The rain in the courtyard had stopped. Moonlight arrived late, leaving the room dim.
Shen Zechuan’s lowered eyes were half-hidden in the darkness, like a weary traveler moored after crossing a long night tide. When he looked at Ji Gang again, his gaze was one Ji Gang had never seen before—as if he had shed the skin called “Lord,” leaving behind nothing but a stretch of pale moonlight.
“If I didn’t have you, Master, and Ce’an, I would still be myself—only then it would not be me fearing the world, but the world fearing me. I carry Shen Wei’s blood. I do not need descendants.”
Pain struck Ji Gang’s heart so sharply he nearly wept. He said, “You are my son.”
“I am your son,” Shen Zechuan replied, “but I am Shen Zechuan. My teacher taught me poetry and books, yet I am not an emperor.”
An emperor.
The supreme figure who looks down upon the world—wearing a crown does not make one emperor. An emperor must not only master balance and power, but also possess the breadth to contain all under heaven. Those embraced in times of peace are invincible in their benevolence. But in Shen Zechuan’s eyes brewed a storm—he was the sudden rain that sweeps across mountains and rivers, the blade that tears through heaven and earth, not the ruler who creates an age of prosperity.
“Libei has one hundred and twenty thousand cavalry. If they rode south, Zhongbo could not withstand them. Yet Ce’an has entrusted his lifeline to me. I have his horses, and his brother’s grain. He left the grasslands of Libei willingly to ride in my Duanzhou. Master, he does not fear my garrison, and I do not fear his cavalry. One day, I will enclose the lost stag of the Li clan—and Ce’an will enclose me. Sun and moon coexist in the heavens for tens of thousands of years without destroying one another. That is the peace the world longs for. We are that balance.”
The blazing sun and the radiant moon.
The end of war would only mark the beginning of another kind of struggle. No ruler could tolerate their coexistence in the east. Only if Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan stood together could Libei and Zhongbo gain time to recover.
Xiao Jiming was building horse ranches at Luoshan, and Shen Zechuan had tacitly approved. It was his concession to Libei—and also an opportunity. The roads Zhongbo built would break the boundary between the two regions. Once merged, they would become a massive force entrenched in the northeast.
Ji Gang sat in silence, then said, “He’s mastered the Ji family fist—comes and goes as he pleases. What is there for him to fear? Even so, you and he have no children. This matter remains unresolved—Libei and Zhongbo cannot endure long like this.”
Xiao Chiye had already put on his armor and was waiting in the room for Shen Zechuan to return. The sound of wheels came from under the eaves. Fei Sheng lifted the curtain for Yao Wenyu and said, “The lord hasn’t returned yet.”
The thin blanket over Yao Wenyu’s knees was slightly damp. Supporting himself on the wheelchair, he said, “I’m here to see Second Young Master.”
Fei Sheng hesitated, but Xiao Chiye called from inside, “I’m here.”
Yao Wenyu declined Fei Sheng’s help and wheeled himself in. Xiao Chiye drew back his legs, sat upright by the table, and set aside his military text. “What brings Yuan Zhuo to me?”
“It’s rare to see you in person. Some matters aren’t convenient to put in letters, so they must be discussed face-to-face.” Yao Wenyu wiped the moisture from his hands with a handkerchief. “Do you have time?”
Xiao Chiye leaned back slightly. “What is it that has to be discussed with me, and not with Lanzhou?”
Yao Wenyu carefully folded the cloth and tucked it back into his sleeve. Unhurried, he spoke over the steady rain, “Matters of Libei are naturally more appropriate to discuss with you. Now that the Empress Dowager has lost power in Qudu, Xue Yanqing’s next move will be to strip Han Cheng of his military authority. When the crown prince ascends the throne, to stabilize the Grand Marshal, rewards will surely be granted to Qidong. Will you still go to the border as planned?”
Of course Xiao Chiye would go. The trip to the frontier would determine whether Hasen’s raid on Duanzhou could succeed. Besides, he trusted Qi Zhuyin.
Yao Wenyu took his silence as confirmation and shifted the topic. “The heir…” Xiao Jiming had inherited Xiao Fangxu’s title, so Xiao Xun should now be called heir apparent. He corrected himself and continued, “Has the young heir in Dajing begun his studies?”
Xiao Chiye tapped the table lightly with his finger. “You want to teach Xun’er.”
He was perceptive—he caught the meaning in Yao Wenyu’s shift. Xue Xiuzhuo’s chosen heir would soon ascend, Qi Zhuyin would be rewarded, and after the war with Biansha, they might part ways with Qidong. Shen Zechuan aimed to seize Qudu, and Yao Wenyu was already thinking about succession.
“The wolves of Libei,” Xiao Chiye lifted his gaze slightly, voice low, “do not become emperors.”
He and Shen Zechuan had no children. If Xiao Xun were to come to Zhongbo and be taught by Yao Wenyu and the others, then Xiao Chiye understood their intention. Making Xiao Xun Shen Zechuan’s successor was far too advantageous for Libei—so advantageous that he did not want to agree.
“You refuse for the lord’s sake, unwilling to let the Xiao clan replace him,” Yao Wenyu said. “But even without the heir, any other child would not bear the name Shen. The lord will never allow Shen Wei into the ancestral halls.”
Shen Zechuan intended for Shen Wei to remain a wandering spirit in the wilderness of Dunzhou. Offering him incense in a temple would never happen—he meant to cut off the Shen bloodline entirely.
“Xun’er is Libei’s heir,” Xiao Chiye said. “My brother would never agree.”
Yao Wenyu fell silent for a moment, then softened his tone, speaking as a friend. “Do you have another solution?”
The night rain continued. Though the room was not cold, Yao Wenyu’s complexion was pale.
