With Shen Zechuan away on his journey, and Ding Tao and Li Xiong absent as well, Ji Gang found the house lonely. Each day, he could only brew some tea and take the birds out for a stroll. His cooking skills were good, and he took care of Yao Wenyu for Shen Zechuan with meticulous attention; half a month passed, and Yao Wenyu’s complexion had noticeably improved.
On fair days, Qiao Tianya accompanied Yao Wenyu outside to bask in the sun. He had gathered quite a number of old books, and Yao Wenyu would sit in the courtyard reading.
Yao Wenyu’s mobility was limited, so Qiao Tianya also handled his washing before bed. Yet one time, while wiping him down, he noticed Yao Wenyu’s ear flushed a deep red—he never met Qiao Tianya’s gaze in the bath. Only at these moments could Qiao Tianya see the unpolished jade within Yao Wenyu, the kind of brilliance one might find in early spring.
They actually spoke very little.
Outside of business matters, Yao Wenyu remained quiet. He would sit by a chessboard daily, pondering moves. Often, he would clutch a book for an entire day, picking it up in the morning and putting it down in the same spot at night. Sleepless nights tormented him; his legs were not numb—they ached constantly. Only when Qiao Tianya played the zither did he feel some relief.
Yao Wenyu slept to the gentle trickle of the music, as though meditating in a fine drizzle.
Qiao Tianya drank less now. He shaved off his stubble and often reclined by the window, lost in thought. Occasionally, Yao Wenyu would study him and find that, framed against the frost-tipped mountains and thin morning mist, he seemed so calm, as if he had forgotten the storms of the Jianghu, transformed from a wandering guest to a pine under the moonlight.
Yao Wenyu never called him Qiao Tianya; Qiao Tianya was the one to greet and tend to others. When drunk, he laughed and scolded, his sword swift and carefree; when sober, he walked alone, cool and detached. They were like broken pieces of jade, fitting together to mend each other, piecing together the elegance of days past.
“Fan Prefecture has quieted considerably lately,” Gao Zhongxiong said, sitting by the stove to warm his hands. “The Winged King must have learned of Dun Prefecture’s situation; he must be like a startled bird now.”
“The army’s return passes north of Fan Prefecture, so naturally the Winged King is afraid,” Zhou Gui said, sipping his hot tea.
“I just don’t understand,” Gao Zhongxiong said. “Fan Prefecture is surrounded on all sides by enemies. The Winged King rushing to raise a rebellion there seems like courting death.”
“The Winged King declared himself ‘Dayin’ in Fan Prefecture. Not only did he refurbish the local administration, he has been gathering beauties for selection as consorts,” Zhou Gui remarked. “It seems he’s more interested in pleasure than in power struggles.”
When the Winged King rose, he did not anticipate Shen Zechuan’s speed. Huaici’s maneuvering had blocked all his northwest expansion possibilities. He couldn’t compete with Shen Zechuan, nor did he have Shen Zechuan’s talent pool. Originally, he had rebelled due to bandit troubles, recruiting only locals. The general he appointed was a butcher, and the civil officials were village elders. Daily court reports concerned trivial matters: whose donkey was stolen, whose servant kidnapped.
“According to the prefect’s instructions,” Gao Zhongxiong said, “the Winged King must survive for now. He knows he cannot resist, so he seeks Lei Jingzhe’s aid. But Lei Jingzhe is already dead. Alone and powerless, he should be terrified.”
“The Winged King is no iron shield,” Zhou Gui said. “Regarding Qi Zhuyin, we need another approach. What does Yuan Zuo think?”
Yao Wenyu, holding his hot tea, spoke, “I suspect Qi Zhuyin’s delay in attacking Zhongbo isn’t solely because of Lu Guangbai’s defection.”
Zhou Gui raised an eyebrow. “There’s another reason?”
“During Hua Qi’s wedding, Li Bei’s princess personally delivered gifts to escort back her father. Qi Zhuyin’s risk of angering the capital to save Lu Pingyan shows she acts for private reasons and to signal Li Bei. Considering the current terrain, if she followed the capital’s orders to attack Zhongbo and then was commanded to press north, she’d face two battlefronts alone. If Li Bei’s iron cavalry collapsed, she would become the eastern last line of defense. Her forces would be spread thin; the advantage of the eastern territory would be lost. She would have no choice but to hold on with sheer force.”
Gao Zhongxiong finally understood. “Even if Qi Zhuyin defeats Amur, she will lack strength to resist the capital.”
Yao Wenyu nodded. “The garrison at Qidong is her support. Without it, the capital can easily replace her.”
