Ding Tao sat cross-legged under the corridor, picking through the fruits on the silver tray, counting them over and over. He stayed there, letting no one disturb him. The sky was already darkening, a few streaks of waning sunlight lingering on the courtyard walls, fragments of sunset scattered among the locust leaves.
Shen Zechuan had just woken. Having slept too long and too deeply, his waist and back ached, and fatigue weighed heavily upon him. He opened the room door and, seeing Ding Tao, was momentarily stunned.
Ding Tao, under Shen Zechuan’s gaze, fidgeted nervously, scratching at his ears. He turned away, still clutching a fruit in his hand, and said anxiously, “Young Master… please, have… have some breakfast.”
Shen Zechuan leaned on the doorframe, standing still for a moment before asking in a hoarse voice, “…What time is it?”
“Evening hour,” Ding Tao replied with surprising clarity, quickly adding, “Young Master, you’ve slept all day! The master left the city at dawn, accompanied by Lord Zhou and Mr. Cheng Feng.”
A faint flush remained at the corner of Shen Zechuan’s eyes, tinted by the lingering amber glow of sunset, giving him the appearance of someone lightly intoxicated. His pale face, bowed eyes, and the way he slipped into his shoes made Ding Tao think he looked exceptionally handsome.
“Still no word from West Ju?” Shen Zechuan descended the steps but didn’t rush off, standing under the locust tree, tilting his head slightly to take in the sky, gradually shaking off the weariness from the night before.
“None,” Ding Tao said, following behind him. Seizing the moment Shen Zechuan hadn’t turned around, he quickly stuffed the half-eaten fruit into his mouth, gnawing it down with a grim intensity.
Seeing no sudden movements, Shen Zechuan knew Xiao Chiyu had taken him. When he turned his head, Ding Tao choked and coughed. Shen Zechuan paused for a moment and said, “No one’s taking it from you. You can eat slowly if you like.”
Tears pricked Ding Tao’s eyes from the coughing. He waved his hands, tugging at his front garment with effort, and said, “M-Master, cough! Shall we go see Lord Zhou? He and Mr. Cheng Feng had dinner in the main hall and are discussing matters now.”
Shen Zechuan nodded. “Let’s go.”
Lord Zhou had just finished his meal and was in the study, meeting with Kunling and the officials of Cizhou. Upon hearing Shen Zechuan’s arrival, he immediately stood and had the others leave.
“Marquis said the Administrator wasn’t well today. We thought military matters would be discussed tomorrow, but the Administrator has arrived regardless,” Kunling said, leading Shen Zechuan to the main seat and easing any awkwardness before sitting. He then added, subtly inclined toward him, “Though it’s still June, our mansion grows tall trees, so the nights are cool. The Administrator is used to Quan Du; please take care of your health while here.”
Shen Zechuan sipped tea to soothe his throat, the hoarseness easing slightly, before asking, “Mr. Cheng Feng is correct. He said military affairs could be discussed tomorrow. Have you, then, already drafted the outline today?”
“Since the Administrator formed the alliance with us, I’ve gathered the mansion’s staff along with officials of Cizhou to compile a simple booklet over the past few days,” Zhou Gui said, resting a hand on his knee. Kunling rose and presented the booklet to Shen Zechuan. “These are merely proposals. The specifics will require your approval. If anything is amiss, we can discuss it tonight.”
Though he mentioned waiting for Shen Zechuan’s approval, his remark about discussing changes implied most of the content had already been decided. Shen Zechuan’s position was awkward: he had wealth but no real authority. He could converse with them, but Xiao Chiyu’s stance remained decisive. Zhou Gui might appreciate or even respect him, but the administrative power of Cizhou was not his to claim; they had agreed to an alliance, not submission.
Shen Zechuan examined the booklet. The study was quiet; outside, only Ding Tao played with sparrows, and no attendants interrupted. Kunling, sipping tea, felt a subtle unease, scrutinizing Shen Zechuan’s expression yet detecting no clue to his thoughts. Turning to Zhou Gui, his worry deepened.