“There are countless heroes under heaven. Do you know why I came all the way to Zhongbo to join Lanzhou?”
Xiao Chiye’s eyes darkened.
“I watched him flee north with you, yet stop in Zhongbo. I thought he meant to clear Shen Wei’s name—but he did not care at all. He does not take Zhongbo as his homeland, nor Qudu as his destination. Whether he advances or retreats depends only on his own will. I know he is not meant to be emperor, yet I still choose to assist him—because he is a born hegemon. Your father knew Zhongbo was rising rapidly. He allowed Lanzhou into Libei because Xiao Xun is Lanzhou’s only choice.”
Xiao Fangxu, the wolf king who opened up Libei, could sense the decay of the Guangcheng Emperor from Luoxia Pass. At the right moment, he became a powerful vassal king. He saw further than his sons. Shen Zechuan had only one path ahead—without Xiao Chiye and Xiao Xun, he would never have been allowed to return to Zhongbo alive.
“If Lanzhou dares to walk that path,” Xiao Chiye said, each word deliberate, “then it will be his.”
“It will be his,” Yao Wenyu echoed, “if there is Xiao Xun.”
The rain fell in disarray. Xiao Chiye did not respond.
The crown prince felt the chill of night. Since her illness, her sleep had been poor, often waking in fright. Now she lay staring at the canopy, enduring the passage of time until mao hour. Without waiting for the maids, she rose.
The attendants were all newly assigned. Kneeling, they adjusted Li Jianting’s robes, then arranged her hair as she sat before the mirror. She had grown thinner during this period, her features sharper, lacking any softness.
Still fatigued from illness, she suddenly felt a chill at her ear. The maid fastening her earring had no time to react before Li Jianting stood abruptly, face pale, rebuking in a low voice, “Take it away!”
The attendants fell to their knees, not knowing what offense they had committed.
Li Jianting pressed her lips together, staring at her blurred reflection in the mirror. After a long moment, she said, “When I study before my teachers, I do not wear earrings.”
The maid kowtowed repeatedly in fear.
Li Jianting dressed herself in her cloak. The luxurious fabric draped over her like armor, easing her slightly, though she remained silent. As she stepped out, she saw a familiar figure under the eaves.
Fu Man approached, opening an umbrella for her with a fawning smile. “The rain is heavy today. I’ve prepared a sedan chair—Your Highness can rest along the way. I’ll wake you before class.”
Li Jianting did not move. Instead, she smiled faintly. “Good morning, Eunuch Fu. Busy with your investigations?”
Fu Man dared not urge her. “I wouldn’t know how to investigate—everything is guided by the Grand Secretary. Officials from the Ministry of Justice are overseeing it.”
In other words, he was not acting alone—everything went through Kong Qiu.
Li Jianting did not blink. “So Fengquan cannot be released?”
Fu Man quickly composed himself, sighing. “He’s related to Consort Mu and tied to the Bureau of Gardens. The Ministry cannot show favoritism. I’ve gone back and forth several times, even spoken to the Grand Secretary. He’s a good man, after all.”
He avoided speaking ill of Fengquan, knowing Li Jianting still favored him.
“What exactly happened?” she asked.
Fu Man held the umbrella over her, letting himself be drenched. “It’s about the food—watch your step, Your Highness, the stairs are slippery! The problem lies with the Bureau of Gardens. Too many mixed personnel—someone had ill intentions.”
He shifted all responsibility onto the Ministry of Justice, distancing himself completely.
Originally, Li Jianting had not intended to take the sedan chair—but she changed her mind and stepped in. Fu Man beamed, urging the bearers forward toward Mingli Hall.
When she arrived, Cen Yu had already been waiting under the eaves. Seeing her step down from the sedan chair, he frowned.
She had never cared for such comforts before—that was why the court favored her. Now that the Empress Dowager had lost power, she could not even walk a few steps?
After exchanging greetings, Cen Yu spoke sternly, “Spring rain is as precious as oil. The fields of eight cities depend on it. Your Highness has not yet ascended the throne and holds no title—how can you ride in a sedan within the palace?”
Li Jianting seemed to realize her fault and lowered herself. “I was wrong, teacher.”
Fu Man, hearing this, quickly interjected, “Your Highness has only just recovered—her body is precious, and the rain is heavy—”
Cen Yu’s expression darkened instantly. “I am speaking with my student—how dare a eunuch interrupt!”
Fu Man froze, then dropped to his knees, kowtowing frantically.
Cen Yu and Kong Qiu had both lived through the chaos of eunuch interference—they despised it above all. For Fu Man to arrange the sedan and interrupt today was intolerable.
“You dare disrupt the crown prince’s conduct today—tomorrow you will meddle in state affairs!” Cen Yu thundered. “Audacious eunuch!”
Fu Man’s forehead bruised as he knocked it repeatedly against the ground.
Li Jianting tried to speak, “It was my fault, teacher—”
But Cen Yu cut her off, “Your Highness is the crown prince—you must distance yourself from the corrupt! Guards, strip him of his outer robe and drag him away!”
By the rules of Yongyi’s reign, Cen Yu had no authority to command a chief eunuch like this. Hearing the approaching guards, Fu Man trembled and crawled toward Li Jianting, pleading, “I deserve death—please—”
The guards tore off his outer garment and dragged him into the open courtyard. Rain poured down as he knelt, lips turning blue from the cold.
“Slap him,” Cen Yu ordered.
The guards stepped forward and struck him hard across the face. Fu Man’s ears rang, but he dared not dodge or cry out. Without ordering a stop, Cen Yu turned, lifted the curtain, and ushered Li Jianting inside, leaving Fu Man kneeling in the rain as the blows continued.