In the second month, Xiao Chiye set out on campaign toward Duanzhou. Shen Zechuan ordered the grain convoys to move ahead first, while Tantai Hu in Dunzhou made full preparations. In the north, Xiao Jieming dispatched Wu Ziyu to lead five thousand Lianbei Iron Cavalry to stand in strict formation north of Luoshan. If anything went wrong, they could immediately join forces with the Sand Third Battalion and strike Duanzhou together.
That day, wind drove a fine snow. The outskirts of the city stretched in endless emptiness; as far as the eye could see, there was only blank white space.
Xiao Chiye, fully armored, stood in the thin snow like a wall before Shen Zechuan.
“Luoshan still has remnants of bandits,” Shen Zechuan said, cloaked in a heavy mantle as he looked at him. “Be careful when you pass through.”
Snow fell onto Xiao Chiye’s shoulder. He replied, “I’ll remember. This battle will be quick—by the latest, I’ll be back in the third month. If the troops you send to Lianzhou aren’t enough, speak to the Great Commander. She can transfer forces from Tianfeiquan. It won’t be a problem.”
Snow brushed against Shen Zechuan’s temples and clung to his collar. Xiao Chiye raised a hand and covered the top of his head, suddenly remembering a line of poetry:
My wife is still young; gentle words ease my beloved.
Lan Zhou was only twenty-two this year. They would stand side by side for decades to come. In future wars, life and death would be uncertain; thinking too much would only create hesitation.
Xiao Chiye had become hard because of Shen Zechuan, and soft because of him as well. He wanted to protect this man until the end of his life, which was why every battle had to be fought with full strength. Yet even someone as powerful as Xiao Fangxu had met an unpredictable fate. After that, Xiao Chiye had thought far too much—he loved this person, and he worried for him.
In this world, perhaps others did not need Xiao Ce’an so desperately, but Shen Lanzhou did.
“I’ll wait for you here,” Shen Zechuan said, placing his palm against Xiao Chiye’s face. “And on the road, don’t go fooling around with anyone else—even a glance is not allowed.”
Xiao Chiye suddenly pulled him into his arms amid the falling snow, breathing warm mist against him. He felt as though he owed Lanzhou far too much; this man could not even sleep without him nearby.
“You stay in the main hall,” Xiao Chiye murmured against his hair. “Don’t be exposed to wind or snow.”
Without waiting for a reply, he released him, donned his helmet, mounted Langtao Xuejin, and turned his horse eastward. The Lianbei Iron Cavalry surged forward behind him.
Fei Sheng watched Shen Zechuan stand motionless and stepped forward to hold up an umbrella, shielding him from the falling snow. Shen Zechuan remained in place, gripping a blue handkerchief, standing in the white silence until the world grew still.
Dudu had been under clear skies for days. Birds occasionally cut across the layered palace eaves. The Crown Prince was learning quickly; though still without decision-making power, she was already permitted to attend court discussions in Minglitang. She rarely spoke, but in her eyes, Grand Secretary Cen Yu saw a deep focus on governance.
In the past six months, Li Jianting had done nothing but study and practice writing. She rose early each day and never used illness as an excuse to slack off. The Censorate, which had once criticized Li Jianheng, gradually found no grounds to rebuke her. In their exacting eyes, this Crown Prince was the most fitting successor since the Crown Prince of Yongyi’s reign. Even Kong Qiu, who had initially held reservations, rarely commented on her anymore.
Xue Xiuzhuo had, for reasons unknown, completely erased “Ling Ting.” In this world, there was now only Li Jianting.
The Empress Dowager had been suffering frequent headaches lately. The incense in her hall had been extinguished at Consort Liuxiang’s suggestion, as it made her uncomfortable. Her hair had turned increasingly white, and age was slowly eroding the woman who had held power in Dudu for over thirty years. Facing Li Jianting’s youthful face, she increasingly felt her strength slipping away.
“Yesterday, Han Cheng submitted another memorial requesting military action toward Cizhou,” Helian Hou complained from below. “This flood hasn’t even settled, and he’s already fixated on Zhongbo!”
The Empress Dowager, reclining as Consort Liuxiang massaged her shoulders, glanced at the memorial and said, “Shen Zechuan has taken Fangzhou, and now he moves toward Duanzhou. Once spring passes, he’ll be a tiger in Zhongbo. Han Cheng has a deep blood feud with him—of course he is afraid.”
Helian Hou was not concerned with personal grudges. What troubled him was something else entirely. Since the ninth month of the previous year, the reformist faction led by Xue Xiuzhuo, together with the Censorate, had begun a nationwide investigation into land holdings across the Eight Cities. It was meant as preparation for a full reassessment of land taxes. In earlier years such inspections were superficial, but this time Xue Xiuzhuo was clearly serious.
“Years ago I told you all to restrain the estates below,” the Empress Dowager said coldly. “But did any of you listen? Last winter alone, how many people froze to death? Only the cities of Di, Jin, and Quan provided relief—the rest all hid like cowards.”
She threw the memorial onto the table, the pearls on her hair trembling. “Why did Pan Lin provoke Xue Xiuzhuo? Now Xue Yanjing is joining forces with Cen Yu to audit accounts. Wasn’t this opportunity handed to them by Pan Lin himself?”
