Inside the Eastern Palace.
Crown Prince Xiao Sheng set down the copy that had just been delivered, his brows tightly furrowed.
“Is that all?”
He read through it again, trying to find even the slightest trace of treason hidden within Xia Lanshi’s neat, slender handwriting.
It contained only a few matters:
The Northern Di had repeatedly crossed the borders, while the supply of provisions was running short.
The administrative records in the northern borderlands needed to be reorganized, but the registers were incomplete.
The number of refugees had gradually increased in recent months, and there were many duplicate entries and omissions when compiling the household registers.
As for measuring the land in the northern borderlands, were there any old records that could be consulted?
And so on—just a handful of questions.
There were no important military reports.
Even less was there any suspicious code.
The Crown Prince gave a cold laugh.
“Gu thought that for Xiao Yuan to send an eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch, the Northern Di must have broken through Linbei City. As it turns out… it was merely for these trivial matters.”
With that, he casually flung the letter onto the desk.
“Xia Lanshi is ultimately still too inexperienced.”
A trace of disdain and disappointment flashed through his eyes.
He had originally thought that Xia Changshi, who was praised throughout the scholarly world and known as the “White Piece of the National Chessboard,” would be far more formidable.
Who would have thought that when faced with a problem, he would actually run to his teacher for help like a spoiled student?
Xiao Yuan was even more useless, actually trying to rely on the White Piece’s influence.
The northern border had been cut off from its grain supplies for quite some time. According to the intelligence reports received by the Eastern Palace, all the grain transferred from Linzhou had been intercepted by the Northern Di, and Prince Su was already nearing the limit of what he could procure on his own.
Now that the new prefect of Linzhou had taken office, it was impossible for Xiao Yuan to continue transferring grain from Linzhou.
Xiao Yuan had already been driven into a desperate situation.
“Heh. Xiao Yuan was never capable of holding up the northern border.”
“This isn’t a request for academic advice.”
The Crown Prince rose and walked to the window, gazing into the darkness outside. His voice was gloomy.
“Seeking advice is only a pretense. What he really wants is help. Grand Tutor Xia has students throughout the realm. If he truly speaks a word on Xiao Yuan’s behalf, there will naturally be people in court willing to petition for grain on his behalf.”
He let out another cold laugh.
“Unfortunately, Grand Tutor Xia is the last person to fall for such a trick. When he held power, the thing he hated most was forming factions for personal gain and putting private interests above public duty.”
The Crown Prince believed that the letter appeared on the surface to be a humble request for guidance, but in reality, Xiao Yuan was desperately grasping at straws, using Xia Lanshi to seek help from the leading scholar of Great Sheng.
Beside him, a strategist stepped out of the shadows and asked quietly, “Your Highness, should we… intercept the letter? If Grand Tutor Xia never sees this plea for help, Prince Su will be completely cut off from hope.”
“No.”
A cruel curve appeared at the corner of his lips, the arrogance of someone who held power firmly in his grasp.
“If we intercept it, it will only make it seem as though Gu is afraid of them. The more desperate they become, the more it proves that Xiao Yuan has no idea what to do.”
“I rather want to see… when Grand Tutor Xia replies, I’ll be able to find out exactly which side this two-dynasty elder, who has always prided himself on remaining neutral, and head of the Xia clan’s main branch, intends to stand on.”
Although Grand Tutor Xia had been the teacher of both Xiao Yuan and Xia Lanshi, he had also taught other princes and sons of prominent clans.
Xiao Yuan had been repeatedly sent to the northern border, yet Grand Tutor Xia had never spoken a single word for him in court.
This letter was Xia Lanshi’s bait.
And he intended to turn around and use that bait to probe the hand Grand Tutor Xia, who had once wielded enormous influence over the court, was holding.
In the past, he had even wondered whether Grand Tutor Xia had sent Xia Lanshi to Xiao Yuan’s side and carefully instructed that White Piece because he had some hidden agenda.
But now it seemed that these people were not worth fearing at all.
