Xu Fengnian, who had not touched a drop of wine from start to finish, sat back down, his expression heavy with concern.
That refined and courteous Fourth Prince, Zhao Zhuan, had proven himself no meek ruler after ascending the throne. If the death of Zhang Julu had been orchestrated by his father Zhao Dun, then Yuan Benxi’s silent passing was entirely the cold-blooded doing of Zhao Zhuan himself. Yet Xu Fengnian was not surprised. Which of the three previous Zhao emperors had not been a master at discarding loyal hounds once the rabbits were caught? This newly enthroned emperor of Liyang had secretly opened the gates of Jibei—not out of idle generosity to grant two Northern Liang generals their victories—but because after the succession of both Liyang and Northern Liang had changed hands, Xu Fengnian had first defied imperial orders, clearly stating Northern Liang’s bottom line. In response, Zhao Zhuan, upon his coronation, swiftly used the incident of ten thousand cavalry from Youzhou entering Jizhou to assert Liyang’s own limits, making it clear that the imperial court’s stance was no less firm. As for Yuan Tingshan, his redemption after the loss of Yin Yao City had not disappointed Zhao Zhuan, who, like his father Zhao Dun, closely monitored military affairs in Jizhou. Xu Fengnian had just received intelligence: the man who had transformed from the “mad dog” Yuan into General Yuan had not only led the Jizhou cavalry, but also commanded over seven thousand elite private troops entrusted to him by the head of the Yan Fortress, one of his two fathers-in-law. Ambushing his foes, they had wiped out the eight thousand cavalry led by the Northern Liang generals Dashe Zhushiwei and Wang Jingchong. The victory report sent to Tai’an City claimed, “Our losses barely reached three thousand, while we decapitated over ten thousand enemy heads.” Xu Fengnian naturally understood that the more than two thousand veteran cavalry of the Li family of Yan Fortress, accumulated over generations, were certainly not included in that three thousand figure. But after this battle, the newly enthroned emperor Zhao Zhuan would surely be elated to have secured border achievements so soon, the capital’s Ministry of War, already overwhelmed by the troubles in Guangling, would rejoice, and the eastern front in the Two Liao regions would be emboldened. Across the court and the common people, especially the literati, their opinions of this once-disparaged “mad dog” Yuan would shift dramatically. Indeed, if not for Xu Fengnian himself serving as the world’s largest target, even if Yuan Tingshan had achieved multiple times the military feats, he would have only drawn scorn and suspicion.
Xu Fengnian sneered, “Compared to me, the crown prince of Northern Liang, whose status is supposedly owed to mere luck, your fate, Yuan Tingshan, isn’t too bad either.”
What truly troubled Xu Fengnian was not Yuan Tingshan or Jizhou, but two other matters. In fact, Zhao Zhuan had been quite active since the beginning of spring. For example, he had relocated the Hanlin Academy and included in his private court discussions a minor suggestion from a Ministry of Revenue official to revise the national household registry. Compared to the former, which had little to do with Northern Liang, the latter was a direct blow to Northern Liang. Although Northern Liang’s populace remained temporarily stable, those who had already left—mainly concentrated in Lingzhou—had little impact. But if the household registry changed now, it would open a major rift. Even though Northern Liang’s military households formed the majority, the common people’s livelihoods were at stake. Those without able-bodied men serving in the border armies would not hesitate to flee the perilous region to avoid “waiting for death.”
Xu Fengnian closed his eyes. “The most influential voice on this matter, Minister Yuan Guo of the Ministry of Revenue, has remained silent. His silence is already a clear stance. A pity, for he had just begun to rise again after years in obscurity, and now, after only a few days as the ‘Earth Official Sima,’ he may soon be cast aside once more. Chancellor Qiyang Long supports the move, while the Minister of the Gatehouse, Tan Tanweng, opposes it. Tian Guan Yin Maochun supports it, but remarks that ‘this matter should proceed slowly rather than hastily; haste makes waste.’ Hmph, what a carefully chosen wording—’not easily rushed,’ ‘easily’ rather than ‘suitably,’ truly exquisitely phrased. Indeed, Vice Chancellor Zhao Youling of the Secretariat did oppose Yin Maochun, as expected of a fellow jinshi graduate who, having achieved nothing, becomes an ally, while those who rise become rivals.”
If this was not yet an immediate crisis, then there was a seemingly minor matter buried beneath a series of major events—it was both a genuine stroke of luck and an urgent predicament for the entire Northern Liang Circuit.
