Zhou Gui realized immediately that he had spoken too hastily.
Shen Zechuan’s birth mother was called Bai Cha, but she was not a woman from the Bai family of Qidongce Prefecture. She had been given that name because, while still residing in the brothel, someone praised her as “pure as jade, delicate as porcelain; whether adorned or bare, the finest in the house.” At the time, Duanzhou was still a famed entertainment hub of Zhongbo, attracting beauties from across the land. Scholars competed to host banquets and write critiques, producing the “House Rankings,” which were adjusted each season according to evaluations.
Bai Cha had been the “Top Beauty” of the house during the Yongyi era, holding the title for five years without fail. Whenever she listened to the critiques behind the screens, the streets of Duanzhou would empty. When she danced for Prince Jianxing’s guard, Shen Wei, the streets would be packed with people. Countless spectators climbed rooftops or stood on each other’s shoulders, just to glimpse her figure behind the thick veils. Her beauty became legendary in poems and praise; even Emperor Guangcheng, ensconced within the palace, had heard of her and repeatedly asked Hai Liangyi, then Vice Minister of the Secretariat, “When will the imperial inspection tour be scheduled?”—so he might see her in person.
Zhou Gui had seen Bai Cha at the Zhu family’s first-month banquet, but only through the screen, catching glimpses of the famed beauty. Lei Changming’s sister had originally been a senior courtesan in the house before being taken as a concubine by the Duanzhou Commander. When training new girls, she was regarded as the “mother” figure. Bai Cha had attended the celebratory banquet on behalf of the girls.
All of this had happened many years ago, and Zhou Gui’s memories were vague. But looking at Shen Zechuan just now, he noticed a resemblance—about sixty percent—to Bai Cha, which stirred his emotions, causing him to speak impulsively.
Shen Zechuan’s expression remained calm. “What a coincidence.”
There was no surprise or excitement in him. He had no memory of his birth mother; even though he had heard countless rumors about her, nothing lingered in his mind. The maternal role in his life belonged to his teacher’s wife, Hua Pingting, just as the paternal role belonged to his master, Ji Gang. Thus, he had devoted himself to ensuring that Ji Lei, who had harmed Hua Pingting, would meet a gruesome end. The two who had given him life had no connection with him—Bai Cha had died early, leaving no words, and Shen Wei despised him. In the household, the Prince’s wife managed the affairs, and before the age of seven, Shen Zechuan had seen Shen Wei only seven times at New Year’s family banquets, never exchanging a word of father and son conversation.
Shen Wei’s disdain was unmistakable.
They were less father and son than lifelong adversaries. Shen Zechuan’s life in the Prince’s mansion was confined to a small corner of the inner courtyard; he could not leave on his own. His leisure consisted of watching the white clouds float across the blue sky. By seven, he had learned many characters by peeking through the windows of his elder brothers’ classrooms, sneaking knowledge from them.
The elder brothers vied fiercely for status, and the various maids competed as well, filling the inner courtyard with chaos. Shen Wei refused to live there himself, instead residing most of the year with a concubine outside, indifferent to the household strife. Later, the legitimate elder brother Shen Zhouji won out, sending the other sons to distant posts, ostensibly for education, but practically to prevent future disputes.
Shen Zechuan was the only son personally removed from the old Duanzhou residence by Shen Wei. Shen Wei refused to let him attend school or hire a tutor. Within the mansion, he was cared for by a deaf, blind, and mute old woman; outside, by a maid retained by his mother in the old residence. The woman, greedy for money, skimmed funds from the Prince’s household, reducing his meals from three to two, then to one, and even that barely enough.
Thinking of this, Shen Zechuan felt hunger gnawing at him. He released Lang Taoxue, saying, “Ding Tao, help Mr. Chengfeng change into clean clothes. Today, Ce’an and I host; let’s eat first, and discuss matters at the table.”
Zhou Gui, clumsy and tongue-tied, might have prompted further words, so Kunling held his arm, guiding him into the city to avoid irritating Shen Zechuan.
After Kunling changed, Zhou Gui lingered, worried. “Why did I bring that up just now?”
“You too,” Kunling said, “bringing up the wrong thing at the wrong time. It almost makes it seem as if you suspect him of colluding with the bandits. Fortunately, neither of them is naturally suspicious; otherwise, it would have been a real obstacle.”
“I spoke in the heat of the moment. Later at the table, I must properly apologize to the magistrate. They came to relieve Cizhou; I cannot mistreat them.” Zhou Gui sighed.
“Do not dwell on it at the table,” Kunling advised. “If Shen Zechuan were narrow-minded, he wouldn’t have come. Overthinking it makes you seem more concerned than him. Moreover, he likely does not care—compared to his mother, Shen Wei is the true source of resentment.”
