Hooves churned through the mud before coming to a stop at the city gate.
Qi Zhuyin had a cloak draped over her arm. Behind her stretched a brooding, overcast sky as she looked up at the towering city walls of Que Du. Dawn had not yet broken. On the ramparts, soldiers of the Eight Great Garrisons recognized the military banner of Qidong and immediately shouted at full length, “Open the gate—welcome the Great Marshal!”
A few gate soldiers began chanting as they worked the mechanism. The gears groaned with a heavy, dull sound as the massive, weathered gates slowly rose. Inside, soldiers of the Eight Great Garrisons stood in solemn formation on both sides, hands on their swords, bowing toward Qi Zhuyin at the entrance.
Qi Zhuyin raised her arm, signaling. The Qidong cavalry behind her promptly retreated, creating a wide buffer between themselves and her. She flicked the reins and led the carriage bearing Hua Xiangyi onto the official road of Que Du.
On both sides, soldiers stood rigidly at attention, eyes forward, unmoving.
Today, Qi Zhuyin wore court attire. Though she held no noble title, she had been granted the privilege of wearing marquis court robes by the Empress Dowager’s personal decree. The robe was crimson at its base, the rank badge embroidered with a white qilin-like beast that exceeded her nominal rank. The male-style liangguan cap had been replaced with a five-pearl crown, its ornaments swaying gently with the horse’s motion.
Ahead on the road were court officials awaiting her arrival. On the side stood Jin Yiwei Commander-in-Chief Han Cheng and the inner eunuch Fu Man.
After brief formalities, they were to escort Qi Zhuyin into the palace.
The streets had been cleared. No one spoke. Que Du was so silent that only the faint calls of lone birds could be heard. Han Cheng rode beside Qi Zhuyin and said with a smile, “Great victories from the borderlands. Great Marshal, your achievements are immense. This visit to the capital will surely bring you rewards as vast as the heavens.”
Though his tone was warm, his words struck at Qi Zhuyin’s sore point. Despite her repeated meritorious service, she had never been granted a noble title. Now, with Libei in rebellion, Qi Zhuyin and the Qidong garrison had risen in status and become one of the Empress Dowager’s key external supports. She had taken the opportunity to remove the eunuch overseers, becoming an eastern frontier power capable of pressuring Que Du into concessions—something that had long displeased the Empress Dowager. With border conflicts intensifying, titles and rank had become the very chains the Empress Dowager used to restrain Qi Zhuyin, making any conferral of nobility increasingly distant.
Qi Zhuyin did not get along with Han Cheng. They had clashed several times before. This time, she responded with forced politeness, “Thank you for your auspicious words, Commander-in-Chief.”
The two of them exchanged superficial courtesies on horseback. When they reached the palace gates, Fu Man, who had followed behind the entire way, hurriedly dismounted and personally took Qi Zhuyin’s reins.
After the death of Emperor Tianchen, the Eastern Depot had declined sharply. The Twenty-Four Offices no longer produced a grand eunuch like Pan Rugui who could command wind and rain. Fu Man now lived cautiously, tucking his tail between his legs.
Qi Zhuyin disliked eunuchs. The imperial censor previously sent as a military overseer, Shuangxi, was still imprisoned in Cang Prefecture. To avoid offending Qi Zhuyin, Fu Man had deliberately dressed modestly—wearing a gourd-patterned rank robe, a coral hairpin, a plain outer cloak, and black boots, all as understated as possible.
Bending low, he took the reins with a smile plastered across his face. “This is our Great Zhou’s ‘war horse.’ This servant will personally ensure it is well cared for.”
Qi Zhuyin nodded slightly and glanced back at the carriage, waiting for Hua Xiangyi.
Han Cheng handed his whip to a nearby eunuch and gave a faint snort. Pointing at Fu Man, he said with a laugh, “You old fox. The moment you see the Great Marshal arriving for rewards, you start flattering her like mad.”
