Chapter 31 Aid to the Southern Frontier

Chapter 31: Relief Efforts in the Southern Frontier

The Southern Frontier had limited land but a large population, consisting of three main towns administered by its three largest villages.

The largest in both area and population was the central city, home to the Southern Frontier King’s estate and the Southern Frontier Main Village. The other two were Northern City, governed by the Beiyuan Village, and Southern City, under the Nanting Village.

The Beiyuan and Nanting Villages were similar in size and population and had long acknowledged the Southern Frontier Main Village as their leader, consulting it on major decisions.

Moreover, the present Chieftains of both the northern and southern villages were women who had grown up as childhood friends with Situ Yu, the Chieftain of the main village and grandmother of Si Tu and her sibling.

Under their decades of rule, the Southern Frontier had enjoyed remarkable stability and harmony.

However, due to historical reasons and population composition, the region still comprised hundreds of smaller villages beneath these three main towns, each managed by its own Chieftain.

Chieftains were typically hereditary leaders of prominent clans, and in the eyes of ordinary villagers, their authority and status often surpassed even that of the three major villages, the king’s estate, or the imperial court.

Some residents, oppressed for generations, had forgotten how to resist. Others, seeking better lives, curried favor with and defended these Chieftains and their clans, granting them absolute power within their villages. As a result, living conditions varied drastically from one village to another.

A good Chieftain prioritized the well-being of their people, fostering unity across the village. A poor one, however, exploited residents year after year. Yet, due to their overwhelming authority, few dared resist, often showing them deference instead.

In essence, the entire Southern Frontier was a microcosm of Great Ning.

But while Great Ning had vassal princes governing regions, the Southern Frontier’s local powers were the Chieftains of the various villages and their clans.

Returning to the topic—

Grain storage was concentrated in the three main cities: twenty granaries in the central city, and ten each in Northern and Southern Cities.

Ten days earlier, as the people's food stores were nearly exhausted, Chieftains from various villages sent able-bodied men to their respective towns to request grain allocations.

Granaries in all three cities opened almost simultaneously, allocating food based on each village’s population.

When needed, each village would naturally begin distributing porridge.

Though specifics were unclear, the central, northern, and southern cities had started setting up porridge stations eight days prior, gradually expanding from two to dozens.

However, the areas around the central city, directly governed by the main village, were far more populous than others.

Coupled with an influx of refugees from other villages, the grain in the central city was being consumed at an alarming rate.

Now, the porridge at the city gates grew thinner by the day, even as the crowds outside grew.

Despite guards keeping watch day and night, minor conflicts were frequent.

As noon approached, the scorching sun frayed tempers.

Dozens of porridge stations at the city gates had begun cooking.

With grain supplies severely insufficient, today’s porridge was even thinner than yesterday’s.

Long lines of listless people had formed early, some carrying baskets of wilted wild vegetables.

The prolonged drought had killed most wild greens, but people still gathered what little remained, eating them to stave off hunger when possible.

Refugees sat lethargically on the hot ground, avoiding the shade near the walls for fear of losing their hard-won spots in line.

Everyone knew the city’s grain reserves were nearly exhausted, so they lived from one meal to the next.

The faint smell of rice broth stimulated their appetites, making stomachs growl with hunger.

But it was not yet time, so they endured the heat and hunger as they waited.

A servant from the Southern Frontier King’s estate, sleeves rolled up, fanned himself with a woven fan in the porridge station, sweating profusely in the stifling heat.

As he wiped sweat from his eyes, hurried footsteps and a woman’s heavy panting approached.

He looked up to see a woman staggering toward him, clutching a small infant. Her steps were unsteady, her lips pale—clearly weakened.

Without a word, she grabbed a long bronze ladle near the pot and scooped scalding porridge into her mouth.

"What are you doing!" The servant rushed to snatch the ladle back.

Drinking scalding porridge so hastily would surely burn her throat.

As the ladle was taken, half its contents spilled onto the ground.

The woman collapsed, holding her child, and broke into desperate sobs. Red marks from the hot porridge already showed on her lips and chin, soon to blister.

