Ever since parting with Li Huai at the gate of the Imperial City Directorate, Meng Xizhao had not seen him for more than two months.
It was not that Li Huai had not wanted to see him.
Rather, when Meng Xizhao returned home that day, he had thrown a colossal tantrum—displaying the full spirit of a raging bear. He had practically climbed onto the table while shouting.
Madam Meng had been frightened pale and hurried to soothe him. After learning the whole story, she became furious herself. She summoned her younger brother to the government office and scolded him thoroughly.
The heir of the Duke of Wu’s household was scolded until he was completely drenched in spit, standing there bewildered as he endured his sister’s wrath. Once he finally understood what had happened, he went home and unleashed the same storm of curses on Li Huai.
He had even almost brought out the family discipline whip to beat him. The heir’s wife cried and tried to stop him, but failed. Li Huai was struck twice before the old Duke finally came out and stopped the heir.
But even that was not the end of it.
The heir and his wife left to calm down, while Li Huai tearfully struggled up from the floor and cried out to his grandfather.
His grandfather glared at him—and slapped him straight back down to the ground.
Face first. Rear end sticking up.
…
Fortunately this was not a cartoon. Otherwise there would have been a Li Huai–shaped crater in the floor.
When he was young, the Duke of Wu had been a general. In those earlier years, serving under the tyrant emperor had been quite profitable. Since he was always out fighting wars, he did not worry about accidentally saying the wrong thing and getting executed by the emperor when he returned home.
But good times did not last. The tyrant suddenly died, and a benevolent ruler ascended the throne. The benevolent ruler was kind to everyone—and especially gentle toward foreign enemies, as warm as a spring breeze.
The Duke of Wu lost his job immediately.
And he had been unemployed ever since.
However, his physical strength had not declined. Even at sixty years old, he could still knock a young man like Li Huai—barely twenty—flat on the ground.
Pointing at Li Huai’s nose, the Duke launched into another furious scolding.
“In the past, when you spent your days drinking and chasing pleasure instead of doing anything useful, I held back out of respect for your parents. But look at what you have done this time! Drugging an innocent woman and kidnapping her to keep in an outer residence—do you know what that is called?”
“That is called forcing a respectable woman into prostitution!”
“How did the Li family produce a wretch like you? And instead of ruining yourself, you dragged down your own cousin! Zhao’er has never wronged you—why would you harm him like this? Are you trying to make your uncle and aunt worry themselves sick, or are you trying to scare this old man into dying early?!”
Li Huai: “…………”
Grandfather, how are you even better at dramatic speeches than Father?
He shouted that he had been wronged and insisted he had been deceived.
But the Duke of Wu had no interest in hearing it.
“You wretch, and you still dare argue! It is only because Zhao’er was lucky that nothing serious happened today. If even the slightest thing had gone wrong, I am not joking—your aunt would have torn this entire Duke’s residence apart! From today onward, you are not allowed to leave the house. Stay home and reflect on your mistakes!”
The Duke of Wu’s lingering fear was no act.
As an old general who had once survived under a tyrant emperor, the Duke of Wu possessed an iron backbone—but there was one person he simply could not handle: his daughter, Li Tingxin.
Over the years, the slightest disturbance would send his daughter storming back home to make a scene. If her husband’s career stalled, she would cause trouble. If the heir failed to handle something properly, she would cause trouble. If the wife he had remarried did not give her enough face outside, she would cause even bigger trouble.
Because of this, the Duke of Wu had become jumpy at the slightest hint of danger.
After locking Li Huai in the ancestral hall to reflect on his actions, the Duke of Wu returned to his own quarters. His remarried wife approached him nervously and asked, “How is it? Is Zhao’er all right?”
The Duke waved his hand. “He is fine, fine. Just frightened. The boy himself is unharmed.”
As soon as the words fell, the late-married couple both released a sigh of relief.
Thank heavens nothing had happened.
…
Thus Li Huai was confined for two full months before he was finally released a few days ago. Even then, the Duke’s household still did not dare let him go visit Meng Xizhao. If not for Madam Meng worrying this time, Meng Xizhao might not have seen Li Huai at all this year.
Meng Xizhao sat at the head seat, expressionless, watching Li Huai sniffle and cry as he described the miserable two months he had endured. Again and again he insisted that he truly knew he had been wrong, and that in the future he would never again trust people so easily or bring trouble upon Meng Xizhao.
When he reached that point, he suddenly looked furious.
“The one who introduced me to Zhan Hui back then was a hanger-on who lived in the outer city. He was the one who told me Zhan Hui was waiting to be sold to the highest bidder, and he was the one who later led me to Zhan Buxiu. That man is truly despicable! But when I later sent people to capture him so I could interrogate him properly, he had already disappeared.”
