Qiao Tianya leaned back into the rattan chair, a strand of red thread caught between his lips as his nimble fingers wove it deftly. The moonlight of the chou hour was thin, sliding past one side of his nose bridge, making his lowered eyes appear especially lonely.
The qin rested on the table, covered with silk, untouched for several days.
When Yao Wenyu woke, he made no sound. He simply turned his head and looked at Qiao Tianya.
Qiao Tianya was like a solitary moon lingering in an empty valley after a sudden rain—clear, distant. The unrestrained wind had become last night’s fading dream, leaving only traces upon him. Yao Wenyu still bore the vivid colors of that day, yet he already understood that he could never reach his side.
This was a spring of the third month that would end without result.
Qiao Tianya removed the red thread, neatly finishing its end. He leaned over, found Yao Wenyu’s hand, and tied the woven thread around his wrist.
Yuan Zhuo lay hidden behind the hanging curtains, peering through a narrow gap at the person so close at hand. He smiled silently, yet dazedly, the pillow beneath him soon dampened.
Qiao Tianya did not lift the curtain. Between them, only the warmth passed through their fingertips, as if this alone was intimacy enough—any closer, and it would vanish.
Yao Wenyu never spoke, as though he had never awakened.
When Shen Zechuan arrived the next day, Yao Wenyu was already up. He inclined slightly toward Shen Zechuan in greeting.
“Yesterday my illness came on suddenly and delayed official matters,” Yao Wenyu said, lowering his gaze as he picked up the scattered chess pieces. “Today, while my strength still holds, I should finish speaking with the Prefect.”
Shen Zechuan took a seat. “Your condition has only just improved. Resting for half a month before discussing this would not matter.”
“Being idle while ill is still idleness.” Yao Wenyu paused in thought before continuing, “The port of Liuzhou is of vital importance. With it, Prefect, it is as if you have gained a voice in Juexi.”
Yao Wenyu saw farther than Kong Ling and the others. In the current irreconcilable situation, rather than slaughtering all the court officials of the Great Zhou, he would rather gather capable men for Shen Zechuan.
“The Prefect believes he lacks generals, but in my view, it is precisely the opposite,” Yao Wenyu set a chess piece in place. “In the future, the three eastern regions will not lack fierce commanders. Whether Wu Ziyu or Tantai Hu, both can stand on their own. Once the war subsides, with them guarding the borders, your eastern territory will have no worries. What you will lack are capable ministers. Cheng Feng is good, but unwilling to leave Zhongbo; Zhou Gui is loyal, but cannot shoulder great responsibility. That Juexi’s thirteen cities have, over several years, still not fallen into the hands of the great clans is precisely because there is a capable minister there—Jiang Qingshan.”
“Xue Yanqing can stir waves in the court; the Crown Prince is only the opportunity. The true reason lies in the practical officials who support him. Their ranks are not high, yet they are the key to whether reforms can be carried out. In Juexi, they seek benefit for the people, hoping to revive the Li dynasty’s realm and restore the Yongyi Restoration. They are scholars with far more resolve than the capital officials, and the last good ministers of the Great Zhou.”
The path to the Ninefold Heavens was not easy. Dynastic change meant countless scholars would see their lifelong dreams shattered. Even with the court in such decay, Hai Liangyi and Xue Xiuzhuo had never considered replacing the Li dynasty, for it was a crime akin to patricide. Ruler and subject, father and son—these formed the moral order. For centuries, the Li family had been the Son of Heaven. It was not merely about shouting “Long live the Emperor,” but about generations following a single orthodoxy.
If Shen Zechuan were to step again into Qu Du, the “Prefect” would have to defeat that towering, orthodox Son of Heaven. He would need heaven’s sanction to commit regicide and shed the label of traitor. Yet even that would not be enough—he must also win over the remaining loyalists of the Li dynasty willingly, or else, even if he conquered the realm, he could not achieve the flourishing prosperity Qi Huilian once spoke of.
