Character Index
Ashina: Personal name Ibilga, Princess of the Eastern Turkic Khaganate.
Zhou Ying: Previous Emperor, posthumously titled Emperor Xuanzong.
Meral: Ashina's faithful lady-in-waiting, a maternal figure to her.
Wei Guang: The deceased Imperial Edict Bearer. Kayla's godfather.
Zhou Yunqi: The current Emperor, fifth son of Emperor Xuanzong.
Zhu Simo: A deeply conservative man from Shandong, the Right Secretariat of Revenue.
Yao Gongzhuo: Minister of War, one of Kuang's supporters.
Zhang Dingyong: Minister of Justice, one of Kuang's supporters. He was the son of a prostitute and a convict, but was adopted by the Zhang family.
Qiu Jinwei: The Emperor's loyal advisor.
Sun Ruhui: Right Secretariat of Justice. Formerly one of Kayla's closest advisors.
Chen Caichun: Chamberlain of the Court of Judicial Review.
Qi Fanggui: Fifth-rank official in the Department of Revenue. Formerly one of Kuang's supporters.
Zhou Kuang: The deceased Third Prince of Emperor Xuanzong.
Lord He: One of the capital elites, head of the opposition coalition.
Lord Cui: One of the capital elites, in-laws with Lord He, co-head of the opposition coalition.
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Ashina sat on the bed, watching her husband’s sleeping face. She hadn’t seen much of Wenyuan over the past few weeks. First, she had left the capital to escape the oppressive heat of summer, and though Wenyuan didn’t say as much, also to stay out of any bloodbaths that might arise. None did, thankfully, but you never knew what could happen when a new Emperor took the throne. Before she had left, he had already been busy, and the time they spent together was sparse.
After she had returned, Ashina found her husband busier than she’d ever seen him. Except for a few evenings together in which he tried to cram as much information about what he was doing recently into as little time as possible, he was largely absent from her life as if they didn’t live in the same house. He woke earlier than she did, and often went to bed later. She wasn’t familiar enough with agriculture or trade relations in the Wu to say much about his reforms, and he knew little about the household affairs that the fake pregnancy confined her to. Like two boats in parallel streams, their paths barely intersected.
Which left her with a dilemma and a screeching sense of outrage and frustration–with so little time together, how on earth had this happened? A sudden burst of irrational rage made Ashina want to smack the sleeping man awake, ignorant to her troubles as he was.
Perhaps it was the sudden hike in hostile intent, but Wenyuan indeed stirred awake without a blow to the face.
“Ibilga? Why aren’t you sleeping?” Wenyuan murmured, eyes still bleary with sleep. He stretched out an arm towards her, inviting Ashina back into the blankets.
The innocent gesture sent her over the edge.
“How on earth can I sleep right now?!” Ashina asked, a note of hysteria in her voice.
Wenyuan blinked, fully awake now. He sat up, shaking his long hair out of his face.
“What’s the matter?” He asked, bewildered.
Ashina stared at him, suddenly so helpless in her own skin that the few inches between them seemed like an ocean.
If he blames me, I’ll kill him, she thought desperately to herself. I’ll scratch his eyes out and feed him to the crows.
Otherwise, what? Would she just accept the humiliation and live in deference for the next few decades of her life?
“What’s wrong?” Wenyuan asked urgently. He reached out and wiped the wetness off her cheek–Ashina hadn’t realized she was crying.
“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out.
Wenyuan stilled, thumb still on her cheekbone.
“What?”
“I’m pregnant,” Ashina repeated through gritted teeth.
“How far along?” Wenyuan asked, his tone carefully neutral.
“A little over a month,” Ashina said. “My monthly bleeding didn’t come so I called a healer.”
“Are they sure?” Wenyuan asked. Still so frustratingly neutral. Ashina wanted to shake a goddamn reaction out of him, even if it was an accusation.
“Yes,” Ashina said. “She’s been with me since in the Khaganate and she’s tended to countless pregnancies. She’s certain.”
If Wenyuan didn’t want this then he should consider first whether she wanted this, Ashina thought, deeply aggrieved.
She’d lied to save him, but then there was the problem of maintaining the lie.
Two months of faking pregnancy symptoms.
