Jindu Wei: “…”
He watched Meng Xizhao silently, saying nothing.
Though his father was Daqi, he had been raised by his mother and later served under Zuo Xian Wang. Like what people would later call a “banana,” he was Daqi on the outside, Xiongnu on the inside.
In other words, he didn’t fall for the tearful appeals of Daqi people.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
With no reply, he had to continue. He sighed, lowered his head, and held his cup, his gaze catching the candlelight reflected on the rim. “To be honest, from the first day I saw you, I knew that if there were only one person in this world who could become my true friend, it would be you, Jindu Wei.”
Jindu Wei: “…”
I’m not speaking, and you still dare to keep talking?
He clearly didn’t believe him. But since Meng Xizhao wouldn’t drop the subject, he took a sip of wine and asked, “How so?”
Meng Xizhao lifted his eyelids slightly, showing a faint smile unlike usual. “Because you and I are the same kind of person.”
Before Jindu Wei could ask, he continued: “Even with all the gold in the world, you don’t take it with you in death. Even if your fame lasts a hundred generations, you won’t hear a word of it yourself. Only while alive, only this life, can you truly grasp in your own hands. Most people never realize that the most precious, the most real thing they have, is this very life.”
Jindu Wei listened and couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of agreement.
This, too, reflected Xiongnu values. Earning wealth, farming, and official promotion—those were the pursuits of Daqi. How do the Xiongnu prosper? Through war and struggle, through their own strength. Those who only talk cannot compare to those who can smash stone with a single punch.
From this worldview came much of Xiongnu culture: drink while there’s wine, and although they had slaves, their own people could never be enslaved.
Jindu Wei chuckled and raised his cup toward Meng Xizhao. “Among the Daqi, you live with a clear perspective.”
Meng Xizhao raised his cup in return, clinking it lightly against his. “Thank you for the compliment. I thought the same of you. But unfortunately, I now realize I was mistaken.”
Jindu Wei: “…”
He slammed his cup on the table. “Junior Minister Meng, you’re bold today.”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “Don’t blame me, Jindu Wei. I’ve always been bold—you just hadn’t noticed before.”
Jindu Wei stared at him in silence, unwilling to circle around the topic. “What exactly do you want to say?”
Meng Xizhao thought to himself: this method works better. Xiongnu respond to force, not softness. Reasoning doesn’t work; a bit of provocation does. Slightly underhanded, but effective.
He lowered his gaze, placed his cup on the table, lifted his eyelids, and spoke earnestly: “I want to save your life.”
Jindu Wei snorted, clearly thinking he was exaggerating.
Meng Xizhao ignored his attitude and focused on his eyes. “Can you tell me—when did the Xiongnu change the rule that Zuo Xian Wang would no longer be served by the khan’s sons?”
Jindu Wei crossed his arms, watching Meng Xizhao warily. “Naturally, nearly three hundred years ago, when Northern Han was founded.”
Hmm… After the Xiongnu took control of the Central Plains, they feared excessive rebellion from the locals. They also revered their ancestor Modu Chanyu, whose reign coincided with the early Han period. So they agreed to name their dynasty Northern Han.
Meng Xizhao asked again, “Do you know how many of the Zuo Xian Wang since that rule was changed actually died of natural causes?”
Jindu Wei’s crossed arms froze.
Unlike Meng Xizhao, Jindu Wei’s loyalty to Zuo Xian Wang was absolute—almost like a big golden retriever’s devotion.
But the Xiongnu weren’t particularly cultured. They didn’t write poems or compose songs; basic literacy was usually enough. Someone like Jindu Wei, fluent in three foreign languages, was already an impressive intellectual among them. Still, he didn’t know much history.
He had no idea how many Chanyus there had been, let alone the fates of the Zuo Xian Wang.
Hearing Meng Xizhao’s question, all he could recall were the few Zuo Xian Wang who were relatively close in time—the last one, and the one before that.
The previous Zuo Xian Wang had been sent to guard the northern frontier after the Chanyu’s death by the current elder Chanyu. He never returned to the steppe and died five years later from a fever. Xiongnu medicine was poor, and the northern desert even worse. There was nothing to do but endure. Even Jindu Wei couldn’t call that dying of natural causes.
The one before that had an even worse fate. He had been placed in power through a palace coup. To protect the Chanyu, the Zuo Xian Wang was hacked to death by a mob.
