Although Meng Xizhao had officially moved into his new residence, it seemed as if the house were empty for nothing.
During the day, he busied himself at the government office. When he had a moment to spare, he carried the Crown Prince’s secretary’s fish bag to the Eastern Palace to perform his other duties. By nightfall, when he finally returned home, the new residence was too far, so he usually went back to the council office to wash up quickly and sleep.
The Meng family, naturally, wished he could return home more often, hoping he’d continue living there and leave the new residence to gather dust.
But Meng Xizhao felt this would not do. He had gone to all this trouble not merely to claim a large mansion for himself.
Thus, after Mid-Autumn, as the weather grew cooler, he tried to acclimate himself to living alone in the new residence.
Autumn had arrived, finally removing the need to sweat over fans. Feeling inspired, Meng Xizhao had Qingfu hire workers to build a grape trellis in the courtyard and transplant some vines. The grapes wouldn’t bear fruit yet, but the ivy thrived. Sitting beneath it brought its own subtle pleasure.
As for household management, Meng Xizhao divided responsibilities: Jin Zhu oversaw external affairs, and Yin Liu handled internal matters. By external affairs, he meant social visits, replying to correspondence, receiving guests, and delivering gifts for social obligations.
Internal affairs were more extensive: estates, shops, stewards, and clerks—all domestic tasks fell under Yin Liu’s supervision.
Luckily, after his return, the Crown Prince lent the healer who had treated Meng Xizhao to Yin Liu for a while. Nearly two months of care had restored much of her depleted health; otherwise, she wouldn’t have managed all these responsibilities.
Originally, there wasn’t this much to handle. But in this era, establishing a residence alone was akin to splitting off from the family. Madam Meng knew Meng Xizhao’s actions weren’t meant to estrange himself; he sought only convenience. Yet she still felt uneasy, thinking her son would seem pitiable living alone.
So she decisively transferred several profitable shops and a portion of the council’s properties into Meng Xizhao’s name.
Madam Meng was generous, and no one objected. After all, by tradition, these assets would have been part of Meng Xizhao’s betrothal gifts before marriage.
Yin Liu was capable, but in household management, she was inexperienced. Previously she had overseen only one tavern or one estate; now ten or more piled together. Without Zi Teng assisting, she might have already boiled over in frustration.
……
Meng Xizhao’s residence soon became one of Yingtian Prefecture’s spectacles. The esteemed Prefect, unmarried, had two beautiful maidservants performing the duties of a mistress. Outsiders, unaware of the truth, might mistake them for concubines—but they weren’t even that.
Some who tried to curry favor felt embarrassed. On the verge of presenting gifts, they almost respectfully addressed one of the maidservants as “Madam.”
However, this curiosity was temporary. Once people became accustomed, they realized: competent maidservants, obedient and discreet, could handle tasks without fuss.
When dealing with other households, if their mistress appeared, one needed a mistress as a counterpart. But with maidservants, that was unnecessary—they didn’t need to maintain dignity or reputation, just handle matters formally. No airs, no scrutinizing guests to intimidate them.
Before long, people recognized the advantages of employing maidservants for such duties. Especially in households where the mistress was temperamental or socially awkward, elevating a competent maidservant was a practical solution.
If a mistress feared a maid might threaten her position, she could assign a male servant or recruit someone from outside, such as a modestly educated scholar.
Thus, unintentionally, Yingtian Prefecture saw the emergence of a new role: the “helper for social engagements.” Similar to an attendant or secretary, but tailored to accompany and assist in social interactions.
Of course, that trend came later. For now, Meng Xizhao darted between various duties, unconcerned with others’ impressions.
On a day of rest, he stood in the backyard on a whim, climbing the courtyard wall to peek outside.
Qingfu watched nervously. “My lord, please don’t! With your frail body, a fall could keep you bedridden for half a year!”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He did climb down, picking up a naturally fallen empty fruit shell and snapping it toward Qingfu. “Speak properly—frail, you say?”
The shell was nearly weightless. It hit Qingfu’s shoulder and fell off.
Fearing Meng Xizhao’s temper, Qingfu smiled ingratiatingly, dusted him off, and asked, “My lord, what are you looking at? There’s nothing outside this wall.”
Meng Xizhao shot him a glance, annoyed. “Who said nothing? That’s a huge residence you’re blind to?”
Slightly shorter than Meng Xizhao, Qingfu stood on tiptoe, looking at the dilapidated mansion nearby. Scratching his head, he said, “I see it, but it looks abandoned for years. When I passed by a few days ago, weeds had grown through the main gate. It must have been deserted long ago.”