Fu Man, familiar with Han Cheng’s temperament, immediately replied, “Commander-in-Chief is teasing this servant!” He leaned in slightly and added ingratiatingly, “This servant has always relied on you, sir. Tell me—when might this servant’s wish finally be fulfilled?”
“You’re the same age as me, yet you call me ‘grandfather,’” Han Cheng said. “That’s embarrassing just to hear.”
Damn it.
Fu Man cursed inwardly. This damned man always acted superior. He said he was embarrassed, yet when ordering people around, he treated them like dogs. Heaven had eyes—at least he had never sired a son. That was truly satisfying.
Fu Man patted his chest and laughed. “Back when the old ancestor was still here, this servant was already considered a son. According to seniority, calling you ‘grandfather’ isn’t inappropriate, is it?”
Han Cheng looked down on such eunuch wordplay, but he enjoyed using them as tools. In the late years of the Yongyi era, eunuchs had been supreme. Back then, Pan Rugui led the Eastern Depot, suppressing the Jin Yiwei. Han Cheng had not yet been commander, and watching Ji Lei call Pan Rugui “father” had made him envious. Now the world had turned. Seeing Fu Man bow and scrape before him brought him great satisfaction.
Fu Man had studied in the Inner Academy and was literate. During Emperor Tianchen’s reign, he had worked with Xiao Chiyiye both inside and outside the palace to rise to the position of Directorate of Ceremonies. After Emperor Tianchen was assassinated by Murong Ci, he immediately defected, obeying Han Cheng’s orders, using a single imperial edict to summon Xiao Chiyiye into the palace. Han Cheng had then framed Xiao Chiyiye for regicide. Because of this merit, Han Cheng allowed him to continue managing internal court affairs. After Feng Quan’s fall, Fu Man only needed time to further climb the ranks and he, too, could become a “grand ancestor.”
Han Cheng noticed Hua Xiangyi had not yet dismounted and asked Fu Man casually, “How is the Crown Prince recently?”
Back then, Han Cheng had missed his chance in the prison interrogation chamber and failed to kill Li Jingtian, ruining his plan to install a Han family prince on the throne and creating a feud with Xue Xiuzhuo. Since then, he had arranged for Fu Man to monitor every movement of the Crown Prince within the palace.
Fu Man lowered his voice while turning slightly, “Everything is as usual.”
“Xue Yanqing has recently been investigating grain taxes in Dancheng, stirring chaos in the court,” Han Cheng said, looking at Fu Man. “The Empress Dowager has been overworked and is unwell. You should warn the Crown Prince—tell Xue Yanqing to calm down.”
Fu Man froze for a moment, then immediately lowered his head in acknowledgment.
The emphasis was not on “warning,” but on making Xue Xiuzhuo “calm down.” As for how to accomplish that, Fu Man would have to decide himself.
Li Jingtian was already grown, yet the Empress Dowager still had no intention of returning authority to the Crown Prince. She held the regent’s authority tightly, keeping Li Jingtian outside the core of political power. Even his right to attend court discussions was only granted through the suggestion of court officials. Now Xue Xiuzhuo was pressing hard from the outside. This was the Empress Dowager preparing to teach him a lesson.
Fu Man’s heart raced. He did not dare show it. He remained bowed until Han Cheng finally left.
Water dripped from the eaves. The window was damp with condensation, and the old books on the table had curled at the edges. Yao Wenyu used his wide sleeves to carefully smooth and air the pages.
With the thaw of March ice and snow, Duanzhou had abruptly turned warm, and everything was damp. Shen Zechuan stood by the table, casually flipping through Yao Wenyu’s old books.
“Xue Yanqing needs to discuss military grain allocation with the Great Marshal in detail,” Yao Wenyu said, smoothing a page with his fingertips. “Last year, Qidong alone fought in the borderlands, and at that time, the grain was supplied by Que Du. The other four garrison regions were unaffected. Xue Yanqing keeps a ledger in his mind and will not be easily led astray by the Empress Dowager.”
