Everyone Wants To Harm Me - Chapter 117

Life in Yuanzhou had been as tranquil as still water, yet it had its own unique flavor. Before I knew it, many years had quietly passed.

I only found out that Lan Yue had been deposed after just a year on the throne when the imperial edict appointing the new empress was posted at Yuanzhou’s city gate. Grandfather had also retired from court and passed away the previous year, but no one in the family had informed me.

Perhaps they had all thought I died long ago.

I lived cautiously, never knowing how many years of my life Mojin had consumed. I had been unwilling to die too soon—after all, the person I loved also loved me back. I had wanted to grow old with him.

Yu Chongrui had thought the same. So, he forced me to climb mountains every day.

At first, we climbed the one behind Yao Garden, but he said it was too small and gentle to be of any use. Eventually, he dragged me to scale a wild mountain by the river. It took half an hour to reach the top—about a hundred feet high. I was nearly tortured to death.

Lying collapsed at the summit, I thought, Forget it. If we can’t grow old together, so be it. When I die, let him marry Feng Yuan as a second wife. I won’t blame him.

But when Yu Chongrui pulled me up, let me lean against him, and we sat on the stone platform watching clouds gather and disperse, listening to the wind rustle through the bamboo forest—when he hugged me from behind and kissed my cheek—I changed my mind.

I couldn’t bear to give him to Feng Yuan. And I was sure Deng Zishe wouldn’t have agreed, either.

“The scenery here is so beautiful—green grass, no one to disturb us. It’s like we’re the only two people in the world.”

So what are you planning to do?!

Ah, I should have known. He had always preferred broad daylight. My understanding of my husband deepened every day.

After over a year of training, I improved. I could reach the summit in just fifteen minutes without breaking a sweat. Eventually, I left Yu Chongrui in the dust.

In the fifth year of our marriage, we had our first child.

Yu Chongrui had been very upset about it, saying it was a lapse on his part. With so many children—boys and girls—in the orphanage, we could have adopted. I hadn’t needed to take such a risk.

I had founded the orphanage to take in abandoned babies, mostly girls. Yuanzhou’s laws had been strict, but in nearby regions like Shaozhou and Pingzhou, infanticide and abandonment of baby girls remained common. I didn’t know if the He family still clung to those superstitions about feng shui and cleansing girl births, but I knew such practices would take centuries to fully disappear.

I asked Deng Zishe again and again to confirm that the toxins in my body were gone, that they wouldn’t harm the baby, and that I could handle childbirth.

After a full examination, Deng Zishe said, “You’re healthier than the sow next door in Uncle Sun’s house—you could pop out a whole litter, no problem.”

What a mouth. Am I a sow? No, wait—can a sow compare to me? Never mind. I hadn’t been planning to have a litter anyway—just one had been enough.

Thanks to all that mountain climbing, the delivery went smoothly. It was a girl.

Our daughter had been born in the year of Xin. I asked around and found that the Miao People didn’t have naming taboos and often passed names down from father to child, so I named her Xinlan.

After spending time with the Miao, I learned that their names followed a different order—given name first, family name last. So my mother’s Miao name must have been Xin Jiuran.

For the next four years, Yu Chongrui had been very careful and made no more “mistakes.”

I hadn’t been the only one with a short lifespan. Prince Xin, too, couldn’t escape the curse of dying before forty. He died young at thirty-three, having ruled for just ten years.

During his reign, Yu Chongrui’s reforms were rolled out more widely, but few knew that what later generations called the “Zhiping Reforms”—credited entirely to Prince Xin—had actually begun during the late Yanxing era.

Prince Xin had no sons, only three princesses, so the throne passed to his cousin—the late emperor’s seventh son.

He had once mocked the previous emperor for breaking promises and toiling for another’s benefit, only to follow the same path himself. In a way, he had fulfilled his own prophecy.

After his coronation, the new emperor sent a formal letter inviting Yu Chongrui to return to court. Yu Chongrui declined, citing my poor health and how I could only thrive in Yuanzhou’s climate.

