Gao Zhongxiong did not dare ask further and obediently sat to the side. He had been badly chilled on the road, but now he was gradually recovering, and his numb ears were beginning to regain feeling.
Noticing that Gao Zhongxiong was still wearing old robes, Zhou Gui said, “Cizhou is bitterly cold—you’re dressed far too lightly.”
Embarrassment flickered across Gao Zhongxiong’s face. Clutching the hem of his robe, he answered in a voice as faint as a mosquito’s, “Y-yes…”
Kong Ling, however, perceived the underlying situation and said, “You serve in the Qingshui office—it’s not one of those lucrative posts. The money passing through your hands is all small silver. And you’ve only just arrived in Cizhou; settling down isn’t easy. If you lack anything, just raise it with the residence.”
Hearing such concern, Gao Zhongxiong felt reassured. His eyes grew moist as he hurriedly stood and said, “All of you gentlemen have treated me with such care, and my lord has shown me kindness as heavy as a mountain…”
Zhou Gui waved him down at once. “Sit. There’s no one else tonight—no need to be so restrained.”
Gao Zhongxiong had no wife or children, nor any relatives in Cizhou. In the yamen, no one dared let him host gatherings either. His monthly salary should have been enough, but he had not told anyone that he had spent it all supporting Han Jin.
The previous autumn, Shen Zechuan had released Han Jin and kept him in a side courtyard. Han Jin had suffered in prison; once free, he indulged himself in food and drink, living carefreely for quite some time. Servants attended him closely, and after he recovered, young attendants were even sent to amuse him. They led him to gamble with dice and fight crickets, and he became so absorbed that within two months he had completely forgotten about returning to Du Capital. Later he developed a gambling addiction, could no longer stay in the courtyard, and began going out with them, drinking and reveling even more extravagantly.
But the stipend Shen Zechuan allotted him was limited. Unable to restrain himself, he began finding his own means—setting his sights on Gao Zhongxiong. Every few days he would show up at Gao Zhongxiong’s home, loudly calling him a “three-surnamed servant” and blocking his way to demand money.
Gao Zhongxiong had no choice. With empty pockets, how could he afford winter clothes?
Inside, Shen Zechuan’s fingertips had gone numb from Xiao Chiye’s grip. Listening to the conversation, he understood everything clearly.
The wind picked up again at night, whipping cotton-like snow through the air. The iron chimes under the eaves clanged endlessly until Gu Jin, returning from the Northern Plains training ground, had them removed to avoid disturbing the discussion inside. Brushing snow from his hair, he saw Fei Sheng approaching along the corridor.
“Looking for Second Master?” Fei Sheng held a bowl of medicine and gestured inside with his chin. “He’s resting. My lord hasn’t permitted anyone to call him. You’ve had a hard journey.”
“With snow like this, just riding is exhausting,” Gu Jin said. Having just dismounted, his ears were still numb from the biting wind. “Second Master hasn’t slept well for half a month.”
Fei Sheng sighed.
Gu Jin stepped aside. “Then go on in—don’t delay my lord’s medicine.”
Before entering, Fei Sheng said quietly, “It looks like there won’t be time anytime soon, and there’s no need for guards here. When Chen Yang and Qiao Tianya arrive, have everyone go sit in the duty room. I’ll have some snacks and hot tea sent—make do for now.”
No one knew when Xiao Chiye would wake, but once he did, there would certainly be a meeting. They had all been traveling for days—standing under the eaves in the wind was too much. Fei Sheng’s arrangement was thoughtful; the duty room was close enough to the courtyard that they could be summoned instantly.
Grateful, Gu Jin cupped his fists in thanks and lifted the curtain for him.
Shen Zechuan had not ordered lamps lit, and Fei Sheng did not mention it. Carrying the tray inside, he poured the medicine into a porcelain bowl. Outside, the discussion continued in low voices, kept at a level Shen Zechuan could hear. With his free hand, Shen Zechuan took the spoon and drank slowly.
Though Fei Sheng tried to make no sound, Xiao Chiye still woke.