A terrifying stretch in which she’d feared Emperor Xuanzong would just kill her anyways.
And then Emperor Xuanzong had died, finally, and how relieved she had been! A small amount of guilt towards the kindly face that had welcomed her into the family, but much greater trepidation for how things would settle.
They had settled fine, and she found herself searching for chances to fake a miscarriage. One that she fully intended to schedule right away before the healer had given the verdict.
“Congratulations, Your Highness. You’re with child.”
Ashina had stared at the woman in shock, unable to find words to react with.
Day after day of never ending anxiety. Binding her stomach to fake a baby bump. Faking nausea, limiting the access of everyone around her so that no one could even have the chance of betraying her.
Holding onto Wenyuan’s arm when he finally climbed into bed late at night and hoping that things would somehow work out without any hitches.
And now–
She was pregnant.
Ashina had sat with the news for a long moment before she buried her face in Meral’s shoulder and wept.
“How do you feel?” Wenyuan’s mask of neutrality was beginning to crack, revealing the anxious concern beneath it. “Any discomfort so far?”
Relief rose–halted–this wasn’t a final reaction yet. She might still have to stab Wenyuan, in her mind if not in reality.
“So far I’m fine,” Ashina said stiffly.
Wenyuan gave a sigh of relief and pulled her into a hug. Ashina remained wooden for a moment in his arms before bursting into tears.
“This is your fault!” She sobbed.
“I know, I’m sorry,” Wenyuan said placatingly. “If you don’t want to have the baby, you don’t have to.”
“I want the baby! I’m supposed to have children!” Ashina snapped, pulling out of the hug to glare at him. “Don’t you want it?”
“Of course I do,” Wenyuan assured her.
“But the pregnancy’s supposed to be four months along by now!” Ashina cried. “What am I going to do?!”
“Don’t worry, Ashina. We’ll figure everything out. Plenty of babies are born late.”
Anger spiked. Was he stupid? Did he not know how childbirth worked?
“Not months late!”
“I’ll figure it out,” Wenyuan promised. “A delayed pregnancy is an auspicious sign here in the Wu! We have a lot of historical figures and the like who were supposedly born months late! I just need to bribe any Imperial healers who come to check. Or we can have the previous healer say that he misdiagnosed you–you were earlier in the pregnancy than he’d expected. Or something. It’ll work out. I’ll make it work.”
Ashina leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around his rib cage. Genuine relief swept over her, accompanied with a wry frustration for the anxiety she had needlessly endured. Her mood was much more volatile these days, as Meral and the healer assured her was perfectly normal for a pregnant woman. But many of Ashina’s stepmothers had perfectly placid pregnancies where they just got a little teary here and there, didn’t they? Why the hell was she the only one who ended up like this?
Wenyuan was still talking about the various ways they could make this work, and Ashina let his words whittle away at her fears. At least she wouldn’t need to fake a miscarriage, a small mercy.
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Kayla read through the report word-by-word, paused, and then started again from the top. She understood every individual character but the information was not coming together in her brain. Not for fear of any cognitive malady, but the scene from earlier this morning was still replaying in her mind. Ashina’s tears, the shocking announcement, a surprise pregnancy that made a fake pregnancy a real pregnancy a few months too late into the game.
The word bounced around in her mind, shattering any other coherent thoughts as they tried to form into existence.
Pregnant.
Ashina was pregnant. It must have been before the princess left the capital, if she was already a month along. Before or after Emperor Xuanzong had died?
I’m going to be a parent, Kayla thought without wonder or trepidation. How the fuck am I going to make this work?
The real pregnancy was about three months behind the timeline of the fake pregnancy Ashina and Wei Guang had concocted to fool Emperor Xuanzong. With infant mortality rates being the way they were, did they dare to induce labor a month or even two months early? How late could be reasonably accepted? Forty-two weeks was post-term, if Kayla remembered correctly. But that was only a little under a month more than usual.
Everyone knows of some story about this Emperor or that talented general who was born months late, but who actually believes it?
Sighing, she rubbed at her forehead and forced herself to concentrate.
Focus, Kayla. As long as you can turn out results, Yunqi will let something like this slide. He also knows how things were during the end of Emperor Xuanzong’s reign, so even if he can guess at the real circumstances, he’ll accept my excuses. Provided that I’m worth it.
