No one cared about Ji Zhibai and the Left Prime Minister Faction. Not only had the scholars within the imperial palace erupted into jubilation, but the capital and cities throughout Jing Kingdom had become cities that never slept, blazing with brilliant fireworks and crackling firecrackers, livelier even than Spring Festival.
Ever since Jing Kingdom was founded, it had continually lost territory. To the north lay the Grass Barbarians, to the west Wu Kingdom, and to the south Qing Kingdom. Fortunately, the Eastern Sea Dragon Palace did not occupy land, or Jing Kingdom would have lost another prefecture by now.
In Jing Kingdom's most prosperous days, it could barely seize back one or two prefectures from Qing Kingdom or Wu Kingdom. But someone like Fang Yun, who had reclaimed an entire prefecture in one breath, was unprecedented.
To the entire Human Race, one prefecture of land was not as important as any Transmissible Battle Poem. Yet to the people of Jing Kingdom, this prefecture carried immeasurable significance.
Jiangzhou on the north bank of the Yangtze River in particular—even though Jiangzhou and Xiang Prefecture were divided by the Yangtze, many residents of the two places were related by marriage. After Xiang Prefecture was taken, the two prefectures were utterly severed. Fathers and sons were separated, brothers were separated, and even husbands and wives were kept apart. Hundreds of thousands of relatives and friends had completely lost contact.
As the two kingdoms continued to sour toward each other, only a handful of scholars could cross between them each year to see their relatives. Ninety-nine percent could only gaze at the Yangtze and sigh.
Whenever a major festival arrived, countless people along the Yangtze in Jiangzhou and Xiang Prefecture would set floating lanterns adrift upon the river, entrusting them with their grief and longing.