In the study adjacent to the second hall’s signing chamber, an old man and a young man seized a rare moment of leisure, sitting across from each other with a chessboard placed on a small stool between them. Each held their own box of chess pieces. Initially, word of their impending match had drawn a crowd of influential figures from Northern Liang, including Li Gongde from the front hall’s administrative office and Bai Yu from the household office. Even military advisors with no pressing matters had flocked in droves, filling the study to the brim. The excitement was palpable, as one of the players was none other than the young Prince of Northern Liang, a disciple of the legendary Li Yishan and the younger brother of Xu Wei Xiong, a grandmaster of Go reputed to be at the eleventh dan. Rumors had long circulated that Xu Fengnian possessed extraordinary resilience and skill in the game. His opponent, the Royal Tutor Wang, was a towering figure in the literary world of Liyang and Xu Wei Xiong’s mentor. Though no famous game records of his had ever surfaced, everyone assumed his skill, while perhaps not matching Xu Wei Xiong’s genius, would at least make him a worthy adversary for the young prince.
When the old man made his first move with a white piece, his elegant demeanor—sleeves rolled up, fingers delicately holding the piece—left the onlookers spellbound. Truly, he lived up to his reputation as the second most revered scholar in the Shangyin Academy, a sage of profound learning and moral authority.
His overwhelming presence, however, almost overshadowed the young prince’s resigned expression and subtle eye-roll. The irreverent Bai Lian crouched beside the board, eyes glued to the game, while Jin Baoshi, another disciple of Han Guzi (alongside Chang Sui, Xu Huang, and Xu Wei Xiong), stood behind the old man with no expectations. She had only come under duress, dragged along to “boost morale,” as the old man put it: “My skill is on par with Xu Fengnian’s—a fifty-fifty chance. With a peerless beauty like you cheering me on, I’ll crush him!” But Jin Baoshi knew the truth: the old man was a terrible player, leagues below even her own modest ability, let alone Xu Wei Xiong’s.
While Jin Baoshi and Xu Fengnian were privy to the old man’s lack of skill, the crowd at the window remained oblivious. After a dozen moves, even Bai Yu, a skilled player himself, frowned in confusion. The others, utterly clueless, marveled at the “profound” game, convinced that the Royal Tutor’s moves were masterful—simple yet brimming with hidden depth. Surely, they thought, their own ignorance was to blame for failing to grasp his grand strategy. How could he possibly be making random, weak moves?
By the thirtieth move, Li Gongde had already left in exasperation, rolling his eyes. Many advisors, catching on, followed suit with odd expressions. By the endgame, only four remained: the two players, the crouching Bai Lian, and the standing Jin Baoshi.
The old man, convinced of his impending victory, turned to Jin Baoshi triumphantly. “Well, my dear, how about that? The title ‘Iron-Headed Wang,’ revered across the land as the Chess Saint, isn’t just for show, is it? My skill is overwhelming! Look at our prince here—retreating at every turn, utterly defenseless!”
He mused aloud, “Perhaps I should change my nickname to ‘Iron Cavalry Wang,’ in honor of Northern Liang’s unstoppable forces!”
Then, smiling down at Bai Lian, he said, “Master Bai Lian, you’ve been crouching there for ages—utterly entranced, I presume? Don’t worry, I understand.”
Bai Lian looked up blankly. “My legs are numb. I can’t stand.”
The old man’s smile twitched, and he snorted.
Xu Fengnian silently placed a piece, annihilating a huge group of white stones in one fell swoop. The young prince leisurely collected the fallen pieces, dropping them one by one into the old man’s lap-held box.
Stunned, the old man reached out to protest, but Xu Fengnian cut him off with a sidelong glance. “What, you want to take it back? Fine, but don’t expect another game in this study.”
After a moment’s deliberation, the old man burst into laughter. “A magnificent game, truly unparalleled in history! Even in defeat, I am honored!”
Bai Lian finally managed to stand, rubbing his legs. “If I ever come here to watch another game, I’ll gouge out my own eyes.”
The old man ignored him, still basking in satisfaction. Jin Baoshi took a seat beside the board and began clearing the pieces.
Clutching his box, the old man sobered. “Do you know what Nalan Youci is really after?”
