the Northern Army’s Five Divisions.
However grand the ceremony, it could hardly mask the stench of the Han court’s corruption.
Today, the mountains were draped in white banners, students gathered attentively; though the form of the ceremony was not what it used to be, she thought these elders must have found solace in their final moments.
Through the crowd, Qiao Huan clearly spotted her mother’s figure.
Lu Zhi had been her mother’s teacher, Huangfu Song once showed her kindness, and Ma Lun was like a senior to her; therefore, it wasn’t surprising for her to don white garments today and follow the procession up the mountain.
The passing of these three elders hit the younger generation hard, and for her mother, it must have been an immense blow, but in this moment, Qiao Huan could still sense the indomitable regal presence in her upright posture, a reminder that as long as she stood there, Da Yong still had a brilliant future ahead.
So Qiao Huan added, “But even if it’s the end, Your Majesty won’t be left alone.”
It was merely a passing of the torch from the previous generation to the next.
After the funeral, from the back of the crowd, Qiao Huan overheard Lu Gong and Madam Ma’s disciples discussing the new stone tablet that had been erected at the entrance of Taihang Cemetery.
It bore four characters—
【Wudaobugong】.
These four words, carved personally by Her Majesty, struck deeply in everyone’s hearts, much like the name Chang’an had once done on the new roads.
Indeed, whether it was the “Dao” that brought peace across the seas or the “Dao” that could also be traversed by women, Her Majesty wouldn’t be walking this path alone.
As a daughter, she too would carry the great banner of a hundred years of foundation.
And as a member of Leping Academy, she wouldn’t fall behind.
In the first month of Year Eighteen of Yuan Zhao, Qiao Huan didn’t linger much in the Luoyang Palace, instead, she descended south with the envoy Bu Zhi, sent by her mother, to tour Jing Province and Jiaozhou.
Jiaozhou’s governor had exchanged hands twice after Lu Kang’s departure, and now it had landed in Bu Zhi’s hands.
Qiao Huan was curious; Bu Zhi’s sister was married to Sun Quan. Now that Sun Quan served as the prefect in Jiaozhou, why wasn’t her mother worried about Bu Zhi colluding with him? Why let these two operate in such a remote area?
To this, Qiao Yan explained that she would rather see Bu Zhi and Sun Quan join forces than the anxiety of the aging Shi Xie from Jiaozhou, who could potentially stir up trouble.
Moreover, the flourishing maritime ventures weren’t just turning the ocean beyond into a place for them to discover new species.
The naval forces from Xu and Yang Provinces could strike at Jiaozhou any time. It was merely a matter of whether she wanted to do so.
Starting with the Donghai Mi Clan, leveraging their rubber tree plantations in Jiaozhou for trade, they slowly began to encroach on the local strongmen’s territory. Then, with Shi Xie and Sun Quan forming an alliance, they would exert dominance over Jiaozhou and other provinces, all while minimizing damages to achieve her goals.
After a decade of stability in the Central Plains, she was ready to stretch her reach further south.
This might be a long-term plan that wouldn’t play out in a short time, and it would require serious cultural integration thanks to Jiaozhou’s earlier brute customs, which was likely going to be completed in Qiao Huan’s generation. But treating it as a holiday trip for her was more than enough.
How about saying she was just heading south for the winter?
But upon witnessing Ma Lun’s legacy, though still young, Qiao Huan didn’t dare to simply treat this trip as a casual excursion.
When she returned to Leping after a month’s delay, her friends quickly noticed something different about her.
“Didn’t you say you were ill?” Sun Luban’s eyebrow twitched.
Compared to Jiang Wei and Deng Ai, Sun Luban clearly had more leverage to speak, because no matter how she looked at it, Qiao Huan’s sun-kissed complexion was identical to her father after returning home for just two days this January.
Qiao Huan responded candidly, “I caught a sickness where I get chills if I don’t get sun exposure, so my mom took me south for treatment.”
Sun Luban: “…”
If she believed that, she might as well be three years old!
But since Qiao Huan clearly didn’t want to share more, there was no need for further inquiry.
In this second semester of Year Eighteen, their curriculum now included many discussions on various regional policies and their pros and cons, leaving her with little time to dwell on Qiao Huan’s holiday adventures.
For this aspect, Qiao Huan seemed to have an innate sharpness; she could even recite situations in Sili and Bingzhou backwards, making her absence feel like no impact at all.
But Sun Luban wasn’t so lucky; she had to devote more time.
After all, she had decided to make others take pride in whatever she used, so she couldn’t afford to stumble at this early stage.
Indeed, she chose not the martial path of her uncle and aunt, but the civil service route.
Specifically, a position where she could lead troops into battle and also focus on improving people’s lives.
Whether it was because she’d hung out with Qiao Huan for too long, Sun Luban found herself inadvertently believing in Qiao Huan’s judgment.
