Chapter Twenty-Seven: Masters Among Them

“Father, with your birthday approaching, I had originally hoped to surprise you on the day of your celebration. Yet upon reflection, I realized it would be inappropriate. You, Father, possess profound wisdom and tirelessly devote yourself to the affairs of the realm. As your son, it is my duty to help shoulder your burdens; failing to do so would be inexcusable. How could I trouble you with such trivial matters? Therefore, I have come to report to you in advance…”

Zhao Yu knelt respectfully, recounting to his imperial father the matter of organizing a football league, carefully omitting details that might be unfavorable.

Once shamelessness becomes a habit, even the most sycophantic words no longer feel excessive. Liang Shicheng, standing aside, felt a chill run down his spine; how had he never noticed this young man was so utterly brazen? The flattery was flawless, so much so that he himself felt compelled to concede defeat…

Emperor Huizong, Zhao Ji, was delighted, his face brightening as he nodded and smiled, “Rare indeed is your filial concern, and it brings me much comfort. Rise and speak! By the way, what did you mean by saying there would be income generated?”

“Father, although you are the wealthiest under heaven, you have always led by example, living frugally and modestly, tirelessly working for the welfare of the people. The nation prospers, but you yourself endure hardship. I see this, and it pains me. I have long wondered how I might ease your burdens…”

Zhao Yu was so moved by his own words that he nearly brought himself to tears.

“I discovered that both officials and commoners are fond of cuju. It struck me that if I gathered skilled players to compete, crowds would surely flock to watch. If we estimate the audience at ten thousand per game, with admission fees ranging from a few coins to several taels of silver, each match could bring in nearly ten thousand taels. After deducting expenses, a net profit of five thousand taels remains. With six matches each month, that is thirty thousand taels, all of which I will contribute directly to your private treasury, surely alleviating your urgent needs. I humbly ask for your approval, Father.”

Shameless, indeed. Liang Shicheng had always believed his own flattery skills were adequate, but today he realized that the seemingly unremarkable Prince Yi was the true master of sycophancy…

Frugality from Emperor Huizong? Wasn’t this tempting fate? But look at Prince Yi, who said all this with an expression as bland as a turnip—neither flushed nor pale. Brilliant! Truly brilliant!

Everyone loves hearing praise, especially when it comes from a young son. Zhao Ji nearly burst out laughing.

This child is promising—filial and capable. He’s worth cultivating…

He thought as much, but did not show it on his face, instead feigning sternness, “At your age, you should be studying diligently, not getting involved in such schemes for the sake of filial piety. Henceforth, do not meddle in these affairs.”

Liang Shicheng, who knew Zhao Ji best, immediately sensed trouble from the emperor’s tone. He quickly interjected, “Your Majesty, this so-called National Football Club was founded by notorious criminals and bandits. Is it proper for Prince Yi to associate with such people?”

He had intended to mention Little Yu, but since Zhao Yu was present, doing so would be a direct provocation. With Empress Zheng alone, Liang Shicheng had enough headaches, not to mention Cai Jing and others. Now was not the time for open conflict.

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Though Zhao Ji cared little for governance, he was not ignorant of rumors in the city. Hearing Liang Shicheng’s words, he glanced at his son with suspicion, evidently seeking a satisfactory explanation.

Zhao Yu merely smiled and replied, “Under your rule, Father, the Song realm is peaceful, and in Bianliang, doors are left unlocked and lost items returned. How could there be bandits? If Master Liang implies otherwise, is he suggesting the capital is unsafe? Moreover, as a prince, how could I mingle with profit-seeking merchants?”

Turning to the emperor, he continued, “Father, these matters are managed by a former attendant of mine, with Lord Li Yan assisting. If you wish, you may summon him for confirmation.”

Liang Shicheng’s attempt to undermine Zhao Yu had backfired; suggesting the capital was unsafe implied imperial incompetence. He was so alarmed he immediately knelt to beg forgiveness, sensing the emperor’s growing displeasure.

“I dare not! Your Majesty, please forgive me!”

“These affairs are not for you to meddle in. I shall have Li Yan form a team within the palace to compete. It is rare that Yu shows such filial concern; the other princes should learn from him.”

The implications in Emperor Huizong’s words were profound: Li Yan forming a team meant Liang Shicheng would be sidelined, and instructing the other princes to learn from Zhao Yu raised questions about whom he referred to.

For the first time, Liang Shicheng felt genuine threat behind Zhao Yu’s harmless smile…

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“Kick the Three Mountains and Five Peaks, shake the Nine Provinces and Eight Wildernesses”—the horizontal inscription read “National Football.” Above the plaque, a massive banner with a soaring eagle flapped in the wind.

This was the face of the National Football Club—refined and grand, inspiring awe from afar.

The surrounding walls were still under construction. Once completed, the stadium would accommodate over fifteen thousand spectators. The blueprints, finalized by Zhao Yu himself, closely followed the layout of modern football stadiums.

Without exaggeration, this would become a landmark in Bianliang upon completion.

Such a vast undertaking would not be finished within the year, so the main focus was on the core structure and playing field, while the outer walls and seating were temporarily erected.

Beneath the reviewing platform stood a row of buildings serving as offices and resting quarters for Zhao Yu and his staff; currently, this was Zhao Yu’s headquarters.

Having persuaded his imperial father, Zhao Yu now frequented the site with impunity, for he had countless decisions to make.

Yet, as before, he remained elusive, interacting only with a select few trusted aides, keeping others at bay.

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Teams seeking to register for the tournament arrived daily, even from distant provinces.

Such a major competition could not accept just any team; preliminary selection was handled by Liu Hei and several cuju experts.

To maximize profit, thirty-six teams would vie in the final tournament, though over a hundred had already signed up.

It was amusing—perhaps sensing the opportunity for profit, wealthy merchants tried to organize their own cuju matches. But their fields were soon destroyed, and the organizers summoned to Kaifeng Prefecture for “tea,” accused of harming the city’s reputation…

The wisdom of the ancestors was boundless. The noise from the ongoing construction outside could not penetrate the custom-built office for Zhao Yu; how such perfect soundproofing was achieved was a mystery.

Standing before a huge map of Bianliang, Zhao Yu inspected it closely. Both the map and the eagle banner were crafted by a painter he had recruited from Kaifeng Prefecture. The map, especially, was the result of half a month’s labor.

Behind him, Master Jiang gazed in awe at the map. The Song dynasty was never short of paintings, but never had such a fine topographical map been seen.

Truth be told, Zhao Yu was not entirely satisfied—not with the artist’s skill, but with the map’s deviation from his expectations.

Yet, with no reference and such limited time, the result was commendable.

“You said the Jiangnan Canal Guild came to see you?”

“Indeed. But I believe these men are not ordinary members.”

Upon hearing Zhao Yu’s question, Master Jiang quickly pulled himself from his thoughts and respectfully answered…