In the end, they would all submit before him.
◇◆◇◆◇
Inside the Imperial Study, the scent of dragon’s-breath incense was so thick it was suffocating.
Emperor Xiao Che silently examined the entire copy of the letter.
He read it once.
His brows moved slightly.
He read it a second time.
His fingers stopped tapping against the armrest.
He read it a third time.
The hall became so quiet that even the sound of breathing could be heard.
The Emperor’s figure was shrouded in the shadow of the imperial desk, his dragon robes appearing heavy beneath the faint candlelight.
He was the most exalted player on the chessboard of this dynasty—and its most ruthless judge.
After a long while, the Emperor finally spoke, his voice hoarse yet carrying unquestionable authority.
“Xiao Yuan… would never make a useless move.”
His tone sounded as though he were passing judgment on someone completely unrelated to him.
He knew Xiao Yuan well.
That son of his was intelligent, deeply calculating, decisive in his actions, and possessed enormous prestige among the northern border troops.
If not for his awkward birth, perhaps he could have become an excellent heir.
And precisely because of that, Xiao Yuan could only be the perfect chess piece in his hands.
He absolutely could not become the person who overturned the entire game.
He did not need a Crown Prince who might raise an army in rebellion at any moment.
He only needed a general capable of stabilizing the frontier.
As for what Xiao Yuan intended to do in Linbei City, he knew perfectly well.
The old eunuch lowered his head, staring fixedly at the tips of his shoes, not daring to answer.
Before the Emperor, silence was the only way to stay alive.
The Emperor placed the letter back on the desk.
His fingers lightly tapped the armrest.
“An eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch, just to ask about these things?”
He gave a cold laugh, the sound echoing through the empty study, sending a chill through the air.
“朕 does not believe it.”
This was not merely a letter.
Xia Lanshi had asked about “reconstructing household registers,” “measuring land,” and “military and civilian agricultural colonies.”
But the letter absolutely could not be as simple as it appeared.
Only… whatever its ultimate purpose was, it was already too late.
At first, he had merely been testing how Xiao Yuan would act after arriving at the northern border.
From the moment Linbei City began to be established, he had already understood what his son had decided.
Even if Jiang Zechen had found nothing.
Prince Su had secretly stockpiled weapons and engaged in forming a faction with the intention of rebellion.
There had been no obvious violation of regulations.
But how could he possibly believe that?
“…He has grown up, after all.”
He spoke slowly, his tone cold and detached.
“A grown wolf can no longer be raised.”
After a moment, the Emperor issued his order indifferently.
“All letters traveling to and from the northern border, whether official or private—not a single one is to be missed. I want to see what else they can come up with.”
“As for Grand Tutor Xia Zhiheng, keep an eye on him as well.”
He knew that although Xia Zhiheng was old, he was not a fool.
Under the current circumstances, no one dared step forward on Xiao Yuan’s behalf.
If the Grand Tutor openly supported anyone, the balance would inevitably tip.
He was a useful man.
But once the scales tipped, he would no longer be useful.
His gaze passed through the doors toward that cold, barren land in the north, his voice carrying the mercilessness of someone who believed he controlled everything.
“Keep watching. In any case… this is his final struggle.”
The next chess piece had already been set in motion, carrying the Son of Heaven’s anger and killing intent, preparing to fall upon the dead end that had long since been laid out.
“Xiao Yuan, no matter how clever you are, you will never be greater than my rules.”
Once Xiao Yuan fell, no matter how intelligent Xia Lanshi was, it would be useless.
He did not lack someone to guard the northern border.
That position… did not have to belong to Xiao Yuan.
◇◆◇◆◇
Meanwhile, at the Sheng Residence.
By the time Sheng Yuanli received the copy, the sky was already approaching dusk.
He did not skim through it quickly.
Instead, he read it slowly, word by word.
With every line, his gaze grew darker.
The air in the room seemed to grow colder as well.
The room was frighteningly quiet.