Qiao Huan claimed she had a talent for assessing political affairs and an ambition that burned bright. If placed only in Luoyang’s bureaucracy, there was a risk of offending people. If she were just a general—
Not that she seemed to have the innate skill to be among the best, considering how few available positions there were now.
It would be more worthwhile to strive for a governorship position instead.
At first, Sun Luban thought this ambition was grand and unrealistic, but the more she delved into various policies, the more she felt Qiao Huan actually had a knack for understanding it all.
Qiao Huan’s career plan wasn’t half bad!
“So, what are your own plans?” Sun Luban asked.
Zhang Changpu had already been planning to switch to an art academy, and that transition had been set months ago.
Cao Jie was continuing her studies with an eye toward becoming a teacher at Leping Academy.
Kong Yu didn’t need much mention; she intended to assist Lu Ji with maritime astronomical research.
Jiang Wei, Deng Ai, and others would likely first take part in the new appointments at Leping Academy before heading to the capital for the imperial exams.
…
Everyone’s direction was communicated early on, except for Qiao Huan.
Initially, Sun Luban thought Qiao Huan had originated from the Donghai Mi Clan, but Qiao Huan herself denied it.
Over the years, while others in the academy viewed her as a well-rounded top talent, Sun Luban’s preconceived notions prevented her from seeing the truth until now.
But all she saw was Qiao Huan raising a finger in front of her, declaring, “You’ll know soon enough. Anyway, I’m headed to the capital for a job.”
This time, Sun Luban didn’t brush it off lightly as usual; instead, an absurd guess suddenly sprang to her mind.
When that thought crossed her mind, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Yet if she connected that identity with Qiao Huan, it didn’t seem too far-fetched.
Only there was one glaring issue…
Which royal child is so interested in writing stories anyway?
Don’t think she didn’t notice; even if Mu Huan had briefly shelved the idea of developing a side career—and maybe, just maybe, was slightly rattled by the death of those three elders—he still seemed eager to pick it back up.
“`
“What’s up with all this nonsense?”
What her Majesty left behind were things like the “Anti-Dong Declaration” and the “Ascension Declaration,” with some earlier documents like the “Letter of Apology to Emperor Ling of Han,” and later on, the various anti-Yuan declarations compiled under her Majesty’s orders. This stuff barely counts as what she compiled herself, then there are the edicts from the Son of Heaven establishing the public calendar and all sorts of lovely words encouraging learning.
What if her successor left behind a pile of this nonsense? What then?
But just as Sun Luban thought about it, she couldn’t help but give herself a slap on the face.
Why was she even worrying about this?
She hadn’t even finished her studies for this term and was nowhere near getting herself a nice cushy government job; why bother fretting about all this?
Exactly.
What gave Sun Luban some comfort was that in this year’s coursework, she actually came across something that Qiao Huan didn’t understand.
One of them was a basic engineering elective.
This was the kind of course someone sticking around Leping Academy for advanced studies would take. Who knows if Qiao Huan chose it out of genuine interest or just because she thought it might help her writing.
But it seemed like even though she was a whiz at political commentary, she was utterly hopeless at this subject.
Jiang Wei had even happened to pass by the classroom a few times and heard the teacher yelling Qiao Huan’s name.
Their friends tried to fish for details, but the only info they got from Qiao Huan was that she was seriously struggling with the project she wanted to present because it was just too big and would probably test the teacher’s patience.
But hey, it was just an elective! With the encouragement at Leping Academy for students to try things out, even if she didn’t pass, it wouldn’t be a public shaming moment. It wouldn’t mar her image as a brilliant icon among the younger students.
It wasn’t until the end of the semester that they finally saw what Qiao Huan had attempted to create for her project.
Honestly, it wouldn’t be surprising if the engineering professor had gone postal.
Because that project was titled—The Tomb That Will Never Open (Unfinished Version).
“What were you thinking?” Sun Luban asked, channeling all the curious onlookers behind her.
“I just thought there are way too many students at Leping Academy. If one of those shady characters sneaks in and wants to swipe some burial goods from the tombs of those great scholars, the security at the cemetery right now is lacking. So why not go all out and completely protect these tombs with machinery?”
“Too bad I missed a crucial point,” Qiao Huan said with a heavy expression. “I should’ve just grasped the concept and left the rest to the professionals.”
Actually, she was even thinking, if she had some talent in this area, she could design something for her mother, right?
Turns out, electives are electives, and she indeed had no knack for this stuff.
But it didn’t matter. She was loaded and would have power in the future, so she’d just let someone else handle it.
Through this semester’s studies, Qiao Huan felt she had every reason to believe she would make a very competent supervisor in the future!
Jiang Wei: “……”
For some reason, he had a strange premonition that this girl would pull off something big down the line.
As it stood, the most she would get from her course was recognition from the teacher.
An unfinished version couldn’t be considered submitting an assignment, plus some of Qiao Huan’s suggestions sounded like they could only exist in a myth.
