At the hour of Xu in the evening, the northern and southern factions gathered.
Xiao Chiye lifted the curtain, and Shen Zechuan bent slightly as he entered, leading Xiao Xun by the hand. The murmuring in the hall fell silent. Xiao Xun removed his fur collar and arm guards himself, handed them to Gu Jin, then walked straight ahead without letting his gaze wander and knelt beside his father.
Taking advantage of the pause, Qi Zhuyin leaned sideways and whispered to Lu Yizhi, “Don’t tell me you’ve given your son away to someone else?”
Lu Yizhi held her teacup in both hands and had not yet answered when she saw her son seem to sense something and turn his head toward Qi Zhuyin. Lowering her voice, she said, “Oh no, Xun’er heard that.”
Xiao Xun saluted Qi Zhuyin, who guiltily took a sip of tea.
Xiao Xun resembled Xiao Jiming in appearance, but he did not share his father’s gentle and refined temperament. He rarely smiled, and when he kept a straight face, he looked especially stern.
Lu Yizhi sighed. “Who exactly did he take after?”
Meanwhile, Shen Zechuan had already taken his seat. To his left was Xiao Chiye, and to his right was Yao Wenyu. To the left of Xiao Chiye lay the Libei faction; to the right of Yao Wenyu was the Qidong faction. Their Zhongbo group was the smallest, yet impossible to overlook.
“Zhongbo still has three prefectures yet to be recovered,” Qi Zhuyin said to Shen Zechuan. “We hope the Prefect Lord can complete Zhongbo’s unification before next winter.”
“If the Marshal is willing to show leniency toward Fan and Deng Prefectures,” Shen Zechuan replied, “I would naturally be more than happy.”
“That’s hard to say,” Qi Zhuyin said with a smile. “If Qu Du orders me to campaign against the Winged King, I won’t have a choice.”
Yao Wenyu understood her meaning. It was not that she had no choice—she wanted to use the Winged King to exchange for next year’s military grain from Shen Zechuan, preparing herself for a full assault on the Qing Shu tribes.
“Since the Marshal can sit here in Libei,” Yao Wenyu said evenly, “abandoning the campaign against the Winged King is only a matter of a single word.”
The northern and southern fronts were about to be unified. Qi Zhuyin had already ignored Qu Du’s orders several times. If she truly feared them, she would not have come to Libei at all. But she intended to take a heavy cut this time—she was already strapped for resources.
“I came to Libei without anyone noticing, which is not the same as defying an imperial order,” Qi Zhuyin said. “Your Cizhou has been making such big moves this year. If I don’t eliminate the Winged King, your training grounds will be set up right outside Dancheng’s gates. And this title ‘Prefect Lord’—to me, it’s no different from ‘Winged King.’”
“Then that is a misunderstanding,” Shen Zechuan said with a faint smile. “From Chazhou to Duzhou, our Cizhou has acted according to the rules. What’s so remarkable about the title ‘Prefect Lord’? There’s not even a law stating it’s inappropriate. I am merely a guest official of the Cizhou administration.”
This was the loophole of not openly raising a banner of rebellion. In truth, Cizhou had already broken away from Qu Du’s control, but Qu Du did not dare issue an official proclamation. First, they feared pushing Cizhou into desperation and driving it to ally with Libei and march on Dancheng. Second, they feared other regions would follow suit. Yet internal strife prevented them from offering amnesty to Shen Zechuan. As a result, Qi Zhuyin could only use the Winged King to threaten him.
A month ago, this threat would have forced Shen Zechuan to find a way to respond. But now, he was the key figure determining whether the northern and southern fronts could unite. Money and grain had become his leverage. He intended to trade what he held for the greatest benefit—just as Qi Zhuyin wanted to cut him, he intended to cut her as well.
“Han Jin is in your hands,” Qi Zhuyin said. “That alone is enough to convict Cizhou.”
“Han Jin…” Shen Zechuan repeated, showing no fear in his eyes. “Who’s to say he’s really in my hands?”
This was why Qi Zhuyin disliked going to Qu Du—dealing with seasoned schemers like Shen Zechuan was exhausting. The conversation circled endlessly without progress, like a game of Tai Chi that drained one’s patience, reminiscent of pleading for funds at the Ministry of Revenue.
“Even if I spare Fan and Deng Prefectures and let you take them, what about Duanzhou?” Qi Zhuyin shifted direction. “You have fewer than forty thousand troops, and half of them are newly recruited. Taking Duanzhou back from the border tribes might be beyond you.”
She was prompting Shen Zechuan to ask Qidong for military support.
But Xiao Chiye said, “At the latest, by the second month, I will go to Duanzhou.”
“Although Zhongbo does not currently require Qidong’s assistance,” Yao Wenyu continued, “whether Qidong’s garrison can strike the Qing Shu tribes affects the northern battlefield. Therefore, Cizhou is willing to share the Marshal’s burden. Before coming to Libei, the Prefect Lord had already considered the issue of military provisions. If Qu Du truly cuts off your supplies, then half of Qidong’s grain for next year can be borne by Hezhou.”
