Once again on the Guangling River, once more aboard the Yellow Dragon Tower Ship.
Dressed in casual attire, the Prince of Yanchi, Zhao Bing, sat on an embroidered stool, sipping from his cup. Though the old man wore neither the royal python robes of a feudal lord nor the iron armor of a warrior, his accumulated authority was profound. Among the many princes of Liyang who had once vied for the throne, Zhao Bing’s military achievements were the most illustrious, making him the undisputed foremost figure of the Zhao imperial clan.
It was said that when Zhao Bing left the capital for his fiefdom, crossing the Guangling River southward, he cracked his whip and gazed northward, laughing as he asked his strategist, “Prince Guangling Zhao Yi, Prince Jing’an Zhao Heng, Prince Huainan Zhao Ying, Prince Jiaodong Zhao Sui—do their combined military merits even amount to half of mine?”
A strikingly handsome middle-aged man leaned against the window, his gaze drifting over the surging river, idly twirling a cup between three fingers.
Zhao Bing, the Prince of Yanchi, whose decisiveness in battle was legendary among the southern court’s civil and military officials, sighed heavily and said helplessly, “Sir, can’t you spare those two brats? At least let them live—they won’t stir up any trouble in the future anyway.”
Nalan Youci didn’t turn his head, replying indifferently, “Brats? They are your own flesh and blood, Zhao Bing. Why insult yourself?”
Zhao Bing was left speechless.
Nalan Youci continued, “The two sons of the mighty Prince of Yanchi deliberately leaked military secrets to Tai’an City, nearly getting the heir apparent killed on the southern battlefield near the capital. Even if it were their father who dared such a thing, I’d have him beaten to death.”
Zhao Bing rolled his eyes and grumbled, “You terrify me.”
Nalan Youci finally turned to face him, his expression grave. “Do you want a sole heir who will sit firmly on the throne, or do you want to wear the dragon robes for just a few years before becoming the failed founder of a short-lived dynasty?”
Zhao Bing waved his hand in exasperation. “Fine, you decide! Damn it, the only time I’ve ever bested you in an argument was that one time.”
Nalan Youci smiled faintly. “Then I’ll give the order—two cups of wine for those boys, shall I?”
Zhao Bing’s expression immediately turned awkward, and he lowered his head in silence.
Nalan Youci didn’t press the prince for an immediate decision. He turned back to the window, murmuring as if to himself, “After all, even a tiger does not devour its cubs. If you could make such a decision without hesitation, I, Nalan Youci, would never have aided you to this point. And of course, I wouldn’t still be alive.”
Zhao Bing set down his cup, clenched his fists, and exhaled heavily. “Do as you say, sir! I, Zhao Bing, will act as if I never had those two sons!”
Nalan Youci nodded. “You should be content with having a son like Zhao Zhu. Look at the son of old Prince Jing’an, Zhao Heng—that Zhao Xun, who dreamed of becoming emperor, couldn’t even protect the woman he loved. And then there’s Xu Xiao’s son, Xu Fengnian…”
The first half of his words was comforting, but the latter half? Zhao Bing couldn’t help but laugh and curse, “Enough, enough! Are you mocking me? You scholars are all full of cunning!”
Nalan Youci merely smiled and let it pass.
Zhao Bing’s mood improved slightly, and he said softly, “The river wind is strong, and your health… In any case, don’t stand by the window catching a chill.”
Nalan Youci returned to his seat, pouring Zhao Bing another cup of wine. Slowly, he said, “What’s most fascinating about the ancients is that nearly everything they did came with a story that tugs at the heartstrings. Pity, though—the most famous rouge, ‘Red Cheeks,’ was a tribute item, something common folk couldn’t buy even with money. And another pity—the ‘Daughter’s Red’ among huadiao wines isn’t actually all that good to drink.”
Zhao Bing took the cup and sipped the supposedly decades-old Daughter’s Red, nodding in agreement. “This wine really isn’t anything special!”
Nalan Youci sighed. “The purpose of scholars is to drink, eat, read, write, and pass down all the ‘fascinating’ things left by the ancients.”
Zhao Bing asked, “Then what about men like me and that cripple Xu?”
Nalan Youci chuckled. “You lot? You make sure scholars don’t live too comfortably. Your only use is to keep them from getting so carried away they forget their roots.”
Zhao Bing picked up a slice of spiced beef from the side dishes, chewing slowly. After a long silence, he nodded. “There’s some flavor to that.”
Nalan Youci cut straight to the point. “Don’t pretend to understand when you don’t. After nearly thirty years, you still can’t shake old habits.”
