Left Qianqiu had arrived just in time, leaving Qu City no chance to appoint a new commander. The legendary “Lei Chen Yutai” was a general of renown, the right-hand of “Snow Pass Silver Spear” Feng Yisheng, and a senior to Xiao Jiming, Qi Zhuyin, and Lu Guangbai. Having been away from Tianfei Que for many years, he had no personal troops. Born of humble origins, he was taken in by Ji Wufan, the commander of the Ever-Prosperous Year Jinyiwei, free from family interference. Willing to take the field, he was a boon Hai Liangyi had long sought.
While waiting for Li Jianheng to grant an audience, Left Qianqiu stood under the eaves with Xiao Chiye, watching the rain.
“You rushed all the way here, and brought nothing for me,” Left Qianqiu said, his cloak half-soaked from the journey, having rested only when changing horses. He slowed his tone. “Xiao Jiming has returned to camp. Medics are attending him… don’t worry.”
But Left Qianqiu omitted the details of Xiao Jiming’s injuries. Xiao Chiye lowered his head, silent for a moment, then asked, “What injuries?”
Left Qianqiu gazed into the rain-darkened night. “Some things, we can only say here. Someone tampered with Xiao Jiming’s rations. Even Chaohui was affected. Entire units marched sick onto the battlefield, right into Amur’s hardest fight. Xiao Jiming was struck three times; it was Chaohui who fell from his horse and, with a dozen or so battered soldiers, carried him out of the encirclement.”
Xiao Chiye clenched his fists.
Left Qianqiu’s eyes were dark as ink. Calmly, he said, “Xiao Jiming had fought with illness before. Though he appeared unharmed, years of old injuries plagued him. This time, it hit his vitality. Letting him rest for half a year is in fact a chance to restore strength.”
Yet Left Qianqiu knew them both intimately. He understood their temperaments. Xiao Jiming was gentle yet steadfast; he had not inherited Xiao Fangxu’s extraordinary physique nor his iron-willed decisiveness. What Xiao Jiming lacked, Xiao Chiye possessed. Jealousy might arise with another, but Xiao Jiming cherished family, carrying the compassion of the Northern Princess. He never harmed his younger brother. He treated them as a refuge, healing himself while protecting them. Over the years, he had never complained of pain. Lu Guangbai had often remarked: he was human—he retained desire while forcing himself to be the Northern Cavalry’s guardian.
This defeat cost half of Xiao Jiming’s lifetime honor.
At that moment, Xiao Chiye seethed at the invisible chains that bound him, his wounds chafed and bled anew. His gaze fell on the puddles, reflecting the silent torment within. He forced himself calm and said, “The camp’s rations were all prepared by our own men. My elder brother ate the same as the ordinary soldiers. This harmed him—and thousands more. This cannot go unpunished. I want their lives for it!”
“They’ve been executed,” Left Qianqiu said, looking at him. “By Xiao Jiming’s order.”
Though the North suffered a grave injustice, the record read only “adulterated military grain,” not “intentional harm.” Xiao Jiming, though wounded, had ordered the execution of the cooks before passing out, to prevent anyone framing the case as deliberate malice. Intentional harm implied a power struggle; revealing it would muddy the waters. The North was too easily manipulated. Once Xiao Jiming stepped back, command appointments would fall to Qu City. How could one know the real culprit behind the poisoned grain? A convenient scapegoat could be used. Furthermore, if spoiled grain and poisoning were only the first step, reporting “malice” would give the aristocracy room to twist facts, using Xiao Jiming’s defeat to manipulate Xiao Chiye.
“You’ve done well,” Left Qianqiu said with a faint sigh. “You didn’t speak of wanting to return to the North and rebuild the banners. Had you done so, their guilt tonight would have turned to scheming, alerting the Emperor. That would have been a hidden hazard for the future.”
“I figured the prime minister wouldn’t let me go,” Xiao Chiye said, rallying his strength. “You’re right—grasping for military authority would only alarm the Emperor. I still command twenty thousand palace troops; that’s a major taboo. Besides, at this moment, bickering is just delaying Northern affairs. Your presence, Master, solves my dead end.”