“Xue Yanqing’s purge of the eight cities’ land tax was, in itself, a good thing, but he acted too hastily. At present, the capital’s primary tax revenue lies in those eight cities. By decisively removing the Pan clan of Dancheng, he has left only two paths: either continue investigating the remaining seven cities, rapidly remeasuring land; or slow down, giving them time to make up their taxes. The former would return land to the people, but the populace of the eight cities has long fled to Zhongbo. Re-registering households would delay this year’s farming, leaving the entire realm’s food supply dependent on Juexi and Hezhou after autumn. The latter shifts the tax deficit onto the eight cities, which will in turn burden the common people—harsh governance is fiercer than a tiger, and nothing would truly change.”
“By the time Juexi is exhausted from requisitions, the people of the thirteen cities will also go hungry. If the Prefect uses Liuzhou port as a turning point to establish east–west waterways and connect the north–south horse routes, Hezhou and Zhongbo can ease Juexi’s burden.”
By the time Yao Wenyu reached this point, the sunlight had already crept beneath the eaves. He held a chess piece, paused, then said, “As for your killing of Yan Heru, I assume you already have your plans.”
“Hezhou borders Qidong,” Shen Zechuan replied, placing a piece in turn. “If I do not bring it under my control, I cannot sleep at night.”
Yan Heru thought only of business, but Shen Zechuan thought far beyond that. Qi Zhuyin had joined forces with Xue Xiuzhuo in the Dancheng case; the Crown Prince intended to grant her a noble title, making her a marquis of the Great Zhou. The garrison forces of Qidong’s five commanderies stood just south of Zhongbo. Shen Zechuan had to seize the vital supply routes westward from Qidong, and Hezhou was an unavoidable passage.
His words were blunt—if Qi Zhuyin chose to defend the Li dynasty, then Dengzhou of Zhongbo would become Shen Zechuan’s vulnerability. Only by controlling Hezhou, which was even more crucial to Qidong, could he sit at the same table with her as an equal.
“General Qi Shiyu is advanced in years. Qi Zhuyin is far more suited to command,” Shen Zechuan continued. “Lu Guangbai remains in Libei because he no longer wishes to serve as a general of the Great Zhou. Qidong has left a gap along its frontier—Qi Zhuyin must fill it herself. The capital wants her to become a force that protects the throne, but she still has to be able to get there in time.”
She might indeed make it in time, so Shen Zechuan had already blocked the roads.
“The Grand Marshal has been troubled by finances in recent years. His willingness to deploy troops against the Qing Shu tribe this time is also a way of gauging the situation,” Yao Wenyu said, coughing lightly.
Shen Zechuan stopped discussing official matters. “Qiao Tianya now commands the Imperial Cavalry and spends his days at the training grounds. Inevitably, he may neglect you. I have written to Master, asking him to come to Duanzhou to look after you.”
Yao Wenyu did not refuse. Wiping his lips with a handkerchief, he said, “It is quite a distance. It will trouble Master to make the journey.”
Shen Zechuan noticed the red thread on Yuan Zhuo’s wrist, slipping into his sleeve as he moved. He did not ask. Seeing the tiger slave awaken and pad toward the door, he said, “Qu Du is your old home. I once heard Xi Hongxuan say that every spring in the third month, you would return to the capital. Next year… or in a few years, you might be able to properly enjoy the spring scenery.”
Yao Wenyu knew this was meant as comfort. He gave a faint smile, did not respond to that, and instead asked, “Since the Dancheng case is closing, where was Pan Lin exiled to?”
Shen Zechuan lowered his folding fan, blocking the tiger slave. “Kong Qiu intended to send him to Huaizhou, but he starved himself to death at the capital’s relay station.”
Yao Wenyu sat in silence for a long while.
Pan Lin had risen young and proud, his career smooth and bright. Back at the marquis banquet, his words with Xue Xiuyi had become an eerie prophecy—he had ended up starving to death. Burdened by his lineage, he was now finally free.
Qu Du was his old home.
Yao Wenyu turned his gaze toward the courtyard.
Yet there was nothing left worth returning to see.