Right after the New Year passed, Zhongbo was struck by a sudden blizzard. The snow came without warning, and houses collapsed across various prefectures. Fortunately, the horse roads had been urgently repaired before the year’s end, so Chazhou and Duzhou did not lose contact with Cizhou. Luo Mu and Tantai Hu submitted casualty reports in time and began handling the aftermath before dawn, keeping the disaster under control.
Inside the study, the aides worked through the night, and Shen Zechuan did not rest either.
“The heavy snow the year before last hit Cizhou,” Zhou Gui said, flipping through the ledgers at the table. “So before the snow fell this time, the yamen repeatedly confirmed grain reserves. But reinforcing civilian housing is still a problem—we cannot wait for collapse every year before thinking of solutions.”
“But,” Kong Ling said from across the table, “where will the extra funds come from? This year’s war has already drained our resources—there’s no more silver to allocate.”
Shen Zechuan pressed his brow until it reddened slightly. Sitting at the head seat, he felt lightheaded. From the adjoining room came the constant clatter of abacuses—clerks transferred from Hezhou and Juexi shops, specially assigned to handle accounts. The study was heated with charcoal braziers, crowded with people, and after hours of confinement, it felt unbearably stifling.
“The war is the priority,” Shen Zechuan said. “Do not reduce the military funds allocated to each prefecture. Take it from last year’s commercial tax revenue.”
“Before spring arrives is a hurdle,” Yao Wenyu offered some reassurance. “If we endure these three months, things will improve once the snow melts. The coarse tea sent from the border markets to Yongyi Port has been selling well—we can moderately increase commercial taxes this year.”
“If we want to continue mining copper in Juexi, we’ll have to deal with the Juexi administration,” Shen Zechuan said, flicking his folding fan as he pushed aside the tea that had gone cold. “Whether things remain this smooth after spring depends on Qu Du’s intentions.”
Jiang Qingshan governed Juexi and knew every detail of its trade. If Qu Du ordered him to cut off the trade route running through the northwest, it would be a serious blow to Cizhou.
“On the bright side,” Kong Ling said, stroking his knee, “a timely snowfall promises a good harvest.”
“That may be true for our three prefectures,” Shen Zechuan said, “but the people of Fan and Deng Prefectures are suffering. Before the snow even fell, the Winged King had already seized their granaries—many starved to death. This has weighed heavily on my mind.”
“We plan to launch an अभियान against Duanzhou in the second month,” Zhou Gui said. “It would be best to resolve Fan and Deng now.”
Cizhou’s garrison numbered only twenty thousand. Even combined with Duzhou, they had just thirty thousand troops. Facing the border cavalry in Duanzhou in the second month while also dealing with the Winged King would leave Cizhou’s defenses dangerously thin. If the Eight Camps advanced from Dancheng, they would be stretched beyond capacity.
“Now is indeed a good opportunity to take Fan Prefecture,” Yao Wenyu said, stirring the tea foam. “The Winged King is greedy beyond measure, and the people under him are already resentful. He will not last long. We might as well issue a proclamation first.”
“But Cizhou has now reached an agreement with the northern and southern fronts,” Kong Ling countered. “This is different from last year’s ‘bandit suppression.’ If we issue a proclamation and the Winged King refuses to surrender, it will give Qu Du justification to send troops.”
Kong Ling favored stability and was reluctant to escalate matters.
“Master Chengfeng makes a valid point,” Yao Wenyu said, “but the Prefect Lord has already been established. Maintaining superficial peace with Qu Du no longer benefits us. In my view, even with justification, Qu Du would not dare send troops now.”
Kong Ling still disagreed. “If we confirm rebellion at this moment, trade in Juexi will inevitably suffer. If Jiang Qingshan uses this as an excuse to shut down the Xi family’s copper mines, the loss will outweigh the gain. In my humble opinion, secretly sending troops to Fan Prefecture is the better strategy.”
Yao Wenyu replied, “The Prefect Lord’s control of Zhongbo is already irreversible. Even without a proclamation, Jiang Qingshan will find a way to shut down the copper mines.”
They argued, each holding to their own view.
Shen Zechuan tapped his folding fan against his fingers. After a moment, he said, “Shenwei, draft the proclamation.”
They had discussed matters all night. Seeing that most arrangements were in place, Fei Sheng ordered breakfast. Everyone ate quickly and left to rest, as they would reconvene in the evening to finalize deployment plans.
As Kong Ling stood to leave, he noticed Yao Wenyu heading out and lifted the curtain for him. Yao Wenyu bowed slightly, and Qiao Tianya entered to push him away. Once everyone dispersed, Zhou Gui hurried along the corridor, panting as he caught up with Kong Ling.
“Hey—!” Zhou Gui clutched his chest with one hand and reached forward with the other. “Chengfeng, Chengfeng!”
Kong Ling stopped to wait. “If you had something to say, you should have called earlier. The corridor is slippery—if you fall, it’ll take months to recover!”
Zhou Gui steadied his breathing and waved his hand. “A couple of years ago, I could still run miles along the fields. Now I really can’t. This wind and snow really do age a man.”
“You chased me so urgently,” Kong Ling said, tightening his collar against the biting wind. “Is this about earlier?”
“I haven’t admired the snow with you in a long time,” Zhou Gui said, attempting to deflect. “My wife’s been keeping a close eye on me lately—always at home watching the grandchildren. Today seemed like a good chance.”
Kong Ling sighed. “Stop being so roundabout.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves against the cold. “No need to persuade me. My opinion won’t change.”
Zhou Gui could only say, “Just don’t let this create a rift between you and Yuanzhuo.”
