The ships in the Great Song diplomatic fleet were the very same vessels that Sardinson had originally ordered—those that had been stolen. It was by sheer coincidence that they had crossed paths with the pirates, recognized them for what they were, and noticed the Wei character painted on the ships. That was how they realized the truth and wiped the pirates out.
Otherwise, the pirates would never have dared to provoke such a massive fleet.
Once the Great Song emissaries understood where the ships came from, they kindly returned them to Sardinson as a diplomatic gesture.
After two years, the Great Song fleet had once again arrived at the shores of the Mediterranean—a place they both loved and hated.
The journey from Great Song to the Mediterranean was unimaginably long. With the current speed of their ships, a round trip took more than a year. Including stops for resupplying, avoiding storms, and trading with various nations along the way, the last voyage had taken them a full two years to complete.
But the rewards had been remarkable. That previous expedition, the first "Voyage to the West," had brought back vast amounts of gold, silver, and rare goods. The gains were so great that even the opponents who had scoffed at the endeavor were forced into silence.
Yet, what had truly earned the delegation royal rewards—and even promotions and noble titles—was not the gold or jewels. It was the high-yield crops they brought back.
The chief envoy still remembered vividly the complex and poorly concealed emotions on the emperor's face when he saw the tribute of corn, sweet potatoes, potatoes, and other seeds.
It was a look of shock, joy, regret, and sudden realization—too raw to hide. Those present instinctively lowered their heads, not daring to gaze upon the sacred imperial visage.
Recalling the orders the emperor had issued before this new mission, and the way he had questioned them extensively about Countess Wei Wei during that previous audience, the envoy couldn't help but suspect: did the emperor know her? Could it be that he even… harbored special feelings?
No, stop. I mustn't think further. That would be treason.
The envoy hastily dismissed such dangerous thoughts and focused on the fast-approaching harbor.
Because their first voyage had brought back so many valuable goods, this second "Voyage to the West" had received far more imperial support. This time, the fleet had over ten additional ships and a total crew of thirty thousand. The goods they carried were more abundant and diverse than ever.
Among them was a special set of offerings prepared just for Sardinson.
More specifically, for Wei Wei.
Upon seeing the familiar crops she had introduced, the Great Song emperor had once again inquired about her. In the end, he had come to a private conclusion: Wei Wei, like himself, was a traveler from another world.
For a brief moment, just as Wei Wei had once predicted, the emperor had indeed contemplated eliminating her.
As a veteran transmigrator who had risen through bloodshed to save the crumbling Great Song dynasty from the Mongols, his first instinct upon discovering another like him was not joy, not some touching "comrade from another world" moment. It was a calculation: Was this person a threat to me? Could her existence undermine my power?
Had Wei Wei transmigrated into Great Song itself—unless she had been extraordinarily cautious and hid her identity completely—she would've been detained the moment she was discovered and drained of all her useful knowledge.
And had she been a man, without high status to protect her, the emperor would likely have ordered her assassination—even from across the sea.
Fortunately, she was a woman, and a noble at that. With his inherent chauvinism, the emperor finally abandoned his more sinister thoughts and chose instead to collaborate.
Thus, the Great Song delegation brought numerous treasures from China to Sardinson: silk, tea, porcelain, medicinal herbs, all of superior quality. They even brought silkworm cocoons and mulberry saplings, hoping to exchange them for more crop seeds.
Though the previous delegation had already taken back several seeds, the majority had been corn, sweet potatoes, and potatoes. Wei Wei didn't have much stock of other seeds and could only offer samples. After months at sea, some of the seeds had rotted despite careful storage. Even the staple crops had suffered some spoilage. Fortunately, they had brought back large enough quantities that there were still enough viable seeds for cultivation.
This time, the Great Song fleet had brought far more in trade goods, but their primary mission remained: to extract more knowledge from Sardinson. The emperor had instructed the envoy personally to stay longer, to dig deeper, and to discover what other secrets Sardinson might be hiding.
The envoy wasn't sure what exactly the emperor was hoping for, but that didn't stop him from planning an extended stay.
The others were just as eager to remain. After all, of all the stops in Europe, only Sardinson's food made them feel at home.
What the envoy hadn't expected was that, upon his return, the host of Sardinson had risen from count to duke.
Now familiar with the aristocratic systems of Europe, the envoy understood the significance. A duke here held authority much like the old feudal lords of China—complete control over their domain. And in rank, dukes stood only below kings.
The change in Felix's status made the entire delegation treat him with even greater deference.
After pleasantries were exchanged, the envoy carefully presented an imperial edict.
"Duchess Wei Wei, this is an edict from His Majesty. Please accept it."
Since they were abroad, the envoy didn't insist on a traditional court ceremony. Even when Wei Wei chose to perform a simple curtsy rather than the full kneeling ritual, they respectfully ignored it—after all, they were guests on foreign soil and should follow local customs.
The decree was, naturally, written in classical Chinese. Wei Wei's classical Chinese skills were lacking, so most of it sounded like elegant nonsense to her. But she could vaguely gather that it was filled with praise—and more importantly, she understood the core message.
Her fellow transmigrator, the Emperor of Great Song, had decreed that she was to be adopted as his sworn daughter and granted the title of Princess Changping.
Wei Wei: ...He wants to be my dad? How shameless!
