Forty-Seven. Busy—being busy is a good thing.

But in these past few days, Pei Xiunian hadn’t so much as spared a thought for Su Zhichou; he hadn’t even visited either the Empress Dowager or the Emperor Zhaoning. This wasn’t a deliberate act on his part, but rather the result of sheer busyness—he could scarcely find time for himself.

As the Third Prince, decorated with military honors, Pei Xiunian had been back in the capital for quite some time, and it was only right that he should now receive the parade of high-ranking officials eager to pay their respects. Not long ago, rumors had been rife—the Third Prince was said to be under house arrest by imperial decree, and the atmosphere within the palace was tense and uneasy. Whispers circulated that the Emperor and the Empress Dowager held sharply opposing views on the matter, leaving the court officials unwilling to take sides.

Now, however, the case of the eradication of the Demon Ranch in Hangzhou, led personally by the Third Prince, could no longer be suppressed. The matter had not only stirred public opinion but was propelled to the forefront of capital gossip by a few exquisitely written tales—ostensibly from impartial bystanders, but in truth crafted by Pei Xiunian himself.

Within the palace, word spread that the Empress Dowager was especially fond of him, and even the Emperor had offered high praise. Rumor had it that the Seventh Prince, far away in the north, and the Second Prince, stationed in Yangzhou, were both preparing to return to the capital. Even if not for this particular affair, the Emperor’s summons to his sons signaled that a momentous event—perhaps even the announcement of a successor—was imminent.

The officials, sensing the winds of change, rushed to pay their respects to Pei Xiunian, now the favorite in the contest for succession, before the arrival of the other princes. With no further restrictions on his movements, Pei Xiunian was obliged to meet those who requested audience and visit those awaiting him. Most officials, however, could not freely enter the Forbidden City to see a prince; but at the very least, these were third-rank dignitaries, personally bearing gifts and hosting banquets, waiting outside the Forbidden City for hours on end. He could hardly refuse.

Everyone in the capital recognized the brewing storm upon the court. At such a time, it would be unwise for Pei Xiunian to offend anyone. Thus, for days, he was either carried in a grand sedan chair or jostled along in a carriage, to the point where his rear was sore from the constant journeying.

He was so busy, he hadn’t even found time to examine the chessboard given by the Grand Astrologer of the Imperial Observatory, though he suspected it wasn’t merely a physical weapon. He had glanced through the cultivation manual, which bore no title on its cover but was named "The Dual Perfection Method" within; its true rank was unknown. At first glance, it seemed more like a chess manual than a martial art, suggesting that, if he invested the time and effort to master it, it might complement the chessboard gifted by the Grand Astrologer.

Speaking of the Imperial Observatory, Pei Xiunian had managed to pay the Grand Astrologer another visit a few days prior. The old man agreed to the previously discussed partnership, but insisted on a seventy-thirty split, keeping seventy percent for themselves.

This arrangement mattered little to Pei Xiunian. After all, the Observatory would bear all the costs and labor; he merely outsourced the sales to the court, and took a ten percent cut for the national treasury. The remaining twenty percent was pure windfall—more than enough to line his own pockets.

Yet the Gazette sold far better than Pei Xiunian had anticipated. Perhaps it was because every cultivator in the realm needed to consult manuals; Da Zhou boasted an exceptionally high rate of literacy, and this was the capital—the richest, most educated region of all.

Previously, Da Zhou had little in the way of news or publicity: notices posted in public squares, or gatherings at the market to shout the latest rumors. Official notices, delayed by layers of review, were almost useless; by the time they reached the public, the story had already been retold and reinvented several times. The official announcements were often stale, except for major events from other provinces.

The Gazette produced by the Imperial Observatory was utterly different: tales from the martial world, sect recruitment notices, wanted criminals, and even the Observatory’s specialty—astrological forecasts and weather reports. Its convenience was one thing; its value as conversation fodder was another.

Though the Observatory was affiliated with the throne, it wasn’t a court institution and thus needed no formality or taboos. Information deemed detrimental to unity might be censored elsewhere, but the Observatory would print any verified truth without concern. In this feudal kingdom, where news rarely flowed freely among the people, the Gazette’s popularity was beyond imagination—it sold out instantly in the capital.

Even a mere ten percent for the treasury represented a considerable sum, enough to prompt the Minister of Revenue and his assistants to make a formal visit to the Third Prince. For the long-depleted treasury, it was a godsend—not only did it avoid raising taxes and burdening the people, it even stirred popular sentiment.

The money-minded Ministry of Revenue, upon seeing such returns, instantly became loyal supporters of the Third Prince, resolving to champion him openly in court. The Ministry of Personnel also visited, expressing their admiration and hoping to secure a dedicated section for official recruitment notices in the Gazette.

This was no difficult matter; after all, tales and news from the martial world would soon run dry if the two major factions continued to remain silent. New content would be needed sooner or later, so Pei Xiunian agreed gladly, but declined the Minister’s gift, thus earning a favor.

The Ministry of Rites proposed taking charge of the final sales process. Pei Xiunian, however, passed the responsibility to the Observatory, claiming he was powerless to help; if they wished to be involved, they should speak to the Grand Astrologer.

After all, those in charge of sales were court-appointed, required no additional staff, and incurred zero cost. Why invite another department to oversee it and split the profits—er, dividends—yet again?

In short, the matter was settled. Before each issue of the Gazette was published, it would be sent to Pei Xiunian for his review and suggestions. Yet, as he was not a native, he offered no input on trivial details, understanding well the principle that one should not meddle in affairs beyond their station. He simply gave each issue a cursory glance.

Still, the ever-shifting rumors from the sects gave Pei Xiunian the sense that the righteous and demonic factions were poised to return to the martial world.

Finally, Pei Xiunian understood why Emperor Zhaoning, after winning the war, felt little genuine joy at the prospect of years of peace between the two realms. With external threats gone, internal turmoil inevitably followed; unity and division are cyclical in the world.

Da Zhou’s internal unrest lay in the two factions. The cultivation world truly could disrupt the established order: if one’s cultivation was high enough, their fists strong enough, their influence weighed heavily indeed. In such a context, the court’s authority and prestige were diminished.

Earlier, Pei Xiunian hadn’t grasped why the Emperor did not send the garrison troops from the provinces near Yunchuan to fight the Xiliang army. Now, he understood: Emperor Zhaoning wasn’t afraid of losses or unwilling to fight; rather, he feared the Qingqiu army’s front would stretch too thin, that his own side would encircle and resist too fiercely, and Qingqiu would shrink from battle.

Emperor Zhaoning was not afraid of the Qingqiu army invading—he still had his trump card, or rather, Da Zhou’s fortune remained strong, and it wasn’t yet a matter of life or death. If all else failed, the Grand Astrologer would intervene.

To put it plainly, the old man was like the lawnmower in "Plants vs. Zombies"—the ultimate safeguard.

Thus, the Emperor had ample motive to make Pei Xiunian his target, as Pei had ruined two of his schemes in succession. However, the Emperor valued the Demon Ranch affair more; the course of war could not be controlled, but both fortune and the factions could be.

The carriage rocked violently, slowing as it approached its destination. Pei Xiunian collected his thoughts, knowing he had arrived. Today’s meeting was with someone he found quite intriguing.

He stepped down, his feet finding the carriage stool, and looked up at the building ahead, from which came the clamor of machinery. On the grand plaque above were three characters: Divine Engine Battalion.