“It’s easy to trouble him,” Shen Zechuan said without looking up, as if contemplating the text in the book. “Qidong’s harvest report has not yet been submitted. If the Great Marshal insists it is insufficient, he cannot force the issue.”
The longer Yao Wenyu stayed by Shen Zechuan’s side, the more clearly he could read his moods. For example, right now, Shen Zechuan was joking. Such a trick would not fool someone as meticulous as Xue Xiuzhuo.
Yao Wenyu was not anxious. Instead, he asked, “In Your Excellency’s view, what should Xue Yanqing use to negotiate with the Great Marshal?”
“His greatest bargaining chip, of course,” Shen Zechuan replied without hesitation. “He holds the Crown Prince. In certain situations, that places him above even the Empress Dowager. Que Du values ritual and hierarchy. No matter how capable she is, she is still only a regent, not the true emperor.”
The Empress Dowager relied on Qidong, yet had married Hua Xiangyi off and kept Qi Zhuyin from promotion. At the same time, to appease Qi Zhuyin, she was unusually tolerant within limits. The incidents involving Shuangxi and Lu Pingyan last year were ignored by Qi Zhuyin, and the Empress Dowager still refrained from punishment. This was all about maintaining balance—keeping Qidong under control while ensuring Qi Zhuyin remained useful yet constrained by her lack of title.
But Li Jingtian did not share this limitation. She was the legitimate Crown Prince of Great Zhou, supported by the Inner Cabinet and scholars, with Xue Xiuzhuo’s practical faction backing her. Qi Zhuyin’s loyalty to her would be natural. As long as she could withstand criticism from court officials, granting Qi Zhuyin a title would require only a single decree—something the Empress Dowager, in her awkward position, could not do.
Shen Zechuan closed the book. “As long as the Great Marshal remains without a title, Qidong’s military authority remains unstable. Without nobility, Qi Zhuyin cannot be fully recognized as legitimate. If she were to fall in battle or be injured, collateral branches of her family could seize the inheritance of Qi Shiyu’s title. The commander of the Five-Province forces sounds powerful, but without a noble title, she is only a temporary occupant of that position, unable to pass on Qi Shiyu’s legacy. The Empress Dowager fears Qidong becoming a second Libei, which is why she dares not confer the title. And that very hesitation is her greatest weakness.”
What does Li Jingtian lack the most right now?
Military power.
The noble families had already lost Wei Huaigu, and after Hai Liangyi’s death protest, they were at a disadvantage. The Empress Dowager could still stand on equal footing with the inner cabinet and Xue Xiuzhuo only because she held the remaining two major military powers of Great Zhou. Neither Kong Qiu nor Xue Xiuzhuo had command authority—only advisory power.
If Xue Xiuzhuo were to promise Qi Zhuyin a marquisate now, Qi Zhuyin could defect to the Crown Prince’s side and abandon her dealings with the Empress Dowager. Qidong’s forces would naturally submit to Li Jingtian. That would mean cutting off one of the Empress Dowager’s arms.
“Money makes things easier,” Yao Wenyu said as he took back the book Shen Zechuan returned. “If Xue Yanqing did not have the Xie family treasury, mere verbal promises would not persuade the Great Marshal. But if he is willing to shoulder Qidong’s military expenses, the Great Marshal would have to think carefully.”
All of these assumptions were based on Qidong’s military grain being truly self-sufficient and not dependent on forced requisitions from Erxi’s granary. However, in reality, Qidong’s military supplies this year were controlled by Shen Zechuan. Qi Zhuyin had to consider Zhongbo. She needed to weigh her options carefully. If Shen Zechuan were dissatisfied with her defection to the Crown Prince, the Yan clan could cut off Qidong’s grain supply. Then Qi Zhuyin would still have to request provisions from Que Du, and Xue Xiuzhuo would be dragged back into his original predicament.
