Xiao Chiye was already in no position to stay standing. His inner thighs were covered in bite marks, and he had been pinned beneath Shen Zechuan, sleeping all the way until the third quarter of the hour of Si. When Fei Sheng came to summon them, Shen Zechuan was still asleep. Xiao Chiye lowered his head and kissed him from behind, kissing him so fiercely that it felt like he might suffocate.
“Spare me,” Shen Zechuan struggled weakly at last, then collapsed back into the bedding. Half-lidded, he rasped, “I… I’m all messed up… I can’t think of anything.”
Every part of Shen Zechuan was flushed—bitten, pinched, the back of his neck the worst of all. Xiao Chiye’s chest pressed against him, making him sweat from the heat.
Last night’s most intense moment had been when Shen Zechuan sat in his lap, trapped in Xiao Chiye’s embrace, his knees held firmly in place so that he could only lean against Xiao Chiye’s chest.
Shen Zechuan had lost track of everything in the jolting motion, even forgetting the whole idea of restraint—he kept mixing up “A-Ye” and “Ce’an,” calling out the wrong names until he came undone. Afterward, he lay slumped against the pillow, soaking the bedding beneath him again and again, forgetting how many times it had happened. He only remembered that his tears had run dry, and in the end he had fallen into a dazed unconsciousness. Xiao Chiye still hadn’t finished; he kept driving into him until Shen Zechuan let out a broken, pleading “mm—,” the sound curling into Xiao Chiye’s heart and provoking him to bite down again.
“You look so pitiful,” Xiao Chiye murmured against him. “I’ll hold you up.”
Yin Chang rose early today and waited beneath the corridor eaves to meet the Prefect. Fei Sheng watched the old man fidget nervously and said, “You already met him yesterday. Why are you still so tense?”
Yin Chang tugged at his sleeves. “I don’t feel right anywhere. Yesterday they bathed me—they scrubbed me so hard with those giant soap cakes I thought my skin would wrinkle off!”
Fei Sheng nearly laughed at that. Yesterday they had assigned seven or eight attendants to bathe him, using several vats of hot water for a full two hours. By the time everyone had left after midnight, the old man had even tried to escape, lifting his trousers and sneaking away from the attendants.
“Bathing is good,” Fei Sheng said. “You look lively. You even look like my brother today.”
“Stop spouting nonsense,” Yin Chang muttered, clearly exhausted from lack of sleep. He glanced around furtively. “Is the Second Master in the house?”
“Mm,” Fei Sheng replied. “He came back specially to see you.”
“Then… can I go to Lìběi?” Yin Chang quickly asked. “I want to see General Lu.”
Fei Sheng hesitated. Yin Chang wanting to see Lu Guangbai was expected—his formations had been modeled after frontier defenses—but Lìběi was currently at war, and the Tea-Stone River region was unstable. Yin Chang could not simply be allowed to run there.
Just then, movement came from ahead.
“Let’s meet the Prefect first,” Fei Sheng said. “We’ll talk after that.”
The window in the room was open for ventilation. The weather today was not cold, but Shen Zechuan was sensitive to chill and wore an overcoat. Fei Sheng had already investigated Huo Lingyun’s background in detail during the return journey and reported everything to Shen Zechuan. Shen Zechuan had not had time to read it last night, so he reviewed it carefully now.
“The firearms Fei Sheng recovered were indeed supplied by Huo Lingyun,” Shen Zechuan said, idly turning a folding fan between his fingers. “This man is interesting. He really must be seen.”
Xiao Chiye sat across a small table from him, leaning on his arm with a lazy posture, but his gaze was sharp and hostile, sweeping over words like “male favorite,” “ruthless killing,” and “arson.”
“He’s a tough one,” Xiao Chiye said coldly.
Without Huo Lingyun’s interference with the firearms, Yin Chang could have taken down Ranshou City in the first assault. Instead, the battle became muddied; merit and fault cancelled each other out, and Yin Chang’s reward was cut in half again.
Huo Lingyun may truly have intended to defect, but he chose the wrong method. Using firearms in battle was his way of showing Shen Zechuan that he had value—that he was more useful than the current generals in Cizhou.
As they spoke, Yao Wenyu entered first, followed by Kong Ling pushing a cart, then Yu Xiao Zai. The scholars saluted, and Shen Zechuan allowed them to sit.