The stroke of luck came from another hidden maneuver by Zhang Julu, following his protégé Wei Jingtang. If not for the grain transport corruption scandal deliberately downplayed by the imperial court, Xu Fengnian would never have traced the clues to uncover Zhang Julu’s intentions. It turned out that for years, both Zhang Julu and Tan Tanweng had closely monitored the grain transport, especially the grain shipments into Liang. Though they appeared to create obstacles, they had secretly arranged for grain to be stockpiled in the shadows. These grain reserves, located in the gray areas along the Guangling River, far to the northwest of Xiangfan City, were clearly meant to be used by Zhang Julu at a critical moment. If Northern Liang truly chose to fight the Northern Liang army to the death, these originally withheld grain supplies would flow smoothly into Northern Liang. But if Northern Liang concealed its strength, with Xu Xiao and Xu Fengnian intending to retain power and carve out their own domain, then these grain supplies would remain out of reach. Zhang Julu had once been determined to reform the grain transport system, the clerks, and the Guangling flood control, but all had ended without resolution. Perhaps these unfinished reforms were the necessary sacrifices made to accommodate such hidden motives. Governing a nation is an arduous and complex endeavor. Even this concealed grain transport issue involved a series of intricate appointments of officials, and touched upon the interests of the imperial relatives and founding heroes who had long fed off this national lifeline. Balancing the smooth flow of the nation’s resources while ensuring that, should Northern Liang indeed engage in a life-or-death battle with the Northern Liang army, the imperial court—or rather, Chancellor Zhang Julu himself—could offer a gesture of goodwill, all while maintaining equilibrium between the emperor and the aristocracy, was a delicate dance indeed.
Now, Zhao Zhuan had personally turned this stroke of luck into an urgent crisis. The grain transport officials arranged by Zhang Julu were all arrested at once. Their ranks were low, and the high-ranking officials paid them no mind, perhaps even viewing their removal as an opportunity for greater profit. The emperor’s iron-fisted determination to combat corruption had earned widespread praise from both court and public. After this upheaval, who among the senior grain transport officials would dare challenge the imperial court? Northern Liang’s future grain needs would only become more difficult to satisfy.
Xu Fengnian bent his fingers, tapping the table rhythmically.
With less than two million households, barely ten million people, Northern Liang was expected to support a full thirty thousand border troops. Without the support of Lingzhou, known as the “Little Guangling of the Northwest,” the taut string of Northern Liang, stretched for over twenty years, would have snapped long ago, unable even to fire an arrow. Why had Li Degong become the chief civil official and Northern Liang’s strategist? Was it merely because he sang praises of Xu Xiao or because he was skilled at currying favor? Of course not. The reason was simple: Li Degong was a master of wealth generation. He could purchase grain through various underhanded channels, at relatively low prices. The high-ranking officials who accepted his bribes were none other than the imperial relatives and descendants of founding heroes of Liyang. Though the imperial court suffered great financial losses, these families earned no more than a million taels annually—a mere trifle. Their ancestors had risked their lives to unify the Spring and Autumn period under Liyang, so what reason did they have to feel guilt or shame for profiting from it?
In the short term, these individuals would likely not dare to provoke trouble again.
Li Degong, still serving as strategist, had already gone to Qingliang Mountain to vent his frustrations to his deputy, Song Dongming. The well-groomed official, Li, would soon find his temples graying with frost.
Under such severe circumstances, last year’s near-frantic grain stockpiling by the governor of Lingzhou, Xu Beizhi, had rapidly established and filled numerous granaries. At the time, he had been mocked as the “Granary Governor,” known only for buying rice. Yet now, he had become the lifeline of the entire Northern Liang border army. Without Xu Beizhi, Xu Fengnian would have still valued grain reserves, but he could never have achieved the scale of mobilizing an entire province’s resources to stockpile grain as Xu Beizhi had. Xu Beizhi’s procurement of grain in Lingzhou was relentless—he not only used the connections cultivated by Li Degong over the years to buy grain at high prices from outside Northern Liang, but also forced local gentry and wealthy families to sell rice at low prices. If commoners with surplus grain wanted to profit from the price difference, Xu Beizhi bought every last grain—none were spared.
Therefore, without Xu Beizhi’s granaries, Xu Fengnian would have openly “seized grain” from the homes of distant and close relatives across the Northern Liang Circuit, rather than the relatively moderate approach of sending soldiers to “borrow” grain from beyond the borders, at least offering some silver in return. But this was not a sustainable solution. Soon, the entire upper reaches of the Guangling River would effectively become a barren wasteland for Northern Liang.