Meng Xizhao’s face showed no change. He picked up his teacup and said faintly, “He is probably dead already.”
Li Huai paused, uncertain. “That cannot be… could it be he ran away? If a living man died, surely it would not happen so silently…”
Meng Xizhao blew gently on the tea and spoke slowly.
“How could it not? Stuff him into a sack, add a few stones, and he will not float back up for decades. If you are worried about swimmers discovering him, put him on a grain transport ship, give the boatmen a little silver, and have them toss him into the water in some distant prefecture. Even if the body is discovered, no one will suspect he came from Yingtian Prefecture.”
At this point, Meng Xizhao suddenly chuckled.
“Of course, those are rather clumsy methods. If it were me, I would not do it that way. Disposing of a body still carries risks. Better to lure him to the house, kill him there, slice off all the meat and cook it into braised pork. As for the bones—smash them up and feed them to the dogs. You eliminate a hidden danger and save a meal at the same time. Quite efficient, do you not think?”
As he spoke, he turned to look at Li Huai, smiling brightly.
Li Huai: “…………”
A moment later—
“Cousin… I truly will never dare again.”
Meng Xizhao snorted lightly and ignored him.
After a while, he raised his eyes and saw Li Huai fidgeting helplessly, scratching his head and sitting as if on needles, clearly anxious but having no idea what to do. Meng Xizhao set down his teacup and asked, almost as if granting charity,
“Did you not say you had good news to tell me? What good news?”
To Li Huai, those words were like heavenly music. His eyes lit up immediately. He straightened his back and even scooted a little closer, looking almost like a respectful junior.
Jin Zhu watched his humble and devoted posture with a very complicated expression.
If she had known the term “simp,” she would certainly have cried out—
Yes. That was exactly what this was.
…
“Cousin, I came to tell you that I have become an official too!”
Meng Xizhao nearly choked on his own saliva.
“…You?”
Li Huai looked a little wounded but answered pitifully, “Yes. I have studied at the Imperial Academy for four years already. This year I nearly failed to graduate again, but Grandfather could not stand it and pulled some strings for me. So… I finally received my certificate of completion. My post is not as high as yours, though. I am in the Directorate of Military Equipment, serving as an Assistant Director.”
The Directorate of Military Equipment—just as its name suggested—was responsible for producing military supplies.
An Assistant Director there was not even truly a deputy, merely a manager of affairs. An eighth-rank official—barely stepping into the bureaucracy.
…And even that post had required the personal intervention of an old duke to obtain. It said quite a lot about how poor Li Huai’s studies had been.
Still, this was not a place just anyone could enter. The old duke had been a general, and Li Huai’s uncle—the heir—now served in the Bureau of Military Affairs. The whole family followed the path of military officials, which was how they managed to arrange such a position for Li Huai.
Thinking this over, Meng Xizhao looked at Li Huai and could not help laughing.
Li Huai asked curiously, “Cousin, why are you laughing?”
Meng Xizhao said, “I just remembered a saying I once heard. There is no such thing as garbage in this world—only treasure placed in the wrong location.”
Li Huai: “……”
His feelings were complicated.
He felt sad that Meng Xizhao had called him garbage… yet happy that Meng Xizhao had called him treasure.
Sigh. After not seeing him for so many days, his cousin was still just as good at tormenting people.
In any case, Meng Xizhao had smiled at him, so Li Huai chose to focus on the latter half of the sentence and said cheerfully,
“If Cousin ever needs my help in the future, just say the word. Over there, no one dares offend me. Even my superior, the Deputy Director, can only obediently listen to me.”
Meng Xizhao smiled at him. “Excellent. I like your fearless ignorance.”
Li Huai: “…………”
Scratching his head, he did not understand what he had done wrong again. Was this not how officialdom worked? Either the east wind overwhelmed the west wind, or the west wind overwhelmed the east wind.
Meng Xizhao could not be bothered explaining all the intricacies to him.
Just as Li Huai had said, with the Duke of Wu’s household backing him and powerful relatives in government supporting him, no one in the Directorate of Military Equipment would dare offend Li Huai.
As long as Li Huai did not commit some suicidal act—like cutting corners or adulterating the weapons and armor with inferior materials—he would be fine.
Presumably Li Huai would not dare do such a thing. No matter how foolish he might be, he had grown up in the Duke of Wu’s household. He knew what could be done and what absolutely must not be done.
If he did not even understand that…
Well.
Then there was nothing to be done. In that case, he would truly be beyond saving.
He might as well go die.
However, right now Meng Xizhao actually did have two matters that required Li Huai’s help.
He crooked a finger at him. When Li Huai leaned over curiously, Meng Xizhao lowered his voice and gave him instructions.
Li Huai had been worried that Meng Xizhao was still angry. Originally he had decided that no matter what Meng Xizhao asked him to do, he would agree. But after hearing the request, his expression changed instantly.
