ITVCFITB CHAPTER 87

 Chapter 87 – The Product Launch

In past years, Li Mingjin always had his birthday tributes sent to the capital ahead of time.

What did he send?

Sometimes a small trinket carved by his own hand; sometimes a regional treat he’d picked up from a street stall. On lazier years he’d drag home a tree root, whittle it into a vaguely interesting shape, and call it a day.

Somehow, Emperor Tiansheng treasured every last one. He even came to look forward to them.

Li Mingjin himself never understood why until Luo Shuyu put it plainly: when you’ve gorged on rare delicacies all your life, a bowl of plain congee can taste like ambrosia.

In recent years the gifts were brainstormed together by the two of them, carefully chosen to please the emperor. No wonder His Majesty now waited for Li Mingjin’s tribute with such bright-eyed expectation.

When Li Mingjin stood, the hall’s attention clicked into place. What oddity would he produce this year?

Calligraphy, paintings, curios, those were everyone else’s offerings. The emperor liked them well enough, but there was little to surprise him there.

“Father,” Li Mingjin said, far more talkative than in the old days, “what I’ve brought is simply specialty produce from Guzhou. Please don’t think it shabby.”

The emperor laughed, impatient as a child. “Enough chatter. Everyone else is crisp and clean about it, you’re the only one who dithers. Show me.”

“Truly, it’s nothing compared to the others,” Li Mingjin teased.

“Quickly,” the emperor scolded, fond and brusque all at once.

A clap of his hands, and trays began to come in.

Those near the doors snorted, then tried to swallow it: on each plate sat something utterly ordinary.

Rice. Wheat. Red dates…

The emperor blinked. “Old Third, what is this?”

“My gift,” Li Mingjin replied evenly.

“Explain.”

Li Mingjin pointed to the first tray, newly pounded white rice. “Father, this is a new strain we’ve cultivated south of Guzhou. Per-mu yield: three hundred jin.”

The emperor shot to his feet. He almost had a eunuch bring it to him, then decided to go see for himself. “Three hundred per mu? Truly?”

Guzhou was short on water; growing rice there at all was astonishing, outyielding the southern paddies bordered on unbelievable.

“It’s as I say,” Li Mingjin answered. “Last year’s figures. This year’s harvest isn’t in yet.”

“Is there some special method?”

“Our agricultural officers have developed a new system after years of trial.”

The emperor nodded and nodded again, eyes bright. For a moment he looked younger. He’d once wanted nothing more than for the people to eat their fill; politics and power struggles had dulled that edge. Now, in a breath, Li Mingjin had dragged him back to his original vow.

Li Mingjin went down the line, millet, wheat, dates, numbers crisp, methods clear. The hall that had been stifling giggles fell silent. All the rare curios of the night hadn’t wrung a genuine smile from the emperor; a few trays of common grain had him laughing aloud, moved to the core.

He could have unveiled this in open court and courted the ministers’ favor. Instead, he placed the credit into his father’s hands as a birthday gift. It looked like humility, like a son who would rather please his father than jockey for advantage.

It went straight to Emperor Tiansheng’s heart.

If anyone asked why he’d suddenly grown so earnest this year, Li Mingjin even had a tidy excuse: in the past he’d sent things quietly, but presenting a gift in person demanded something that would not embarrass his father. As for extravagance, he was “poor,” wasn’t he? Hadn’t his letters from Guzhou always grumbled about empty coffers? The emperor himself had slipped him private funds more than once, amused by his frugality.

Tonight, he stuck to the “plain congee and small dishes” route and once again, the emperor ate it up.

If the people’s bellies could truly be filled, the achievement would be Li Mingjin’s but it would also become part of Emperor Tiansheng’s own legacy, the sort of merit historians gilded with praise.

Which emperor didn’t long for a kindly verdict from posterity?

The atmosphere grew warm and generous. Praise flowed toward Li Mingjin and Luo Shuyu: one with vision, one with a gift that was clever without being gaudy. Everyone else’s tributes felt suddenly, painfully… conventional.

Across the hall, the Fourth Prince smiled until his cheeks ached.

He had thought his embroidered screen outstanding. Who could have guessed a few trays of grain would eclipse it? Worse, there was nothing to nitpick. Guzhou’s improvements were real, visible, and perfectly aimed at the emperor’s softest spot. Watching that habitual fondness tilt toward the Third Prince, he felt… awkward.

Li Mingjin, for his part, showed not a whit of arrogance. His face had never been expressive; he replied to chatter with a scant few words and did not linger.

The emperor’s birthday banquet ended in high spirits.

Back at home, Luo Shuyu kneaded the small of his back and sighed, “What a pity His Majesty didn’t notice the face on your brother’s screen.”

“He will,” Li Mingjin said, removing Luo Shuyu’s hairpin with gentle fingers. “Soon.”

Sure enough, too happy to sleep, the emperor rose to admire the night’s gifts. A senior eunuch gestured at the screen. “Your Majesty, the figures are so lifelike, such exquisite work.”

The emperor chuckled. “What haven’t I seen? Just a screen.” Still, he looked a moment longer then frowned. “Stop.”

“Your Majesty?” The eunuch froze.

