Tianqi lacked natural gas, so the underfloor heating Gu Yanshu had installed beneath the main courtyard bore no resemblance to the modern hydronic systems people were accustomed to in later eras.
Instead, it was somewhat similar to the heated brick beds (huokang) used in northern regions of Huaxia, or the traditional "earth dragon" (dilong) heating systems employed in ancient palaces.
The principle was simple: flues were laid beneath the flooring, utilizing the flow of hot air to warm the space above.
This method required no advanced technology or specialized expertise to construct.
After the apocalypse struck, Gu Yanshu had lived in the north, where winters were already bitterly cold. The extreme temperature fluctuations caused by the cataclysm only exacerbated the hardship.
For a long time, Huaxia had been cut off from gas and electricity, rendering conventional heating systems useless.
So, people revived this ancient solution.
And it worked remarkably well—energy-efficient, labor-saving, and highly effective at retaining warmth.
Even after power and gas supplies were eventually restored, many survivors continued using this method.
Naturally, Gu Yanshu's own residence had been retrofitted with such a system. During its construction, he had not only reviewed the blueprints but also personally inspected the site.
When renovating the Prince's residence as winter approached, he had immediately decided to implement the same heating solution.
Now, faced with the ministers' inquiries, Gu Yanshu saw no reason to withhold details. He openly explained the mechanics of the underfloor heating currently warming the Prince's estate.
Yet despite their literary prowess—their ability to compose poetry on the spot—the officials found his explanations about flues and thermal airflow utterly baffling.
Noticing their perplexed expressions, Gu Yanshu quickly abandoned the technical lecture.
"Truthfully, this system isn't complicated. The craftsmen working on the Prince's residence have already mastered its construction. If any of you are interested, you need only delegate the task to them."
His words were an epiphany.
The ministers had been agonizing over the principles of thermal currents and flue layouts when the realization struck:
Why bother understanding the mechanics? They weren't going to build it themselves!
As long as they could have it installed in their own homes, that was enough.
Almost immediately, one official seized the opportunity with a smile:
"This old subject's aging bones grow weaker each year. Winters have become unbearable—even five or six charcoal braziers barely suffice. Yet today, in the Prince's residence, I've felt remarkably comfortable. If such heating could be installed in my humble home, the cold months would be far more tolerable. Might those craftsmen…?"
Before Gu Yanshu could respond, another minister interjected sharply:
"Minister Hai, you speak of age, but this official is no younger! In fact, I'm half a year your senior! Your Highness, this old subject's health is equally frail. Just days ago, I fell ill from a mere draft. Surely the craftsmen—"
The man's tone shifted dramatically—harsh toward his colleague, yet obsequiously pitiful when addressing Gu Yanshu.
The speed of this transformation left Gu Yanshu marveling.
But this performance seemed to inspire others.
Without giving Gu Yanshu a chance to speak, they launched into their own theatrics.
To secure priority for the heating system, these seasoned officials pulled out all the stops.
Thus, within a quarter-hour, Gu Yanshu witnessed a masterclass in bureaucratic maneuvering—
A living exhibition of Sichuan opera face-changing techniques.
First, they dismissed their peers' claims:
"You're old? I'm a year older than you!"
Some even argued over mere days of seniority.
Next came the lamentations—frail health, unbearable winters, recent bouts of illness, nights spent shivering.
Their fabrications flowed effortlessly.
The underlying message was clear: Lend us your craftsmen first.
Internally, Gu Yanshu applauded. Truly, veteran officials were Oscar-worthy performers—the ancients didn't exaggerate.
Yet he also knew better than to show favoritism.
For most, this would pose a dilemma—after all, craftsmen were finite. Assigning them to Minister Hai meant denying Minister Sun; prioritizing Minister Qi left Minister Shen empty-handed.
But for Gu Yanshu, the solution was simple.
When the ministers finally concluded their performances, blinking expectantly at Gu Yanshu for his verdict, he spoke:
"Esteemed ministers, I understand your concerns. However, as you know, the number of craftsmen is limited—it's impossible to accommodate everyone simultaneously. Yet I have a proposal that might satisfy all parties. Would you hear it?"
"What proposal?"
"By all means, share it!"
The officials, who had already resigned themselves to waiting in line, now perked up at the possibility of an equitable solution.
Gu Yanshu wasted no time:
"Though the craftsmen who renovated the Prince's residence are few, they number over thirty. I can provide diagrams of the heating flues and assign one craftsman to each of your households. The only drawback is that progress may be slower."
"An excellent solution!"
"If we can all proceed at once, a slight delay is insignificant!"
Having worked together for decades, these ministers—despite their earlier theatrics—bore no genuine resentment toward one another.