Her first reaction was that she'd been taken advantage of. Sure, their ages technically made such a relationship plausible, but aside from giving him the excuse to call himself her father and giving her a fancy title, what real benefit did she get out of it?
There were benefits.
After the decree was read aloud, the envoy presented her imperial gifts.
As a princess, she was entitled to a stipend. Each year, she would receive not only silver but also grain, cloth, charcoal, and other materials. The delegation had converted all twenty years' worth of these into gold and silver and delivered them to her in one go.
"His Majesty said that this is to make up for the past twenty years that Your Highness did not receive your allowances," the envoy said, now respectfully referring to her as Princess.
Once again, he couldn't help but wonder: Was this woman truly just some foreign noble? Or was she... the emperor's long-lost daughter?
Even in historical cases where the imperial court adopted foster daughters, no one had ever received backpay like this. This move from the emperor was bound to raise eyebrows.
Wei Wei, however, understood it differently: it was simply a diplomatic overture. Even her princess title—Changping, meaning "long peace"—was symbolic. The emperor just wanted to signal his desire for peace and stability between them.
She accepted both the edict and the gifts, acknowledging the offer of goodwill.
There was no message urging her to visit Great Song, nor did she bring it up. They both knew: meeting in person was the worst idea imaginable. If they ever saw each other, the emperor might not be able to resist the urge to detain her. And she had no intention of taking that risk.
Thanks to the imperial edict, the Great Song delegation received an even grander reception in Sardinson. Felix was visibly pleased that the Empire valued Wei Wei so highly. And once news spread that the Duchess had been made a princess of the Silk Country, not only did her subjects look upon her with renewed admiration—even the king and nobles of Pradi began to shed their former apprehension toward the Silk Country, no longer worried they might become a second Mongol horde.
Felix personally hosted the entire delegation. He welcomed them into the noble district of the new city, gave them tours of the architecture by day, and even held banquets and operatic performances at night. Since their last visit, Felix had even taken the time to learn some basic Chinese under Wei Wei's guidance. He could now more or less understand what the delegation was saying, though he still struggled to speak it properly, frequently stumbling over his tongue due to flat vs. retroflex pronunciation issues.
Fortunately, most of the emissaries spoke Latin, so communication between the two sides went smoothly.
With Wei Wei's connection now solidified, the Great Song delegation indeed gained much more from this visit.
—Of course, many believed the real reason for the generous reception was that they had brought silkworms and mulberry saplings, which had pleased Wei Wei immensely.
This time, not only did they receive all the seeds they had hoped to exchange, and in considerable quantity, but Wei Wei also gifted them seeds from the rubber trees that Kingsley had previously brought back. What's more, she even let them test drive a carriage with rubber tires—fresh from production—so they could experience firsthand the value of rubber.
The delegation was so impressed that they couldn't wait to get back and plant the seeds. Rather than risk reduced germination rates from a long sea voyage, they tore up the vegetable garden aboard their ship and sowed the rubber seeds right there on the spot to start cultivating immediately.
But that wasn't all. Because Wei Wei had revealed the origin of the rubber, the delegation decided to adjust their return route, just like last time, planning a stop on the southern shores of the Mediterranean to investigate the source. They couldn't help but wonder: how had they missed such a valuable resource last time?
Still, the greatest gain from this journey wasn't rubber—it was the steam engine design blueprints they obtained from Wei Wei.
The Great Song emperor, while a military enthusiast with quite the "golden finger," did not know the specifics of how to build a steam engine. He had commissioned scholars to study the matter for years with no results.
The delegation had arrived at the perfect moment.
While visiting the castle, Master Raymond, who had locked himself in the research lab for ages, suddenly burst out—disheveled and wild-eyed—to announce to Wei Wei that the steam engine had finally been completed. His excited shout caught the attention of the envoy, who immediately recognized the term from past discussions and became obsessed with obtaining it.
Through a tense and drawn-out negotiation, they managed to exchange several ship blueprints in return for the steam engine designs. The discussion nearly turned into a brawl. For Wei Wei, asking for the blueprints was simply a pretext—she already knew about them. Giving them the steam engine design was, in her view, a voluntary contribution to China.
But from the delegation's perspective, they were getting the short end of the deal. Still, Wei Wei stood firm: if they wanted the steam engine, they had to agree to her terms.
"Don't worry. His Majesty won't blame you," Wei Wei reassured them. "Just give him this letter. He won't be angry."
In the letter, she had written only one line, using Chinese pinyin:
"Zheng He xia xi yang de chuan dui gou zao."
(The ship construction methods of Zheng He's treasure fleet.)
That single sentence was enough to show the emperor: she knew things she wasn't supposed to—information that no one in his world should have.
This was Wei Wei's subtle way of saying, "I'm giving you the steam engine for free." And at the same time, she hinted: if you want more knowledge, come to me.
Of course, this also meant they could never meet in person again.
She imagined that once the emperor read that letter, he'd probably be consumed with the urge to kidnap her, interrogate her, and wring every bit of knowledge from her mind.
But Wei Wei wasn't stupid. She dared to say this only because she knew the Silk Country would never send troops after her. After all, this was her territory. Great Song was no Mongol horde—the emperor would have to convince other nations to launch a war, and he couldn't do that without revealing her secret.
As for her?
She had already resolved that she would never return to China. Not even when the emperor died.
Even if you die, I won't be there.