In the hearts of the young Murong siblings, the title of King of Beiliang had once been nothing more than an empty name, a distant figure dwelling at the far reaches of the empire’s northern frontier, surrounded by an unfathomable sea of iron cavalry—thirty thousand? They could scarcely imagine such a number. A mighty feudal lord, privately called the Second Emperor, he was said to be a terrifying and ruthless warlord whose very stomp could shake the entire dynasty thrice over. Yet, he had seemed utterly irrelevant to them—until Murong Wuzhu and Murong Tonghuang arrived at the Prince’s Mansion, moved into the Wutong Courtyard, and, riding on the favor of the Crown Prince, dined several times at the same table as the butcher of men, though they had never dared to look him in the eye. It seemed, however, that this Xu Da Jiangjun was not the capricious old man they had imagined. Quite the opposite, he seemed rather amenable before the Crown Prince. Even they could see that in the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion, the one whose words truly carried weight was not the feudal lord himself, but his eldest son, Xu Fengnian.
Murong Wuzhu could not understand it, and even Murong Tonghuang was puzzled. They could only stay trembling within the Wutong Courtyard, knowing that as guests under another’s roof, they must tread carefully in all things. Rarely did they leave the courtyard to wander and relax, but fortunately, the courtyard lacked for nothing—zithers, chessboards, calligraphy, paintings, poetry, and ancient tomes, all priceless treasures.
The maids of the courtyard, however, bore strange names and offered no kindness. The head maid, Hongshu, was relatively gentle and kind, but the second-tier maids, like Huanggua and Lüyi, were cold and sharp, making Murong Wuzhu tremble with fear. As the saying went, even a prime minister’s gatekeeper bore the rank of a third-grade official, and the steward of a prince rivaled a governor. How could she not be afraid? Murong Tonghuang, however, was a bit more defiant. When borrowing instruments or books from the maids, he did so boldly and with confidence.
Murong Wuzhu felt a great weight lifted when a lady from Qingzhou arrived and took up residence in the Wutong Courtyard. This lady, Lu Chengyan, hailed from a noble and prestigious family—her ancestral patriarch had once been a Supreme Chancellor of the empire, and her father, Lu Dongjiang, was now the governor of a commandery. She had brought with her a young servant born with a rare double-pupiled eye. Later, after meeting the Crown Prince, the strange-eyed youth had been sent to the borderlands. These whispers spread quickly within the Wutong Courtyard, though they never escaped its walls. If the Murong siblings were the sort to avoid conflict when outmatched, then this lady from a first-tier aristocratic family was one who met the maids head-on. The sharp-tongued maid Huanggua often muttered sarcastic remarks about a common bird usurping a phoenix’s nest. When the Crown Prince was present, the women maintained a fragile harmony, but once he departed, the skies changed. Within that house of women, each wielded invisible knives sharper than a hundred flying swords. Murong Wuzhu greatly admired Lu Chengyan. From afar, she had watched several times as the lady spoke softly and gently, yet with words that could choke the soul. Murong Wuzhu had heard that Lu Chengyan might become the Crown Prince’s first concubine. She mused that only a woman as clever, quick-witted, and fearless as Chengyan could be worthy of such a position in Beiliang.
The King of Beiliang entered the Wutong Courtyard alone. Except for Hongshu, who stepped forward to bow respectfully, the other maids stood at a distance, continuing with their tasks. This was an old rule. Even Hongshu did not accompany him all the way. For those who wished to live comfortably in the Wutong Courtyard, the most important thing was not what one did, but what one did not do. Xu Qiao went directly to the Crown Prince’s room, did not sit, and wandered about, occasionally pausing to collect small items. The room was spacious and well-lit, so filled with rare treasures and curiosities that it never felt cramped. In the golden glow of the evening, the light spilled across the writing desk by the window, casting a warm yellow hue. Xu Qiao stretched out his calloused hand, slowly tracing the edge of the desk. He paused, unmoving for a long while, as if lost in thought. He smiled faintly, withdrew his hand, and clasped both within his sleeves, facing the window, his gaze drifting from the panes to the world beyond the walls.
Xu Qiao turned and saw the poised figure of Lu Chengyan standing at the doorway. He waved and smiled, “Chengyan, come in. Sit and chat with your uncle for a while.”
Lu Chengyan entered the room, choosing a small embroidered stool and sitting with quiet restraint only after Xu Qiao had taken his seat. Xu Qiao chuckled, “Your uncle has always been a busy man. I’ve not been much of a host these days. Don’t go back and badmouth me to Chancellor Lu.”