Xu Fengnian opened his eyes and murmured, “At first, it was you, Chen Xiliang, who suffered setbacks in salt, iron, and grain transport and was demoted to the land of refugees. Then Xu Beizhi became the governor of a province. Later, you successfully defended your city in Liuzhou, securing over a hundred thousand able-bodied men for Northern Liang. First, Xu Beizhi was ridiculed as merely a ‘granary governor,’ but soon proved himself right, while all the others in Northern Liang who had watched with skepticism were wrong. I firmly believe that you two will make the world see you in a new light, just as I always have.”
Xu Fengnian looked around, stood up, and fetched two specially prepared Go bowls from the Fushui Bureau. The red date wood was not rare, but the intricate patterns on the two boxes—one resembling the divine craftsmanship of “Heavenly Maidens Scattering Flowers,” the other “Child Bowing”—transformed what would have been ordinary boxes worth a few taels into priceless treasures once used by the Western Chu imperial court. These had entered the common people’s hands after Western Chu’s fall, and during the Hongjia Northern Migration, they had been left behind in Liang territory, never accompanying their owners into Northern Liang.
Xu Fengnian opened the Go bowls. The white stones were all of the renowned “Snow Seal” variety, each with over twenty fine lines. The black stones were dark green, exuding a clear luster like the brain of a fish.
Sitting upright, Xu Fengnian picked up a black and a white stone in turn, placing them on the table where no Go board lay. Then, as if about to begin a game, he placed the white bowl on the opposite side and softly said, “Master, neither Xu Beizhi nor Chen Xiliang have disappointed you.”
Xu Fengnian gazed at the table, now marked by only two stones, which made the emptiness even more pronounced. He drifted into thought, finally lifting his head to face the empty space opposite him, silent.
Outside the window, the sky cleared to a pale blue. Inside, the dimness lifted as clouds parted, allowing thin rays of light to filter in, illuminating the drifting motes of dust usually invisible to the naked eye.
In the solitary room where only Xu Fengnian remained, the stones fell swiftly.
With each stone, names poured from his lips, beginning with the three characters of his own name.
Some were from Northern Liang, some from Northern Liang, and some from Liyang.
Some were dead, some alive.
Some were famous, some rising stars, some unknown.
When he reached Lu Xu’s name, Xu Fengnian paused after placing a stone and said, “At Qiyang Long’s suggestion, Zhao Zhuan established six academies, adding six academic scholars after the six senior cabinet ministers. This was to set a precedent for granting posthumous honors with the word ‘martial’ at the beginning, following the special honorific given to the Han family’s elder. It was meant to appease the civil officials and simultaneously divide the power of the six ministries. During this time, it is said that the Zhao emperor, wishing to provoke the Jing’an Prince Zhao Xun, whom you assisted, summoned you to the capital to join the Hongwen Academy, one of the six academies. Do you want to go? Will Zhao Xun let you go? Even if Zhao Xun can continue to endure humiliation and remain subservient, allowing you to leave Qingzhou Xiangfan alive, what price would you have to pay?”
Xu Fengnian suddenly smiled. “Since you are in a difficult position, and Zhao Xun even more so, let me be the good guy.”
Without turning his head, Xu Fengnian raised his voice slightly. “Mi Fengjie, Fan Xiaochai, you two go to Xiangfan and invite Lu Xu to Northern Liang. If he refuses, take him by force.”
Soon after, Xu Fengnian sighed, almost as if mocking himself. “Forget it, if Lu Xu truly does not wish to come to Northern Liang, then send him somewhere where he won’t have to worry about Zhao Gou.”
He glanced at the empty side of the table and whispered, “I really do have terrible luck, and I’m too soft-hearted. Fortunately, for all these years, my father Xu Xiao was often scolded by you for the same reason. I’ve seen it more than once.”
He looked down. The Snow Seal and Fish Brain Frost stones in the bowls were nearly gone, and the table was now densely covered with black and white stones, reminding him of the great battle between the Snow Dragon Cavalry and the Rouran Iron Cavalry beyond the Hulu Pass.
Finally, Xu Fengnian began to drink. Though he had always had a decent tolerance for alcohol before his martial training, he soon became drunk, slumping against the chair, shrinking into himself, and falling into a deep sleep.
