“If I were Hason,” Xiao Chiye said, crouching down and sketching a rough map in the sand, “I’d strike Duanzhou.”
Shen Zechuan had severed Amur’s supply lines at Duanzhou, forcing Hason’s army rations to be spread across the six desert tribes. At the beginning of the year, Amur had allowed Hason to marry Duorlan precisely because he needed the Hulu tribe to supply the front lines. Since last June, the Biansha cavalry had lost all opportunity to raid across the borders—this was the true source of Hason’s anxiety.
“Then you’d better think it through,” Lu Guangbai said, crouching as well. He picked up a stone and pressed it onto Xiao Chiye’s “Duanzhou.” “The moment you launch a surprise attack on Duanzhou, Shen Zechuan will deploy Tantai Hu from the rear to meet you head-on within its borders. Then he’ll dispatch orders to the border commanderies and the three desert battalions. Reinforcements from both sides will trap you in Duanzhou—there’ll be no way out.”
“I can run.” Xiao Chiye traced a circle around the stone with his index finger. “I have the fastest cavalry. My goal wouldn’t be to retake Duanzhou, but to raid its granaries. On the way back, I could strike the newly built Luoshan horse ranch. Their reinforcements won’t catch up.”
“You’re forgetting the Grand Marshal,” Lu Guangbai said. “The moment you leave the battlefield, she’ll ride upstream and circle around to Gedale to kick you in the rear.”
“Perfect,” Xiao Chiye said, nudging the stone toward the border commanderies. “If the Grand Marshal detours to Gedale, I’ll hand the Qing Shu tribe’s territory to the Youxiong tribe and have them cut off her retreat, trapping her in Gedale and crushing her in one blow.”
Lu Guangbai blocked the stone with the back of his hand. “If the Grand Marshal dares to advance alone, she must have reinforcements. She could redeploy the Cang Commandery garrison to the border. Once the Youxiong tribe moves to block her, the garrison can strike back. Besides, the Youxiong tribe hasn’t yet submitted to Amur. You want them to act as shields—they might not agree.”
“They will,” Xiao Chiye said. “The Youxiong tribe refused to submit before because the Qing Shu tribe stood between them and the Qidong garrison forces. But now the Qing Shu tribe has been crushed by the Grand Marshal. The Youxiong tribe can’t withstand her next offensive. Their only choice is submission—only then can they gain Amur’s support.”
Lu Guangbai hesitated, then placed the stone back on Duanzhou. “Fine. If the Grand Marshal doesn’t move, I’ll station myself at Luoshan in advance.”
“I’ll destroy the road between Luoshan and Duanzhou during the raid,” Xiao Chiye said. “Without that route, you’ll be stuck circling in Luoshan, watching my cavalry ride off.”
Lu Guangbai pushed the stone again. “You’ll have to cross the river on your way back. I’ll ambush you at the Chashi River.”
“Even if you wear down my forces there,” Xiao Chiye lifted his gaze, “I’ll have achieved my objective.”
Lu Guangbai rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and gave a wry smile. “…Ruthless.”
The Chashi River ran along barren plains and desert terrain. Lu Guangbai’s ambush tactics relied on terrain advantages—at the Chashi River, he had none. The “chariot” formation could withstand cavalry charges but could not pursue them. He simply could not catch up.
If Xiao Chiye’s assessment was correct, then Hason’s raid would not only secure supplies but also reestablish a southern obstruction for Qi Zhuyin, easing pressure on his northern front.
Xiao Chiye spread his fingers, covering the map in the sand. “Hason still has eyes in Qu Du. He can see the whole board.”
Dusk fell, and smoke from cooking fires rose across the camp. Lu Guangbai sat down directly on the ground, gripping the stone in his palm. Watching the camp walls glow orange in the fading light, he said, “You can’t leave.”
Hason’s relentless assault pinned them all here. None of them could spare the manpower.
“A full assault means he’s running low on provisions,” Xiao Chiye said, staring at the map beneath his fingers. “If he can’t pin us down, he’ll have to risk losing part of his elite forces at Duanzhou.”
Hason was suppressing the main forces of the three battalions. Only by exhausting them could he free his elites to strike Duanzhou. At that point, Libei would be stretched thin responding, and reinforcements would pose less of a threat—his best opportunity.
Lu Guangbai tossed the stone to Xiao Chiye. “This is the moment we can control.”
Once they understood Hason’s objective, the raid lost its terror. Hason could disguise his intentions—but so could the Libei cavalry. A war of attrition was unfavorable to both sides, but Xiao Chiye held the advantage: he had Shen Zechuan’s supply lines.
At this stage of the war, the only one who truly threatened Amur was Shen Zechuan. His supply network was like a web, making the three eastern regions unassailable.
