Xu Fengnian entered the Wang residence under the cover of night, greatly impressed. Among the four prestigious families of Huangnan, the Shuijing Wang had been overshadowed by the Longyi Wang, yet the residence exuded a refined scholarly atmosphere without being overwhelming. The carved railings and painted beams were exquisitely crafted, and even the maids seemed to possess more scholarly grace than those of other households, with delicate features and simple makeup, pleasing to the eye.
Wang Xihua opened the main gate in grand fashion and personally led the way. This patriarch was not only a bitter rival of the Regional Governor, but also a close friend of Yao Baifeng, the senior scholar of the Imperial Academy. Xu Fengnian had always held a favorable impression of him, partly due to the high praise given by Wang Chonglou, the late Taoist Grandmaster of Wudang, who had once read Wang Xihua’s fortune. Now, Wang’s adopted son, Jiao Wuyi, had joined the general staff of Lanzhou, rising to the rank of one of the Fourteen Commanders with real authority. This greatly enhanced the prestige of the Shuijing Wang clan, who were known for their excellence in both civil and military affairs. If not for Li Degong’s son, who had proven himself on the battlefield, the Longyi Wang might have already been overtaken. This was a world that valued strength above all else—undistinguished descendants relied on their ancestors’ reputations to wield power, while ambitious noble families nurtured their own future glories through the achievements of their offspring.
Wang Xihua had four consorts, but his children were clearly more daughters than sons. His only son, Wang Yunshu, was not present tonight. Unlike his usual indulgent lifestyle, he had genuinely enlisted in the army. Since early spring, Wang’s old companions from Huangnan had been unable to find him. As the conversation was not about military secrets, the atmosphere was relaxed and amicable. Although Wang Yunshu, the ever-present flatterer, was absent, all of Wang Xihua’s daughters were present, taking turns to observe the guest. As for who among them was most captivated, that was hard to say.
Cao Wei, seated boldly beside Xu Fengnian, sat upright, gripping his sword hilt, as if trying to strip the young women of their beauty with his eyes alone. Unfortunately, none of these attractive women paid him any heed. Their glances, glistening with dewy admiration, were all directed toward the young Prince of Beiliang. No doubt, father and son had often spoken of Xu Fengnian, the newly enfeoffed Shangzhu Guo by the imperial court. This made Cao Wei seethe with frustration. He coughed deliberately several times, but drew little attention. Worse still, Xu Fengnian made no effort to introduce him, and Cao Wei finally gave up. Every time Xu Fengnian spoke, Cao Wei either grunted disdainfully or made faces, which at least amused one of Wang Xihua’s younger daughters. She laughed behind her sisters, clutching her stomach in delight. Cao Wei, previously listless, suddenly found new energy, as if he had taken cheap aphrodisiacs from a roadside quack.
Wang Xihua, a man of great wisdom, needed no introduction to know that this unremarkable, sword-wielding dwarf was no ordinary man. Otherwise, who would dare sit side by side with the Prince of Beiliang and openly challenge him? In all of Beiliang, only Xu Beizhi, the Regional Inspector, and the ranger Li Hanlin, counted as half a match. However, the Wang family was the foremost scholarly house in Beiliang, and everyone in the household held themselves in high regard. Wang Xihua, praised by Yao Baifeng as among the top three interpreters of the *I Ching* in the realm, would never stoop to using his daughters to curry favor with the powerful—though, of course, Xu Fengnian was an exception. Wang Xihua held genuine respect and awe for this young ruler of Beiliang. If one of his daughters were to be chosen by Xu Fengnian, it would not only bring honor to the Shuijing Wang, but also elevate their status further. As for that short, sword-bearing man, if any daughter took a liking to him, Wang Xihua would not object.
Taking advantage of the wine’s warmth, Xu Fengnian spoke with great enthusiasm. Wang Xihua, however, remained composed, leaving only his innocent younger daughter to pour wine and serve tea. Xu mentioned that Cai Junchen had some antiques and calligraphy for sale. Wang Xihua, understanding the implication, nodded gently and joked that several priceless calligraphies in his collection had already been branded with Xu Fengnian’s famous mark: “Fake.” Xu, for once, looked slightly embarrassed. In his youth, he had been reckless. In the Wutong Courtyard, he once owned several precious seals, including one in Qin Dynasty small script, engraved with the word “Fake.” Many of the rare calligraphies in the Prince’s Mansion had not escaped the young prince’s mischief. Influenced by Li Yishan’s scholarship, Xu had spent years honing his expertise in calligraphy authentication. His eye was unmatched—every piece he had labeled as “Fake” turned out to be genuine. This rebellious streak of his was well known. Yet, ironically, no matter how much the Central Plains scholars despised Beiliang, owning a painting or calligraphy marked with “Fake” was both a safe investment and a source of pride.