Meng Xizhao listened to him, then looked over at the mansion, murmuring under his breath: “It’s not abandoned by people—it’s ownerless because the people are dead.”
Qingfu: “……”
All the more reason not to look, he thought. What bad luck.
Before he could speak up to dissuade him, Meng Xizhao had already lost interest, waved his hand, and turned away.
August 18th—an auspicious date, yet far from a happy one for those at court.
This was the memorial day for Consort Gan.
Her memorial and her birthday were very close: the 18th for the memorial, the 23rd for her birthday. Just five days apart—if she had lived, her lifespan would have been extended by a year. The regret over this made the Tian Shou Emperor deeply rueful.
The proximity of the dates made Meng Xizhao suspect that the Emperor had originally planned to eliminate the Empress and grant the freshly vacant Empress position to Consort Gan as a birthday gift. No one had anticipated, however, that an unexpected obstacle would turn what should have been the Emperor’s greatest joy into the deepest tragedy of his life.
……
Every year around this time, everyone tacitly avoided disturbing the Emperor’s bad mood. Both the palace and the court stiffened under this invisible tension.
Last year, Meng Xizhao hadn’t seen the Emperor anyway; he had been busy hosting the Xiongnu envoys, practically working as a council attendant in Yingtian Prefecture, and had no need to concern himself with this matter.
This year was the same: until he devised a proper strategy for restraint, Meng Xizhao resolutely avoided the shadow of Consort Gan, staying completely clear of anything related to her.
Yet an unexpected visitor disrupted his plans.
Around this same time last year, Jin Tuzhe, a Xiongnu commander under the Left Worthy King, had come as an envoy to Da Qi. This year, he returned—promoted. No longer a minor commander under the Left Worthy King, he now held the title of Left Gudu Hou, roughly equivalent to Da Qi’s Sanqi Changshi, still under the Secretariat, ranking just below the Prime Minister, effectively acting as the Prime Minister’s confidant and deputy.
Due to the vast differences between Xiongnu and Da Qi administrative systems, describing this position as a confidant of the Prime Minister still fell short. In practice, it gave him greater authority than a confidant: daily audiences with the Chanyu, oversight of all internal affairs, and the ability to offer advice.
……Good heavens.
Meng Xizhao’s feelings were mixed. He had just taken office as Prefect of Yingtian, and still had no firsthand experience of the national decision-making machinery. Meanwhile, in the chaotic Xiongnu territories, Jin Tuzhe had leapt to the rank of Gudu Hou?
Truly, “time changes everything.”
As one of the twenty-four Elders of the Xiongnu, the Gudu Hou held the highest standing, capable of shouldering major responsibilities. Accordingly, Jin Tuzhe, the leader of this mission, did not come to request a princess’s hand. He brought few escorts, few gifts—just a cart of Xiongnu specialty goods. Officially, he came to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday, but in reality, he was angling for supplies.
The Xiongnu were in dire straits. Acting on the Chanyu’s orders, he sought grain from Da Qi in preparation for a major campaign.
Indeed, he also brought news that caused a stir: the Xiongnu Chanyu planned to attack the Jurchens, forcing them into submission.
……
In the Eastern Palace, Meng Xizhao frowned, full of doubt.
“Lacking provisions means the extinction drug had its effect—they don’t have enough meat. Yet in these circumstances, they still plan to attack the Jurchens? Why? Any clear-eyed person knows they’ll be defeated with such shortages.”
Cui Ye interjected: “If they purchase grain from Qi, there’s no concern.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He reflexively wanted to call it a pipe dream, but then thought better and fell silent.
Previously, selling grain to another state for war would have been unthinkable even to the Emperor’s flawed reasoning. But now was different: after their victory over Nanzhao, Da Qi had captured a large amount of grain, including what the Nanzhao emperor had seized from Longxing Prefecture last year—untouched, now returned.
Da Qi now lacked neither grain nor money, especially after seizing Qiu Sumin’s household.
This gave both the Emperor and the Ministry of Revenue confidence; perhaps even overconfidence, planning to stir things up.
Provoking war wasn’t impossible—the problem was the unpredictability.
After pondering, Meng Xizhao said: “Perhaps they never intend to attack the Jurchens. They might fear Da Qi refusing to sell and concoct this as a pretext. Once the grain is bought, how it’s used is still their decision. If they aren’t targeting the Jurchens but Qi instead, now that autumn harvests have just begun and local taxes won’t be fully collected until October, it’s the perfect time to raid.”
