In ancient times, the dynasty of Liyang, once belittled as the “Northern Barbarians,” unlike the flourishing literary realm of the Western Chu, never established the posts of Grand Preceptor or Grand Tutor. Even after unifying the Central Plains, this tradition persisted. To prevent the rise of a powerful chancellor, even the heads of the two key departments, the Secretariat and the Chancellery, remained vacant until recent years when Huan Wen and Qi Yanglong broke the precedent.
The Qinfang Academy, where the sons and grandsons of emperors and nobles pursued their studies, was served by tutors renowned for their virtue and erudition. Yet these scholars held only modest ranks, and some famed literati barely attained official status. Even Chen Wang, the current head of Qinfang, bore the honorary title of Junior Guardian, though his actual salary was lower than that of an ordinary Yellow Gate Clerk in the Hanlin Academy. Thus, when Chen Wang succeeded to the post of Junior Guardian of Qinfang, the city of Taian merely regarded him as a “junior heir apparent” like Yin Maochun, destined to endure decades of routine service before entering the central administration. But soon a shocking rumor spread like thunder: this man was not only to be appointed to a key position in the Chancellery immediately but might even wrest control from Yin Maochun, who had dominated the Hanlin Academy for over a decade!
As if to validate this whisper, the venerable Tan Tan Weng and Yao Bai Feng, the Left Sacrificial Official of the National University, paid a joint visit to the newly appointed Junior Guardian Chen Wang, reportedly engaging in spirited conversation and forming a bond across generations.
In contrast, Jin Sanlang, though now rising swiftly in rank, had never received such an honor among the imperial elite. Thus, it became evident that Chen Wang’s cultivation of prestige and influence was far more natural and effortless than that of the Vice Minister of Rites, Jin Lanting. For a time, the once obscure residence of the minor Junwang (Duke) on the aristocratic Wangjun Street in Taian became a bustling hub of carriages and visitors.
Chen Wang’s wife was the granddaughter of a man not born of the legitimate line of the previous emperor, a figure of little renown who had merely stood steadfastly behind the emperor during the Spring and Autumn Wars, earning his eldest son the hereditary title of Duke Chai. As the daughter of a duke, Chen Wang’s wife should have been demoted to the rank of county princess by tradition. However, the current emperor, moved by the loyalty of two generations of Dukes Chai, granted her an exceptional title and personally arranged her marriage to Chen Wang. In hindsight, it was not Chen Wang who had married into nobility, but the Duke Chai who had seized an unparalleled opportunity.
Chen Wang and the princess had long moved out of the ducal mansion, though their new residence was not far. It took but a cup of tea’s time for her to visit her parents. Initially, the Duke Chai feared his daughter’s frequent visits might displease Chen Wang, but over time, he came to appreciate his son-in-law’s magnanimity. With the title of Junior Guardian and an impending promotion to the influential Chancellery, Chen Wang remained as humble and courteous as ever, without the arrogance often seen in those who rise from humble origins.
The Chen residence, however, remained closed to visitors, a rule Chen Wang had imposed even before his rise. Many ambitious officials, unable to gain access, turned instead to his father-in-law’s house, further elevating the reputation of the Duke Chai, known mockingly as the “Cold Bench Duke.” The aging Duke, now with more time on his hands, would stroll with a smile to chat with neighbors, his earlier frustrations seemingly lifted.
The city of Taian welcomed its second snowfall. The old snow had not yet melted when new snow blanketed the streets. Some lazy households gave up on clearing the snow altogether, while seasoned elders muttered about the possibility of more snow before the New Year, though they lamented the bitter cold for the aged.
Despite the chill, the elders gathered by the hearth to chat. The people of the capital, ever fond of political discourse, especially those who had lived through two or even three reigns of the Liyang emperors, remained cautiously optimistic despite the recent unrest on the northwestern frontier and the ongoing war in Guangling. After two decades of peace and prosperity, bolstered by the strong foundations of the Yonghui Spring, the old folks of the capital firmly believed that peace would return by the next winter. Some even hoped to witness the conquest of the northern barbarians before their deaths.