“Why should I?!”
Meng Xizhao raised an eyebrow. “What, you have an objection?”
Li Huai: “…No. When I get back, I will go say it.”
＊
Every time the results of the spring metropolitan examination were released, Yingtian Prefecture would remain lively for quite some time.
If even a single candidate staying at an inn passed the exam, the inn would hold a grand banquet, lower its prices, and set off firecrackers for seven straight days. When the final imperial rankings were announced, if one of the top three had once stayed there, the innkeeper’s grin would stretch from ear to ear. After taking a moment to steady himself, he would hurriedly gather his staff, carry heavy trays of gold and silver upstairs, and offer thanks to the God of Wealth.
It was said that one year, when an inn happened to house the future Number One Scholar, the innkeeper immediately presented him with fifty taels of gold in gratitude.
Fifty taels of gold—that was the equivalent of five hundred taels of silver, enough for a four-generation household to live comfortably for a lifetime.
And the money was well spent. Hosting a Number One Scholar could guarantee that the inn would prosper for the next thirty years. After that, countless more “five hundred taels” would be waiting to be earned.
Not all examination candidates came from wealthy families. A few stayed in the inner city, but the vast majority lodged in the outer city. Therefore, when the spring results were announced, the outer city became the most bustling place of all.
Zhan Hui sat inside her room, embroidering a new garment for herself.
When she was young, there had been no older woman to teach her such skills. She had cried in frustration for several days before Zhan Buxiu finally taught her how to thread a needle and mend clothing.
But that was about all Zhan Buxiu knew.
Everything beyond that she had taught herself through trial and error. Now she could embroider a vivid tiger descending the mountain onto Zhan Buxiu’s clothing.
Even so, she only displayed this skill once a year.
The household had little money. Even silk thread did not blow in on the wind—it had to be purchased. So she rarely embroidered anything onto their clothes.
But some time ago, Zhan Buxiu had gone to a sewing shop in the inner city and bought her several spools of beautiful silk thread. He had even made a bamboo embroidery hoop himself, smooth and polished, for her to use.
The needle passed through plain cotton cloth, but trailing behind it was a gleaming strand of silkworm silk.
To be honest, the combination looked rather mismatched.
Her elder brother was always like this—he took good care of the great matters and small affairs of the household, yet when it came to details, he rarely thought too much about them.
Zhan Hui looked at the brightly colored silk thread. It felt strangely unfamiliar.
She had never once seen her father in her entire life.
She and Zhan Buxiu were three years apart. When she was born, Zhan Shenyou had just finished campaigning against the Xiongnu and had already marched south to fight Nanzhao. He was gone for years and never returned home even once.
Zhan Hui’s name had been given by her mother. It carried the meaning of “return,” reflecting her mother’s earnest hope that her husband would come home soon.
Later, Zhan Shenyou did return—but only because the emperor summoned him back with an imperial decree.
It was said that the moment he arrived, he stormed into the palace in fury. Soon afterward he was thrown into prison.
He never even had the chance to see Zhan Hui. In the blink of an eye, life and death had reversed.
When that happened, Zhan Buxiu was seven years old and remembered everything clearly.
But Zhan Hui did not.
She had only been four then. Her father’s death meant nothing to her—she had no concept of it.
But the following night, her mother died as well.
That she remembered very clearly.
Meng Xizhao had said that the daughter of a loyal minister and virtuous general should not live such a life.
But what life should she live instead?
As the only daughter of the once-mighty Cavalry General’s household, she remembered nothing at all of those days. What fine silks and satins felt like, what it was like to wear gold and silver—she did not know, and she did not even want to know.
When her brother was busy outside, she stayed at home and studied under her grandfather’s instruction.
She knew how chaotic the world had become, and how precarious their family’s situation was. She could feel it clearly.
In truth, she sometimes wished her grandfather would not be so stubborn and would agree to leave Yingtian Prefecture. She also wished her brother would not carry such heavy burdens in his heart.
Their parents were already gone. Should not the people still alive simply live their lives well?
Yet no matter how many times she rehearsed those words in her mind, she could never say them aloud.
If a person lost the rigid bones that supported them, they would become nothing but a pile of rotten flesh.
Even if they forced themselves to live on, what meaning would there be?
Outside, the sound of firecrackers burst out again from the inns.
Zhan Hui turned her head and listened quietly for a moment.
When the crackling finally faded away, she lowered her head again and continued stitching the garment, one careful thread after another.
…
About a quarter of an hour after the firecrackers ended, someone began pounding loudly on the Zhan family’s door.
Zhan Buxiu was sitting in his room, deep in thought.
Ever since Meng Xizhao left, he had often fallen into this state. The knocking interrupted him, and he slowly lifted his eyes and rose to his feet.