Lu Chengyan shook her head with a smile, “I won’t.”
Xu Qiao laughed heartily, then fell into a reverie. “I remember the first time I went to the capital to meet the Emperor. It was Chancellor Lu who showed me, a young soldier, such courtesy, walking beside me all the way to the Golden Hall. Back then, I was puzzled—how could a senior official of the second rank deign to walk side by side with a newly promoted officer of the sixth? He must not have thought it beneath him. Now I understand. I’ve heard that the Chancellor has always had a knack for divination and geomancy. He must have been waiting for this very day. If I had known then, I would’ve dared to mutter under my breath that he was a sly old fox.”
Lu Chengyan smiled, lips pressed together, her eyes clear and unassuming, showing neither excessive reverence nor curiosity.
Xu Qiao’s tone grew more subdued. “I’ve heard some things here in Beiliang. No sooner had you arrived than old men like Wen Taiyi and Hong Lingshu started stirring up trouble in the capital. You used to visit their homes often as a child, didn’t you? Those two old men show no mercy now. They can’t bully the old, so they pick on the young. They’ve lived so long, yet they’ve grown more childish. If it hadn’t been for Chancellor Lu holding Qingzhou together, the Qing faction would have collapsed long ago, never mind what that schemer Bi Yane might have done. To be honest, if the old minister had held on a little longer, the Qing faction might have survived a few more years, but your Lu family would have been crushed under Wen and Hong’s weight. The old man must have given up entirely on the Qing faction he helped build, or else he wouldn’t have sent you here. With that, the Qing faction has drawn its final breath.”
Lu Chengyan murmured softly, “Grandfather said he’s lived long enough to enjoy all he could. Now it’s time to secure blessings for the descendants.”
Xu Qiao finally smiled, nodding. “That’s what I like about the old minister—his honesty. To be frank, I’ve never held the Qing faction in too poor a light. They sought fame, fortune, power, and rank openly. They dealt in straightforward terms, weighing everything on the scales. Doing business with such people didn’t require much thought. But Wen and Hong, those two old pests, haven’t learned even the surface of Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang’s ways, yet they’ve mastered the worst of their tricks. The Qing faction never had capable statesmen or sound strategies to begin with. Without unity, how could they withstand even a few provocations? They were bound to fall apart. A pity.”
Lu Chengyan dared not respond.
Xu Qiao chuckled self-deprecatingly, “Why am I telling you all this? I meant to have a casual chat with you. Alas, old age makes one forgetful.”
Lu Chengyan blinked and asked gently, “Uncle Xu, tell me about the Crown Prince when he was little?”
Xu Qiao made a subtle hand gesture—not to refuse, but to dismiss the hidden assassins nearby. Then he smiled at Lu Chengyan. “If I start, I don’t know when I’ll stop.”
Lu Chengyan’s eyes lit up. “Then until Uncle Xu gets tired of talking!”
Xu Qiao waved eagerly, clearly in high spirits. “Come, sit closer. I love to talk about this. When Fengnian is around, he won’t let me. Usually, I can’t find anyone who truly wants to listen. Lucky me to catch you here.”
As time passed, Lu Chengyan came to realize that Uncle Xu was actually a very talkative old man. As he recounted the Crown Prince’s childhood antics and mishaps, his sparse, graying brows brimmed with affection and pride. At that moment, Uncle Xu was no different from her own beloved grandfather, indulgent and proud of his accomplished descendants, never raising his voice too harshly. Later, Hongshu brought in a tray of delicate pastries and refreshing fruits. The old man, caught up in his storytelling, showed no trace of formality, even peeling sweet oranges for Lu Chengyan with his own hands. The Crown Prince’s quarters were not lit by fragrant candles, but by a hidden mechanism in the ceiling. With a subtle motion from Hongshu, countless pearls embedded in the beams lit the room as brightly as daylight, yet the glow was soft and soothing, never tiring the eyes. Lu Chengyan had not seen the ostentatious luxury she had imagined in the Prince’s Mansion, but in the smallest details, she glimpsed the depth and majesty of Beiliang.
Eventually, Hongshu handed her a beautifully embroidered cushion. Seeing the warmth in the head maid’s eyes and the slight upward curve of her full lips, Lu Chengyan realized that only now had she begun to truly belong in the Wutong Courtyard.
Night deepened, and Xu Qiao finally stood, refusing Lu Chengyan’s offer to see him out. He walked out of the room and, upon reaching the courtyard, called for Hongshu.