He frowned, gathering himself for a moment before sitting up abruptly. His shadow suddenly loomed over Shen Zechuan, startling Fei Sheng. Groggy from sleep, he was silent for a while before asking hoarsely, “What time is it?”
Shen Zechuan set down the spoon and looked toward Fei Sheng.
“My lord, it’s about the Hour of Hai,” Fei Sheng replied.
Xiao Chiye had slept nearly six hours. Still holding Shen Zechuan’s hand, he lowered his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his other hand. “Gu Jin’s back?”
“Just returned. They’re all in the duty room. If you need them, I’ll call them over,” Fei Sheng said, taking the empty bowl.
“Call them,” Xiao Chiye said immediately. “Have them go to the side hall—I’ll be there shortly.”
Hearing voices from inside, those outside fell silent. Fei Sheng carried the bowl out, signaling to the gentlemen before slipping out to summon Chen Yang and the others.
Shen Zechuan flexed his numb fingers; Xiao Chiye had squeezed them red. As Xiao Chiye dressed, he asked, “Have you been sitting this whole time?”
The bitter taste of medicine lingered in Shen Zechuan’s mouth, and his thoughts were still on Fanzhou. Lacking energy, he replied, “My back aches from sitting.”
Xiao Chiye took a mouthful of cold tea, quickly finishing dressing. When Shen Zechuan stood, he blocked his way. Catching the moment Shen Zechuan raised an eyebrow in question, Xiao Chiye gripped his chin and passed the tea into his mouth, washing away the bitterness of the medicine.
Shen Zechuan could barely reach him. With his chin held, he had no choice but to rise onto his toes. Xiao Chiye drew him closer; Shen Zechuan clutched his sleeve, his mouth softened by the intrusion, unable to hold the tea. Afraid it would spill, he swallowed hastily—only to choke and cough loudly.
Outside, Zhou Gui, who had already finished his tea, heard the coughing and worried Shen Zechuan had caught another chill. Just as he was about to speak, Kong Ling interrupted.
“The heating in this room is too strong. I’ll push Yuan Zhuo to the doorway for some air,” Kong Ling said.
Yao Wenyu wrapped his cloak tighter. “Then I’ll trouble you, Mister Chengfeng.”
They ushered Zhou Gui outside. After standing beneath the eaves for less than a stick of incense, Xiao Chiye emerged. Everyone bowed, greeting him as “Second Master.”
His chin was reddened from the earlier collision. Seeing Chen Yang and the others gathered, he returned their greeting briefly. “I’ve been riding hard these past days and delayed your discussion. My apologies.”
“You’ve labored day and night on the battlefield—it’s only right you rest,” Kong Ling said.
After exchanging courtesies, Xiao Chiye wasted no time and led his men toward the side hall.
Zhou Gui remained where he was, feeling the cold, and glanced around. “Shall we go in?”
Yao Wenyu sighed lightly, unable to suppress a smile. “Please, after you.”
While Cizhou held discussions through the night, Fanzhou had already received the proclamation.
This was not the first time the Prince of Yi had received one from Cizhou. The previous year, they had all amounted to noise without action—Shen Zechuan had never moved troops against him. So this time, too, he dismissed it as intimidation.
The yamen in Fanzhou had been expanded and renovated. The Prince of Yi stored the wealth plundered from two prefectures there, calling it a national treasury, claiming it would be used to buy grain and land after spring. In truth, he had taken it for himself, funding his indulgent lifestyle.
With the heavy snowfall this year, countless people in the two prefectures had starved or frozen to death. Days earlier, collapsing homes had crushed many more. Reports reached him, but he ignored them, lost in his pleasures.
Those who had first followed him in rebellion had been killed in disputes over land. Most who remained were bandits. When he first took his title, he had promised scholars to restore order and livelihoods—but once in power, he executed those who dared remonstrate.
The people lived in constant fear. Many tried to flee under cover of snow, only to be cut down on the spot. Those captured were branded and imprisoned, kept as “livestock” for his winter hunts.