In the part of Taian known as the Duke’s Lane, a subtle rivalry emerged with the residence of the Chief Minister Zhang. While the latter bustled with activity during morning and evening court sessions, the former remained eerily quiet. Though the mansions of the dukes housed some of the most exalted figures, few held real political power, regarded as mere ornamental figures excluded from the heart of government by the “Purple-Bearded, Green-Eyed” elite since the Yonghui era. They appeared only during grand ceremonies, while the streets near the Chief Minister’s residence teemed with officials in purple and crimson robes.
Yet since the autumn of Xiangfu Year, the previously lifeless Duke’s Lane began to stir with increasing carriages and new faces.
As dusk fell, the Chen residence, once among the least distinguished in the lane, saw its young master bring home an unfamiliar guest for the first time. The old gatekeeper, a servant of the old Duke’s household for generations, could not recognize the middle-aged man in official robes who accompanied Chen Wang. The guest wore the embroidered peacock insignia of a third-grade civil official, but the gatekeeper, sharp-eyed as he was, sensed something unusual. Though clearly a scholar-official, the man carried himself like a battle-hardened general, yet lacked the roughness of those who frequented the Ministry of War in earlier years.
The household’s modest staff barely maintained the four-courtyard estate, so as Chen Wang and his guest made their way to the study, they encountered no one. Unlike the grand mansions of the dukes, where evening banquets brought lively chatter and camaraderie over wine and snow, the Chen residence exuded a quiet, secluded charm.
Upon entering, the couple was greeted by a tall, unassuming woman—Chen Wang’s wife. She arrived just as her husband was preparing tea, the fire flickering and the kettle beginning to boil, bringing a touch of warmth to the quiet room. Looking up, Chen Wang smiled and introduced, “This is the Vice Minister of War, Xu Xiaolong.”
In the aristocratic Duke’s Lane, where no one was ignorant of court affairs, the princess, granted the title of Princess Changle, immediately recognized the guest’s identity: General Xu Gong of the Dragon-Rearing Army, the pillar of the Gu Mu Xu Clan, and one of the most respected young generals in the Liyang military. Dubbed the “new bride” of Taian, she had heard that Xu was not well-received in court—not openly demoted, but struggling to integrate into the capital’s political circles as smoothly as the famed swordsman Lu Bai Jie. Though indifferent to politics, Princess Changle understood the importance of hospitality. She greeted Xu Gong politely, took over the tea-making, served the two men, and then quietly withdrew, careful not to intrude.
Xu Gong teased, “Junior Guardian, you are truly blessed. We can only envy you.”
Xu had always been a local official, never seeking connections in the capital’s inner circles. His arrival in Taian was made possible only through the efforts of senior clan members and elders from Jiangnan who “sold their old faces.” His future depended entirely on his own efforts. His connection with Chen Wang dated back to when Chen, as Director of the Evaluation Bureau, had worked with Xu during the nationwide official assessment. Their friendship had grown quickly, though Xu had never imagined Chen would rise so swiftly to the heights of power.
Chen Wang did not demur, smiling as he replied, “Among the many golden branches of the Zhao family, my wife’s temperament is indeed quite agreeable.”
He paused, his expression softening. “I cherish her deeply.”
Xu hesitated before asking, “May I be so bold as to inquire? Though my family has long wished for me to enter the Ministry of War, I am puzzled by the elders’ reaction to my summons to the capital. The venerable Yu Gong even gave me the parting words, ‘Fortune and Misfortune Intertwined,’ with a tone of uncertainty. It is clear that the Jiangnan elders desired my arrival in the capital, but whether I would come was beyond their control. May I ask, did someone in the capital speak in my favor?”
True friendship demands candor. Xu knew his question defied protocol, but he trusted Chen’s sincerity.
Chen smiled and pointed to himself.
Xu was stunned.
Chen’s expression grew serious. “When the Grand Secretary Yu Jiankang first came to the capital, he certainly intended to recommend you. But for reasons unknown, the plan was abandoned. I believe he ultimately decided it was too dangerous for you to enter Taian’s treacherous waters. At the time, I was still serving in the Evaluation Bureau. I spoke to the Crown Prince about you. Of course, it was merely a gesture—unless you possessed the ability, no words of mine would have mattered.”
Xu could only laugh helplessly.
