At the chen hour, the atmosphere inside Duanzhou City abruptly changed. Soldiers filled the streets and alleys. The garrison and Imperial troops alternated patrols, the four gates tightly shut. Everywhere rang the clank of military boots and sabers. Inside the residence, the mood was heavy; the guards kept weapons at hand, not daring the slightest slackness.
Xiao Chiye crouched in front of Li Xiong and asked, “You recognize them?”
Li Xiong’s face was injured, medicine applied. He answered, “I recognize them. They’re four-legged snakes. They drink Gedale milk—smell bad.”
Xiao Chiye frowned. “Not Scorpions?”
“They used to be—used to be Scorpions,” Li Xiong spoke quickly, stammering a bit. “Later they became snakes.”
Ding Tao was completely confused. “What do you mean used to be, later not?”
“They are four-legged snakes,” Li Xiong slapped his own arm. “My big brother talked to them. They’re different from Hai… Hai…” He could not remember Hairigu’s name. “Different from Hai. Not cattle and sheep.”
In the eyes of the Twelve Tribes, Scorpions were Gedale’s cattle and sheep, of low status.
Xiao Chiye thought of Zhuoli. Zhuoli was also a four-legged snake, but he had obvious Biansha features. In that case, the four-legged snakes were still Scorpions—just called something else.
“Four-legged snakes,” Xiao Chiye raised his eyes to Li Xiong and guessed, “four-legged snakes are Amur’s Scorpions, so their status is higher than Achi and Hairigu.”
Li Xiong gave a thumbs-up, pleased. “Right. They have land, can run horses,” he said, then grew sullen again. “They’re all bad, love beating people, don’t play with Scorpions—more expensive than Scorpions.”
Xiao Chiye pressed his bone ring, turning it lightly.
Hassen had been dead less than three days, yet Amur’s four-legged snakes had already appeared in the courtyard. Had they come with Zhuoli’s group, or had they been here all along?
“You did well.” Xiao Chiye raised his hand and patted Li Xiong’s head. “Stay here and guard the Prefect. Second Master will give you candy.”
“You’ve always been meticulous about this kind of thing,” Qiao Tianya came into the prison with his hair still damp. “How did such a lapse happen today?”
Fei Sheng examined the corpse. Hearing this, he shook his head. “The assassin looked like a Great Zhou man, spoke the local dialect even more fluently than we do,” he turned his head, “and they even had household registration documents.”
Qiao Tianya flipped over the body.
Shen Zechuan had established Zhongbo’s household registry—every household traceable. If these assassins even had registration, it meant they had likely been planted in Zhongbo earlier than Shen Zechuan.
“That makes it difficult,” Qiao Tianya said in a low voice. “Hidden among the crowd, they’re impossible to distinguish.”
“If there’s a flaw, there’s only one,” Fei Sheng gestured at the corpse’s arm. “Tattoo.”
Qiao Tianya lowered his gaze and indeed saw a four-legged snake tattoo on the arm.
“Back then, to screen for Scorpions, the master had all local offices record the names of those with tattoos,” Fei Sheng folded his arms. “I’ve already sent a letter to Yu Xiaozai in Dunzhou. If these two aren’t on record, then they slipped in during the city’s fall.”
Qiao Tianya nodded. As he withdrew his hand, he looked at Fei Sheng, his face without a smile. “Have you considered—why would infiltrating assassins carry such obvious markings?”
They were all Jinyiwei, well aware of the necessity of disguise. If Scorpions had to bear tattoos, then why would the higher-status four-legged snakes need them?
Fei Sheng’s expression grew grave. He clicked his tongue softly.
Shen Zechuan woke once at the shen hour. Xiao Chiye fed him medicine. Shen Zechuan’s mind was muddled from the fever; he could hear Xiao Chiye speaking, but the voice drifted near and far.
“Lanzhou…” Xiao Chiye said something, brushing aside the hair by Shen Zechuan’s cheek.
Shen Zechuan panted lightly as if short of breath, holding the spoon and swallowing the last mouthful. Xiao Chiye wiped his sweat with a damp cloth. Shen Zechuan turned his head; the tip of his nose brushed Xiao Chiye’s bandaged palm, his lips moving.
Xiao Chiye lowered his head to listen.
“The cloth,” Shen Zechuan’s words were disordered, “mine.”
“It’s with me,” Xiao Chiye covered his soaked hand with his free one. “When you’re better, I’ll give it back.”
Shen Zechuan was not clear-headed from illness. Amid the pain, he let out a faint whimper.
Xiao Chiye leaned entirely over the bedside, coaxing, “Really, I’ll give it to you.”
Shen Zechuan did not believe him. He frowned as if struggling, sorrow showing in his half-lidded eyes, burying his face into Xiao Chiye’s palm. Xiao Chiye’s heart was kneaded by him like this; he lowered his head, pressing against his temple, touching his sweat.
