Hot flashes

Zhou Heng stayed up for seven whole nights.

He occupied the warm pavilion on the west side of the Qianqing Palace, and his desk was piled high with discarded manuscripts. He used up three ink sticks, burned through a bundle of candles, and his tea was repeatedly heated and cooled.

Every day when Chang'an came in to deliver meals, all he ever saw was a figure bent over a desk, writing furiously, and crumpled papers scattered all over the floor.

On the night of the seventh day, Xiao Jue arrived.

He didn't have anyone announce his arrival. When he pushed open the door, Zhou Heng was biting his pen, lost in thought. The candlelight on the desk flickered. Zhou Heng looked up, met those deep eyes, and paused, stunned.

"Why are you here?"

Xiao Jue walked over, glanced at the mess on the desk, and then at the dark circles under Zhou Heng's eyes. He didn't say anything, but simply reached out, took the pen from Zhou Heng's hand, and placed it on the pen rack.

Before Zhou Heng could say anything, Xiao Jue pressed his finger to his lips.

"Seven days," Xiao Jue said. "Are you trying to kill yourself with exhaustion?"

Zhou Heng blinked, then realized he was referring to the days. Seven days? He paused, looking down at the thick stack of manuscripts on the table, suddenly feeling a little dazed.

It's been seven days already.

Xiao Jue sat down beside him, picked up the stack of manuscripts, and flipped through them page by page. The candlelight illuminated his profile, revealing a calm expression that betrayed no emotion. Zhou Heng felt a little nervous, wanting to explain something but unsure where to begin.

He had carefully considered those words countless times—promoting agricultural technology, reducing tax burden, supporting industry and commerce… He had consulted classic texts for each one, asked the clerk sent by Shen Yu, and even tried to get information out of Xiao Jue through roundabout means.

He knew what these things meant in this era, and he also knew how much resistance they would attract.

But he had to write.

The tragic ending of "self-immolation" was like a thorn stuck in his heart, keeping him awake day and night. Only by helping him become a wise ruler could he escape this fate.

Xiao Jue turned the last page and looked up.

"You want to do these things?"

Zhou Heng nodded, then shook his head: "It wasn't me. It was you. You are the emperor; these things require your decree."

Xiao Jue looked at him with a deep gaze.

"Do you know how many people you'll offend?"

Zhou Heng knew this, of course. Land redistribution, tax reduction, support for industry and commerce—which of these wasn't cutting into the flesh of the powerful clans? The foundation of this dynasty had never been in the hands of the emperor, but rather in the hands of those deeply entrenched powerful families.

They controlled the land, the population, and local finances and administration. For the emperor to try to touch them was like trying to snatch food from a tiger's mouth.

"I know," Zhou Heng said.

Xiao Jue didn't say anything more. He put down the manuscript and reached out to pull Zhou Heng into his arms.

Zhou Heng's face was pressed against his chest, and he could hear the steady, powerful heartbeat. Xiao Jue's hand gently stroked his back, as if to soothe him.

"Do what you want to do." Xiao Jue's voice came from above. "I'll back you up."

Zhou Heng felt a lump in his throat.

He knew the weight of those words. If powerful families rebelled, if the borders were in chaos, internal and external troubles would come at once, and the newly established dynasty could collapse in an instant.

Zhou Heng nestled in his arms and whispered, "I'm not asking you to do it right now. We can try it in one place first and see how it goes..."

Xiao Jue looked down at him.

Zhou Heng looked up, his eyes shining: "Let's choose a place as a pilot site. If it succeeds, we can expand it; if it fails, it will only affect a small area. That's a safer approach."

Xiao Jue looked into those eyes.

Then he lowered his head and placed a kiss on his forehead.

"what ever."

On the third day after the memorial was submitted, the imperial court was in an uproar.

Zhou Heng stood in the ranks of civil officials, listening to the buzzing discussions behind him, as if he had stirred up a hornet's nest.

He could clearly see the words in the eyes of those officials from aristocratic families, though their faces remained respectful.