“Do you think I’m that old?” Kong Ling said, walking beside him. “Yuanzhuo speaks plainly because his conscience is clear. Differences in policy are inevitable—blind agreement is the real danger. I understand, he understands. Since the Prefect Lord hasn’t summoned us privately, his stance is already clear.”
After the incident with Gao Zhongxiong, Zhou Gui had been harsh on himself. Now he sought Shen Zechuan’s approval in everything and no longer made decisions on his own. Even in official discussions, he cautioned the aides not to grow complacent, fearing further friction with Yao Wenyu.
Zhou Gui looked at the withered willow branches in the courtyard, blown down into the snow and swept against the wall. After catching his breath, he said gloomily, “I’m just afraid of growing distant…”
“When the water is too clear, there are no fish,” Kong Ling said, brushing snow from his graying temples and speaking seriously. “No government office is ever truly spotless. You’ve served in Cizhou for years—you know things are complicated both above and below. Corruption can’t be eradicated entirely. You did well these past years—does the Prefect Lord not see that? He never blamed you. Executing those two aides was a reminder, not a warning. Being overly cautious now will only make him dwell on it.”
Managing subordinates was difficult; serving superiors was no easier.
After a few steps, Zhou Gui sighed. “My father-in-law refused to recommend me for the capital back then—he knew I wasn’t suited for it. Some things… I still haven’t found the right balance. Too tight or too loose, I have to feel my way through. It’s hard.”
“If you’ve done nothing wrong, why be so fearful?” Kong Ling shook his head slightly. “And stop deliberately yielding to Yuanzhuo. He’s perceptive—he’ll see through it. If this continues, that’s when distance truly forms.”
When Shen Zechuan returned to his residence, the wind was fierce. Fei Sheng braced the umbrella against it, but Shen Zechuan’s cloak still whipped in the gale.
Fei Sheng shouted over the wind, “Master, let’s switch to a sedan chair!”
Shen Zechuan could barely open his eyes against the cold, his ears reddened. “It’s only a few steps. No need.”
But it was freezing.
Fei Sheng worried that even those few steps might make Shen Zechuan fall ill. These days, everyone was extremely careful. Heavy curtains hung along the corridors, servants pressed them tight when entering or exiting, and the underfloor heating burned constantly.
At last, they reached the entrance. Ding Tao burst out from the side room, with Li Xiong beside him like a wall, blocking the wind in front of Shen Zechuan.
“Stop blocking the way,” Shen Zechuan said with a headache as he shuffled forward. “Let’s move—standing here, we’re caught in a draft. We’ll collapse in no time.”
Ding Tao had grown taller recently. “The master ordered us to block the wind tightly—if there’s a draft, I get whipped.” He slapped Li Xiong and shouted, “Big Xiong, move faster!”
By the time Shen Zechuan reached the corridor, his cloak was soaked with snow, damp against his neck. He removed it. Fei Sheng hurried to take it, calling for a maid to dry it, and tried to drape a new cloak over him, but Shen Zechuan walked on without turning back.
Fei Sheng had been tasked with recruiting new soldiers in Duzhou and was in high spirits. Since returning, even Qiao Tianya seemed agreeable to him. While Shen Zechuan was in Libei, Fei Sheng had stayed home training under Ji Gang, studying the Ji family’s martial arts and listening to his teachings. Now that Shen Zechuan was back, he fussed over him like an old nanny, determined to care for him meticulously.
The Marquis will be heading to the battlefield soon, Fei Sheng thought as he followed behind.
If the Prefect Lord stays healthy, the Marquis will be pleased—and won’t glare at him anymore. If they’re all going to be family, he can’t keep being out of Xiao Chiye’s favor.
Shen Zechuan entered the main hall, warming his hands as he sat. Fei Sheng said, “Master, shall we drink the medicine that’s been simmering on the stove?”
Shen Zechuan didn’t want to. He wasn’t sick these days and feared he’d get a nosebleed from over-tonics. Besides, no one at home kept sugar except Ding Tao. He pretended not to hear and began reviewing documents.
Seeing no reaction, Fei Sheng waited a moment before saying again, “Master, the medicine—”
Shen Zechuan looked up at him with restrained patience.
Fei Sheng pretended not to understand. Behind this matter stood not only Xiao Chiye but also Ji Gang—neither of whom Shen Zechuan could offend.
In the end, Shen Zechuan said, “Bring it.”
Fei Sheng quickly went, but the one who returned lifting the curtain was Qiao Tianya.
“Yan Heru is here,” Qiao Tianya said, glancing back. “The kid was rushing toward Yuanzhuo—I dragged him over.”
Shen Zechuan dipped his brush in ink. “He’s here to deliver silver. Treat him politely.”
Before they finished speaking, someone ducked under the eaves. Yan Heru appeared in brand-new brocade robes, crimson trimmed with gold, embroidered with gold ingots. Around his neck hung a string with a new abacus, leaving a red mark on the back of his neck—but he refused to take it off.
With a fair face and smiling eyes, he said cheerfully, “Happy New Year to the Prefect Lord! Wishing you all the best! I wanted to visit earlier, but you were in Libei. Now that you’re back, I came right away! This time, not only did the Marquis prepare pearls and jade, I also picked out quite a few charming—”
Behind him, Fei Sheng—still holding the medicine—exchanged a look with Qiao Tianya. Qiao Tianya immediately pressed Yan Heru down.
Libei was still in mourning, and Cizhou had not celebrated the New Year. Shen Zechuan and Xiao Chiye both wore plain clothing. Shen Zechuan had even removed his jade ornaments. Yet Yan Heru had walked in saying something bound to get himself beaten.
Shen Zechuan wrote “Rejected” on the paper without even looking at him.