If it were any other matter, Jindu Wei could speak grandly: the greatest warriors die protecting their lord—it’s an incomparable honor. But when it came to the Zuo Xian Wang, he couldn’t utter those words.
Jindu Wei fell silent. Meng Xizhao smiled faintly to himself, but outwardly let out a heavy sigh. “In our Daqi, similar things happen. Every time power changes hands, the court is washed in blood. Daqi says, ‘A new official’s first three days are like three fires,’ and also, ‘Every emperor brings his own ministers.’ Human hearts are flesh—they favor some over others. Even you, Jindu Wei, treat people differently, don’t you? Today your Chanyu still trusts the Zuo Xian Wang, but who can guarantee that trust will last forever? Once it changes, or due to unforeseen circumstances disappears, it’s like a ladder suddenly removed from under someone—high up there, the Zuo Xian Wang will fall, shattered.”
Superstitious people hate hearing such unlucky words. Jindu Wei wanted to flare up, but Meng Xizhao looked at him calmly. “Don’t be angry. I’m not only talking about the Zuo Xian Wang, but also about our Crown Prince.”
“His position is even more precarious. Among all the Zuo Xian Wang, a few might have met a peaceful end, but all crown princes who never ascended—without exception—their fates were miserable.”
Jindu Wei stared him down, but finally held back his anger. “Then you can serve another wise ruler.”
Meng Xizhao smiled directly. “Do you think I’m saying this for you to hear?”
Of course he wouldn’t.
For Jindu Wei, the Zuo Xian Wang was closer than a father. Except for the particularly unscrupulous, who would call anyone else ‘father’?
Jindu Wei’s expression softened slightly. Among people who are loyal, he recognized Meng Xizhao’s words—they were of the same kind.
But they were definitely not the same path.
“Since you’ve chosen this path, don’t complain. Whatever the outcome, good or bad, you must bear it yourself.”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “I know. But it’s not the end yet. I want to break the deadlock—for both you and the Zuo Xian Wang.”
Jindu Wei gave a faint, enigmatic smile. “Junior Minister Meng, the Daqi Crown Prince is indeed trapped in a dead-end situation. But Zuo Xian Wang is not. His position among the Xiongnu is far higher than your Crown Prince.”
Meng Xizhao: “Yes, such a lofty position, yet he’s sent to Daqi to seek a princess. Just like our Crown Prince—both have walked the same path twice.”
Jindu Wei: “…”
“That’s different!”
Meng Xizhao asked, “How so?”
Jindu Wei was momentarily speechless.
The difference really was… in “seeking marriage,” the key is the first word: ‘seeking.’ You must show respect, approach someone of high status. Across cultures, giving away a daughter is always a matter of posture—even if the daughter isn’t favored, the form must be observed.
But Xiongnu despise Daqi people. Jindu Wei, who didn’t stay in the Chanyu’s court often, didn’t know all the subtleties. Deep down, he felt resentful—this task shouldn’t have fallen to Zuo Xian Wang.
Meng Xizhao quietly watched Jindu Wei’s eyes shift right, clearly recalling some unpleasant memory. Seizing the moment, he continued: “The Xiongnu have the Zuo Xian Wang, the You Xian Wang, and several princes favored by the Chanyu. If this were such a good thing, why didn’t the Chanyu send a prince? Today your eldest prince came to greet me. If he could make it to Linlü Pass, why not go further—to Daqi, replacing the Zuo Xian Wang, and bring the princess back himself?”
He smiled wryly and continued slowly: “Naturally, this is because the journey is long and difficult. The Chanyu can’t bear his own child to suffer. But Zuo Xian Wang has followed him for many years, with loyalty and hard work, and is no longer young. Yet the Chanyu does not hesitate to send him.”
Jindu Wei glared, burning with anger.
No one likes to hear blunt truths.
But Meng Xizhao wasn’t done. He wore a detached smile. “Even after serving the Chanyu personally for so many years, this is his attitude toward Zuo Xian Wang. Do you really think a future Chanyu will treat the Zuo Xian Wang as an honored elder guest?”
Jindu Wei: “…”
He fixed his gaze on Meng Xizhao. “That’s none of your business as a Daqi person.”
Meng Xizhao nodded. “Naturally. So I’m not speaking as Junior Minister of the Honglu Temple, but as a friend. I hope you understand one thing: between us, we are not competitors. If you do well, I might benefit. If you fail, it has nothing to do with me. Distance and nationality mean you can be wary of me without worrying about me. Remember: the ones who strike fastest and hardest are always those close to you, never outsiders.”
