“Testing the waters is just a stepping stone,” Xiao Chiye said, his gaze cold and sharp. “Candor is like the process of loosening one’s clothes. Only by moving step by step could we end up sitting knee to knee like this today. You’re right—after the Southern Forest hunting grounds, I thought the cabinet under Hai Liangyi would bring real change. But he still promoted Xue Xiuzhuo, who comes from one of the Eight Great Houses. That shows that even when one reaches a position capable of coordinating the whole situation, one still has to bow to the power of the great clans. In such a landscape, the Xiao family can’t stand alone.”
“Then how should we describe them?” Shen Zechuan thought for a moment. “When they don’t share a common enemy, they become enemies to themselves. Keeping a bowl of water from tipping over because the weight is uneven is far harder than dealing with any single opponent. Before the Xiao family appeared, the Eight Great Houses merely rose and fell internally. After the Xiao family emerged, they began pruning and selecting. The Hua family’s defeat was only a temporary loss. The court purged the remnants of the Hua faction, yet no one proposed holding the Empress Dowager accountable—not even Hai Liangyi. Now the Hua–Qi marriage preserves the Hua family’s remaining utility and wears away any external allies the Xiao family might seek. Some things don’t look like much when viewed alone, but link them together and they turn chilling.”
“You mean the defeat at Zhongbo and the Hua–Qi marriage?” Xiao Chiye asked.
“A strategy of befriending the distant and attacking the near,” Shen Zechuan said, extending a finger to draw a circle on the table. “By knocking out Zhongbo’s six prefectures, the defense to Libei’s southwest was left empty. Cizhou lies right against the northeastern grain-and-horse route—that’s Libei’s lifeline. With no Zhongbo people guarding it now, it’s become territory for the Eight Great Houses of Que City. Add a marriage alliance with the Qi clan of Qidong, and you’re trapped—backed up against Hongyan Mountain, facing the Border Sand tribes to the east, with enemies pressing from two directions in the south.”
“There’s a five-year gap between these events,” Xiao Chiye said slowly, frowning. “Who could be certain Hua Siqian would rebel? And who could be certain I would charge out to rescue the emperor?”
“The defeat at Zhongbo had to serve a purpose,” Shen Zechuan fell silent for a moment, then said, “Controlling the situation isn’t hard. What’s hard is controlling where it goes after you’ve seized it. If my guess is right, then among the Eight Great Houses there’s someone who can steer the direction of events.”
“If such a person truly exists,” Xiao Chiye said, “then everyone is already on the board, every move anticipated. That’s no mere prodigy—that’s a ‘god’ who controls Great Zhou. How do you plan to play against him? Sowing discord won’t overcome decades of intermarriage among the Eight Great Houses. In the face of a common enemy, they’re unbreakable.”
“Stormy waters are better than calm seas,” Shen Zechuan withdrew his finger. “Only when the water is muddied can they fail to tell friend from foe. And in truth, they aren’t as impregnable as they seem. Why was Xiao Fangxu able to break through the defenses of the noble clans? If the net were really that tight, how did men like Qi Huilian and Hai Liangyi—ministers from humble origins—ever appear? Your father was able to establish the Luoxia Cavalry, the predecessor of the Libei Iron Cavalry, because the Eastern Palace faction under the Crown Prince pushed through the Yellow Register household system. That allowed the borderlands to levy troops, granted soldiers hereditary household status, and placed them under commandery-level military jurisdiction. It cut off the leadership of aristocratic scions dispatched from Que City to the provinces, allowing the Prince of Libei to unify military authority and escape the control of local civil officials. Beyond that, Libei’s present strength is inseparable from the Great Zhou policy of military farming. You understand better than I do how vital that is.”
Why was Lu Guangbai’s life harder than Xiao Jiming’s?
Because the border commanderies couldn’t implement the military-farming system. The yellow sands yielded no grain, so Lu Guangbai had to rely on subsidies from Que City. The military-farming rule of “seven parts cultivation, three parts defense” might not make frontier armies fully self-sufficient, but it greatly eased their food pressure—and that mattered immensely on the borders.