Shen Zechuan was young yet remarkably shrewd. After several days of interaction, no one could tell whether he was pleased or displeased, leaving them unable to act with certainty. The booklet, in part, was also a trial to gauge his reaction.
As twilight deepened, Shen Zechuan closed the booklet. He traced the rim of his tea cup, remaining silent.
Kunling, being a secretary, could not override Zhou Gui in the study. Zhou Gui, lighting a lamp and slightly turning toward Shen Zechuan, carefully said, “Administrator, what are your thoughts?”
“The records of fluctuations in grain, firewood, and oil over the past few years are clear,” Shen Zechuan replied with a smile. “The projected expenditures for next year are reasonable. You even accounted for the share to be allocated to the garrison. You’ve considered every detail.”
Zhou Gui exhaled slightly, relieved, though he didn’t know why he had been tense. Listening to Shen Zechuan, he said, “This booklet isn’t my effort alone—it’s thanks to Mr. Cheng Feng and the other colleagues. Shall we begin discussing the city walls’ defenses?”
Shen Zechuan paused his fingers. “Not yet. I have some questions.”
“Please,” Zhou Gui urged.
“The projected expenditures for next year include both rebuilding the garrison and allocating sixteen thousand dan of grain to the twenty-thousand-strong imperial patrol. Together, that totals one hundred ten thousand dan of grain,” Shen Zechuan considered. “This is based on last year’s harvest in Cizhou, and on the current intended personnel numbers. Yet I notice an unallocated ten thousand dan remaining.”
“That’s correct,” Zhou Gui replied.
Though Xiao Chiyu had said he did not seek compensation, they could not genuinely leave it unpaid. The sixteen thousand dan would sustain the imperial patrol for only two and a half months—more than the monthly ration for the two-thousand-strong Cizhou garrison. It wouldn’t last a year, but it was their best effort.
Worried Shen Zechuan might feel it insufficient, Zhou Gui earnestly explained, “I presented Cizhou’s accounts to the Administrator so you and the Marquis could understand. This year, with instability in the Great Zhou, last year’s grain was redirected to Li Bei and Luoshan—unexpected events. In previous years, West Ju’s granaries shouldered the burden; now it falls on Cizhou and Huai. I don’t know details of Huai, but Cizhou has saved and economized. I am not complaining—we endure this strain, but only for a couple of months, which coincides with autumn harvests, so it is manageable. This remaining sixteen thousand dan, please explain to the Marquis—it is not an excuse, just careful planning.”
Zhou Gui’s brow, often furrowed, already bore the lines of worry. He paced the study and said, “Cizhou relies on the heavens; next year’s harvest is uncertain. With the state of the Great Zhou, if war erupts, newly cultivated fields could be destroyed. Even if the garrison is rebuilt, the city’s people might not be fed. We reserve surplus grain not just as emergency rations but for Li Bei’s iron cavalry. Administrator, it is not unwillingness to provide the Marquis, but the iron cavalry, defending the frontier against the most formidable border cavalry, is more critical than the imperial patrol.”
“Cizhou agreed to the alliance partly because my heart was wounded by the Wei family grain case, and partly because the Marquis is the second son of the Xiao family, which eased many concerns. That courtesy is for both you and the Heir. Though the Administrator has promised continued access to Northeast grain routes, I must also leave a safeguard. West Ju is the granary of the Great Zhou; everyone covets it, and the Empress Dowager covets it even more.”
“All I’ve said comes from the heart,” Zhou Gui concluded, bowing slowly to Shen Zechuan. “Survival in troubled times is difficult for all. As governor, Cizhou’s safety is my priority. You and the Marquis have relieved Cizhou’s hardships—I would willingly risk all for you. If Cizhou has a good harvest this year, we could increase allocations next year, but Cizhou simply cannot supply the imperial patrol as it does the iron cavalry. Let me be clear: if border cavalry invade in autumn or supplies run low in spring, Cizhou will feed Li Bei’s iron cavalry first, then the imperial patrol.”
The study’s candlelight was dim. Zhou Gui lived simply; aside from hosting Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiyu once, the family ate plain meals, sometimes even tree bark during famine years. Though Cizhou appeared among Zhongbo’s wealthiest areas, it was still harsh compared to other regions. Providing grain placed immense pressure on Zhou Gui.