Seeing Jindu Wei’s stunned expression, Meng Xizhao knew his mission for today was accomplished. He left the bun with Jindu Wei without taking a bite himself, stood up, bid farewell, and returned to his own tent.
…Regret.
In hindsight, he should have just sent one person, leaving the one who could chop the filling back at the manor. Because having someone who could chop filling meant he was forced to eat nothing but meat every day—he was nearly sick of it.
…
Today, Meng Xizhao had said so much. The earlier parts barely mattered; their purpose was just to subtly influence Jindu Wei, to get him into the right frame of mind. What truly reached Jindu Wei’s heart was Meng Xizhao’s final words.
Compared to weak and incompetent Daqi people, or the Chanyu who only liked to toy with others, it was the Xiongnu—fierce, wolf-like, and of the same blood—that Jindu Wei feared the most.
Jindu Wei had originally fought his way out among his own people. He knew all too well what people could do for power.
In this way, a seed was planted in Jindu Wei’s heart.
Doubt… the most shameless of emotions. Once it arrives, it never leaves, embedding itself deep in the heart, forcing a permanent crack into feelings that were once solid. Many famous generals and statesmen, in the end, were undone by nothing but doubt.
At first, it seemed harmless. But as doubt grew, trouble followed.
Though the seed Meng Xizhao planted was in Jindu Wei, not the Zuo Xian Wang, anyone living among others would inevitably be influenced by those around them.
This method worked better than going directly to Zuo Xian Wang. He would never trust Meng Xizhao—but he did trust Jindu Wei, the man he had watched grow up.
…
While Meng Xizhao busied himself digging a pit for the Xiongnu, they weren’t idle either. They intended to extract some advantage from the approaching Daqi people.
There’s a saying: “Small temple, strong demon wind; shallow pond, many turtles.” It fit the Xiongnu perfectly.
At this moment, the Xiongnu nobles… cough, aristocrats, were urgently discussing how to receive the Daqi visitors.
The elder Chanyu sat on his throne, while the rest formed a circle below.
They had no rigid rules about seating; every meeting was casual, like a chat—just sit down when you enter.
When the eldest prince learned that the envoy was the Daqi Crown Prince, he immediately dispatched scouts to the Chanyu’s court to report the news. Those who hadn’t paid much attention suddenly became alert.
This was the Crown Prince!
But don’t misunderstand—they weren’t awed because of his status. They were aware that the Crown Prince could make many decisions and, hearing he was young, even younger than their Third Prince, they wanted to intimidate the boy and gain some advantage while his elders were absent.
…Truly, a country founded by bandits.
Second Prince Annuwi volunteered: “When the Daqi Crown Prince arrives, I’ll go out and challenge him. I’ve heard he’s a weakling who tires walking just two steps. He won’t dare compete with me. While he’s scared out of his mind, I’ll bring him into the palace to negotiate. He won’t dare refuse our demands.”
A noble agreed: “Exactly. Make them send even more things over. At least we should recover the costs spent on this princess. Our horses haven’t eaten well building her palace!”
Because the Chanyu was about to marry, the You Xian Wang was also invited. He scolded the two: “Stop fooling around. That’s the Crown Prince of Daqi. If you don’t give him face, how will Daqi take it? I say, be gentle.”
The Third Prince sat to the side, invisible as always, poking the floor tiles with a chuckle.
Elder Chanyu: “…”
Seeing this foolish son annoyed him. He closed his eyes and said, “Right, don’t embarrass the Daqi Crown Prince. Otherwise, the Chu Princess will also be unhappy.”
All the nobles: “…”
The princess hasn’t even arrived yet, and you’re already worrying?
You haven’t even seen what she looks like! And you want her to become the Xiongnu’s fateful concubine already? Is that reasonable?
The nobles couldn’t understand the Chanyu’s thoughts. In fact, it was simple—the old man and his young wife dynamic. The princess is high-born, fulfilling his fantasy of still being a brave young man. So, spoiling her a little wasn’t a problem.
Seeing the Chanyu accept his suggestion, the You Xian Wang smiled slightly. “No need to compete with their Crown Prince. Just spar with their guards. Beat five or six of them, and ideally kill one in the middle. Let the Crown Prince see the strength of Xiongnu warriors, then negotiate terms—it’ll have the same effect.”
Annuwi: “…”
What’s the difference from what I said?
It just stops me from showing off, right?
You old turtle, You Xian Wang—I knew you were targeting me!