In his dreams, he murmured repeatedly, “They’ve all gone, they’ve all gone…”
※※※
Emperor Zhao Zhuan clearly intended to follow in his predecessor’s footsteps in terms of diligence, but compared to the previous emperor’s frequent all-nighters, Zhao Zhuan was more measured. In fact, every morning without fail, he practiced a set of martial arts exercises taught to him by the Grand Master of Qingcheng Mountain, who now shared control of the Daoist sects with the Celestial Masters of Longhu Mountain. In the early days, when the young emperor attended the small court meetings filled with high-ranking officials, he had mostly listened and spoken little, rarely making decisive judgments. Now, however, he was gradually developing the bearing befitting the Son of Heaven. Aside from a few old hands like Qiyang Long and Huan Wen, even senior officials like Zhao Youling, who had long served as Minister of Personnel and held the rank of First Class, now visibly felt the pressure. The re-evaluation of the national household registry, the selection of candidates for the Six Academies, and the promotion or demotion of former Ministry of Personnel officials—each issue demanded Zhao Youling’s full attention. This brought some relief to Song Tanglu, for the Liyang dynasty could not afford any turbulence at this critical juncture. If, during this sensitive period of fighting on two fronts, there were even the slightest signs of subordinates overshadowing their superiors within the imperial court, Song Tanglu, despite knowing full well that he would be accused of eunuch interference in politics, would still have to whisper some ominous winds into the ears of those eligible to attend the small court meetings. Fortunately, it seemed that heaven favored Liyang. At the beginning of the Guangling campaign, two veteran generals, heavily relied upon by the court, had suffered disastrous defeats—one died in battle with his entire army, and the other was captured like a fish in a barrel, becoming the laughingstock of a young general nearly young enough to be their grandson. Fortunately, Song Li, a capable general under Prince Zhao Yi of Guangling and also the current emperor’s beloved uncle, proved to be a blessing for Liyang. He swiftly reclaimed the entire eastern front of Guangling, instantly quelling the arrogant ambitions of the Western Chu remnants who had boasted of marching north to the capital. On the northwestern front, officials and commoners alike in the imperial court spoke of the repeated defeats at Hulu Pass in Northern Liang’s Youzhou, claiming that the famed Northern Liang cavalry were nothing but decorative duds. Fortunately, General Yuan Tingshan of Jizhou turned the tide, utterly defeating over ten thousand elite cavalry led by two Northern Liang generals from the Autumn and Winter Campaigns. In contrast, who in the world would not curse the Northern Liang border troops as mere drunkards and the ever-elusive Xu Fengnian, who remained hidden somewhere in fear?
Song Tanglu naturally knew many secrets that even vice ministers of the Six Ministries should not and would not know—such as the heavy price the Northern Liang infantry paid for capturing two small towns beyond Youzhou’s border, the tragic fall of the fortress at Hulu Pass where not a single soul surrendered, and the appearance of Xu Fengnian’s cavalry from Youzhou, even the famed Snow Dragon Cavalry taking the battlefield. However, these secrets were best left to rot quietly in one’s belly.
Song Tanglu also knew of a particularly amusing yet dangerous tidbit that required utmost discretion. The current Emperor had a peculiar hobby—collecting jade figurines known as “Yu Ouren.” These were meticulously carved from various precious materials, each detail rendered with exquisite precision, lifelike and vivid. They ranged from one inch to four inches in height, with three distinct levels between each inch, making a total of nine ranks.
Song Li, due to his widely known and celebrated military achievements in the capital, had a jade figurine of himself standing two inches tall, placed on the desk in one of the Emperor’s secluded studies. Meanwhile, Yuan Tingshan, after his accomplishments, was elevated from one inch and six-tenths to three inches in height.
Among the more recently added figurines were figures like Sun Yin, the scholar who had gained fame through his debate victory at the Imperial Academy, and Fan Chonghou, the newly arrived “Go Sage,” as well as Gao Tingshu, the second-place imperial scholar who had drawn much attention while observing border affairs at the Ministry of War.
Yet the previous day, Song Tanglu had entered that small study—a place only he, the head eunuch of the Grand Secretariat, and two on-duty eunuchs were allowed to enter—and had discovered a brand new jade figurine. Even though no one else was present, Song Tanglu, despite his high rank, dared only a fleeting glance. The figurine depicted an extremely young stranger, unlike the proud and confident expressions of the other figurines. This one had its eyes closed, as if in deep meditation, or perhaps like a blind man.
Before even leaving the room, Song Tanglu had already deduced the identity of this person. It could only be Lu Xu, the blind Go master who had once struggled in obscurity, surviving by gambling on Go matches in the alleys of Qingzhou—a man whose name did not even appear in the Ministry of Personnel’s records.
There was no grand court assembly today, so Emperor Zhao Zhuan did not begin his morning martial arts routine until the sky had already lightened. Recently, the Empress had fallen slightly ill with a cold, and the Emperor had specially sent her to her family’s estate to recuperate. During this time, the Emperor had not visited any of his concubines. The common folk often joked, “The Emperor is not anxious, but the eunuchs are,” yet few truly understood its meaning—it referred precisely to moments like this.
