The medicine administered to Yao Wenyu had gone wrong, and the Pan family’s physician could not explain why—this was closely tied to Pan Yuan, who had been caring for him. Later, Princess Zhaoyue investigated the Longyou merchant who had helped Pan Yuan settle his debts, but the man had already vanished without a trace. Not long after Yao Wenyu’s departure, Pan Yuan died from a fall from his horse. Who had instructed him to poison Yao Wenyu remained a mystery, and the trail ended there. Yet Pan Lan blamed Xue Xiuzhuo for the matter, worsening the relations between their families in Qudu.
Gao Zhongxiong felt the atmosphere in the room grow heavier. Thinking of his own connection with Pan Yuan, he was uneasy, fearing Yao Wenyu might blame him. Unable to bear the silence, he stammered, “Though I knew Pan Yuan, we were not of the same path. Our exchanges were only out of necessity.” He was poor at flattery, and his words came out awkwardly: “I greatly admire Yuan Zhuo’s talent… During the Xian De years, at our Poetry Hall gathering, Yuan Zhuo’s presence was extraordinary, so remarkable that all who saw him were struck with awe…”
After Gao Zhongxiong finished speaking, Yao Wenyu replied calmly, “The past is like a dream, not worth mentioning. That we meet again alive in Cizhou is fate. I have now found a worthy master—what do you plan to do going forward?”
Gao Zhongxiong glanced at Shen Zechuan and said, “I have fallen to this point; there is little to plan for.” He forced a bitter smile, “What I’ve done today will make people laugh… after years of diligent study, it all amounts to nothing in the end.”
Shen Zechuan, with his folding fan tucked into his sleeve, noticed the chill in the room and instructed someone to prepare a hot bath. In a fleeting moment, he regained his composure, and with a slight tilt of his jade-like eyes, politely said to Gao Zhongxiong, “Given the current instability and the emergence of heroes everywhere, since you are here in Cizhou, it may be wise to stay at my residence for the time being and plan your next steps slowly.”
Gao Zhongxiong was deeply moved when Shen Zechuan addressed him as “Mr. Shenwei.” Having suffered so much along the way and met no benevolent masters, he now stood and made a deep bow to Shen Zechuan, awkward and tongue-tied. Shen Zechuan offered a little reassurance, and after half an hour, Gao Zhongxiong finally withdrew.
Yao Wenyu watched the bamboo screen fall. Only after Gao Zhongxiong had exited the corridor did he ask, “Does the Cizhou prefect think this man is useless?”
Even if Shen Zechuan thought so, he could not speak it aloud. He said, “Your recommendation must be for good reason.”
“Indeed,” Yao Wenyu replied. “Gao Zhongxiong, styled Shenwei, was renowned for his sharp pen at the Imperial Academy. When Xi Hongxuan stirred the storm in Qudu, it was precisely because of his writing ability that Gao Zhongxiong was chosen. In the fourth year of Xian De, he entered the capital as a student. At the time, Zhongbo had suffered military defeat, and the Six States were in ruins. His drunkenly composed Reflections on Tea and Stone spread among the students and reached Cen Yu, who was so moved that tears fell as he read.”
Shen Zechuan sipped his tea. “I see.”
The turmoil at the Imperial Academy, incited by Xi Hongxuan, was in fact at Shen Zechuan’s instigation. Gao Zhongxiong had led students to question Shen Zechuan’s departure from the temple, provoking a strong clampdown by Pan Rugui and Ji Lei. The students’ sudden change of sentiment caught Ji Lei and others unprepared, causing them to lose the initiative to attack Shen Zechuan.
Shen Zechuan fully understood that the key to that turmoil was the persuasive power of words and writing—a power that later also influenced Xue Xiuzhuo’s agitation at the Academy. Yao Wenyu clearly intended to show that Gao Zhongxiong’s pen possessed the ability to stir the masses, and now Shen Zechuan was in need of exactly such a tool.
“During the journey to Chazhou, the Cizhou prefect has already made a name for himself, but encumbered by Shen Wei, he has yet to command the heroes openly and justly,” Yao Wenyu paused. “Even when the records of the military defeat are publicly disclosed, Shen Wei will still not be absolved.”
If a name lacks authority, words cannot convince—the problem Shen Zechuan cannot bypass.
Currently, the Wing King of Fanzhou drafts documents attacking Cizhou, repeatedly citing the military defeat. Shen Wei’s retreat is a fact; Zhou Gui cannot argue. First, Shen Zechuan is the eighth son of Shen Wei, born out of wedlock. Being unloved cannot quell public anger—it is blood, unlike remote cadet branches such as Fei Sheng’s, which can be argued over verbally. Second, the military defeat resulted from Hua Siqian and others, who sought to cover the treasury’s deficits; yet all evidence was destroyed—Shen Wei burned himself, Hua Siqian died in prison, and Wei Huaigu’s treason with the frontier cavalry left no trace.
This shadow always loomed over Shen Zechuan, his greatest vulnerability. When rising in Cizhou, why was talent scarce? Because no one wished to follow him; they would rather join the likes of the Wing King of Fanzhou.