When he stepped into the courtyard, he picked up the axe he usually used for chopping firewood.
The people outside did not sound like easy company. If they had come looking for trouble, Zhan Buxiu would not tolerate it.
He opened the courtyard gate.
The man outside had been about to knock a second time when his eyes fell upon the axe, its blade still glinting with a cold light.
The young servant froze.
Looking up again, he saw Zhan Buxiu’s imposing height and broad build, along with the fierce aura in his eyes.
Inwardly he lamented what a miserable errand this was…
But he stiffened his face and handed over the letter he carried.
“This is a letter for the eldest son of the Zhan family.”
The moment he passed it over, he tried to run.
But someone grabbed the back of his collar in a single motion.
“What is this? Who sent you?”
The servant blurted out, “I do not know! My young master told me not to tell you who he is!”
Zhan Buxiu paused in surprise.
The instant his grip loosened, the servant bolted away like a rabbit.
Zhan Buxiu frowned as he watched the direction the man fled. After a moment, he turned back and closed the courtyard gate.
The servant ran through two alleys before finally reaching Li Huai’s carriage.
Hearing that he had returned, Li Huai lifted the curtain of the carriage.
“Well? Did you hand it to him?”
The young servant nodded repeatedly.
“Did you tell him who I am?”
The servant answered proudly, “Absolutely not! He even asked me, and I said our young master told me not to say!”
Li Huai: “…………”
He froze for a moment, then kicked him angrily. “Useless! Why are all the people around me such worthless fools!”
＊
Zhan Buxiu took the letter back to his room. When he opened it, there was no paper inside—only a newly forged waist token.
His name was engraved on it, and behind it was another line of words: Deputy Commander of the Central Imperial Guard, XX Command.
Commander was a military post. His position was neither high nor low. About five hundred soldiers would be under his command—not so conspicuous as to draw attention, yet not so low that he would have to start as a common soldier.
Staring at the token, Zhan Buxiu felt like laughing, yet he could not.
Meng Xizhao had truly thought of everything for him. Even a position in the army had been arranged in advance, simply waiting for him to take up the post.
Was he really so certain that he would go?
Did he even understand what choosing this path would mean?
Perhaps he did know. But he did not care. That man had always been like this—impossible to fathom. He seemed the smartest man in the world, yet he only showed others his foolish side. On the surface, he appeared to respect him as the orphaned son of General Zhan, but every step he took had never once been discussed with him.
That night, Zhan Buxiu did not come out for dinner.
Zhan Hui and their grandfather ate in the outer room. Neither of them spoke; they simply ate in silence.
After sitting awake the entire night, just as the sky began to lighten at dawn, Zhan Buxiu stepped out of his room. He stood in the main hall, first glancing at his sister’s door, then turned decisively toward his grandfather’s room.
The old man slept little. Every day, their grandfather rose the earliest. Zhan Buxiu did not knock. He pushed the door open directly. His grandfather was already sitting in a chair near the doorway, holding a scroll.
When he saw Zhan Buxiu enter, he lifted his somewhat clouded eyes.
Zhan Buxiu looked at him, feeling extremely nervous. After a moment of silence, he stepped forward two paces, then with a heavy thud dropped to his knees.
He knelt straight as a pine tree, clenched his fists, and declared in a ringing voice:
“Grandfather, your grandson is going to join the army!”
The old man heard this and remained silent for a long time.
No one knew how long passed—perhaps a quarter of an hour, perhaps only a moment. The grandfather adjusted the scroll in his wrinkled hands, his gaze falling back onto the page, though his words were meant for Zhan Buxiu.
“Go then. Just do not regret it.”
Hearing this, Zhan Buxiu immediately bent down and kowtowed three times. His forehead struck the ground heavily.
He did not see his grandfather trembling slightly as he closed his eyes.
After the bows, Zhan Buxiu stood up, took the waist token, and strode out. Meanwhile, Zhan Hui hid behind the door of her room. Listening to the footsteps gradually fade away, her nose stung, yet not a single tear fell.
…
Meng Xizhao had asked Li Huai to do two things.
The first was to go back and find someone to help—whether it was his father or his grandfather. In short, he just needed to get Zhan Buxiu placed into the Imperial Guard as a junior officer.
Li Huai had done that part well enough. At least he came back and told Meng Xizhao the item had been delivered. As for whether that ungrateful wretch would appreciate it, Li Huai could not care less.
Meng Xizhao: “…”
The man had not even said anything yet—how had he already become an ungrateful wretch?
The second thing Meng Xizhao asked was for Li Huai to explain all the different military posts to him, and then use the equipment of the Bureau of Military Armaments to forge an item for him.