The commotion drew everyone’s attention.

Those nearest the porridge station saw the spilled porridge, their faces fell.

Good food, wasted just like that!

What a sin!

"What were you thinking?" the servant demanded, gripping the ladle tightly, wary of another attempt.

Servants at other porridge stations grew more vigilant, scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble.

The woman wept bitterly, her voice hoarse and strained.

The infant in her arms whimpered faintly, like a helpless kitten.

"I’m sorry, so sorry," the woman repeated, hugging her child. "It’s my fault. I couldn’t feed you."

Gaunt and sallow, she looked as if she had gone hungry for far longer than just a few days.

In her state, she had no milk to give the child.

Many refugees watched with pity. Some even considered offering her their wild vegetables but were stopped by family members.

In times like these, everyone was too preoccupied with their own survival.

That they still had room for sympathy was only because food hadn’t completely run out.

In a few more days, when nothing remained to eat, people would be capable of shameful acts, with no energy left for compassion.

Moved by her plight, the servant filled a bowl with heartier porridge and handed it to her.

Tears streamed down the woman’s face as she saw the porridge. Still holding her child, she struggled to kneel properly, preparing to kowtow in gratitude.

The servant did not take it, and handed her the bowl instead.

The woman took it and first drank two mouthfuls herself, then held a mouthful of porridge in her mouth. Only when it had cooled enough did she lower her head and feed it directly to the child.

She couldn’t produce milk right away, so all she could give the child was rice broth.

As for whether the child would survive—that was up to the child's fate.

A man at the back of the line craned his neck and watched the whole scene. Seeing that the woman had managed to get such a thick bowl of porridge, he got an idea. He turned and pulled over his five-year-old son.

Since their family’s circumstances hadn't been too bad previously, the boy had been well cared for—sturdy and dark-skinned, full of energy.

But over the past month or more, to ration their food, they had been eating less and less. The boy had grown thin and dark, his lips chapped.

The man crouched down and whispered a few words into his son’s ear.

The boy’s eyes shone with cunning. The moment he heard his father’s words, he closed his eyes and went limp, collapsing as if faint.

“My son!” the man wailed. “Your father is useless! Wake up, please—you can’t leave me all alone!”

His wails sounded even more pitiful than the woman’s had earlier.

People turned to look, only to see the man scooped up his son, rushed to the nearest porridge station, and dropped to his knees with a thud.

“Please, sir, have mercy! My son and I came from the north—we haven’t eaten for days. I beg you, spare us a bite to eat.” The man wept bitterly, his voice hoarse with emotion. At the height of his despair, he broke into a fit of coughing.

The manor servant manning this porridge station was startled. Seeing that the child appeared truly unconscious, seeming barely to breathe, he hesitated.

Well, they were about to start serving porridge anyway—should he give him a bowl first?

“Don’t give him any!” someone in the crowd shouted. “This man stole someone else’s porridge just yesterday!”

“Yes! I recognize him too—sir, you absolutely must not give him any!”

“If anyone can just come up and beg for porridge, why are the rest of us even queueing?”

“Exactly! We might as well just rush forward and grab it ourselves.”

The crowd instantly grew agitated.

The kneeling man protested tearfully: “I didn’t! I only just arrived here today!”

The guards on patrol sensed trouble and hurried over. Several went to maintain order, while others were sent to find the Princess and Young Lord.

Just earlier, more than a dozen Chieftains from the various strongholds had arrived in the city. The Southern Frontier King was currently receiving them along with the Chief Chieftain and others, discussing important matters.

So seeking out the Princess and Young Lord was the most appropriate and reasonable choice.

By the time Situ Zhaoling and her younger brother arrived, they saw that the people had completely abandoned the queue, pushing and shoving to the front instead, craning their necks and standing on tiptoes, holding their bowls high overhead.

Cries, shouts, curses—it was like a scene from hell.

The guards struggled to maintain order, but there were too many refugees. While they focused on one area, another would break out into chaos.

The servant who had initially given porridge to the woman was now pale, his hands trembling as he ladled porridge into bowls thrust at him. He knew he had caused trouble; panicked and afraid, he didn’t notice that some bowls had already been served once.

