That day, the sun blazed brightly, and the gates of Duanzhou were in complete chaos. The snow on the ground had turned slushy, splashing everywhere under pounding hooves. Wagons carrying supplies skidded over the stone road, dragging horses off balance as they neighed, blocking the way entirely. The Libei iron cavalry behind could not get through and had to dismount to help.
“This damn weather,” Yin Chang muttered, desperate to relieve himself, clutching his waistband, his face flushed. “Changes at the drop of a hat. A few days ago it could freeze a man to death—now it’s so hot my ass is burning!”
The roadside was full of horses. Wet snow splattered everywhere, leaving everyone filthy. Fei Sheng gathered up his robe and tucked it into his belt, pinching his nose as he complained, “Why do these Biansha horses stink so bad?”
“They run around the desert,” Dantai Hu said, just as the pony in front of him lifted its tail and dropped dung. The steaming pile hit the slush. Dantai Hu scraped his boot, about to drag the horse aside, when several riders thundered past behind them, splattering hot filth all over.
Fei Sheng’s face turned green. The stench made him jump as he ducked behind Yin Chang, letting the old man take the full hit.
“Run your ass somewhere else!” Yin Chang shouted at the passing cavalry, then wiped his face and snapped back at Fei Sheng, “What are you hiding for?!”
Wu Ziyu pulled his horse up and turned back. Dantai Hu immediately waved him off, cursing, “Get your damn ass off that horse!”
Wu Ziyu had just changed into new boots. Seeing them covered head to toe in grime, he refused to dismount. Slowing his horse, he approached and said, “Why are only you guys here? Where’s Second Master and the Prefect?”
“They went in first,” Fei Sheng said through a pinched nose. “Why wasn’t this snow cleared earlier? Now everything’s blocked. Look how filthy it is—my master’s pale robe is ruined the moment it touches the ground!”
Fresh from victory, Wu Ziyu was in high spirits, even thinking of treating them to drinks in the coming days. Being scolded now didn’t bother him. He grinned and said, “I’ve been busy.”
Before he could finish laughing, a snowball smashed into his face.
Gu Jin’s nose had had enough. His face was dark as he hurled a snowball at Wu Ziyu and cursed, “What the hell are you laughing for?! If this heat keeps up, all the snow in the city will melt. Just wait till the drainage canals overflow—then the whole place will stink to high heaven!”
Gu Jin was usually quiet. Burdened with taking care of Ding Tao, he rarely even swore. Last year, when Guo Weili humiliated him at Tudalong Banner, he hadn’t lost his temper—but now, standing in the stench, he looked ready to pass out.
Wu Ziyu was usually meticulous in his work, but victory had gone to his head this time, and he had slipped on small matters. If Chen Yang were still here, he would have reminded him—but Gu Jin’s way was simply to curse him out.
The three men behind them were stunned. Yin Chang stood in a row with Dantai Hu, still holding it in, waiting for Gu Jin to give the word to jump in.
Fei Sheng muttered, “That curse sounds familiar.”
Dantai Hu mumbled, “Probably ‘hell’ or something.”
“Pah,” Yin Chang said, crouching slightly. “Don’t look at me—I didn’t teach him that!”
Wu Ziyu had already obediently slid off his horse.
Duanzhou had never suffered a great fire like Dunzhou, so its streets still looked much as they had seven years ago. Shops and taverns were long closed. Achi had only left a few cooked-meat stalls—Scorpions liked the braised beef here. Biansha troops had occupied the city for a time, slaughtering the civilian districts on both east and west sides, but leaving the ghost market in the north intact.
“Lei Jingzhe traded with the Scorpions here,” Shen Zechuan said, stepping over old debris and leaping onto a collapsed courtyard wall. From there, he could see the northern market. “My teacher used to come here often. You could buy things you wouldn’t find anywhere else.”
“What’s to the south?” Xiao Chiye climbed up beside him and looked over. “…A Biansha horse pasture.”
Shen Zechuan exhaled softly. “This is an empty city.”
Last year in Ci and Cha prefectures, Shen Zechuan had worried about an influx of refugees from Dancheng. But now it seemed Zhongbo’s population had thinned so much that it could easily absorb migrants from the eight cities.
“It’s time to reorganize the household registers,” Xiao Chiye said, watching Meng circle lazily in the sky. He wore no armor today, only an arm guard. “Last year, we were mainly managing three prefectures. Cha and Dunzhou lacked garrison troops, so registrations were handled uniformly by clerks. But now all six prefectures are under our control—civilian and military registers must be separated.”
Civilian registration fell under the Ministry of Revenue, and could not be managed together with military rolls. When Xiao Chiye had served as commander of the Imperial Guards in Qudu, there had been a dedicated office for military records—one of the reasons the Guards and the Eight Camps could never fully integrate. Governing Zhongbo was no easy task. The staff in Cizhou was no longer sufficient. All six prefectures needed administrative offices, military commands, and corresponding oversight.
“These matters aren’t hard,” Shen Zechuan said as he watched Meng turn back. “Yu Xiaozai can inspect affairs across the six prefectures—effectively acting as a circuit inspector. I intend to appoint him as Zhongbo’s judicial commissioner. His performance in Qudu’s Censorate was outstanding—he’s experienced in field inspections and knows the tricks of local administrations. Cheng Feng may not follow me, but he’s willing to assist with governance in the other five prefectures—that solves an urgent problem.”