Xu Fengnian set his box aside. “Broadly speaking, he wants me to help the Yanchi King and his son stall the grassland cavalry for at least a year and a half.”
The Royal Tutor pressed, “Did you agree?”
Xu Fengnian leaned forward, picking up a piece. “Agreeing or refusing is meaningless. If I agree, can I truly trust the new Liyang court to treat Northern Liang’s border troops well? If I refuse, does that mean Northern Liang’s cavalry won’t fight the Northern Mang barbarians?”
The old man dropped a bombshell, startling Jin Baoshi into dropping a handful of pieces. “Have you considered secretly meeting the old dowager and redirecting the disaster eastward? Let the two Liao border armies bear the brunt, leaving Zhao Bing and Zhao Zhu to clean up the mess. Northern Liang could reap the benefits—at the very least, fewer lives would be lost.”
Xu Fengnian admitted calmly, “I’ve thought about it.”
Jin Baoshi paled, eyes wide.
Xu Fengnian smiled. “But it was just a thought.”
The old man studied him intently, searching for any hint of deception. “Why not?”
Xu Fengnian returned the piece to its box. “People are hard to judge as good or evil, but actions have clear right and wrong.”
The old man scoffed. “Cut the cryptic talk. Just speak plainly. Even if this girl here fancied you, would you dare reciprocate?”
Jin Baoshi flushed with anger.
Xu Fengnian sighed. “Simply put: if Xu Xiao were alive today, facing a million Northern Mang cavalry at our gates, would he sneak off to beg the old dowager to attack Gu Jian Tang instead?”
The old man retorted, “That’s different! Xu Xiao was Xu Xiao. That old woman fancied your father—of course he wouldn’t stoop to asking favors. But you’re not him!”
Xu Fengnian met his gaze. “If Northern Liang’s cavalry refused to fight, would they still be Northern Liang’s cavalry?”
The old man slammed his box onto the board. “When death is at your doorstep, what’s the point of playing the hero?!”
Xu Fengnian remained calm. “Ask the border troops if they’d agree. In the first war, at Liangzhou’s Tiger Head City, Qing Cang City, and Youzhou’s Hulu Pass, countless soldiers didn’t just face death—they died. Telling me now that fewer could die is pointless.”
The old man spat, “Fools, all of them!”
Xu Fengnian snapped, “Don’t push your luck. I’ll hit you.”
The old man jutted his chin out. “Go ahead, boy! Right here!”
Xu Fengnian immediately grinned. “No, no, let’s play another game. I promise you’ll win this time.”
The old man eyed him suspiciously. “Really?”
Xu Fengnian nodded solemnly. “A gentleman’s word is his bond!”
The old man brightened. “Jin Baoshi, stop cleaning up! Watch me crush this so-called grandmaster!”
The second game ended swiftly.
Once again, the old man’s forces were decimated. Fuming, he stormed out, leaving the board and pieces behind.
Jin Baoshi didn’t retrieve them. As she left, she secretly gave Xu Fengnian a thumbs-up—justice served!
Xu Fengnian chuckled.
Just then, a spy from the intelligence division entered. “Vice-Commander Lu has arrived with seven members of the Lu family.”
Xu Fengnian rubbed his temples. “Send them here.”
—
The Lu family of Qingzhou had once been the undisputed elite of Jing’an Province, flourishing under the patronage of their patriarch, the late Grand Pillar of the State, Lu Feichi. Even among the notoriously cliquish Qing faction, the Lu family stood out as the most illustrious.
Yet their relocation to Northern Liang had been rocky. Initially, the Lu descendants made no mark in Liangzhou’s bureaucracy or literary circles, chiefly because their leader, Lu Dongjiang, held no official post. Rumors of tension between him and his daughter, the future Princess of Qingliang Mountain, only worsened matters. For the 400-strong Lu clan, it was a bitter period they preferred to forget—even the children grew somber under the weight of their elders’ disappointment.
Once a bustling mansion where the Lu family entertained lavishly, their residence in Liangzhou soon stood deserted. In stark contrast, the Wang family, also from Qingzhou and in-laws to the Xu family, thrived. Wang Linquan, once Qingzhou’s richest man, was now Northern Liang’s unofficial “God of Wealth,” rivaled only by Li Gongde.
