The winds of the northern frontier made the heavy curtains of the central military tent flap violently.
Before the desk, Xiao Yuan held a vermilion brush in his hand, his gaze rapidly scanning the mountain of military reports piled before him.
Someone lifted the tent flap from outside, bringing in a gust of wind.
Xia Lanshi strode inside, carrying several newly decoded secret messages and a stack of intelligence reports from the capital. Xiao Yuan raised his head, keenly catching the unusual expression in Xia Lanshi’s eyes.
“Your Highness, a secret message has arrived from the capital. Please take a look.”
Xia Lanshi handed him the topmost strip of paper with both hands.
Xiao Yuan accepted it. It was not an urgent report, yet the moment his eyes touched the writing, his pupils suddenly contracted.
—Prince Yi, Xiao Ying, fell into the water. The Prefect of Jingzhao intervened in the investigation, and the Emperor had personally inquired about the matter.
—The following day, the pleasure boat he had been riding was burned to ashes.
The image of his younger brother immediately surfaced in Xiao Yuan’s mind: a man who was always wearing a frivolous smile and whose conduct was notoriously outrageous.
Xiao Yuan understood this sort of survival tactic all too well, because he himself had once used similar methods to disguise his true nature while living in the capital.
Xiao Ying had wrapped himself in a harmless façade of romantic indulgence and carefree idleness. For years, he had frequented pleasure houses, never meddled in court politics, and never antagonized anyone powerful enough to pose a mortal threat to him.
Yet a truly harmless, wealthy nobleman living a life of leisure would never encounter something like this.
“What happened to him afterward?” Xiao Yuan asked, his voice turning low.
The capital lay a long distance from the northern frontier. By the time intelligence arrived, more than ten days had often passed. That meant the crisis described in the message was already in the past.
“Fortunately, someone rescued him in time. He was bedridden with an illness for only a few days.”
Xia Lanshi gently pushed the message a little farther across the desk.
“If he had merely fallen into the water by accident, it would not be strange for the Prefect of Jingzhao to investigate an incident involving a prince. What is truly strange is this—he had already been rescued, so why burn the boat?”
“And it happened the very next day. Several boatmen aboard the vessel died as well. A few days later, the Prefect of Jingzhao ‘successfully’ apprehended a drunkard who had a personal grudge against the boat owner.”
Xia Lanshi’s tone turned chilly.
“This does not look like an investigation. It looks more like someone is trying to provide a plausible explanation to close the case after the fact.”
Xiao Yuan’s expression darkened. “If this really was an accident, burning the boat was entirely unnecessary. It would be like adding an unnecessary stroke to a finished painting.”
Xia Lanshi spoke slowly. “In my assessment, there may be more than one hand behind this case.”
He pointed at the words fell into the water on the message.
“The person who pushed Prince Yi into the water may have been the first hand involved, or perhaps… the second. If someone truly wanted to kill Prince Yi, there would have been methods with a much lower risk of failure. This incident seems more like a warning. But the person who pushed him into the water may not have known the whole truth.”
His finger moved to the words pleasure boat as he continued his analysis.
“If the purpose was to issue a warning, the matter should have ended once Prince Yi was rescued. Yet the subsequent arson case emerged afterward. This hand… does not seem to be the same one that pushed Prince Yi into the water.”
Finally, he withdrew his hand.
“As for the drunkard who ‘coincidentally’ held a grudge against the boat owner—if he is merely a scapegoat, then whose hand does he belong to?”
What interested Xia Lanshi most was this: why would someone go to such lengths to set a trap for a prince who supposedly lived nothing more than a carefree, idle life?
Perhaps Xiao Ying was not as simple as he appeared.
The Xiao Ying of today had likely acquired some kind of value that made people willing to risk their lives to harm him.
But what sort of matter could possibly be important enough for someone to risk the execution of their entire clan just to assassinate a prince?
Xia Lanshi opened another intelligence report in his hand.
This report had come from informants embedded among the common people. It recorded nothing but the latest gossip circulating through the capital.
“Your Highness, please look at this. Several days before he fell into the water, Prince Yi visited the capital’s premier male courtesan house, Shuyu Pavilion. He spent a fortune to book its most popular male courtesan, Lord Yuexi, for an entire year, forbidding anyone else from receiving his services.”
