HNYWEF -Chapter 206 Taking the Initiative

The fifteenth day of the eighth month, the fifth year of Zhenguan.

Mid-Autumn Festival.

The sky had not yet turned fully dark, but the moon was already hanging in the east—faint, like a piece of jade washed clean with water.

Lights were lit in the Two Rituals Hall. Candlelight reflected on the window paper, casting a dim yellow glow outward. It blended with the moonlight until it was impossible to tell which was candle and which was moon.

Li Shimin sat behind the desk, holding a memorial report. He had been looking at it for a long time, yet hadn’t turned a single page.

His gaze was fixed on the first line of characters. His eyes were there, but nothing was truly entering his mind.

Outside, insects chirped weakly—“zhi zhi zhi,” sounding tired and listless.

He was thinking about one thing.

Earlier, the guards had reported that the Marquis of Jiuyuan County and the Commandant of Imperial Chariots were requesting an audience outside the palace gate.

When he heard it, he had frozen for a long while—so long that the guard thought he hadn’t heard properly and repeated it again. Only then did he wave his hand and say, “Let them in.”

After the guard left, he still sat there. The memorial remained in his hands, but he neither put it down nor read it.

Zhou Xiong had come on his own.

This time, it wasn’t him going to find Zhou Xiong—Zhou Xiong had come to find him.

That had never happened before.

From the ninth year of Wude until now, it had always been him going to the Zhou iron forge, or going to the marquis’ residence.

Zhou Xiong had never once taken the initiative to enter the palace. Not once had he come looking for him.

The last time he had taken initiative was that inexplicable visit for a meal.

What was going on today?

He placed the memorial down, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside, the moon had risen a little higher, hanging on the treetops—round and bright.

He stared at it for a long time.

Li Shimin felt a slight turmoil in his chest, like someone who had waited for something for a very long time suddenly seeing it arrive—so suddenly that he didn’t know whether to reach out or step back.

Footsteps sounded outside the hall.

Li Shimin turned around and returned to sit behind the desk.

His hands rested on his knees. He clenched them once, then slowly released them.

The door opened.

Zhou Xiong entered, followed by Zhou Yi.

Both of them wore ordinary dark robes, not court attire.

Zhou Xiong walked in front, his pace steady and unhurried, his face showing no expression.

Zhou Yi followed behind, head lowered, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Li Shimin watched them enter, his gaze lingering briefly on Zhou Xiong’s face.

That face was still the same face, but the eyes were no longer empty or muddled. They were alive—carrying a hint of impatience, the kind of impatience that said, I came here today for business.

Only then did Li Shimin feel relieved.

But he didn’t move. He simply sat there, waiting.

Zhou Xiong stopped at the center of the hall.

He looked around. There was only Li Shimin inside—no attendants, no palace maids, not even someone to pour tea.

He frowned slightly, and then—

the official demeanor dropped away.

Not gradually, but with a sudden snap. His entire posture loosened from the “audience with the emperor” state. His shoulders dropped half an inch, and his neck stopped stiffening.

He took two steps forward, reached the desk, pulled a book from his robe, and slapped it onto the table.

A sharp “pa” echoed through the quiet hall.

Li Shimin looked down. It wasn’t thick. The paper was ordinary, the cover had no title, the edges were uneven—as if it had been self-bound.

He looked up at Zhou Xiong. Zhou Xiong tilted his chin toward the book, as if saying, Well? Read it.

Li Shimin reached out, picked up the book casually, and flipped it open.

The first page read: “Water Identification.”

Below it were dense notes describing how to locate water sources using vegetation, terrain, and soil. How to collect dew. How to extract water from tree roots and vines. There were even rough diagrams labeled “Simple Filtration Device.”

He turned to the second page: “Herbal Medicine.”

It listed dozens of common herbs, with drawings of their shapes, descriptions of effects, and instructions for use.

Not written like a medical textbook, but like something meant for emergencies—when no doctor could be found.

Leaves could be chewed and applied to wounds. Roots could be boiled to reduce fever. Tree bark could be ground into powder to stop bleeding.

He turned to the third page.

“Navigation.” How to determine direction using the sun, stars, tree canopies, and moss. How to mark paths when lost. How to avoid walking in circles.

He kept turning page after page.

Every page was filled with things related to wilderness survival—making fire, building shelters, finding food, treating wounds, avoiding wild beasts. Some things Li Shimin had seen before, some he had only heard of, and some he had never even imagined existed.

But every entry was written clearly and unambiguously, to the point that even someone like him who had never spent a single night in the wild could understand it.

Li Shimin finished reading, closed the book, and placed it on the desk.

He raised his head and looked at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong stood there with his arms crossed, looking back at him.

The hall fell silent for a brief moment. Candlelight flickered, making their shadows sway.

Li Shimin spoke.

His voice wasn’t loud, but every word carried weight.

“What does this mean?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him and said nothing.

Then he turned, walked to a nearby chair, and sat down heavily.

Zhou Yi was still standing in the center of the hall. He glanced at his father, then at Li Shimin, unsure whether he should stand or sit.

Zhou Xiong waved him over, signaling him to sit.

Zhou Yi sat down beside him, sitting upright with a stiff back, not daring to lean against the chair.

Zhou Xiong leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs forward like he had no bones at all.

He looked at Li Shimin, opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again, as if thinking how to speak—or unwilling to speak at all.

Li Shimin did not press him. He simply sat there with the book still in his hands, waiting.

The candle flame flickered.

A bug chirped outside, then went silent.

Zhou Xiong stared at Li Shimin for several breaths.

Then he finally spoke.

“Guess.”

Two words.

Soft, unhurried.

Li Shimin froze slightly.

He looked at Zhou Xiong’s face. There was no expression there, but in his eyes was something unfamiliar.

Not pride. Not provocation. More like a lazy indifference—“everything I want to say is already in the book; figure it out yourself.”

Li Shimin lowered his head and looked at the book again.

The cover had no words. The edges were curled, the paper yellowed with age.

He flipped to the first page, glanced at the entry on “water identification,” then closed it and looked up again.

“I cannot guess it,” he said.

The corner of Zhou Xiong’s mouth moved slightly.

“Then take your time guessing.”

He pulled his legs back in and sat up straight.

“Keep the book safe.”

This time, he relaxed even further, sinking into the chair as if he were sitting in his own home, one arm resting lazily on the armrest.

Li Shimin looked at the book again, then at Zhou Xiong.

Zhou Xiong looked back at him.

They simply stared at each other. The candlelight flickered between them, casting alternating light and shadow across their faces.

Zhou Yi sat off to the side, looking back and forth between them, not daring to breathe too loudly.

He suddenly felt that the atmosphere in the Two Rituals Hall tonight was even more suffocating than when his father scolded him in the Ministry of Works.

Li Shimin spoke first again, his voice lower than before.

“Can you not just say it directly?”

Zhou Xiong looked at him.

“No.”

Simple and decisive. Not even a reason given.

Li Shimin tapped his fingers on the book cover twice, then stopped.

He stared into Zhou Xiong’s eyes for a long time.

Slowly, he realized what was hidden in those eyes.

It wasn’t laziness. It wasn’t arrogance.

It was something else entirely.

As if he was waiting—waiting for Li Shimin to understand everything on his own by reading the book, rather than hearing it from Zhou Xiong’s mouth.

Li Shimin took his hand off the book and leaned back in his chair.

He looked up at the beams on the ceiling and stared for a while.