That night, under Yang Guangdou’s guidance, Xu Fengnian wandered through every office of the Liuzhou Governor’s Mansion. Scene after scene of candlelit diligence, faces of youth not yet hardened by worldly experience, and a stream of efficient postal couriers entering and exiting the heavily guarded compound created an impression of vibrant energy. Xu Fengnian and Governor Yang rarely disturbed the officials at work, strolling casually and mostly commenting on the enemy’s military maneuvers in the Northern Yan. Dong Quan, the newly appointed Southern Court King, had nominally seized full power, but despite the backing of Empress Dowager Murong, he would not be able to unify the Southern Yan’s forces in the short term. The old ministers from the Spring and Autumn Period had brought refined Central Plain etiquette and culture to the Southern Yan, strengthening its power like adding wings to a tiger, but they had also imported many vices previously unknown in the Northern Yan. The extravagance in the Southern Yan rivaled even that of Beiliang. Although people in Beiliang might flee when war approached, the Southern Yan’s nobles were no less inclined to run northward. Seeking advantage and avoiding harm is human nature. The entrenched rivalry between the Northern and Southern factions of the Northern Yan had long been sharp. The Southern aristocrats, in their scramble for profit, flocked to attach themselves to the powerful northern steppe nobles, unintentionally emboldening the Northern Court and weakening the Southern Court’s already fragile authority. Dong Zhuo, the fat general, would probably lose several pounds worrying about it.
Xu Fengnian and Yang Guangdou chatted freely, drifting from topic to topic, until dawn approached. Yang, a senior official of the third rank, held meetings with his subordinates both morning and evening. Today, Xu Fengnian, dressed in civilian clothes, casually joined the morning session. He did not sit at the head of the table—the post of Liuzhou Deputy Governor remained vacant, so Xu took that seat instead. The other key officials of the province were all present, and these were not seats for inexperienced youths. These were officials who had received top evaluations from the old provinces of Youliang and Lingzhou. Most were in their forties or fifties. Though their youthful vigor had faded, they were seasoned in governance. Like old horses pulling a cart, they ensured that the newly established Liuzhou province would avoid major mistakes. These seven or eight officials, holding ranks of the fourth and fifth degree, had never before laid eyes on the young prince. This was not entirely their fault—before their promotions, they had held low ranks, and as civil officials, they had never had the opportunity to visit the Cool Mountain Mansion to pay respects to General Xu Xiao and Prince Xu Fengnian. In this era of information scarcity and reverence for the powerful, most people in Beiliang still did not even know the new Prince of Beiliang’s name. The few figures in Beiliang truly known to all, from women and children to elders, were Xu Xiao, of course, followed by Chen Zhibao and Chu Lushan, whose reputations were evenly matched. Yuan Zuozong’s name stood alongside old generals like Yan Wenluan and Zhong Hongwu. Beyond them came Xu Weixiong, the most talented woman in Beiliang, and the newly arrived Xu family daughter-in-law, Wang Chudong.
Xu Fengnian watched the officials before him—puffy-eyed from fatigue yet trying to sit upright. Age naturally brought declining energy, and the heavy workload of Liuzhou, combined with serving under a sly fox like Yang Guangdou, and the scrutiny of the entire Beiliang bureaucracy, meant these old men truly rose before the rooster and slept after the dog. Listening to their slightly trembling reports, Xu Fengnian made no comment on their governance but joked instead, “You’ve all been up all night—don’t be too hard on your bottoms. Sit comfortably, relax, and lean back as you please. We in Beiliang don’t follow the fussy customs of the Liyang court, where officials must sit with half their backside off the chair when facing superiors.”
Yang Guangdou kicked off his boots first and sat cross-legged on his chair, laughing, “His Highness dragged me around all night—my old legs are aching terribly.”
With the governor setting the example, the other officials relaxed somewhat. Though none dared go as far as Yang, they did settle more comfortably into their seats, a few leaning back with audible sighs of relief. Xu Fengnian smiled and continued, “In the past, old generals like Liu Yuanji and Wei Tieshan would visit Cool Mountain for the New Year. You should’ve seen how they met with Xu Xiao—especially when they drank together, rowdy like common hooligans. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. In the future, I’ll often drop by Qingcang City to stir things up, so don’t be too formal. Oh, and Liu Dianxue, I must speak up for you today. Over a thousand monks have entered Liuzhou, and it’s your responsibility to settle them. This is a critical task, yet the temporary Ritual Office treats you like an unwanted stepchild. Who pushed you into the corner near the latrine? Speak up—I’ll scold them for you.”