Only after reaching the final line did he place the letter back on the table.
He slowly closed his eyes.
Silence stretched on for a long time.
The old steward who had served him for many years asked quietly,
“Master? There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with this letter.”
Sheng Yuanli opened his eyes and extended a hand, pointing to a particular spot.
He was pointing at the two words at the beginning of the letter—
“Grand Tutor.”
“The real anomaly is that there is no anomaly.”
Sheng Yuanli’s voice was low and ghostlike.
“That White Piece… his moves have never been straightforward.”
What the letter actually said was not important.
What mattered was that this letter was a “trigger.”
—Grand Tutor Xia Zhiheng, a man closely connected to the Xia clan’s secondary branch.
Even though the main Xia clan and its secondary branch had been separated for many years, Grand Tutor Xia was still the one who had taken Xia Lanshi in from that secondary branch and recommended him to Xiao Yuan.
That man was an old chess player.
How many matters in the imperial court had he secretly influenced from behind the scenes?
And how many pieces had he cultivated from childhood?
But Sheng Yuanli was not afraid of Xia Zhiheng.
Even though the letter contained not a single word about “that plan,” Sheng Yuanli firmly believed that the White Piece had hidden some mystery within it that required Grand Tutor Xia’s involvement.
Since Xia Lanshi had dared to write it,
that meant—
Xia Zhiheng would understand.
As long as the Grand Tutor followed Xia Lanshi’s “request for guidance” and investigated further, the bloodstained truth buried beneath layer upon layer of concealment would be peeled back like an onion.
What he feared most was never someone finding the evidence.
It was someone beginning to ask questions.
They might follow the wrong direction, step by step drawing closer to the real answer.
Sheng Yuanli suddenly laughed.
The sound was cold and sinister, sending chills to the marrow.
“White Piece… are you really asking about your studies?”
“Or… have you already begun to suspect something?”
The secret chamber once again fell into deathly silence.
Sheng Yuanli opened his eyes, the ruthlessness and determination in them completely exposed beneath the candlelight.
He slowly rose and walked to the window, pushing it open.
The northern wind swept in with a chill, causing the candle flame to flicker.
He knew he could wait no longer.
Since Xia Zhongqian had chosen silence, he should not blame Sheng Yuanli for showing no mercy.
Before anyone could dig out the truth, he had to extinguish this spark before it could become a prairie fire.
Sheng Yuanli turned around and calmly uttered a single command.
“Go and dispose of those ‘things’ that should not remain.”
“…Only the dead can keep silent.”
Outside the window, the winds and clouds were gathering.
The last trace of sunlight was slowly swallowed by the heavy clouds.
True darkness had arrived.
The letter was like a butterfly flapping its wings, stirring up a faint breeze.
And no one could escape the whirlpool of political intrigue.
◆◇◆◇◆
The light afternoon rain had just stopped.
Water still clung to the blue-gray stone slabs in the courtyard, while the rain-washed banana trees glistened with a cool green sheen.
The study was quiet, with only the occasional drip of water from the distant eaves breaking the silence.
An old servant hurried inside, respectfully holding a pitch-black message tube in both hands.
“Grand Tutor, an eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch from the northern border.”
Xia Zhiheng, who had been sitting at the desk reading an ancient text, slowly raised his head.
“An eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch?”
His graying brows furrowed slightly.
An eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch was no trivial matter. It meant either an extremely urgent military situation or something concerning the very survival of the frontier.
But when he saw the familiar handwriting on the envelope, the furrows between his brows eased somewhat.
—Xia Lanshi.
A faint, pleased smile appeared in Xia Zhiheng’s eyes.
“That child… at last he still remembers this old man.”
He took the message tube and examined the sealing wax.
His brows imperceptibly tightened.
The northern border was far from the capital, and the courier had traveled for days through wind and dust.
But this sealing wax… was too fresh.
It did not have the dullness of old wax.
Instead, its surface was glossy, like newly applied wax.
He brought the envelope close to his nose.
