My Lady Says She Wants to Marry Me - Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Lu Youming and Su Wanrou were busy every day. Sometimes she was so occupied her feet barely touched the ground; other times, Su Wanrou was nowhere to be found.

The people of Chongjiang County had grown accustomed to Su Wanrou’s frequent appearances, sometimes in men’s clothing and sometimes in women’s. She had opened a processing workshop in the city, employing many women—specifically targeting widows or those from impoverished families. The workshop had hired dozens, and the newly built orphanage (Ciyou Bureau) had taken in dozens more.

The orphanage was built entirely of cement—sturdy and durable. Su Wanrou had established strict rules for the institution. Older children were taught to work and read; those with talent were given specialized instruction and could move to advanced classes upon passing exams. Those with less academic aptitude were taught practical trades. The male and female dormitories were strictly separated, and men were strictly forbidden from entering or being brought into the girls’ quarters.

Lu Youming even sent people to teach them the law, especially the girls. Knowing the law provided protection, as many commoners only had a vague idea of what was prohibited without knowing their actual rights. For the sake of “eradicating illiteracy,” Lu Youming arranged for them to study intensely for as many years as possible.

“Master Secretary Su, please rest assured. We inspected the dormitories yesterday; everyone is keeping clean, and no one is sick,” Auntie Wang, who managed the boys’ dormitory, spoke respectfully to Su Wanrou.

Su Wanrou visited the orphanage two or three times a month to inspect the operations. Today, she wore a female version of masculine attire: a straight-collared robe with narrow sleeves, a blue-and-white waistband adorned with exquisite jade, and a simple but elegant hairpin. Her expression was usually calm and indifferent, softening into a gentle smile only when she looked at the children.

“You are doing well. Keep it up. If there are any difficulties, report them to the administrator immediately,” Su Wanrou told another supervisor.

“Please rest assured, Master Secretary. We will report everything without concealment,” the plump Auntie Wang said warmly, while the more taciturn supervisor nodded shyly.

Su Wanrou didn’t leave immediately after her inspection; she stayed for lunch. The food at the orphanage was decent, with meat served every three days. Usually, there were two vegetable dishes, and everyone received an egg in the morning. Consequently, the children were quite healthy.

To prevent people from intentionally abandoning children at their doorstep, Lu Youming stationed guards outside. Anyone caught abandoning a child would be sentenced to forced labor or fined. Furthermore, the adoption process was rigorous. Once a child was confirmed as an orphan or abandoned, their original household registration was canceled, and they were raised by the state. Girls were supported until sixteen and boys until fifteen, by which time they were taught a craft to support themselves.

The law also stipulated that parents who abandoned their children could not reclaim them once the children grew up; violators would be exiled a thousand li and have their property confiscated. Conversely, the state encouraged adoption, ensuring adoptive parents didn’t have to worry about biological parents returning to claim the child, and even offering reductions in labor service for adoptive families.

The Great Sheng Dynasty had enacted these measures to deal with orphans from disasters and to prevent infanticide or abandonment when families had too many children. In previous dynasties, families often wanted only two sons and a daughter; any extras were often drowned or abandoned. The first Empress of the Great Sheng Dynasty, Empress Xiaoci, had insisted on continuing the orphanages. After decades of refinement, the system was now very mature.

Sitting at a long wooden table, Su Wanrou watched the boisterous children line up for food under the guidance of their teachers. Occasionally, a naughty one would be gently caught by the shoulder by Auntie Wang and immediately behave. She saw several toddlers who could barely walk being carried to the tables. Lu Youming had adapted the schooling model from her own past life, and it worked perfectly here.

Meanwhile, Lu Youming was at the cement factory outside the city, listening to partnership negotiations. As an official, she couldn’t meet merchants directly, so she hid nearby to listen to her manager.

“I’ll start with fifty bags. If it works well, I’ll order more,” a slightly plump merchant said with a smile. He was buying cement to pave a path for his elderly mother, who loved to stroll but often stumbled on uneven ground.

