June was nearly over, and the garrison army in Cizhou had begun to take shape. It was time for Xiao Chiye to continue north. During his two months in Zhongbo, he had not sent a single private letter to Libei, nor had Libei sent him any family correspondence.
Meng’s hunting flights grew longer and longer. Xiao Chiye knew it was heading north. He stood in the courtyard, watching the last light of the setting sun fade, until Shen Zechuan tapped lightly on the doorframe behind him.
Xiao Chiye turned back, his figure blending into the slanting glow as he looked at Shen Zechuan.
Shen Zechuan felt that Xiao Chiye had grown taller still. Those broad shoulders seemed to bear the weight of the sinking sun; he was far stronger than he had been six years ago. After watching him for a moment, Shen Zechuan saw Xiao Chiye shift slightly aside and say, “Let’s go ride.”
This time was different from before—this time, Xiao Chiye was serious. He brought Shen Zechuan onto Langtao Xuejin, explaining everything in detail, from mounting the saddle to handling the reins. It was as if he wanted to leave everything to Shen Zechuan—his horse, his hawk, his heart.
They rode at a gentle pace along the forest path outside Cizhou, heading north. The last light at the horizon faded, and stars began to spread out behind them. The northern hills were lush with grass and water. Langtao Xuejin carried them uphill before Xiao Chiye reined in the horse and said into the wind, “That’s Hongyan Mountain at the end.”
Shen Zechuan looked out. Beneath layered night clouds, the distant sky stretched vast and dim. He could only faintly make out the rising curve of Hongyan Mountain, like a long dragon lying across the edge of the heavens, tracing a winding boundary at the farthest edge of Dazhou. Zhongbo could see its outline, but could never reach it. It nourished the broad northern lands—it was the towering wall from which Libei rose.
Shen Zechuan heard the wind howling. It was completely different from the wind in Qu Du, whipping his sleeves like the wings of a white bird.
“This is Hongyan Mountain calling. It misses me too. When we get closer, you can hear its long song more clearly.” Xiao Chiye urged Langtao Xuejin forward. They jolted through the wind, cutting across waves of wild grass like birds diving toward the mountain.
Meng followed from behind, wings beating as it swooped low, carving a line through the grass.
Xiao Chiye suddenly said by Shen Zechuan’s ear, “I’m going to take you to see it.”
The small jade bead by Shen Zechuan’s ear warmed with his breath. Looking ahead, he said, “Xiao Ce’an…”
Xiao Chiye tilted his head. Shen Zechuan said something, but the wind was too loud for him to hear. Refusing to let it go, he leaned closer, signaling for him to repeat it.
Shen Zechuan shouted, “If we keep going, we’ll cross the border!”
“Then we’ll cross it,” Xiao Chiye said without slowing. “I’ll take you home—to see my father and my brother. What did you just say?”
Shen Zechuan shouted into the wind, “Where—is—my—fan?!”
Xiao Chiye grabbed him and suddenly pulled the reins. Langtao Xuejin reared and neighed. Shen Zechuan’s vision spun, and with a dull thud, the two of them tumbled into the grass, rolling down the slope several times.
Xiao Chiye shielded him with his arm. When they stopped, he didn’t get up, just lay there beneath Shen Zechuan with his arms spread, saying, “You lied to me.”
Shen Zechuan pinched his cheek. “Who lied to you?”
Xiao Chiye curled his lips, staring at him, sulking. “You lied to me. You liar. Bad man. Heartless lover…”
Shen Zechuan grabbed a handful of grass and shoved it in his face.
Xiao Chiye didn’t dodge. He wrapped his arms around Shen Zechuan forcefully, pressing him down against his chest, breathing heavily as he said with rough intent, “Even if I die in this life, I’ll die with you.”
Shen Zechuan’s face was buried in the hollow of his neck. He struggled a few times but couldn’t break free, muttering, “Xiao Er, you’re suffocating me. If I die, that’s murdering your husband.”
“Then say what you said earlier again.”
Shen Zechuan took a few rough breaths and finally lifted his eyes from under Xiao Chiye’s grip. With deep feeling, he said, “Xiao Er, you’re suffoc—”
Xiao Chiye immediately rubbed his head hard, leaving his cheeks flushed and his hair in disarray, stripping away all the composure of Magistrate Shen. “Shen Zechuan!”
Grass clung to Shen Zechuan’s lips. “Hm?”
Xiao Chiye held his face, about to kiss him, but stopped just before, saying coolly, “You kiss me.”
Tilting his head back like that, Shen Zechuan endured it for a moment, then said, “Let go first.”
“No.”
“I can’t reach.”
“Figure it out yourself.”
Shen Zechuan pressed his lips together, grabbed his collar, and pulled him down, brushing their lips together.
Xiao Chiye’s expression didn’t change.
Shen Zechuan tried again, but this time Xiao Chiye lowered his head, kissing him hard, biting without mercy. Held by the waist, Shen Zechuan arched back, hissing softly at the pain in his neck.
Soon their positions reversed. Shen Zechuan lay in the grass, able to see the sky full of stars as he was taken. His breath broke into uncontrollable sounds. He grasped a strand of Xiao Chiye’s hair, winding it around his fingers as they tightened. The starlight above blurred and shattered in the wind. Slightly dizzy, he looked at Xiao Chiye and felt that the wolf cub was fiercer than usual.
“Xiao Er…” he drew out the syllables.
Xiao Chiye bent over him, covering him, blocking out all wind and stars.
“I love you.”
