Su Su had never imagined that in this lifetime, he would live a carefree and affluent life akin to that of an immortal. He still remembered growing up in that small town in the Northern Wilderness, where the only thing he had was idle leisure—but not the kind that came with wealth. However, after arriving in Nanzhao, especially after Old Master Zhao struck an alliance with a certain man in white, his days truly began to flourish. He now resided in what was said to be the former summer retreat of the Nanzhao royal family, dined on the finest delicacies, and even the outhouse was more luxurious than any place he had lived before. Occasionally, guests would visit under the cover of night, each with a more intimidating status than the last. Su Su had already met six or seven of the old nobility from the former Nanzhao, and around Old Master Zhao, unfamiliar faces were appearing more and more frequently—especially those elderly men of similar age to the master, who liked to prefix their names with titles like “Minister” or “Vice Minister.” Almost every one of them would weep uncontrollably upon seeing Su Su. He knew these were likely the former ministers of the Western Shu dynasty who had come upon hearing the news. As Old Master Zhao had instructed, Su Su was to listen more and speak less, simply shedding silent tears alongside these elders. If he truly couldn’t cry, he was to rub a pinch of Nanzhao’s special “Little Sparrow Pepper” powder into his palms beforehand, then lower his head and pretend to wipe his tears. One swipe, and it would be impossible not to cry. Su Su had tried it once and never wanted to repeat the experience—his eyes had remained swollen for two or three days. But at the time, the effect had been remarkable, moving those Western Shu elders to tears. The oldest among them had even fainted from weeping.
Today, Old Master Zhao had sent Su Su to a library called the “Ploughing Eyes Tower,” not to actually cultivate his mind through reading, but simply to maintain the appearance of scholarly refinement. Taking advantage of the lack of supervision, Su Su sat on the railing of the high tower, with the blind female qin master Xue Songguan standing beside him. After their near-death encounter at the hands of Chen Zhibao, Su Su had stopped pestering the blind musician to play the roles of the young hero and the demoness. Perhaps once bitten, twice shy—he had developed a certain wariness toward the so-called martial world. These days, Xue Songguan had been busy helping Old Master Zhao mediate relations with the eighteen tribes of Nanzhao, traveling across most of the region. Su Su missed her dearly, but when they finally reunited, he found himself at a loss for words. The two of them stood in silence.
Su Su finally lifted his head and spoke slowly, “Back then, I loved daydreaming, imagining that I might be the posthumous child of some great figure, or perhaps the illegitimate son of a noble family, hidden from the light. Maybe one day, I’d be recognized and return to my roots, achieving immense success. Now, I’ve discovered that I really am the crown prince of a nation. But now that the dream has come true, I realize that even if I wear the dragon robe and am truly the crown prince, I still don’t feel like one. Thankfully, Old Master Zhao spent the past year cramming me with the ways of the wealthy—things like ‘Feng Tie Tang Bei,’ ‘Qing Tian Huang Dong,’ and ‘Jiao Ye Qing Hua.’ A whole pile of treasures. For some reason, I’ve always loved valuable things since childhood. And these things are valuable enough, right? At first, I was thrilled, even wanting to sleep with them. But as time passed, I lost interest. It’s like… a poor boy rolling in the mud suddenly marries a stunningly beautiful wife. It’s not that he doesn’t like her, but he knows deep down he can’t keep her. One day, she’ll leave.”
The young qin master, who had accompanied Su Su and Zhao Dingxiu from the Northern Wilderness to Nanzhao, was blind but perceptive. She smiled softly and said, “The Su family ruled Western Shu for two full centuries. Though your father lost it twenty years ago, now with Old Master Zhao’s assistance and the promise of the Shu King, this legacy can still be preserved. As Chen Zhibao said, though you may never become the Shu Emperor, you can at least be a Liyang Shu King with your own territory. That way, you’ll have done right by your ancestors.”
Su Su sighed. “If Xu Fengnian hadn’t found us in the Northern Wilderness, how could I have come this far? The books say, ‘A wise bird chooses its tree to perch on.’ The reasoning makes sense, but for someone like me, the truth has never been in books. It’s either about fists or…”
The former crown prince, who had fled the Western Shu palace in swaddling clothes, smiled bitterly and pointed to his chest. “Or it’s right here. I, Su Su, may always bicker with that Xu fellow and badmouth him in front of you, but you know—he’s the only real friend I’ve ever had. Of course, what kind of person is Xu Fengnian? The most powerful non-imperial prince in the world, one of the four Great Grandmasters, and damnably handsome to boot. Paired with the ‘Southern Song’ as the ‘Northern Xu,’ and with his vast knowledge—how could such a rare, dashing figure possibly consider me, Su Su, a friend? But I truly regard him as one. And yet, after coming to Nanzhao and gaining this immense advantage, just when I was finally standing firm and ready to repay him, that poker-faced man in white intervened, and Old Master Zhao cast aside Xu Fengnian’s Northern Liang. I know there was no other choice, but in my heart, I feel terrible about it.”