That meant handling the reforms, the opposition coalition, and apparently also a serial killer that they still had no leads on.
She dislodged Ashina from her mind and turned her attention back to the scroll before her. As the report became coherent, Kayla pressed her mouth into a grim line.
Zhu Simo’s fear mongering was getting a far bigger reaction than she was comfortable with. It had completely eclipsed anything about the Dowager Consorts and the charity institutions to become the newest moral outrage of the capital. If it wasn’t contained soon, it would spread through the provinces, and that damage would be much harder to undo.
I need to bring Yao Gongzhuo and Zhang Dingyong firmly onto our side first. They both have some degree of influence within their peers, and certainly within their respective ministries.
Zhang Dingyong would likely side with them, but he was a sly fox. He wouldn’t give his outright support until he was sure they would win, and for that, Kayla needed to secure Yao Gongzhuo first.
And they needed to publicize the actual content of the reforms. Seeing the text of the policies for themselves might calm down some of the agitated officials, though it would probably entrench the opposition of some others. At the very least, the court needed to be assured that no, the government was not trying to destroy every wealthy household in the country, and that there were protections in place to prevent prices from surging out of control.
But Qiu Jinwei had been right–some of the policies were too outlandish for the people of this time. In Kayla’s perspective, it was feasible, since these were all policies that would “soon” exist anyways, but a matter of a century or two wasn’t something that could be easily overlooked for people who had only ever known the present.
How are we going to do this?
Yao Gongzhuo was one of the best testing grounds, Kayla supposed. He was well-inclined towards Yunqi and a supporter, albeit an unenthusiastic one, of the Emperor’s reforms. For Yao Gongzhuo was a man of moderation, well befitting his position as the head of the Department of War–he did not crave war, he did not shy from war, and approached everything with the same benefit of doubt before making a decision.
She sent out a handwritten note to request permission to visit him via a cheerful clerk whose manners were mostly likely to incline Yao Gongzhuo to accept. He answered in the affirmative shortly after, but not before an unexpected visitor arrived in her office.
“Secretariat Sun,” Kayla greeted him in surprise.
After over a month, Sun Ruhui was a comfortingly familiar face as he appeared in the doorway. He smiled without self-consciousness, and Kayla stood up to walk him into the office.
“It has been a while,” Kayla said, happy that he had come at all. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Sun Ruhui had firmly distanced himself from Kayla after the death of Emperor Xuanzong. Her actions had crossed a moral line that he couldn’t accept, and he stuck to it even though his career could soar to unforeseen heights under the new Emperor. She respected him all the more for it.
A man with moral integrity, in this day and age? He was a rarity in any world she knew of.
She regarded Sun Ruhui with a strange sense of relief. Amidst the deadly games of intrigue and the self-righteous hypocrites of the court, it was clearer to her now than ever before that she could always trust Sun Ruhui to be exactly who he claimed to be. He would never truly stand across from her due to a sense of gratitude-bound loyalty, but nor would he ever be fully on anyone’s side, for he measured his virtue by the sages and not by his fellow man.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Kayla took a deep breath in, collecting her sudden sentimentality. It was because of the unexpected appearance of a child, she told herself. It didn’t occur to her that she had simply missed an old friend.
Sun Ruhui had not spoken yet, save to give his greetings, and did not immediately respond to Kayla’s question.
“How have you been, my lord?” Sun Ruhui asked.
“Well enough,” Kayla replied. “And you?”
“Well enough,” Sun Ruhui echoed. “I apologize for visiting without prior notice. I take it you have heard the contents of Zhu Simo’s speech?”
Kayla grimaced. “Yes.”
Sun Ruhui smiled thinly. “He speaks rubbish. These reforms will do our country much needed good.”
He reached into his robe. “That being said…I hope you do not mind, but I requested a copy of the policies from Chamberlain Chen.”
Kayla nodded. She had instructed Chen Caichun to show them to Sun Ruhui if he asked.
“Though it may be impudent for me to do so, I have some revisions to suggest,” Sun Ruhui said.
“Please speak,” Kayla said eagerly, leaning forward in her seat.
Sun Ruhui spread the scroll onto the desk before her.
