At the third watch of the hour of the Tiger, Qiao Tianya lifted the curtain.
Yao Wenyu was murmuring in his sleep; the pain in his legs made him sweat even in slumber. The bedding was thin, and since Cizhou had not yet reached the rainy season, the window was open, letting the bamboo blinds sway in the breeze. Yao Wenyu lay in the wind, as if resting upon spring rain.
Several months earlier, the turmoil at the Imperial Academy had shaken the ranks of the scholarly officials at court. Kong Qiu and Cen Yu had borne the brunt, and Yao Wenyu was not spared. After the incident, Yao Wenyu had found shelter under Kong Qiu’s protection, rarely appearing in the capital, spending his days at Bodhi Mountain with Hai Liangyi, until the carriage ambush.
It was on that day that Yao Wenyu encountered Xue Xiuzhuo.
Xue Xiuzhuo and Yao Wenyu had been classmates, long before Hai Liangyi’s attention. Both had studied together in Master Changzong’s academy. Hai Liangyi had originally taken an interest in Yao Wenyu because of his grandfather. By that time, Xue Xiuzhuo had already sent three letters of introduction, all of which Hai Liangyi had ignored.
Yao Wenyu had often heard Xi Hongxuan speak of Xue Xiuzhuo, who had grown up in relative poverty. After Xue Xiuzhuo’s father passed, the family branches quarrelled over lands and estates, a scandal well known in the capital. The eldest heir, Xue Xiuyi, fancied refinement but knew nothing of antiques, squandering large sums under deceitful counsel. Within a few years, the Xue family fortunes collapsed; the collateral branches gradually drifted from the main line, cutting off even autumn winds. Xue Xiuyi squandered his time, hoping to enter the Hanlin Academy, presenting gifts to officials such as Hua Siqian, all met with indifference; even Helian Hou Fei looked down upon him.
Just when everyone thought the Xue family was finished, Xue Xiuzhuo emerged. He earned his place in the Hanlin Academy purely through examination, his essays exceptional and not by trickery. Yao Wenyu had read all of Xue Xiuzhuo’s memorials; when he first entered the Hanlin Academy, he was sharp, reminiscent of Qi Huilian. He frequently submitted proposals concerning the allocation of local land and resources, addressing issues Qi Huilian had left unresolved. For the eight cities of the capital, he documented how noble families absorbed public lands without reporting, offsetting land taxes undetected under the Ministry of Revenue, a problem under Wei Huaigu and others.
Yet Xue Xiuzhuo lacked the protection of the Crown Prince. His memorials offended Hua Siqian, prominent noble ministers, and even Pan Rugui. These figures later became entwined with the Zhongbo military defeat, having allied quietly by the end of the Yongyi period. Even the seemingly marginalized Helian Hou Fei pursued the appropriation of public lands in Dancheng. Xue Xiuzhuo was like a young rabbit trapped in a net, stirring waves at court. The attacks were rapid; Hua Siqian used Xue Xiuzhuo to strike at Hai Liangyi and the scholars he represented.
Those days were difficult. Yao Wenyu, even in the countryside, could hear the winds of intrigue. Officials demoted included Kong Qiu; lower-ranked officers like Liang Moshang were indirectly affected. Hai Liangyi, evading Hua Siqian’s attacks, resigned from his post as the last Deputy Prime Minister, reducing participation in court affairs. The scholarly officials entered another period of dormancy. Xue Xiuzhuo’s future was constrained; publicly criticized by Hua Siqian, he was demoted to revising the national history, despite his talent.
But Hai Liangyi’s retreat was not out of fear—it marked the beginning of the scholars’ counter-strategy. Concerned with the treasury, Hai Liangyi avoided rebellion from the capital, instead pursuing local accounts. The man chosen was Xue Xiuzhuo, who, entrusted with the Ministry of Revenue’s inspection, did not disappoint. After the trials, he became cautious and experienced.
Xue Xiuzhuo remained in the position of the Ministry Inspector for eight years. According to court evaluations, he should have been promoted many times. Yet Hai Liangyi held him back, allowing him to cultivate experience. Yao Wenyu thought him naturally suited for office, as he fully understood Hai Liangyi’s intentions, worked diligently, and contributed to restoring food reserves in the Western Frontier. While Jiang Qingshan had the most credit for the granary, Xue Xiuzhuo’s efforts were also indispensable.