“Xue Xiuzhuo, Hua Heyi,” Shen Zechuan placed Yao Wenyu’s discarded brush gently back into the brush holder and smiled. “Who exactly am I playing with here?”
Sunlight bathed Shen Zechuan’s wrist bones. In his hand, an invisible thread seemed to extend, silently steering the currents of Que Du’s political landscape.
Yao Wenyu straightened the brush and said with certainty, “Your Excellency already has a plan.”
The sky had not yet brightened. Beneath the palace eaves, court maids stood waiting, each keeping to the shadows with lanterns in hand, silently illuminating the path. Qi Zhuyin had entered the palace for an audience and was to proceed to Mingli Hall, while Hua Xiangyi was to wait in the Empress Dowager’s private chambers. The two could only walk together for a short stretch.
Hua Xiangyi, sensitive to the cold, wore a rabbit-fur headband at her brow. Her bearing was immaculate; as she walked, no jewelry on her person made a sound. Standing beside Qi Zhuyin, she was only slightly shorter.
Qi Zhuyin spent most of her days in Qidong stationed at the borderlands and had never exchanged many words with Hua Xiangyi. The silence between them now felt somewhat heavy, and just as she was about to speak, Hua Xiangyi said first, “Has the household account book been reviewed by the Great Marshal?”
Qi Zhuyin only then recalled the matter. “I looked at it when I returned home last time. Thank you….” She hesitated over the word “mother,” unable to bring herself to address Hua Xiangyi—who was only two years younger than her—by that term. The word stalled on her tongue before she awkwardly skipped it. “…for your trouble.”
Hua Xiangyi, her hands warmed by a covered heater, watched a crow glide across the dim sky before disappearing beneath the palace eaves. It was a scene familiar to her. “The Great Marshal is too polite.”
From the corner of Qi Zhuyin’s eye, she noticed the small embroidered blossoms on Hua Xiangyi’s collar—branching yellow flowers, delicate and almost playful, hidden beneath her composed appearance. In this cold, solemn palace, they looked unexpectedly bright.
Hua Xiangyi suddenly turned her head and looked at Qi Zhuyin. Only for a brief moment. Then she looked away again and said softly, “The Empress Dowager summoned the Great Marshal for two matters. First, the campaign against the Qingshu tribe. Second, the requisition of military grain. These two can be handled together. The Great Marshal will need to make a choice.”
Qi Zhuyin could not discern Hua Xiangyi’s intent in telling her this. Her entry into the capital had clearly made her a blade in the Empress Dowager’s hand—used to pressure Xue Xiuzhuo and the inner cabinet. She had already heard about the taxation turmoil in Dancheng.
Hua Xiangyi, however, changed the subject. “Que Du is windy all year round. Standing on high buildings, one cannot see the splendor at the steps below. And it is so cold—many shops along Shenwu Street have closed. Those who drink themselves drunk at night are often empty-stomached people.”
Qi Zhuyin paused slightly and looked at her.
Hua Xiangyi had already stopped walking. Turning slightly toward Fu Man, who followed silently behind, she smiled faintly. “Eunuch Fu is like a cat—no sound at all.”
Fu Man, already anxious and unsettled, vaguely caught the words “cold weather” and did not dwell on them. Seeing Hua Xiangyi standing gracefully ahead, he felt that the Third Miss was of extraordinary beauty, almost untouchable. He lifted his lantern and smiled obsequiously. “This servant did not wish to disturb the elegance of the Madam and the Great Marshal, so I did not make a sound.”
“Since we have arrived,” Hua Xiangyi said gently to Qi Zhuyin, “the Great Marshal should proceed first.”
On the steps beside Mingli Hall, newly planted flowers and trees were still frosted with a thin layer of ice. The hall’s courtyard was empty, its stone floor polished to a reflective sheen. When Qi Zhuyin’s name was announced, a eunuch led her up the steps. Each step felt cold beneath her feet—an unfamiliar sensation she never quite grew accustomed to.
