"So this is what you meant by 'the productive forces determine the relations of production,' and 'the economic base determines the superstructure,' right?"
Standing atop the highest tower of Meereen, Daenerys—dressed in regal robes and wearing a golden crown—gazed down at the bustling city below. The streets were alive with clamor and industry, the air thick with smoke and prosperity. A rare look of contemplation crossed her face.
"Not just that," Aedric replied with a faint smile. "There's also 'seek common ground while reserving differences,' and 'unite the majority, strike at the minority.'"
"If it weren't for the enormous profits you used to lure those former slave masters into submission, it wouldn't have been so easy to gain full control of three great city-states within just a few months—without shedding a drop of blood."
He folded his hands behind his back, his voice calm but edged with insight. "Those Good Masters and Wise Masters may be bastards, but they're capable, influential bastards. As long as you use their strengths and restrain their weaknesses—keep them inside the circle you draw—they'll become your strongest arms, helping you expand your realm and stabilize your rule."
"To embrace all under heaven—that is the way of a true monarch."
Daenerys turned her head slightly, her amethyst eyes lingering on the young man beside her. In the past few months, she had been astonished again and again by his brilliance—his vision, his composure, his grasp of the world's hidden laws.
Almost without realizing it, she leaned closer until her shoulder brushed against his. Her voice softened into a murmur. "Then why do you still refuse to be my Hand of the Queen? Tell me, what do you want? My dragons? Or me?" Her eyes shimmered like molten silver. "Whatever it is, just say the word, and it's yours."
Feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his, Aedric's Chinese moral compass sounded alarm bells. The fact that Daenerys was, technically speaking, his aunt—his younger aunt—made him instinctively pull away.
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and said gently, "I just want you to be happy, Daenerys. You've had a hard life—few have ever shown you kindness. I only hope your path ahead will be smoother, and that you won't have to suffer so much anymore."
"You're a kind person," he added softly. "You deserve a kinder world."
A flash of sorrow passed across Daenerys's eyes. "Even my own brother was never this good to me," she said bitterly. "When he sold me to Drogo, he told me that even if every man in the khalasar—horses included—took turns with me, he wouldn't care in the slightest."
"He got what he deserved, didn't he?" Aedric said dryly, brushing away the tears that glistened on her lashes. A flicker of disgust crossed his face, but he smiled faintly. "At least he finally wore the golden crown he always dreamed of. I have to admit, your late husband had style. I almost wish I'd seen that moment myself."
Daenerys let out a small laugh despite herself, remembering that brutal, satisfying scene. "Yes," she said, a hint of grim satisfaction in her voice. "He always claimed he was the true dragon. Turns out he wasn't."
"Speaking of dragons," Aedric said quickly, steering the conversation elsewhere, "how are they doing? Can they be ridden yet?"
"You're always thinking about riding my dragons," Daenerys said, rolling her eyes. "Pyat Pree's complained to me several times already—apparently you keep pestering Drogon to take you flying, and you won't take no for an answer."
Drogon, the largest of the three dragons, was now the size of a calf. Since dragons were vital to sorcerers, Daenerys had assigned Pyat Pree and the other warlocks to care for them. Aedric, however, often dropped by just to "check on them"—which in practice meant trying to sneak a test flight.
"It's strange, though," Daenerys mused. "Those three won't let anyone else near them—not even Pyat Pree, who feeds them every day. But they let you do whatever you want. They don't even try to bite you."
"Because I'm a Targaryen too, Auntie," Aedric thought silently, though he only said aloud, "Maybe it's because of the Blackfyre sword. The dragonflame lingering on me probably makes them think I'm one of their own."
Then he smirked. "Besides, even if they did try to bite me, they might want to think twice—losing a few teeth might hurt."
Daenerys shot him another withering glare. "Stop tormenting my dragons," she scolded. "When they're ready to carry riders, you'll be the first to know. I want to take to the skies myself as soon as possible."
"When you can fly," Aedric said, his tone turning serious, "you'll be able to bring the Dothraki under your banner. Those horsemen have been raiding our trade convoys nonstop lately."
Daenerys's expression hardened instantly, her lips pressing into a thin line.
Though she and Aedric now ruled the three great cities without contest, the wealth pouring in from trade had drawn the attention of every thief and raider within a thousand miles. Pirates infested the seas, and on land, the Dothraki khalasars had begun attacking merchant caravans—stealing porcelain and other treasures bound for the ports.
Daenerys might be a Khaleesi, but the Dothraki were a fractured people. Since Drogo's death, her authority among the horselords had waned. Only a small portion of her late husband's warriors still followed her; the rest saw only profit, not loyalty.
And the porcelain trade was very profitable.
In just a few short months, porcelain had become the most sought-after commodity in all Essos. Nobles and commoners alike were obsessed, and entire riots had broken out over a single exquisite vase. It had become more coveted than gold or silver—a true symbol of power and beauty.
Aedric couldn't help but admire it. No wonder ancient China drained the world's silver for centuries. This stuff really is terrifyingly lucrative.
As for sending the Unsullied to deal with the Dothraki? Impossible.
No matter how powerful The Book of Wu Mu was, it didn't make infantry faster than cavalry. Unless Aedric could somehow recreate the legendary "Beiwei Army"—the elite mounted corps from Yue Fei's command—even he had no perfect solution.
After all, in the age of cold steel, cavalry reigned supreme.
Throughout thousands of years of Chinese history, countless emperors and heroes had struggled against northern nomads—and even the greatest of dynasties had been burned, raided, or overthrown more than once.
Without an elite cavalry of his own, Aedric knew they had only one true advantage left.
Flying dragons.
No matter how fierce the horsemen of the plains were, they could never fight what ruled the skies.
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