“The content of the reforms are sound, but some clauses could use improvement,” Sun Ruhui said. “For one, the agricultural loan law–I recommend a clause that no officials are to pressure or force farmers to take loans at risk of demotion or imprisonment. The loans must be widely publicized, but officials will not be evaluated by the number of loans in their administrative district as long as they demonstrate that they made due effort to inform the population of their availability. However, successful implementation will be commended and included in the promotion evaluation process.”
“To prevent forced loans, right?” That hadn’t occurred to her, just the success of Zhu Simo’s fearmongering had not. Kayla’s impression of government loans for small businesses had always been that of red tape and frustrating hurdles, with an application process that required inputting the same information over and over again. Her concerns with the law had also been that local officials would not carry it out, not that they would overdo it.
“Yes,” Sun Ruhui said. “We do not immediately think of these things here in the capital, but I’ve seen what happens when a local official feels pressured to implement a policy at any cost in order to avoid demotion or criticism. This will protect both officials and the people, but also incentivize the implementation of the law.”
“That sounds sensible.”
“Conversely, anyone who attempts to prevent someone from taking a loan will be punished, with an exception for family members. The exception is to prevent men from using it as an excuse to get rid of a wife who fulfills the criteria to be exempt from divorce, you see.”
Kayla nodded thoughtfully. If a wife had no family to return to, if she had married a man while he was poor and he was now rich, or if she had observed three years of mourning for her parents-in-law, she was legally protected from divorce. Which, of course, did not stop many people from trying.
“It’s good that you set the loan rates,” Sun Ruhui said. “Otherwise this law would do far more harm than good. But the name of the law itself–I recommend this instead.”
“The Green Sprout Law?” Kayla asked, a spark of familiarity in her mind.
“Yes,” Sun Ruhui said. “A name is very important, my lord. It says a great deal, not just to officials and scholars, but also to the common people. When sprouts are green is usually when farmers are the most desperately in need, having eaten through their winter stock while the new harvest is yet to be collected. I think this will aptly illustrate the intent of your policy in the simplest way.”
The name finally clicked. Wang Anshi’s New Reforms, Kayla realized. The doomed reform movement of the Northern Song Dynasty led by a man far ahead of his time–his agricultural loan program had also been called the Green Sprout Law. And here they were, a full dynasty early to the party.
“I will gladly follow your advice on this matter,” Kayla said, accepting the coincidence as fate. “I have no sense for these things.”
Sun Ruhui smiled a little awkwardly, wanting to offer a platitude but also about to suggest several different policies to be renamed.
“There’s a few more, my lord. The special trade zones and export zones you proposed, why not rename them as well? Rather than something difficult that connotes special treatment, we can call the special trade zones as border markets.”
“Border markets?” Kayla muttered.
“Yes. It implies that the market is not within the country's heartland itself–that it does not automatically grant entry or access, but that it functions as a part of the border,” Sun Ruhui said. “It would make it a great deal easier to accept, since similar markets have existed along the Northern border for centuries, as far back as the time of the Xiongnu. It would also be more accurate, as at the moment, people seem to think that the special trade zones are areas where foreigners would be allowed to act lawlessly. But the policy addresses this through the system of official tokens. Borders also imply security and protection, so the safety measures would be conveyed more carefully.”
Kayla stared at Sun Ruhui. Another Song Dynasty term, emerging from the mouth of a man from the Wu. Was there some sort of consensus among scholars for naming certain things, or was Sun Ruhui just gifted with some sort of uncanny and highly coincidental naming talent?
“What about the export zones then?”
“I recommend calling them the Foreign Trade Quarters,” Sun Ruhui replied. “It’ll remind people of the Foreign Quarters in Quanzhou and Canton, and those have already become accepted for the most part.”
“But people will think that they can trade with foreigners there,” Kayla said. “The export zones are more for production than trading, not that I would mind that much, but…”
She trailed off at Sun Ruhui’s smile. “You mean that we should expand the trading functions of the export zones.”
“If foreigners are encouraged to travel to cities in the heartland for trade,” Sun Ruhui said in a measured pace. “They will certainly spend a great deal of money en route. The export zones will have to have lower prices than the current centers of production, enough to incentivize it. The clans will also be pleased, for they can save shipping costs themselves.”