“Drag it out until the end of June,” Xiao Chiye said, catching the stone and setting it on the scuffed map. “I’ll take the Second Battalion’s elites to the border commanderies. You and Master can show signs of fatigue under Hason’s assault. The moment his offensive weakens, it’ll signal his move on Duanzhou. I’ll be waiting for him there.”
Three months—perfect timing. When Hason launched his raid, granaries would be full. He wouldn’t miss it.
By the time they finished, night had fallen. Xiao Chiye stood, whistled toward the sky. The hawk wheeled and descended, landing on his shoulder. Lu Guangbai brushed off his robe and walked back toward the command tent beside him.
Chen Yang waited at the entrance, lifting the curtain. As Xiao Chiye stepped in, he said in a low voice, “My lord, letters from the Prefect and Gu Jin have arrived.”
Xiao Chiye took the letters and stood at the entrance reading them.
Lu Guangbai drank half a bowl of milk tea. After a while, noticing Xiao Chiye hadn’t moved, he turned back—only to see Xiao Chiye’s expression darkened.
Several days later, Fu Man was summoned to the Grand Secretariat offices. Before entering, he changed his damp face covering, gathered his robe, and stepped inside to bow to Kong Qiu.
Kong Qiu sat by the window, merely giving a faint “hm” to signal him to rise. Fu Man straightened cautiously and stood at the far end. His eyes swept over the officials’ black boots, recognizing most of them.
“…Spring plowing has just ended. Huaizhou purchased a batch of grain from Baima Prefecture, calculated according to Juexi’s rice prices,” Liang Cuishan finished.
Kong Qiu had gained a few more white hairs recently, hidden beneath his official hat. “Qidong is at war now. Military funds must naturally prioritize Qidong. The Eight Camps’ expenditures can be reduced as appropriate.”
Fu Man thought to himself: here it comes. If the Grand Secretariat wanted to push through the investigation of the eight cities’ accounts, they had to weaken Han Cheng first.
“That’s the Ministry of War’s position,” said Minister Chen Zhen, tapping his pipe twice. “But Han Cheng refuses. He wants the Cabinet’s approval.”
“He wants the imperial endorsement,” Cen Yu said. “The Dancheng case isn’t concluded yet, and the Empress Dowager can’t sign off without suspicion. If the Cabinet has already reached consensus, then that should be enough. Yet he insists on stalling.”
The Empress Dowager could barely protect herself now—how could she wield her former authority? The Hua clan of Dicheng was equally uneasy. Everyone present knew what poison the Crown Prince had taken. By handing the case to Fu Man, Kong Qiu had allowed the inner court to investigate, preserving the Empress Dowager’s last shred of dignity.
Han Cheng still held the post of Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, attempting to follow Hua Siqian’s old path—using the Eight Camps to contend with the Cabinet.
Fu Man thrived by playing both sides. He had been waiting for this moment. The great clans’ ship was sinking—he could jump aboard the Cabinet’s instead. He had already shown his face before Hai Liangyi and had spent the longest time working within the Secretariat offices. The title “Ancestor” among the junior eunuchs was not lightly given—he truly held weight. By gripping the Crown Prince’s case so tightly, he aimed both to clear himself and to make Feng Quan the scapegoat.
Back when the Tianchen Emperor had favored Mu Ru and elevated Feng Quan, it had already angered the Cabinet. The Censorate had impeached him repeatedly. Later, when the emperor died at Mu Ru’s hands, Feng Quan had only survived by relying on Xue Xiuzhuo.
Fu Man dared not provoke Xue Xiuzhuo, but he had already seen clearly—the Crown Prince was the future ruler. He had to eliminate Feng Quan to secure a place beside him. His future decades of wealth and status depended on it.
He looked down on both Han Cheng and Kong Qiu. Thinking of Pan Rugui—Pan had risen to rival Hua Siqian by relying on Emperor Guangcheng’s trust. Being a eunuch was miserable, treated like a dog—but if one found the right master, then one became a dog above ten thousand others, greeted with reverence everywhere.
Lost in thought, Fu Man suddenly realized Kong Qiu was looking at him. He immediately stepped forward, bowing respectfully—an entirely different demeanor from how he behaved before Han Cheng.
“The matter Your Excellency ordered me to investigate has yielded some leads,” Fu Man said. “The vegetables the Crown Prince consumed that day all came from the Directorate of Imperial Gardens.”
“Those are exclusively supplied to the palace,” Kong Qiu said. “Who is the supervising eunuch?”
“A man named Yinzhu,” Fu Man replied. “I questioned all the attendants in the Crown Prince’s palace. None had direct dealings with the Directorate. Palace rules are strict—they rarely even meet.”
“For produce from the Directorate to pass through so many hands and reach the Crown Prince’s table, the person behind it must be capable,” Kong Qiu said, methodical as ever. “And to understand the Crown Prince’s preferences so thoroughly would take at least half a year.”
Fu Man nodded repeatedly. “This servant did, in fact, find someone.”
