Inside the room, Qiao Tianya had not yet left when Shen Zechuan said, “When you head back later, tell Yuan Zhuo about the Liuzhou port situation. We’ll go over it in detail tonight. It’s been cold lately—keep the floor heating burning strong. Don’t let him fall ill again.”
Qiao Tianya was more at ease in front of Shen Zechuan than Fei Sheng, and replied, “I’ve been keeping an eye on it.”
After a moment’s thought, Shen Zechuan added, “There have been many people submitting cards asking for an audience this year, all looking to secure a future. Turn them away for the next few days—wait until Yuan Zhuo recovers before we discuss it further. You handled things well today. Yan Heru harbors ulterior motives; don’t let him in again next time.”
Qiao Tianya took a folded note from his sleeve and pushed it in front of Shen Zechuan. “That’s exactly why I came. Among those submitting cards, quite a few are noted scholars. Yuan Zhuo reviewed them carefully and prepared two lists for you.”
“Two lists?” Shen Zechuan’s warm fingertips brushed the note open as he looked.
“This one is for those we can keep but not employ,” Qiao Tianya pointed to the left, “and this one is for those we can keep and use.”
Shen Zechuan examined the “keep but not employ” list—mostly well-known scholars. Very few of them were actually useful, because Zhongbo urgently needed practical, action-oriented officials. Still, these men had traveled great distances to Cizhou to pledge themselves to him; for the sake of reputation, Shen Zechuan could not slight them. He would have to keep them in the residence as honorary guests. In contrast, those on the “usable” list were largely unknown figures.
“We’ll need a batch of people after spring begins,” Shen Zechuan said. “When the time comes, combine them with the talent Zhou Gui selects and draft rosters for each prefecture—assign them all accordingly.”
He intended to reclaim the remaining three prefectures before spring, so they could make the planting season. Otherwise, food shortages would trouble them again by year’s end.
Qiao Tianya acknowledged the order. Hearing footsteps under the eaves, he stood and smiled. “Second Master is back.”
After Xiao Fangxu’s death, Xiao Jiming became the King of Libei, and calling Xiao Chiye “Second Young Master” was no longer appropriate, so everyone simply addressed him as Second Master.
Xiao Chiye halted beneath the eaves. Chen Yang and Gu Jin removed his cloak from either side, while a maid offered him a warm cloth to wipe his hands. Ding Tao quickly lifted the curtain, and Xiao Chiye ducked inside.
Qiao Tianya and Fei Sheng tactfully moved to withdraw, but Xiao Chiye asked, “Where is Hairigu?”
Fei Sheng glanced at Shen Zechuan, and only after receiving silent permission did he answer, “Replying to Second Master, he’s at the Northern Plains training ground.” With practiced attentiveness, he bent to take the cloth from Xiao Chiye’s hand and added, “My lord has arranged for the Embroidered Uniform Guard to take daily headcounts, to prevent them from wandering off.”
“Gu Jin,” Xiao Chiye said over his shoulder, “go to the Northern Plains training ground later and find Hairigu.”
Shen Zechuan sat behind them; naturally, Fei Sheng did not ask further. After bowing again, he withdrew with Qiao Tianya. With their lord inside, the guards could not linger under the eaves chatting, so they moved together to the corridor to discuss matters.
The room was warm. Xiao Chiye removed his saber and outer garments while Shen Zechuan watched him from his chair. From the battlefield to the frontier camps and then to Cizhou, Xiao Chiye had ridden without pause. Seeing that gaze made it all worthwhile. He leaned down, blocking the chair completely with his body, and said, “Lost some weight, haven’t you?”
Shen Zechuan still held his brush, his fingers absently stroking the smooth shaft as though he did not understand. In a low voice, he murmured, “Where did you kiss me?”
Xiao Chiye lifted a hand to grasp Shen Zechuan’s chin, not letting him evade, then leaned in and pressed him into the chair with a kiss. With his head tilted back like that, Shen Zechuan’s throat moved visibly, melting away Xiao Chiye’s lingering chill. He let go of the brush, his hand sliding up Xiao Chiye’s arm, hooking around his neck as he was lifted.
There was no comfort in the kisses of lovers—comfort was something anyone could give. Only the unfulfilled desire revealed in the act of wanting was real, a unique intimacy between partners. Xiao Chiye needed that hidden, extreme dependence; it was his belonging, his domain.
Shen Zechuan grew warm under the kiss. Xiao Chiye set him on the table, bracing himself with both arms as he studied him intently. In no time, a flush spread from Shen Zechuan’s ears to the corners of his eyes. He seemed unable to withstand Xiao Chiye—even that aggressive gaze was too much, another kind of irresistible temptation.