“I’ll add it in,” Kayla promised.
Sun Ruhui handed her a second scroll. “The addendum, my lord.”
Kayla hastily opened the prepared draft.
“Wonderful,” Kayla said. “But will it really pass just because of a name change?”
“It’ll make it a great deal easier to digest,” Sun Ruhui corrected her. “Whether it can pass or not is up to Your Excellency’s capabilities. But please believe me when I say that names hold great power. Putting the right term to something can change its shape in thousands of minds.”
“I believe it,” Kayla said. Centuries apart, Sun Ruhui and the best minds of the Song Dynasty had come to choose the same names.
“Once the Emperor approves of this, I’ll publicize the reforms with your revisions,” Kayla promised.
Sun Ruhui’s smile faded a little.
“I would be glad, my lord. But I have one request.”
“Yes?”
“Please do not attach my name to any of it,” Sun Ruhui said somberly. “I will fully support it, but that’s the extent of it.”
Kayla felt something drop in her chest.
“I see. I feel sorry to take credit for your ideas, Secretariat Sun, but I will respect your wishes.”
Sun Ruhui lowered his head in thanks.
“Would it pain you to attach these ideas to Chamberlain Chen instead?” Kayla asked.
Sun Ruhui smiled again, earnestly this time.
“It would please me greatly to see that.”
“Then I will do so, granted she agrees,” Kayla said firmly. “Thank you, Secretariat Sun. Please know that I greatly appreciate your help.”
“I am honored for a chance to do something of use for my country,” Sun Ruhui replied, getting to his feet. “Then I will take my leave, Your Excellency.”
She stood up to walk him out.
“Take care, Secretariat Sun.”
He bowed and walked away, as resolutely as he had come to her door.
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Zhang Dingyong leaned his chin on one hand. It was a signature move he pulled out whenever someone was offering a proposition. The pose gave the impression of thoughtful consideration and people felt compelled to keep offering more and more information to sway him.
Across from him was Qi Fanggui, a fifth-rank paper shuffler in the Department of Revenue. A man with quite a bit of ambition who fancied himself somewhat influential among the lower-ranking officials. Zhang Dingyong didn’t like Qi Fanggui, though they had both been a part of Kuang’s faction. Qi Fanggui used to spout effusive praise over Kuang in a way that would have been sickening brownnosing if not for the fact that it was sincere–it didn’t speak of devotion, just a weakness of character that a grown man like Qi Fanggui needed to worship someone as a hero rather than evaluate their talents as a fellow man.
And now, the man fancied that he had a good idea, that he had a new hero, swayed more by Zhu Simo’s self-righteousness than Zhu Simo’s arguments.
“The way we see it, the capital elites have the upper hand. They’ll probably be the ones to dominate the court for the next few years, if not for the next few decades,” Qi Fanggui mulled. “I wonder, is it alright to side with the Emperor on this?”
The conversation had been going in circles for minutes now, since Qi Fanggui wouldn’t proceed until he was sure Zhang Dingyong would not severely rebuke him.
Annoyance surged in Zhang Dingyong’s chest. What did Qi Fanggui care if Zhang Dingyong berated him or not? But the man had to be coddled, having a fragile ego that would lead to years of resentment and petty sabotage if it was ever bruised.
“Well, I wouldn’t know about that,” Zhang Dingyong said.
“Most of us have never even spoken to the Emperor before, you know,” Qi Fanggui said defensively, as if perceiving Zhang Dingyong’s judgment. “You’re different, of course. You were well within the inner circle, to the point of being able to visit the Third Prince at all times of the day. But for those of us who weren’t in that position, who have only ever been to the Outer Quarters of the Third Prince’s household, the Emperor was more or less a stranger. He never showed his face much, and only appeared in court–no, in public–every now and then.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Zhang Dingyong said pleasantly.
“What do you think, Minister Zhang?” Qi Fanggui asked, a little eager and desperate all at once. “You know the Emperor better than we do.”
“I’m afraid that I don’t know much about him either,” Zhang Dingyong said. “We barely ever spoke. He was kind enough. And very courteous.”
“That…” Qi Fanggui trailed off, not sure what to say in response. “But what about his proposals? Do you think he can get them to carry through?”