Chen continued, “Grand Secretary Yu has his reasons, and I have mine. In these turbulent times, I believe your talents are wasted in the provinces. Must you miss another Spring and Autumn War? How many more chances can you afford to lose? At the same time, I understand Yu’s caution. He sees you as a rare treasure, waiting for the moment when the situation worsens—perhaps then, a mere Vice Minister of War will no longer suffice to ‘dismiss’ you, the hidden dragon of the Dragon-Rearing Army.”
Xu nodded. “I hear you, Junior Guardian.”
Chen smiled. “Then don’t blame me for sending you to patrol the Liaodong border, where the capital mocks you. Shall I drink three cups in apology?”
Xu laughed heartily. “Brother Chen, you flatter yourself!”
Chen retorted, “You’ve called me ‘Junior Guardian’ countless times, and only now say ‘Brother Chen’—who is truly being pretentious?”
The burly Xu, sitting like a mountain, replied with a grin, “I beg your forgiveness, Junior Guardian.”
Inside, the princess stood hesitantly by the door, intending to inform her husband that she would visit her parents. Seeing the warm smile on his face, she felt both joy and guilt. Joy that her husband was a man of impeccable virtue, and that he had found a friend with whom he could share tea and conversation. Guilt, because she had never known how to share his burdens. Intuitively, she sensed his deep repression, the constant vigilance required in the emperor’s shadow. She and her father, though royal kin, were perhaps a burden rather than a support. Chen never drank, not even on their wedding day. He studied late into the night, rising before dawn, always immersed in books and duties. Yet he never made her feel neglected. Though not the most perceptive of women, she knew he cherished her deeply, and that he remained faithful—his integrity unmatched among the ducal mansions of the lane.
He cherished her.
And she cherished him, though she did not know how to ease his burdens. As the two most brilliant men of Liyang sipped tea and spoke freely, she quietly withdrew.
Chen asked Xu about the situation in Guangling. Xu’s expression darkened. “The Ministry of War initially expected the rebellion to be quelled within six months—not entirely wishful thinking. If Yang Shenxiu and Yan Zhenshun had held their ground instead of suffering defeat, the Western Chu’s resurgence would have been a slow death. But their losses allowed the Western Chu to sharpen its blade, giving Xie Xichui and Kou Jianghuai the space to grow stronger through war. Now, with the Western Chu gaining strength, a swift victory is unlikely. Worse still, General Lu Shengxiang remains a figurehead, battling not only the rebels but also the court’s intrigues and the rivalries within the military. Meanwhile, the Western Chu stands united. With each passing day, the enemy grows stronger, and this war will be hard-fought. At least the court has not blamed Lu entirely or replaced him mid-campaign. Otherwise…”
Chen Wang nodded and said, “The Crown Prince has stated that he is mentally prepared for the remnants of the Xichu forces to march into the capital region.”
Xu Gong was greatly alarmed and hurriedly glanced around.
Chen Wang spoke calmly, “Rest assured, even if these words reach the Prince, neither you nor I will face any consequences. The Prince does have the magnanimity to overlook such matters.”
Xu Gong’s heart was stirred.
A simple sentence from the young minister revealed too many secrets.
On the surface, it praised Crown Prince Zhao Zhuan for his tolerance and his pessimistic view of the war against Xichu. But the deeper meaning was that Chen Wang was sending him a subtle message: the Crown Prince is a forgiving heir apparent, worthy of your allegiance. If one dug even deeper, Xu Gong felt a chill run down his spine. At this sensitive moment when the Crown Prince was merely acting as regent and the Emperor was still alive, was it too soon for someone to advise—or rather, remind—a vice minister of the Ministry of War to take a clear stance? Could there be some hidden intrigue? After all, in recent years, there had been no whispers in the capital of the Emperor’s ill health.
Could it be…?
As Xu Gong wrestled with these thoughts, Chen Wang seemed to have merely made a bland, casual remark, quickly moving on to the next question, “How long can Beiliang hold out? If the northwestern gateway falls, how shall we defend next?”
Xu Gong, with his seasoned experience, remained calm and composed while sitting opposite the expressionless Chen Wang. He had already prepared an answer for such matters of duty and responded immediately, “Under normal circumstances, relying solely on the Beiliang border army, they could hold for two years. However, this is based on the assumption that neither side makes major blunders or harbors grand conspiracies. In reality, when two armies face each other, you can never predict whether the opponent’s next move will be brilliant or foolish. Many classic battles in history have been shaped by chance circumstances—some turning mistakes into victories, others leading to inexplicable defeats or even victories that surprised the victors themselves. In a typical standoff where the commanding generals are mediocre, it simply becomes a test of strength and resources, with no suspense. But the war between Beiliang and the Beiman is different; it cannot be generalized, because both sides have far too many renowned generals.”