Clerks were not lacking. As long as local offices opened their doors, people would come. What Shen Zechuan lacked were capable officials to oversee administration.
And more than that—he lacked generals.
Cha Prefecture was temporarily under Luo Mu’s control, but that could not last. Luo Mu currently held all three powers, while oversight was temporarily handled by the Embroidered Uniform Guard—who had no authority over civil governance. If Luo Mu developed ambitions, and hid them well, Shen Zechuan might not catch it in time. To prevent this, appointments had to be made soon.
Meng landed on Xiao Chiye’s arm. Xiao Chiye said, “We also lack a finance steward.”
That reminded Shen Zechuan of Liang Cuishan. He glanced at Xiao Chiye. “What a pity about Liang Cuishan.”
“He has work under Pan Lin—that’s not wasted,” Xiao Chiye said, smoothing Meng’s feathers. “I heard from recent reports that Xue Xiuzhuo plans to investigate Dancheng’s land. If that succeeds, none of the eight cities will escape—it will be a heavy blow to the aristocracy.”
“We don’t have confirmation yet,” Shen Zechuan said, jumping down from the wall. “We’ll know more once everyone arrives.”
They walked back along the road. When they reached their temporary residence, they did not see Gu Jin and the others—only Fei Sheng waiting.
“They’re clearing snow,” Fei Sheng said, then quickly added, “Right now it’s Gu Jin and Wu Ziyu taking over.”
Meaning—he just happened to be resting.
Shen Zechuan knew his temperament and did not press further. He only said to Xiao Chiye, “Duanzhou’s drainage canals need to be inspected too. We should plan early.”
Xiao Chiye glanced at Fei Sheng but said nothing. In the matter of Huo Lingyun, Fei Sheng had handled things well—he kept his temper, did not provoke trouble, and earned Xiao Chiye’s acknowledgment.
Fei Sheng quickly led them inside, not daring to let them linger at the door. This residence had once belonged to Duanzhou’s commander—the Zhu family, from which Lei Jingzhe came. It had been abandoned, then cleaned up by Wu Ziyu for their use.
Snow clearing at the city gates lasted until dusk. These were soldiers, after all—Shen Zechuan did not summon them again for the night. The kitchen had prepared food early; everyone ate casually and went to rest. Fei Sheng shared a room with Yin Chang and Dantai Hu—once those two took off their boots, he collapsed on the spot.
Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye had just finished eating when Gu Jin entered.
Seeing his expression, Xiao Chiye set aside the book in his hand and asked, “What is it?”
Gu Jin took out a letter and presented it. “A letter from Libei for you, Master.”
Xiao Chiye saw there were two—one official letter from Xiao Jiming, and a private one from Chen Yang. He read the official letter first. His elder brother mentioned that the horses would arrive at Luoshan by the end of the second month, and that Xiao Chiye would return to the battlefield at that time—nothing new. But one detail stood out.
After Gu Jin left, Shen Zechuan leaned over from behind, pressing lightly on Xiao Chiye’s head as he read. In a calm tone, he said, “Your brother’s gift.”
Xiao Chiye reread the line. “He’s transferring Guo Weili to my Second Camp. That means he’s freeing up the Third Camp for Teacher. Guo Weili can’t adapt to Hasen’s pace—he’s frustrated there anyway.”
To be fair, Guo Weili was a capable commander. Holding Tudalong Banner for so long proved it. But he was hot-tempered, difficult to get along with, and sharp-tongued when displeased. Last year, he injured Gu Jin and stripped him of rank, creating tension with Xiao Chiye. After Xiao Chiye took Sand Third Camp, friction between their troops had been constant.
This year, command rotations shuffled the three main battle camps. Xiao Chiye and Guo Weili both struggled with each other’s troops. Guo Weili had barely used the Imperial Guards, finding them arrogant and undisciplined. Because of Xiao Fangxu’s death, he disliked Xiao Chiye but had not openly clashed—yet the issue with Gu Jin remained a thorn.
He was not easy to use.
Xiao Jiming’s arrangement was deliberate. The other camps could work with Guo Weili—but he placed him specifically in Xiao Chiye’s Second Camp.
Xiao Chiye fell silent for a moment. “Big brother is still big brother.”
It struck at the heart of the matter.
After the battle of Duanzhou, Xiao Chiye would return to the battlefield with greater authority. His relationship with the Libei cavalry could improve over time—soldiers would follow a commander who led them to victory. Xiao Chiye was fair in reward and punishment, and kept his word. But to truly unify the cavalry, he had to overcome the obstacle of Guo Weili. Otherwise, divided command would lead to disaster.
Inside, Shen Zechuan was already growing drowsy. His eyes half-lidded, he said softly, “Ce’an, the sea embraces all rivers—only then is it vast. This is your brother giving you a chance.”
In the dim lamplight, Xiao Chiye thought of a campfire in wind and snow. Xiao Fangxu’s clenched fist appeared before him, his father’s voice echoing in the flickering flames:
“You want this position—but are you truly worthy of it?”