Shen Wei and Bai Cha had been married for several years, sharing the same bed but different dreams—each endlessly trying to discern the other’s true identity. During those years, Shen Wei constantly warned himself against feeling any compassion. They had a son, and Bai Cha had carefully chosen the name “Zechuan” from among precious, auspicious characters. They held a proper wedding feast, exchanged glances with no trace of malice, and seemed, at least outwardly, to truly love one another.
Shen Wei was a concubine-born son who had endured countless hardships, only to emerge as the sword of his family. He believed himself sharp and loyal enough to even kill the crown prince to prove his devotion, yet he quickly realized it was all in vain. He was destined to be discarded again. The powerful nobles despised him; he was merely an ant struggling on the far side of a chasm.
Sometimes Shen Wei would sit in the courtyard and watch Bai Cha teasing their son beneath the eaves, and for a fleeting moment, he would mistake them for an immortal couple. He experienced brief lapses of indulgence, because Bai Cha’s gaze was so sincere, so unwavering, that he could convince himself he was the one she admired most in the world.
But those moments were fleeting illusions.
Shen Wei always acknowledged one truth: he was a scoundrel. He never wanted to remain a mere dog, and Bai Cha was one of his chains. When faced with choice once again, he hesitated only briefly before ending her life.
He was a sword.
And in the end, he drove it into himself, leaving his flesh torn and bloodied.
Shen Zechuan resembled Bai Cha so closely that Shen Wei wanted to destroy him. They were not father and son—they were merely proof of a trivial, inconsequential attachment. Shen Wei’s leverage lay in Zechuan’s eyes, and he could not endure that gaze. Yet he never truly killed him, even though countless times he had imagined tossing him to the wolves.
Shen Zechuan was the child of Shen Wei and Bai Cha, inheriting two veins of cold-bloodedness. Shen Wei drank in the thought of it, leaving this son behind, only to cast him away—teaching him nothing. It was revenge.
The object of his revenge was both Bai Cha and himself.
“But…” Chen Yang broke the silence, asking cautiously, “if Shen Wei became a Scorpion before the Battle of Zhongbo, then why did he self-immolate? When the Bian Sha cavalry arrived in Dunzhou, his mission was complete—wouldn’t following Amur eastward have been the safer choice?”
Shen Zechuan had no answer; this was also why he initially doubted Ji Lei. He did not understand Shen Wei and had no clue. He could only say, “I can’t guess. If the Jianxing Prince’s mansion still stood, perhaps some clues could be found there.”
“How many men do you have?” Xiao Chiye asked Hai Rigu.
“I can’t tell…” Hai Rigu saw Xiao Chiye’s gaze and sighed, “Eight hundred—only eight hundred. There were over a thousand at the start, but life in hiding was harsh, and many left over the years.”
“Yet you once seized Lei Jingzhe’s supplies,” Shen Zechuan noted, “and then returned them.”
Hai Rigu accepted the scrutiny of the guards and slowly raised his hands, claiming innocently, “I have no land. I live in the alleys of Dunzhou. These supplies were too heavy—I could not hide them. We are only eight hundred.”
Gu Jin thought to himself: When you seized the supplies, it certainly didn’t feel like that.
“My mother once said,” Hai Rigu said earnestly, “things must be returned to their rightful owner. Those supplies were never mine.”
Xiao Chiye did not spare him, teasing, “Or perhaps it’s more like: things you can’t use must be returned to their owner.”
Hai Rigu displayed a resigned expression, as if to say, That’s just how it is.
“What did Yan Heru give you, that made you serve him so faithfully?” Shen Zechuan tilted his head, knowing a negotiation was coming.
“He’s handsome,” Hai Rigu replied sincerely.
Shen Zechuan realized this Bian Sha Scorpion was adept at disguise. He seemed gullible but was actually shrewd.
“What do you want for following me?” Shen Zechuan asked.
“Some promises,” Hai Rigu said. “I owe Bai Cha a debt, so I am willing to trust you, and for that…”
“I’ll give you another chance,” Shen Zechuan gently lifted his index finger.
Hai Rigu paused and answered honestly, “I want land—a piece that belongs to someone like me.”
“And what will you offer in return?” Shen Zechuan asked slowly. “I do not need your eight hundred men.”
“We are the people my mother left behind,” Hai Rigu said. “You can treat us as elite soldiers.”
“Bai Cha is Bai Cha,” Shen Zechuan said. “I have given you nothing.”
“We can speak of sentiment,” Hai Rigu raised his hand again, turning respectfully to Xiao Chiye, “I mean gratitude. You are Bai Cha’s son, and for that, I am willing to serve you.”
“If I were Yan Heru,” Shen Zechuan said thinly, “I would believe you.”
Hai Rigu had survived by leveraging Yan Heru’s support in Dunzhou against Lei Jingzhe. His survival depended on his intelligence. Clever men rarely dwell on old debts—they know how to weigh priorities. If Dunzhou did not fall into Shen Zechuan’s hands this time, Hai Rigu would never think of Bai Cha—his loyalty lay with Yan Heru, the man he protected atop Fusian Peak.
Xiao Chiye said seriously, “Your wife is clever.”
Hai Rigu could only shift his strategy. “You killed Lei Jingzhe and disrupted Amur’s deployments in Zhongbo. He will not give up on the city easily. Soon, cavalry will gather outside Dunzhou. You must quickly establish walls here. But Dunzhou has no garrison. You can only detach troops from the Cizhou garrison, yet Cizhou itself faces threats from Qudu. You lack men—you lack soldiers and horses.”