Li Huai did make it, though he did not quite understand why. Copper was so heavy. If they used good wood or fine jade instead, it would look much better. Making it from copper just felt awkward no matter how he looked at it.
Meng Xizhao had no desire to talk about aesthetics with someone like him.
Wood and stone had their advantages, of course—but bronze and iron had their own elegance too! Otherwise why had ancient people been so fond of bronze vessels? When something gleamed with that cold metallic shine, simply looking at it gave the feeling of “armored cavalry and icy rivers riding through one’s dreams.” Could wood or jade ever compare?
The day after receiving the item, Meng Xizhao cheerfully entered the palace to seek an audience with the emperor.
Now he held a sixth-rank official post and was not yet qualified to attend court. If he wanted to see the emperor, either he had to be summoned—or he had to submit a request to enter the palace himself.
Fortunately, the emperor had a good impression of him. And since he did not come too often, every time he requested entry, the emperor permitted it.
Meng Xizhao had only entered the palace a few times in total. Yet every time he came, the emperor would have two palace maids beside him feeding him snacks, while not far away several official court singers sat waiting. They did not play music or sing—likely they were just waiting until the emperor was in the mood.
…Truly a foolish ruler.
The founding emperor had established the rule that court would be held once every two days. The tyrant emperor thought his father had been admirable, but holding court every two days was exhausting, so he changed it to once every three days. Later a benevolent emperor decided that would not do—his father had simply been lazy—so he restored the rule to once every two days.
By the time it reached Emperor Tianshou, things changed again. When he was young he had been fairly diligent and still held court every two days. Later he found his true love and became so enchanted that he changed it to once every three days. Then his beloved died, and in his grief he changed it to once every five days.
Now even every five days was uncertain. Whether court was held or not depended entirely on his mood.
Yet whether the emperor appeared or not, the officials still had to come. Even if they stood in the Waiting Hall for two hours drinking nothing but cold northern wind, they had to wait obediently. In the end, they would often hear only a eunuch announce: “His Majesty is unwell today. The regular court session is canceled.”
No one cursed about it anymore. They were used to it. They would sigh, then head off to their respective offices to continue their work.
After receiving the emperor’s lazy command—“Let him come in”—Meng Xizhao rubbed his face, then entered with an expression of bright enthusiasm.
“Your Majesty! It has been so long since I last saw Your Majesty. I have missed you greatly!”
Qin Feimang: “…”
No one knew when he would finally get used to the fact that such a nauseating flatterer had appeared beside His Majesty.
The emperor was still lounging crookedly in his seat. Having seen Meng Xizhao often enough, he no longer bothered to keep up appearances and simply sat however he pleased. Glancing sideways at Meng Xizhao, he asked:
“So you finally have time to come see me?”
Meng Xizhao paused. That sounded a little like an accusation.
The emperor quickly explained his meaning:
“I’ve heard that lately you’ve been visiting the envoy from Yuezhi quite often. You even personally made some kind of game for him—something called Great Ascension. How come I’ve never seen you show such attentiveness toward me?”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
No wonder everyone says Your Majesty is petty. With a mind this small, even molecules would have to sing a song of praise when they saw you.
He immediately smiled. “Your Majesty, which blind fool has been gossiping about me in your presence? Those eyes of his ought to be dug out and thrown to the dogs.”
Meanwhile, Han Daozhen, who happened to be meditating nearby: “…”
Strange. Why did a gust of cold wind suddenly blow down his back?
Meng Xizhao straightened up and thumped his chest confidently. “If he were accusing me of something else, perhaps I would have no argument. But when it comes to loyalty to Your Majesty—hmph! In the entire court, there are very few who can compare with me! Your Majesty may not know this, but that Great Ascension game is merely a trifle I came up with casually several years ago. I wonder if Your Majesty has ever tried it. There is nothing difficult about it—people play it only for amusement and a bit of luck. Only the Yuezhi people would regard it so highly. Here in Great Qi, even children barely out of toddlerhood can play it. Something so trivial and crude—how could I possibly present such a thing to Your Majesty?”
The emperor thought about it and felt that made perfect sense.
He had played a round of Great Ascension himself and immediately saw that it relied purely on luck. He was already over thirty. In ancient times that was practically the age to start holding grandchildren. Naturally he had no interest in such childish games. Earlier he had only been displeased because Meng Xizhao had thought of the Yuezhi first instead of him.
Now the emperor laughed as well. “Smooth-tongued rascal. I sent you to the Court of State Ceremonial, not to bully foreign envoys.”
Meng Xizhao looked completely unconcerned. “As long as they don’t notice, what’s the problem? Anyway, those envoys from barbarian lands are rather slow-witted. Not to mention Your Majesty, wise and mighty as you are—even our most ordinary citizens surpass them by a mile.”
The emperor burst into loud laughter. Exactly! That was precisely what he thought too!