Zhao Bing wasn’t offended. He laughed heartily. “Caught again by you, sir!”
Looking back to those days, when the two first met in the capital of Liyang, the kingdom was still just a small northern state, and Zhao Bing was merely one of many unremarkable princes.
Among the four gathered then—Prince Zhao Bing, the minor general Xu Xiao, the impoverished scholar Li Yishan, and Nalan Youci—it was Nalan Youci, born into nobility, who stood out the most. Zhao Bing and Xu Xiao paled in comparison, and Li Yishan was even further beneath notice.
During that gathering, after drinking heavily, Zhao Bing had planted one foot on a bench and declared with bold laughter, “If I’d known drinking would make me piss, I might as well have drunk piss from the start!”
To which the elegant, almost ethereal Nalan Youci had coldly retorted, “If you’d known eating would make you shit, you might as well have eaten shit from the start?”
Zhao Bing had toppled over, unable to keep his balance.
All he remembered was Xu Xiao giving Nalan Youci a thumbs-up, while Li Yishan had shaken his head in silence.
Years later, on this very day, two of the four were dead. Fortunately, the two who remained were not only alive but could still sit together and share a drink.
Zhao Bing gazed at the strategist, whose brilliance still shone undimmed, and said softly, “Sir, the greatest fortune of my life has been having you by my side these thirty years.”
This master strategist of the Spring and Autumn era had never married or fathered children.
Whatever Nalan Youci’s original intentions, Zhao Bing knew full well that if this man had descendants, the future of the realm would be fraught with uncertainties—just as when Xu Xiao had his firstborn son, the infamous “White Robe Case” in the capital had immediately followed.
Zhao Bing might not be as ruthless as the old emperor, but the thought would undoubtedly fester in his mind like a thorn.
He poured Nalan Youci a cup of wine. “That young general under Lu Shengxiang, Guo Dongfeng—he’s proving quite troublesome. Even Zhang Dingyuan and Gu Ying have suffered setbacks against him.”
Nalan Youci smiled. “Are you the only one allowed to have capable generals? Can’t Liyang have a few of its own?”
The southern army boasted formidable commanders like Zhang Dingyuan, Gu Ying, Ye Xiufeng of Yuanzhou, Liang Yue of Hezhou, and Tang He and Li Chunyu under Wu Zhongxuan’s command.
Add to them the surrendered generals of the court—Song Li, Yuan Tingshan, Qi Shence—and the likes of Dian Xiongchu and Wei Fucheng under the command of the “White-Clad Military Sage,” and they had more than enough to take Tai’an City!
In contrast, the young emperor Zhao Zhuan had only a handful—Lu Shengxiang, Tang Tieshuang, Xu Gong, Yang Huchen—to rely on.
Tai’an City certainly had others knowledgeable in military strategy, but they might never get the chance to lead troops—men like Prince Changshan Zhao Yang, Duke Yan Gao Shizhi, and Marquis Huaiyang Song Daoning.
In the struggle for supremacy, momentum was everything!
Crossing the Guangling River in one bold push was momentum. Winning over Prince Jing’an Zhao Xun was momentum. Successfully turning Wu Zhongxuan was still momentum!
Throughout this process, Zhao Bing had expended little of his own forces, yet anyone with eyes could see the tide of the realm had turned in his favor.
Of course, the true, bloody battles were yet to come. Seizing the throne, especially through rebellion, was never a one-and-done affair. Even after ascending the throne, the struggle might persist for over a decade.
But Nalan Youci had already laid out countermeasures for all of it. They might not be flawless, but Zhao Bing was no mere puppet prince as rumors suggested. His title as feudal lord was second only to that of the outsider king, Xu Xiao!
To put it bluntly, if Zhao Bing could still lose after Nalan Youci had set the stage so perfectly, he might as well go eat shit.
Zhao Bing suddenly lowered his voice. “Are we really letting Chen Zhizhao lead eighty thousand troops to attack Jizhou?”
After Chen Zhizhao’s arrival in the Central Plains, he commanded sixty thousand infantry from Western Shu. Now, Zhao Bing had given the “White-Clad Military Sage” an additional twenty thousand elite cavalry—truly elite.
Nalan Youci replied calmly, “In all the world, there is no place left for him—not even a foothold.”
Zhao Bing frowned. “May I ask, sir, how you can be so sure?”
Nalan Youci answered obliquely, “Before Zhang Julu died, what was his standing in the Liyang court?”