Jiang Qingshan did not favor Yao Wenyu and ignored his writings, being a man of action. To such officials, even a genius like Yao Wenyu was secondary to Xue Xiuzhuo.
Xiao Chiye had said that Xue Xiuzhuo was more like Hai Liangyi’s student. He fulfilled Hai Liangyi’s and the scholarly officials’ ambitions. At Nanlin hunting grounds, his decisive report forced Hua Siqian’s retreat, ensuring years of effort by the scholars were not in vain. After Emperor Xiande’s death and the Empress Dowager’s withdrawal, the Hua and Pan factions collapsed, ushering in a young, healthy new emperor.
Yet fortune did not favor man—Li Jianheng was unfit to rule.
Before Hai Liangyi’s death, Yao Wenyu bore no ill will toward Xue Xiuzhuo. To him, Xue occupied a delicate position, seeming to abandon the noble families yet gaining the full support of Xi Hongxuan and others. He appeared to straddle a line, with both sides’ pieces, including Yao himself, under his consideration.
Yao Wenyu met Xue Xiuzhuo at Bodhi Mountain, under the rain. They settled in a thatched pavilion and played a game of chess. Throughout, they exchanged no words or glances. The game lasted hours, ending in a draw.
As Xue Xiuzhuo left, opening his umbrella, he asked, “Will you take the spring examinations next year?”
Yao Wenyu carefully collected the pieces, replying, “With you, Xue Yanching, at court, what need is there for me, Yao Yuanzhuo?”
One seated, the other standing, they listened to the intensifying rain. The wind lifted Yao Wenyu’s sleeve; he held the chess box in one hand, as if a celestial being about to ride the wind, until mud splashed on his blue robe, grounding him in mortality.
Xue Xiuzhuo observed the mud, saying, “When our teacher was ill, Kong Qiu visited. You strategized in the hall for Han Cheng. At that moment, I realized Yao Wenyu was nothing more than this.”
Yao Wenyu let a piece slip into the box: “You are right. Yao Wenyu is nothing more than this.”
“One year ago, the teacher saw opportunity. With Emperor Tianchen’s trust, the scholars could act, yet it was wishful thinking. Factional struggles lasted years, resolving little. Twenty years ago, Qi Huilian proposed measuring local lands to restrain nobles, restore tax revenue—yet this has never been implemented. What did the steady-handed faction truly achieve?”
Yao Wenyu replied, “In the third year of Xiande, the Western Frontier suffered disaster. The treasury was strained; Hua Siqian refused aid, leaving tens of thousands homeless. Jiang Qingshan alone opened the granaries, accruing massive debt. Without the steady-handed faction, inspecting records and pressuring Hua Siqian, Zhongbo’s provisions would have gone to noble hands. Saving one is small; saving tens of thousands is not enough; so according to you, what counts as action?”
“If the steady-handed faction saved tens of thousands in the West, then they also created the tragedies of Zhongbo. Those who save one are doctors; those who save the world are ministers.” Xue Xiuzhuo’s fingers tightened. “For years, the teacher treated factional struggle as duty. Look at Kong Qiu, the current students—are only noble families divided by lineage? The Academy’s turmoil was easily stirred, yet Kong Qiu remains blind, and the scholars he leads hold the same prejudice against noble officials. The steady-handed faction now controls the Academy, contrary to your grandfather’s original intent.”
“You orchestrated the emperor’s assassination, intensified factional strife, placed the cabinet in peril. You incited Han Cheng to attack Xiao Chiye, drove Li Bei into rebellion, strengthened the Empress Dowager’s military authority, facilitated the princess’s rise. Every step was calculated, every person accounted for.”
Yao Wenyu stood slowly, black and white pieces scattering. “You killed the teacher.”
The rain intensified, mingling with the shattered chess pieces, battering all in sight.
Xue Xiuzhuo, drenched to his elbow, met Yao Wenyu’s gaze unwaveringly. Former classmates, sharing the same teacher, yet now entirely opposed.