Xiao Yuan raised an eyebrow slightly.
He knew that Xiao Ying had spent years frequenting brothels and pleasure houses, but he had never heard of his brother becoming so entangled with any particular courtesan.
Now, Xiao Ying had made a grand public display of exclusively keeping one male courtesan for himself. He had even changed his usual behavior and preferences. It was decidedly abnormal.
“What is this Lord Yuexi’s background?”
Xiao Yuan got straight to the point.
Xia Lanshi pulled out another document containing a detailed background investigation.
“His real name is Wu Jiuling. He is the second son of the Wu family, whose officials were implicated in the Jiangnan Grain Depot Embezzlement Case years ago. At the time, he had not yet come of age and was fortunate enough to escape the death penalty. Instead, he was entered into the register of low-status households. He is now Shuyu Pavilion’s most popular male courtesan.”
Xiao Yuan’s fingers, which had been lightly tapping the desk, came to a halt. His gaze instantly deepened.
—The Jiangnan Grain Depot Embezzlement Case.
He had read the relevant case files before. It was a rotten ledger buried deep within the Ministry of Revenue, and there had indeed been several suspicious points in the case.
Everything had been carried out too quickly and too neatly. It was almost as though… someone had been executing a predetermined plan, leaving absolutely no room for reversal.
“Prince Yi’s fall into the water is shrouded in suspicion. Now, someone connected to the old Jiangnan Grain Depot case has emerged, and that case has countless ties to the Ministry of Revenue…”
Xia Lanshi paused, lowering his voice.
“This reminds me of something else.”
“Speak.”
“Previously, rumors about the situation on the northern frontier were flying all over the capital’s intelligence circles. When I traced their origins and compared the various sources, I discovered that several rumors concerning Baishui Pass had not originated in the residences of officials. They had first emerged from Shuyu Pavilion.”
“Shuyu Pavilion…”
“Yes.” Meeting Xiao Yuan’s sharp gaze, Xia Lanshi continued, “After verification, Prince Yi was indeed at Shuyu Pavilion that day, hosting a banquet.”
Xiao Yuan frowned slightly.
“You suspect Xiao Ying is involved?”
“There is no direct evidence at present. However…” Xia Lanshi did not answer directly. Instead, he calmly laid out the facts. “I simply feel that there are too many coincidences when these threads are placed together.”
Xia Lanshi added another piece to the puzzle.
“Prince Yi’s birth mother came from the Jiangnan Lin clan, which controls the commercial routes in Jiangnan. Lord Yuexi is the orphan of an old Jiangnan case. And Guangji Trading House, which was mentioned in that mysterious letter warning us of the connection between the Ministry of Revenue and the northern frontier’s grain supplies, also has deep roots in Jiangnan.”
Xia Lanshi had previously theorized that whoever was secretly coloring the information circulating through the capital’s intelligence networks must control several specific circles of information. They would also need a sufficiently high status to gain access to the aristocratic circles.
Now that he thought about it, Xiao Ying happened to possess all these qualifications.
There were too many coincidences for them to be coincidences.
Silence settled over the military tent.
Xiao Yuan said nothing, but the clues in his mind were beginning to untangle themselves, like knots being loosened one by one amid a violent storm.
He began connecting Guangji Trading House, hidden in the shadows of the intelligence network, with his own eighth younger brother.
A complicated, shadowy glint passed through Xiao Yuan’s eyes.
Could the invisible hand behind the layers of fog concealing the capital, the one that had repeatedly manipulated events from the shadows and even indirectly helped the northern frontier on several occasions…
Actually be his seemingly hopeless eighth younger brother?
Xiao Ying.
The Prince Yi who had spent years indulging in romantic pursuits and never concerning himself with court politics.
If it really was him… then what exactly was this younger brother investigating?
Xiao Yuan had originally intended to leave the mysterious force that had been secretly helping him alone, so as not to alert anyone to its existence.
But if that person really was Xiao Ying, and whatever he was investigating had already attracted the attention of dangerous people, then Xiao Yuan could no longer stand idly by.
