Priceless: A widow with a baby asks the prince to marry again

In the early spring in the Mobei Gobi, the wind is still cold, but the sun has brought some warmth.

Inside the spacious tent of Prince Duan Chu Shiyu, a charcoal fire dispelled the chill outside. Liu Rusi and Chu Shiyu were intently examining several modified muskets.

The benefits of coordinating logistics with King Kang were obvious: supplies that once might have arrived every three or four months now arrived in less than two months. The most recent shipment brought a modified musket, or perhaps a prototype flintlock rifle.

It was recently proven that it has advantages over firearms. However, like pencils, it still faces the same problem: mass production is difficult.

Thanks to Chu Shiyu's skilled craftsmen, they were only able to produce six swords in four months. It is conceivable that with this efficiency, it would be wishful thinking to equip an army.

Her slender fingers ran across the cold metal barrel, and compared with the blueprints, the two discussed the possible improvements to the flintlock mechanism, as well as the adjustments and improvements to the paper-wrapped bullets.

"Your Majesty."

A dusty soldier reported outside the tent and then entered, bowing respectfully. "The prisoner camp has been counted. The total number of Wala prisoners is over 20,300. According to the plan, 16,000 of them must be released to exchange for Lord Sun Zhizhao and the deposed Khan, with the remaining 4,000 remaining."

Chu Shiyu put down the musket parts in his hand, his eyes calm, "Does the remaining people include those on the list?"

"Yes, Your Highness," the officer presented a secret report. "We've now determined that among the prisoners of war are some remnants of the previous dynasty, known to the northern tribes as the Golden Family... While revered by the common nomads, they hold no prominent position in the tribes. They're only slightly wealthier than the average nomad, and are still subject to the control of the chief or the Great Khan."

Hearing this, Liu Rusi lowered her eyes slightly, a trace of imperceptible complexity flashed across her eyes...

Chu Shiyu glanced at her silently, then nodded to the soldier, a sharp glint in his eyes: "Keep a close eye on them, they'll be useful. Have you finalized the release list?"

The officer had a strange look on his face, and replied hesitantly, "The list has been finalized, but... we've run into some trouble. That's what I'm here to report."

"speak."

"Nearly half of the Wala captives, upon hearing that they would be released, were unwilling to leave." The soldier's voice was filled with disbelief.

Liu Rusi and Chu Shiyu looked up at the same time, with surprise in their eyes. Chu Shiyu frowned: "Don't want to leave? Why?"

The soldier said helplessly: "They said... being a prisoner here means you can have enough food and clothes, but if you go back to Wala, you will starve and freeze..."

Liu Rusi suddenly realized: This was simply a fluke, a fertile ground for new ideas to take root! No matter how well-reasoned or verbalized, theoretical theories can become mere castles in the air; only personal, real-world experience can provide the most solid foundation for thought!

The Oirat had a strict hierarchy and numerous slaves. Many of these prisoners were originally low-class nomads or even slaves. After their capture, they were forced to work in the mines, paid on a piecework basis, settled daily, and paid in Daxia copper coins or small amounts of silver. Their wages could be used to purchase additional food, salt, old clothes, and other items within the camp. While the food was crude, it was filling. Many in the Oirat struggled to even afford this basic food, let alone save for personal gain...

The captives even braided their hair into ropes to string together the copper coins they'd earned. Their daily toil and frugality had saved them a considerable amount of copper coins. Some, feeling the weight of their accumulated copper coins was too much, asked the Daxia army if they could exchange them for silver. The army then exchanged them for silver at a rate of 1,200 copper coins to one ounce of silver.

If they were still slaves, in Wala, even their lives belonged to their masters, so how could they have private property? Therefore, it was reasonable for the captives to plead to stay and continue mining, unwilling to return to be slaves.

Silence fell for a moment in the tent. Liu Rusi and Chu Shiyu exchanged glances, each seeing in the other's eyes a sense of absurdity. Their original intention in implementing the wage system was to increase the prisoners' enthusiasm for work, facilitate management, and reduce resistance. They had never imagined it would have such a dramatic effect.

After a moment, Chu Shiyu raised a meaningful smile: "Then, these people must be sent back. Rusi, what do you think?"

Liu Rusi quickly recovered from her surprise. After a moment's reflection, she grasped the key point: "Those who don't want to leave are mostly those who already face the most difficult circumstances and have the lowest loyalty to the Oirat. They've tasted the joy of 'hard work pays off' here. Even the most basic fairness is enough to shake their numb acceptance of the old Oirat system!"

Her eyes gleamed with insight. "These people are precisely the best vehicles for spreading our 'ideas'! When they return, their own experiences will be the most powerful proof. The more the Oirat nobles suppress them, the more likely these 'seeds' will take root and sprout among the lower classes."