“One day I will die,” Xue Xiuzhuo’s hoarse voice said. “Betrayed by all, ruined, I will walk this path to the end.”
“You kill without restraint. You cannot save the so-called world.”
“The revitalization of Da Zhou is now,” Xue Xiuzhuo stepped closer. “The old noble factions are purged; scholarly leaders are defeated; the eunuch problem removed. The cabinet, Empress Dowager, and heir act in balance. The new talents of court swarm like rivers. Da Zhou will have fresh blood. Yao Wenyu, I am fearless in death, even if notorious. I have fused my life into the teacher’s fire. I act for myself.”
He opened his umbrella, stepping into the rain.
“You win this moment,” Yao Wenyu shouted, “you win one game, but this is not victory. The world is chaotic, unpredictable. You cannot calculate all, Xue Xiuzhuo—!”
Rain poured, drenching everything. Hai Liangyi’s grave bamboo snapped, mud ran like weeping faces.
“This game is a draw for now,” Xue Xiuzhuo stopped, not looking back. “Yet since Xue Yanching exists, why need Yao Yuanzhuo? Our paths differ; after tonight, we need not meet again.”
“This game is unfinished,” Yao Wenyu called. “By my hand, there is no draw.”
Xue Xiuzhuo seemed to smile, glancing once more at Yao Wenyu. The rain fell between them; from birth, it was as if heaven and earth had set them apart. From illegitimate beginnings to Hai Liangyi’s choices, Xue had never won against him—but now, he looked down with pity.
You have lost.
The carriage raced down the mountain road, dogs barking, pursuers close behind. Yao Wenyu’s driver was dead; he could not control the horses, the carriage lurching wildly. Arrows pierced the cabin, some lodged by the hooves. Startled, the horses broke free from the reins.
Attackers leapt onto the carriage, stabbing through the walls. Bodhi Mountain had no one else; Yao Wenyu’s death was predetermined. He had never expected to survive this encounter.
The carriage flipped into a ditch, walls smashed, Yao Wenyu’s insides thrown about. The horses fell, hurting. He freed the reins and struggled to rise. Behind, the dogs barked fiercely. Limping, the horse ran. Without a saddle, Yao Wenyu was nearly thrown off by branches.
Soon, another horse approached on the mountain path. The pursuers, alarmed, pulled the curtain aside: a fully mounted guard blocked the narrow road. They signaled the driver to pull the carriage aside, and the group bowed in deference.
Yao Wenyu, gagged, writhed in pain, using his forehead to pound the wooden board.
The leader of the attackers gestured to subordinates. One whipped the horses, shouting to drown out Yao Wenyu’s sounds.
Yet the newcomers did not leave. The carriage curtain lifted to reveal Princess Zhaoyue, dressed as a lady, her brows furrowed. “Do not make a sound; there is a child inside.”
Yao Wenyu recognized her voice, his throat emitting a faint, unclear sound, forehead bleeding from impact.
Princess Zhaoyue continued, “Is there someone inside? Summon your master to meet me.”
The lead man recognized her and, bowing, replied, “A mistress of the household sought death. It is improper to release her before the princess. You first, Your Highness.”
Princess Zhaoyue, married into the Pan family, resided in Dancheng. After the death of Minister Hai, she moved to the capital with her husband. She had arranged to visit the Yao family, only to find Yao Wenyu missing. Knowing him well, she suspected foul play.
The leader calculated that she could not interfere; the Fei family had no power, and Helian Hou would not easily defy her. He sneered: “If the princess will not leave, we proceed.”
Before he moved, the Eight Camps’ guards pressed down on the weapons.
A jade finger lifted the carriage curtain, revealing a carefully styled flower hairpiece. Narrow-sleeved court attire hung neatly, silk shoes visible, pearls dangling from the collar. Her voice was gentle: “If the princess cannot interfere, can I?”
The man froze. The guard shouted, “Third Miss Yu, kneel and greet!”
In the capital, aside from the Empress Dowager’s cherished one, who else dared to be called Third Miss?
The man broke into cold sweat, immediately kneeling. “I have sinned a thousand deaths for obstructing Third Miss Yu!”