Though they knew each other thoroughly, able to find each other’s weaknesses with eyes closed, Shen Zechuan was still stirred by Xiao Chiye’s gaze. His quickened breathing drew out a fine sheen of sweat that slid along his back.
Xiao Chiye looked dangerous, as if once unchained he would sweep over Shen Zechuan like a storm. He needed him desperately, yet remained intensely restrained. It was like magma surging beneath a thin sheet of ice—through his eyes, Shen Zechuan sensed a kind of love that could hurt.
This was what restraint had wrought.
Xiao Chiye kissed him slowly, then tossed his outer robe onto the chair. “I’m going to the bath.”
Shen Zechuan brushed away the thin sweat from Xiao Chiye’s skin, pulling back slightly, and blinked in silent assent.
When Xiao Chiye emerged again, he had changed into clean clothes. Drying his hair in the inner room, he noticed a box on the table. Opening it, he found the jade Yan Heru had sent.
Outside, Chen Yang was speaking with Shen Zechuan. “I’ll have to return to the frontier camp in three days, but my lord will remain here.”
Shen Zechuan, seemingly reviewing documents, replied slowly, “It’s nearly the second month. Has the location for the horse farm in Luoshan been decided?”
Xiao Chiye picked up a piece of red jade, turning it over in his fingers.
“It has,” Chen Yang answered. “Once Duanzhou is retaken, construction can begin.”
“By the end of the second month, the new firearms General Lu requested should be ready,” Shen Zechuan said. “We’ll send them along the new horse route to avoid detours.”
The rest was routine administrative detail. As Xiao Chiye listened, his thoughts drifted back to the defensive battle a few days prior.
Now commanding the Imperial Army at the Second Sand Camp to fill Jiang Sheng’s vacancy, Xiao Chiye had seen Guo Weili and Zhaohui reassigned, while the First Camp was jointly defended by Zuo Qianqiu and Lu Guangbai. Xiao Jiming’s intent was clear: Libei’s cavalry had abandoned aggressive advances, relying instead on its two strongest defensive commanders to withstand Hasen’s attacks, shifting fully from offense to defense.
Moreover, Xiao Jiming had adjusted tactics at the front. Previously, changing generals meant changing entire lines, with cavalry units following suit. Now it was different—aside from Zuo Qianqiu, the other commanders rotated unpredictably. This frustrated Guo Weili, who no longer led familiar troops. Even with Zuo Qianqiu overseeing defense, it felt as though a chain had tightened around his neck. Xiao Chiye himself had to leave the Imperial Army to integrate with the other cavalry units, while Lu Guangbai had to adapt from infantry thinking to cavalry warfare. It was like being bound together awkwardly, fighting in unfamiliar ways.
Yet the results were evident.
Because the rotations were irregular, Hasen could never be sure which opponent he would face. Though morale had dipped after Xiao Fangxu’s death, the frontier cavalry had gained no advantage either. Hasen not only had to confront Zuo Qianqiu, once the defender of Tianfei Pass, but also remain wary of the hidden border forces.
He did not know what changes had occurred within Libei—only that victory had not come as expected. Instead, both sides were locked in a tense stalemate. Here, Hasen finally experienced Xiao Jiming’s prowess: the new King of Libei, unlike Xiao Fangxu, appeared to retreat but had in fact drawn an unbreakable line in the east, halting any advance.
Xiao Chiye set the jade back in the box.
After Chen Yang took his leave, Shen Zechuan continued writing, the scratch of brush against paper blending with the sound of falling snow. Xiao Chiye did not disturb him—he knew Shen Zechuan intended to capture the Prince of Yi before the second month, and later they would discuss strategy in the study. Setting aside his towel, he lay down on the bed.
Perhaps deliberately, Shen Zechuan had not allowed the maids to tidy the bedding that morning. Resting there, Xiao Chiye could still catch his scent. It eased him, driving away the heaviness brought from the battlefield.
With his hair still damp, Xiao Chiye fell asleep.
At dusk, Fei Sheng came to summon Shen Zechuan. Pulling himself from his work, Shen Zechuan said, “Open the window—it’s stifling.” As he stood, he paused, then added, “No, wait outside.”
Fei Sheng bowed and withdrew.
After long hours bent over his desk, Shen Zechuan’s neck ached. Lifting the inner curtain, he entered and heard Xiao Chiye’s steady breathing.