Xue Songguan said softly, “As you said, it was unavoidable.”
Su Su rubbed his face fiercely, then cupped his cheeks and mumbled, “Yeah, unavoidable. What can a guy like me—with no great ambitions or real talent—do besides eating, drinking, sleeping, and acting the part every day?”
She hesitated before sighing. “Actually, Old Master Zhao isn’t feeling well either. He often drinks with your blacksmith uncle to drown his sorrows. Once, he got so drunk he made quite a scene.”
Su Su lowered his hands and leaned on the railing, smiling bitterly. “I’ve never blamed Old Master Zhao. If he hadn’t raised me like a father and mother, there’d be no Su Su. Besides, I know exactly what kind of temper the old man has—stubborn as a rock in a latrine. If it weren’t for me, for the long-lost Western Shu dynasty, he’d never act against his principles like this.”
Xue Songguan nodded.
Su Su suddenly mused, “I feel tired just lazing around all day. So tell me—whether it’s Xu Fengnian, who bears the lives of 300,000 Northern Liang cavalry, or the ambitious Shu King Chen Zhibao, who aims for the world—do these people truly enjoy it, or do they also feel exhausted?”
The blind qin master shook her head with a smile. “I don’t know.”
Su Su turned to her, grinning brightly. “If—just if—one day I could truly let go of everything and roam the martial world with you, and I told the new heroes and grandmasters I met, ‘Hey, I once mooched food and drinks off Xu Fengnian, the greatest under heaven,’ wouldn’t that be incredibly impressive?”
The woman, recalling how she had nearly killed that young prince in a rainy alley back in the Northern Wilderness, smiled knowingly. “It couldn’t be more impressive.”
Su Su’s smile was intoxicating. “Even though I’m still jealous of Xu Fengnian, there’s a kind of person in this world—no matter what, once you meet them, you just can’t bring yourself to dislike them. Right?”
The blind qin master smiled without answering.
Su Su asked cautiously, “You really… don’t like him? To be honest, if I were a woman, I’d probably be infatuated with him too.”
She sighed. “Why would I like him? Because he’s handsome? But I’m blind.”
Su Su scratched his head, feeling there was something off about that reasoning.
She leaned on the railing. “If we go to the Central Plains’ martial world in the future, should I still play the bloodthirsty demoness, and you the righteous young hero?”
Su Su gazed into the distance, his expression resolute. “No! We’ll be an immortal couple!”
The blind woman blushed for the first time ever, turning her head away and murmuring, “Su Su, I’m blind.”
Su Su lowered his head, looking at the back of her head, and said gently, “I know.”
The Xuan-ranked female expert whispered timidly, “I’m also older than you.”
Su Su grinned. “I know that too.”
She turned back, lifting her head to “look” at Su Su with a teasing smile. “If we ever reach the Central Plains’ martial world, with its countless beauties, and I catch you ogling any female heroes or fairies, I, Xue Songguan, will kill them on the spot.”
Su Su chuckled awkwardly. “Well… I didn’t know that before, but now I do.”
She beamed. “Just kidding.”
Su Su placed a hand gently on her forehead. “I may not be blind, but in my eyes, there’s only you.”
—
In the back mountains of Northern Liang, two elderly stonemasons, Mi Qiong and Peng He, sat before a simple thatched hut, a small stool between them holding some snacks and wine. Another old man arrived as promised, carrying two jars of “Green Ant Wine” from the cellar of the Liangliang Mountain Palace. This man had a pale, beardless face, and his gait and voice carried an air of effeminacy. As seasoned Northern Liang scholars, Mi Qiong and Peng He knew what this implied but never brought it up after becoming acquainted. The old man, surnamed Zhao, was a eunuch. As for why he had left the imperial palace to retire in Liangliang Mountain, the two scholars had no interest in probing. Initially, they had little fondness for the man named Zhao Sikui, but after the elderly eunuch began visiting regularly to lend a hand—and proving himself more dexterous and refined than the average craftsman—the three men, of similar age, gradually became drinking companions.
Mi Qiong and Peng He greeted Zhao Sikui warmly as he sat down. The three elders, their combined ages nearing two centuries, gathered around the stool. The two Northern Liang calligraphy masters, still in ink-stained robes, downed their wine in one gulp and exhaled heavily, their expressions somber. Zhao Sikui, once the chief eunuch of the Liyang palace’s Seal Office, retained his sharp observational skills despite no longer wearing the conspicuous crimson python robe. However, he chose not to comment, taking a small sip of wine and steering the conversation toward lighter matters. “I’ve just returned from the Qinglu Cave Academy. Huang Shang, the academy’s master, asked me to request a few calligraphy pieces from you two. I didn’t dare promise anything, only said I’d pass along the message.”
Mi Qiong shook his head. “Right now, Old Peng and I have no leisure for calligraphy. I’m afraid we’ll have to disappoint you and Master Huang.”
Zhao Sikui could see that the two men, who spent their days carving steles, were trembling from exhaustion. He smiled. “No rush. Master Huang said he could wait—years, even a decade if necessary.”