The Lu family’s envy grew as the Wangs’ fortunes soared. At one point, a frustrated Lu scion, bullied in the Liangzhou offices, declared he’d rather “be a ghost in Qingzhou than a dog in Northern Liang.”
Everything changed when Lu Cheng Yan was officially named the future Princess of Northern Liang. A Lu prodigy secured a key role in the construction of Jubei City, marking the family’s resurgence. Lu Dongjiang’s political star rose meteorically, culminating in his appointment as Vice-Administrator of a province—a second-rank position, making him one of the youngest regional leaders in the empire.
Now, Lu Dongjiang arrived in Jubei City with six young Lu clansmen, one from each branch of the family, to meet the young prince. Along with Lu Cheng Song, already serving in Jubei City, seven young men followed the Vice-Administrator, led by a green-robed military advisor, to the study next to the second hall.
Lu Dongjiang walked side by side with Lu Cheng Song, who had recently been promoted from provisional logistics officer to a full-fledged official—a leap from clerk to bureaucrat, akin to a carp crossing the dragon gate. The Vice-Administrator listened with visible pride as Lu Cheng Song shared anecdotes about Jubei City.
Unlike the rest of Liyang, where regional officials had no authority to appoint their own staff, Northern Liang had always been an exception. Even third-rank officials could handpick their advisors, with the Xu family’s tacit approval. Lu Dongjiang, ever the refined scholar, had restrained himself from nepotism, appointing only a dozen or so Lu members to minor positions—a gesture of goodwill toward his son-in-law.
At the rear of the group was Lu Cheng Qing, a mediocre youth from the dwindling fourth branch. His inclusion was purely due to the lack of better candidates. Quiet and unremarkable, he had been brought along as an afterthought by Lu Dongjiang, who saw little promise in him.
As they approached the study, Lu Dongjiang adjusted his sleeves, ready to present his family’s future to the prince who held their fate in his hands.
Lu Chengqing walked alone at the tail of the procession, his steps steady and his gaze fixed straight ahead, devoid of the curious glances typical of his peers or the self-satisfied airs of the two Lu clansmen ahead.
Unlike the rising star Lu Chengsong or the others, Lu Chengqing had remained devoted to his studies of the classics even after his family relocated to Northern Liang. Thus, when the Lu family fell into decline, this young scholar—who had no powerful backing within the clan—was the least affected. And when the family rose again with astonishing speed, he did not leverage the dwindling goodwill his father’s generation had with the main branch to seek an official post from the family head, Lu Dongjiang, who was “draped in seals of office.” Instead, he quietly pursued his studies at the Qinglu Cave Academy in Youzhou, living an unremarkable life. To this day, none of his classmates even knew of his Lu lineage. During gatherings where they debated politics, critiqued the world, or indulged in lofty discussions, Lu Chengqing was never among them.
When the family summoned him to set out early for the frontier, Lu Chengqing obeyed. Carrying only a book chest, he gritted his teeth and hired a carriage, then waited alone in a small market town outside the city for the grand procession of the Deputy Military Commissioner. At the time, his cousin Lu Chenghe—upon learning that no high-ranking official from Jubei City had come to greet them—grumbled that the city was far too unrefined. “If this were Tai’an City,” he said, “given Uncle’s status, even if the Minister of Rites didn’t come to welcome us, at least a Vice Minister should have been waiting outside the gates.” Lu Chengqing, often mocked by his peers as a “blockhead,” remained silent and aloof as usual, neither speaking nor acting.
The study next to Qiushu Hall was small, with only four chairs: one for the young Prince of Beiliang, one for Lu Dongjiang, one for Lu Chengsong—who was both a rising star in the Lu family and the top-ranked young talent in Jubei City—and the last one. After seating himself, Lu Dongjiang gestured for Lu Chenghe to take the remaining chair, though his gaze carried not just encouragement but also a silent warning against causing trouble.
