When Xu Fengnian left the council hall, he felt a sudden chill. Looking up, he saw an unexpected autumn rain had begun to fall. The rows of large red lanterns hanging along the corridor cast soft, hazy halos of golden light.
Hehe Girl and Zhu Pao Xu Ying trotted eagerly behind the young prince as he descended the steps toward the second hall. Suddenly, Xu Fengnian stopped, waiting for the two to catch up and stand beside him—one on his left, the other on his right. He raised his hands high, sheltering their heads from the rain.
As they walked, the late-night streets still bustled with activity. A staff officer hurrying from the rear hall to the military office with an oil-paper umbrella in hand paused at the rare heartwarming sight. After a brief hesitation, he dismissed the thought of offering his umbrella to the young prince.
Flanking the main path in front of the prince’s council hall were six administrative offices: Military, Personnel, Revenue, Rites, Justice, and Works. Currently, Yang Shenxing, the deputy military governor of the Northern Liang, presided over the Military Office, while Li Gongde, the provincial governor, managed the Personnel Office. The Revenue Office was temporarily overseen by Bai Yu, the governor of Liangzhou. Though Bai Yu had inherited a governor’s mansion in Liangzhou City from Tian Peifang and retained an office in Qingliang Mountain, it was clear he intended to focus his efforts on Jubei City—whether for the impending war against the Northern Desert or to escape the political shadow of Deputy Governor Song Dongming. Bai Yu’s administrative prowess was undeniable; he could handle not just the Revenue Office but even the entire Ministry of Revenue of the Liyang court with ease. The Rites Office was temporarily led by the former academy chancellor, Wang Jijiu, while the Works Office was entrusted to Mo Family’s master craftsman, Song Changsui, who continued his role as deputy supervisor of Jubei City’s construction. The Justice Office lacked a clear leader, while the Falcon and Water-Sweeper intelligence bureaus each had a seasoned spymaster stationed there.
Behind the central hall lay the second hall, adorned with a peculiar plaque: “Hall of Seeking Heat.” This was unusual, as most royal retreats and palaces were designed as summer escapes.
The main structure of the second hall was the central signing chamber, with the young prince’s study next door. Compared to the elegance of the Wutong Courtyard in Qingliang Mountain, this study was starkly simple, filled only with military archives from the Northern Liang border forces.
Additionally, elite cavalry units like the Liangzhou Left and Right Cavalry, the Longxiang Army of Liuzhou, the Iron Pagoda, and the White Feather Light Cavalry had their own military offices here. The infantry of Youzhou, the four regional generals, and the fourteen colonels also maintained offices to ensure smooth communication of military orders. The third hall bore the plaque “Hall of Reflection,” inspired by Li Yishan’s words: “The weight of a thousand-year legacy demands the deepest reflection.” The couplet on its doors also came from the late strategist of the Tide-Watching Pavilion: “Bound by fate to the people, we come to this place. Seeking a clear conscience, we leave without regret.” Over twenty military staff officers were stationed here, while another thirty or so advisors, dressed in plain robes but bearing official seals, moved freely between the six offices of the main hall. These green-robed officials followed a career path akin to the imperial examination scholars of Liyang, though their duties more closely resembled those of confidential secretaries in the imperial chancellery. The military staff officers originated from the Liuzhou governor’s office, a system pioneered by Song Dongming, once a candidate for Liyang’s prime ministership. Even the Northern Desert’s border forces had adopted similar roles during the first Liang-Mang war, a strategy credited to the Northern Desert’s Imperial Tutor, Taiping Ling, which both placated mid-ranking steppe nobles and significantly enhanced the southern border army’s combat effectiveness.
Xu Fengnian walked all the way to the fourth hall at the rear of the estate, where he and his family resided. A flower-patterned screen wall separated the Hall of Reflection from the fourth hall, with over a dozen side rooms on either side. At first glance, the corridors, lintels, and beams appeared unremarkable, crafted from ordinary wood rather than the royal-grade sandalwood or nanmu. Yet upon closer inspection, their exquisite carvings and meticulous craftsmanship revealed a unique charm, said to be inspired by the Jiangnan-style gardens under Governor Li Gongde’s guidance. Jiang Ni, Hehe Girl, and Xu Ying lived here. Had Xu Beizhi stayed in Jubei City, he would have had a place as well. Others, like Yuan Zuozong and Chu Lushan—the late Liang King’s adopted sons—might also qualify, regardless of rank or military merit. Xu Beizhi, as the regional transport commissioner, had left for Lingzhou shortly after the plaque was hung in Jubei City, quipping, “Once I finish this round of work, I can start the next.” When the guilt-ridden young prince tried to console him, Xu Beizhi bluntly cut him off: “Then don’t say it.” The rebuff left the new Liang King feeling thoroughly unappreciated—though he’d grown used to it.
In the courtyard of the fourth hall, Hehe Girl fetched a brand-new oil-paper umbrella and, hand in hand with the red-robed Xu Ying, leaped onto the roof. The two huddled under the small umbrella, whispering secrets.
The autumn rain stretched into the quiet night. Seeing Jiang Ni’s room dark, Xu Fengnian assumed she was asleep. With no desire to sleep himself, he carried a chair to the eaves, leaned forward, and stretched out his hand to catch the raindrops trickling from the roof tiles.