Past midnight, the Prince of Yi lay sprawled on silk cushions, drunk amid music, raising a golden cup. “Fill it!”
Women on either side poured wine for him as he slurred, “More—keep pouring!”
The ruby-colored wine spilled over, running along their arms and soaking into their garments. One woman twisted into his embrace as he laughed wildly, pawing her without restraint.
Below, Cuiqing sat, having a handsome newcomer prepare her pipe. Exhaling smoke, her gaze lingered on him. “I barely made it back from Dunzhou alive. What reward will Your Highness give me? I like this one—lend him to me for a while.”
The man, handsome and broad-shouldered, knelt before her. At her words, he glanced up—his gaze bold and direct, sending a thrill through her.
The Prince of Yi sneered. “You’ve got a good eye. Do you know who he is?”
Cuiqing pressed her foot against the man’s chest, feeling its firmness. “I’ve never seen such a specimen… Come with me, won’t you?”
Laughing, the prince suddenly turned harsh. “His name is Huo Lingyun, eldest son of Huo Qing, the commander torn apart by dogs in Dengzhou. That man killed my second brother in battle. I tortured him for seven days before throwing him into the hunting grounds to be devoured!”
Cuiqing leaned closer, laughing. “What magnanimity, Your Highness—to keep his son so well.”
“I meant to kill him,” the prince said contemptuously. “But though he looks decent, he’s a coward. Watching his father die, he fell to his knees and begged for his life. So I kept him as a dog.”
Cuiqing ran her hands over Huo Lingyun, who smiled ingratiatingly. “Good dog. Let me see just how obedient you are.”
The prince tossed aside his cup. “He’s good for anything. I lent him to Fang Laojiu for days—he came back alive.”
Cuiqing’s expression cooled. “That old bastard still fighting me for men…” She coaxed Huo Lingyun closer.
The hall was already thick with debauchery. As Cuiqing pressed closer, Huo Lingyun complied obediently.
The prince, drunk beyond measure, continued drinking, surrounded by attendants. Eventually, he collapsed into sleep amid the chaos.
Snow fell through the night. By dawn, everyone inside lay unconscious.
The prince lay sprawled, reeking of wine. Huo Lingyun wiped himself clean, then looked toward him. Silently, he moved over and crouched by his side.
The prince never allowed armed guards inside during his revelry. After half a year of humiliation, Huo Lingyun finally had his chance.
He looked at the prince as if looking at the dogs that had killed his father.
A soft knock sounded outside—three times.
Huo Lingyun knew it was done.
Without rising, he picked up a cushion and slapped the prince’s face lightly.
The prince stirred, opening his eyes. Seeing Huo Lingyun, he suddenly broke into a cold sweat. “Get—”
Huo Lingyun moved first, pressing the cushion over his head. The prince struggled violently, his heavy limbs thrashing. Others began to stir.
Then Huo Lingyun stopped.
The prince gasped and tried to crawl away, shouting for help—but none came. Realization dawned: the guards outside were dead.
Weeping, he crawled toward Huo Lingyun, begging. “Lingyun… I’ll give you everything—Fanzhou, my title—just don’t kill me!”
Huo Lingyun seized his hair, dragging him back. The prince screamed like a slaughtered pig.
Cuiqing finally understood and scrambled back, shaking her head. “This has nothing to do with me—”
The gunshot exploded.
Her ears rang as she froze, face splattered.
Huo Lingyun’s hand throbbed from the recoil, but he felt only satisfaction. The prince’s head burst like a crushed melon.
Silence fell—then Cuiqing screamed, scrambling toward the door, only to recoil at the sight of guns outside.
“You helped him steal women,” Huo Lingyun said coldly. “You raised his hounds.”
Shaking, she backed away as the dogs were released.
“You should taste it too.”
She tried to flee, but her legs failed. The hounds lunged.
Amid the tearing sounds, Huo Lingyun donned a robe. Picking up the discarded proclamation, he crushed it in his hand.