At dawn, when the sky had only just begun to lighten, Shen Zechuan finished breakfast and rode with Kong Ling back to the cosmetics shop they had visited before. The front hall carried on business as usual, while the back courtyard was guarded by Qiao Tianya and Fei Sheng, with the Embroidered Guard keeping a tight watch inside and out.
At around mid-morning, Luo Mu’s sedan arrived. He wore a dark, slanted-collar robe with wide sleeves—an ordinary scholar’s outfit. The shopkeeper, quick-witted, noticed several unfamiliar attendants following him and called out loudly, “The sun will be harsh soon. Standing outside is tiring—why not bring these brothers inside for some tea and a rest?”
The attendants exchanged glances. Seeing that Luo Mu had nowhere to run, they followed the shop assistants into a side room. Once inside, they insisted on keeping the curtain raised so they could keep an eye on the front entrance.
An attendant followed Luo Mu closely, offering him a towel. Luo Mu wiped his hands as usual, glancing over the goods displayed on the counters. The shopkeeper greeted him warmly. “Last time you came, sir, we hadn’t prepared everything. This time we’ve been ready since early morning. We also have some newly arrived jade and trinkets in the back—please, this way!”
Luo Mu hesitated, glancing at his attendants.
“It’s just a few steps,” the shopkeeper added. “Won’t take much of your time. Some items are too rare to bring out front—it wouldn’t look proper.”
Only then did Luo Mu nod and follow him into the back courtyard.
Qiao Tianya personally lifted the curtain. Luo Mu thanked him repeatedly, bent slightly as he entered, and first paid his respects to Shen Zechuan. Afterward, he glanced at Kong Ling. Seeing both men relaxed, he finally took a seat.
Shen Zechuan noticed that Luo Mu had clearly chosen his clothes and shoes carefully before coming. Though he sat upright, every time conversation began, his gaze unconsciously drifted toward Kong Ling. Whenever Kong Ling spoke, Luo Mu listened intently.
“These past few days, Cai Yu has been cracking down on smaller factions,” Luo Mu said, carefully restraining his gaze because of Shen Zechuan’s presence. “But he’s measured—he understands that if the lips are gone, the teeth grow cold. He fears pushing too far and losing support. So while suppressing them, he’s also trying to win over the remaining groups with ‘cheap grain for loyal followers.’”
Kong Ling asked, “And what price is that?”
“One tael for five dou,” Luo Mu replied.
Kong Ling smiled faintly. “That’s hardly cheap. This ‘discount grain’ only means he earns slightly less than before. Cai Yu once spent freely, treating wealth as nothing. Now that he’s older, he’s become stingy.”
It was not “cheap” at all—it was still exorbitant. In Teazhou, rice sold at one tael for two dou, while in the capital it was one tael for two shi. Cai Yu was making enormous profits, squeezing ordinary people to death. Yet even now, to win favor, he only lowered it to one tael for five dou—proof he could not bear to give up much.
Shen Zechuan skimmed the foam from his tea. “Cai Yu is trapped. Inside and outside the city, everyone complains about the price. If he lowers it too much to win over the bandits, the common people will resent him even more. He doesn’t dare.”
“It’s not just Teazhou—Fanzhou is also in unrest,” Luo Mu added. “At the start of the year, Lei Changming somehow broke ties with the Yan family. Yan He Ru stopped funding the Luoshan bandits, which is why they tried to seize Cizhou’s granaries. The root cause was that they couldn’t afford Cai Yu’s grain.”
“Let Cai Yu sell for a few more days,” Shen Zechuan said, tapping the table lightly with his folded fan. “Whether it’s one tael for two dou or five, neither commoners nor small bandits can afford it. He’s trying to show mercy so they’ll obey him—but his posture isn’t humble enough. This will only backfire.”
“Not just commoners,” Kong Ling said with a sigh. “Even official households can’t afford it on their stipends. On our way here, we saw people outside the city selling themselves—entire families selling their children just to survive.”
“People are worthless now,” Luo Mu said. “Children are sold for nothing. And who would even buy them? Only brothels in Fanzhou take them—freeborn reduced to base status, not even worth a dou of rice.”
Shen Zechuan, unfamiliar with Fanzhou, asked, “If they struggle for food, where do they get money to run such places?”
“Bandits,” Luo Mu replied. “They cater to bandits from Luoshan and Dengzhou. The profits are minimal—and even those are taken by the madams.”
Kong Ling frowned. “Then how do they feed so many people? Do they also buy grain from Cai Yu?”
Luo Mu shook his head. “People are treated worse than dogs. They’re fed scraps and weeds. If they starve, they just buy more—it’s cheap enough not to matter.”