Still, all the nobles thought You Xian Wang’s plan was excellent. Imagining the Daqi prince trembling in fear, they smiled in satisfaction and began discussing what advantages to extract from him.
…
Bandits, truly bandits.
First scare them, then think about what to gain.
In reality, there was nothing much to negotiate. The two countries were at peace; they couldn’t demand land from Daqi. Not asking for land meant only one thing—money.
The Xiongnu weren’t entirely without agriculture; they had some farmland. But three consecutive years of drought had devastated it. Last summer, a massive locust plague had struck, eating not just crops but even pasture. This year, the Xiongnu were barely breathing, everyone tightening belts, preferring to starve themselves than let their cattle and sheep go hungry.
After discussing for a long time, the group decided: they would take both money and grain! If the Daqi people refused, they would threaten the Crown Prince.
To become the Left or Right Xian Wang in the Xiongnu court was no small feat. The Left Xian Wang excelled at administration, and the Right Xian Wang had a particularly sharp mind. They couldn’t just stick out their hands and demand money—Daqi people cared about face, and without a proper excuse, they wouldn’t comply.
So the Right Xian Wang proposed two plans. The first was to “cry poverty” to the Daqi Crown Prince, claiming they couldn’t make ends meet, so he would support the neighbors. Then, quietly threaten them: if they didn’t help, they’d have no choice but to march south and take it by force.
The Right Xian Wang thought this plan was brilliant. But the nobles flatly refused—laughable! Begging the Daqi people for help? The Xiongnu would never stoop to such shame!
The Right Xian Wang: “……”
So he proposed a second plan.
This one involved raising the price of horses, which had not changed in twenty years.
Every spring, after the Xiongnu snow melted, the Daqi people would send someone to collect the horses—a matter just a few months away. The Crown Prince could report back to the emperor in Daqi, and then the horses would be sent. Perfectly timed, no delays.
The nobles exchanged glances and thought this plan was excellent. Of course—it was about time! Prices for cattle and sheep had gone up, but these horses had stayed the same. They should have been raised ten years ago anyway. Daqi had no choice but to import from them.
They were already confident of victory. The Xiongnu were at peace, while Daqi fought the Nanzhao every year. If they held firm and didn’t sell the horses, Daqi would certainly panic.
Even Elder Chanyu saw no problem. Thinking of the day soon when the princess and both money and grain would arrive, he cuddled his newlywed Xiongnu consort, sleeping even more soundly.
＊
Since entering Xiongnu territory, the environment had worsened day by day. Yet because it was all plains, their marching efficiency increased.
Though snow hadn’t appeared yet, the northern wind cut like knives across their faces.
Meng Xizhao pulled out his bear-hide cloak, which he wore everywhere, even over it while sleeping. The cloak was black, the fur thick and puffy. Wrapped in it, his face looked smaller, and he moved like a child stealing an adult’s coat.
Zhan Buxiu lifted the curtain of Meng Xizhao’s carriage and saw him tucking his chin inside the cloak, sitting like a round, black roly-poly toy.
Zhan Buxiu: “……”
“What do you need?”
Wearing the cloak had another benefit—it was perfect for sneaking things.
…
From under the cloak, Meng Xizhao extended a hand holding two stiff paper tubes, each with a fuse.
Zhan Buxiu blinked: “What are these?”
As soon as he took the tubes, Meng Xizhao quickly withdrew his hand and muffled, “Hand/thunder.”
“Light them and throw them at a distance. They create thunderous force, blasting a crater in the ground.”
Zhan Buxiu paused a second, staring at the seemingly harmless tubes. As a natural-born general, he immediately recognized what an advantage such a weapon could give Daqi.
Looking back at Meng Xizhao, his eyes glimmered with excitement: “And if we blow up a city gate?”
Meng Xizhao: “With enough of these, not just the gates—South Heavenly Gate itself could be blown open.”
Zhan Buxiu opened his mouth to ask more, but Meng Xizhao stopped him: “More uses later. For now, keep them safe, not on your person. They’re unstable; too much movement and they might explode. Place them where you can reach, wait for the right moment, then throw them to shock the Xiongnu.”
Zhan Buxiu froze. “You want to fight the Xiongnu?”
Meng Xizhao: “…Fight what? It’s just the few of us. What good would it do? And if we win but can’t hold the ground, what’s the point? Daqi can’t afford a losing battle.”
Zhan Buxiu was confused: “Then why bring these out?”