Xiao Chiye lay on his side, half his face buried in the bedding, deeply asleep from exhaustion. The wound on his shoulder had not fully healed, yet he felt nothing pressing on it. Shen Zechuan leaned over, tugged open his collar to check, then gently turned him onto his stomach to ease the pressure.
Half-awake, Xiao Chiye murmured into the bedding, “Military report…”
“There’s no report. Sleep,” Shen Zechuan whispered near his ear.
Xiao Chiye turned his face slightly for air, eyes still closed. Shen Zechuan wiped his sweat carefully, tenderly. Xiao Chiye caught his hand and held it, unwilling to let go.
“I’ll be back in a while,” Shen Zechuan murmured, as if reminding him.
In the past, he had often spoken like this in Du Capital to provoke Xiao Chiye. Now his voice was soft, like a feather brushing the skin—far surpassing anything Yan Heru could offer.
But Xiao Chiye did not release him.
Fei Sheng waited outside for some time. Seeing night fall and fearing the worsening wind and snow might chill Shen Zechuan, he finally entered and said softly through the curtain, “My lord, it’s about time.”
After a brief pause, Shen Zechuan said, “Stop Yuan Zhuo first. No need to go to the Zhou residence—have him come here instead. Send for Zhou Gui and Cheng Feng as well.”
Understanding that a meeting would be held at home tonight, Fei Sheng asked, “Shall I invite the gentlemen to the side hall?”
“Discuss matters out here,” Shen Zechuan said from the bedside in the dim room. “Just keep your voices low.”
Fei Sheng nodded and left, knowing that “keep your voices low” was the key point. Before the advisors entered, he instructed his subordinates to quietly set up screens in the hall, moving the meeting space to a corner.
When Zhou Gui and Kong Ling arrived, they did not see Shen Zechuan and exchanged puzzled looks. Fei Sheng quickly guided them behind the screen, whispering, “My lord is in the inner room.”
“Is Second Master here as well?” Kong Ling asked softly.
Fei Sheng nodded, then added in reassurance, “He’s asleep.”
As tea was being prepared, Qiao Tianya pushed Yao Wenyu in. Fei Sheng had already laid thick carpets so the wheelchair made no sound. Seeing this, Kong Ling could not help but smile, impressed by Fei Sheng’s thoroughness.
After Yao Wenyu settled, he did not ask about Shen Zechuan’s whereabouts. Gently setting down his teacup, he said, “The proclamation from Shenwei was issued today. Before long, Fanzhou will react—we’ll need your careful attention, my lord.”
The three men spoke quietly, the atmosphere calm.
Zhou Gui nodded. “Fanzhou is surrounded now. The Prince of Yi failed to reach an agreement with Luoshan, and his troops are unable to resist. I doubt he’ll fight to the death, but he will certainly try to bargain.”
“It would be best to avoid battle,” Kong Ling said. Having suffered through war himself, he preferred reason wherever possible. “The Prince of Yi once made grand promises to the people of Fanzhou. Now he has accomplished nothing—he should know he cannot resist.”
“I fear he may be willing, but others under him are not,” Yao Wenyu said. “Banditry is rampant in Fanzhou and Dengzhou, even worse than in Chazhou. There are also brothels like Cuiqing trafficking innocent people. These groups know surrender means death.”
In the darkness, Shen Zechuan covered Xiao Chiye’s ear, listening to their discussion.
Yao Wenyu was right. For both public and personal reasons, Shen Zechuan would not spare those bandits and traffickers. They were the root of the two prefectures’ decay—obstacles that had to be eradicated.
“When we reach the city,” Zhou Gui suggested, “we could feign amnesty, then arrest them once the gates open.”
Kong Ling shook his head. “Have you considered that they might incite the people? That would damage the governor’s reputation.”
Shen Zechuan was now cautious in all matters. Their campaign depended not only on conquest but on reputation. From Chazhou onward, every action had emphasized benevolence. They must have just cause—any association with bandits would undermine his standing, even if he secured Zhongbo.
As Shen Zechuan listened, footsteps suddenly sounded under the eaves. Fei Sheng had gone to the kitchen to order medicine, and Gao Zhongxiong, unaware of the situation inside, entered shaking off snow, saying, “Greetings, my lord—about the proclamation—”
The three men in the corner all turned and shushed him.
Gao Zhongxiong, his face flushed from the cold, immediately fell silent and shrank back. Seeing Zhou Gui beckon, he approached cautiously. Noticing the others remained quiet, he bent down and whispered, “I’ve come to report to my lord.”
Kong Ling did not quite know how to explain and simply said, “In a moment. Sit and have some tea first.”