“Send orders to Tingxue Pavilion.”
Xiao Yuan abruptly rose to his feet, his tone decisive.
“Have them maintain contact with Guangji Trading House. Do not let this connection lapse, but be extremely careful not to expose our own position.”
He turned to Xia Lanshi.
“Also, immediately use our highest-level covert channel to send orders to Chief Steward Pu. Have him personally select our most capable people to keep Prince Yi’s residence under discreet surveillance. They must not interfere in his affairs under ordinary circumstances; they need only report what they observe. But if Prince Yi’s life is ever in danger, protecting his life takes priority. Investigate the reason afterward.”
When Xiao Yuan had first departed for the northern frontier, he had taken only his Left Chief Steward, Xia Lanshi, with him.
He had left his Right Chief Steward, Pu Mingqing, in the capital to oversee matters at Prince Su’s residence.
Pu Mingqing was meticulous and exceedingly steady in his actions.
The regular intelligence reports sent from the capital to the northern frontier usually passed through his hands for organization and verification before being forwarded.
With him personally overseeing the surveillance, they would be able to keep track of Prince Yi’s movements.
Xiao Yuan had to find out.
What door had his younger brother, who had always been so careful to protect himself, opened that he should never have touched—one that had finally prompted those lurking in the shadows to make their move?
“What exactly have you… seen?”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze was so cold it seemed capable of freezing the air itself.
For the first time, he suddenly felt that the seemingly ridiculous incident in which his brother had fallen into the water in the capital might be more dangerous than the war currently raging on the northern frontier.
After all, enemies on a battlefield would at least show their blades.
The capital would not.
His concern had barely lingered for long when Xia Lanshi handed him another secret message.
This one was an urgent report, containing comparatively recent intelligence.
“There is other news from the capital as well, mainly concerning two matters.”
Xia Lanshi’s expression remained grave. His pale, reddish eyes held a faint but unmistakable weight of concern.
Xiao Yuan took the message and quickly scanned its contents.
The first item read: During a court assembly, the Emperor publicly reprimanded the Ministry of Revenue in front of all the civil and military officials, ordering that, effective immediately, it must no longer delay the northern frontier army’s provisions and military pay for any reason whatsoever.
The second item read: The Emperor had suddenly issued an edict ordering Prince Yi to enter the Imperial Clan Court and take charge of organizing the royal archives.
Xiao Yuan stared at the two pieces of news, his gaze growing unfathomable.
One concerned him.
The other concerned Xiao Ying.
“Sending Xiao Ying to the Imperial Clan Court to organize the old archives?”
There was a trace of absurdity and suspicion in Xiao Yuan’s voice. He let out a cold laugh.
“When the Crown Prince was twelve, the Emperor was already eager to have him formally invested and brought into politics. Xiao Ying was seventeen before the Emperor finally allowed him to come of age and bestowed upon him the title of Prince Yi, without giving him any real authority whatsoever. Yet now, of all things, he is being sent into the Imperial Clan Court to handle the royal archives… What exactly is the Emperor planning?”
He was not speaking up for Xiao Ying out of a sense of injustice. For a prince without power or influence, remaining inconspicuous was actually the safer choice.
Looking at these two reports, he did not see a father who had suddenly remembered that he had two neglected sons.
What he saw was—
What was the Emperor plotting now?
“His Majesty must have a reason for giving Prince Yi something to do. It is unlikely that he is merely trying to stop him from causing trouble every day,” Xia Lanshi said calmly. “However, we do not yet have enough information to draw any further conclusions.”
They both knew perfectly well that this matter was anything but simple.
The Imperial Clan Court held the secrets and old cases of the Dasheng imperial family, accumulated over several hundred years. Why had the Emperor chosen Prince Yi, of all people—the very person least inclined to become entangled in political intrigue—to enter it?
For now, they were far away on the northern frontier, and they could not investigate the game being played inside the Imperial Clan Court in the capital.
In the end, Xiao Yuan’s gaze settled on the first item in the message.
—The Ministry of Revenue would no longer delay the provisions.
Upon hearing this, Xiao Yuan felt not the slightest trace of joy. Instead, his heart sank a little.