His concern was justified. The Xiongnu had been this way for a thousand years. Compared to the equally impoverished Jurchens, Da Qi—the fat sheep—was a more urgent target.
The more he thought, the more plausible it seemed. Perhaps Jin Tuzhe’s purchase of grain was a ruse, deliberately diverting attention, lulling them into a false sense of security before striking unexpectedly.
Cui Ye noticed him drifting in thought and warned: “Second Lord, have you noticed that Jin Tuzhe, while claiming to act under the Chanyu’s orders, never mentioned his adoptive father, the Left Worthy King?”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him: “At court, he can only say that. Officially, he remains the Chanyu’s subject.”
Cui Ye smiled quietly.
After a pause, he continued: “Xiongnu scouts reported that Jin Tuzhe became Left Gudu Hou on the first day of last month. Soon after his promotion, he was dispatched by An Nuwei. An Nuwei remains under the influence of his mother and the Left Worthy King, but the Chanyu Court is more complicated. Once the Jurchens were subdued, they began probing the borders again. Two major factions in the court clash: the Left Worthy King seeks stability, while the nobles supporting the Chanyu push for war.”
“This summer, the Xiongnu have suffered floods—not just the farmlands, but even the pastures are submerged. Their livestock lack fodder, and the nobles’ pastures are still void of calves and lambs. They are desperate. Without cattle and sheep, they cannot sustain their slaves; if the slaves go hungry, they rise in rebellion and may even turn on each other, allowing other capable nobles to absorb them. Under these pressures, initiating a war is the best way to expend energy while replenishing strength. The Xiongnu are warlike; their urgency to attack other states serves the nobles’ interests. The Left Worthy King does not approve—he sees the Xiongnu threat looming, and now that Qi has ended its war with Nanzhao, if the Xiongnu move, His Majesty is likely to intervene. Hence, he strongly opposes it.”
At this, Cui Ye paused and lowered his head to take a sip of water.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
He stared at Cui Ye in disbelief for a long moment before asking, “How do you know all this?”
Cui Ye, normally occupied with reading, calligraphy practice, or following Meng Xizhao’s instructions to cozy up to certain ministers, how on earth did he obtain such intelligence?!
Cui Ye lifted his eyelids and smiled faintly. “The earlier part comes from the scouts’ reports. The latter part is my own analysis. Put yourself in their position—if I were An Nuwei, I would try every means to win over those close to the Left Worthy King, suppress his influence, and curry favor with the nobles capable of opposing him, ensuring their continued support.”
Meng Xizhao twitched an eyelid. “If you were An Nuwei, you would do this?”
Cui Ye tilted his head, thought for a moment, and said, “Initially, yes. Once the Left Worthy King wanes, I would seize the opportunity to split the court nobles into factions. But I would not send them against the Jurchens. The Jurchens have risen too quickly—their strength is hard to gauge externally. That they could establish an empire so swiftly and render the Xiongnu helpless proves they are no mere ornamental pillow. If it were me, I’d focus their attention on the Yuezhi. They are cultured but weak in war and have shown signs of leaning toward Qi. Attacking them would be more justifiable.”
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
Why did this sound so familiar?
That Xiongnu crown prince must have thought the same way back then. Indeed, powerful rulers share similar reasoning.
After a brief silence, Meng Xizhao spoke with mixed feelings, “So this means Jin Tuzhe has defected from An Nuwei.”
Cui Ye looked at him. “Surprised?”
Meng Xizhao: “A little.”
When they last met, Jin Tuzhe had been utterly loyal to the Left Worthy King—willing to die for him. And now, only a year has passed…
Yet Jin Tuzhe’s transformation is not without precedent.
Being of mixed Han and Xiongnu heritage, he grew up with hardship, exerting a hundredfold effort to gain a single reward. Born lowly, scorned by nobles, and historically, those scorned usually do not seek revenge first; they aim to join the ranks of the powerful.
He desired nobility, and the Left Worthy King could have helped him. But the King is upright and incorruptible, devoted to the Xiongnu and demanding his subordinates earn their own honor. Jin Tuzhe could wait—but when the Chanyu brightly offers him the chance to be enfeoffed among the Twenty-Four Elders immediately, would he still wait?
Moreover, Meng Xizhao himself had sown the seeds in his mind, encouraging Jin Tuzhe to become a politician. Appropriately seizing the opportunity to betray a former master is, after all, what a capable politician would do.
A complex surge of emotions flashed through Meng Xizhao’s mind. He now focused on a more pressing question: “Then what about the grain? Do we sell it, or not?”