Kong Qiu exchanged a glance with Cen Yu. “Who?”
Fu Man hesitated, then said, “Feng Quan.”
Feng Quan had once served as the chief eunuch of the Directorate of Ceremonial, which oversaw the Directorate of Imperial Gardens and was connected to the Imperial Kitchen. He had been close to the Crown Prince and was someone the Empress Dowager once tried to protect. Compared to Fu Man’s obsequiousness, Feng Quan could not wash away suspicion.
Kong Qiu frowned. “Wasn’t he dead?”
“Yes,” Fu Man said softly. “But he stayed by the Crown Prince’s side for over half a year. He had changed so much that when he came to wait at Mingli Hall, this servant didn’t recognize him at all.”
Kong Qiu did not respond immediately. Just as silence fell, word came that Xue Xiuzhuo had arrived. Liang Cuishan, understanding self-preservation, took the opportunity to withdraw—matters of the inner court and the Crown Prince were not for him to involve himself in.
Xue Xiuzhuo entered with his hat slightly damp from the rain. Seeing Fu Man waiting at the side, he asked nothing, simply greeted Kong Qiu. Kong Qiu did not mention Feng Quan and instead invited him to sit.
As the Chashi River thawed, the brief warmth of Duanzhou’s spring vanished. For several days, a fine rain fell without end. Peach blossoms in the courtyard had been beaten down, leaving the ground strewn with wet petals. Shen Zechuan held discussions in the hall for hours at a time; Fei Sheng had placed braziers inside to keep out the chill.
“Yan Heru hasn’t shown himself for so long that business in Hezhou is in chaos. Merchants are arguing, afraid their early-year agreements will fall apart. They’ve come to Chazhou hoping to speak with the Prefect,” Yu Xiaozai said, seated below Kong Ling, close to the brazier. “The port also needs coordination with local officials—we should send someone there soon.”
Yao Wenyu seemed somewhat better today. “Spring plowing has just ended. Local offices can spare personnel. There’s also Wang Xian in Chazhou—he’s familiar with taxation. There’s no need for the Prefect to meet them personally.”
“Business proceeds as before,” Shen Zechuan said, holding a hand warmer. “Wang Xian is enough.”
Wang Xian had once been a clerk in the Ministry of Revenue, skilled at navigating between departments. Even Xiao Chiye had run into obstacles dealing with him—he was the perfect choice to negotiate with merchants.
“The Liuzhou prefecture is connected to the Yan family. Ask them if they can find Yan Heru. If not,” Shen Zechuan flipped through documents, “have them quickly appoint someone capable.”
Qi Zhuyin had not yet returned to Qidong. The Yan family still had to deliver the remaining military grain by April. Yan Heru was certainly nowhere to be found—the household was likely in turmoil. Shen Zechuan was reminding them: settle the grain delivery before dividing the family.
With matters concluded, Shen Zechuan saw that Qiao Tianya had not yet returned from the training grounds. “Regarding the details of each prefecture’s administration—too varied for generalization. Compile a register and submit it. Keep it concise, like Shenwei’s reports. Master is at my residence—Yuan Zhuo will dine with me today.”
The advisors rose and took their leave.
Ji Gang stood under the eaves watching Ding Tao practice boxing. Seeing the advisors depart, he sent Ding Tao to instruct the kitchen. Remembering Fei Sheng’s warning, Ding Tao left Li Xiong behind to guard the Prefect and dashed off.
Previously, it had been Qiao Tianya pushing Yao Wenyu, but in recent days it was Ji Gang. By the time Qiao Tianya returned, night had fully fallen.
Ding Tao and Li Xiong stood like door gods on either side. Crossing his arms, Ding Tao said coldly, “Without the Prefect’s summons, you can’t go in—”
Qiao Tianya pressed down on Ding Tao’s head and lifted the curtain to glance inside.
“The teacher’s already left!” Ding Tao struggled free. “After dinner, the Prefect had Grandpa send him back.”
“You should’ve said that earlier,” Qiao Tianya said. “Where’s the Prefect?”
“He should be resting,” Ding Tao replied. “He’s in the bath right now.”
“The hall windows weren’t closed either. The night wind’s strong,” Qiao Tianya said, deliberately scaring him. “If the Prefect catches a chill, Fei Lao Ten will lecture you all night.”
Ding Tao had indeed forgotten. “I remembered! I was just about to close them!”
He turned and rushed into the hall, shutting the windows one by one. As he stepped back out, the back of his head bumped into something hard. Instinctively clutching his head, he thought Fei Sheng had returned. Turning to speak, he immediately shrank back into silence.
Xiao Chiye lowered the Langli blade that had blocked him, tilting his head slightly as he searched for Shen Zechuan. His face was damp—rain and sweat—and he had not removed his heavy armor. His boots were still caked with dirt.
He had ridden straight back from the battlefield.