Sitting on his throne, Xiao Jue listened to the last dissenting voice and uttered only one sentence:

"Let's try it out in Jiangling first. It will last for one year."

The entire hall erupted in uproar.

Jiangling. That's Li Chong's territory. A former general who surrendered, he's only recently joined the government and his power base is still shallow. He's implementing new policies there, and the powerful families can't reach him from afar; even if they wanted to stop him, they couldn't.

Zhou Heng lowered his eyes, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly.

This method was something he and Xiao Jue had discussed. They would choose a place that didn't involve the core interests of powerful families, and select someone who needed to rely on the imperial court to gain a foothold, and then place the pilot project there.

Li Chong's son was still a hostage in the capital, so he dared not disobey.

But the powerful families aren't stupid.

After the court session ended, Zhou Heng was stopped by Shen Yu under the corridor.

"Lord Zhou." Shen Yu's voice was still as gentle as ever, but for the first time, Zhou Heng couldn't understand what was in those eyes.

He bowed and said, "Prime Minister Shen."

Shen Yu looked at him, remained silent for a moment, and then asked, "Did you write those memorials?"

Zhou Heng did not deny it.

Shen Yu sighed. He stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at the layers of palaces in the distance, and said softly, "Lord Zhou, do you know that these aristocratic families... include my family as well?"

Zhou Heng's heart skipped a beat. He knew that Shen Yu came from a prominent family in Jiangnan and was a former official of the previous dynasty. Xiao Jue valued him partly because of his talent and partly to appease the Jiangnan gentry.

But now Shen Yu stood in front of him and said those words, and it was unclear what his intention was.

"I've watched for decades," Shen Yu said slowly, "and seen the emperors of previous dynasties try to accomplish things, only to fall one by one. It wasn't that they were incompetent; it's that this world has never belonged to the emperor alone."

He turned his head and looked at Zhou Heng.

"I understand what you want to do. But you should know what you'll get yourself into if you take too big a step."

Zhou Heng was silent for a moment, then said, "So we'll try it in Jiangling first. If it succeeds, everyone will see it; if it fails, it'll only be in Jiangling."

Shen Yu looked at him, and something seemed to change in his gaze.

"Lord Zhou," Shen Yu said, "I will keep an eye on things."

He turned and left, his blue official robe fluttering slightly in the wind.

On the eighth day of the fourth month, Zhou Heng set off for Jiangling.

Xiao Jue did not see him off as he left the city. The emperor could not easily leave the capital, much less show excessive reliance on a subject in public. But on the night of his departure, he held Zhou Heng in his arms in the Qianqing Palace for a long time.

"Three months," Xiao Jue said. "I want to see you back in three months."

Zhou Heng buried his face in the crook of his shoulder and responded with a muffled sound.

He knew Xiao Jue was worried. But he also knew that he had to do this himself.

Those farm tools, those seeds, those loan agreements—these were all things he had brought from the modern world; he didn't trust anyone else with them.

"Chen Shen will be with you," Xiao Jue said. "Send a message immediately if anything happens."

Zhou Heng nodded.

Xiao Jue released him and looked into his eyes. In the candlelight, those eyes were as deep as a pool, containing too many things he couldn't understand.

"Aheng," Xiao Jue called his name softly.

Zhou Heng looked up.

Xiao Jue didn't say anything more. He simply pulled him closer and kissed him.

The kiss was long, so long that Zhou Heng could barely breathe. When Xiao Jue released him, his forehead was pressed against Zhou Heng's, their breaths mingling.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Jiangling City was larger than Zhou Heng had imagined.

Li Chong personally went out of the city to greet him, his attitude so respectful that there was not a single fault. He settled Zhou Heng in the best post station in the city, assigned a team of personal guards to protect him, and also transferred his most capable advisors to serve him.

Zhou Heng knew why—Li Chong's son was in the capital, and his life was in Xiao Jue's hands. He dared not disobey.

Being obedient doesn't mean being devoted.

On the first day, Zhou Heng wanted to inspect the fields. Li Chong's advisors led him on a tour, showing him the best paddy fields on the outskirts of the city, where the rice stalks were lush and green, growing vigorously.