“What?”
“Liaodong belongs to Great Qian.”
“…What’s second place?”
“Prince Liaodong is loyally devoted to the court.”
“…Third place?”
“Prince Liaodong’s eighteen sons are each heroically exceptional and incomparably handsome.”
“…These troublemaking commoners—who’s actually seen Prince Liaodong and his sons? Or personally witnessed Liaodong rebel against Great Qian? They’re the ones who should top the Nonsense Rankings!”
“The dynasty has three great feudal regions: Liaodong, Longxi, and Yannan. Liaodong is largest and most distant, with treacherous terrain serving as our Great Qian’s northern barrier. The key issue is the dangerous and difficult roads—you have to cross Lingshi Pass, and plenty of imperial messengers have gone missing. The latest rumor is they became wild men in the Hundred Thousand Forest. Court decrees are hard to implement, so imperial authority can’t reach over the Murong family’s heads. But if the court can’t constrain Liaodong, it’s equally difficult for Liaodong to strike into the interior. Better to maintain good relations and peaceful coexistence. Besides, you won’t actually marry there, so whether Liaodong is loyal, obedient, or whether the eighteen sons are ugly doesn’t matter. Just bearing an empty title. Surely Prince Liaodong won’t mind sending out one-eighteenth to play diplomatic games with our Crown Princess.” Tie Yan looked at those portraits with emotion. “Child, look—the Murong family also has eighteen sons. This is fate!”
Tie Ci rubbed her chin.
One-eighteenth of Zhong Kui still wouldn’t be handsome.
The key issue was she didn’t believe Prince Liaodong would honestly stay put in Liaodong. Though market rumors were mostly baseless, there’s no smoke without fire. If common people knew Liaodong was amassing troops and growing restless, how could the court’s noble officials pin the dynasty’s safety on trusting an outsider prince’s character?
Opening a gap for Liaodong—what about future demon invasions of the interior?
But looking up to see her father-emperor’s earnest expression, she found herself unable to say anything.
Outside the hall, someone reported that Commander Xiao had come to pay respects to Her Highness.
Tie Ci rose to meet her convenient uncle and prospective fiancé, walking while casually picking up a dart from the table. As she crossed the threshold, she casually flung it backward.
With a sharp “thunk,” the dart struck decisively and accurately into a portrait, right between the eyebrows. Now the portrait no longer resembled Zhong Kui—it looked like an ugly version of Erlang Shen.
“That one!” Tie Ci’s voice carried from afar.
Tie Yan looked up.
The ugliest one.
A breeze passed, lifting the portrait’s corner where there was a small name in light ink, swaying and flickering in the wind as if luminous.
Murong Yi.
Author’s Note:
Yesterday I was criticized by a friend.
They said I take people’s money but don’t do people’s work.
After all these years of receiving tips, I’ve never thanked anyone in author’s notes. Truly arrogant.
I’ve always been a modest and obedient person, found it reasonable, but thanking everyone individually would be too much typing, so I’ll thank the large donors first—though I’ll probably be called materialistic again, but author’s notes really don’t have enough characters.
Thanks to my little wife for supporting hubby’s reputation—hubby will favor you tonight.
Thanks to my second praise-giver, Bone, follower, longtime fan—everything goes without saying.
Thanks to Long Ge Lan Chu Tan Zhi Wei, though are you really not someone’s alternate account?
Thanks to my confidant at Xiaoxiang, Feng Liu.
Thanks to A Li Fu Cheng—in the blink of an eye, we’ve known each other for quite a while.
Thanks to all familiar and unfamiliar names on the donation list—your giving represents the truest intentions. I’ve received them.
Finally, I must say: act within your means, don’t advocate large donations—one flower is truly wonderful enough.
Thank you, masters. Cuihua, bring out Iron Eighteen—