The Ministry of Revenue had repeatedly delayed the northern frontier’s provisions and military pay. Xiao Yuan had never believed that the Emperor had not tacitly permitted it.
Now, the Emperor had suddenly reprimanded the ministry in open court and ordered it to stop obstructing the army. This was certainly not because His Majesty had experienced a sudden awakening of conscience.
Xiao Yuan did not believe that, after twenty-five years, the Emperor had suddenly developed compassion for him—or finally remembered the long years of suffering endured by the soldiers and civilians of the northern frontier.
“His Majesty has suddenly changed his attitude. If the provisions arrive on time, that is certainly a good thing.”
Xia Lanshi studied Xiao Yuan’s expression and lowered his voice.
“But the intention behind it…”
Xiao Yuan did not answer.
Su Mucheng.
That door.
And the secret within himself that he had never dared to let anyone touch.
If the Emperor had already discovered…
Xiao Yuan’s gaze turned cold, and his fingers unconsciously tightened around the message.
Based on his understanding of the Emperor, if His Majesty had truly confirmed that Xiao Yuan was the Gate Master, the first thing he would do would not be to show mercy by sending him provisions. He would instead exhaust every possible means of ensuring that Xiao Yuan died quietly, without leaving a trace.
Yet now, the Emperor had not only refrained from taking away his military authority but had also closed off the Ministry of Revenue’s last avenue for delaying supplies. His actions even seemed to help stabilize the war on the northern frontier.
…It was far too strange.
If the Emperor truly knew that he was the Gate Master, why would he let him live?
Why give him provisions?
Unless—
Xiao Yuan’s breathing faltered for a moment.
Unless the Emperor had already learned part of the truth, but not enough to reach absolute certainty.
The Emperor was waiting.
Waiting for Xiao Yuan to be driven into a desperate corner in this life-or-death struggle on the northern frontier. Waiting for him to be forced to reveal some flaw or anomaly beyond the bounds of ordinary human ability.
As for what the Emperor would do after seeing that flaw, Xiao Yuan could not predict it now.
But he absolutely dared not gamble on it.
“Your Highness?”
Xia Lanshi called out, interrupting Xiao Yuan’s increasingly dangerous train of thought.
Xiao Yuan returned to himself, placed the message back on the desk, and put away every trace of emotion. His voice was calm as he said, “Nothing. I just feel that… the Emperor does not seem to be in a hurry to take my life yet.”
Xia Lanshi’s gaze sharpened slightly.
“Your Highness suspects that His Majesty has already…”
“No.” Xiao Yuan cut him off immediately, his eyes deep as a frozen abyss. “If he truly knew, he would not be behaving this way.”
“His sudden order forbidding the Ministry of Revenue from delaying supplies does not mean he wants me to win.”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze was as sharp as a blade.
“If the provisions continued to be delayed and I failed to win within three months, he could still claim that the Ministry of Revenue had obstructed the army and that the defeat was caused by inadequate logistical support. But now that he has ensured the supplies will arrive, he has cleanly and decisively placed the entire responsibility for any defeat back on my shoulders.”
He let out a cold laugh and looked toward the capital.
“He is not sending this prince provisions. He is taking away my very last excuse.”
“Precisely.”
Xia Lanshi nodded and walked over to the desk, spreading out the map of the northern frontier. His fingertip pressed down on the open grasslands north of Linbei City.
“Moreover, the three-month deadline His Majesty has given us is a trap in itself.”
He looked at Xiao Yuan’s darkening expression.
“It is already late spring. Summer arrives later on the northern frontier than in the Central Plains, but it is approaching all the same.”
“The saying that ‘one should not wage war in winter or summer’ does not mean that battles cannot be fought in those seasons. It is a warning to respect the seasons.”
He tapped a stretch of grassland on the map with his knuckles.
“Summer on the northern frontier is not as scorching as in the Central Plains. But once the rainy season begins, the grasslands will no longer look as they do now. The ground will become waterlogged, the grass roots will loosen, and carts and horses will sink into the earth as they pass. Cavalry relies most heavily on speed and maneuverability. Once trapped in the mud, they will lose much of their advantage. Heavily laden supply carts will be almost unable to move at all.”