Chu Shiyu nodded approvingly. "That's exactly what I want. Those who want to leave mean they still have illusions or attachments to their former masters, so it's fine to let them go. As for those who 'don't want to leave', we must replace them precisely! Let them take their wages and return to the Wala tribe."

He turned to the soldiers and said, "Tell them that I understand their request, but they must return this time. Tell them to remember every copper coin they earned with their own hands. In the future, Daxia will conduct trade throughout the grasslands, and they can use it to purchase goods."

The soldier received the order and retreated with confusion and shock.

Three days later, the prisoner exchange site was a barren hill that had been dug up by wild beasts, revealing white bones.

This place, named after the remains of tens of thousands of Wala warriors buried during the New Year's Eve Battle, is a desolate and austere place. The cold wind of early spring whips up dust and sand, sweeping across the exposed bones, making a wailing sound.

The Great Xia army had a tight formation and fluttering flags.

Chu Shiyu was dressed in black armor, standing on a high platform, his figure as straight as a pine tree, his aura as profound and majestic as a mountain.

Liu Rusi stood in a discreet yet well-viewed position below the stage. Although the spring weather had warmed slightly, she still wrapped herself up like a dumpling, revealing only her eyes, her gaze fixed on the horizon.

Beside her were Xia Lian and Dong Xue, who were nervous and curious.

In the army, Qin Tao and Fang Qiu were extremely excited, but they could not contain themselves. They ignored military discipline and rushed to the front, waiting to see this unprecedented drama - exchanging prisoners for prisoners, or even making the other side's Khan.

On the opposite side, the representatives of the various Wala tribes had gloomy faces and looked with complicated eyes at the haggard Khan who was being escorted forward by the Daxia soldiers.

There was also the disheveled, shabby, but still spirited envoy, Sun Zhizhao, who was also pushed forward by two Oirat soldiers. However, it was clear that most people's attention was on the useless Khan.

The exchange took place in a repressive and eerie atmosphere. Sixteen thousand Oirat captives were released in batches, many of them glancing back, reluctantly, toward the Daxia camp.

Finally, it was the deposed Oirat Khan's turn. Two fierce Daxia guards dragged him mercilessly to a specially cleared area in front of the bone mound, directly opposite the burial place of countless Oirat warriors.

"Kneel down!" a loud shout came.

The useless Khan struggled to resist, but was kicked hard in the knee. With a thud, he fell heavily to his knees on the cold ground, facing the graves where his people were buried.

Humiliation and anger made him tremble all over and he let out a beast-like growl.

At this moment, Chu Shiyu stood up from the throne on the platform, walked to the front of the platform, and scanned the entire audience with his eyes like lightning.

Liu Rusi, who was observing secretly, became slightly nervous. She knew that the most critical moment had arrived.

Chu Shiyu took a deep breath and spoke in clear, resonant Mongolian. His voice spread far across the vast Gobi Desert, overcoming the wind and reaching the ears of the Wala captives and tribal representatives present:

"Warriors of the Oirat, herders! Look at the land before you! Look at these raised mounds! Look at the exposed bones!"

"Who are these?"

"It's your father! Your brother! Your son!"

The opening is a hammer that hits the heart directly.

Many captives lowered their heads, and suppressed sobs rang out among the crowd. They had been captured in this battle, and those who were captured were often those who rushed to the front and had no time to escape, but they were just "lucky" enough to still be alive.

"Why did they die?" Chu Shiyu's voice suddenly rose, questioning coldly, "To defend their homes? To support their families? I'm telling you, none of those!"

"They died in an unnecessary and foolish war! They died because of the ambition and selfishness of your almighty Khan and the greedy tribal leaders around him!"

Chu Shiyu raised a finger and pointed at the abandoned Khan, who was kneeling on the ground, his eyes bloodshot but unable to speak because his mouth was gagged. "Last winter, the grasslands suffered a white disaster. Countless cattle and sheep froze to death. Food was scarce, right? Did your Khan, your leaders, do anything about it? Were they thinking about how to lead you through the difficult times?"

Chu Shiyu paused, a cold, malicious sneer curling up at the corner of his mouth. "What they're thinking of is heading south! To rob! To burn, kill, and plunder! Using the blood and flesh of the border residents of Daxia to fill their own granaries! What a 'wise' decision!"

"But!"

His voice suddenly turned into a stern shout, like a thunderclap. "Is your Khan truly short of food?! He has mountains of gold, silver, and jewels in his treasury, fat and strong horses and herds of cattle and sheep in his pastures! He has an endless supply of fine wine and delicacies in his tent. Can't he buy food from Daxia with all this?!"

He paused deliberately, letting this heart-piercing question echo in the minds of every Wala person.

"Yes! Of course I can!"