Currently, cement was being sold in small, piecemeal orders. Large contracts hadn’t arrived yet, and Lu Youming could only wait for the court’s move. Her uncle had warned her not to stand out—just keep the factory running. From his guarded words, she guessed the court was in turmoil.

Lu Youming, who had considered making glass to sell, immediately dropped the idea. What if she lost her life before she could make a profit? The timing for her official career was poor, coinciding with a succession struggle. History taught her that these struggles were often bloodbaths that ensnared many. She decided to play it safe so she and Su Wanrou could live peacefully.

The current output was enough for Chongjiang’s needs. Once the busy farming season ended, she would mobilize the people to reinforce the county’s levees. Regarding agriculture, she had improved several tools like sickles and scythes based on memories from her hometown. She was even contemplating improving plows and threshing machines for the upcoming autumn harvest. The local craftsmen had become quite familiar with her creative demands.

After the customer left, she stepped out. “Manager Li.”

“Lord, how did I do?” Manager Li asked, bowing.

“You did very well. Hard work. There’s no need to aggressively promote the cement right now; just break even,” Lu Youming instructed. She worried about complications, especially since it had been a month since her uncle’s memorial was sent without a response. Su Wanrou had already told her not to hope for too much. Normally, a reply should return within half a month. A month of silence usually meant the plan had failed.

After giving her instructions, Lu Youming put on a mask, changed into a brown work uniform, and entered the steaming factory to check the material ratios and quality of raw materials. Under her strict orders, everyone wore masks to prevent dust inhalation. Daily inspections were conducted; anyone caught without a mask was fined one cent, and repeat offenders were fired. Faced with these rules, everyone adapted quickly.

Her work done, Lu Youming rode her horse home. Looking at the river, she realized she hadn’t been out for fun in a long time. It’s time for a day off, she thought, imagining a spring outing or a hunt with her wife. Her archery skills felt rusty, though she still practiced her martial arts daily.

Upon arriving home, she found a fuming Su Wanrou sitting on the Luohan couch. It was a rare sight to see her gentle wife so angry. She approached her tenderly. “What’s wrong?”

Su Wanrou sighed and handed her a sheet of paper. It was a letter from Shao Jiechuan, telling them to keep a low profile and stop selling cement to other regions to avoid being accused of “neglecting proper duties” and “obsessing over unimportant minor paths.”

The “other regions” part sounded particularly ominous to them.

“Did the court say cement is useless?” Lu Youming asked softly, setting the letter down. She understood Su Wanrou’s anger. They had invested immense labor and wealth, only to receive a four-word dismissal: “unimportant minor path.”

Su Wanrou didn’t say anything but reached out to hug Lu Youming. Having survived the flood, they knew its horror. Chongjiang had been nearly destroyed and painstakingly rebuilt by Lu Youming. They had worked on cement to ensure the next disaster wouldn’t be as devastating, hoping to reduce the burden on the people with something cheap and sturdy.

Lu Youming held her, patting her back. “Are you sad, Lady?”

“Aren’t you?” Su Wanrou mumbled against her shoulder.

“I am, but also… not really.”

“How so?” Su Wanrou rubbed her cheek against Lu Youming’s, demanding an explanation.

Lu Youming picked her up and sat her in her lap. Su Wanrou leaned against her chest, the intimate posture making her face turn red. Lu Youming gazed out at the threshold, her eyes looking far away.

“From the start, I thought cement might not be valued. To the high officials in court, such things are beneath their notice. It takes time for its value to be seen. Moreover, with the current political sensitivity, neither Uncle nor I had high hopes, though Uncle wanted to try. But now the result is clear. Perhaps in a few years, when the court settles, it will prove its use.”

Lu Youming wasn’t entirely sure. Imperial power was currently teetering between stability and chaos, like a carriage hurtling down a road, swaying precariously while those on board fought for the reins. She believed someone would eventually take control to keep the carriage from flipping.

