Liang Cuishan was not wearing official robes. Instead, he had on a cross-collared shirt beneath a worn sheepskin coat, with plain blue cloth shoes on his feet. He looked nothing like the “Lord Chongshen” of street rumors—his square face bore a short beard, his skin darkened from constant travel. His hands did not resemble those of a man who held a brush, but rather someone accustomed to gripping a hoe. When he stood beneath the relay station lantern to greet Kong Qiu and Cen Yu, Cen Yu nearly mistook him for a servant.
“How did Chongshen end up like this?” Cen Yu asked in astonishment.
Liang Cuishan led them upstairs. Only after they were seated did he say, “It’s a long story. That the two of you came—this subordinate would die without regret!” As he spoke, he bowed deeply to Xue Xiuzhuo. “Today, my lord has saved me from mortal peril. I will never forget this kindness for as long as I live!”
Xue Xiuzhuo wiped his hands with a warm cloth and sat to the side, saying only, “The matter is urgent. Speak with the two teachers first.”
“What is this about?” Kong Qiu studied Liang Cuishan. “By my reckoning, you should not have reached Qudu until the day after tomorrow.”
“They pressed hard from behind, so I dared not delay on the road. To be honest, this disguise is also to avoid drawing attention.” Liang Cuishan took out an account book from his robe and set it gently beside Cen Yu. “You have long overseen audits in the Ministry of Revenue. You have seen this kind of ledger—take a look.”
Cen Yu flipped it open, studied it for a while, then hesitated. “Is this not the ledger submitted by Chuancheng to the Ministry of Revenue at the beginning of the year?”
“Correct. It is the ledger of Marquis Helian of Chuancheng. At the start of the year, it was submitted along with those of the other seven cities for review, with the Censorate assisting in inspection. At that time, there were no issues.” Liang Cuishan paused, then took out another ledger. “This one I have recently reorganized.”
Cen Yu had barely read the opening when his expression changed. “How did you compile this account?”
Liang Cuishan’s face grew grave. After collecting his thoughts, he said, “A month ago, the Empress Dowager issued an edict. Vice Minister Pan ordered me to assist the Court of Judicial Review in investigating Dancheng’s accounts. But at the time, I was still in Juexi, working with Minister Jiang to audit the salt taxes of the thirteen cities. I was in Yongcheng.”
Not many days later, Liang Cuishan received a visiting card at the relay station from the Grain Transport Commissioner of Juexi. He never met visitors while on duty, but the man took the opportunity to leave behind a ‘small gift.’ When Liang Cuishan opened it, he found gold.
“Juexi connects by waterway to Dicheng and Hezhou. The Grain Transport Commissioner oversees provisions and transport—it is a lucrative post. But since I was within the Juexi Administration under Governor Jiang Qingshan’s authority, I dared not alert the enemy.”
The commissioner’s position overlapped somewhat with Liang Cuishan’s, though without the same breadth of authority. Still, in Juexi, he held significant influence. Liang Cuishan’s caution came from his suspicion that this bribe had been sent at Jiang Qingshan’s behest.
Liang Cuishan had risen with great difficulty and was exceedingly careful in official life. He wanted to be a capable official—but also to stay alive. Juexi was Jiang Qingshan’s territory. If he immediately submitted a memorial accusing the commissioner, it might never even leave Juexi before being intercepted. Moreover, Jiang Qingshan’s act of opening the granaries in the fourth year of Xiande and bearing full responsibility had shocked the court and won him widespread admiration in the thirteen cities. Against such a man, Liang Cuishan stood no chance. And everyone knew—Jiang Qingshan was Xue Xiuzhuo’s blade.
“I lay awake in the relay station. I could not accept the gold, but returning it rashly might invite trouble.” Liang Cuishan glanced at Xue Xiuzhuo. “Besides, Governor Jiang’s reputation is spotless. Having worked alongside him, I know his character somewhat. So I chose instead to summon the commissioner.”