Grand Tutor Qi would rather feign madness and cling to life than die cleanly, not only because hatred was hard to relinquish, but also because he couldn’t bear to abandon the breach he had already opened. The Eastern Palace faction numbered several dozen, all officials of humble birth personally selected by the Crown Prince. To assist the Crown Prince, Qi Huilian devoted his life’s learning. His cry five years ago—“the grand design of the realm is already settled”—was written in tears and blood, word by word, brimming with unwillingness.
“You stepped into my territory again and again, indulged me as I tested your bottom line time after time—all for tonight, all so you could share the same boat with me,” Xiao Chiye leaned forward slowly, his eyes cold. “But if I hadn’t uncovered Xi Hongxuan tonight, hadn’t figured out your purpose, would you really have stepped on me and used me as a foothold?”
“You’re a wolf with a keen nose,” Shen Zechuan said. “Why make yourself sound so pitiful? If I weren’t who I am, you wouldn’t have given me a chance to step in at all. We wouldn’t even be talking. You and I are this kind of people—rather than questioning me, why not question yourself first?”
“You’re a real bastard,” Xiao Chiye said.
“Like-minded bastards are hard to come by,” Shen Zechuan replied.
Xiao Chiye stopped circling the issue and said bluntly, “Right now, you want to borrow my momentum. But an alliance needs bargaining chips.”
“We’re bound together by shared fortune and disaster,” Shen Zechuan said. “The Yao family you rely on is about to be kicked out of the game. Aren’t you anxious, Second Young Master?”
“I don’t need Yao Wenyu,” Xiao Chiye said. “You’ve misunderstood one thing. The Yao family’s friendship with me really isn’t about competing for power—it’s simply because of Yao Wenyu himself. If you met him, you’d understand. He doesn’t enter officialdom not because Hai Liangyi won’t let him go, but because he himself is unwilling. The Yao family used to produce weighty ministers; only in his father’s generation did it decline. But his grandfather’s residual prestige still stands—among scholars he’s a revered master, with influence among civil officials far beyond people like Hua Siqian. If Yao Wenyu wanted to rise again, it wouldn’t be hard. He’s content to be a carefree recluse. If Xi Hongxuan truly manages to push the Yao family out, he’d be even more at ease.”
“The Yao family once married into the Fei clan,” Shen Zechuan asked suddenly. “He’s Princess Zhaoyue’s cousin?”
“That’s right,” Xiao Chiye said, picking up his chopsticks. “Zhaoyue probably wants to marry him. But Marquis Helian is timid as a mouse and obeys the Empress Dowager in everything.”
“Then you might end up as relatives after all.”
“Didn’t that marriage fall through?” Xiao Chiye said. “You broke off my marriage, made me lose a beauty—you ought to compensate me.”
Shen Zechuan raised an eyebrow slightly.
Xiao Chiye rinsed his chopsticks in cold tea, lifted his eyes to look at him, and said, “Do you know the difference between sharing a boat and sharing a bed is just two characters? I think it’s fine to mix them up. And if we end up mixing them up later, that’s fine too.”
The heat in the room made Shen Zechuan feel a little dizzy. He didn’t answer, only turned to open the window.
Xiao Chiye didn’t touch the food. He said instead, “I brought you here, let you eat my dishes and drink my wine. Didn’t you feel even a hint of suspicion?”
Shen Zechuan looked at Xiao Chiye. The cool wind finally cut the stuffiness, and a thin sheen of sweat surfaced. His tightly fastened collar framed a pale throat; black hair and the red plum branches slanting down by the window set each other off, making him all the more striking.
Outside, grains of salt-like snow drifted down, falling on the back of Shen Zechuan’s hand and melting into a dot of water. That pinprick of cold made the heat inside him stand out more starkly. For a moment, he truly had other thoughts—he wanted to undo the buttons.
“There’s no such clause in the alliance,” Shen Zechuan said. “I’m not short of people to warm my bed lately.”
Xiao Chiye propped up a long leg. “You don’t look like someone who’s not short right now. Business is business; private matters are private. We’ve finished the business—now we can slowly sort out the private matters. The person from Lotus Fragrance Tower last time—was that arranged by Xi Hongxuan? I heard he only likes women. When did he change his tastes?”