“After that, mosquitoes will multiply, and the heat and humidity will worsen. Wounds will fester, and epidemics will spread through the camps. The Beidi will certainly suffer as well, but the longer our army remains mired in the mud, the more lives we will lose.”
The tent fell silent for a moment.
Xiao Yuan lowered his head and stared at the map, his gaze growing darker by the moment.
Of course he understood.
Military strategists had always warned against prolonged campaigns during seasons like these. The cost of this war would grow heavier with every passing day.
It was not that they could not fight. Rather, once the season passed, the price they would have to pay—not merely in the enemy’s blades, but in everything the campaign demanded—would become unbearable.
In other words, if they failed to achieve a decisive victory within three months, the war would cease to be a campaign to reclaim lost territory and become a war of prolonged occupation and attrition.
Forget the Emperor. Neither the Crown Prince nor the court officials would tolerate that.
Xiao Yuan remained silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed. There was not the slightest trace of amusement in it.
“He certainly has calculated everything carefully.”
If Xiao Yuan failed to reclaim the three lost territories within three months, then once summer arrived, even with the most elite troops at his disposal, he would be trapped in this vast expanse of mud. A drawn-out, disastrous campaign and the accusation that he had “wasted the army’s strength without achieving anything” would be enough to allow the court to punish him under perfectly legitimate pretenses.
Xia Lanshi’s fingertip finally came to rest on Duanyun Fort.
“Duanyun Fort has enough stored provisions to last half a year. It can afford to wait us out. But of the three months His Majesty has given us, the optimal window in which we can truly commit our full strength now has less than two months remaining. We cannot afford to wait.”
Duanyun Fort had no reason to fear a siege. As long as the conflict dragged into summer, the Beidi would practically have won the war already.
“Then we cannot afford to get bogged down in a prolonged siege of Duanyun Fort.”
Xiao Yuan stared at the strategic choke point on the map, his voice hard and cold.
“We must tear open a breach.”
◆◇◆◇◆
After Xia Lanshi left the central military tent, Xiao Yuan was alone.
He gazed silently at the map of the northern frontier spread across his desk, not looking away for a long time.
Three months.
His Imperial Father had given him three months.
But what about Xiao?
Xiao Yuan suddenly remembered those eyes, always as still and lifeless as a stagnant pool.
How many different three-month periods had that man already witnessed?
For Xiao Yuan, this was the first.
For Xiao, it might have been the tenth, the twentieth, or even more.
A murmur of conversation suddenly drifted in from outside the tent.
Two personal guards changing shifts were speaking quietly. One complained that the wind tonight was so fierce it hurt his face. The other laughed and said that he had kicked his blanket onto the ground again while sleeping the previous night. Once his shift ended, he was going to the kitchen to ask for a bowl of hot soup.
Their voices were close, lively, and real.
As Xiao Yuan listened to the wind and the voices outside, something Xiao had once said suddenly resurfaced in his mind, along with the almost unnaturally rigid rule he had imposed on the forty-eight death soldiers under his command—
“Bring everyone back alive.”
At first, Xiao Yuan had thought it was simply strict military discipline, or perhaps a reflection of Xiao’s concern for the lives of his soldiers.
But now, as the concept of starting over aligned completely with the desperate predicament before him, an indescribable chill shot straight up Xiao Yuan’s spine.
Xiao had once said that he recognized them.
He had said it so casually.
Xiao had undergone an unknown number of cycles. For him, the northern frontier before his eyes was far from unfamiliar.
He might have watched this city being built, only to witness its destruction later.
Those lively faces outside the tent—the men who complained about the wind and kicked their blankets onto the ground—Xiao might once have saved them.
Or perhaps, countless times, he had personally… collected their corpses.
The words “Bring everyone back alive” had nothing to do with military prestige at all.
They meant that Xiao understood all too well that when someone died in this timeline, the next time everything began again, there was no guarantee that he would encounter that same living, breathing person.
He did not want to get to know another group of people only to watch them become the dead again. He did not want to endure those helpless losses over and over.
Xiao Yuan’s fingers slowly tightened, his knuckles turning bluish white.
For the first time, he realized that the most terrifying thing was not having someone who could predict what would happen tomorrow.