The curtain was drawn aside, and she entered.
Several officials waiting inside rose to their feet. Qi Zhuyin did not look at them and instead bowed toward the Empress Dowager.
The Empress Dowager did not lower her beaded curtain. She smiled and said, “It has only been two months since we last met, yet I already feel great longing. The borderlands are harsh. Rise, let me take a closer look at you.”
Qi Zhuyin raised her head. From the corner of her eye, she saw the Crown Prince standing at the side.
Minister of War Chen Zhen stood with his sleeves folded, his gaze at Qi Zhuyin carrying a hint of concern. Cen Yu’s expression was unpleasant, while only Kong Qiu remained relatively composed. The atmosphere in the hall was strange—like the newly planted flowers outside: appearing intact on the surface, but already frostbitten at the roots.
The Empress Dowager, confident of control, did not rush into the main topic. After some pleasantries, she said, “You have guarded the borders for many years, through wind and rain. I hear you do not even keep attendants by your side. Even an iron body cannot endure such hardship.” Without waiting for a response, she turned slightly toward Marquis Helian. “Look at her.”
Marquis Helian followed her gaze and sighed. “This minister sees the Great Marshal and is reminded of my disappointing nephew Fei Shi. Though born a man, he lacks ambition. It worries me greatly.”
“Fei Shi has only just come of age. He needs proper guidance, or even a good child may go astray,” the Empress Dowager said. Then she looked back at Qi Zhuyin. “Zhuyin, do you still remember your younger brother Fei?”
Qi Zhuyin replied, “Vaguely. He is the younger brother of Princess Zhaoyue.”
Her tone was casual, but Princess Zhaoyue would normally have addressed her as “sister.” This subtly placed Fei Shi a generation below her.
The Empress Dowager continued, “Fei Shi is still young and has no one to guide him. He admires you greatly, Great Marshal, and often speaks of ‘Sister Qi Zhuyin.’ He even wishes to visit Qidong. Since you are close with Zhaoyue, the families are not strangers. If you have time, you might speak to him about life at the frontier. It would fulfill his wish.”
Fei Shi was already of age—there was no reason for Qi Zhuyin to “teach” him anything. Moreover, he was only a minor noble with no official position and no inherited title yet. Standing before Qi Zhuyin, he would be several ranks below her; calling her “sister” was improper at best.
The Empress Dowager’s intent was clear: to force a marriage alliance between Qi Zhuyin and Fei Shi. Qi Zhuyin could not openly refuse because of military provisions.
She said, “If this is Your Majesty’s decree, I should not refuse. However, my visit to the capital is for military matters. The border situation is urgent and cannot be delayed.”
The Empress Dowager leaned back slightly, not pressing further. “Naturally. Last month’s reports of the Qingshu tribe invasion—your victory was commendable and should be rewarded.”
Qi Zhuyin understood the underlying intent of Que Du all too well. The Empress Dowager was using Fei Shi to restrain her while also suppressing Xue Xiuzhuo. Military grain was the real issue—unless she had Shen Zechuan’s supply.
Suddenly, Qi Zhuyin recalled Hua Xiangyi’s earlier words.
Que Du is windy.
What was Hua Xiangyi hinting at?
“You also submitted a memorial to the Ministry of War,” the Empress Dowager continued. “You wished to pursue the enemy while victorious. That is not wrong, but now is not the time. It is the season of spring planting. If Qidong goes to war, the military fields will lie fallow, and autumn harvests will be reduced. Grain will have to be transferred from elsewhere, but even now there is not enough to meet demand. The people of Erxi must also eat. The court has its difficulties. Excessive warfare is not wise.”