Shen Zechuan’s tongue was full of bitterness. What he saw through half-open eyes was all strange, shifting visions. Only Xiao Chiye’s scent surrounded him, making him feel as if he were floating among waves of grass. In a very small voice, he called, “Xiao Er.”
Xiao Chiye kissed him and answered with a low nasal sound, “Mm.”
Shen Zechuan frowned several times, speaking intermittently, “I want… to eat candy…”
Xiao Chiye’s suspended heart eased a little. He got up to mix honey water. Shen Zechuan only drank two spoonfuls—once the sweetness touched his tongue, it was enough. Xiao Chiye rinsed the cloth again, wiped the sweat from his neck, and felt that the fever seemed to have subsided somewhat.
In the side hall, the scholars sat restlessly. The smell of smoke filled the room; by the hai hour, no one rose, none even remembered to eat. All their hearts were tied to the Prefect.
“These doctors are useless,” Tantai Hu sat in a chair and said to Kong Ling, “Sir, what do you think—should I ride out immediately to Dunzhou to find more?”
Gao Zhongxiong paled and quickly waved his hands. “No, no—today’s assassin had clear origins. If there really are spies, no one can tell who’s who!”
Kong Ling’s brows remained furrowed.
The room fell silent again. Before long, they heard rain falling outside once more. Guards stood watch in the rain, lanterns lit deep into the night illuminating every path in the residence, leaving no opportunity for anyone.
After the battle, no one had rested much. Past the chou hour, those of weaker constitution could not endure it, dozing in their chairs but not daring to sleep fully, hanging in that state.
When Yao Wenyu entered, he removed his fur collar. The sound of the wheelchair woke several people. He folded the collar on his lap and said gently, “With Second Master here, the Prefect will surely be fine. I know all the gentlemen are anxious, but the battle has only just ended, and official matters from the various prefectures have piled up. Waiting until the Prefect awakens to handle them would be inappropriate. Chengfeng and Shenwei can remain here; the rest should go back to rest. Tomorrow morning, affairs must proceed as usual. Handle minor matters at discretion; for major ones, submit them to the side hall, and we will deliberate together.”
Kong Ling also stood. “The Prefect is currently ill. It is indeed not appropriate to press him with official matters. Everyone should return first.”
The group rose in agreement and withdrew in turn.
Gao Zhongxiong poured tea for Yao Wenyu. “Yuanzhuo fears the cold—someone should accompany you.”
Yao Wenyu accepted the tea with thanks. “With the collar and cloak, it’s fine. These past days the rain has not stopped. I’ve seen that the drainage channels in the city are flowing smoothly—no incidents.”
“At the start of the year,” Tantai Hu roused himself, rubbing his scarred eye, “everyone’s here, afraid the melting snow would clog things, so we cleared it once specially.”
“Dengzhou clogged, but it wasn’t serious. Lord Yu inspected and had it cleared,” Gao Zhongxiong said. “These past two days, there’s been more news from Cizhou—aside from Lord Zhou’s letter asking after the Prefect, there’s also talk of the Eight Cities.”
The Pan clan had been purged. Dancheng missed spring planting. Now it was already June—once autumn harvest came, the people of Dancheng would face food shortages.
“We’re fighting here; Qu Du is also fighting,” Kong Ling said. “According to news, the cabinet has already instructed the Ministry of Rites to begin preparations for the enthronement ceremony.”
Han Cheng was dead. The Empress Dowager survived by Hua Xiangyi’s connection but was completely confined in the inner palace. Command of the Eight Camps returned to the crown prince. With Li Jianting supported by the Qidong garrison, the great clans, preoccupied with themselves, could not stop it.
“We face an external enemy at the city gates, and everyone works together to assist the Prefect—Biansha will not be a problem. But Qu Du is now fractured. Xue Yanqing’s purge of the Pan clan has already unsettled the Eight Cities,” Yao Wenyu said softly. “The crown prince’s enthronement comes with great momentum.”
“Speaking of which,” Kong Ling looked at Chenyang, “we still don’t know what exactly happened in the frontier. Was the Youxiong Tribe negotiation successful?”
Chenyang sorted through military reports. “If it had succeeded, Second Master wouldn’t have arrived late. The Youxiong Tribe’s Dalan Tai agreed to our request, promising not to block the Marshal’s northern advance. He took the gift Hassen gave him and kept his word—he did not obstruct the Marshal’s march into Gedale. But he broke the alliance, launching a surprise attack on the frontier when Second Master prepared to move troops to Duanzhou.”