It was a risky move. If he dared not act openly, he had to find a breakthrough here—to determine whether Jiang Qingshan truly stood behind the commissioner.
“The commissioner handles transport and taxation across the thirteen cities. Acquiring money is not difficult,” Kong Qiu said. “But the Censorate is auditing the accounts. The ships all have clear records—how could he conceal it?”
“That is exactly my question,” Liang Cuishan replied. “I feigned reluctance and told him to take the gold back. He then said the gold was clean—not part of Juexi’s accounts.”
“If it is not from Juexi,” Cen Yu closed the ledger, “then it must be…”
From Dicheng—or Hezhou.
“Yan Heru of Hezhou is a cunning merchant. Last year, when I audited Hezhou’s transport, he did attempt bribery. But he is immensely wealthy—he would not risk diverting funds from official accounts.” Liang Cuishan became more cautious when mentioning Dicheng. “Dicheng’s current prefect is a collateral member of the Fei family who married into the Hua clan. He enjoys the Empress Dowager’s favor, and his administrative record has been excellent. Without evidence, I dared not accuse him. I could only continue probing the commissioner.”
A bribe always serves a purpose—especially at Liang Cuishan’s level. He had first assumed the commissioner acted for Jiang Qingshan regarding the salt tax audits. But when he realized the gold was not from Juexi’s accounts, it meant there was someone else behind it—someone among the aristocratic elites near Dicheng.
Liang Cuishan would never name the Hua clan directly—they were the Empress Dowager’s family. After Hua Siqian’s fall, only his residence had been confiscated. Within a year, the Empress Dowager rose again and now governed state affairs. Even with all his courage, Liang Cuishan would not dare implicate her.
But once he considered Qudu, he understood what the gold was meant to buy. The Empress Dowager had ordered him to investigate Dancheng’s land—who would be most anxious? The Pan clan of Dancheng.
By now, Cen Yu understood. After all this, it was simply Marquis Helian trying to protect the Pan clan, bribing Liang Cuishan through the commissioner. Helian’s daughter had married into the Pan clan, and his concubine-born son had married into the Hua clan—he was the most suitable intermediary. Yet the move was poorly executed.
Pan Lin had once promoted Liang Cuishan, originally at Xiao Chiye’s suggestion. But it was also because Liang Cuishan was truly capable that Pan Lin allowed him to rise. If Liang Cuishan had any personal inclination, he would hesitate over Dancheng out of gratitude. This was something he could not easily refuse. But now, with Helian’s bribery, as long as Liang Cuishan did not report it, he had repaid Pan Lin’s favor. After that, he could investigate Dancheng freely.
Not only that—using this bribe as a lead, Liang Cuishan secretly reexamined the ledgers of all eight cities, focusing on the Fei family of Chuancheng. The so-called “untraceable funds” were in fact hidden tolls—aristocratic families set up invisible checkpoints within their territories. Merchants paid double fees to pass. Later figures like Yan Heru emerged, reclaiming those losses by trading copper, iron, and salt outside official channels, bypassing tariffs—thus giving rise to small border markets like the one in Dunzhou.
Cen Yu reopened the reorganized ledger. The sheer sums made him dizzy. For years, they had struggled in Qudu to audit accounts, sacrificing countless capable officials. Yet the ledgers recovered by Hai Liangyi during the Xiande era were only the tip of the iceberg.
Though the Yongyi Restoration had been brief, it had established the tax system that once sustained the treasury. The rapid decline of the Great Zhou was rooted in these rotten accounts—the state hollowed out, its wealth flowing into aristocratic pockets.
Cen Yu could barely sit steady. His hands trembled as he held the ledger.
And beyond taxes—there was land. He did not even need to calculate to know the scale of loss.
“In the Xiande years, when Libei went to war without provisions, Xiao Jiming had to rely on military farms to ride south against the Biansha cavalry.” Cen Yu’s breathing grew ragged as he flipped pages. “Qidong had no provisions either—Lu Guangbai took Qi Zhuyin’s dowry north to aid them. For years, Qi Shiyu poured his estates into the garrison. And in the first year of Tianchen, when the Qingshu Tribe attacked the frontier, Lu Guangbai’s troops were reduced to eating sand at the gates!”