Kong Ling sat frozen, pain gradually showing on his face. “How did Zhongbo fall to this? If the court had helped even a little, it wouldn’t have come to this. Back then, I already said Hua Siqian—”
He stopped, choking back Shen Wei’s name.
Luo Mu sensed it and quickly changed the subject, afraid Kong Ling might say something inappropriate. “According to your plan, sir, what comes next?”
But Shen Zechuan said calmly, “If Shen Wei had not shrunk from battle, Zhongbo would not have fallen so completely. Master Chengfeng cares for the people—I admire that greatly. There’s no need to avoid such words.”
His sincerity made Luo Mu uncomfortable. Kong Ling, however, felt a chill. He had been following Shen Zechuan while also keeping his distance. He was willing to support Zhou Gui because he understood him—but Shen Zechuan was different. A master he could not read was the most dangerous of all. The calmer things appeared, the more it felt like standing at the edge of an abyss.
He was willing to take sides—but not to devote himself fully as he had to Zhou Gui. Shen Zechuan had hinted at recruiting him several times, and each time Kong Ling feigned ignorance. Now, seeing Shen Zechuan not only unoffended but even offering him an out, he felt even more uneasy.
Noticing his shifting expression, Shen Zechuan flipped his fan lightly and paused before speaking. “Keep the news that Cizhou has come to sell grain suppressed for a few more days. When the bandits begin acting for their own interests and refuse to be controlled by Cai Yu, then release it. When the time comes, the reserve grain carts will not enter the city. Set up porridge stalls outside instead and tell the refugees that Cizhou is selling grain at fair prices.”
Luo Mu tested him. “What if they have no money?”
Shen Zechuan smiled. “Then they become Teazhou’s future garrison troops and settlers. The common people have no money—but you, sir, have taken quite a share alongside Cai Yu. And once Cai Yu is removed, most of his wealth will fall into your hands. Use that silver to trade with Cizhou and win the people’s support. That will solve your future troubles. But let me remind you—Cizhou is here to do business, not to tighten its belt and give charity.”
Sweat beaded on Luo Mu’s forehead. He dabbed it away and nodded repeatedly. “Of course… of course…”
This time, Shen Zechuan did not return to the courtyard with Kong Ling.
Qiao Tianya sat at the front of the carriage, wearing a bamboo hat, arms folded behind his head. Through the curtain, he asked, “You’re done with him?”
Shen Zechuan, stifled by the heat, lay inside with his eyes closed, listening to the street vendors’ calls before answering, “Soft and hard tactics both failed. He’s made up his mind.”
Qiao Tianya chewed on a blade of grass. “Figures. He’s been hiding his edge in front of you because he doesn’t want to be forced. When he finished his studies, he didn’t follow Zhou Gui or Luo Mu into office—he wanted to remain a scholar. People like him are born strategists. Their pride lies in choosing their own path.”
Shen Zechuan half-opened his eyes. “I, Shen Lanzhou, am not so desperate as to need him alone.”
It wasn’t about forcing him—Shen Zechuan simply lacked people. Before, he believed Kong Ling and Zhou Gui together were enough to stabilize a region, at least Cizhou. But now, he had no one capable of truly advising him. What he lacked was not hands or eyes—but a mind to help him command the whole.
Kong Ling was renowned in Zhongbo. As a classmate of both Zhou Gui and Luo Mu, he could coordinate affairs between the two prefectures with ease. He had also built connections while serving as Tantai Long’s strategist—connections that could still be used. Though Shen Zechuan once dismissed him for being too easily deceived by Lei Jingzhe, Kong Ling’s performance at the gates of Cizhou had caught his attention. By the time of this journey, Shen Zechuan had resolved to recruit him.
But Kong Ling had no intention of changing allegiance.
Shen Zechuan was too young. His past was troubled, and he had studied under Qi Huilian—once a towering figure in the capital. What kind of student would such a man produce? Kong Ling did not dare think further. Most importantly, he feared Shen Zechuan. He could not trust him.
To Kong Ling, Shen Zechuan was someone who could cast aside personal ties at any moment. If it had been Zhou Gui, he would never have spoken to Luo Mu the way Shen Zechuan had.
Annoyed, Shen Zechuan tilted his head back, watching the carriage curtain sway with the motion. Sunlight flickered through the gaps, falling across his knees, spreading over the white fabric.
Since Qi Huilian’s death, he had worn white. He had never asked Qiao Tianya what became of his teacher’s body after he left. That night’s grief remained buried in Xiao Chiye’s hands—but the names Xue Xiuzhuo, Han Cheng, and the Empress Dowager were etched into his heart, along with the image of the capital’s walls stained red in torrential rain.
He had to stand firm.
He needed a strategist.
Shen Zechuan repeated it silently—
A strategist who could stand against Xue Xiuzhuo as an equal.