They did not wish to keep Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiyu waiting. After a brief rest, they went to the meal.
The “banquet” was a simple lunch. After last night’s forced march and the skirmish at the city gates, Shen Zechuan, mindful of Kunling’s age, did not prolong socialities. After eating, Kunling was allowed to rest early.
Xiao Chiyu needed to organize the imperial patrol and coordinate with Dantai Hu at the old camps. By the time he finished, dusk approached. He found Shen Zechuan atop the city wall.
“After tonight, there’s still much to do,” Xiao Chiyu said. “I thought you were resting in the courtyard.”
“I slept half an hour,” Shen Zechuan replied, gazing at him. “There are still matters on my mind; I could not sleep longer.”
Xiao Chiyu tilted his head, patting his horse to play. Dust-covered and still in his previous attire, he stood beside Shen Zechuan. “From here, what can you see?”
Shen Zechuan watched the hills fold beneath the approaching night, the orange-red sunset slanting across the sky. Birds soared, like stones skipping across a sea of silk hibiscus, stirring clouds as they went.
“I see tomorrow,” Shen Zechuan said calmly. “Cizhou will be the junction to the Northern Trade Route. We will carve a direct horse road southwest to Hezhou, ending at the river port. Goods can be shipped in half a month to Yongyi Harbor. The Xi family fleet can connect internal and external trade; the emptied silver warehouses will eventually refill. I do not grieve over the lost wealth; we will have more. Cizhou lies behind Dun and Duan prefectures—they act as gates of Zhongbo. Anyone wishing to trade grain must coexist with Cizhou.”
“After reclaiming Dun and Duan, defenses must be strengthened. Rebuilding the garrison is urgent; we must select capable and trustworthy men. But capable men do not always accept subordination. Then…” Xiao Chiyu turned northeast, “I will establish a new cavalry post southeast of the grain route. If they act up, you whistle; I will ride to confront them directly.”
Shen Zechuan smiled softly. “Cizhou is far too important to yield to anyone. Zhou Gui is a good official, but not fit to govern a prefecture alone. In this sea of wolves, zeal alone cannot protect people.”
“We lack manpower,” Xiao Chiyu reflected since leaving Lei Changming’s old camp.
If Cizhou is the starting point for the two of them, the more their territory expands, the more they will struggle—lacking capable aides. Had Qiao Tianya or Chen Yang been present, today’s crisis might not have arisen, but unclear loyalties will soon surface.
“Zhou Gui is suitable as the overseer of six prefectures’ grain,” Shen Zechuan said, “his compassion is fundamental; he will not allow collusion between officials and merchants. Yet he is too kind to enforce strict punishments; he cannot suppress local rogues. Kunling is by his side to assess him, prune the weeds, and act decisively. If they continue to cooperate, they will achieve much.”
“And what of Lei Jingzhe?” Xiao Chiyu asked.
“He is doomed to fail,” Shen Zechuan said, walking along the battlements. “I thought he was a capable figure when leaving the camp, but today’s behavior proved otherwise.”
“Indeed, our thoughts align,” Xiao Chiyu said, watching darkness fall, moving alongside Shen Zechuan. “Lei Changming is his maternal uncle. To seize Cizhou first, he left Lei Changming as a sacrificial pawn, which may not command respect. When fleeing, to avoid arrows, he used his subordinates as shields. From these, we see cunning but a lack of righteousness. To join Quan Du, he must transform bandits into soldiers, yet he has not grasped that bandits differ from generals. Authority is earned, not instilled by cruelty alone. Frequently changing orders before battle, failing to enforce commands, and inconsistent rewards and punishments—he is not general material.”
“So I worry more about Qi Zhuyin,” Shen Zechuan hesitated on the steps. “The marriage between Qidong and the Hua family is fixed. Now that the north is lost, Qidong is Quan Du’s last support. Qi Zhuyin will soon be promoted. The Empress Dowager favors her; once titled, she will march north. No matter what, Cizhou must be fortified before she arrives.”
“She is not easy to fight. The elder is heavy cavalry, Lu Guangbai is guerrilla, Qi Zhuyin combines cavalry and infantry. She has long stayed in Cang Prefecture, rarely mobilizes, yet favors sudden, fierce attacks. When she rescued Qi Shiyu in the desert, it was like a swift storm—overwhelming, instilling fear. Facing her again will be daunting,” Xiao Chiyu considered. “I want a match with her.”
Shen Zechuan looked at him.
Xiao Chiyu patted his shoulder. “Not immediately, so don’t glare at me like that.”
Descending a step, Shen Zechuan suddenly remembered, “Where is my fan?”
Xiao Chiyu pinched his chin, leapt three steps down, crouched in front of him, and said, “I’ll give it to you when you climb up.”