“It’s cold,” Shen Zechuan said to Yao Wenyu. “Have Qiao Tianya come over. I’ll move the discussion to your courtyard so you won’t have to travel back and forth.”
Yao Wenyu had not slept well; there were faint red threads in his eyes, and a cat was in his arms. “It’s only a few steps. There’s no need for such trouble from the Prefect. I saw Yin Lao and Fei Sheng waiting outside—will you see them now?”
“Bring them in,” Shen Zechuan said. “Yin Lao has been waiting nearly half an hour.”
Fei Sheng led Yin Chang inside.
Xiao Chiye looked at him and asked, “Did you sleep well last night, Elder Yin?”
This was Yin Chang’s first time seeing Xiao Chiye. When he looked closer, he thought inwardly: Good heavens, the Second Master is tall beyond belief.
Yin Chang became nervous again, fidgeting. “A—alright…”
“Sit, Elder Yin,” Shen Zechuan said gently. “We’re just discussing military affairs today. We are preparing to move against Duanzhou in early spring. Ranshou City cannot be left like this.”
At that moment, Kong Ling began analyzing Huo Lingyun’s origins, and the discussion quickly deepened into layers of political and military entanglement.
Meanwhile, in the imperial court of Jingdu, under clear skies, the Crown Prince studied diligently in the Hall of Enlightenment. She rarely spoke, but her focus was intense.
Li Jianhong had, over the past half-year, done nothing but study and train. Even when ill, she refused to slack off. Even the strict censors of the Censorate gradually found no fault in her. She was regarded as the most promising heir since the Yongyi-era crown prince.
Shen Shenzhuo had effectively erased “Ling Ting.” Now only Li Jianting existed.
The Empress Dowager grew increasingly burdened by headaches, her strength visibly fading as she faced the young heir’s presence.
“Yesterday Han Cheng submitted another petition requesting a military campaign in Cizhou,” Helian Hou complained. “Why is he still fixated on Zhongbo?”
The Empress Dowager sighed. “He has a deep blood feud with Shen Zechuan. Of course he is afraid now that Shen Zechuan has become a rising power in Zhongbo.”
The discussion turned to the ongoing inspections of land holdings across the Eight Cities, and the political tension escalated sharply.
In the north, the wind carried fine snow.
General Qi Zhuyin had submitted her memorial to Jingdu and only received a response in the second month. In her residence in Cangjun, she looked at the letter and said to her brother Qi Shiyu:
“I proposed an attack on Qingshu Tribe, but the Ministry of War rejected it. The Empress Dowager is still worrying about military expenses. She told me to wait. But Zhongbo is already at war—if I wait any longer, I’ll miss the opportunity.”
Qi Shiyu, lying in bed, spoke haltingly. “You… you’re impatient.”
Qi Zhuyin misinterpreted him. “Yes, I am impatient. How can I not be? If we calculate it, if Lìběi is defeated, it won’t benefit Jìntōng at all.”
Qi Shiyu struggled to continue. “Im… impatient about what!”
Qi Zhuyin leaned back in her chair as the cries of concubines echoed from the courtyard outside. She had ridden all night to arrive, and now she was exhausted.
In the imperial palace, the Empress Dowager reprimanded Helian Hou sharply, warning him against dragging personal interests into political affairs. She made it clear that clan interests must not interfere with state governance.
She concluded that the aristocratic families must resolve the land issue themselves, or face consequences.
In Cangjun, Qi Zhuyin later reviewed household accounts prepared by Qi Wenyu’s wife, Huā Xiangyi. The records were unexpectedly meticulous—far cleaner than usual aristocratic bookkeeping.
Qi Zhuyin was surprised.
“This is… quite competent,” she said.
Indeed, the accounts were so well organized that even future expenditures were itemized in detail.
Qi Zhuyin closed the ledger, then reopened it.
“She has quite a temperament,” she remarked.
Back in Zhongbo, Shen Zechuan and Yao Wenyu discussed Duanzhou and the broader war situation. Fei Sheng arrived suddenly with urgent news.
“Master,” he said, face pale.
Shen Zechuan immediately stood.
“Eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch,” Fei Sheng said gravely.
“Second Master—”