Since her current math knowledge couldn’t verify it, Qiao Huan couldn’t offer any reasonable explanations, so she just got a passing grade for participating in the elective.
With a note that read, “This student has an outstanding imagination.”
It was well-known that the teacher often blew a gasket, but judging by this comment… he seemed pretty nice.
“Maybe it’s because my design had a decent purpose,” Qiao Huan surmised.
As for whether others believed it, that was another story.
Another area where this genius kid found herself struggling was with a project that required a height of over… according to modern calculations, one meter sixty, to participate in –
Equestrian archery.
She had been training for two years in horseback riding.
The Donghai Mi Clan gifted her a thoroughbred horse which she named Zhaiguang, who had completely acknowledged her as its owner over the two years.
Qiao Huan also had a pretty decent talent for horsemanship, which allowed her to unleash Zhaiguang’s maximum speed.
As for archery, she had gone through training with Sun Ren before even coming to Leping Academy.
In terms of precision, she couldn’t compare to those who specialized in this field, hitting targets effortlessly, but she was still considered a decent hand.
However, weirdly enough, when she was on horseback, her accuracy while drawing her bow dropped to a ludicrous level.
Qiao Huan was troubled by this for quite a while until the end of the nineteenth year of Yuan Zhao when warriors came to teach again, and Wei Yan noticed her performance and asked a question.
“Is it because you find it hard to disregard life and death, that you can’t commit fully to your bow and arrow when on horseback?”
Qiao Huan was caught off-guard.
“Did I hit the nail on the head?” Wei Yan pondered for a moment before continuing, “I know as the top talent in Leping Academy, you should value your life a bit more, but in an exercise like horseback archery that isn’t life-threatening, you really don’t need to worry so much, unless… you don’t trust your partner enough.”
The partner Wei Yan referenced was the horse she had been riding for two years.
Qiao Huan: “……”
Wei Yan was right.
She did value her life. She was scared to die.
Otherwise, she wouldn’t have gone through so many protective measures when she first started riding.
She understood that if she wanted to fulfill her mother’s saying, “I do not walk alone,” she had to take care of her own life.
But as Wei Yan said, what she faced now wasn’t life or death, but whether she could trust her partner!
If she couldn’t even extend that trust, couldn’t face a little danger, what right did she have to become her mother’s heir? And even bigger than that, what right did she have to face the challenge of climbing to the throne and ruling the world?
In that moment, Qiao Huan’s resolve hardened multiple times over.
Wei Yan would never know that in this instance, his comment was a golden opportunity, one he grasped better than during his own selection process for military candidates by the Emperor. All he knew was that this young person soon dashed away, racing towards the training grounds.
This time, when she galloped past the target, drawing her bow, she was infinitely more relaxed than before.
This didn’t mean that when her arrow was released, it flew any slower.
In fact, it was precisely the kind of starting point a horseback archer should have.
“What potential!” Wei Yan murmured as he watched Qiao Huan’s figure from afar. “I wonder if she’s already picked out a state or region to serve?”
Who would complain about having too much talent under their command?
Along with Wei Yan was Zhuge Ke, originally tagging along as an outstanding returning student. He only went to the cafeteria and heard Wei Yan’s dangerous words.
The odd look on his face didn’t escape Wei Yan’s notice, leading him to ask, “What do you mean by that? If I remember correctly, isn’t she in sixth grade? Sure, she’s a bit younger than her peers, but letting it slide shouldn’t be a big deal.”
Zhuge Ke thought it over and didn’t disclose Qiao Huan’s identity, saying only, “That’s true, but next year at the graduation ceremony, his Majesty will personally attend. If she has any plans and the General swoops in first, it wouldn’t be a good thing.”
Wei Yan: “…that makes sense.”
Alright, let’s keep it at that for now.
After this year’s arrangements by his Majesty, they would see how it goes.
Qiao Huan had no idea, as she galloped, that these two were having such a conversation.
All she knew was that her arm and body felt lighter than ever after that arrow was released, and she could almost hear Zhaiguang’s breathing, along with the wind by her ears…
It was lifting her straight up to the clouds.
——————
“Hey, why are you just standing there? We graduated.”
Qiao Huan snapped back from her momentary daze and returned her focus to the present.
Time sure flies; it felt like just a blink and more than half a year had passed since the end of the nineteenth year of Yuan Zhao.
This marked the end of their sixth-grade journey.
The one speaking to her was Sun Luban.
Six years sounds short, but it had brought monumental changes among her peers.
A shift taking place towards becoming the pillars of the new generation!
Who would remember how they first crossed paths six years ago?
Qiao Huan smiled, “Right, we graduated.”
Author’s Note:
So, since I can’t label the end in the list, I put the final chapter on the 2nd at midnight (there’s no update on the 1st).
Anyway, just one chapter left, so it’s fine to take my time wrapping things up.
See you at 0:00 the day after tomorrow~
