The Winds of Tepr

Chapter 50

The Peacock Palace is a haven of tranquility, its corridors a labyrinth of silence broken only by the faint rustle of robes brushing against the polished stone floors. Kuan walks diligently behind his father, Hunan, his small footsteps echoing lightly against the walls adorned with intricate murals of phoenixes and peonies. The air is cool and crisp, carrying with it the subtle fragrance of jasmine from the gardens that surround the palace like a protective embrace.

Through the large, arched windows, Kuan glimpses the expansive gardens beyond. The morning sun casts a golden hue over the meticulously manicured lawns, where cherry blossoms in full bloom rain down pink petals with each gentle breeze. The koi ponds, serene and still, reflect the vibrant colors of the trees and the ornate stone bridges that arch gracefully over the water. In the distance, a pair of cranes glide silently across the sky, their wings barely stirring the air. It is a place of serenity, where the troubles of the empire seem distant and insignificant.

As they walk, Hunan's presence is commanding despite his delicate frame. His pace is measured, his expression calm. Kuan's eyes flicker with curiosity as they approach a group of officials clustered together like crows, their conversation abruptly halting as they spot Hunan.

"Minister Hunan," one of them greets, his tone laced with thinly veiled disdain. "A moment of your time, if you please."

Hunan pauses, inclining his head slightly, acknowledging the man without breaking his stride. Kuan stays close, his eyes wide as he observes the exchange, absorbing the tension that crackles in the air.

"We have concerns regarding your latest directive at the Eastern Bureau," another official begins, his voice dripping with reproach. "Using a portion of the treasure fleet's income to bribe the Thirteen Provinces—surely, you understand the treasurer's outrage? The Southern Bureau has already voiced their disapproval. This is an egregious waste of the empire's resources."

Hunan stops, turning slowly to face the group. His expression remains impassive, his eyes as calm as the still waters of the koi pond. "There is no greater waste of money than war," he replies evenly, his voice smooth, each word deliberate. "And there is no greater way to make money than through trade. The Thirteen Provinces are not just vassals; they are the gateway to riches far beyond our borders. Ensuring their loyalty, especially in uncertain times, is an investment, not a waste."

The officials exchange glances, their brows furrowed in frustration. "But the treasurer—"

"The treasurer's vision is limited to numbers on a scroll," Hunan interrupts, his tone sharpening like the edge of a blade. "He sees coins spent but fails to see the wealth that flows when peace is maintained and trade flourishes. The Thirteen Provinces are prosperous, and their allegiance is worth far more than the gold we send. A few coins now prevent the rivers of blood later."

Kuan watches as his father speaks, the calm authority in Hunan's voice mesmerizing. He can see the subtle shift in the officials' posture, the way their arguments falter under the weight of Hunan's logic.

"The Southern Bureau agrees with the treasurer," one of them insists, though his voice lacks the conviction it held moments before. "They say this sets a dangerous precedent—"

"The Southern Bureau," Hunan cuts in, his gaze piercing, "should concern itself with the low seas and leave matters of diplomacy to those who understand that sometimes, to gain much, one must give a little. I trust they will find other ways to fill their coffers."

The officials bristle, but they are clearly outmatched, their arguments unraveling in the face of Hunan's unyielding composure. After a moment of silence, they exchange weary looks and, one by one, bow slightly, muttering their farewells before continuing down the corridor.