Liu Zhen, the Dianxue Official of Liuzhou, hesitated, his eyes instinctively flicking toward two colleagues across the room, but he dared not speak. In Liuzhou, his post was nearly honorary, holding little real power. Any young clerk assigned to him was considered cursed with bad luck. He could not compare with the influential officials like the Zhizhong Official or the Gongcao Official, who held actual authority. Naturally, he had no hope of competing with them for space. He had not even found the Xunxue Official who should have been his counterpart in educational affairs. After all, who would willingly carry Confucian classics to deal with wandering refugees? The two officials Liu had glanced at grew visibly uneasy. The young prince before them, though outwardly amiable, was the very ruler who had swiftly dealt with Zhong Hongwu, tamed border generals like Yan Wenluan, and smoothly restructured the Beiliang military. Even Xu Beizhi had leapt seven or eight ranks to become the governor of Lingzhou, wresting the seat from the unwilling Li Degong, and had three generals personally escorting him. Who dared oppose such a ruler? If this calculating prince took notice of them, they might not even survive to leave Liuzhou.
Xu Fengnian smiled, “Wang Bingcao, Huang Duguan—gentlemen, you seem to be sweating quite a bit. The sun hasn’t even risen, yet you feel the heat? If you’re unwell or suffering from the local climate, while His Highness is still at the governor’s mansion, you may take leave without needing the governor’s approval—I’ll grant it myself. I hear you two are in-laws—returning to Lingzhou together, at least you won’t be lonely on the journey.”
Wang Xiuqing, the Bingcao Official, and Huang Yucheng, the Duguan Official, immediately fell to their knees, drenched in sweat. Yang Guangdou, still sitting cross-legged, watched with a faint smile, neither pleading for mercy on their behalf nor adding fuel to the fire. Xu Fengnian’s smile faded. Resting one elbow on the armrest, he said calmly, “One of you commands troop deployments within Liuzhou, the other oversees the conduct of all officials—both are top-tier posts. Together, excluding calligraphy and treasures, you paid 68,000 taels to Li Degong for your recommendation letters. I reviewed your records and checked your past performance—I found them commendable, hence my approval. But now, are you so eager to recoup your losses that you’ve already begun plundering Liuzhou’s resources? It seems your skills in governance still have a long way to go. Wang Xiuqing, the commanders you recommended—Fu Feng Prefecture’s Commander Yu Wanqing and Wenhui County’s Magistrate Li Zhaoshou—as well as Huang Yucheng’s appointees, Wu Xiaoxian and Hong Poshu, have altogether accepted 6,000 taels in bribes. Am I mistaken?”
Xu Fengnian lightly tapped the armrest of his chair, made of fine Huanghuali wood—a valuable relic left behind by Qingcang City’s former owner, enough to stir envy in any onlooker. As he fell silent, Wang Xiuqing, a tall man more like a general than a scholar, hesitated, about to speak, but his father-in-law Huang Yucheng tugged his sleeve, and both guilty officials remained silent.
Xu Fengnian noticed a tall, martial figure entering the courtyard, drawing a sword and standing guard at the door—Wei Shihui, the commander of Qingcang’s garrison, who had come from the Longxiang Army alongside the commander of Linyao’s garrison. Xu Fengnian stood and said, “I once told Governor Yang that all matters of governance in Liuzhou are under his sole authority. If you have anything to say, take it up with Governor Yang.”
Xu Fengnian stepped outside, followed by Wei Shihui and a group of elite attendants, heading forty miles outside the city to meet Chen Xiliang. Inside, silence reigned for a long time. Yang Guangdou coughed, lowered his feet, and stepped into the official boots just delivered from the Jinlu Weaving Bureau in Lingzhou. “Ministers Wang and Huang, rise. Law must accommodate human sentiment. Liuzhou is in ruins, and I currently lack capable men who won’t hinder the great cause of Beiliang. You will serve under probation. If you can redeem yourselves with merit, I’ll plead your case before the Prince. But during the Prince’s stay in Qingcang, it’s best you keep a low profile.”