Zhao Bing sipped his wine, pondering deeply. Finally, he looked up and said self-deprecatingly, “I can’t quite grasp it, but if you say so, I’ll take your word for it.”
Nalan Youci sighed, his expression complex. “Zhao Bing, there are many formidable figures in this world. That it’s you who will claim the throne isn’t without reason.”
Zhao Bing grinned. “Sir, was that a compliment?”
Nalan Youci said dryly, “We’re out of wine.”
Zhao Bing stood. “Rest early. The grand scheme is set—don’t overexert yourself. I still need you by my side when we return to Tai’an City.”
Nalan Youci nodded.
As the Prince of Yanchi left the cabin, he said sternly to the five stunning maids outside, “Take good care of the master!”
Dongyue, Xishu, Fengdu, Sanshi, Chenglü—the five maids acknowledged softly.
After walking a few steps, Zhao Bing turned back to one of them. “Chenglü, hurry inside and fetch the master a fur coat!”
The maid smiled sweetly and hurried off to retrieve the precious sable coat the prince had recently sent for.
When Nalan Youci stepped out with a jug of wine, Chenglü was just returning with the coat. After draping it over his shoulders, he and the five maids walked to the ship’s bow, leaning against the railing.
Nalan Youci held the jug in one hand, the other behind his back, squinting as he murmured,
“One Zhang Julu, seeking his own death. Half a Gu Jiantang, with no way out.”
“Next is Chen Zhizhao. And finally, it will be your turn, Xu Fengnian.”
The maid who had once visited Beiliang’s Jubei City asked softly, “Master, would you like to go to the northwest yourself?”
Nalan Youci shook his head. “No need.”
A long silence followed, broken only by the river’s flow.
Suddenly, he tossed the wine jug into the Guangling River and said, “Fetch Lin Hongyuan from Chunxue Tower.”
About an hour and a half later, Lin Hongyuan of the Southern Dragon Palace arrived on the ship.
Nalan Youci had returned to the cabin. After Lin Hongyuan closed the door, he gestured for her to sit opposite him.
She sat rigidly, back straight.
Nalan Youci smiled. “Having deceived the one you love, do you feel remorse?”
Lin Hongyuan’s face flushed. “Master, I don’t have feelings for—”
Nalan Youci said gently, “Liking someone is easy to recognize, but what lies beyond mere liking may take years to understand. You’re still young. If, in that time, you come to love another, that’s a different matter.”
Lin Hongyuan was both flustered and terrified.
Back at the foot of Wudang Mountain, in that tavern, the intricate plot that had unwittingly dragged many into its web—the carefully orchestrated encounter and assassination attempt—had been her doing. Or rather, the work of the man sitting before her, Master Nalan.
It had targeted both the young prince and the young heir apparent.
The goal wasn’t murder—it was to break their spirits.
Nalan Youci seemed exhausted, his voice low. “Lin Hongyuan, if you ever get the chance, apologize to that person. For yourself, and for me, Nalan Youci.”
He repeated softly, “If there’s still a chance.”
Lin Hongyuan left the ship in a daze.
Finally, Nalan Youci called all five maids into the room. With a gentle smile, he said, “Becoming empress is out of the question—Zhang Gaoxia has that locked down. But the Liyang harem allows for four imperial consorts. Among you, who doesn’t wish to be one? Step forward.”
He didn’t ask who wanted to—he asked who didn’t.
A question that cut straight to the heart.
All five stepped forward.
Almost in unison.
Almost.
One was slightly slower.
Nalan Youci didn’t point it out. He simply smiled. “Understood. You may all leave.”
Since four foolish girls had no desire to be caged birds, it would have to be her.
But Nalan Youci also knew it wasn’t that she, the most perceptive among them, truly wanted to be an imperial consort. She was simply afraid that after his death—this master who had no heirs—certain people would come for vengeance without restraint.
Heir Apparent Zhao Zhu and Emperor Zhao Zhu would be two different people.
This wasn’t Zhao Zhu’s fault. The heir’s nature was already remarkably kind and honest.
Even if Xu Fengnian became emperor, it would be the same.
Nalan Youci slumped over the table, drowsy.
He felt a pang of sorrow for her.
In matters of love, the one who lived longer often suffered more.
Nalan Youci slowly closed his eyes, murmuring a name.
“Yishan.”
All the heroic women of the world lament being born female.
But I, Nalan Youci, lament only being born male.
Love—its origins unknown, its dwelling unseen. Its knots unfathomed, its unraveling unclear. Its traces lost, its ending unforeseen.
What you know, I do not. Where I stop, I cannot see.
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