Zhang Xin leaned back slightly in the richly adorned carriage, the faint sway of the wheels beneath him blending with the muffled rhythm of hooves on packed earth.
Through the red curtain, the world outside appeared hazy—figures bowing, fields stretching, banners fluttering. Everything felt distant, yet firmly within his grasp.
Wuxiang.
His newly granted fief.
A place that, not long ago, he had never even heard of—now tied irrevocably to his name, his status, his future.
Yet the more he thought about it, the more amused he became.
"A township marquis…" he muttered inwardly. "And a fief in name more than in substance."
The court had played its game well.
Granting honor without real power. Bestowing glory without loosening control.
He wasn't offended—if anything, he respected the move.
"Fine," Zhang Xin thought, a faint smile forming on his lips. "If you give me an empty shell, I'll fill it myself."
The convoy pressed onward.
Ahead, the six ceremonial carriages rolled in perfect formation, their red lacquer gleaming under the spring sun. Dian Wei stood like an iron tower at the front, halberds resting at his sides, eyes sharp as ever. Behind and around them, soldiers marched in disciplined silence, their presence alone enough to keep the road clear.
Beside Zhang Xin, Wang Meng sat quietly, occasionally glancing outside, clearly still unaccustomed to such grandeur.
"First time seeing this kind of procession?" Zhang Xin asked casually.
Wang Meng nodded. "It feels… excessive."
Zhang Xin chuckled.
"Cai Yong would say this is necessary. Power must be seen before it can be respected."
He paused, then added more quietly:
"And sometimes, it must be exaggerated before it can be believed."
Wang Meng fell silent, pondering the words.
Outside, the scenery gradually shifted.
The closer they drew to Wuxiang, the less lively the surroundings became. The villages grew sparser, the houses more worn, and the fields—though ready for spring plowing—showed clear signs of neglect.
Zhang Xin noticed it immediately.
So this is my fief?
Not prosperous. Not strategically vital. Not even particularly stable.
Just as Liu Hong intended.
He let out a soft breath.
"Good," he thought. "A blank slate."
A prosperous region would have been filled with entrenched interests—powerful families, stubborn officials, complicated networks. Reform would be slow, resistance inevitable.
But here?
Here, everything was weak.
Which meant everything could be reshaped.
The carriage slowed.
A local group of officials and elders had already gathered at the entrance to the county, kneeling in neat rows as the procession approached.
"The Prefect has arrived!" someone shouted.
The entire crowd bowed deeply.
Zhang Xin did not immediately step out.
He let the moment linger.
The banners fluttered. The soldiers stood firm. The silence stretched just long enough to sink into the bones of those waiting.
Only then did the curtain part.
Zhang Xin stepped down from the carriage, gold seal at his waist catching the sunlight, purple ribbon draped across his chest.
He looked over the crowd—calm, composed, unreadable.
This was no longer the young man who had first arrived at the frontier.
This was a man who had defeated the Xianbei, shaken the court, and carved out his own place in the empire.
"Rise," he said.
His voice wasn't loud—but it carried.
The people stood.
Zhang Xin's gaze swept across the land behind them—the fields, the hills, the scattered homes.
Then he spoke, slow and deliberate:
"From today onward, Wuxiang is under my governance."
A brief pause.
"I do not care how it was before."
Another pause—longer this time.
"But from this day forward…"
His eyes sharpened.
"No one here will go hungry if they are willing to work."
The officials stiffened.
The commoners looked up, startled.
Zhang Xin turned and began walking forward.
"Prepare the registers. Survey the land. Reorganize the households."
His tone shifted—no longer ceremonial, but precise, commanding.
"Spring plowing begins immediately."
Then, almost as an afterthought:
"And anyone who obstructs this—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Dian Wei's halberd slammed lightly against the ground behind him.
That was enough.
The message had been delivered.
Wuxiang, once an afterthought of the empire, had just become something else entirely.
And Zhang Xin—
Was just getting started.