Those who made it to the front gulped down a bowl, then took advantage of the chaos to present their empty bowls again, securing a second serving.

Those stuck further back pushed forward frantically. Some fell; children and women were gasping for breath, but no one paid any attention.

“Sis,” Situ Zhaoyao said, his voice trembling slightly, “what do we do?”

Situ Zhaoling’s heart hammered, chills ran down her spine.

This chaos had to be stopped—immediately. There was no time to wait for their grandmother to arrive.

“Little brother, did you bring your ‘speaking trumpet’?”

Situ Zhaoyao had previously made a device called a “speaking trumpet,” shaped like a morning glory. Speaking into the smaller end made the sound much louder.

“It’s up in the city gate tower,” he said.

Situ Zhaoling immediately turned and hurried back inside the city gate, quickly running up the stone steps all the way to the top of the wall.

Situ Zhaoyao followed his sister up to the city gate tower, then went straight to the guardhouse to retrieve the speaking trumpet.

With the device in hand, Situ Zhaoling rushed to the edge of the ramparts and looked down.

A dense, seemingly endless crowd stretched below.

“Everyone, please quiet down! Quiet!”

The young woman’s penetrating voice, amplified by the speaking trumpet, carried far into the distance. The refugees, the porridge-serving servants, and the soldiers sweating from exertion all looked up in unison.

High atop the city wall stood a young woman in a deep purple gown, side by side with a young man.

“It’s the Princess and Young Lord!”

Someone shouted it out, and the crowd erupted into a stir.

“Everyone, please form orderly lines. We will ensure everyone receives porridge. Our manpower is limited, and for now we only have these few dozen porridge stations, but there will be enough porridge for all. Please understand!” Situ Zhaoling spoke clearly, making certain her words reached everyone.

“This porridge is as thin as water—one bowl each isn’t enough to fill us up!”

“Princess, please be merciful—cook more porridge! If this goes on, we’ll all starve to death!”

“There are so many grain merchants in the city, so much grain—Princess, please show compassion and buy more!”

“Yes, the royal manor and the main stronghold are so wealthy—just a little what falls from your fingers would be enough for us to survive this famine!”

“Princess, please show us mercy!”

The refugees spoke over one another, effectively putting her, the royal manor, and the Southern Border Main Stronghold on the spot.

Situ Zhaoyao had been frightened earlier by the crowd’s desperate charge, but now their words made the veins in his temples bulge in anger.

“What do they mean by this? Our royal manor and the main stronghold have treated them generously, haven’t we? We’ve never overtaxed them or exploited them—where would we get that much money?”

Grain prices in the city had already multiplied several times over, reaching absurd heights.

Under these circumstances, even selling off the royal manor wouldn’t raise enough to buy much grain.

The young man, incensed, spoke recklessly: “These ungrateful lot! We should have collected taxes and grain in full from the start, like other regions did!”

The city gate tower was high, and everyone was too busy clamoring for aid to hear his words.

Situ Zhaoling had never faced a situation like this before, and for a moment she didn’t know how to respond.

But at least the earlier chaos had been quelled, preventing an even more tragic outcome.

She wanted to assure everyone that there would be food, but deep down, she wasn’t confident herself.

*What if the High Priest didn’t come to her?*

*Moreover, the High Priest hadn’t promised to provide food—only to solve her problem.*

*What if the solution involved directly killing the people under Southern Frontier King’s rule...?*

Situ Zhaoling’s mind was a mess.

The starving refugees wanted to continue receiving porridge but also hoped for a solid guarantee from the princess, so they could later use that commitment to pressure the princely mansion into spending money on food.

The pleas for the princess to take charge grew louder, and Situ Zhaoling’s hands trembled.

Situ Zhaoyao didn’t know what to do himself and glanced anxiously at his sister.

The imperial court remained silent, and Prince Pingxi had no extra grain to spare.

Now, only the grain merchants in the Southern Frontier had food, so to ensure the people were fed, their only option was to buy grain.

Situ Zhaoling raised the loudspeaker again.