Emperor Tianshou was selfish and arrogant. In his own mind, his civil and military achievements were only a fingernail’s width away from those of the greatest emperors in history. At the same time, he believed he governed Great Qi extraordinarily well—that it was the one true land of civilization and propriety, while every other place could simply be described as uncivilized.
After flattering him until the dragon countenance beamed with delight, Meng Xizhao judged the timing about right. He quickly bent forward, lifting his face slightly in a way no older man could manage, allowing Emperor Tianshou to see the bright, eager, almost adoring look in his eyes.
“Your Majesty, what a coincidence. I actually came today to present you with a marvelous item. I’ve spent several months devising it specifically for you. Originally I intended to present it at the Qionglin Banquet after my elder brother passed the examinations, so that all my effort would not go to waste. But who would have guessed that my brother would not sit for the exam—and that I would be fortunate enough to see Your Majesty earlier than expected…”
At this point, two shy patches of red appeared on his face.
Emperor Tianshou smiled knowingly. “You little rascal. Enough—bring the item forward. If you want a reward, just say so.”
Meng Xizhao turned to take the box from the eunuch while putting on a shocked expression. “Your Majesty, I did not do all this for a reward!”
He had even forgotten to refer to himself as your humble servant. He truly looked flustered.
The emperor found him amusing and waved a hand. Qin Feimang immediately stepped forward and carried the box over.
Holding it, he frowned slightly. Why was it so heavy?
When he opened it, inside was a rectangular game board. The craftsmanship was exquisite. One side bore a relief carving of a dragon’s head, the other a qilin. Along the sides were designs of auspicious clouds and dragons soaring through the sky. Looking closely, some of the dragons had five claws, some four, and some none at all—those ones looked almost like snakes.
Emperor Tianshou examined it curiously. “Another game?”
Meng Xizhao smiled faintly. “That’s right. But this one is called Military Chess.”
Then Meng Xizhao bent down and explained the rules. Seeing that he had been standing for a while, Emperor Tianshou even granted him a seat.
Meng Xizhao immediately thanked him with exaggerated gratitude and sat down before continuing his explanation.
The rules were basically the same as modern military chess, only the ranks had been renamed. The military flag became the great banner, the commander-in-chief became the chief general, the army commander became the strategist, and various other ranks were replaced with current military titles such as Xiangdu Commanders and Jun Commanders.
However, the modern pieces like bombs and landmines were not removed entirely—he simply renamed them cannons and earth mines.
Emperor Tianshou knew what cannons were—he had heard of them—but he had never heard of earth mines. Meng Xizhao explained that he had read about them in a book: a device buried in the ground that would explode and kill enemies the moment they stepped on it.
The emperor merely chuckled at this explanation, clearly not taking it seriously. Meng Xizhao did not mind. Today he was only planting a seed in the emperor’s mind.
Once the rules were fully explained, Emperor Tianshou learned that this game could simulate battles between two armies and allow players to capture each other’s banners. Although it resembled chess somewhat, this version clearly suited the realities of Great Qi better and felt more immersive. After all, the Chu River and Han Border in traditional chess referred to events from a thousand years ago—nothing like the immediacy of this military chess.
When he was young, Emperor Tianshou had once personally led troops into battle. That alone showed he had once dreamed of being a great general.
And today, Meng Xizhao intended to fulfill that dream for him.
The emperor became excited and ordered Meng Xizhao to sit down and play a match with him. Meng Xizhao gladly obeyed.
Sure enough, Emperor Tianshou was a terrible player. Even with Meng Xizhao deliberately letting him win, he nearly managed to defeat himself. Meng Xizhao quickly gave way a few more moves. In the end, by the narrowest margin, he allowed the emperor to capture his great banner.
The emperor’s laughter could be heard even outside the palace doors. Though he laughed often enough, he had never laughed with such unrestrained delight as he did today.
One round wasn’t enough. The emperor wanted to keep playing, but Meng Xizhao quickly put on an embarrassed expression.
“Your Majesty, please spare your humble servant. Allow me to go back and practice for a few months before returning to avenge today’s defeat! It’s truly strange—this game was clearly my idea in the first place. Yet when Your Majesty plays, it’s as if heaven itself is helping you. It’s baffling!”
He looked genuinely puzzled, while the emperor’s pride practically shot through the roof.
That’s right—he was a military genius. Back then he had simply underestimated the enemy. Later, when he sent generals to campaign again, didn’t they win? And if they won, the credit naturally belonged to him!
Of course, he conveniently ignored the battles that had been lost…
He hadn’t enjoyed himself like this in over ten years. Today had been downright exhilarating. In his good mood, the emperor declared that Meng Xizhao should be rewarded. Glancing at the black fish pouch hanging from Meng Xizhao’s belt, Emperor Tianshou waved his hand grandly.