This Lu Chenghe was the same clansman who had resigned from his post in Liangzhou’s yamen in a fit of pique, the same young scholar who had uttered those cutting words. Unfortunately, this was Northern Liang, where martial prowess overshadowed literary refinement. Had this happened in the cultured heartlands of the Central Plains or Jiangnan, it might have been celebrated as a bold act of scholarly defiance. Lu Dongjiang had long favored Lu Chenghe, once praising him as the “Lofty Branch of the Lu Clan”—a reference to his towering talent. In his youth, Lu Dongjiang had gone out of his way to promote Lu Chenghe in the literary circles of Jing’an Dao, and the young man had indeed lived up to expectations, earning himself the nickname “Minor Master of Pure Discourse.” He was the only one who could rival the more pragmatic Lu Chengsong. As for the taciturn Lu Chengqing, he scarcely merited a second glance from either of these rising stars.
Four chairs in a small study. The young Prince had stood at the door to welcome them, leading them inside with a smile before taking his place behind a plain desk. With a downward gesture, he waited for his father-in-law and the three young men to sit before seating himself.
The study was cramped, filled with books and documents, and without the customary ice basins in the corners. Even with the windows open, the heat was stifling. The Lu clansmen, dressed formally for propriety’s sake, were visibly uncomfortable. Those standing behind Lu Dongjiang, Lu Chengsong, and Lu Chenghe stole glances around the room, surprised at how modest—even shabby—the Prince’s official study was, given its importance in military affairs.
Years ago, when they were still in Qingzhou, Jing’an Dao, they had heard tales of the extravagance of Northern Liang’s Wutong Courtyard. There had even been a famous incident in Central Plains literary circles: a renowned Jiangnan scholar, who had made a career out of denouncing Xu Xiao in court and later retired to criticize Northern Liang’s frontier policies, had once written lavish poetry celebrating wealth and luxury. His works, filled with gold and jade imagery, were derided by the young Prince of Beiliang in a letter mocking the old man’s lack of true refinement. The scholar, furious, used the letter as ammunition to accuse the Xu family of embezzling military funds—claims that later became staples of censorial rhetoric.
Years later, when news spread of Northern Liang’s ten thousand elite cavalry sweeping south, the same scholar who had once vowed to “bash Xu the Cripple’s head in” fled overnight to Tai’an City, taking everything he could carry.
In the study, though the young Prince was not in his formal robes and Lu Dongjiang was dressed impeccably, their conversation bore no trace of ruler-subject formality. It was more like a casual chat between father-in-law and son-in-law. Even when discussing official matters, the Prince listened attentively, never showing impatience. At one point, he even poured tea for everyone—a humble brew from Lingzhou called “White Frost,” a coarse summer tea with a bitter aftertaste, favored only by the poor.
Only Lu Chengqing, standing in the corner, found the tea unbearably bitter.
Even on the short journey into the city, he had listened as Lu Chenghe and the others boasted about the rare antiques they had acquired from the Prince’s estate, lamenting the ones they had missed.
Lu Chengqing had no spare silver—and even if he did, he wouldn’t spend it on such things.
Now, watching the ever-smiling young Prince, he found the tea’s aftertaste even more astringent.
Lu Dongjiang, aware of the pressing military matters outside the city, did not linger. Soon, he rose to leave.
The young Prince stood, retrieved a long brocade box from the corner of his desk, and handed it to the Deputy Military Commissioner with an apologetic smile. “There’s nothing of value here, but this set of ‘Bamboo-Tube Violet Tips’ was sent specially from Wutong Courtyard. It’s not expensive, just rare.”
Lu Dongjiang’s eyes lit up as he accepted the box. “Your Highness is too kind! From the Dafeng Dynasty to the Southern Tang, these brushes from Zhulin Prefecture were imperial tributes. The old texts even record, ‘Five taels of green tips, four taels of violet tips annually.’ The violet tips, said to come from rabbits that ‘perch like tigers on rocks, eating bamboo and drinking spring water,’ were the most prized. After the fall of the Southern Tang, war ravaged Zhulin, and these brushes became extinct. Even the imperial study in Tai’an City has only two or three, kept for display. I searched Qingzhou for over a decade but never found any. This is truly a treasure!”
The young Prince smiled. “A happy accident, then.”
Lu Dongjiang left in high spirits, and the Lu clansmen shared in his pride.