Lately, Xiao Chiye seemed to have grown fond of whispering those words. The closer he got to home, the more he clung like this. He possessed Shen Zechuan, and was in turn possessed by him. He did not hold back these confessions; each time he spoke them, it made Shen Zechuan tense and tremble.
Shen Zechuan’s voice was half sigh, half murmur, clinging close in broken whispers. At the border of Libei, Xiao Chiye indulged himself completely. Beneath seemingly intact clothing lay a wildness known only to the two of them. With Hongyan Mountain at his back, in the wind that haunted his dreams, he revealed his fierce dominance.
Shen Zechuan kissed him, gradually forgetting the sea of stars. He was lifted to the clouds, then cast back into the wind, until he melted into Xiao Chiye’s embrace.
When Shen Zechuan woke, dawn had only just broken. Pale light filtered through the bamboo blinds. Reaching out, he touched the lingering warmth beside him. Xiao Chiye had already left the city. His old robe still hung on the rack, incense burned faintly to drive away insects, and the heat of the night still lingered on Shen Zechuan’s body.
He stretched out across the bed, taking up the space of two people. Before he could close his eyes again, he suddenly sat up, hurriedly dressed, slipped on wooden clogs, and pushed the door open.
“Quick,” Shen Zechuan said hoarsely to Ding Tao under the eaves, the corners of his eyes still flushed, “send that pair of new arm-guards to Ce’an at once.”
Ding Tao, left behind and somewhat dejected, had been sitting cross-legged by the pond drawing to vent his frustration. At the command, he jumped up without even putting down his brush and started to run. Qiao Tianya reacted swiftly, grabbing him by the collar and saying to Shen Zechuan, “The Marquis already took them.”
The morning chill cleared Shen Zechuan’s mind. He tapped his wooden clogs lightly, about to turn back inside, when Qiao Tianya added, “But he only took one. He said the other is for you.”
Shen Zechuan paused for a moment but said nothing. Seeing that daylight was breaking, he decided not to sleep again. “How many Imperial Guards were left behind?”
“Two thousand, all stationed at the northern hunting grounds.”
“Prepare a roster. The Imperial Guards must not mix with Cizhou troops,” Shen Zechuan said, adjusting his collar. “Master Chengfeng wants to discuss grain trade between Cizhou and Chazhou. Tell him we’ll meet today.”
Qiao Tianya didn’t leave immediately. He took a letter from his sleeve. “My lord, Ge Qingqing from Juexi has written.”
“Good timing,” Shen Zechuan said. “The Yongyi Port fleet is safe? The Xi family’s shops are not tied to us on the surface, so official inspections won’t touch them. But Xue Xiuzhuo emptied the treasury and left these profit-making shops to me—I doubt he did so willingly.”
“Qu Du hasn’t made a move. Even Xue Xiuzhuo can’t be everywhere at once—no one’s managing Juexi for him,” Qiao Tianya said, releasing Ding Tao. “But Ge Qingqing mentioned that while Qu Du hasn’t troubled him, the Yan family of Hezhou has gone.”
The Yan family controlled the waterways of Chazhou, major merchants of the south. Lei Changming’s rise had been backed by them through Lei Jingzhe. Shen Zechuan had long kept them in mind, so he was not surprised.
“I know little about the Yan family,” Shen Zechuan said. “There isn’t much information about them even in Qu Du.”
Ding Tao perked up at once. “Young master, I know! The one backing Lei Jingzhe is the current head of the Yan family, a man named Yan Heru. Rumor says he loves luxury—if a sedan chair worth a thousand gold isn’t used, he won’t even step outside. Not only does he wear gold, even his abacus is made of gold and jade! Very, very, very rich!”
In his excitement, Ding Tao’s words ran together. He held up his notebook for Shen Zechuan to see—a crude drawing of a figure holding an abacus, dressed entirely in coins, radiating wealth.
“Where did you hear that?” Qiao Tianya asked.
Ding Tao pointed toward the prison. “That foolish kid we captured during the last bandit raid—the one almost as tall as Brother Jin and incredibly strong. I traded him a few candies for the information. He’s simple—he’ll say anything for food.”
Shen Zechuan vaguely recalled Xiao Chiye mentioning him. “Weren’t the remaining bandits sent back?”
“They were,” Ding Tao nodded, “but the master said he’s too foolish—he wouldn’t survive if sent back, so we kept him.”
Shen Zechuan wanted more details about the Yan family. “Bring him here.”
At dawn, Zhaohui fed the hawks. Wearing arm-guards, he handled them one by one, letting them perch on his arm as he fed them meat. Elsewhere, such work would be done by trained falconers, but in Libei, from Xiao Chiye’s generation onward, they preferred to do it themselves—raising the hawks they had personally trained.
When Zhaohui came to Yu, the hawk that followed Xiao Jiming, he noticed its back had been clawed, leaving a patch of missing feathers.
“What happened?” Zhaohui examined it, asking the soldier beside him, “Did it fight something?”
The soldier followed with a leather pouch of meat strips. “Not sure, General. It went hunting a few days ago. When it came back from the south, it was already injured. The physician said it was clawed by another raptor.”
Yu was also a sea eagle, and among the Libei birds it was considered large. It had originally been trained by Xiao Fangxu, later passed to Xiao Jiming, and had followed him into battle for years, never once losing to the falcons of the fierce tribes.
Zhaohui studied the wound. “Strange… what kind of hawk could be this fierce…”
In that fleeting moment, something struck him. He suddenly turned his head toward the south. The wind still blew across the vast sky, empty of any sea eagle in sight.
The sky over Libei remained blue.