Although extremely faint, there was a slight burnt scent beyond the normal smell of sealing wax.
He then gently scratched the surface with his fingernail, checking its hardness.
Next, he took out an old letter he had kept and placed the two wax seals side by side for comparison.
Although the seals looked almost identical, down to the smallest detail, something was missing.
A mark.
After pressing his seal, Xia Lanshi habitually used his fingernail to leave a tiny mark in the still-soft wax.
A seal could be imitated.
That mark could not.
Then he confirmed something.
The letter had been opened.
Someone had dared intercept and open even an eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch.
There was no need to think too hard about who it was.
He let out a soft sigh, opened the message tube, and unfolded the paper.
The room was silent.
Only the faint rustling of paper could be heard.
He read the letter from beginning to end very slowly, word by word, as though he were savoring some difficult political treatise.
When he reached the final words, “Your student respectfully bows twice,” he did not immediately put the letter down.
He repeatedly rubbed the corner of the paper.
Then he turned back to the first page and read it again, his gaze growing solemn.
—————————
To the Esteemed Grand Tutor:
The Spring Equinox approaches in the northern borderlands. The winds and snow are gradually subsiding, yet the frontier troubles have not ceased. The Northern Di frequently cross the borders, and our soldiers are doing their utmost to resist them, but provisions are running short and morale grows increasingly weary. The city walls have been repaired repeatedly only to be damaged again, making it difficult for repairs to endure.
Your student has recently been ordered to reorganize the administrative records of the northern borderlands. Upon reviewing the old archives, I found considerable omissions. In particular, after the devastation of war, many local registers and household records have been scattered or lost. The old archives are incomplete, the registers are fragmented, and the old and new records are difficult to reconcile.
New registers may be supplemented, but the old ones are difficult to recover. I fear that if their origins are lost, it will ultimately be impossible to establish their proper identities.
In recent months, the number of refugees has gradually increased, and civilians and soldiers have become mixed together. There are many duplicate entries and errors when compiling the registers.
Your student intends to first divide the records according to the military settlements, then supplement them with civilian household registrations. I wonder whether this accords with established precedent?
As for measuring the land in the northern borderlands, are there any old records that may be consulted?
Should military settlements and civilian settlements be recorded separately?
Your student’s knowledge is shallow, and I fear there may be aspects I have not considered thoroughly.
The Grand Tutor once served in the Secretariat and is deeply familiar with the old systems of the imperial court. The reconstruction of household registers and the compilation of military settlement records must all have established precedents to follow. The various matters in the northern borderlands are awaiting implementation, and I dare not make decisions recklessly. Therefore, I have first submitted these questions to the Grand Tutor and humbly ask for your guidance.
The northern borderlands have countless affairs awaiting attention, while your student’s knowledge is limited. I respectfully ask the Grand Tutor to correct my errors.
With utmost respect, I wish Your Excellency good health.
Respectfully submitted by your student,
Xia Lanshi, Chief Secretary of Prince Su’s Residence
—————————
After a long while, he gently placed the letter on the desk, yet his fingertips remained on the paper.
“Strange…”
Xia Zhiheng murmured softly.
The old servant standing nearby asked with concern,
“Grand Tutor, has some difficulty arisen in the northern border?”
Xia Zhiheng slowly shook his head.
“If there truly were difficulties in the northern border, Huaiyu’s writing would not be this ‘steady.’”
His gaze fell upon several words in the letter.
Household registers.
Official registers.
Military settlements.
Civilian settlements.
Land surveys.
Every question was extremely precise.
Too precise…
It did not sound like Xia Lanshi at all.
The old servant was puzzled.
“Every sentence in the Chief Secretary’s letter is sincere. Isn’t he simply asking you about the old systems of the imperial court?”
Xia Zhiheng gave a soft laugh, the smile revealing his profound understanding of this student of his.
“No. If Huaiyu merely wanted to know about the system, he would never have sent an eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch.”
He turned his head toward the entire wall of bookshelves stretching all the way to the ceiling behind him.