The question seemed odd—after all, selling grain was the Emperor’s decision—but clearly, neither he nor the Crown Prince felt detached from the matter.
Cui Ye replied: “Sell it. Wealth sways the hearts of men. With no grain in hand, neither the Left Worthy King nor the Xiongnu nobles can make a move. Facing the same predicament, they might even unite. But once the grain exists, the nobles will want it for war, while the Left Worthy King seeks to distribute it to the people—their conflict will intensify.”
Meng Xizhao added: “Once chaos ensues, the detained Xiongnu crown prince might seize the chance to escape. Only a year has passed, and An Nuwei remains weak—unable to consolidate the crown prince’s former forces. If the crown prince acts, the three factions could either reshuffle if conditions favor him, or…”
Meng Xizhao pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile.
Seeing him in this half-amused, half-guilty state, Cui Ye continued for him: “If the situation is unfavorable, let Zhan Buxiu take troops to guard the northern border. Amidst the chaos, the northern populace will fear for their safety. His presence reassures the people and allows observation of whether the lands beyond the Great Wall can be reclaimed.”
Meng Xizhao had not considered Zhan Buxiu, but hearing this, his eyes lit up. Perfect—the man had been in Yingtian Prefecture long enough.
Excited, his thoughts raced, but remembering the obstructive Emperor in the palace cooled his enthusiasm.
After a moment of silence, Meng Xizhao said, “Tonight, I’ll go drink with Jin Tuzhe.”
Cui Ye sighed: “Too bad I can’t join you.” Then he smiled and warned, “Remember—not to overindulge.”
Meng Xizhao agreed heartily.
The envoy’s villa remained, and Jin Tuzhe continued to reside there.
This time, however, unlike before, he no longer stayed in a small chamber, but in the main residence specially prepared for foreign envoys.
Hearing that Meng Xizhao was coming, Jin Tuzhe put down the Qi-state book he had been reading halfway through. He paid no mind to formalities and had someone escort Meng Xizhao directly into the room.
Upon seeing him, Meng Xizhao first carefully studied Jin Tuzhe’s appearance, as if trying to imprint his current self into memory. Only then did he smile and bow slightly. “Greetings, Left Bone Capital Marquis. It’s been many months since we last met. How have you been?”
Jin Tuzhe also observed Meng Xizhao. In court, they rarely had a chance to speak, and never clearly saw each other. He noticed that Meng Xizhao remained as he remembered—just more refined and dignified, more spirited. Jin Tuzhe then spoke: “I am no longer the clumsy Xiongnu I once was. You need not carefully choose your words around me.”
Meng Xizhao paused, then discarded formalities with an easy familiarity, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “Oh? Your refined speech has improved further?”
Jin Tuzhe smiled with pride. “Naturally. Even the most obscure Qi texts no longer challenge me.”
He gestured to the book he had been reading. Meng Xizhao glanced at it and saw it was Zuo Zhuan.
Meng Xizhao: “…………”
This truly is a man developing into a statesman.
He smiled faintly, pretending to notice nothing, and then sat down, reminiscing with Jin Tuzhe. Their shared past was only a year ago, when they were both minor figures. Meng Xizhao asked after the Left Worthy King, whether he had kept a close watch on the Xiongnu crown prince to prevent another escape, quietly mocking the Qi people.
Jin Tuzhe looked at Meng Xizhao, his expression revealing no trace of emotion, and offered polite responses. He mentioned the crown prince’s ongoing illness, advising Meng Xizhao not to dwell on past matters—after all, the prince was now a patient.
……
Very well. It seemed that over the past year, Jin Tuzhe had also grown; he was no longer easy to handle. Meng Xizhao had thought that leaving him a dagger would give him some leverage, but it now seemed of little use.
Undeterred, Meng Xizhao remained cheerful, no longer probing, genuinely enjoying idle conversation with Jin Tuzhe. Even when discussing the conflict with the Jurchens, it was pure curiosity, not intelligence gathering.
Jin Tuzhe’s responses were considerably more relaxed than when the crown prince had been mentioned earlier. This was no secret—everyone at court was aware of the situation, even the Jurchens themselves, so informing Meng Xizhao caused no alarm.
After listening for some time, Meng Xizhao verified the details and concluded that preparations for war were indeed underway.
As he was about to speak, suddenly, Qingfu burst in, breathless and panicked. “My lord!”
He skidded to a stop before Meng Xizhao, glanced nervously at Jin Tuzhe, then approached Meng Xizhao and whispered a few words.
Meng Xizhao’s face immediately turned pale. “How could this happen?!”