“That’s something that I also can’t say for sure,” Zhang Dingyong said.
“Then what does Minister Zhang think about our proposal?” Qi Fanggui asked. Zhang Dingyong was silent, prompting Qi Fanggui to begin anew to fill the awkward gap. “You’re the highest ranking of us, and you’re well known for your competence. We would be honored to follow your lead.”
So to put it simply, he’s wasted half an hour of my time for a single sentence of information–they want to go over to Lord He and Lord Cui, but they’re afraid of being neglected so they’re tugging at me to bring along as leverage.
Zhang Dingyong’s mouth curved into a smile.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “Where I intend to walk, none of you will wish to follow.”
“What?” Qi Fanggui’s face was one of utter bewilderment.
“A word of advice. Rather than throwing in your cards so early, you should wait and watch a while longer,” Zhang Dingyong said. “That’s definitely what I will do.”
Qi Fanggui frowned slightly, but took the advice with gratitude. “Thank you, Minister Zhang.” He probably didn’t intend to listen.
Zhang Dingyong saw Qi Fanggui off before turning on his heel to stare at the painting on his office wall. It looked like a simple koi fish in a peaceful garden pond, but he was the only one who knew what the painting really stood for–a carp, about to leap over the dragon gate.
“Side with the capital elites? What foolishness,” Zhang Dingyong said to himself. “Even if you help them, they won’t be grateful towards turncoats. And no matter how high they climb, can they possibly climb on top of the Emperor’s head? Rather than that…”
Zhang Dingyong’s smile widened. “The choice should be of which man to side with in the Emperor’s faction.”
Qiu Jinwei or Zhao Wenyuan? That was the real dilemma. Yunqi was the kind of the Emperor who needed balance between the powers at court. Zhang Dingyong needed to choose sides early on to reap the greatest benefits, and that meant choosing who to help more in the process of passing the reforms.
Shall I wait some more and see? No, this opportunity will slip by if I wait.
Qiu Jinwei would never fall from favor, given his tight-knit relationship with Yunqi. But it was possible that Qiu Jinwei would fall from power–a soft landing for him then, but what about his supporters? Yunqi would probably turn a blind eye and let Wenyuan take revenge as the Duke liked as long as it didn’t threaten the Emperor’s power.
What about Zhao Wenyuan? He was the Emperor’s cousin, right-hand man, and probably the one who did the dirty work to get Yunqi on the throne. That wasn’t something Yunqi could ignore either.
So for either one, the Emperor will cushion their fall.
Then it was just a matter of who was more capable. Zhao Wenyuan had demonstrated his mettle. Qiu Jinwei had kept his under wraps.
Zhao Wenyuan’s the safer choice then. Or is he? Really? Without his uncle’s doting, is he still the same Zhao Wenyuan?
But Qiu Jinwei hadn’t done anything of note to convince Zhang Dingyong that he was the better choice. And going against Qiu Jinwei didn’t necessarily mean he would die if he lost. That young Duke, on the other hand…give him an enemy and he’ll give you a corpse. That decided it then.
“Then shall we side with Zhao Wenyuan for now?” He asked the carp. “If things don’t go well, then I’ll just jump ship before it’s too late.”
As for the other remnants of Kuang’s faction, he would only loop them in at the moment when it benefited him the most.
Zhang Dingyong bared his teeth in an unpleasant smile before patting his face into a more suitable expression for his next appointment.
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Cultural Notes
Ultra-long pregnancies as a sign of great auspiciousness/talent: Often highly embellished, but stories about Emperors, especially Emperors who established new dynasties, often retroactively granted them unusual traits of divinity to justify their seizing power. Not dissimilar to how Ancient Rome would record an uptick in unlucky omens or auspicious omens before major events. One would be that their mothers were pregnant with them for thirteen months (first Emperor of the Qing Dynasty) or that a red light shone over the building when they were born or that there was an auspicious comet to the Northwest or whatever other lucky sign.