Zhou Gui remained stunned, finally muttering, “The general is far-sighted. How did Yuan Zuo deduce this? Before August, we all thought Qi Zhuyin would act.”
“I guessed it after Hua Qi’s wedding,” Yao Wenyu said. “Before the wedding, the general stayed at the border, citing unguarded posts, letting the marquis return to Li Bei. The Empress Dowager’s envoy, Han Cheng, urged her to act. But even after the wedding, the general remained at the border.”
The Empress Dowager lacked leverage to compel Qi Zhuyin. Her last card, Hua Xiangyi, had been played, but when Qi Shiyu suffered a stroke, it was nullified. Those under the Empress Dowager had to grit their teeth, wishing Qi Zhuyin were a man.
As they discussed by the stove, Qiao Tianya suddenly lifted the curtain. “The prefect has returned.”
Zhou Gui and Gao Zhongxiong rose immediately. Gao Zhongxiong wanted to help Yao Wenyu into the chair but was a step too slow—Qiao Tianya took him in naturally. The curtain rose, and Qiao Tianya wheeled Yao Wenyu inside.
Fei Sheng was careful on the road. By early September, Shen Zechuan, despite resting on Xiao Chiye, succumbed to the cold once more, falling seriously ill. His fever burned as if it had consumed all the calm he had maintained at Dun Prefecture.
Recruiting garrison troops in Dun Prefecture was critical. The staff waited all day in the study. Shen Zechuan, lying in bed, still thought of these matters.
“Have Yuan Zuo handle the accounts brought back from Dun Prefecture,” Shen Zechuan said, his face flushed, shielding his eyes with his palm in the dim light. “Cheng Feng and Pang Zuo, draft the Dun Prefecture military budget tonight. It must reach Dantai Hu no later than two days from now.”
Xiao Chiye, holding back, smoothed his damp hair, saying softly, “I’ve remembered everything.”
Shen Zechuan did not want Xiao Chiye to leave, but matters were urgent. The situation in Duanzhou was unclear; border cavalry were a serious threat. He half-closed his eyes at Xiao Chiye. “Tell Bi Bind to inform Qiao Tianya. He knows what to do.”
Xiao Chiye nodded, watching Shen Zechuan fall asleep before swiftly changing his clothes to leave. On the steps, he said to Fei Sheng, “Once the medicine is ready, wake the prefect so he can take it.”
Even back at the residence, Fei Sheng personally oversaw the brewing of Shen Zechuan’s medicine.
“If the master arrives while the prefect is awake, invite him in. If not, send him away first,” Chen Yang said, draping a cloak over Xiao Chiye. “If he asks about Dun Prefecture, conceal Fusian Peak. I will explain later.”
Xiao Chiye checked the time. “I’ll return before the hour of the Pig.” Then he left in a hurry.
In the study, all stood and saluted as he settled. Yao Wenyu examined the Yan family and Dun Prefecture accounts while Kong Ling carefully reported the situation.
No one dared smoke that day; all sat with proper decorum. The marquis’ presence pressed them to speak concisely, leaving no room for flattery.
Dun Prefecture’s situation was complex. The distance from Cizhou and passing through Fan Prefecture required careful planning. Zhou Gui had thought Xiao Chiye less familiar with Zhongbo than Shen Zechuan and presented maps, but Xiao Chiye had spent months transporting supplies north of Li Bei and knew Zhongbo’s layout clearly. No mistakes were found in his discussions.
They deliberated by lamplight while Shen Zechuan slept and woke intermittently.
When Fei Sheng delivered the medicine, Shen Zechuan awoke, took it without sugar, and immediately fell asleep. Fei Sheng closed the door, ensuring silence in the courtyard, and the maids removed all jingling ornaments.
Perhaps due to the quiet, Shen Zechuan slept deeply. Upon waking to a slight noise outside, he assumed Xiao Chiye had returned. When Xiao Chiye delayed entering, Shen Zechuan fell asleep again, only waking in the middle of the night to find Xiao Chiye lying across him. Immobilized, he sweated heavily until morning.
Weakly, Shen Zechuan placed his hand on Xiao Chiye’s back, feeling gauze. Startled, he tried to rise but was pressed back down.
“Hmm?” Xiao Chiye murmured, burying his face. “Want water?”
Shen Zechuan’s touch on the gauze made him wince. Xiao Chiye gently removed his hand.
Their eyes met. Xiao Chiye suddenly encircled Shen Zechuan, preventing movement.
“Didn’t we agree no more hitting?” Shen Zechuan whispered, his hoarse voice and pale appearance making him look ready to tear up.