Yao Wenyu’s words sounded generous. In truth, when Shen Zechuan had extracted resources from Yan Heru in Duzhou, Yan Heru had mentioned that he was also responsible for supplying Qidong. Shen Zechuan had skimmed a portion and forced Yan Heru to make up the difference himself. What they said now was not false—they simply omitted key details.
Following Shen Zechuan’s principle of squeezing value from everything, Yao Wenyu paused before continuing, “The Marshal is right. Zhongbo currently has only thirty-six thousand troops that can be considered real soldiers—negligible compared to the two sides present. However, Duanzhou is Zhongbo’s eastern gate. If we cannot secure it, cutting off the border tribes’ supply lines will be impossible. Worse, they may exploit this to invade Zhongbo, sever the connection between the northern and southern fronts, and encircle Libei.”
Qi Zhuyin thought, so—
Yao Wenyu continued as expected, “Therefore, we hope to establish a direct horse route with Libei and Qidong next year and receive some guidance in military camp management.”
“Military camp management” was a polite way of saying that Shen Zechuan wanted Qidong’s generals to help train Zhongbo’s troops into a capable garrison. Libei specialized in cavalry, while Zhongbo needed infantry—this could only be handled by Qidong.
This revealed considerable ambition. Shen Zechuan did not want to rely on Libei cavalry or merely borrow troops from Qidong. He intended to rebuild Zhongbo’s defenses and establish his own army.
Money truly made a man powerful.
Everyone present silently agreed. Converting these provisions into silver, plus the costs of horse routes, equipment, and city repairs, would amount to millions of taels in a year. Qu Du had always stalled for lack of funds, yet Shen Zechuan acted without hesitation.
“Additionally, regarding the cavalry discussed previously between the Prefect Lord and the Prince,” Yao Wenyu said, “will Libei be able to provide warhorses by next spring?”
Warhorses had suffered heavy losses in the current battles. With pastures recovering in spring, Shen Zechuan was willing to delay if Libei could not manage it.
Xiao Jiming answered without hesitation, “Yes—but Zhongbo must lend us Luoshan as a horse pasture.”
This was his plan. Xiao Chiye’s only general, Tantai Hu, had already been stationed in Duzhou—effectively handed over to Shen Zechuan. When Xiao Chiye went to Duanzhou in the second month next year, relying solely on existing horse routes would be inconvenient. Establishing a new pasture at Luoshan would ease logistical pressure and create a defensive point within Zhongbo. Even if Duanzhou fell or relations between Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye soured, Libei would not be immediately vulnerable.
“Will Duanzhou establish cavalry?” Lu Guangbai asked.
Shen Zechuan had not yet finalized plans. “We may try light cavalry,” he said. “We’ll decide after acquiring warhorses next year. General Lu, will you remain in the war zone?”
Lu Guangbai nodded. “Libei needs time. My troops can hold the line against Hasen’s elite curved blades. I’m also interested in the ‘Scorpions.’”
“Then I have a request as well,” Qi Zhuyin said. “Since Lu Guangbai will remain in the war zone, as an exchange, Xiao Chiye must go to the southern front in June next year and guard the frontier for me.”
Xiao Chiye was taken aback.
Qi Zhuyin tapped the table and said no more. But Xiao Jiming and Lu Guangbai both understood—she was giving Xiao Chiye an opportunity.
Heaven granted the Liaoying tribe a man named Amur by the Tea Stone River, and then granted Amur a son of extraordinary talent. They led the border cavalry to rise along the riverbanks, dismantling the Great Zhou with strategy and curved blades. Perhaps in Amur’s eyes, the era of the border tribes had arrived. He saw the curtain lifting before him—his people would leave behind the hardship of wandering through snow and wind, and after enduring countless trials, they would depart this barren land to establish their own dynasty upon fertile fields.
That winter, the eastern and western territories of the Great Zhou were completely split. Shen Zechuan’s defenses held the northeastern regions, a barrier he built in half a year, reconnecting the northern and southern fronts through the ruined Zhongbo. Even without openly turning his spear toward Qu Du, the shift in power was already evident.
There were no lanterns or firecrackers in Libei that year, yet it was not without warmth. Shen Zechuan shared the New Year’s Eve meal there. He fell asleep midway through the vigil. Xiao Chiye placed a new folding fan and a few copper coins by his pillow. When Shen Zechuan half-woke, Xiao Chiye stroked his head, and he drifted back to sleep.
That night, Xiao Chiye removed his shirt. From his left shoulder down to his waist, his entire back was covered by the image of a wolf. Rage, howling, tearing pain—all were carved into it. The wolf was not whole; its left eye coincided with a wound on his shoulder, as if gouged out, making it appear especially ferocious.
Xiao Chiye remembered the humiliation of that great snowstorm.
Hasen was right.
Everyone would repay tooth for tooth.