She deliberately avoided mentioning the Eight Cities granaries—leaving it for Qi Zhuyin to raise. Once she did, the issue could be pushed to Xue Xiuzhuo. Deadlock would follow, and everything would still fall under the Empress Dowager’s control.
The hall fell into absolute silence.
Then, unexpectedly, Li Jingtian spoke. “The annual harvest reports from the Ministry of Revenue show that Erxi cannot bear the burden alone. We can combine reserves from other provinces to fill the gap.”
The Empress Dowager replied, “Your Highness does not handle state affairs and does not understand the complexities. Last year, Hezhou already bore the burden once. This year it must again supply grain to Que Du and Erxi. Every region is struggling.”
Both sides deliberately avoided mentioning the Eight Great Cities.
At that moment, Qi Zhuyin’s thoughts snapped into clarity.
The Eight Cities surrounding Que Du—were they not the “splendor beneath the steps” the Empress Dowager refused to let anyone see? Hua Xiangyi had said it could not be seen. Not seeing what? Not seeing the true grain records of the Eight Cities.
If Dancheng’s tax accounts could be falsified, what about the rest? If land surveys were incomplete, there was ample room for concealment. And Hua Xiangyi’s mention of “empty stomachs”—last year Dancheng had countless refugees starving and fleeing. Why had no relief been provided?
A cold sweat broke out along Qi Zhuyin’s temples.
A trap.
In another courtyard, willow branches swayed gently. Shen Zechuan’s wide sleeve draped across his knee as he half-blocked the sunlight with a folding fan.
Yao Wenyu was still sorting old records at the table. The courtyard was quiet.
Then Yao Wenyu paused at a bundle of documents—early grain ledgers from Chazhou. He turned the wheelchair toward Shen Zechuan and said, “Chazhou’s high-priced grain in past years mostly came from Hezhou. But Hezhou last year was already supplying military provisions and Que Du’s granaries. The records show large-scale transfers. If Yan Heru is also responsible for supplying bandits in Luoshan, then even if Hezhou has good harvests every year…” He flattened the ledger. “It should already be depleted.”
“I once suspected Yan Heru was siphoning grain from Erxi and Hezhou for resale, but later records from Fanzhou showed those regions also had no surplus left.”
“Last year Liang Cuishan began overseeing taxation in Erxi and Hezhou. Yan Heru claimed he had no channel through Liang Cuishan,” Yao Wenyu said slowly, his expression shifting. “Then where did his grain come from last year?”
Shen Zechuan turned his head. They met eyes.
“Eight Cities granaries,” Yao Wenyu said quickly, flipping through the ledger on his lap. “The grain Yan Heru resold across Zhongbo provinces came from within the Eight Cities. The high-priced grain in Fan and Deng provinces was trafficked through Cai Yu. After Your Excellency killed Cai Yu, Yan Heru stopped telling the truth.”
Shen Zechuan’s folding fan snapped shut.
He leaned back, staring at the shifting sunlight, as realization struck like lightning.
“The Empress Dowager has no reserves capable of supplying Qidong’s military grain. She is making empty promises.”
This entire scheme had trapped Xue Xiuzhuo. The accounts of the Eight Cities were so corrupted that even Pan Lin might not distinguish truth from falsehood. Xue Xiuzhuo’s investigation into Dancheng was correct, but the original records submitted by Pan Yi were falsified. The grain reserves submitted by noble families, however, were real—but they had already been stripped of grain because it had all been funneled into Yan Heru’s trade network.
The Eight Cities granaries were empty.
“Hua Heyan…” Shen Zechuan laughed softly, unable to help admiring it. “The Empress Dowager is formidable.”
If Xue Xiuzhuo, pressured by military grain demands, ceased his investigation and yielded to the Empress Dowager, he would eventually discover there was no grain at all. Qidong would still be unable to move troops. He would have lost his advantage, risked backlash from the academies, and faced criticism from the practical faction.
Hua Xiangyi was not a court official.
She had her own rules of play in this world of scheming men.