“Male favor has never been rare,” Shen Zechuan said. “Whether he changed or not, I don’t know. What about you, Second Young Master—did you change?”
“I’ve never been steady,” Xiao Chiye said, picking up a strand of hair that had fallen over Shen Zechuan’s knee. “I’ve always gone by mood.”
Shen Zechuan lifted a finger to draw his hair back. Sweat had already been coaxed out in earnest. He said, “Some people talk like seasoned libertines, look composed and smooth, but in truth only know how to wolf things down. Inexperienced, aren’t you?”
Xiao Chiye pushed the small table aside and seized the wrist Shen Zechuan was withdrawing. “…Some people look pitiful when they’re drenched in sweat.”
The heat hadn’t dissipated; where Xiao Chiye held him, it burned even more fiercely. Shen Zechuan braced one arm on his knee and said, “What did you put in the wine?”
“Guess,” Xiao Chiye said, pulling his wrist closer. Then he changed the subject. “Ji Gang couldn’t have taught you these things. Your master—or perhaps I should say, your teacher—who was he?”
The corners of Shen Zechuan’s eyes reddened slightly. He said softly, “I’m not telling you.”
Xiao Chiye leaned in just enough to catch a faint scent and suddenly said, “You smell good.”
Shen Zechuan’s breathing tightened. “Have you sunk so low you need to use a honey trap?”
“The word ‘beauty’ doesn’t stick to me,” Xiao Chiye said. “What, you’re getting anxious just from talking?”
Sweat dampened his inner robes. Tempted by the baselessly suggestive atmosphere, the heat grew thicker and more cloying. Shen Zechuan wanted to wipe the sweat away. He frowned. “What exactly did you put in it?”
Xiao Chiye burst out laughing, loose and roguish. “Relax—I’m teasing you. Just medicated wine.”
Shen Zechuan found his gaze dangerous. He couldn’t help closing his eyes, forcing himself to steady his mind. “Xiao Er—”
Xiao Chiye tipped back his cup and drained the cold wine. As Shen Zechuan spoke, Xiao Chiye suddenly lowered his head and sealed his lips. Shen Zechuan was pressed back against the window; plum branches shook with the contact. Arching back slightly, he felt his waist was about to snap. Snow slipped from the back of Xiao Chiye’s neck; he ignored it, almost half his body pinning Shen Zechuan down. His five fingers pried apart Shen Zechuan’s hand and interlaced their fingers forcefully.
From the glance exchanged at the banquet of officials, Xiao Chiye had wanted to kiss him. After tonight’s conversation, even more so—he’d endured the whole night. He’d seen Shen Zechuan’s ruthless edge, his effortless advance and retreat; all the flavors defied tasting. He only wanted to press him down, to kiss him until he was flushed and drenched, eyes brimming with desire.
Shen Zechuan’s chest heaved. The wind cut through his sweat-soaked clothes, chilling him into a shiver. He couldn’t stop Xiao Chiye from feeding him wine; it slid down his throat and made him choke. But Xiao Chiye bit down on his tongue, leaving him no room to cough—he could only endure, eyes watering. At this moment, even if the sky fell apart, Xiao Chiye wouldn’t let go.
Suddenly there was a loud clang above, followed by someone tumbling down. Ding Tao crashed into a snowdrift, popped his head up, freezing as he rubbed his arms. He was just about to curse when he looked up at the window—and his jaw dropped, soul flying out of his body.
Shen Zechuan kicked Xiao Chiye away at once and braced himself against the window, coughing. Red spread behind his ears; his mouth was full of wine-scent. Xiao Chiye’s breathing was unsteady, his eyes dark as he looked outside.
Ding Tao’s teeth chattered. He timidly raised a finger and pointed upward, whispering, “S-s-sorry, Young Master…”
Qiao Tianya and Gu Jin were up above, composed and wise enough to pretend they weren’t there. Without waiting for Xiao Chiye to speak, Ding Tao sprang up and ran, nimble as could be, scrambling back up the tree and vanishing onto the rooftop with a whoosh.