“I grant you a Purple-Gold Fish Pouch!”
Meng Xizhao: “…”
The purple-gold fish pouch was the highest distinction a court official could wear. Under normal circumstances, only chancellors, grand secretaries, and first-rank ministers were entitled to it.
Your Majesty really isn’t afraid of roasting someone alive over a fire…
Meng Xizhao immediately dropped to his knees.
“Your Majesty, your humble servant is insignificant and unworthy of such an honor! Besides, even my father has never received a purple-gold fish pouch. For me to wear one… Your Majesty should withdraw the decree!”
The emperor narrowed his eyes and tried to recall. Meng Jiuyu didn’t have one?
Ah… right, he didn’t. It had been granted once before, but after the incident involving Zhan Shenyou, Meng Jiuyu had been impeached constantly. The emperor grew irritated and simply revoked it.
So what? He could just grant it again.
After explaining this idea, Meng Xizhao immediately showed an expression of overwhelming gratitude and bowed again and again.
“Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you! My entire Meng family is willing to devote ourselves utterly to Your Majesty—even unto death!”
The emperor looked very pleased. With a glance, he signaled Qin Feimang.
Qin Feimang had no choice but to walk over with a stiff face and help Meng Xizhao up. The last time he had to help someone up this often had probably been Grand Preceptor Gan. But the old man was advanced in years now and rarely put on such performances anymore.
After rising, Meng Xizhao hesitated slightly, then asked the emperor somewhat sheepishly:
“Your Majesty… since the purple-gold fish pouch is being granted to my father, may I ask for another small favor?”
“The Qionglin Banquet… my elder brother won’t be able to attend it. Could I go in his place? That way, when I return, I can at least tell him what it was like inside.”
The Qionglin Banquet was normally attended by all civil and military officials. Only those below the fifth rank were excluded—much like attendance at court. It wasn’t a big deal at all. The emperor even felt Meng Xizhao was being overly cautious.
With another grand wave of his hand, he approved it—and even rewarded him with twenty mu of farmland.
Just like that, Meng Xizhao had become a small landowner.
Meng Xizhao was a little stunned by the extra reward, but he happily accepted it anyway.
In truth, the only reason he had come to the palace today was to secure entry to the Qionglin Banquet. He hadn’t expected such unexpected gains. It seemed his military chess had quite a bit of charm—perhaps he could continue working this angle in the future.
＊
The next day happened to be another regular court session.
Emperor Tianshou had spent the entire night playing chess without sleep and was still excited, so he actually showed up to court. During the session he restored the purple-gold fish pouch to Meng Jiuyu and even declared openly that the man had an excellent son.
Meng Jiuyu looked completely bewildered. He had no idea what Meng Xizhao had done this time. But when he noticed Grand Preceptor Gan and Chancellor Yan casting rather displeased glances from the front rows, he immediately wiped the confusion off his face and replaced it with an expression of proud satisfaction.
Grand Preceptor Gan: “…”
Chancellor Yan: “…”
Shameless!
…
A few days later, the palace examination ended.
Three hundred new jinshi graduates were announced. The top candidate of the previous round, Zang He, did not become the champion. Instead, the Number One Scholar turned out to be a forty-year-old man.
Originally he had been slated for the second rank, but if that happened, the Third Rank Scholar would have gone to another candidate in his fifties—which was simply too painful to look at. So the two swapped positions, and Zang He ended up as the Third Rank Scholar.
The Number One Scholar rode through the streets first in the traditional victory parade, followed by the second and third scholars.
Their route did not pass Baihua Street but instead ran along the opposite bank. Meng Xizhao had arrived early to secure a good viewing spot. Leaning against the railing, he looked down at the countless enthusiastic citizens below, who threw flowers at the riders as if they cost nothing.
No wonder people said, “In one day, one can behold all the flowers of Chang’an.”
That evening, the Qionglin Banquet began.
Meng Xizhao followed his father, glancing left and right curiously.
With the purple-gold fish pouch hanging from his waist, Meng Jiuyu quickly tugged at him. “Stop looking around everywhere. Have some manners.”
Meng Xizhao sighed inwardly. His entire persona was built on being unruly—everyone with eyes knew he never followed the rules. Why did his father insist on going against that?
Once the banquet officially began, the previously noisy hall immediately fell silent.
The emperor sat at the highest seat, with the Sixth Prince beside him.
The Second, Fourth, and Fifth Princes sat at the front below. The Third Prince, after being scolded by the emperor recently, had kept a low profile. Since the emperor did not want to see him, he simply did not attend tonight.
As for the Crown Prince, it was said that after returning from Jiming Temple, the strain of travel had made him ill. Therefore he had not appeared for either the daytime palace examination or the evening Qionglin Banquet.