Before Xu Fengnian left, Wang Xihua gifted him a calligraphy scroll, written personally on the day of Jingzhe. It was a partial version of the Wang family’s ancestral teachings: the “Three Kindred Spirits and Three Strangers.” “Those who surpass oneself, those of great virtue, and those of charm—these may be kindred spirits. Those of different aspirations, those without character, and those who forget kindness and bear grudges—these should be treated as strangers or enemies.” This version differed slightly from the complete teaching. For instance, the “kindred spirits” omitted those who spoke bluntly, and the “strangers” omitted those of shallow virtue. This was likely Wang Xihua’s own insight after years of scholarly study. Especially during their earlier discussion on the three chronic ailments of history—regional warlords, eunuchs, and factionalism—Wang had offered a perspective that broke free from convention. Xu Fengnian had once held strong prejudices against scholars, but after several journeys, his views had gradually softened. Tonight’s conversation with Wang Xihua prompted self-reflection.
After leaving the mansion, Cao Wei saw the young girl killer idly circling the carriage, her earlier absence from the visit now replaced by a stroll with her absurdly long, withered staff. Cao Wei now feared this temperamental girl deeply. As Yang Guangdou would say, “Evil is best tamed by greater evil.”
Inside the carriage, Xu Fengnian asked, “Wang Xihua mentioned that Beiliang favors employing those with past mistakes over those with mere merits. What do you think, Master Yang?”
Yang Guangdou brushed his sleeve and smiled, “Three months ago, that would have been easy talk. There were countless officials and clerks, most of whom did nothing but take up space. Few could actually do real work, and replacing them with scholars was the trend in Beiliang. Wang Xihua’s concern was merely about the instability of Beiliang’s structure. But now that Liuzhou is being established, his words make sense. Could it be that the official has caught a hint of the situation? Trees die when moved, but people thrive when they move. If Song Yan barely escaped becoming the Prefect of Huangnan, it would be better for him to seek opportunities in Liuzhou. Wang Xihua is no stubborn scholar—he going to Liuzhou benefits both himself and Beiliang. Officials who made mistakes in the old three states of Beiliang can be sent to Liuzhou, and with Wang Xihua’s reputation for governance and integrity, everyone will respect him. With the young prince’s 30,000 Iron Cavalry stationed there, Wang Xihua might well become the next Governor of Liuzhou.”
Xu Fengnian nodded with a smile. In truth, the choice for Liuzhou’s first governor had already been decided—Yang Guangdou himself, who had recently returned to service. Xu had originally considered Chen Xiliang, but the young man insisted on remaining in the shadows. Xu could not force him, of course. Truth be told, Chen Xiliang still bore the suspicion of being “all vision, no execution.” Without the looming war with Meng, entrusting Liuzhou to him would have been acceptable. But with war likely within one to two years, Xu could not risk giving Liuzhou entirely to Chen. Yang Guangdou, both skilled in politics and adept in human relations, would be the perfect candidate. With the illusion of a posthumous edict from Xu Xiao, Yang’s age and experience would clearly establish his authority, far more convincing than the young and unproven Chen. Impatience leads to failure. The more Xu valued Chen Xiliang, the more he feared rushing him. This young scholar was not only the talent Xu had personally brought from Jiangnan, but also the second-generation strategist Li Yishan had greatly admired.
In the corner of the carriage, the little girl amused herself, now making a “seductive” face with her fingertip against her cheek, now pretending to be a melancholy maiden with her hand on her chest, or imitating a noble lady sitting gracefully with folded sleeves. Even with his thick skin, Cao Wei could not withstand this charm, which rivaled even a terrestrial immortal. He quietly left the warm carriage and sat beside Xu Yanbing, sighing and grumbling, regretting that he had ever come on this trip. He should have stayed behind the Qingliang Mountains, avoiding the many palm strikes from his master.