*She thought she should promise—at least to calm everyone down.*

But if the grain merchants raised prices again, how much could they buy even if they emptied their coffers?

Just as she hesitated, she suddenly heard a distant roar of a dragon.

Her heart leapt, and she jerked her head up at the sky.

Under the blazing sun, a brilliant golden dragon approached with ancient winds, casting an ethereal glow.

Her heart pounded faster and heavier, and Situ Zhaoling seemed to catch a faint whiff of plum blossom scent, just like in the Divine Realm.

As the dragon hovered above her, the deity’s calm voice echoed in her mind: "Go to the granary. In a dream, I will grant you grain."

High Priest.

It was the High Priest!

He had truly heard her plea and come to help her ahead of time.

And the High Priest had said he would give her grain—actual grain!

Grain that could save the Southern Frontier from this crisis!

"Thank you, High Priest! I'll go right away!"

She excitedly called out to the giant dragon, then watched as it let out a low roar and vanished into the brilliant sunlight.

Situ Zhaoyao, standing nearby, saw his sister suddenly look up at the sky with a fanatical and overjoyed expression.

He felt something was wrong and was about to call out to her when he heard her speak again.

High Priest?

*Why was she saying that name again?*

Before he could figure it out, he saw his sister’s expression shift from hesitation and unease to unwavering confidence as she declared to the people below the city tower, "Please rest assured, the princely mansion and the main stronghold will never let you starve!"

Hearing her certainty, most of the people felt reassured.

Only a few remained doubtful, and there were those looking to stir up trouble amidst the chaos. But since order hadn’t completely broken down, causing a disturbance would be unreasonable and might make them examples.

So everyone quieted down and, directed by the guards, formed lines again.

Situ Zhaoling handed the loudspeaker back to her brother and said, "Go tell Grandmother and the others to come to the granary."

With that, she ran down the city tower and sped off toward the granary.

Situ Zhaoyao was filled with questions, but accustomed to obeying his sister, he hesitated for only a second before running toward the main stronghold.

In the Southern Border Main Stronghold’s meeting hall.

Southern Frontier King Baili Hao and the main stronghold’s Chieftain Situ Yu sat at the head, with Sutu Anli seated in a chair beside her mother, also in a seat of honor.

Below them, over a dozen chairs and tea tables were arranged facing each other, all occupied by the most prominent chieftains of the Southern Frontier.

However, the chieftains of the North and South Strongholds were absent, and several influential chieftains under their jurisdiction were also missing.

It seemed these local chieftains had conspired to shift the pressure onto the three major chieftains.

So, at this moment, those two chieftains were likely facing the same situation as Situ Yu.

One chieftain below pleaded with a pained expression, "Old Chieftain, you must help our Quanjing Stronghold. Our grain can only last one more day—we’ll run out tomorrow."

"Our stronghold is the same. Even yesterday’s porridge had hardly any rice left. Our people are so hungry they’ve started eating tree bark."

"I’d like to buy some grain to get through this crisis, but the price in the city has already increased several times over. Even if we wanted to buy, we can’t afford it."

"Yes! Old Chieftain, Your Highness, you must help us find a way."

Listening to the chieftains’ lamentations, the three at the head didn’t even bat an eye.

They already had a plan—though not perfect, it would see them through this crisis.

Seeing their lack of reaction, the chieftains continued to plead their case, occasionally glancing at the leaders.

Situ Yu, nearing seventy, had her silver hair tied up with a simple silver hairpin. In her left hand, she held a polished walking stick as tall as herself, adorned with colorful ribbons and silver bells at the top.

After hearing enough complaints, she rapped the ground with her stick, and the chieftains fell silent.

"You came today for money and grain, didn’t you?" Situ Yu’s cloudy eyes fixed on the crowd. "Today, I’ll give you a firm answer: even if the Southern Border Main Stronghold empties its coffers, we will protect the people."

The chieftains felt relieved, but then Situ Yu’s tone shifted. "However, I need all of you to set aside your selfish schemes."

Her gaze sharpened as she scanned the well-dressed chieftains. "I know exactly how much silver and grain each of you has stored."