The two walked toward the courtyard gate. Xu Qiao said quietly, “I had originally intended for you to go with Fengnian, to be a close companion to him, but he refused. And besides, this courtyard cannot do without you.”
Hongshu replied softly, “Qingniao.”
Xu Qiao’s voice carried a hint of resignation. “That stubborn girl knelt all night, waiting for my approval. Then she took her Shicha spear and left. I haven’t dared to tell Fengnian even now, fearing his wrath.”
Hongshu smiled. In the Wutong Courtyard, she was the only one who could speak so freely with the King of Beiliang. None but the father and son knew that she was the late Princess’s hidden assassin.
Xu Qiao sighed softly, “Since Zhihu left, you’ve become like Fengnian’s sister.”
As Hongshu opened her mouth to speak, Xu Qiao waved her off. “You and Lu Chengyan are of the same kind. Take care of her. The customs of Beiliang are vastly different from Qingzhou. Even the cleverest woman cannot adapt overnight. We cannot simply transplant a Qingzhou peony into Beiliang soil and leave it to fend for itself. But remember this—after a few days, send her word that the double-eyed youth has died. Watch her reaction. If she passes this test, you and Chu Luxian can begin preparing for her marriage into the Xu family. If not, then she was never meant to be a concubine of the Prince’s Mansion.”
Hongshu nodded.
At the courtyard gate, Xu Qiao smiled and asked, “Tell me, what do you think—will she grow proud and arrogant, or remain composed in both favor and disgrace? You are a woman; you understand women’s hearts better.”
Hongshu hesitated, then shook her head. “I dare not presume.”
Xu Qiao did not press her, and walked out of the courtyard alone.
Inside the Wutong Courtyard, Lu Chengyan should have been elated, yet her hands and feet were cold, and she herself could not understand why.
Xu Qiao went to the Listening Tide Lake to clear his mind, where he found the Lady of Jing’an, Pei Nanwei, sitting in the pavilion at the lake’s center. Beside her, at his command, was Shuxiu, who was to shadow the Lady of the Empire and observe her every word and deed. The two women sat more than ten paces apart. Shuxiu’s duty was to memorize every expression of Pei Nanwei—her laughter, her pouts, her frowns, her startled glances. At first, Pei Nanwei had resented this Northern Liang attendant’s constant gaze, but Shuxiu, who longed for every flicker of genuine emotion, cared little for Pei Nanwei’s resentment. In the Prince’s Mansion, what was a Lady of Jing’an? Eventually, Pei Nanwei simply ignored Shuxiu. Somehow, after arriving at this Prince’s Mansion, feared by both court and martial world, she had finally found peace. She lived in a quiet lakeside villa. The Crown Prince, ever thoughtful, had arranged for acres of reeds to be planted nearby. Opening the window, she could enjoy the view—though not as vast as the endless reed fields outside Xiangfan, it brought a faint smile to her composed and indifferent face. After all, those reeds were not hers. These few acres in Beiliang, though small, were declared hers by the Crown Prince himself.
Xu Qiao entered the pavilion. Shuxiu knelt silently, while Pei Nanwei rose quickly to bow. “This commoner greets General Xu.”
“No need for formalities,” Xu Qiao replied.
He teased, “You and that effeminate Zhao Heng should switch places. You’d make a better King of Jing’an.”
Pei Nanwei’s face turned bitter.
Xu Qiao did not sit. “Pei Nanwei, from now on, you may come and go as you please.”
Pei Nanwei instinctively rose again to bow. “Thank you, General.”
Xu Qiao chuckled and walked out of the pavilion, muttering, “This daughter-in-law of mine has too many manners.”
Pei Nanwei was startled, then flushed.
Shuxiu watched with envy.
Xu Qiao strolled slowly back to his own quarters. Except for his two sons and two daughters, no outsider ever entered this room. Even his adopted sons like Chen Zhibao only spoke from outside the courtyard gate, then went together to a nearby pavilion to discuss military affairs.
In the courtyard stood only a loquat tree.
Under the night sky, Xu Qiao stood beneath the tree, lost in thought. He returned to his modest, unadorned room. Simple and plain, the outer room held two clothing racks. Xu Qiao bent down, pulling a box from beneath the table. Inside was not treasure or jewels, but a full box of cloth shoes. He took out a pair of thick-soled shoes, half-finished, along with a needle case. Lighting a candle, he deftly bit the needle’s tip, threaded the silk, and began to sew.
Nearby, two clothing racks held a suit of general’s armor and a royal robe of Beiliang.
Outside the window, a loquat tree stood in the courtyard. It was planted by my wife the year she died. Now it stands tall and wide.
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