The first autumn rain of the season showed no sign of stopping, as if determined to drown every fish in the land. Realizing the moon wouldn’t appear tonight, Jia Jiajia and Xu Ying drifted down from the roof. Turning slowly, Xu Fengnian smiled softly at Hehe Girl. “Two elderly Water-Sweeper spies from Western Shu are retiring to Northern Liang soon. I’ll give you a gift then.”
Jia Jiajia let out an indifferent “heh” to acknowledge she’d heard.
Only those who knew this top-ranked assassin best would notice her steps lightening slightly, splashing tiny droplets across the courtyard’s stone slabs.
Watching the youthful figure’s lively gait from afar, the young prince smiled knowingly, his narrow eyes crinkling with warmth.
Once the girls had retreated to their rooms, Xu Fengnian remained seated in the chair—a Western Chu-style grand chair that had spread throughout the Spring and Autumn period. Uncomfortable by design, it demanded an upright posture.
Suddenly, a cheerful face peeked out from a doorway. Xu Fengnian glanced over and winked.
Her smile widened before she closed the door firmly.
The night wore on, watch by watch.
Xu Fengnian sat with his sleeves tucked, leaning back to gaze at the rain, lost in thought.
A faint creaking sound drew his attention, and his lips curled.
Jiang Ni, fully dressed, stepped over the threshold, darted through the rain, and stood silently beside him.
Xu Fengnian rose, pressed her into the chair, then crouched beside her.
Staring at the puddles below the steps, he asked softly, “When you were little, besides wanting to kill me for revenge, what else did you dream of?”
Jiang Ni pondered seriously. “I wanted money for paper and brushes so I wouldn’t have to write in the snow with twigs in winter. A bigger bed with soft quilts. Lots of warm clothes. To eat almond cakes until I was stuffed. To sleep in…”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “You dreamed of quite a lot.”
Jiang Ni glared at him. She’d answered earnestly, and he had the nerve to laugh?
He grinned. “Guess what my childhood dream was?”
The little mud figure tilted her head, ignoring him.
What else would the young heir of the Xu family dream of besides bullying men, harassing women, and picking flowers?
Oh, and bullying her.
The thought made her sulk.
Xu Fengnian freed his hands from his sleeves, rubbed his cheeks, and sighed. “Maybe I’ve mentioned it—I wanted to be a heroic swordsman with a flashy nickname, roaming the rivers and lakes righting wrongs. But even earlier, before my mother passed, I wanted to be a scholar. Dressed in Confucian robes, brimming with wisdom, eloquent in speech…”
Jiang Ni listened without boredom. She hadn’t been asleep earlier, and now her drowsiness had vanished entirely.
Xu Fengnian pointed at the rain curtain in the courtyard. “Doesn’t it look like a feeble waterfall?”
Jiang Ni frowned, baffled. “Not really.”
“Ever heard of the great literary masterpiece *Ode to the Waterfall’s Fury*?”
She looked even more confused. “No. Who wrote it?”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “Well, I admire this scholar immensely. Shame you haven’t heard of it.”
Knowing his usual disdain for scholars, her curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”
Instead of answering, he recited:
*”The Lotus Waterfall shrouded in mist,*
*The Ox Waterfall roars like thunder,*
*But the Jiuhua Waterfall’s wonder lies not in its fall,*
*But in its spine—like a celestial reclining on a ridge,*
*Arm outstretched with strength to span ninety-four thousand zhang,*
*Like the layered peaks of Dunhuang’s flying immortals’ skirts.*
*Releasing nine silver rivers from the azure heavens,*
*Like an aging general’s frost-touched temples.*
*I arrived amidst ink-wash rains,*
*Cliffs tightening as winds raged.*
*Clouds surged like ten thousand layers,*
*Floods sweeping away travelers’ paths…*
*I’ve watched tides and waterfalls,*
*Beneath one stood a white deer.*
*For a moment, man and deer locked gazes—*
*Southern Tang? Eastern Yue? Western Shu?*
*Then an old monk led the deer away,*
*Turning back with a laugh…*
*As the moon set behind western mountains,*
*All that remained was mist and thunder beneath the stone bridge,*
*Carrying the sorrows of spring and autumn,*
*Vast and mighty as rivers.”*
Jiang Ni nodded. “It’s nice.”
“Right?”
“Very catchy,” she added.
Xu Fengnian winced.
She suddenly turned, suspicious. “Did… you write it?”
He rolled his eyes.
Relieved, she said, “I knew it couldn’t be you. You only buy poems… and never even haggle!”
The young prince looked wounded.
Studying his profile, she hesitated. “Wait… you did write it?”
He nodded faintly.
With utmost sincerity, she patted his shoulder. “Not bad. At least you’ve written one decent piece in your life…”
Xu Fengnian grimaced. That “comfort” stung worse than silence.
After a long pause, he murmured, “Dreams are like a child in the distance making faces at you. And that mischievous child never grows up.”
Jiang Ni pondered. “If it were me, I’d catch that kid and spank him.”
Xu Fengnian said quietly, “But I can’t catch mine.”
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