Now that a fair compromise was offered, none minded the slower pace.
With the heating matter settled, attention turned to the glass conservatory in the courtyard.
During the renovations, Gu Yanshu had constructed a modest yet conspicuous glass greenhouse—
A sight many had noticed upon arrival but hesitated to inquire about due to protocol.
Its purpose was simple:
Gu Yanshu, weary of Tianqi's winter vegetable scarcity, had designed it as a hothouse for year-round produce.
But with crops yet unplanted and success uncertain, he hadn't publicized its function.
When questioned, he paused briefly before answering:
"That's a glass conservatory. In harsh weather or rain, delicate plants can be moved inside to improve survival rates."
The ministers nodded in collective enlightenment.
For flower enthusiasts among them, inspiration struck—
Some blooms were notoriously temperamental:
Intolerant of wind, rain, or snow, yet withering without sunlight.
Their caretakers often exhausted themselves—
Carrying pots outdoors by day for light, then indoors by night to shelter them.
Even then, a single oversight during busy periods could undo years of effort.
A structure that provided sunlight while shielding plants from the elements? Revolutionary.
Even non-enthusiasts envisioned pleased grandmothers, wives, or daughters enjoying such a feature at home.
This time, however, no one pressed Gu Yanshu for the conservatory.
Having already secured heating designs and craftsmen, requesting more would seem greedy.
Besides, hadn't the Princess Consort mentioned glass would soon be available at Taoran Residence?
They could commission their own conservatories then.
Gu Yanshu, ever perceptive, noted these calculations from subtle shifts in expression.
He sipped his tea to mask a knowing smile.
By banquet's end, all departed satisfied—
Not only with promised magnifiers and reading glasses, but also future glass installations and heating systems.
Yet none left happier than Chief Grand Secretary Pei and Hanlin Academician Wen.
After the crowd dispersed, Wen Xuefei seized a private moment with Gu Yanshu.
As the Princess Consort bid farewell to the last guest, he turned to find Wen standing nearby—
Before he could react, the scholar bowed deeply:
"Qingxiao has shared everything with this unworthy official. Your Highness's kindness will never be forgotten."
There's an old saying: "A man's eldest grandson and youngest son are the apples of his eye."
Wen Qingxiao was not only Wen Xuefei's youngest child but also a late-life surprise—naturally doted upon beyond measure.
After Wen Qingxiao suffered successive misfortunes and withdrew into seclusion, Wen Xuefei had watched helplessly, his heart aching.
When all attempts to coax his son outdoors failed, Wen Xuefei could only acquiesce to his reclusive existence.
He'd never dared hope to see Wen Qingxiao reemerge into the world.
Now witnessing his son's revival—and his appointment to oversee the newspaper by Gu Yanshu—how could Wen Xuefei not feel profound gratitude?
"Minister Wen, please rise. I've done nothing deserving such courtesy."
Gu Yanshu felt unworthy of this deep bow—Wen Qingxiao's recovery was his own achievement.
He hurried forward to assist Wen Xuefei upright.
Yet the scholar disagreed:
"These past two years, Qingxiao relied on Young Master Gu's care and Your Highness's trust to regain his footing. This humble official's bow is but a paltry acknowledgment."
Mention of Gu Yanli rendered Gu Yanshu unable to refute—he couldn't deny his elder brother's contributions.
"Then let Wen-gongzi's dedication to the newspaper suffice as repayment."
Before Wen Xuefei could respond, Wen Qingxiao's voice interjected:
"Has this subordinate's work been lacking, to warrant Your Highness's dissatisfaction?"
The tone held no accusation, only playful irony.
Glancing up, Gu Yanshu saw Wen Qingxiao approaching—having apparently concluded his conversation with the Chief Grand Secretary.
A faint smile surfaced as Gu Yanshu clasped his hands in mock solemnity:
"Not at all! Gongzi's diligence leaves no room for complaint."
"Your reassurance sets this humble one at ease."
Amusement flickered through Wen Qingxiao's eyes.
Wen Xuefei, initially startled by his son's uncharacteristic interruption, observed their exchange with dawning comprehension—
Their rapport far exceeded his expectations.
He swallowed further expressions of gratitude—
Between their existing friendship and Wen Qingxiao's new role, overt repayment would seem superfluous.
Better to extend support discreetly when future needs arose.
Noting Wen Xuefei's shift in demeanor, Gu Yanshu exhaled inwardly—
With Wen Qingxiao being both his brother's close friend and his own collaborator, excessive formality would have created awkwardness.
After brief pleasantries, Wen Xuefei took his leave—
This time, Wen Qingxiao declined the Prince's escort, evidently planning to accompany his father back to the Hanlin Academy residence.