Xu Gong’s eyes grew distant, filled with awe, “Beiliang has Zhu Luxian, Yuan Zuozong, Yan Wenluan, Chen Yunchui, He Zhonghu—each a seasoned general capable of commanding independently. And the Beiman has Tuoba Bosa, Dong Zhuo, Liu Gui, Huang Songpu, Yang Yuanzan…”
Xu Gong sighed, “Almost every one of them can create unpredictable variables in the battlefield.”
Xu Gong became increasingly immersed in the discussion. Once he started talking, he couldn’t stop. Holding a cup in one hand without drinking, he gestured with the other, “Before Beiliang was incorporated into the Liyang territory, the northern nomads had two main routes for their southern invasions. The first was to target Beiliang, the neck of the Central Plains, where armies descending from the highlands often advanced swiftly. The drawback was the long front line; even if they reached Xiangfan, the waist of the Central Plains, they could rarely push further and would eventually retreat after plundering. The second route was to breach the Jizhou border and infiltrate southward. Light cavalry would scout in waves, clearing scattered obstacles outside the passes. This both concealed the main force and terrorized villages, forcing the Central Plains to retreat into fortified positions. Cities became isolated islands, the border defenses collapsed, and the northern cavalry advanced unimpeded.”
“Now, the Beiman seems to have chosen an unwise route, but in reality, they are prioritizing immediate concerns over long-term consequences. They have no better option. The northern barbarians are determined to attack our dynasty, and they have no perfect strategy—only mediocre and inferior ones. The Beiman cannot afford to delay, while our dynasty can endure the war. If they wait until the fall of Xichu in the Guangling region, then launching a war would be truly hopeless. A stable Central Plains and a proactive imperial court would spell doom for the northern nomads. Suppose the Beiman first attack the western front—the Liao defenses built with half the nation’s resources. Naive observers might think this route is closest to the capital and thus logical. But the truth is that the Beiman could never fully commit to a southern campaign, because the thirty thousand Beiliang border troops would surely coordinate with the eastern Liao front, launching an offensive against the Beiman’s southern territories. If Beiliang cavalry were to penetrate deep into the grasslands, even if the Beiman army somehow reached the capital’s gates, they would never return. Not only would their southern territories fall, but their northern royal court might be utterly destroyed.”
“Therefore, since the Beiman have chosen the tough nut of Beiliang as their breakthrough point, let’s take a step back and assume they manage to destroy Beiliang at great cost. Even then, they wouldn’t have time to catch their breath, because soon after, they would face two brutal battles simultaneously. The most critical point is that these two wars would happen at the same time, forcing the weakened Beiman into a two-front war. In the west, there’s Chen Zhibao guarding Shu, and in the east, General Gu Jiantang leads the forces. These are not soft targets for the Beiman.”
“And if we take another step back—if Chen Zhibao fails to contain the Beiman and Gu Jiantang’s supposedly impregnable eastern front collapses completely, what then? Let the Beiman have the capital. Our dynasty still has the strength to fight!”
At this, Xu Gong swept his hand from north to south, “We can retreat all the way south of the Guangling River. Don’t forget there’s Prince Yanche Zhao Bing’s battle-hardened army. With Zhao Bing’s forces as the core, the Emperor could easily rally an army of five hundred thousand.”
Xu Gong suddenly gave a self-deprecating smile, “Of course, if the Beiman push us to this point, they deserve to win. If they ultimately conquer the world, I, at least, would accept it willingly. After all, the only thing left would be to die in battle.”
Chen Wang said softly, “All of this depends on one premise.”
Xu Gong remained silent for a moment before nodding, “The premise is that Beiliang is willing to fight to the bitter end.”
Chen Wang murmured to himself, “I know that person is willing.”
Xu Gong grunted, “Of course. After all, he is Xu Xiao’s son. Anyone else might retreat, but not him.”
