Echoes of My Heart Throughout the Court-Chapter 368: The Common People Must Live Well. Otherwise, Wasn’t His Broken Leg in Vain? New

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[Of course not!!!]

Even as Xu Lang listened to the crown prince’s words, he maintained his usual gentle and humble demeanor.

But inside, his emotions surged like waves, crashing against the walls of his heart.

[It’s not that people can’t live well no matter what—it’s just that, in this era, no matter how hard they try, they can’t.]

[And also, workers’ guilds shouldn’t be like this. They should… they should… they should be the strongest support for the people!]

[This kind of thing—]

“Let’s eat,” the crown prince suddenly said, seemingly unable to bear Xu’s indignant expression. He waved his hand dismissively and said, “Don’t take what I just said to heart. I was just rambling.”

Xu Yanmiao nodded silently.

He ate that meal in silence, clearly distracted.

Afterward, they followed the original plan and went to pick mulberries.

“Why is it by the field’s edge?” Xu Yanmiao asked in surprise.

[I thought it would be a whole mulberry forest or something.]

The crown prince chuckled. “For farmers, how could they be willing to use good land to plant mulberry trees? They can’t even bear to grow soybeans or sorghum—only planting them on the very edges of their fields.”

Xu Yanmiao’s scant knowledge of farming prompted him to ask, “Isn’t crop rotation necessary?”

The mulberries had ripened, dark and thick on the trees, and people were everywhere, picking them. A nearby farmer, laughing, interjected: “Crop rotation! Of course we do it! Wheat in the first half of the year, rice in the second—rotating between the two.”

Xu Yanmiao asked, “Huh? You don’t grow soybeans to enrich the soil?”

The farmer laughed, “This is top-quality farmland—it’d be a waste to grow soybeans on it.”

A nearby agricultural officer quietly explained to Xu Yanmiao, “Rotating wheat and rice can be complementary and also improve soil fertility. But most land doesn’t have enough fertility to begin with, so even crop rotation won’t help.”

Xu Yanmiao suddenly understood.

[Good thing I’m not a local official. Otherwise, if I insisted on textbook crop rotation like wheat-soy or rice-soy, I’d probably be doing more harm than good.]

Another farmer joined the conversation, grinning from ear to ear: “And those sweet potatoes and potatoes—the seeds given out by the court this time are really good! You can just plant them in the mountain valleys and get a harvest! Those places couldn’t grow anything before. Now, thanks to potatoes and sweet potatoes, we can make use of that land. Young man, you don’t know—in past years, these mulberries at the field edges were guarded closely by every family. Outsiders weren’t allowed to pick them. But now? With bellies full, people passing by picking a few mulberries—nobody cares.”

The earlier farmer teased him: “Old Zhang, now you say potatoes and sweet potatoes are good. But didn’t you refuse to plant them two years ago? You thought the court was tricking you into increasing your recorded land area! You thought planting three-tenths of an acre of sweet potatoes would be counted as a full acre of good farmland, so you’d end up paying more land tax.”

Old Farmer Zhang scratched his head and laughed sheepishly: “My fault, my fault—I was too cynical about the court!”

He picked a bag full of mulberries. “Young man! Here! Eat as much as you like!”

Xu Yanmiao hesitated: “This…”

Old Zhang laughed heartily: “This is my own land. I planted the mulberries myself. You look fair and refined—very likable. I just wanted to give you more mulberries to eat.”

Xu Yanmiao thanked the old farmer. Seeing how happy the man looked, he smiled faintly too.

That night.

Xu Yanmiao didn’t know whether what he was doing was right or not. He wrote down everything he could remember about the art of dragon-slaying and sealed it in a box. Then he went outside the city and buried it in the earth.

—Usually, the city gates wouldn’t open at night. But Xu Yanmiao was, after all, an imperial attendant and a favored subject of the emperor.

This time, he rarely used his power. frёewebnoѵēl.com

[A prosperous era doesn’t need this. But in a time of chaos, when the people are starving and surviving by eating dirt—maybe that’s when this will see the light again.]

—The people may not be literate, but perhaps they’ll dig it up and give it to someone who is.

Or maybe not.

Maybe whoever finds it will just burn it. Or maybe they’ll study the art of dragon-slaying and use it to overthrow a decaying regime.

Or maybe… maybe it will never be dug up at all. Buried, year after year, buried through the ages.

But still—it was a sliver of hope.