In truth, as he wrote that letter, I had been flipping through travel guides, thinking about where to go next. With Prince Xin gone and the new emperor seemingly friendly, we no longer had to keep our heads down in Yuanzhou. The world was vast—I wanted to explore it.

To give the emperor face, Yu Chongrui recommended Chen Yu, Yuanzhou’s deputy governor, in his stead. Chen Yu later became Right Minister.

We took a boat eastward down the river.

Upon reaching a major town, we switched to a carriage and toured Jiangnan.

We visited Suzhou to see my fourth uncle and Brother Zhongshu, then returned to Piling to visit our parents.

Yu Chongrui really did resemble his father.

Brother Zhongshu had married in Suzhou, with my fourth uncle as matchmaker.

At the banquet, I inspected my sister-in-law—fine-browed, soft-eyed, gentle like a classic Jiangnan woman. But I had heard she was sharp, competent, and ruled the household decisively—a complete opposite of me. I had been secretly relieved.

Passing Taihu Lake in Liangxi, I asked Yu Chongrui, “Should we take a boat to Gui’an?”

The lake stretched so wide I couldn’t see the far shore. Was the sea like this too? I had loved boats—someday, I would go see the ocean.

Yu Chongrui turned my face to him. “Gui’an is out of the way.”

I smirked and teased, “I haven’t seen him in over ten years. The Prince of Gui’an must be twenty-four now, right? I wonder what he looks like. Did he marry a princess? Noble Consort Chu was beautiful—I bet he’s not bad either.”

He pinched my cheek. “Back then you liked handsome young men. You still do. Your taste hasn’t changed.”

“It hasn’t,” I said shamelessly. “I’ve always liked you.”

On the road, perhaps due to fatigue, or the change in weather, or maybe because the scenery had been too beautiful, Yu Chongrui made two more “mistakes.” We ended up with two more sons and three more daughters.

In Lingnan, we saw a massive four-zhang waterwheel. On the coast, we watched them build ocean-going ships from scratch.

Yu Chongrui had been inspired. Back in Yuanzhou, he worked with Governor Liu on a new irrigation plan.

That was when I discovered I had an edge over him—I could read engineering blueprints faster and draw better. From then on, he handed the technical drawings over to me.

I learned to build bridges and houses. I modeled a new bamboo house after ship hulls—perfect for Yuanzhou’s rainy climate: earthquake-resistant, sturdy, and low-cost. The locals called it “Qilou.” I had been very proud.

I lived far longer than expected. At forty-nine, I had my first granddaughter and still climbed several hills daily to inspect drip irrigation channels.

At sixty-eight, Yu Chongrui passed away. He had been ten years older than me. We had been married fifty years. I had been deeply grateful for Heaven’s mercy.

I had once said that if he died, I would never live alone—but I broke that promise again.

After his death, I lived more than ten years alone. He had left too many unfinished tasks, and I had to complete them so he could rest peacefully.

By eighty, I could still walk with a cane.

I heard there was a strange man in Huaiyin who used wind and water to make canal water flow uphill. If true, terraced fields would never fear drought or flood again. I had to see it with my own eyes.

I couldn’t handle bumpy roads anymore, so my grandson accompanied me by boat to Yangzhou, then took the canal north to Huaiyin.

Passing through Hongzhou, my grandson insisted we visit the dam on the Ganshui tributary. “Grandfather built it himself! It’s been working for seventy years!” he said proudly.

I was proud too. My husband had accomplished such a feat at only twenty.

At the dam, soldiers were posting a new notice.

I squinted to read it. While we were traveling, the court had changed. The emperor had passed, and the crown prince had taken the throne.

By my count, this would be the great-grandson of the Yanxing Emperor. Including Prince Xin, I had lived through the reigns of five emperors.

I looked again at the dam Yu Chongrui had built when he was governor of Hongzhou.

Seventy years had passed, yet it still stood tall across the river, nourishing the land and protecting the people along the riverbanks. It would continue to serve long into the future, even as the empire changed hands countless more times.