From the moment Xiao Chiyu first rode out, Zhou Gui had suggested requesting Li Bei’s cavalry support—not a spur-of-the-moment idea, but deeply ingrained.
The Zhongbo defeat had been recounted countless times, yet outsiders could never empathize. Zhou Gui, haunted by the losses, even developed a habit of restless nights at the sound of patrol whistles. The Tea-Stone River line had been utterly devastated—massacres so extensive that, while Quan Du recorded them merely as lines on paper, for Zhongbo they were real tragedies.
Cizhou’s survival owed entirely to Li Bei’s iron cavalry. In Zhou Gui’s and Cizhou’s eyes, they were far more crucial than the imperial patrol. With Xiao Jiming’s impending arrival—“Iron Horse on Ice River”—the Great Zhou’s northeast frontier had an unbeatable safeguard against the border cavalry. Lei Jingzhe dared to plunder Cizhou but had no intention of occupying it. He planned to seize supplies and report success to Quan Du, fearing Xiao Jiming would redeploy forces south.
Though Xiao Jiming had been wounded in the grain affair, no one had witnessed it. Those who followed him did not dare to believe; those who opposed him did not dare to gamble. If the old-line ministers, led by Hai Liangyi, feared Xiao Fangxu, the younger generation feared Xiao Jiming even more.
The study was silent, the candle flames flickering.
Shen Zechuan felt the soreness in his back and waist. The marks left by Xiao Chiyu’s bite still lingered on the collarbone hidden beneath his robes. Oddly, in this solemn, serious moment, his mind wandered to Xiao Chiyu’s sweat-slicked face, his strong arms, the kisses tracing along his neck as he breathed.
He remembered everything about Xiao Chiyu—except for any flaw that made him worse than Xiao Jiming.
Shen Zechuan remained silent for a brief moment, his thoughts fleeting, before saying, “Sir, I understand what you have explained. With Ce’an, I have come to collect temporary grain; next year, it will be fully returned.”
Zhou Gui’s face immediately paled. He tried to explain: “Administrator, we are not—”
“The issue I wish to discuss,” Shen Zechuan interrupted, “is not that you allocated too little grain to the imperial patrol, but that you allocated too much.” He gestured for Zhou Gui to sit and continued clearly, “Cizhou’s willingness to provide so much grain demonstrates sincerity. Yet, as I mentioned before, the imperial patrol only needs Cizhou’s grain for now. In the future, their supply channels are sufficient; they will not need to rely on Cizhou’s granaries.”
Zhou Gui, feeling somewhat dull-witted, dared not speak out of turn and looked to Kunling. “Mr. Cheng Feng drafted the booklet and understands the details better than I do. Cheng Feng, please explain to the Administrator.”
Cheng Feng rose, holding the back of his chair, and asked, “Administrator, you are so confident the imperial patrol will never lack grain and that the Northeast grain route can continue—yet we cannot conceive how to ensure this. Could you kindly explain? Otherwise, the patrol will still have to take the grain.”
Shen Zechuan lightly traced the tea cup’s rim. “Before that, let me ask: does Cizhou have to rely solely on local resources in the future?”
Cheng Feng replied, “Cizhou’s position is constrained. If not, survival would be impossible.”
“I see quite the opposite,” Shen Zechuan set down his cup. “Cizhou’s position was indeed difficult: to the north, Li Bei; south, Chazhou; east, Dun and Duan; west, restrained by Dancheng. Movement was limited. But that was when Cizhou was subordinate to Quan Du. Now, with your strong ties to Li Bei, Dancheng cannot leverage Quan Du’s authority over Cizhou. Dunzhou is occupied by bandits, with openings soon to be cleared. Cizhou’s surrounding walls are collapsing on three sides, and Chazhou is no longer a barrier but an opportunity.”
Zhou Gui hesitated, smoothing the wrinkles in his robes. “Administrator, what do you mean?”
“Chazhou lies along a waterway to Hezhou. After the defeat, traveling merchants from Hezhou used it to sell grain at exorbitant prices, profiting from local bandits. It would be a waste if this route were used only for others to get rich.”