Again and again.
Generals from north and south came to the capital just to beg for funds. Qi Zhuyin had been forced to mingle with loan sharks. Lu Guangbai could not even see the emperor. During the Juexi drought, how many died? Jiang Qingshan opened granaries in desperation—his elderly mother still had to weave cloth to repay debts. Zhongbo’s six prefectures were left hollow; Zhou Gui, Luo Mu, Huo Qing—all forced to bow before bandits.
And this was why the Ministry of Revenue claimed poverty.
Cen Yu slammed the ledger onto the table, hatred between his teeth. “This doesn’t even include the private lands seized by the eight cities—this is blood money…” His voice broke into a hoarse choke. “The Grand Secretary pushed it this far… the Xiande era nearly lost the state… Can this even be saved? It cannot be saved!”
Silence fell.
Liang Cuishan lowered his head. He was rootless—if he wanted to dig deeper, he needed powerful backing. He had first sounded out Jiang Qingshan, gained Xue Xiuzhuo’s audience, and only then met Kong Qiu and Cen Yu. He had not accepted Helian’s gold, but merely holding it was useless. Without protection, if he went to Dancheng and refused to falsify accounts, he would die—even Pan Lin could not save him.
The cloth beside Xue Xiuzhuo had already gone cold. He said, “I should avoid involvement, but this concerns Chongshen’s safety and the Dancheng investigation. I have no choice but to discuss it here.” He poured tea for them. “With news of Qidong’s campaign, the Ministry of Revenue will surely stall again. These tangled accounts will delay both spring planting and military provisions.”
Kong Qiu regarded him warily. Xue Xiuzhuo’s past maneuvers were too dangerous. “You did not gather us here just to look at ledgers.”
“One matter at a time,” Xue Xiuzhuo said, addressing him differently. “You did not oppose the Marshal’s campaign in Mingli Hall—you agree. But the treasury is empty. The Ministry of Revenue cannot support it.”
“Correct,” Kong Qiu said steadily. “The Marshal’s campaign may seem to aid Libei, but in truth it is to eliminate external threats. If Libei falls, the whole state follows.”
Xue Xiuzhuo produced a document. “This is my estimate of Qidong’s military expenses. Long-distance campaigns are far costlier—transport alone would consume last year’s entire tax revenue of Baima Prefecture.”
Kong Qiu read it. “Disaster relief already consumed much last year. Spring is coming. The eight cities have yet to return land or pay taxes. Without that, the cabinet cannot approve the campaign.”
“I have a solution,” Xue Xiuzhuo said.
He looked at Kong Qiu.
“This campaign’s provisions can be funded by the Xue clan.”
All three were stunned.
The Xue clan of Quancheng had long been declining. The heir Xue Xiuyi was useless, drowning in debt. Only Xue Xiuzhuo remained in court—how could they have such wealth?
A thought flashed through Liang Cuishan’s mind—Shen Zechuan… and then Xi Hongxuan.
Kong Qiu stared. “Even if I signed a debt note as Grand Secretary, I might never repay such a sum.”
“You need not repay it,” Xue Xiuzhuo said, pouring tea. “I only ask that you join me in auditing the land taxes of the eight cities.”
Outside, the lanterns swayed. Wind tore loose old notices along the road. Music from East Dragon Street drifted faintly before vanishing against the palace walls.
Inside, Li Jianting sat by her couch, the soft clinking of metal charms echoing as she recalled the past.
Fengquan lowered the curtains when the Crown Prince suddenly asked, “Do you wear earrings?”
Li Jianting’s shoulders were buried in her dark hair. She gazed into the shadowed chamber, answering as if for both of them.
“I despise earrings.” Her eyes, so like Emperor Guangcheng’s, turned toward Fengquan. In the dim light, she smiled slowly.
“They make one look like livestock—waiting to be slaughtered.”