“Prefect, today you executed Cizhou’s aides, ostensibly publicly, so there would be no blemish. But as Cizhou grows and Chazhou submits, to advance further, you must first shed the title of ‘prefect,’” Yao Wenyu said, noting Shen Zechuan’s calm expression as he toyed with his folding fan—they both understood.
Shen Zechuan could be called either “prefect” or “garrison commander,” both positions within the Embroidered Uniform Guard, already invalid when he left Qudu. Now, in Cizhou, Zhou Gui is governor; without a new title, it implies Shen Zechuan remains a guest, with Zhou Gui as master. When the courthouse incident occurred, the aides could remain in their cubicles because they still recognized Zhou Gui as lord of Cizhou, maintaining a boundary between the two sides.
Only Kong Ling had realized the issue early, warning Zhou Gui before the previous trip to Chazhou and again before Huai Zhou. But Zhou Gui, unfamiliar with the internal situation, had failed to respond in time.
Shen Zechuan could not claim kingship yet, at least not now. The Wing King of Fanzhou established himself early, becoming a threat to Qidong. Qi Zhuyin, having regained her strength, blocked the border, allowing her to deploy forces against Zhongbo, first targeting these rogue mountain kings.
“Even a nobody has advantages,” Shen Zechuan leaned back slightly. “At least Qi Zhuyin acts anonymously; she cannot bypass the other five states to attack Cizhou.”
Cizhou had neither bandits nor rogue kings. The Eighth Camp chased Xiao Chiye, leading the Forbidden Army, and Shen Zechuan at most was a “fugitive,” with Cizhou at most “harboring a fugitive.” Zhou Gui did not openly raise a rebel flag; he remained governor and could feign distance from Qudu, giving excuses for delayed response. That alone prevented Qi Zhuyin from attacking Cizhou—unless she falsely claimed anti-bandit operations and approached from the west, using passage rights to enter Cizhou. Such a maneuver would cost twice as much in military logistics, which Qudu might not afford. The best method remained sending the Eighth Camp, supported by grain from Dancheng, close enough to justify action while pursuing Shen Zechuan.
Yet this state could not last.
The Eighth Camp would inevitably return, and once Qudu stabilized in three regions, the Ministry of War would reappoint commanders. To guard against this, Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan purchased the North Plain hunting grounds from Zhou Gui, making it a camp for the Forbidden Army. Thus, the 20,000-strong army became a shield on Cizhou’s west, specifically to repel the Eighth Camp. But when the Forbidden Army returned to Cizhou’s territory, Qi Zhuyin could then use the pretext of suppressing rebels to march north and attack Cizhou.
Therefore, Shen Zechuan did not rush to eliminate the Wing King of Fanzhou; he wanted him as a barrier between himself and Qidong, but he could not let the Wing King grow too strong.
“I once advised the prefect to swiftly capture Fanzhou. Now is no longer the right time,” Yao Wenyu said, noticing the tea in his hand had cooled. “If the prefect wishes to harbor the Wing King, he must first sever his northern reach.”
“Several months ago,” Shen Zechuan’s eyes clear, “Lei Jingzhe was sent back to Luoshan under Ce An’s orders, becoming a target for all. He can no longer command bandits, and the factions inside Luoshan turned against one another. Now, the Wing King seeks an alliance with Luoshan, and Lei Jingzhe, aiming to rise again, will not miss this opportunity.”
Yao Wenyu’s eyes flickered. “Prefect means…”
Shen Zechuan slowly opened his folding fan, covering half his face, and smiled: “I will give him a helping hand.”
Outside, the wind rose, and rain threatened.
Han Jin had picked at the walls with his nails until the skin was gone, spending nearly three months in the Cizhou prison, emaciated and constantly abused. At first, he could not endure and would cry continuously, but over time, he became numb.
“Eat.” The jailer brandished a wooden ladle, knocking on each cell door, shouting loudly, “Time to eat!”
They were skilled, quickly ladling the soup and rice, filling each bowl without spilling a drop. Han Jin rushed to the door, reaching for a bowl, but a passing jailer kicked it aside, spilling the mixture of soup, rice, and noodles onto the ground.
Hungry and with his stomach sour, Han Jin knelt, picking up the food with his fingers, shoving it into his mouth. Sand and small stones mixed in, grating against his teeth. He pressed his forehead against the bars, using his dirty hands to pick out the stones.
While straining, he suddenly saw a pair of feet outside the cell.
Han Jin carefully lifted his gaze, peeking out.
Gao Zhongxiong did not expect Han Jin to have fallen to this state. He had intended only to visit his former master.
Han Jin was Han Cheng’s younger brother. In Qudu, he had been a dashing young gentleman and later succeeded Xi Guan’an as governor of the Eighth Camp. He had also been involved in the Guan Gou case and had once greatly respected Xiao Chiye.
Gao Zhongxiong’s throat tightened; he tried several times to speak, but no words came out.
Han Jin stared at Gao Zhongxiong, suddenly lunging forward, clutching the bars, crying out, “Has my brother come? Is it my brother here?”