“But Chazhou is still controlled by bandits, connected to the Yan family of Hezhou. They won’t allow Cizhou to trade freely,” Cheng Feng said urgently. “And what could we sell? Compared to Hezhou, Cizhou is a backwater.”
“Grain,” Shen Zechuan said.
Upon hearing this, Zhou Gui immediately rose. “Impossible! Wouldn’t that make us no different from unscrupulous officials and merchants in West Ju, profiteering from official grain?”
“Calm yourself,” Shen Zechuan said, his eyes so tranquil that Zhou Gui instinctively sat down again. “The reason West Ju and Hezhou have profiteers is because of grain shortages across Zhongbo, especially in Chazhou. In Quan Du, one tael of silver buys two dan of grain; in West Ju, one tael buys 1.5 dan; but in Chazhou, one tael buys only two dou. The bandits in Chazhou extract silver from the remaining populace, leaving registered commoners unable to survive. Those forced into banditry only increase. The reason Lei Changming—also known as Lei Jingzhe—could expand his forces so quickly within six months is the same. By selling grain at a slightly higher price than in Quan Du, Cizhou actually helps Chazhou.”
“But,” Cheng Feng frowned, “if we sell grain to Chazhou, the granary will inevitably have gaps. We hold only silver—won’t we then be in Chazhou’s current predicament, with West Ju and Hezhou profiteers demanding more?”
“Hezhou is far. Business there doesn’t need to rush. When I left Quan Du, I knew a bit about Huai Zhou. In preparing military grain, Huai contributed half, leaving the granary ample. Southwest lies Dichen, connected to West Ju’s seaport. Huai needs cash to trade via Dichen. Cizhou can sell grain to Chazhou first, then buy back from Huai at a lower price. The remaining silver can support other areas, keeping granaries full, ensuring reserves for Li Bei’s iron cavalry—or Cizhou itself.”
Shen Zechuan had previously managed the Jinyiwei’s military craftsmen in Nanzhen and could access their annual records of commodity prices. Ge Qing initially wanted to copy them, but Shen Zechuan memorized everything overnight, wary of leaving critical knowledge to paper. It proved wise—leaving Quan Du in haste, nothing could be taken, but the records and archives went with him.
Zhou Gui pondered. “If Huai refuses…”
“Feasible! Huai eastwards leads to Luoxia Pass, from which goods can be sent to the seaport.” Cheng Feng grew increasingly excited, pacing and slapping his thigh. “Yes! It should have been done this way long ago! If Cizhou remains inflexible, it will remain trapped in the old cage. Feasible, feasible!”
Shen Zechuan remained silent on how the Northeast grain route would continue, but Cheng Feng no longer cared. By candlelight, he could see Cizhou’s potential. Though he had suspected Shen Zechuan of cunning during Lei Changming’s affair, he now forgot, wanting to thank him. Recalling Xiao Chiyu, he restrained himself, lowering his hands and repeatedly saying, “This way, even if surplus grain accumulates in the coming years, it won’t rot in the granaries.”
“Then let’s discuss the garrison,” Zhou Gui said across the table, “and the city wall defenses.”
Shen Zechuan sipped hot tea, about to speak, when Ding Tao peeked into the study, waving vigorously.
“What is it?” Shen Zechuan stood and approached the door.
Ding Tao had just returned, sweating profusely. “Young Master! Young Master! They’re back!”
Zhou Gui and Cheng Feng followed and saw Ding Tao, previously excited, close his eyes and burst into tears. Shen Zechuan, sensing this, stepped out. Indeed, Ding Tao choked out between sobs, “Young Master! All the brothers are back! Qiao Tianya is back! And Ji—”
Shen Zechuan strode across the now darkened courtyard, still holding his tea cup, spilling some onto his hand, which burned but went unnoticed. The short distance left him drenched in sweat.
Outside the mansion, several carts waited. Under lantern light stood tall men, one shorter wearing a cloak at the cart’s side.
Shen Zechuan’s chest rose and fell; his eyes were red, but he forced himself to conceal it.