After Tea Prefecture, Xiao Chiye had agreed with Ji Gang that each wound warranted a single punishment. Shen Zechuan, coaxing him at Dun Prefecture, had been severely punished. Returning, Xiao Chiye acted swiftly, and Shen Zechuan felt each blow even while asleep.
Xiao Chiye pressed his forehead to Shen Zechuan’s, feeling his fever subside, murmuring “Hmm” lazily, exposing his arms. His own right arm was injured, his back still healing, making the new and old wounds both numb and aching.
The mere touch of the gauze caused Shen Zechuan to curl his fingertips in pain. Xiao Chiye stayed close, leaving him breathless. He hated Xiao Chiye, yet lying there, he wanted to repeat it endlessly.
He regretted it.
Ding Tao sat under the eaves, braiding cords with Li Xiong, feeling sulky. Seeing Ji Gang standing half an hour already, she tugged his sleeve. “Grandfather, why don’t you sit?”
Ji Gang, lost in thought, asked, “Did I hit too hard?”
Ding Tao comforted him. “You pushed him as the master requested. You had no choice.”
Ji Gang, unsettled, sat down briefly, then rose. “I’ll get some medicine.”
Fei Sheng, waiting in the corridor, hurried to assist.
Ji Gang stared at the main hall, hesitating. Finally, he handed the medicine to Fei Sheng, then asked, “When the marquis and Lan Zhou handled matters in Dun Prefecture, did they also stay together?”
Fei Sheng, following Xiao Chiye’s instructions, maintained a calm expression. “Yes. The marquis and the master… it’s what the story calls ‘flesh and water’—inseparable.”
Seeing Fei Sheng’s composed manner, Ji Gang thought he had imagined things. True, sworn companions like Lan Zhou and Xiao Chiye shared extraordinary closeness. But Ji Gang refused to think further. When Ji Mu was alive, Shen Zechuan had promised to marry later, and Hua Pingting had already considered suitable girls from nearby families.
“Master?” Fei Sheng ventured.
Ji Gang clasped his hands behind his back. “You keep watch; I’ll come back later.”
He wanted to speak with Xiao Chiye further, but Xiao Chiye was too busy, shuttling between the residence and Zhou Mansion. With Dun Prefecture settled, news from Li Bei arrived. As soon as Shen Zechuan recovered, Xiao Chiye would depart for the frontier.
“Winter clothing arrives in September; have your men receive it at the frontier. Big Sister can handle Ding Tao if he misbehaves,” Shen Zechuan said, fastening his bindings on Xiao Chiye, their hands touching.
He looked up. “Tell the marquis next spring’s military provisions are settled. The route from Dun Prefecture to the frontier will be prepared.”
They aimed to connect Zhongbo and Li Bei, ensuring the frontier garrison could reach Cizhou and Dun Prefecture directly. Dun Prefecture’s news had to be reliable.
Xiao Chiye might not return for two months; Shen Zechuan had to monitor the frontier entirely, calculating supplies for battle, anticipating snowfall that might block the roads.
“If Ding Tao misbehaves, send him to Dajing; Big Sister can manage him,” Xiao Chiye said, leaning down, hands holding Shen Zechuan’s arms as they kissed.
Fabric rubbed, Shen Zechuan braced Xiao Chiye’s arms, immersed in his scent.
Xiao Chiye liked Shen Zechuan’s upward gaze—full of desire. He bore Shen Zechuan’s weight easily, holding him aloft. A kiss began, but he did not release; noses brushing, they intertwined.
“I’ve had Big Sister prepare everything,” Xiao Chiye said. “Before the new year, Chen Yang will escort you and the master straight to Dajing.”
Shen Zechuan, breathless, murmured, “I’ll prepare the gifts…”
Silly Lan Zhou.
Xiao Chiye held Shen Zechuan, kissing more insistently.
He had arrived in a hurry and left in one. In Cizhou, fog lingered as he rode north through rain, whip scars visible. The three Zhongbo prefectures were temporarily secure. He left Dantai Hu in Dun Prefecture as a safeguard for Shen Zechuan.
Cizhou entered a lull. Shen Zechuan seemed to sheath his sharpness, lying low. But far away in the capital, Xue Xiuzhuo would soon feel the force of this winter hibernation.
During the October Cold Clothing Festival, Tea Prefecture, with Yan family sponsorship, opened its halls, inviting talent from across the realm. Scholars from mountains, plains, and even hidden sages from bustling towns—all with academic achievements—received invitations.
For the unknown and obscure, no storm would arise. Yet within three days, all available carts and horses mobilized; the world’s talented flocked to him.
The one sending these invitations was none other than Yao Wenyu.