“I’ll meet the Emperor shortly, and coordinate with the Ministry of Revenue and cabinet on the redistribution of supplies. By tomorrow at dawn, I must ride back. Your father and Amur are fighting in the Eastern Mountains. Strike first—no matter what, check their momentum,” Left Qianqiu said, briefly outlining the military situation. “I haven’t led troops in a while. Once at camp, I need to familiarize myself. The North differs from Tianfei Que; Northern Cavalry favors offense, while I mostly trained in defense. I’ll need to coordinate with your father. One more thing: Chaohui is seriously wounded. His family is limited to his sister, married into Qu City. Make sure Chen Yang visits the Ministry of Rites to assure them of his safety.”
Xiao Chiye nodded. Fu Man arrived to escort Left Qianqiu inside. The general glanced at Xiao Chiye one last time. “Take care of yourself, alone in Qu City.”
Xiao Chiye bowed. Left Qianqiu stepped forward, lifting the curtain and entering.
Fei Sheng had, in recent days, been fortunate to assist Jiang Qingshan with affairs. Tonight, with Juexi’s military grain compromised, Jiang Qingshan, the provincial administrator, also had to attend Mingli Hall; he would be out for hours. Fei Sheng, wanting rest, sent a small eunuch to fetch him food.
Seated cross-legged in a rattan chair, he heard the door and, by candlelight, saw Han Cheng. He quickly rose to bow.
Having ridden through rain, Han Cheng gestured for him to stand. Fei Sheng helped remove his cloak. Han Cheng asked, “Has the Emperor already sent someone to question?”
Fei Sheng understood he meant another matter, and respectfully said, “Marshal Left has arrived.”
“Left Qianqiu?” Han Cheng paused, stunned. “The King of the North is swift—leaves no room for others. Once he arrives, Qu City has no equal. The Northern Cavalry remains the Northern Cavalry.”
Fei Sheng nodded, offering no comment. He knew these affairs were beyond his involvement. Han Cheng, reading his thoughts, disdained such timidity.
Illegitimate sons were like this: timid, lacking boldness, focused on petty gains, never aspiring.
Han Cheng, though thinking this, still gently advised, “Though this concerns Jiang Qingshan, it’s not his doing. No one will blame him. Following him is a good path. Next month, he goes to Zhongbo; future Jinyiwei fieldwork will rely on you. Sheng, do well.”
Fei Sheng hurriedly agreed, escorting Han Cheng outside. Lowering his head to adjust the hem, he noticed dirt on the fabric. Quickly, he brushed it off, fawning: “Did you walk here? How come—”
Han Cheng abruptly yanked the sleeve; Fei Sheng fell silent.
Outside, the downpour blurred the candlelight. In that instant, Fei Sheng’s face darkened, but in a blink, he smiled, flattering, “The mud’s gone. Safe travels, sir.”
Han Cheng eyed him, slowly released the sleeve, smiled, and after a long pause said, “Attend to your duties.”
Once Han Cheng left, Fei Sheng’s expression hardened. By candlelight, he inspected his fingertips, seeing traces of dirt mixed with wood ash, darkened by rain, with hints of red clay. It could not escape his eyes.
The Xi estate had burned. The Xi family’s red clay dye was rare and imported. Even the most affluent mansions could not match their skill. No other household in Qu City could possess it.
What was Han Cheng doing at the Xi estate?
Fei Sheng wiped his fingers, cold sweat forming from his encounter with Han Cheng. Standing under the lamp, his thoughts scrambled, yet one certainty remained: in that glance, Han Cheng had marked him for death.
The next day, Left Qianqiu rode back to the North. Xiao Chiye, with Hai Liangyi, escorted him out of the city. He could not return, but could dispatch Chen Yang and Gu Jin to supervise grain transport with officials from Huaizhou and Cizhou. This time, military supplies could not fail. Xiao Chiye did not trust the Six Ministries. He had stationed Wang Xian in Cizhou and recalled Liang Jiashan to Huaizhou, ensuring that all logistics for the Northern Cavalry remained under his eyes.
“When Liang Jiashan returns,” Xiao Chiye, sleepless, wiped his face with a cold cloth, “I must properly thank him.”