Helian Hou had married his niece, the Princess Zhaoyue, to Pan Lin’s younger brother. The Helian and Pan families were now tied together. Originally, with Pan family members holding important posts, this alliance had seemed secure. But Pan Lin was proving to be a thorn.
He could not abandon Pan Lin, nor could he afford to let him fall. As Minister of Revenue, Pan Lin controlled vital state affairs, yet had not been promoted further. Everyone was anxious—if he lost the struggle, the Ministry of Revenue might fall into the hands of the reformists.
“Pan Lin’s temperament is sharp; we do not know how he offended Xue Xiuzhuo,” Helian Hou pleaded anxiously. “But Pan Xiangjie and Pan Yi are loyal to Your Majesty. As for Zhaoyue, she was raised by you personally—she and the Third Young Lady are like—”
“Do you think you have the courage of a bear and a leopard?” the Empress Dowager snapped, cutting him off. She straightened herself. “How dare you drag my niece into court affairs? I once told you to marry Zhaoyue into the Han family—you refused, insisting on the Pan family instead. Now that trouble has come, you will bear it yourself.”
The Empress Dowager rarely lost her temper. Everyone in the hall dropped to their knees instantly. Helian Hou hurriedly knelt and slapped himself in panic, begging for mercy.
“Zhaoyue is already married into Qidong,” the Empress Dowager said sternly. “She is Qi Shiyu’s legitimate wife with proper rank. Every word and action of hers is closely watched. The issue of land encroachment has nothing to do with her—do not mention it again.”
Helian Hou, trembling, could only agree.
When the Empress Dowager finally rose with Consort Liuxiang’s support, she stood beside him and said, “Get up. What a sight this is.”
After Helian Hou stood, she looked up toward the bright sky beyond the palace eaves.
“Fei Shi has also come of age. If he cannot handle studies, send him to the military instead. The Eight Great Garrisons have many vacancies. Let him learn there—he does not need to achieve greatness, only to steady his temperament. Once he earns some merit, he can be transferred to the Ministry of War.”
Helian Hou’s eyes reddened. “Your Majesty is merciful. I had intended the same, but his temperament…”
The Empress Dowager already understood his meaning.
The Eight Great Garrisons were no longer a comfortable post—they bordered Zhongbo and could soon be sent into war. Helian Hou did not want his son to risk his life, hoping instead for a position in the Six Ministries.
But the world of Dudu was no longer the domain of aristocratic ease. Internal and external crises were closing in. Shen Zechuan had not been eliminated; in half a year, he had risen to dominate Zhongbo alongside Lianbei. Qi Zhuyin was preparing military action against the Qing Shu tribe. Xue Xiuzhuo was tightening his grip with investigations that were backed by real evidence. Spring would bring a storm of reckoning.
At this point, those like Helian Hou still wished to preserve their comfort, clinging to their estates and fearing confiscation.
The Empress Dowager thought of the Xiande years—when Hua Sishen and Wei Huaigu had been capable ministers. Now Helian Hou was incompetent, Pan Xiangjie unreliable, Han Cheng ambitious. She had been exhausted by court politics for decades.
“Xue Xiuzhuo is investigating the Eight Cities’ land holdings to pave the way for the Crown Prince’s future accession,” she said slowly. “Right now, it is not yet the Crown Prince’s turn to act.”
She looked at Helian Hou.
“Go back and tell Pan Xiangjie this: before the snow melts, open grain depots in Dan and Chuan. Clean up your accounts. Return unnecessary land holdings. Xue Xiuzhuo is not yet omnipotent. If he wants to investigate—let him.”
Helian Hou was startled. “But if those records fall into his hands, there will be no way back!”
The Empress Dowager replied, “Pan Lin has been in the Ministry of Revenue for years. His evaluations from the Censorate are good, and his subordinates are capable. Xue Xiuzhuo cannot avoid the Ministry of Revenue. Since all land records are kept there, let Pan Lin assign someone trustworthy to oversee it. If this line holds, Xue Xiuzhuo will have nowhere to apply his strength.”
Helian Hou thought for a long moment, then said, “Pan Lin has a man named Liang Cuishan. He was promoted during the Tianchen Emperor’s time in the Canal Corruption Case and later mentored by Pan Lin. He performed excellently in last year’s censorial review and is well regarded among the reformists. His family has no strong backing in Dudu—he would be easy to control.”
“As long as the Pan family survives this trial,” the Empress Dowager said, “they will rise again.”
If the Eight Cities’ land had problems, then how clean could the Xue family’s Quan City truly be?
Xue Xiuzhuo’s move against the Eight Cities was an act of provoking the aristocratic factions. Once land taxes were truly investigated, it would be lethal. The Empress Dowager intended for Pan Lin to use Liang Cuishan to block the Dan City entry point. If the process stalled and accounts became muddled, they could counterattack Xue Xiuzhuo by investigating the Xue family’s Quan City first.
She removed the prayer beads from her wrist and tossed them onto the couch in the fading light. Behind her, incense curled in the Buddhist hall, framing her regal silhouette. If not for the streaks of white in her hair, she might have looked timeless.