It was having someone whose mind was filled with countless pasts that had already failed and no longer existed.
In those erased pasts, the entire northern frontier might have collapsed. Xia Lanshi might have died in battle.
And perhaps… Su Mucheng had died in some spring that no one remembered.
Perhaps even Xiao Yuan himself had already died countless times.
Yet Xiao Yuan knew nothing about it.
Other than Xiao, no one remembered the terrible price paid in those erased timelines.
In all of Dasheng, Xiao alone bore the burden of those blood debts that had been wiped from existence, walking back to this spring time and time again, all by himself.
Xiao Yuan did not even know how many times he had lost this war.
Much less did he know what had driven Xiao to return here over and over again.
His gaze fell on the secret message lying on the desk, on the line stating that the Emperor had ordered the Ministry of Revenue to stop delaying the provisions.
This was a cage designed with meticulous care, intended to trap a beast with no way out.
What would happen if, when faced with absolute desperation, Xiao Yuan had no choice but to use the power of the Gate?
Using the Gate might allow him to win this war on the northern frontier. But it might also expose a flaw, pushing Su Mucheng and everyone else into an abyss from which there was no return.
The moment his identity as the Gate Master was revealed, the value of Su Mucheng—whose fate was deeply entangled with his own—as the Gate Key would no longer be something that could be concealed.
Xiao Yuan was willing to wager his own life on the outcome of the war in the northern frontier.
But he would never allow Su Mucheng to become prey to imperial power and political conspiracy again.
Not using the Gate might preserve their secret, but it could also send everyone back to the same failed ending that Xiao had witnessed before.
If they truly lost this battle, then once the three-month deadline passed, the northern frontier army would be trapped in summer mud and epidemics, and the Emperor’s wrath would descend like thunder.
Would the northern frontier fall then?
Would Xiao once again find himself standing at some erased point in time, watching everything begin all over again in solitude?
But if they were so afraid of exposing themselves that they could not even overcome the desperate situation confronting the northern frontier, what meaning would there be in trying to protect their secret?
Xiao had witnessed this so many times, yet he still acted with such caution on the battlefield. That alone proved that the northern frontier before them was itself an abyss that was exceedingly difficult to cross.
If Xiao Yuan stubbornly refused to use the Gate’s power, he would only die here sooner.
Some memories suddenly surfaced in Xiao Yuan’s mind.
He remembered Su Mucheng methodically breaking down one problem after another amid the chaos in Linzhou.
He also remembered what Xiao had always been doing—
Maintaining the balance between the two worlds.
Xiao had never forbidden them from using the Gate. He had only repeatedly warned them about its rules.
What Xiao did was always to provide a sliver of intelligence at a critical moment, or intervene in an extremely restrained manner.
He was not rejecting power.
He was balancing it.
The wind outside the tent moaned in a low, mournful voice.
The confusion in Xiao Yuan’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by a profound and austere clarity.
The Gate could provide medical knowledge far beyond the understanding of this era, agricultural techniques and seeds, and even certain crucial supplies.
But it must never become an instrument of slaughter that replaced the soldiers’ own blades.
The Gate could provide a breach through which they might pry open a seemingly hopeless deadlock, but it could not fight the war that Dasheng itself was supposed to fight.
At last, he understood that as the Gate Master, what he truly needed to learn was not to regard the Gate as a trump card that must never be revealed except in the direst circumstances.
Instead, he needed to act as the Gate Key and the Gatekeeper did—
Dismantle each deadlock piece by piece, and restore balance one step at a time.
If Dasheng could solve something on its own, the Gate would not be used.
If Dasheng could not break a deadlock, then the Gate could lend it a fraction of its strength.
Every time it was used, the extent of its influence on this world had to be precisely controlled.
The Gate had never been a trump card.
It was a matter of proportion.
Being able to do many things did not mean that every one of them should be done.
If one day he had no choice but to borrow the Gate’s power to break a deadlock, then he would do so.
But he would borrow only the fraction necessary to break through.
The rest of the road, he would walk himself.
Xiao Yuan lifted his head and called to the personal guards outside the tent in a deep voice:
“Send for Mister Liuchu.”