Ji Gang, hearing the commotion, turned, nearly tripping on the steps. His white hair tousled, lips trembling, he almost could not call out, tears streaming freely.
“Chuan…” Ji Gang, like a white-haired child, waved frantically, choking, “You… you…”
Shen Zechuan quickly descended to support him. Ji Gang grasped his arm tightly, taking in Shen Zechuan from head to toe. Once a Jinyiwei in Quan Du, later a blacksmith in Duanzhou, he had suffered great loss, yet always maintained a tough facade. Now, seeing Shen Zechuan, he could not control his tears.
“Chuan’er…” Ji Gang wiped his eyes with rough fingers, repeating the sight over and over, his countless words condensed into, “It’s good you’re alright.”
He was travel-worn and thinner. Qi Hui had died; he could not forgive it, and feared Shen Zechuan would suffer after leaving Quan Du. Riding hard, eating and sleeping poorly, all hardships pressed down his already stooped back. Once a man renowned across the land, he now had a frail body, yet still wished to shield Shen Zechuan from wind and rain. For this son, he would ride thousands of miles and face any foe. He asked for nothing, only Shen Zechuan’s survival.
“How did you get so thin!” Ji Gang exclaimed, unable to contain himself.
“Master,” Shen Zechuan’s voice trembled, “how did you get so thin?”
“I am old, worn by hardship.” Ji Gang hurriedly wiped his tears, smiling. “Now I see you, Master is fine!”
Qiao Tianya moved the broken tea cup aside, kneeling on one knee to lighten the mood. “Though the journey added months, we succeeded. Master, some food and wine? Master, let us sit and discuss!”
The small courtyard now filled with people. Cheng Feng called the kitchen to stir-fry dishes and set up tables outdoors, welcoming the Jinyiwei and Li Bei’s guards.
Qiao Tianya chased Ding Tao’s plump sparrow with chopsticks, teasing, “Everyone else is thin from travel, yet you’ve fattened it up—planning to serve it with drinks for the brothers?”
Ding Tao, delighted, scooped up the sparrow and replied quickly, “No!”
Gu Jin, hungry, stuffed cotton into his right ear and turned left, muttering while eating, “Are you itching to bully the kid?”
“On the road, I didn’t withhold your rations,” Chen Yang said, sipping wine. “Why are you still this hungry?”
“Bone brother gave food to beggar children along the way,” Fei Sheng, familiar with them, said tactfully. “I saw him—kindhearted—he spent coins buying buns for them.”
“Help in emergencies, not to feed the poor,” Chen Yang advised. “You can’t soften up for everyone you see crying. Grain is scarce everywhere—you must exercise moderation.”
“You spent the money?” Ding Tao leaned over. “Jin, didn’t you give it to me before? I was saving to marry a wife. I remembered clearly. Two years ago, you borrowed three coins during New Year—you know it’s written in my book. But I don’t care about the money, really, I don’t…”
Gu Jin, enjoying his meal, requested a jar of home wine.
“Only three cups,” Qiao Tianya had already set down his chopsticks. “We must report to our master later. Drunk, you’ll forget the Marquis’ previous punishment. I advise caution.”
Usually playful, Qiao Tianya now showed authority, his tone calm but firm.
Gu Jin frowned, still nodded. “I’m just craving it—I haven’t drunk for months.”
Ding Tao gradually fell silent. As the youngest, usually treated as a brother, none withheld treats from him. Naturally fearless and perceptive, he sensed the older brothers’ tension. Holding his little sparrow, he sat quietly to the side, neither noisy nor mischievous.
The meal was mostly finished when Kunling arranged for people to clear the courtyard, letting the weary travelers rest. By now it was past midnight. Shen Zechuan asked Ding Tao to escort Ji Gang to rest, while the others, with matters to report, stood in the corridor in order, ready to enter one by one.
“Come in together and sit; we’ll discuss everything at once.” Once they were all inside, Shen Zechuan took the main seat and first asked Chen Yang, “How is the preparation of military grain proceeding?”