“Do you not see it? That face... astonishingly similar to the empress.”

The eunuch blinked blandly. “This old slave’s eyes are poor.” He would never admit it.

The emperor’s expression cooled. “Remove it. I don’t want to see it again. What was Old Fourth thinking? Sending this to irk me?”

The eunuch dared not breathe wrong and hurried the screen away.

Within the hour, word reached the Fourth Prince, between coaxing his son to sleep, that his gift had been put away, not even granted the dignity of a single night on display. Investigating brought the reason: a face on the screen that looked far too much like the empress.

He hadn’t noticed at all. Now that the screen was gone, even explanations would sound feeble. He swallowed the setback; there was no mending it. Overconfidence, carelessness, if only he’d scrutinized it once more and had the embroiderer make a change.

For now, the only strategy was ignorance: behave with his father as always. The emperor wouldn’t condemn him harshly for a trifle.

By contrast, Li Mingjin’s tribute pleased the emperor immensely. Add to that six years apart, and His Majesty granted special leave for him to remain in the capital longer. When Li Mingjin mentioned wanting to get back to Guzhou to oversee the harvest, the emperor laughed that he’d picked up Consort Mei’s farming hobby. Li Mingjin deadpanned that he simply couldn’t bear to see people sallow with hunger.

“You are soft-hearted,” the emperor said at last.

Li Mingjin let the remark drift past.

With the imperial nod, his one-month stay stretched to two. He grumbled that Guzhou was more comfortable, no dawn court to attend. The emperor told him to curb his laziness and show up like a proper prince. So he did… by a hair’s breadth before the drums each morning.

People watched the emperor scold him with no real ire and brag to General Wei about his son’s gift. General Wei privately amused; his own son had helped with the project. Emperors, ah, emperors…

After the celebration, Li Mingjin’s social calendar exploded, banquets, toasts, endless invitations. Among the military there was a running joke: the Third Prince feared his spouse, so no one dared lure him to flower houses, only to respectable restaurants for wine, music, and boasting. Years in Guzhou had made his tolerance formidable; he seldom truly drank himself under. When he wanted to go home and hold his spouse, he feigned a tipsy sway and took his leave.

If Li Mingjin was busy, Luo Shuyu was no freer. First on his list: attend Shen Mingyun’s “product launch.”

Etiquette demanded a gift; Luo Shuyu sent something proper and unexceptional. Shen Mingyun’s status as the Fourth Prince’s consort still drew a crowd; the bustle rivaled the former crown princess’s parties.

No sooner had Luo Shuyu arrived than servants scurried off to announce him. Shen Mingyun waddled out, all plump politeness. His feelings toward Luo Shuyu were a tangle of dislike and annoyingly, deference. Was he a bit of a masochist? Why else put up with the man?

“System,” Shen muttered inwardly, “Luo Shuyu is toxic. How can he cling so hard to these feudal rules?”

“He’s a character from this world,” the system replied blandly. “He was raised here. Those are the rules he learned.”

“Every time he lectures me on etiquette, I want to argue.”

“Perhaps that’s because you often push too far.”

“I’m liberating the women and husbands here,” Shen huffed. “They need a forward-thinking mind like mine to refresh them.”

“…That is also true,” the system conceded prudently.

Back to the “launch.”

Shen had indeed staged modern-style song-and-dance, plus some inexplicable “otaku dance.” Luo Shuyu watched a long while without finding any technique in it; it looked like something anyone could pick up on a whim. Food and drink were plentiful, and this time Shen had set up a buffet, inviting everyone to carry a plate and serve themselves.

It wasn’t his first go at this; the ladies who frequented his events were used to it by now, happily abandoning decorum to ladle their favorites. Of course, most of the guests were Shen’s friends and many were eager to see Luo Shuyu stumble.

But Luo Shuyu had seen the routine in his last life. He wasn’t hungry and simply sent Qingwang to fetch him a few pastries.

Shen came over with a glass of fruit wine. “Cousin, are you getting used to this format?”

Polite today, Luo Shuyu noted purely for show. “It’s fun enough.”

“I have many more interesting things,” Shen said breezily. “You’ll be dazzled. You probably never saw any of this in that little backwater Guzhou.”

Ah. So that was the angle. Luo Shuyu only smiled.

He remembered that in the last life Shen had launched something similar around this time of year. “Let me guess,” he said lightly. “Today’s unveiling is a flowing, ethereal fairy-dress?”

Shen froze. “How did you know?”

Luo Shuyu raised his voice just enough. “Is it only women’s wear? Any new styles for husbands?”

“…” Caught. In truth, Shen hadn’t spared a thought for men’s clothing; he prided himself on championing women, so his designs were all for them.

Luo Shuyu clinked cups with him. “May your new line sell like wildfire.”

Left a bit speechless, Shen excused himself to “prepare for the show.” He was determined to dazzle and put Luo Shuyu in his place.

He strutted onto the stage, holding the crude microphone he’d made. “Today, with clear skies and gentle breezes, what a perfect moment for us to gather here—”

A commotion broke out.

A voice rose above the music: “Bad news! The Third Prince Consort has fainted!”

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Author’s Note
Third Prince: AAAAAAHHHHH!
Luo Shuyu: …

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