Chapter Nine: The Edict of the Han Emperor
The generous midday sunlight streamed through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a lazy golden glow over the Imperial Study. Bai Yujing was deeply sunk into the soft sofa, his posture relaxed to the point of indulgence.
The once tedious and cumbersome governmental reports, under the gentle, breezy voice of Nangong Lin’s avatar, transformed into a peculiar pleasure, as if listening to a soothing private concert.
An elegant, slender hand delicately plucked a plump grape, deftly peeling away its deep purple skin to reveal the crystal-clear, juicy flesh within.
With graceful fingers, the grape was brought to Bai Yujing’s lips. He parted them slightly, teeth gently closing, as the sweet fruit burst with a perfect balance of sweetness and tang on his tongue.
The grape was seedless.
He could chew freely, savoring the pure satisfaction of the fruit’s flesh.
Bai Yujing’s life motto was never to endure bitterness without reason.
In the empire’s early days, with everything to be built from scratch, he and his comrades toiled day and night, driven by the demands of the time, allowing no slack.
Now that the empire’s system was mature and refined, there was no need to suffer as he once had.
When it was time to enjoy, one must do so to the fullest.
“...That concludes the detailed proposal submitted by the cabinet regarding the new phase of reform for the Great Han’s universal healthcare system.”
“Approved.”
Bai Yujing didn’t even lift his eyelids, lazily uttering a single word.
The avatar’s fingers danced lightly on the keyboard, typing the word “Approved” in reply, then immediately opened the next unread message and continued reading aloud in that delightful voice.
Nangong Lin sat quietly on a nearby sofa, engrossed in a thick book.
She showed no sign of displeasure or oddity at the sight of the two avatars “wholeheartedly” attending to someone.
Because she could choose whether to receive the avatars’ perceptions and memories.
As long as she declined to retain those memories, she would not experience the first-person perspective of the avatars feeding grapes or reading memorials to someone.
From an outsider’s perspective, it made no difference to her.
However, watching someone so naturally indulge himself, Nangong Lin silently made a mental note.
This person was masterful at pushing boundaries.
At first, he only asked one avatar to read the memorials; once she agreed, he immediately climbed the ladder, requesting another to “serve” fruits and snacks.
Next, would he ask for shoulder massages or leg rubs?
If he dared to mention such things again...
A flicker of icy resolve flashed in Nangong Lin’s eyes.
She would flatly refuse, citing the “limit of avatar numbers reached.”
She turned a page, the paper rustling softly.
Ding dong—
The crisp sound of the doorbell shattered the quiet inside.
A clear, respectful male voice soon pierced through the door: “Sage, the draft decree regarding Kunlun Academy has been completed. It awaits your review and signature.”
Suddenly, Bai Yujing sprang up from the sofa as if propelled by springs, his movements sharp and swift, a stark contrast to his earlier languor.
He waved his hand at the two avatars: “Hide behind the multi-seat sofa!”
The two avatars, indistinguishable from Nangong Lin in appearance, voice, and demeanor, now displayed a “docile” demeanor utterly unlike their original self.
Without hesitation, like startled fawns, they lifted their skirts and quickly darted behind the multi-seat sofa, crouching down to hide themselves thoroughly.
Bai Yujing then sat upright behind the broad crescent-shaped desk and pressed a green button on its surface.
Click.
The study door swung open accordingly.
The steward of the Imperial Study entered respectfully, carrying a tray with the decree.
He lowered his gaze and spoke: “Sage, please review. Should there be any amendments required, I shall immediately order a rewrite.”
Bai Yujing took the draft decree and scanned it swiftly.
It concerned the establishment of Kunlun Academy and the recruitment of the first batch of students.
Thanks to his consistent principle of “simplifying official edicts,” the decree discarded tedious formalities, using clear and straightforward language to ensure even the most ordinary citizens of the empire could understand.
Finding no fault, he took up the imperial brush, signed his bold and vigorous name in the designated spot, stamped it with the jade seal, and handed the decree back: “Publish it nationwide immediately.”
“Your servant obeys.”
The steward accepted the tray with both hands, his head bowed in continuous respect, his gaze fixed humbly on the floor before him, careful not to breach etiquette before the Sage.
He retreated slowly out of the study, gently closing the door behind him.
...
The Great Han spanned vast territories across multiple time zones.
Yet all official times, decree announcements, and media broadcasts adhered to Imperial Capital time.
As a result, people in various regions often watched “midday news” based on Imperial Capital time during their local morning, afternoon, or late-night hours.
Ying Island and the Imperial Capital were fortunate, with only a one-hour time difference.
It was precisely one o’clock in the afternoon.
Naoto Hinata and his family of three sat around the low table in their living room, watching the Imperial Capital channel’s midday news.
Though short videos were popular, for a middle-aged man like Naoto, accustomed to traditional information channels, tuning into authoritative television news to understand major imperial affairs remained an indispensable ritual.
The familiar news studio appeared on the screen.
However, the opening from today’s two anchors was starkly different from usual.
The male anchor’s face was unusually solemn, his voice deep and measured: “The Emperor of Great Han issues an imperial edict!”
Those five words struck Naoto like thunder exploding in his ears.
He sprang upright from his seat so abruptly that he knocked over a teacup on the table, spilling tea everywhere, yet he paid it no mind.
“Hurry! Everyone, kneel down!”
He practically shouted.
His daughter, Mio Hinata, pouted in displeasure and muttered softly: “Dad, the Sage has said so many times we don’t have to kneel to salute...”
She tried to invoke the Sage’s “holy decree” to resist.
However, under her father’s icy, dagger-like commanding gaze, Mio’s spirit instantly deflated.
She shrugged her shoulders and reluctantly slid her seat cushion aside, copying her father’s example to kneel before the low table.
Naoto himself lowered himself fully to the ground, hands planted firmly, forehead touching the cool floor in a formal “dogeza” posture.
This set of etiquette was not officially mandated but something he had learned from a fervent online blogger who idolized the Sage.
The blogger claimed that only the most sincere and respectful kneeling could fully express reverence for the Sage and thus earn the Sage’s “blessing.”
Although the Sage had publicly clarified many times that he possessed no power to grant blessings,
To true believers like Naoto, this was merely the Sage’s customary humility.
Naoto had even meticulously compiled the Sage’s speeches and policy declarations into a bound volume titled The Sage’s Quotations, proudly displaying it online.
On television, the anchors began reading the imperial edict:
“Effective March 16, Kunlun Academy shall be established in the Imperial Capital, selecting ten thousand Great Han citizens aged sixteen to twenty...”
The decree clearly communicated the application process, deadline, and transportation arrangements.
Most crucially, it promised “instruction on methods to extend personal lifespan.”
After the decree reading concluded, the anchor’s tone returned to normal:
“That concludes the full content of the imperial edict.
This is an urgent and significant announcement. For further details, please continue following official releases and refrain from trusting unofficial sources.”
Naoto suddenly looked up, his face flushed with excitement. He grabbed his daughter’s shoulders and exclaimed:
“Mio, did you hear that?
You’re exactly the right age!
Quick! I’m going to sign you up immediately! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”
Startled by her father’s reaction, Mio’s expression shifted to one of helpless amusement as she waved her hands repeatedly:
“Dad, don’t get so excited!
There’s no way I’d get chosen...
Besides my looks and figure, I’m a complete mess.
The neighbors all say I’m clumsy. My only talent is that if I can’t make it in the city, I can return to inherit Grandma’s shrine maiden position in the countryside.
A chance to change my destiny like this? There’s no way it’s meant for me.”