以圣人为尺/Measure yourself to the sages: This was a standard that many scholars held themselves to, or aspired to hold themselves to. Rather than relish in being more "virtuous" and "refined" than this peasant or that conniving merchant, they hold themselves to the highest standards of virtue, that of the sages. That does not mean they hold other people to that standard, but they have clear boundaries about what they can or cannot accept. In Ancient China, someone who refuses to accept or acknowledge the immoral behavior of someone in power, even at cost to their own careers or lives, is often considered with great respect for their strong moral character.
三不去/Three Protections Against Divorce: If a wife had no family to return to, if she had married a man while he was poor and he was now rich, or if she had observed three years of mourning for her parents-in-law, her husband could not divorce her. The first was because the wife would have nowhere to go. The second was because the wife had supported her husband through hard times and showed loyalty that should be rewarded. The final one was because the wife had shown great filial piety and it would be ungrateful to cast her out.
青苗法/Green Sprout Law: An extremely innovative agricultural loan program proposed by the Song Dynasty reformist Wang Anshi in which farmers were given low-interest loans in spring to be paid back after the harvest. However, the law failed precisely due to the reason Sun Ruhui mentioned. Farmers were pushed to take out loans by local officials and many went bankrupt when they were unable to pay the loans back, as officials often illegally imposed higher interest rates than what was government-mandated. This, coupled with a drought, had disastrous consequences that led to Wang Anshi resigning and the policy being strongly criticized for centuries. For this policy, as well as several others, Wang Anshi was often considered a man whose ideals had far superseded the limits of his era.
王安石新法/Wang Anshi's New Reforms: Wang Anshi was faced with a Song Dynasty that was broke and faced by a slew of hostile neighbors, with severe inequalities that threatened to destroy the economy. Though about 80% of the population was agricultural, rich landlords possessed some 80% of the landmass while about 60~70% of farmers owned only 20% of the land. Wang Anshi undertook a massive series of reforms and established a faction of his own. They faced strong opposition from Sima Guang, whose arguments are pretty close to Zhu Simo's. Wang Anshi was eventually forced from power, but factional opposition had grown so strong that it directly led to the end of the Northern Song Dynasty through relentless sabotaging of each other's military operations.
榷场/Border market: A practice that had existed informally for a very long time, but was institutionalized in the Song Dynasty.
匈奴人/Xiongnu: An Ancient nomadic people/confederation that lived in the Eastern Eurasian steppes. In the Han Dynasty, the Xiongnu often invaded Northern China, and the Han couldn't do much due to the difference in strength. Eventually, Emperor Wu of Han began a counterattack that dealt a heavy blow to the Xiongnu, but also to China, resulting in about half a century of peace due to depopulation and economic depletion on both sides. The Xiongnu would eventually split into the Southern and the Northern Xiongnu before eventually falling apart. Many Xiongnu tribes that settled within China either intermarried and integrated with the locals or went on to develop into separate ethnic identities.
蕃舶场/Foreign Trade Quarters: 舶 refers to big ship, which was commonly used as a term for foreign traders in Ancient China (since they came on big ships along the maritime Silk Road). This term wasn't used so much inland but more so along the coast. 蕃 means foreign, and was used for foreigners who came from both overland and maritime routes.
蕃坊/Foreign Quarters: Refers to the quarters in which foreigners lived. Foreigners were allowed to practice their religion in peace, but weren't spared from violence during times of civil war.
泉州/Quanzhou: A port city in Fujian, China. It was a very important trading port along the maritime Silk Road.
广州/Canton: The modern-day city of Guangzhou, it was also a very important trading port along the maritime Silk Road. Cantonese people have always been known for having a strong fighting spirit, and this was also where the Opium War began.
鱼跃龙门/Carp leaps over the dragon gate: An Ancient Chinese proverb based on the folktale that there is a mythical gate at the top of a waterfall, and that carps that manage to swim upstream to leap over the gate can become dragons. It is a near impossible task, but the folktale emphasizes that it is indeed possible for carp to accomplish. This was, in a way, a metaphor for the desire to achieve social mobility, such as from a poor scholar to a high-level official.
还能爬他头上吗?/Can they possibly climb on top of [his/her/their] head?: A Chinese rhetorical question often used sarcastically. A junior worker may proudly tell his mentor, "I really told the boss today!" only to have the mentor dramatically roll his eyes, curse him out, and ask "So? Can you possibly climb on top of his head while you're at it?"