Meng Xizhao pursed his lips: “Just in case. We are guests here. Xiongnu always look down on us. They might try to intimidate us—I won’t watch them gloat. If they dare, I’ll turn it right back on them.”
Zhan Buxiu couldn’t help smiling at Meng Xizhao’s calm tone delivering such audacious words. He took the tubes: “Alright. Don’t worry—we won’t let them succeed.”
Meng Xizhao winked, adding: “Powerful, so don’t throw them at people—that’ll make enemies. And crouch and cover your ears after throwing.”
Zhan Buxiu: “…………”
He imagined the posture and twitched his mouth, giving no clear reply.
＊
They departed on September 15. On October 13, they finally reached the Xiongnu Chanyu’s court.
The Chanyu’s court was a large city with walls outside. Its internal layout resembled the Yingtian Prefecture, but the buildings were simpler—rough, plain, like stone-built tents.
The Chanyu lived in the palace at the city’s center. When the party arrived, the eldest prince intended to escort them straight to the Chanyu. But Cui Ye, predictably, feigned illness, claiming discomfort. Meng Xizhao anxiously urged Yu Fulan to get the Crown Prince to rest at the courier inn.
The eldest prince eyed Cui Ye’s carriage suspiciously. They’d traveled fine so far—why suddenly ill?
Recalling that when the Left Xian Wang reached Yingtian Prefecture, he didn’t immediately see Emperor Tianshou but rested a night first, the eldest prince smirked coldly.
So they were waiting.
No matter—they Xiongnu didn’t care about such minor matters. If the Daqi people fussed over it, let them rest and see how they would approach the palace tomorrow.
The princess’s palace had already been completed. The Xiongnu had no rule that the bridal chamber must be used only after the wedding, so the Chuguo princess was invited to move straight into the new palace. Once the eldest prince and the Left Xian Wang left, Meng Xizhao felt less anxious. After consulting briefly with the Crown Prince, he followed the princess’s carriage to see what the newly built palace looked like.
It was indeed large… and bore some resemblance to Daqi architecture. But it felt empty, and inside, a row of Xiongnu slaves stood there, gaunt and timid. Some of their faces even had a foreign cast. No one knew which country they had been captured from.
Once they arrived at the Chanyu’s court, the female attendants no longer kept strict watch over the princess. She felt her duty was done. This was the Xiongnu heartland—there was no way the princess could escape now.
With the attendants giving themselves a sort of leave, the responsibility of inspecting the palace fell to Meng Xizhao. He rushed about, checking the security of the palace, locating the officials in charge, handing over instructions, explaining the princess’s habits, and giving them a stern warning to ensure she would be well cared for.
When he finished, he turned and noticed the Chuguo princess staring at him with an unreadable expression.
Meng Xizhao paused. “Your Highness… is something the matter?”
The princess shook her head, remaining silent.
Meng Xizhao studied her and felt a twinge of unease.
Since being assigned to serve the princess, he saw her more often, but still couldn’t claim to understand her. They didn’t really speak, and since entering Xiongnu territory, the princess spoke even less. Her complexion was poor, and she had grown visibly thinner by the day.
It was understandable. Many people talk lightly about not wanting to live, but when faced with an incurable disease, they cry just like anyone else. The princess was no different. Though she had long known her fate—to be married off for political alliance—she had never truly felt the weight of it until it was almost upon her.
Meng Xizhao remained silent for a moment, then turned away.
Back at the courier inn, however, he reconsidered and summoned Yu Fulan.
That day, Crown Prince Cui Ye did not depart, resting at the inn instead. It wasn’t until the next morning that he, along with all the envoys, entered the Xiongnu palace to pay respects to the Chanyu.
The eldest prince did not show up at all that day.
Meng Xizhao had anticipated this, sending someone ahead to check the route. The path was clear, yet they still couldn’t prevent all the little obstacles. At the palace gate, they were stopped by the guards.
They demanded proof of their status as Daqi envoys, or they would not be allowed entry.
In this day and age, there were no ID cards. Coming with the Left Xian Wang should have been enough proof. The guards’ attitude was clearly meant to make things difficult. If this was how they treated the Crown Prince coming to escort the princess, it was no wonder no one in Daqi wanted to come to Xiongnu.
Cui Ye’s expression darkened. He wanted to turn back. If they wanted to obstruct him, he could just stay at the inn and see who would give in first.
But Meng Xizhao stepped forward, humbly approaching him, whispering something in his ear.