Chu Shiyu asked and answered himself, his voice filled with a piercing sharpness. "I can even tell you that if he's willing to negotiate, we can buy enough food for the entire Wala to survive the winter at a reasonable price!"

"But your Khan didn't! He was the first to instigate you to use the Tatars as military rations! My Great Xia envoy denounced him as a barbarian, yet he was imprisoned!"

"You still have a conscience and can't bring yourself to say that. What did he do? He would rather start a war! He would rather bury tens of thousands of young men in a foreign land! He would leave countless yurts without men! He would let the cries of the grasslands drown out the cold wind!"

He looked down at the kneeling deposed Khan, his gaze as if he were looking at a puddle of filthy mud, and speculated maliciously, "Why? Why choose war over peace? I've thought about it over and over again, and there's only one explanation—he doesn't care if you live or die! If tens of thousands of people die, won't the remaining people on the grasslands get more pasture to survive the winter? He's using your lives to secure his treasury and solidify his position! What a 'wise and mighty' Khan!"

"Shameless! Nonsense!!" Fei Khan finally broke free from the cloth in his mouth and let out a shrill roar!

Fei Khan struggled desperately, but the soldier behind him held his head down tightly, knocking it hard to the ground again, stirring up a cloud of dust. His rebuttal seemed so pale and powerless in the face of Chu Shiyu's clear and inflammatory accusations.

Chu Shiyu stopped looking at him, as if he were just a barking stray dog. He once again faced all the Oirat people, his voice like a resounding bell, with a power that shook the soul. He roared out the core idea that Liu Rusi had written on the paper in the most passionate and straightforward Mongolian language:

"Look at your fate! Warriors have become bones, herdsmen have become captives! And those who started the war are still high and mighty! Or like him, kneeling before the warriors' graves! Noyans and Taijis, are you born to be the masters?!"

This earth-shattering question was like thunder from the sky, striking hard at the hearts of every Wala who heard it!

The tribal leaders either turned pale in an instant or suddenly had a fierce light in their eyes as they looked at the surrounding Wala people who might have been instigated!

The captives at the bottom, those pastoralist slaves who had just experienced the baptism of the "wage system" and had the seeds of doubt planted in their hearts, their eyes flickered violently. Thoughts long imprisoned by slavery were forcibly pried open by these rebellious words from a foreign country!

Yes, why? Why were they born as slaves, and should die for these selfish "aristocrats"?!

Although Liu Rusi couldn't understand Chu Shiyu's impassioned Mongolian speech, she stared closely at the captives' expressions. She saw shock, bewilderment, and fear, but even more so, she saw a gleam in some people's eyes that was as hard to extinguish as wildfire—doubt, anger, and unwillingness!

This light was especially evident on the faces of those captives who "didn't want to leave." She knew that Chu Shiyu's speech had succeeded! This speech could destroy the foundation of Wala more than directly killing 10,000 enemies!

Chu Shiyu's speech ended. He glanced coldly at the silent Wala representatives and said no more.

The final procedure of the prisoner exchange was completed in dead silence.

Sun Zhizhao was staggered and pushed to the front of the Great Xia army. When this tortured envoy saw Chu Shiyu, who had just come down from the high platform, it was like seeing a long-lost relative. All the grievances, pain, and persistence burst out in an instant, and he burst into tears like a child, tears streaming down his face, and he wanted to throw himself at Chu Shiyu.

Chu Shiyu frowned, his eyes full of disgust, and he quickly dodged to the side.

The guards beside him immediately stepped forward, half supporting, half holding Sun Zhizhao back as he lunged towards them, and whispered, "Master Sun, you've worked so hard. Please go down and wash up and rest."

Liu Rusi watched Sun Zhizhao weeping, finding it both amusing and deeply moving. This man was indeed, as Chu Shiyu had described him, a blockhead, but from another perspective, he was also a stubborn scholar with integrity...

The representatives of the Oirat Mongols, carrying the exchanged captives and the deposed Khan, quickly and dejectedly evacuated the Mound of Bones like defeated roosters, as if they would be burned by the soaring resentment and rebellious thoughts if they stayed for a moment longer.

The only ones left at the scene were the Daxia army and the destitute Khan who was still being forced to kneel in front of the grave mound.

Chu Shiyu had no expression on his face and just waved his hand gently.

A burly swordsman stepped forward. A flash of cold light!

A head flew up with an expression of disbelief and astonishment, then tumbled to the cold sand. The headless corpse was quickly lifted up and secured to a pre-prepared wooden stake, still kneeling facing the Wala burial mound. Blood flowed from the stake, seeping into the ground where tens of thousands of Wala warriors were buried.

The wind seemed to grow stronger, carrying sand and dust, passing over the kneeling headless corpses and the endless grave mounds, making a whimpering sound, as if countless dead souls were responding to the deafening question:

"Princes, generals and prime ministers, would you rather have the seed?"