"In this famine, each of you has grown plump and glossy, yet you let the people in your strongholds beg for food in other strongholds. When they can’t find any, they flee to even farther places."

The chieftains who had been pleading poverty instinctively glanced at each other, looking somewhat embarrassed. A few with large bellies tried to hide them with their sleeves.

Situ Yu scoffed coldly. "You must have seen the refugees outside the city when you arrived. How many are from our main stronghold? And how many have fled here from your strongholds? You all know the answer, don’t you?"

She knew these chieftains didn’t all care for their people, but since the main stronghold and the princely mansion hadn’t imposed heavy grain taxes, they hadn’t exploited their people too harshly, and most had lived well.

But now, in this famine, their greed was showing.

Well aware of their nature, Situ Yu had instructed the chieftains of Beiyuan Stronghold and Nanting Stronghold to be cautious when distributing grain—to give these local chieftains only enough, never too much.

If too much was given, more grain would end up in the private coffers of these chieftains.

The chieftains had kept enough grain for their own households, yet they still sought to skim off the top first—their game was plain to see.

They were waiting for the grain in the warehouses to be completely depleted.

Once the grain ran out, the Three Great Strongholds would have no choice but to purchase grain from merchants to provide relief.

With grain prices soaring, these chieftains could make a killing by flipping the grain they hoarded.

They were simply trying to profit from the disaster.

Naturally, not all chieftains were like this, but those present in the hall undoubtedly had other ideas.

They likely thought that, with their wealth, influence, and population, why couldn’t they become major chieftains or even the Great Chieftain?

When people's ambitions run wild, selfishness follows.

However, as long as these people had desires, Situ Yu could strike a deal with them.

By first exposing their intentions, she had already thrown down the gauntlet.

Now, her voice softened, speaking with gravity, "In the face of this great disaster, the Southern Border strongholds must unite and work together. I will remember the efforts and contributions you’ve made, and when there are future posts in the main stronghold needing someone to hold the fort, you will be given priority."

The Southern Border Main Stronghold was practically a small court, with its own power structure.

The Situ Clan had held the positions of the Head Chieftain and the Holy Maiden since the previous dynasty—one managing practical affairs, the other unifying ideology—together keeping a tight grip over the Southern Border.

Below the Chieftain and the Holy Maiden were six bureaus, similar to those in the Da Ning Dynasty court, along with various official positions.

These officials were talented people promoted from various strongholds, and they could bring more benefits and advantages to their own communities. Some influential commanders even held status comparable to that of these local chieftains.

Situ Yu’s words implied an intention to use these official positions within the main stronghold as leverage.

As for what she wanted in exchange...

"Since the old chieftain has spoken so frankly, I won’t hold back either. My household still has some surplus grain. Seeing our people suffer, I cannot bear it and am willing to donate all of it," declared the Chieftain of Quanjing Stronghold with great righteousness.

Once he took the lead, the other chieftains quickly followed suit.

Of course, their claims of "donating all" were far from truthful—at most, they would contribute half, while the other half would still be sold.

"Then I thank you all. I have also spoken with the grain merchants from the central city," Situ Yu said. "They have agreed to lower the grain price, selling at twice the original price."

Even at double the price, there was still a tidy profit to be made.

In truth, Situ Yu had not negotiated with the merchants—they were not so easily persuaded.

But if the chieftains released their low-priced grain, the merchants would have no choice but to lower their prices.

And doubling the price would still line their pockets nicely.

If the merchants thought the price was too low and considered selling elsewhere, they would have to account for labor, resources, and losses—making it more practical to simply earn double the profit within the Southern Border.

However, the chieftains exchanged looks, clearly dissatisfied with the proposed price.

"The current grain price has already risen fivefold," one chieftain spoke up. "There’s no way the merchants would lower it to just double the original price."

"That's what I heard too. It should be at least three times the original price at minimum."

They were all talking at once, mentioning "grain prices," but what they really meant was the price they had in mind.

These people wanted to make three times the profit.

How greedy!

Situ Yu rubbed her walking cane, crunching the numbers over and over in her mind, but no matter how she calculated, it was a loss.