Chen Yang sat upright, gathering his words before saying, “Not smoothly. Just as the Young Master anticipated before departure, the officials in Huai Zhou stalled constantly, reluctant to prepare the grain. With the fighting in Li Bei urgent, your two-day deadline nearly passed. I was anxious, until Lord Jiang at Luoxia Pass personally guaranteed it, then Huai Zhou finally released the grain. Fortunately, it reached in time, via the grain route, without delaying military matters.” He paused, then added, “I saw the Crown Prince in Li Bei; he was gravely injured. Upon hearing that the Young Master was besieged in Quan Du, he wanted to lead troops to rescue you, but the Prince of the West forbade it.”
Shen Zechuan did not probe further, instead turning to Gu Jin. “When you came to Cizhou to inspect the grain, Zhou Gui was not as difficult as Huai Zhou’s officials. Why do you look troubled now?”
Gu Jin was slightly taken aback at being named. Those present noticed his distraction. Shen Zechuan looked at him and said, “…I encountered no obstruction when supervising grain preparation in Cizhou. I delivered supplies ahead with the troops and even met the Prince at the Hongyan East Mountains.”
He spoke slowly, pausing for a long moment.
“I heard the Young Master had left Quan Du and awaited his return. Later, meeting Chen Yang in the army, we learned the Young Master had stopped in Cizhou, so we hurried here.”
Li Bei lay north of Cizhou, so by logic, they should have arrived faster than Qiao Tianya.
Shen Zechuan tapped his fingers on the table, skipped past that, and said to Qiao Tianya, “You, then—explain in detail.”
Qiao Tianya rested his arms on the chair, answering promptly: “Following the Young Master’s orders, I went searching, tracking in the Xue residence, discovering Xue Xiuzhuo had moved Master to the Donglongya Trading House, yet the teacher’s whereabouts were unknown. We were a step behind… unable to leave the city gates, we hid in Quan Du. I looked to Fei Sheng—he was also evading the aristocratic family’s search. We tried every way to leave, but Officer Han blocked Quan Du entirely. Having nowhere to go, we took refuge in the Marquis’ Mei residence. There, I discovered the distribution map of Quan Du’s official channels, extracted from the Pan family by the Marquis.”
This map had been acquired by Xiao Chiyu during the ennoblement feast from Pan Lan, intended as a contingency for himself, yet inadvertently became the key for Qiao Tianya and his group to escape Quan Du.
“We climbed out through the official channels,” Fei Sheng said, holding up his hand, “all the city channels were newly dug, narrow outside, wide inside, with some candlelight and dry rations. Over ten days, fifty-plus of us used these supplies, bypassing the Eight Garrison troops, finally exiting near Maple Mountain.”
“Once outside, strict inspections on the official roads between the eight cities forced us to pawn our gold, silver, and jade, disguising ourselves as traveling merchants. From southern Cuo City, we circled to Chazhou, then hurried to Cizhou,” Qiao Tianya continued. “Half a month ago, in Chazhou, we heard Officer Han had already escorted the imperial heir to the palace. After leaving Chazhou, all contact ceased; further details await Ge Qing’s letters.”
Shen Zechuan pondered silently. He heard Ding Tao moving in the corridor. When Ding Tao reached the doorway, he said, “You two are tired—follow Ding Tao tonight and rest.”
Fei Sheng, sensing the cue, did not insist on displaying loyalty that night, stood swiftly, and exited with Qiao Tianya after calling to the Young Master.
The candle flickered once.
Gu Jin had not lifted his head, immersed in the dim light; the candle cast shadows on his profile, like two small figures wrestling.
Shen Zechuan remained unusually calm. “What happened to you two in Li Bei?”
Chen Yang raised a hand to partially shield his face, elbow on the chair. “…Nothing happened to me before the Crown Prince. It’s Gu Jin.”
Gu Jin, in the oppressive silence, loosened his buttons, removed his shirt, and turned his back, exposing his entire back to Shen Zechuan. He said, “These matters should have been reported directly to the Young Master, but he was away. Following his instructions in Quan Du, I report first to you. I reached the most intense battle zones; the Prince and Left Marshal are safe. After the grain inspection, I temporarily served as the vanguard scout, interacting daily with the Han She cavalry. One day returning from the East Mountains with a small team, we were ambushed.”