Cui Ye’s expression softened, and he smiled faintly, nodding.
With the Crown Prince’s approval, Meng Xizhao smiled, then signaled for Zhan Buxiu to step forward.
Yet he did not let Zhan Buxiu act immediately. He approached the guard himself. “The Xiongnu way of hospitality is something we Daqi people cannot comprehend. Your Highness, the Crown Prince, entered the Chanyu’s court yesterday with your Left Xian Wang and the eldest prince—many Xiongnu saw it. And now you demand proof of our envoy status? Why not just say it plainly—you do not want us to enter the palace to see the Chanyu.”
Even after this rebuke, the guard held his nose high, ignoring them.
Meng Xizhao’s expression instantly darkened. Pointing at the guard’s nose, he shouted, “You wretched dog! Because of traitorous servants like you, the hard-won peace between Daqi and Xiongnu is being ruined! Today, on behalf of our Crown Prince, I will teach you—and your Chanyu—a lesson!”
He spun around and commanded Zhan Buxiu: “Blow open the palace gates! We’re taking him with us to see the Chanyu!”
Speaking, he shielded the Crown Prince as he stepped back. The others, unsure of what was happening, followed suit.
The guard was bewildered, his formal speech inadequate, but he could tell he was being scolded. He opened his mouth to respond, only to see a towering, cold-faced, formidable soldier—rare even among the Xiongnu—stand not far opposite him.
The soldier’s face was icy. He took a few steps back, then hurled something toward the palace gate.
The guard, confused, looked up just in time to see the object’s arc. He noticed the short fuse slowly burning toward the top.
Meng Xizhao shouted urgently, “Cover your ears!”
He quickly fitted silk earplugs into Cui Ye’s ears, then skillfully covered his own. Some followed suit; others, unsure, did not.
Then—
“BOOM!!!”
Even Cui Ye, startled, instinctively stepped back two paces.
Zhan Buxiu was less fortunate. Closest to the blast, he hadn’t crouched to preserve his posture—now he was covered in dust.
The huge cloud of smoke and flying debris shrouded the entire palace gate. After a while, Meng Xizhao squinted and saw part of the gate had been blown apart. It was, after all, well-crafted wood; only the lower half was destroyed, forming a dog-sized hole just big enough for someone to crawl through.
And the guard? He was now sprawled on the ground.
Zhan Buxiu had thrown with impressive accuracy. He was far enough from the guard that the man wouldn’t die—but that was about the only thing he could be sure of.
Meng Xizhao was about to walk over, but Cui Ye, still tense and unsure, grabbed his sleeve. Meng Xizhao offered him a reassuring smile, and only then did Cui Ye let go.
Approaching the guard, Meng Xizhao saw the new wounds on his body and the way he clutched his leg, screaming in Xiongnu. He chuckled quietly to himself, then beckoned backward.
Immediately, some attendants came forward. Meng Xizhao directed them, “Open the gates. Let His Highness in.”
The attendants looked at Meng Xizhao with awe—they wanted to throw themselves at his feet in respect.
Meng Shaoqing, you’re incredible!
These were all men of courage. Previously, they hadn’t been able to show it because their superiors repressed them. Now, with someone willing to act decisively, they felt a surge of excitement.
They promptly obeyed, pushing open the two palace gates that had been firmly shut.
When the other Xiongnu inside and outside the palace heard the commotion and rushed over, they saw the Daqi envoys strolling calmly through.
The blast from the hand-thunder was so loud the entire palace could hear it. No one knew exactly what had happened, and even the old Chanyu ran out to see.
Clearly, everyone knew the Daqi Crown Prince was supposed to enter the palace today. Each noble was dressed in full regalia, perfectly arranged—from the old Chanyu to the Left and Right Xian Wang, and from them to the first through fifth princes.
Now, they gaped in disbelief at the Daqi party, which should have been stalled outside, walking leisurely before them.
Crown Prince Cui Ye adhered to a tit-for-tat principle. When the Left Xian Wang had merely bowed without speaking to Emperor Tianshou, he would do the same.
Since the Left Xian Wang had only bent slightly in the Xiongnu style, Cui Ye simply cupped his hands in a standard Daqi greeting. Then he withdrew his hands into his cloak, eyes cold as they fixed on Meng Xizhao. Meng Xizhao gave him a silent thumbs-up and stepped forward confidently to act as his spokesperson.
He proudly pointed outside the gate. “Respected Chanyu, no thanks are necessary. We’ve already cleared the way for you!”