As the Prince escorted them out, Lu Chenghe suddenly turned back. “Your Highness, when you were still the heir, you once wrote, ‘A thousand raindrops on plantain leaves, ten thousand carp in the pond.’ Is that correct?”
Xu Fengnian nodded. “Indeed.”
Lu Dongjiang sensed trouble but couldn’t intervene before Lu Chenghe pressed on. “Your intent was to mock the false refinement of the Jiangnan scholar Han Jiajing, yes?”
The Prince’s smile didn’t waver as he nodded again.
Lu Chenghe declared, “But Your Highness’s words are no better than his. If his poetry piled gold and jade into false opulence, what of your Wutong Courtyard’s thousand plantains and Listening Tide Lake’s carp? Compared to my ‘Gentle breeze turns pages in my study, bright moon hangs lanterns from the tower’—how do they measure up?”
Xu Fengnian’s smile deepened. “Yours is superior. My second sister once scolded me similarly, saying I was worse than old Han—lacking even his pretenses of refinement.”
Lu Chenghe was speechless. He hadn’t expected the Prince to admit his shortcomings so readily, leaving his prepared rebuttals useless.
Xu Fengnian asked, “You’re the one who said, ‘Better a ghost in Qingzhou than a dog in Northern Liang,’ aren’t you? Your sister mentioned you at Wutong Courtyard, saying your talent was… overwhelming.”
Lu Dongjiang interjected, “Your Highness flatters him. He has some talent, but ‘overwhelming’ is too much.”
The Prince smiled without comment.
The group bowed respectfully and took their leave—all except Lu Chengqing, who lingered at the back. For some reason, this obscure fourth-branch clansman turned his head and found the young Prince smiling at him, tossing him a small object.
Lu Chengqing caught it reflexively: a cold, seal-like trinket. He stared at it, bewildered.
The Prince winked and turned away.
Sweating profusely, Lu Chengqing forced himself to remain composed as he walked on.
He glanced down at the object in his palm—a small, exquisitely carved seal of mutton-fat jade.
An appraisal seal.
Such seals, used to mark paintings and calligraphy, had flourished during the Dafeng Dynasty and the Nine States era.
This one bore two characters: “Forgery.”
It was perhaps the most legendary appraisal seal in history, unlikely to be surpassed even centuries later.
Countless priceless artworks, destined to be passed down for generations, bore this very mark.
Lu Chengqing was stunned.
He couldn’t fathom why the Prince would casually give him something so significant—why not Lu Chengsong, with his sharp mind, or Lu Chenghe, with his boldness, or even Lu Dongjiang himself?
Xu Fengnian returned to his desk, amused.
Lu Chenghe’s pretentious literary posturing was just a mildly entertaining joke. Lu Chengyan had indeed mentioned her cousin—not as “overwhelmingly talented,” but as “full of grievances like a resentful wife, his complaints poisoning his own heart.” Clearly, she held no affection for him. But this same Lu Chengyan, who showed no deference even to her father, had spoken highly of the obscure Lu Chengqing. She had once told Xu Fengnian solemnly that her grandfather, though never openly favoring Lu Chengqing, had privately praised him twice: first, “A house full of mediocrity, yet one sandalwood tree goes unnoticed,” and second, “A mind fit to govern in chaos, a bearing suited to peace.”
The six violet-tip brushes had actually been sent by Lu Chengyan from Wutong Courtyard—not for Xu Fengnian to regift, but as a keepsake she had hidden from Xu Beizhi’s purges.
As for the famed appraisal seal, Xu Fengnian had been reluctant to let it leave Qingliang Mountain for the Central Plains.
But giving it to Lu Chengqing? He had no reservations. To a true scholar, not a mere reciter of texts, he would give freely—just as he had once paid handsomely for the writings of Northern Liang’s impoverished scholars.
Xu Fengnian had no ulterior motives. Lu Chengqing was still an uncut gem, and even if Northern Liang were to use him, it would only be after surviving the second Liang-Mang war.
Xu Fengnian sat alone in his study, eyes closed in quiet repose, when suddenly he recalled his game of chess with the Royal Sacrificer. He murmured to himself,
“Slay the dragon, slay the dragon, slay the dragon…”
“With two capitals in hand, I send not tribute to the Son of Heaven, but to the heartland…”
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