After the discouraging news, Lu Youming and Su Wanrou officially entered their holiday. The court-appointed Main Clerk and County Captain arrived, along with an official document from Grand Princess Shaoyang, praising their governance of Chongjiang.

Most shockingly, she officially appointed Su Wanrou as the County Vice-Magistrate, decreeing that she could hold the post as long as Lu Youming remained in office.

Initially, the court had complained about appointing a woman to an official post, but the Grand Princess had simply asked who else was willing to serve in Chongjiang. Since the county was plagued by floods every monsoon season and had been vacant for years, no one stepped forward—especially after last year’s disaster.

“Therefore,” the Grand Princess had told the Emperor, “since this husband and wife are of one mind and have governed Chongjiang well, let us not be constrained by gender and allow them to serve the state.”

The old Emperor, looking at his silent Eldest Prince, felt a headache coming on. He had scolded the Prince yesterday for dismissing the cement, and today the Prince wouldn’t speak a word. The Emperor was exhausted. He looked at his daughter, who was saving her brother’s face in public while privately informing the Emperor that a “miracle material” had been found.

The Emperor had suppressed his urge to recall the Chongjiang Magistrate to the capital once he heard about a material that hardens quickly. On a battlefield—especially for defense—this was a game-changer. Walls could be repaired in a day. And yet his son had dismissed it as a “minor path.” The Emperor realized there were few officials left who actually did practical work. He allowed his daughter’s proposal to proceed and decided to handle the cement project privately to keep meddling idiots away.

The Grand Princess’s envoys, carrying silver and a guard detail, had already set off for Chongjiang. Lu Youming was about to receive a massive order worth 100,000 taels.

On the day they were preparing for their holiday, a group arrived to announce an imperial decree. Lu Youming was stunned. She hurried to dress and go out, only to find it was a secret decree, accompanied by guards meant to protect the cement factory.

“The Princess’s intention is that cement will not be sold to the public for the next two years,” a fair-faced female official said with a refined smile.

While Lu Youming was thinking, the official’s attention shifted to Su Wanrou, who was also in her green official robes. “Vice-Magistrate Su is truly elegant and brilliant,” Chen Jing praised. She was a fifth-rank official from the Princess’s manor, outranking even Lu Youming.

Lu Youming felt a bit uneasy seeing Chen Jing’s eyes light up at her wife, so she stepped in to block the view. Chen Jing looked at her with a metaphorical question mark over her head. “Does Lord Lu have further business?”

“No,” Lu Youming said.

“Then please step aside. I feel a kinship with Lord Su and wish to discuss local governance with her. If you are busy, Lord Lu, feel free to attend to your duties.” Chen Jing smiled, essentially dismissing her.

Lu Youming didn’t want to leave. She turned to her wife, who patted her shoulder and whispered, “See you later.” Su Wanrou then bypassed her to chat with Chen Jing. They hit it off immediately; Chen Jing had none of the arrogance of a capital official and was fascinated by a genuine female official like Su Wanrou. Though Su Wanrou was only rank 7b, she was an officially commissioned officer of the court—unlike a personal staff member.

Lu Youming pondered the Princess’s letter. It stated the cement factory would remain under Su Wanrou’s name. The Princess wouldn’t interfere with the profits as long as the ledgers were submitted to her. The cement would be moved to the borders by the Princess’s own caravans. The Princess also promised that even if the state took over the factory in the future, as long as she lived, 10% of the profits would belong to the couple.

Lu Youming wasn’t particularly moved by the 10% stake. She knew the long-term profits would be astronomical and the ownership eventually murky. Besides, she had other inventions—she had already produced the first piece of glass, though it wasn’t yet clear or perfectly shaped. With the Princess’s people here, she’d have to delay the glass project. She needed to figure out the Grand Princess’s character first.

On the surface, she liked the Princess, but she needed to see her actual capability and control over the court. It sounded treasonous, but in an age where heads rolled easily, it paid to be careful.