“I do lack soldiers,” Shen Zechuan admitted, “but I do not lack money. My men will garrison Dunzhou, establish a new order, and rapidly reorganize the defense forces.”
“Can ordinary soldiers resist the Bian Sha elite?” Hai Rigu asked. “Perhaps your… husband knows better.”
A glint appeared in Xiao Chiye’s eyes, and he naturally added, “Hassan leads the Bian Sha elite on the northern front. The southern forces must face Qi Zhuyin. Amur has no remaining elite to deploy to Zhongbo.”
“That is merely a ruse,” Hai Rigu insisted. “The south is difficult. Tianfei Que and Suotian Pass hold Qidong tightly, and Qi Zhuyin commands 120,000 troops in Bian Prefecture—if he does not leave, the cavalry cannot break through. Amur stretches the front to mislead the Li Bei cavalry; his true target is Zhongbo.”
Indeed, Xiao Chiye had guessed the same.
Amur had formed the Scorpion units but kept them here, delaying deployment to the northern battlefield, in order to strike unexpectedly. Lei Jingzhe’s attempt to seize Dunzhou quietly was also meant to allow the Bian Sha cavalry to quickly overrun Li Bei’s southern camps.
Hassan would be replaced.
Xiao Chiye guessed correctly.
Once Hassan leaves the northern battlefield, it means the Scorpion troops take his place. Li Bei’s cavalry must then devise a way to counter the Iron Hammer before that. Meanwhile, Shen Zechuan must establish Zhongbo’s defenses in advance, or both forces will fall to the Bian Sha assault.
“I want to see your eight hundred men before leaving Dunzhou,” Shen Zechuan concluded the night’s meeting. “Then we will discuss other matters.”
The night wind was cool. Shen Zechuan rested his head against Xiao Chiye’s chest. His right hand was bandaged; Xiao Chiye had tended it carefully and held his wrist before sleep.
Neither spoke, as if asleep.
Xiao Chiye rubbed Shen Zechuan’s nape and stared at the roof, deep in thought.
Shen Zechuan opened his eyes. “Yan Heru’s profits in Dunzhou, gained from grain, are all blood money. This batch of winter clothing for Li Bei can serve as compensation.”
“Are you planning to strip him bare?” Xiao Chiye loosened his grip and pinched Shen Zechuan’s cheek, whispering, “Lanzhou.”
“The merchants’ goods can be transported along the trade route in winter, exchanged with Hu Yan’s troops,” Shen Zechuan said, looking at Xiao Chiye. “After winter, the trade routes will be fully open.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to wait until next year to marry you,” Xiao Chiye smiled.
“That’s too long,” Shen Zechuan whispered. “This New Year, I will propose to the Li Bei King.”
They kissed silently. Shen Zechuan sank into Xiao Chiye’s arms. Xiao Chiye rolled over, lowering his head against him. Enveloped by that gaze, Shen Zechuan traced Xiao Chiye’s face with his fingers.
The Zhongbo Battle defeat lay bare. Shen Zechuan faced not only the threat of cavalry from the east but also the challenge of asserting himself under Shen Wei’s name. Once his banner was raised, the Battle of Zhongbo would become a yoke to bear.
“When I was in Dunzhou, I thought that when I grew up, I would change my surname, take my master’s surname Ji, and be a small banner leader like my eldest brother in Dunzhou,” Shen Zechuan said, his fingers gliding, “But later, in Zhaozui Temple, I realized that even if I changed my surname, I am still Shen Wei’s son.”
His face resembled Bai Cha so closely that Shen Wei’s traces, though seemingly erased by his mother, remained embedded within his body, transformed into a different kind of madness. Had Shen Zechuan not met Qi Huilian when climbing out of the Tea Stone Pit, he might have gone even further astray. His master imparted not only poetry and scholarship but also Lanzhou. Lanzhou emerged from Shen Wei’s shadow, a part truly belonging to Shen Zechuan himself. It preserved his sanity amidst the nightmares of the Tea Stone Pit. For this reason, Xiao Chiye could become a lock, a sheath for Shen Zechuan.
“When I was little, I only wanted to fly,” Xiao Chiye tapped Shen Zechuan’s forehead lightly. “I wondered why Xiao Fangxu was my father, throwing us up in the air every day, so tall and strong.”
Shen Zechuan laughed.
“They all said I resembled my father,” Xiao Chiye continued. “When I went to Qudu, I saw it as punishment, because I had once taken pride in it. In Qudu, I wanted to strip away that part belonging to Li Bei. I told no one. I hated the name Ce’an—it and ‘Chiye’ bound my claws. Li Jianheng and I drank the finest wine, yet at night I could not sleep. Even with eyes open, I could recall Hongyan Mountain.”
It was a burning pain. During that period, Xiao Chiye did not even know whom to hate. He understood his father and brothers had done nothing wrong; he could only hate himself. Shen Zechuan saw Xiao Chiye as an untouchable reflection, while Xiao Chiye saw Shen Zechuan as an attainable illusion. Only Shen Zechuan understood his suffering. That gaze alleviated his torment day and night, making him wish to possess Shen Zechuan.
“You are Shen Wei’s son,” Xiao Chiye whispered, “but you are mine.”