His tone was certain.
“I personally taught that child. No one knows him better than I do. If he encounters a difficult matter in government affairs, he will first consult the Household Ordinance. If the Household Ordinance provides no answer, he will consult the Old Records of the Prefectures and Counties. Only after searching through all the records of the past and still finding omissions would he pick up his brush and ask me.”
“That child has never been willing to take even the slightest shortcut in scholarship or government affairs.”
Therefore, this eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch, sent using the highest level of urgency available through the courier stations, was not actually because he “did not know the system.”
It was because this matter could not be asked about directly.
Xia Zhiheng lowered his head again, a sharp glint flashing through his aged eyes.
His gaze fixed upon several places in the letter.
“After the devastation of war, many were scattered or lost…”
“The old records were lost, the registers incomplete…”
The Grand Tutor paused.
Huaiyu had always been sparing with words.
If he were merely discussing administrative systems, why repeatedly emphasize “scattered,” “lost,” and “incomplete”?
His gaze moved downward and stopped on that abrupt sentence:
“New registers may be supplemented, but the old records are difficult to recover. I fear that if their origins are lost, it will ultimately be impossible to establish their proper identities.”
Xia Zhiheng’s gaze slowly darkened.
How could this possibly be a question about the registration system for refugees in the northern border?
It was clearly asking—
How could one place a “person who does not exist,” or someone whose origins had been erased, back into the official registers with a legitimate identity?
In the next moment, the Grand Tutor frowned slightly and rejected this simple interpretation.
No.
If it were merely about fabricating an identity for someone, Xia Lanshi was intelligent enough to have countless methods at his disposal.
He would never go around such a huge circle and risk having the letter intercepted by the various spies in the capital merely to ask him.
There had to be something else hidden within this letter.
It was simply that…
Those words could not be written on a sheet of paper that anyone in the realm might see.
Just as the Grand Tutor was deep in thought, faint footsteps suddenly sounded outside.
Another household servant hurried to the threshold and reported with his head lowered,
“Grand Tutor, someone came to visit just now. The visitor did not give a name. He only left this letter and departed.”
As he spoke, the servant respectfully offered a plain-colored envelope with no official seal, no signature, and even the most ordinary paper.
Xia Zhiheng took the envelope.
His fingers paused slightly at one corner.
There, printed almost imperceptibly to the naked eye, was a hidden snowflake pattern.
Xia Zhiheng’s pupils contracted slightly.
He knew what this was.
It was neither an official document nor something sent through the courier stations.
It was from Listening Snow Pavilion—
the trading house those two children had created for their survival.
Xia Zhiheng remained silent for a moment before raising a hand and waving it.
“Everyone out. Close the door behind you. Without my permission, no one is to approach the study.”
“Yes.”
The door gave a soft creak before closing tightly.
Inside the spacious study, only Xia Zhiheng remained.
He did not immediately open the secret letter from Listening Snow Pavilion.
Instead, he placed the two letters side by side on the desk.
On the left was an openly stated “official matter,” something anyone in the realm could see.
On the right was a “family letter” that could not see the light of day, its sender’s movements carefully concealed.
Grand Tutor Xia stared at the two completely different letters and suddenly laughed softly, his laughter filled with admiration.
“Huaiyu, Huaiyu… you’ve finally learned how to hide the truth.”
Only then did he extend his slightly trembling hand and slowly open the second secret letter.
—————————
To Grandfather:
It has been several months since we last met. I wonder whether Grandfather has been in good health? The winds and snow in the northern border are gradually subsiding, but the temperature varies greatly between morning and evening. Whenever I think of your advanced age, Grandson cannot help worrying about you.
In the past, Grandfather once told me:
“Whatever the matter, protect the person first, then protect the records.”
Grandson has always remembered those words.
As long as the person is alive, the records have meaning. If the person is gone, the records are nothing more than paper.
Although Grandson bears the surname Xia, I bear this surname because of Grandfather. When the world looks at surnames, Grandson only recognizes the affection of family.