His back showed severe erosion, some areas scraped raw; where wrapped in gauze, blood still seeped.
“I was hit by an arrow but escaped. I initially thought it was Han She troops, so led the remaining 200 men around their territory through the swamps of Tuda Dragon Banner. That night, we were ambushed again.” Gu Jin pulled his shirt back on, fastening it. “I am a scout by training, selected by the Prince for vigilance. Though my time in Quan Du was less than before, under the Young Master’s guidance, I dared not be careless, especially in battle. That night, following direct orders without consulting anyone, I was ambushed twice, leading me to suspect a Han She informant among our ranks.”
“On the second escape route, I noticed the arrow was poisoned with snake venom, the same Ding Tao once applied on steel needles in the Hongyan West Mountains. My back was severely wounded, and in the swamp, pursued closely, bitten by venomous insects, I could not endure, and by dawn had a fever.”
He paused.
Speaking quietly, careful with every word, aware of its weight:
“Our horses drowned in the swamp. We couldn’t proceed. Ten or so li south of Tuda Dragon Banner lay Li Bei’s permanent cavalry camp. Strangely, no one patrolled that day. I sent a trusted officer ahead to wait for reinforcements, but from dusk to dawn, none came. Fearing informants, I pressed on. After narrowly surviving to the camp, I was detained, spending a night in the edge-sand prisoner pens, and the next day brought before the front command under Guo Weili.”
Gu Jin omitted details of the trial, unwilling to relive it; it was not physical pain, but the collapse of certain convictions.
In a whisper: “They accused me of colluding with Han She, causing the vanguard’s annihilation, stripping my rank, demanding I disclose instructions I never received. I denied it. I asked why my urgent reports were ignored twice; they claimed not to have received them. By military law, execution requires three generals’ review and the commander’s confirmation—but Guo Weili insisted the Crown Prince’s injury gave him authority. Had Chen Yang not arrived that day, I would never have seen the Young Master.”
Shen Zechuan removed the wick from the candle; the flame went out in a flicker. He stared at the extinguished wax, a thousand thoughts flashing instantly. He did not need reminders; he remembered from his Ministry of War service that Guo Weili had been personally promoted by Xiao Jiming.
Xiao Chiyu followed the traces left by Lei Jingzhe, reaching the old camp’s north. Dismounting, he scooped some soil, squinting toward the horizon.
Dantai Hu scanned the mountains. “If we continue north, we risk Li Bei’s border. They won’t go there, only splitting to flee. Master, I suspect he’s leading them on—it’s exhausting to chase.”
“He is indeed leading them on,” Xiao Chiyu released his grip. “Small groups scatter; a big net won’t catch them. But dispersing risks falling into traps. He avoids direct confrontation because he cannot withstand the imperial patrol’s charge, fearing his men scatter. Familiar with this land, he aims to lure us apart and defeat us piece by piece.”
“We lack sufficient cavalry,” Dantai Hu assessed the terrain. “That scoundrel is cunning!”
“Not in a rush.” Xiao Chiyu stood.
Returning from reconnaissance, his hawk perched on his shoulder, following Xiao Chiyu in the night wind. Grass rustled; willow leaves drifted across.
“Of the five troops, fire is the fiercest,” Xiao Chiyu said, mounting. “I’ll burn them until they have nowhere to hide.”
Dantai Hu hesitated. “But the trees here—fires may spread to Li Bei’s grasslands.”
Xiao Chiyu laughed on horseback. “I don’t mean here. Go to villages along the way, post notices: anyone harboring bandits will be executed. Inform the imperial patrol; reward by headcount—whatever they earn, I match. Also, announce Cizhou’s conscription notice: daily meals guaranteed, especially those previously rewarded by the imperial patrol. Lei Jingzhe refuses to be found, so I’ll make him reveal himself.”
Dantai Hu hesitated again. “But we’re out of funds…”
“Report the exact amount to Lanzhou,” Xiao Chiyu reined in, looking back. “Can’t afford the coins?”
Dantai Hu looked sheepish.
Xiao Chiyu twisted his counting beads, expression cold. “Oh.”