Shen Zechuan, in the carriage, having stayed overnight at the hall, said, “I’ve settled his family in the residence, with guards at night, so he can focus on duties. Huaizhou is unlike Cizhou; they have no ties to us. Preparing grain in such a short time, they must have been reluctant.”
“Eight years’ exemption from grain deliveries—Hai Liangyi considered them because they could handle it,” Xiao Chiye said, covering with a cloth, leaning against the carriage wall. After a pause, he added, “Today we must apprehend Wei Huaigu. He must not escape the Ministry of Punishments.”
They had connections with Minister of Punishments Kong Qiu from previous gatherings, but that could not rival Hai Liangyi’s authority. Xiao Chiye resolved to cut off Wei Huaigu’s escape, letting the case bypass the Three Departments, leaving it to the Jinyiwei—into Shen Zechuan’s hands.
“Wei Huaigu,” Shen Zechuan said, fiddling with the official badge on the small table, dark in thought. “He intercepted the courier report, intending to prevent it reaching the throne, but suddenly changed his mind. There must be a reason.”
Xiao Chiye recalled Wei Huaigu in Mingli Hall last night. “He behaved unusually. By his nature, he would have shirked responsibility or blamed someone in the Ministry. Yet he neither argued nor evaded, answering questions calmly.”
Shen Zechuan paused, fingers clicking. “Baima Prefecture’s harvest last year was abundant. Now, with the grain substituted, where did such a large stock go?”
Xiao Chiye tore off the cloth, gripping it in his hand. “Greed kills. If the grain left Baima Prefecture via the Hezhou waterways, it could bypass Qu City, reach Zhongbo, and be sold as high-priced civilian grain.”
“Rumors of Jiang Qingshan taking Zhongbo’s administrative post existed before the year’s end. If someone exploited this, the situation becomes clear,” Shen Zechuan said, meeting Xiao Chiye’s eyes. “Someone in the Juexi Administration has been colluding with merchants to resell military grain. Before, Jiang Qingshan strictly supervised, so only minor offenses occurred. Now, with him reassigned, the office can no longer supervise Juexi’s grain logistics—giving them a chance. No one expected them to be so bold, even replacing it with moldy grain.”
“Few could consume such quantities themselves,” Xiao Chiye said, eyes dark. “Without their own merchant fleet, no one would dare risk it.”
“Xi Hongxuan,” Shen Zechuan said slowly.
“Xi Hongxuan,” Xiao Chiye confirmed. “His death is not because of us, but because he became a pawn in someone else’s scheme. Wei Huaigu tried to make him take the blame in the collapse case. Perhaps they had privately traded military grain, and Wei Huaigu, fearing strict investigation on Xi Hongxuan, wanted him dead.”
Shen Zechuan pondered a moment. “Correct. Xi Hongxuan said Wei Huaigu did it for money. That he agreed so quickly shows he knew Wei Huaigu’s nature. Xi Hongxuan is dead; Wei Huaigu has no need to risk further. I suspect Wei Huaigu did not act alone. Yet, due to past dealings, someone held leverage over him. Seeing the courier report, he realized he was being used and could not escape. His silence suggests he knows the instigator. He may be sacrificing himself, like Hua Siqian, to stop the losses for the Wei family.”
Xiao Chiye listened to the rain, weary in the midst of intrigue. Xiao Jiming had done nothing wrong; the North executed the cooks to prevent being used as pawns.
No—perhaps it was more than pawns. The defeat might have been intended to weaken Northern military power, dismantling the Xiao family’s command, placing the Northern Cavalry under Qu City’s control. Even if they could not seize the North immediately, they could enforce oversight, restraining the Xiao family.
“If Marshal Left hadn’t arrived last night,” Shen Zechuan grasped Xiao Chiye’s hand in the cramped carriage, “this morning Qu City’s new appointments would already be issued. The Northern Cavalry would no longer be the Northern Cavalry.”
Xiao Chiye’s hand was cold. After a long moment, he lifted his hand to touch Shen Zechuan’s hair, voice hoarse: “The Northern Cavalry is the Great Zhou’s Cavalry… founded by Father’s own hand. It is far more important than me or my elder brother. All these years, Qu City doesn’t understand—we build a bronze wall and iron gate in the North, not serve as traitors or rebels.”