Wang Xiuqing rose, his expression grim. Huang Yucheng staggered to his feet, wiping sweat from his brow, his face pale with dread. Even with the governor’s leniency, the damage to his reputation in the Prince’s eyes could not be undone so easily. Huang knew this well, yet he still bowed deeply in gratitude. As he lowered his head, he caught a glimpse of his stubborn father-in-law still standing stiff-backed. Not wanting to provoke further, he pretended not to see.
Yang Guangdou chuckled, watching Wang’s defiant expression without anger. He pulled on his boots and said, “Minister Wang, do you think I’m playing the good cop while the Prince plays the bad one?”
Wang Xiuqing indeed thought so, though he hadn’t expected Yang to be so blunt. His surprise softened his anger slightly.
Yang waved a hand, laughing, “Then you underestimate me, and even more so, the Prince. I don’t have the Prince’s ability to trace every coin you’ve given or taken. But everyone here knows the truth—Liuzhou is a barren land. A government post here may be a hardship, but the rank is real, recognized even by the imperial court. We’ve all received official notices from the Ministry of Personnel in the capital. I’ve been too busy to dig too deeply. Yu Wanqing, Li Zhaoshou, Wu Xiaoxian, and Hong Poshu—each of them, I’ve heard a little about. Like you two, they come from modest backgrounds, scraping together every coin to buy their way into office, finally earning their posts with great effort.”
Yang rubbed his chin, smiling, “Li Zhaoshou, in particular, I know well. A month ago, I spoke with him. He was full of knowledge, but amusingly, the Weaving Bureau had just sent his official robe, but his boots had not arrived. He wore a brand-new robe with worn-out shoes, constantly stroking the embroidered badge on his chest like it were a pretty girl’s face, grinning all the while. I thought then, why would a man with such talent leave a comfortable post in Lingzhou’s fertile lands to come here to Liuzhou, gaining rank but losing wealth? He must be a true scholar at heart.”
Yang turned to Wang Xiuqing, smiling softly, “I know what you’re thinking. You believe you chose these men for their virtue and learning, and though your pockets grew heavier, you brought talent to Beiliang. A win-win. So why does the Prince hold such a grudge? Wang Xiuqing, is that not your thought?”
Wang Xiuqing, blunt and stubborn, replied firmly, “Indeed.”
Yang shook his head, “Wrong. You, and even I, the third-rank Governor of Liuzhou—we’ve both failed to escape the fault of meddling beyond our station. For example, I have few capable men at hand, and things are always tight. By law, you should have been stripped of your posts and sent back to Lingzhou. Yet I must cover for you—because I think only of Liuzhou’s interests. But if every Bingcao and Duguan official in Beiliang were like you two, ignoring the rules, over time, the entire bureaucracy would sink into chaos. So when I said law must accommodate sentiment, I was only half-right. Sentiment must be considered, but too much indulgence is not sustainable. You must know this better than I—after all, you spent ten or twenty years in Lingzhou, never rising above mediocrity. Ask yourselves, will Liuzhou become another Lingzhou? With war looming, we officials who don’t even need to raise banners or cheer should not burden the Prince with such worries. Wait until the Northern Yan is defeated, and we’ll all have the chance to grab a governorship in the north. Then you can take your fill of silver—do you really think the Prince of Beiliang will haggle over every coin?”
Wang Xiuqing grinned.
Many of the officials in the room could not help but laugh.
Liu Zhen joked, “Then we old bones must live a few more years, or else all those official caps won’t mean a thing to us.”
Yang Guangdou pointed at the youngest official in the room, who managed Liuzhou’s financial records, “Qin Tianxia, you young fellow, barely forty—you’ve got the advantage. Once the quarterly salary comes in, treat us all to a feast.”
Qin scratched his head, frowning, “It’s not that I’m unwilling to spend the money, but my wife back in Youzhou is a fierce woman. If I don’t send the salary home, she’ll think I’ve been chasing women in Liuzhou and beat me black and blue. Governor, have mercy—let the richest man here, Zhou, treat us. He doesn’t even care about a few coins.”
A fat middle-aged official shouted, “Qin Tianxia, you stinking fart! You told me yesterday you secretly saved up forty taels for wine and women!”
The room burst into laughter, filled with joy.
When Xu Fengnian met Chen Xiliang, he barely recognized him.
The once delicate scholar had turned dark-skinned and lost over ten pounds.
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