But when Meng Xizhao left that day, Cui Ye had clearly already improved considerably. Even if he were sick, it would hardly be some “relapse of an old illness.”
Meng Xizhao looked toward the most honored seats.
He watched the father and son there. The Sixth Prince—only a boy of about ten, his body not yet fully grown—looked up at the emperor and said something happily. The emperor smiled and nodded, even sliding one of the dishes on the table closer to him.
There were four or five hundred people at the Qionglin Banquet. Everyone was watching. Meng Xizhao watched too, blending perfectly into the crowd.
After a while, he lowered his head and took a slow sip of the palace’s jade-clear wine.
The banquet lasted a long time, but the emperor would not stay the whole night. Once he felt it was enough, he left—and the Sixth Prince followed him out. Everyone else remained behind, and people gradually began moving around.
This was the best possible moment to make connections. Whether one’s prospects would flourish depended greatly on tonight.
Up ahead, the Fifth Prince had been staring at the young official standing beside Meng Jiuyu.
When he felt that no one nearby was watching him, he stood up and began walking toward Meng Xizhao. But people kept passing in front of him along the way. By the time he finally forced his way through the crowd and looked again—
Where had Meng Xizhao gone?!
…
Meng Xizhao also threaded his way through the crowd and reached the far end of the Qionglin Banquet.
Based on the features Qingfu had described to him, along with the rankings of the successful candidates, Meng Xizhao quickly locked onto one particular person.
The 152nd-ranked scholar of the Second Class in this year’s examinations—Xie Yuan.
There were only 156 candidates in the entire second class. Just a little lower and he would have been pushed into the third class.
Whoever assigned the rankings had probably felt a bit regretful. If Xie Yuan’s essay had been just slightly worse, they could have dropped him into the third class! But unfortunately, it was written too well. There was no choice but to place him at the very end of the second class.
No one stood around Xie Yuan. Everyone else had gotten up to socialize, but he remained seated alone, quietly drinking tea. In truth, that made him look a bit strange as well.
Meng Xizhao walked over and stopped before him, cupping his hands politely.
“I am Meng Xizhao, Vice Minister of the Court of State Ceremonial.”
Xie Yuan looked up.
He was a man with a gentle, refined appearance. His temperament seemed quiet and calm. His features resembled Cui Ye somewhat, which suggested that Cui Ye must take after the empress more.
It was unclear whether Xie Yuan had heard of Meng Xizhao’s name before. His expression remained composed, neither flattered nor offended. He simply smiled politely and returned the greeting.
“I am Xie Yuan. Greetings, Vice Minister Meng.”
Meng Xizhao smiled back.
“I noticed Scholar Xie drinking alone from across the hall. Your bearing is so graceful—it truly adds a touch of brilliance to this entire hall. Though I lack talent, I sketched a small picture for you. I hope you will not find it offensive.”
A few people sitting nearby heard this and nearly burst out laughing.
Everyone said Meng Xizhao was a playboy, and today they had finally seen proof. Calling another man graceful and charming—wasn’t that basically asking for a beating?
Poor Xie Yuan, being humiliated like this.
…Wait a moment.
Was Meng Xizhao doing this on purpose? Had he come over specifically to mock him?
Quite a few eyes turned toward them.
Xie Yuan was silent for a moment, yet his polite smile remained.
“I would not dare feel offended. Thank you, Vice Minister Meng.”
Meng Xizhao handed him the folded sheet of paper he had been holding, then left with a satisfied air.
Xie Yuan did not even open it. He simply slipped it into his sleeve and continued quietly drinking.
Only after the Qionglin Banquet ended, when people were gradually leaving, did Xie Yuan mount his horse and ride to a quieter place.
There, pressing his lips together slightly, he finally took the paper from his sleeve.
He had known the moment he touched it—it was paper used only by the Eastern Palace. In the past, whenever the Crown Prince needed to pass messages to them, he had written on this very type of paper.
When he unfolded it, the first thing he saw was on the right side: a stalk of bamboo painted in purple pigment.
It was the Crown Prince’s brushwork.
But he did not understand the meaning.
After a moment of confusion, he noticed that on the left side there was also a poem.
The handwriting was not the Crown Prince’s. And it looked… rather ugly.
“Clinging fast to the green mountains, never letting go,
My roots already set within shattered rock.
Beaten by countless grindings and strikes, still I remain unyielding,
Let the winds blow from east, west, south, or north.”
Xie Yuan recited the four lines silently in his heart.
Once.
Then again.
And again.
After a while, a faint smile appeared on his lips.
He folded the paper and slipped it back into his sleeve. Lifting the reins, he gave a soft call to his horse. The hoofbeats rang lightly on the road as, beneath the moonlight, both rider and horse headed home.