Just as Qi Zhuyin had predicted, Dalan Tai relied on no one. He did not want to submit to Amur, nor be controlled by Shen Zechuan. The requests from Hassen and Shen Zechuan showed him an opportunity—he wanted to pass through the frontier and seize the southern Suotian Pass, which had no strong general after Feng Yisheng’s death.
The Youxiong Tribe lived on the southern grasslands. Wandering the desert, Dalan Tai understood there was no place for bears there. They crossed mountains and rivers to return near their homeland, willing to gamble everything on the blade to secure a new place to live.
Xiao Chiye’s cavalry met the bear riders in the yellow sands.
The frontier fought for two days. Dalan Tai died there. The Youxiong Tribe seemed forever unable to cross that threshold, forced once more back into the desert.
“The reinforcements Hassen left in Gedale were handled by the Marshal,” Chenyang raised the report. “Last night’s urgent dispatch says the Marshal discovered Amur is mobilizing troops on the return.”
At these words, the hall grew tense.
Gao Zhongxiong stammered, “Th-then this means… ano-another ba-battle…”
Chenyang gestured for him to relax. “Just mobilizing. The commander at the battlefield is gone—Amur needs to send someone to replace Hassen… I think that person might be himself.”
Because Xiao Chiye had not returned Hassen’s head.
“As for specific arrangements, it depends on Second Master’s orders,” Tantai Hu reassured them. “No matter what, they won’t reach the city now. We hold the advantage. Even if Amur leads personally, he may not be stronger than Hassen. And to cross the Chashi River—he’ll have to see whether Second Master allows it.”
The atmosphere in the side hall eased somewhat. As they spoke, sudden commotion arose under the corridor. Chenyang lifted the curtain and looked out.
Ding Tao, crying with snot bubbling, grabbed Chenyang and shouted, “Brother! Let the doctors in—Prefect’s fever is rising again!”
The doctors trembled, gathered under the corridor, whispering about prescriptions. Rain washed the courtyard’s osmanthus, petals scattered everywhere. Qiao Tianya and Fei Sheng returned drenched, stepping over petals, quickly wiping themselves under the eaves.
“All the doctors who treated Yuanzhuo before are here,” Qiao Tianya tossed back the cloth. “Even those Ge Qingqing brought from Juexi are here—yet not one can cure him?”
“The fever keeps recurring,” Chenyang spoke quietly, turning aside from the window. “They say his vital energy is damaged—like porcelain. Few dare to prescribe.”
“They said the same about Yuanzhuo last time,” Qiao Tianya did not lash out at the doctors, pausing for a moment. “The Prefect’s body was harmed by medicine in earlier years, but these days he’s been carefully cared for at home. It shouldn’t be like this.”
“The master wants to recover too. He’s been taking medicine on time,” Fei Sheng wrung the cloth, worry filling his face. “…it’s still because the injuries that day were too severe.”
The room needed airing from the medicinal smell. No one wanted to provoke Second Master now, so they waited under the eaves. But when a servant carried medicine in, within moments they heard Shen Zechuan vomiting again.
Mist rose deep into the night. Pale lantern light flickered in the rain. Footsteps never ceased in the courtyard. The bedding had been changed once.
Fei Sheng said uneasily, “Prepare a brazier—dry things out.”
Chenyang saw the gauze brought out soaked with blood—he could not tell whether it belonged to Xiao Chiye or Shen Zechuan.
Li Xiong sat cross-legged by the door, dozing for a while. At the yin hour he woke. Fei Sheng had the kitchen serve him food; he buried his head and ate a full bowl, then sat again, staring at those going in and out.
Before his words ended, a hand reached out and gently pushed aside his pipe.
Qiao Tianya turned and saw Yao Wenyu.
“Too choking.” Yao Wenyu turned his wheelchair to face the main room.
The thin smoke curled upward, dissolving that faint, unseen gentleness in the rain-soaked night. Qiao Tianya stood, bracing his knee, and extinguished the pipe.
At the mao hour, the courtyard was quiet. Darkness passed into light. The guards who had kept watch all night were worn thin. Fei Sheng leaned against a pillar, closing his eyes to recover. Suddenly his ears twitched—he opened his eyes. Only after a moment did movement come from the gate.
“He’s back!” Fei Sheng leapt down the steps. “Gu Jin is back!”
One lantern under the eaves went out. Hearing the noise, Xiao Chiye waited a moment before the curtain lifted.
“Second Master,” Gu Jin, travel-worn, knelt on one knee in the outer room. “I’m late returning! On the road I heard Duanzhou was surrounded by cavalry—I didn’t even have time to take the official route!”
Xiao Chiye rose sharply and stepped out. Those under the eaves held their breath. Rain still clung to Gu Jin’s face. Meeting Xiao Chiye’s gaze, he did not dare hesitate.
“Second Master… the Grandmaster… is indeed dead.”