Xu Yanmiao memorized the location and slowly returned to the city. It was deep into the night. Most of the city was quiet, except for the brightly lit towers where music and laughter boomed, mingled with the scent of rouge, powder, and strong liquor, spilling out like a bustling marketplace.

Even though Ji Sui frequently cracked down on brothels, even though the emperor’s favored subject openly disapproved of them, even though the capital’s official stance was to forbid them, elsewhere—such places still flourished in broad daylight, lively through the night, filled with laughter.

This was the reality of the times—an individual could not change it. Only the tide of the era could sweep it away.

Xu Yanmiao grew more and more silent.

Not long after he left, members of the Jinyiwei emerged, unearthed the box.

A hand suddenly reached out: “Give it to this palace.”

The Jinyiwei paused, then immediately handed the box to the crown prince. The crown prince brushed off the dirt and held the box up to the moonlight, inspecting the lock.

“So beautiful. So sturdy.”

The solid box shimmered under the moonlight with a gentle, radiant glow.

The Jinyiwei asked, “Your Highness, do you need a fire striker?”

The Crown Prince absentmindedly walked under the moonlight, hugging the box, as if distracted. “Mm, give me one.”

The Jinyiwei bent down to retrieve the striker, and when he looked up again, he saw the Crown Prince standing by the Yangtze River, staring unblinkingly at the surging waves while still holding the box.

The Jinyiwei’s voice was filled with panic: “Your Highness!!!”

The Crown Prince turned his head and smiled at him, baring his teeth. Then, loosening his hands, he let the waterproof box fall into the river. The waves rolled over it, and in a moment, it disappeared from sight.

“No!!!”

The Jinyiwei rushed forward and jumped into the water without hesitation.

The position of a Jinyiwei could be inherited! His son, his grandson — generations of his family could continue as Jinyiwei and even rise through the ranks. But if the dynasty collapsed, all of that would be gone!

The waves of the Yangtze were fierce. Each time he felt close to catching the box, the muddy currents would obscure it again. The river swallowed him mouthful by mouthful, the rocks struck him repeatedly, and the roaring current carried away his dreams of hereditary office and generational glory.

The Jinyiwei climbed ashore in a sorry state. Water dripped steadily from the corners of his clothes, his fingers pale and tinged with blue.

Even Xu Yanmiao, using his artifact-viewing abilities, could only see: “The box is in the Yangtze River.”

The Yangtze was vast and long, the waves fierce, and the riverbed treacherous. No matter how much manpower and resources were used, the box couldn’t be found — only if it accidentally washed ashore one day.

The Crown Prince patted his crippled leg, as if drumming on taut leather.

His father’s hatred of officials ran deep — rooted in the very core of his being. All his motives began there.

But what was his own root?

The Crown Prince gazed at the river, his thoughts drifting back in time.

At fifteen, he had been arrogant and impulsive, which led to the deaths and injuries of three of his father’s top generals who tried to save him — ultimately causing a defeat in battle.

His father beat him until he was crippled, then secretly applied medicine to his wounds at night.

“Xian’er, don’t blame your father for being ruthless. I must give an explanation to the soldiers.”

The families of the three generals, the troops under their command — they all needed an explanation.

The countless soldiers who had charged into battle and died needed an explanation.

The generals who had family in Changzhou, desperate to win the war and save their loved ones, needed an explanation.

“And the commoners in Changzhou.”

“And the people in the cities we had to abandon after the defeat, who are now under enemy rule.”

“They’ll suffer even more than before.”

“And those under enemy rule, used for their amusement…”

Losing a single battle while trying to conquer the land meant far more than just a military defeat.

“Xian’er, morale must be upheld, the people’s faith must be valued. Even the citizens under enemy rule need to see hope, to see a beacon. I want to unify the land too — only then can the realm stop boiling over, and countless people won’t have to survive like we once did, begging or performing for scraps.”

His father’s reasoning made sense, and he did care for him. And it was true — the mistake had been his.

But still…

He was only fifteen. His leg was crippled — he’d be disabled for life. He hadn’t been born wise or open-minded.

He knew it was his fault, but he couldn’t help feeling wronged, couldn’t help resenting it, couldn’t stop overthinking.

But someone had died to save him. And many more had died on the battlefield because of the shift in strategy caused by his mistake. He had no right to grieve over his own leg.

Over time, through guilt and responsibility, he slowly forced himself not to care about his leg.

But his father’s words remained, circling endlessly in his mind, turning into an obsession—

The people must live well.

Otherwise, wasn’t his crippled leg all for nothing?

What a tragic past? wuwuwu

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