Chen Wang smiled, “It’s hard for me to connect the young nobleman who once paid me to write poems with the current Prince of Beiliang, who dares to fight at a moment’s notice.”
Xu Gong was at a loss for words.
Chen Wang whispered, “The snow in Beiliang is as thick as mats. I imagine the capital is also blanketed in heavy snow. My hometown must be even colder.”
Xu Gong felt a deep admiration for this younger man, a native of Beiliang who had come to the capital to pass the imperial examinations and rise through the ranks without ever uttering a single word against his homeland. He never hid his affection for the young prince of Beiliang, even then. Despite this, he still gained the Emperor’s favor and climbed steadily in rank, even having the potential to reach the pinnacle and become the future leader of the civil officials. The story behind this was something Xu Gong could hardly believe, nor did he dare to ask Chen Wang to share it. Even if Chen Wang were willing to speak, Xu Gong, for all his boldness, would not dare to listen—unless one day Chen Wang truly removed the “heir apparent” title and became a second Zhang Julu, and Xu Gong himself became the second Gu Jiantang of the Liyang Dynasty.
Their conversation was like drinking tea—satisfying to seven or eight parts, leaving a lingering aftertaste. To continue further might have made them both seem disagreeable.
Xu Gong stood to take his leave.
Chen Wang also rose to see him off, all the way to the gate, smiling, “Tomorrow, Brother Xu, you must head north. I must also go to the Qianmian Study on time, so I won’t accompany you further.”
Xu Gong nodded, “No problem. We’ll have many more chances to meet.”
Xu Gong departed in an unassuming carriage, slowly disappearing into the snowy night. The tracks left by the wheels were quickly buried under the heavy snowfall.
Chen Wang turned and stepped onto the threshold. Looking up at the night sky, he suddenly said to the old gatekeeper, “Old Song, prepare a carriage. I’d like to go admire the snow. And remember to let her know.”
The old man was surprised, “Curfew?”
Chen Wang, still in his official robes like Xu Gong, smiled, “We’ll leave the city without changing clothes.”
The old servant beamed with pride, “Right away, Master.”
Not long after, a carriage left the southern gate and stopped at a small ferry crossing.
Chen Wang stepped down from the carriage. For some reason, though he stood at a southern ferry, his gaze was fixed to the west.
He took out a small piece of wood he always carried and gently smelled it.
In his youth, he had read an ancient saying: “Three lifetimes of good karma bring the chance to meet someone special in this life.”
In his hand was a precious piece of Qi Nan agarwood.
Back then, he was a poor scholar, uncertain of his future, sitting at a shady ferry surrounded by reeds, studying diligently. She would often wash clothes while listening to him read.
He had promised her that once he succeeded in the imperial examinations, he would return in glory and bring her some Qi Nan agarwood.
And more.
He would marry her.
Then, he traveled thousands of miles to the capital, the finest city under heaven, and successfully passed the imperial exams, leaping through the dragon gate.
But in the end, he married someone else. When he lifted the red veil, the beautiful face illuminated by candlelight…
Was not hers.
He had only sent her four words: “Do not wait, do not think of me.”
All these years, what he feared most was not the Emperor, whose mind was inscrutable, nor the Crown Prince, who concealed his sharpness, nor even the ever-present Zhao Gou spies.
What he feared most was talking in his sleep, calling out her name, and that the path he had chosen with such passion might bring harm to that gentle woman far away in Beiliang.
She had once blushed and solemnly told him, “Once we’re married, you won’t be allowed to do any farm work. Because you’re a scholar.”
Chen Wang tightened his grip on the agarwood, his lips trembling, his eyes closed.
In the deep winter snow, it kept falling on his shoulders, but he paid no heed.
Chen Wang.
“Wang”—the name of longing, the sun in the east, the moon in the west, gazing at each other from afar.
The young heir apparent slowly opened his eyes and whispered, “Have you found a good home?”
Even if not, please don’t wait anymore.
If you have married, I hope it is to a scholar who cherishes you more than I ever did. Surely you resent me, the heartless man I was.
Tears streamed down Chen Wang’s face.
What he did not know was that the person he longed for was still waiting for him at the ferry, though no longer standing—now lying forever among the reeds, waiting endlessly.
She had passed away without resentment, while the one who had not returned remained unaware.
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