Chapter 0187: Sentiments Entrusted in a Letter: May This Letter Find You in Good Health and Wellness
The Crown Prince being poisoned was no trivial matter. Xie Jinyu had silenced the imperial physicians, and as for whether the news would leak out or when it might spread, Xie Chengze trusted that Xie Jinyu had a clear understanding of the situation, requiring no concern on his part.
After asking the palace attendants in the hall for directions, Xie Chengze went to the study in Wu De Hall. The room had been briefly cleaned, and he found some paper and ink intending to continue writing science textbooks when he suddenly bumped into something with his foot. Looking down, he discovered a wooden chest.
The wooden chest was placed beside the writing desk, its chipped red lacquer and worn, rough wood making it appear quite aged. Though located in the long-uninhabited Wu De Hall, it bore no dust, unlike the hall’s original furnishings, suggesting it had been deliberately placed there by someone else.
Was it left by Xie Shoujun?
The chest wasn’t locked, indicating it likely contained nothing requiring secrecy.
Though curious, Xie Chengze knew better than to rummage through others’ belongings without permission. He averted his gaze and sat on a soft cushion to begin drafting his biology textbook.
Although the Jian’an Dynasty didn’t heavily favor sons over daughters, since the labor force was predominantly male, most commoners preferred having sons. Additionally, women were often excluded from many fields like commerce, so in Jian’an, women’s value was largely confined to managing households, raising children, and working in fields.
He wanted to change this situation. Given Jian’an’s population base, rapid future development wouldn’t be difficult. The real challenge lay in the fact that over half of women couldn’t realize their true potential. Many girls married shortly after coming of age at fifteen, and due to their youth and incomplete physical development, deaths from difficult childbirths were not uncommon.
Xie Chengze sought to prevent such outcomes by extending the marriageable age for Jian’an women, allowing them to participate in science education during their first twenty years and contribute to Jian’an’s development.
Though implementation would be challenging, difficulty wasn’t reason enough to abandon the effort. He could first trial the approach in cities near Jingcheng and establish an Imperial Academy within the palace for princesses and officials’ daughters to study, sparking a trend of female education.
Xie Chengze rubbed his chin. Even if the court forbade women from holding office, he could help them shine in other fields. Whether this decision was right or wrong didn’t matter to him – one must try to find out.
Summoning Wuhen to light candles, Xie Chengze picked up his brush to outline the biology textbook. He covered the dangers of early childbirth and proper hygiene practices, along with grafting and hybridization techniques for developing new agricultural varieties.
Teaching these knowledge areas that could improve Jian’an’s agricultural yields would also silence certain incompetent critics who might dismiss women’s learning as impractical and worthless to the dynasty.
However, compiling this knowledge into teaching materials was no simple task. Xie Chengze bent over the desk, gradually transcribing memories from his previous life onto paper, occasionally pausing to stare blankly when his thoughts trailed off.
As night deepened, Xie Chengze dangled the slender brush from his philtrum, swaying it side to side while cupping his chin in his hands, pondering what else he could write.
At some point, a tingling numbness gradually spread through his legs, likely from sitting cross-legged for too long. Xie Chengze stretched his legs to move them around, but accidentally kicked the old wooden chest beside the desk. The chest was surprisingly light and toppled over from the impact, spilling its contents onto the floor.
It was a pile of letters.
No… to be precise, it was a massive heap of letters, flooding out of the chest like a tide.
Xie Chengze’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of confusion in his heart.
This should be Xie Shoujun’s chest, but as far as he knew, there were no friends in the palace with whom Xie Shoujun could exchange letters. Who could he be writing to?
In tales of political intrigue, suddenly discovered letters often carried the shadow of “treason.” Xie Chengze swallowed nervously, his heart beginning to pound.
Xie Shoujun had long been stationed at the border. If treason were involved, the first suspicion would likely be collusion with the enemy.
Although it seemed unlikely…
He definitely wasn’t curious about who these letters were for! He just wanted to confirm whether Xie Shoujun remained absolutely loyal to Jian’an!
Tentatively, he reached out and touched the edge of one letter. Xie Chengze deliberately glanced toward the study door to ensure no one would suddenly appear and disturb him, then quickly retracted his hand and placed the letter on the desk.
The envelope was face down. Rubbing his hands together, Xie Chengze solemnly turned it over, but froze when he saw the recipient’s name.
To Chengze.
Were they… written to him?
Memories stirred unbidden—another snowy day, a stern-faced youth in armor preparing to leave the capital. “He” had grasped the young Xie Shoujun’s hand, eyes red, insisting that he must write letters.
The two had been very close in their childhood.
Hesitating for a moment, Xie Chengze finally decided to open the letter.
The handwriting was steady and measured, perfectly matching his impression of Xie Shoujun.
[Jian’an 70, February 27.
I hope this letter finds you well. I heard from soldiers returning to the capital for the New Year that you’ve been unwell and unusually quiet lately. I wonder what might be the cause. Perhaps this is why you haven’t replied to my previous letters? If so, I won’t send this one either. I’ll simply pour my thoughts onto the page, wishing you good health.
P.S. It’s snowing again at the border. Your birthday is approaching soon. I hope you’ll like the gift I’m sending this time.]
This was… a letter from ten years ago.
The envelope and paper were impeccably preserved. Xie Chengze couldn’t help but glance at the countless letters scattered on the floor, a startling thought dawning on him.
Could these… all be written to the original owner?
Setting aside the one in his hand, he crawled over to the chest and randomly selected another from the mountain of letters.
[Jian’an 72, August 7.
I hope this letter finds you well. Three days ago, the Xiongnu launched a fierce attack. The battle only paused at dawn today, giving me a moment to write to you.
Yesterday, I killed two Xiongnu on the battlefield. The general says my martial skills have greatly improved and that I’ll reclaim the grasslands in due time. But I have my doubts—right now, my injuries are severe. If you could see this letter, you’d notice how shaky my handwriting is. Laugh.]
Fortunately, you cannot see this letter, or you might start crying again. Or perhaps… I don’t even know whether you’d want to receive my letters at all, or why you refuse to write back to me.
Was the birthday gift I sent not to your liking? If that’s the reason, I’ll refrain from sending any in the future. Please don’t be angry.
On the letter, scattered dark red plum blossoms bloomed—each a drop of blood fallen from wounds. As if fearing to startle the recipient, the writer had dipped his brush in the blood to paint them into crimson plum flowers, hauntingly beautiful and pure.