Xu Fengnian watched the girl mimic the various postures of women from the bustling streets, saying nothing, his gaze warm. Even the old man Yang Guangdou, observing their interaction, found it hard to fathom. In the past, whether the young prince or the current Prince of Beiliang, Xu had always seemed cold and indifferent to those who did not catch his eye. Yet, he seemed unusually indulgent toward this little girl. After meeting the girl and learning of her connection to Huang Sanjia, Yang Guangdou had repeatedly hinted for Xu to extract more secrets from her. Even a few words or a name from her might influence the future of Beiliang. But Xu refused, and Yang could do nothing. Xu now carried a quiet, formidable aura, inherited from his father and mother, nurtured by Li Yishan’s teachings, and sharpened by countless journeys and battles. Yang constantly reminded himself never to see Xu Fengnian as the reckless youth of old. The case of Zhong Hongwu was proof enough. The old Prince of Beiliang had hesitated to deal with the aftermath, but the new Prince did so without hesitation. Even General Xu’s reluctance to openly oppose the Zhao court had been replaced by a new stance: Beiliang could stand on its own. This was likely why the imperial court, after much hesitation, finally relented on the grain shipments.
Beiliang had massed its forces on the eastern front, rejecting the imperial decree of posthumous honors. The court seemed furious, refusing to grant Xu Fengnian special permission to mourn his father while continuing his duties. Yet, at the same time, it had to offer compensation—bestowing the title of Shangzhu Guo and lifting the ban on grain shipments. During this time, if Xu Fengnian had acted impulsively and rejected the title again, the court might have preferred to let the grain rot in Xiangfan rather than send a single grain into Feishou City, perhaps even sealing the major The Post Road into Beiliang from neighboring provinces with decisive measures.
These were all matters requiring careful balance and mutual calculation. Such exchanges would only increase in the future.
Suddenly, the girl said, “In the past few years, Old Huang took me to over a hundred places. He said they were all fields where he had once planted crops. Some were abandoned, some were still struggling between harvests, and some had poor yields, but in the end, they all bore some fruit.”
Xu Fengnian smiled, “My master and Chu Lushan both saw Huang Longshi as the greatest spy of the Spring and Autumn period. Whoever inherited his intelligence network would gain a decisive advantage. But none of us know how he managed it—how he selected the seedlings, how he irrigated the fields, how he monitored their growth, how he harvested the rice. No one knows how Huang Longshi did it.”
The girl said earnestly, “He begged for meals, drank, chatted, scolded, deceived, and left. Then he went to another place and did the same again.”
Yang Guangdou sighed, covering his forehead. The greatest secret of the Spring and Autumn period had been reduced to twelve simple words.
The girl tilted her head and asked, “Don’t you want to know where those over a hundred places were, or who those people were?”
Xu Fengnian shook his head and smiled, “Beiliang is barely managing its own affairs. I have neither the energy nor the ability to compete with the heroes of the world.”
The girl huffed, “Even if you asked, I wouldn’t remember many.”
Yang Guangdou felt that being with these two was a torment, beginning to understand Cao Wei’s plight.
Xu Fengnian playfully stretched the girl’s slightly round face with both hands.
The girl was not angry. She mumbled, “You talk about the unification of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, but I don’t understand. But Old Huang said there’s a catalyst inside you.”
Xu Fengnian thought for a moment, “I know. Huang Longshi must have meant the bowl of blood the monk Longshu gave me. But I haven’t felt anything for the past two years, so I didn’t take it seriously.”
The girl tried hard to recall and said, “Four hundred years ago, there was a Gao Shulu, the one you mentioned recently. I just remembered, Old Huang mentioned him. He said this guy is half-dead, hiding somewhere in Tai’an City. He’s the Zhao family’s last resort, originally meant to suppress Wang Xianzhi. In the Hulong Mountains… Well, forget about that.”
Xu Fengnian withdrew his hand and tapped her forehead, “You mean Longhu Mountain.”
The girl said, “Oh.”
Xu Fengnian leaned against the carriage wall beside her and whispered, “Others can’t figure out why Huang Longshi turned the entire Spring and Autumn world upside down. I understand a little. The Confucian ideal has always been self-cultivation, family harmony, state governance, and world peace. But Huang Longshi was even higher—he had no emperor in his eyes. He was alone, needing neither self-cultivation nor family harmony. He didn’t care about emperors, nor did he need to help them govern the world. That’s why he could be different from everyone else. He probably only wanted a peaceful world that none of us could see, or even imagine.”
The girl nodded, pointing to her knee, “Right, something like that. Also, Old Huang said this thing isn’t meant for kneeling.”
Xu Fengnian fell into thought, murmuring, “This old farmer who turned the entire Spring and Autumn field upside down.”
The girl bent her knee and rested her chin on it, “Old Huang said he’s going to die too.”
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