"Have you all heard of Prince Ning?" Baili Hao suddenly spoke up.

Everyone turned to look at him.

The man, in his early thirties, had a handsome face with a gentle smile; he looked refined and elegant.

"Of course we have."

"Then do you know that Prince Ning commands an army of fifty thousand Qin Family Army troops?"

The Southern Frontier had been conquered by Emperor Wu leading the Qin Family Army—how could they not know?

Almost all of them had heard their elders speak of Emperor Wu and the Qin Family Army's legacy.

But why was Baili Hao bringing up the Qin Family Army and Qin Xiao?

"Prince Ning is not one to stick to the way things are." Baili Hao didn’t actually know what kind of person Qin Xiao was, but that didn’t stop him from using the other’s name to intimidate these Southern Chieftains.

During the reigns of Emperor Cheng and Emperor Yingzong, neither emperor cared much about the Southern Frontier, which was why these people had lived so comfortably.

What they feared most was someone taking control over them.

When Baili Hao was first appointed here, he faced a lot of pushback. Fortunately, the Chieftain and his family were kind, understanding that he had no choice, and often helped him out.

Especially Sutu Anli, the Holy Maiden, who had saved his life twice.

Back and forth, the young man and woman, both talented and compatible, naturally developed feelings for each other, falling deeply in love.

It was from then on that he truly gained a foothold in the Southern Frontier and never used his position to suppress these Chieftains.

So these people saw him as lacking authority and gradually let their guard down, continuing their easy lives.

Now, Baili Hao wanted to make it clear to them that times had changed.

Qin Xiao was not one to stick to the way things are. He held great power and commanded the Qin Family Army. If he wanted to take over the Southern Frontier, it would be effortless.

Everyone understood the underlying meaning of his words, and their faces immediately fell.

Baili Hao said nothing more, but the message had been conveyed.

As the Southern Frontier King, Baili Hao had full authority over the Southern Frontier. If Qin Xiao were to send troops, these chieftains, along with the main village, would have no right to resist—doing so would make them rebels.

But Baili Hao was different. As long as he stood up for them as the Southern Frontier King, even Qin Xiao would be unable to set foot in the Southern Frontier.

Previously, they had only seen him as the Holy Maiden’s husband and had almost forgotten his true identity.

But now, it was as if they were seeing the Southern Frontier King in a new light.

Indeed, how could someone who survived the succession battles of Emperor Cheng’s era be foolish?

With the advantages and disadvantages laid out before them, they lost any desire to haggle further and agreed to the "double-price" deal.

Given the current situation, a grand banquet was hardly appropriate, so Situ Yu quickly bid farewell to the chieftains.

They had just left when Situ Zhaoyao rushed in.

As soon as he entered, he hurriedly pulled the three outside, saying as they walked, "Elder Sister said we should go to the granary."

"The granary? Has something happened?" The three of them grew anxious.

"I don’t know, that’s all she told me."

"Then let’s hurry."

By the time the three of them reached the granary, Situ Zhaoling had already fallen asleep, leaning against the wall inside the vast Jiazi granary.

In the Divine Realm.

Chu Jiubian breathed out softly as he sat on the divine throne.

Earlier, during the morning court, when he heard the system notification, he knew something must have happened in the Southern Border.

Fortunately, the morning court ended around the same time, so he rushed back to Yaotai Residence.

On the way, he first had the system send a message to Situ Zhaoling, and as soon as he lay down on the bed upon returning, he entered the Divine Realm.

Though he hadn’t run, the rush left him a bit winded, so he instinctively let out a breath once inside to relax.

It was Situ Zhaoling’s second time entering the Divine Realm, but the initial weightlessness still took her by surprise, causing her to let out a brief cry.

Luckily, the golden phoenix quickly flew to catch her, and they flew through the mist together.

Once again, she saw the immense and sacred divine figure, as well as the vast white space filled with rows upon rows of sacks of grain stacked high.

These were all purchased by Chu Jiubian just then.

The packaging had been automatically switched by the system to the burlap sacks commonly used in the Da Ning Dynasty.