Even in a modest household, the saying “of the three unfilial acts, having no heir is the gravest” was often repeated. For a vast empire, the lack of an imperial heir was no less than an invisible calamity. The longer it persisted, the more ominous the historical precedents became, filled with blood and turmoil, foretelling unpredictable “celestial changes.” Yet, despite Song Tanglu and the other eunuchs’ careful entreaties, the Emperor refused to comply. He even smiled and told Song Tanglu that such matters of favoring different concubines could occasionally be indulged in when the Empress was present in the palace, but now that she was ill and staying at her family’s home, he would absolutely not do so.
Song Tanglu felt genuine admiration.
Besides, could the Emperor’s daily martial arts practice merely be a way to pass the time?
Song Tanglu believed that no one else would dare to think as he did—that from the very beginning of his reign, the Emperor had already begun preparing to become the longest-reigning sovereign in Liyang’s history. The previous record-holder had occupied the dragon throne for thirty-four years, but he had ascended at the age of thirty-five. Song Tanglu believed that the current Emperor could easily surpass that.
After finishing his martial arts routine, Emperor Zhao Zhuan began walking in small circles, often muttering to himself.
At this moment, Song Tanglu crouched slightly and silently stepped back exactly eight paces—no more, no fewer. This small ritual had been established by the previous Grand Secretary of the Grand Secretariat, Han Shengxuan. Though a minor rule, it was one that Song Tanglu—and even his future successors—would adhere to until death.
As Zhao Zhuan walked in circles, he murmured softly, “Sun Yin, the one without an official post for now, spoke wisely. Regional princes must not be allowed to concurrently hold the post of Jiedushi (military governor). However, this change must be gradual. First, in regions without princes, we shall establish deputy Jiedushi. Then, after a year or so, we can have two influential officials from the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Personnel casually suggest the idea. Then, starting with my eldest brother’s domain, we can add deputy Jiedushi and gradually expand the practice until it becomes standard. As Sun Yin suggested, it won’t take long before we find a prince with a tainted reputation, allowing the censors to submit memorials and remove his title of Jiedushi. However, Sun Yin’s suggested target is too hasty. In my opinion, the Han King would be a far more suitable candidate. Sun Yin, though young, already understands how to read the Emperor’s mind, much like old foxes such as Yin Maochun. If not for his origins in Beiliang, I could restore his official status today and even reserve a position for him in the Chongwen Academy.”
As he walked slowly, Zhao Zhuan raised both hands to massage his temples. “Now that Lu Shengxiang has become a powerful general, he must resign from his position as Vice Minister of War, freeing up the spot for that right-hand man who has long served Gu Jiantang. This will help curb the influence of military officials from Guangling and Jiangnan. The Ministry of War is already dominated by men from that region—Minister Lu Baijie, Vice Minister Lu Shengxiang, and Xu Gong. That’s simply unacceptable. Secondly, promoting Tang Tieshuang, who has both merit and reputation, will also prevent Gu Jiantang from becoming the second…”
Zhao Zhuan let out a cold snort, not finishing the name he had heard countless times since childhood.
In truth, he held no deep resentment toward that old man. On the contrary, his feelings toward him were quite different from those of his late father. Yet he had hidden these feelings well over the years. Otherwise, he would never have come close to the imperial throne.
But that man’s son—Zhao Zhuan felt a pang of irritation every time he thought of him.
At this moment, he began to truly understand his late father.
In the previous generation, one was the sovereign, the other his subject—one surnamed Zhao, the other Xu.
In this generation, two young men—just the same.
Zhao Zhuan placed his fingers against his temples, stopped walking, and whispered with a faint smile, “The world envies and resents you for bearing the surname Xu, so they love to curse you. Whatever you do, it’s always wrong. But no one dares to curse this Emperor, do they? Since you fear dishonoring your father’s death and being called a pair of ‘servants to two masters,’ then rest assured—you can die in peace.”
Zhao Zhuan suddenly furrowed his brow, as if questioning himself, “If I were in your place, would I defect from Liyang to join the Northern Liang?”
He shook his head, dismissing the meaningless thought. Then he burst into laughter, filled with unrestrained delight. “What a pity—you were always born a Xu, while I was born a Zhao. My descendants, generation after generation, will forever bear the imperial surname. As for you—rest in peace alongside the thirty thousand iron cavalry of Beiliang. After your death, I shall ensure that those historian officials who write the annals bestow upon you a few ‘kind’ words in your posthumous judgment.”
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