I was young then and did not understand many things. Now, I need not understand them anymore.
Because Huaiyu has Grandfather, that alone is enough.
Grandfather once taught Grandson that if one wishes to trace the roots of an old matter, one must not begin by searching the archives.
Grandson did not understand at the time.
Recently, while organizing the old records, I looked at those incomplete household registers in the northern border.
Only now do I understand.
A person can supplement a register, but one cannot supplement a missing part of a person’s life.
There are things that do not exist on paper, yet remain in people’s hearts.
What people remember is not necessarily written on paper.
Paper grows old.
People grow old.
And those things will eventually leave with them.
If one day I have no choice but to search for that old matter, should Grandson search for the person first, or the records?
If a person once committed a grave mistake, knew the truth and remained silent, but now wishes to make amends, can that person still be trusted?
Grandson is hesitant and does not dare make a rash judgment. I only hope to hear Grandfather’s opinion.
If Grandfather is willing to reconnect that thread, Grandson will remain in the northern border and quietly await Grandfather’s word.
The northern lands are far away, and communication is inconvenient. Everything is well with Grandson in Linbei City. I hope Grandfather will not worry.
I only hope Grandfather will take good care of himself.
Your grandson,
Huaiyu
—————————
Xia Zhiheng’s gaze swept over the first line.
When he saw the words, “Whatever the matter, protect the person first, then protect the records,” the fingers holding the paper suddenly stopped.
Only the two of them knew that sentence.
It was a code.
And it was the “key” to unlocking the first letter.
Xia Zhiheng sat silently before the desk, staring at the two letters lying side by side.
For a long time, he did not move.
He picked up the first letter again and read it once more, as though dismantling an extremely intricate mechanism.
Household registers.
Official registers.
Military settlements.
Land.
Every sentence was flawless.
And precisely because there was nothing wrong with it, it was more suspicious than anything.
If he truly only wanted to ask about household registration, why send an eight-hundred-li urgent dispatch?
If this were merely a family letter, why separately send it through Listening Snow Pavilion?
Every sentence in the first letter seemed to be discussing the northern border.
But what it truly wanted to say had not been written in a single sentence.
He closed his eyes.
He mentally pieced together the two letters, word by word.
Until, at a certain moment—
the sentence hidden between the two letters finally became clear.
The first letter repeatedly asked about “household registers,” “official registers,” and “old records.”
The second letter, however, began by saying:
“Whatever the matter, protect the person first, then protect the records.”
The first letter said:
“New registers may be supplemented, but the old records are difficult to recover. I fear that if their origins are lost, it will ultimately be impossible to establish their proper identities.”
The second letter said:
“A person can supplement a register, but one cannot supplement a missing part of a person’s life.”
The two sentences echoed one another.
Like thunder exploding inside his mind.
Xia Lanshi was not looking for the household registers of refugees in the northern border at all.
He was looking for that “missing life.”
That completely erased “origin.”
Xia Zhiheng drew a deep breath and murmured,
“So that’s it…”
The first letter was merely the trigger.
Only when compared with the second letter could its true meaning be understood.
And what frightened Xia Zhiheng most were the next few sentences.
“Paper grows old. People grow old.”
“If one day I have no choice but to search for that old matter, should Grandson search for the person first, or the records?”
“If a person once committed a grave mistake, knew the truth and remained silent, but now wishes to make amends, can that person still be trusted?”
Xia Zhiheng’s gaze locked onto the four words:
“once committed a grave mistake.”
His eyes shifted toward the window, as though piercing through the misty rain and returning to that night of bloodshed.
Something truly unforgivable had happened within the Xia clan.
Someone had completely erased a child from the Xia clan genealogy and official registers, choosing silence and compromise.
That person was not evil.
He had simply been too weak, too desperate to preserve the clan.
And Xia Zhiheng had buried this matter deep in his heart all these years, never pursuing it.
That person was named Xia Zhongqian.