Peng He chuckled. “Once the prince drives back the Northern Mang barbarians, I’ll personally deliver thirty or forty pieces to Huang Shang’s Qinglu Cave Academy. But Brother Zhao, since we’re all friends here, I’ll be blunt. We’ve heard that many scholars from outside the province have been meddling in Northern Liang’s military and governance, acting as if their arrival at Liangliang Mountain Palace or Huaiyang Pass could turn the tide. These brats don’t know the first thing about hardship. Just because our prince is lenient, they think they can push their luck. Why doesn’t Huang Shang rein them in?”
Having been steeped in palace politics, Zhao Sikui didn’t simply echo Peng He’s indignation. He shook his head. “It’s not that he can’t control them, but heavy-handed methods would backfire. Besides, compared to when they first arrived, these scholars have changed a lot. Though they still occasionally spout naive idealism, their intentions are good. Many who came seeking career opportunities now identify as Northern Liang natives. That’s a tremendous improvement.”
Mi Qiong, who had once smashed a prized inkstone in front of Xu Fengnian, nodded. “Scholarly seeds take root. These young men are truly sprouting in Northern Liang. One day, our land will have towering trees of scholarship that even the Central Plains will look up to, forming our own majestic grove of intellect.”
Peng He raised his cup, pausing before sighing. “I just fear we old men won’t live to see that day.”
The more hot-tempered Mi Qiong grumbled, “Let’s not even talk about Yao Baifeng, who left for the Imperial Academy—his virtue and learning are top-notch, truly a great Confucian. Even though he’s gone, I still hope he thrives in the court. But that Yan Jiexi is another story! Climbing the ranks by currying favor, he became a grand academician and forgot his roots. Rumor has it he’s in line to be a vice examiner for the next imperial exams, and he’s already announced plans to slash Northern Liang’s quota from forty to twenty! After all the calligraphy I wrote for that old wretch’s birthdays, I wish I could chop off my own hand!”
Peng He sneered. “Yan the Turtle is just covering his back. Think about it—from the older generation like Yao Baifeng to the younger ones like Chen Wang and Sun Yin, which of our Northern Liang scholars hasn’t risen to the top in court? Even Jin Lanting, now a vice minister of rites and fellow vice examiner, came from here. Cutting our exam quota was likely a scheme hatched by Yan Jiexi and Jin Lanting, that old and young pair of snakes.”
Zhao Siku chuckled with amusement and said, “Relax, my old friends. From my perspective, the quotas for Beiliang won’t be reduced—quite the opposite. It’s simple: with more and more scholars flocking to Beiliang, how could the court not panic? At this point, the proposals by Yan Jiexi and Jin Lanting are just for show. Those high-ranking officials in the court won’t accept them. Instead, they’ll increase the quotas. Not only that, but a significant portion of these Beiliang scholars heading to the capital for the imperial exams will likely thrive in Tai’an City. The court simply wants to send a message to our Beiliang scholars: ‘Master both the pen and the sword, and sell your talents to the imperial family.’ From now on, the court’s offers will never be low. After all, flowers bloom inside the wall, but their fragrance spreads beyond.”
Peng He was stunned for a moment before gritting his teeth and saying, “This court is utterly shameless!”
Mi Qiong was even more blunt: “If I were the prince, I’d just stop these scholars from leaving. Why let the fertile water flow to outsiders?”
Zhao Siku shook his head with a smile. “Since the Great General’s time, Beiliang has never stooped to such underhanded tactics. And under the current prince’s rule, I doubt it ever will. To many officials in Liyang, this might seem foolish, but in my eyes, justice lies in the hearts of the people—and that’s enough.”
Mi Qiong nodded. “Yes, justice lies in the hearts of the people.”
Peng He drained his cup in one gulp, gripping the empty vessel tightly, his voice hoarse. “Liu Jinu, the commander of Hutou City, is dead. Lieutenant Chu Hanqing is dead. Lieutenant Ma Jili is dead. Every infantryman and cavalryman in Hutou City is dead. In Youzhou’s Hulu Pass, Wogong City, Luanhe City, Xiaguang City, and Liuzhou’s Qingcang City—so many places, so many Beiliang border troops, so many dead! Does the Liyang court know? Do the people of the Central Plains know?”
Peng He set down his cup and thumped his chest hard, choking back tears. “I don’t care if they know or not. Old Mi and I, two decrepit fools, have carved the names of so many young Beiliang warriors with our own hands. Every day, it’s the white-haired sending off the black-haired. It’s suffocating!”
Zhao Siku, who had once been a pawn of the Zhao family guarding the celestial being Gao Shulu, remained silent.
*Young Master, if you hadn’t died young, if you could see this today, would you regret choosing Chen Zhibao instead of supporting Xu Fengnian with all your might, like Li Yishan did?*
—
Before autumn had even arrived, Jizhou was already embroiled in a chaotic and troublesome season.
At this time, the newly appointed military governor of the Lianghuai Circuit, Cai Nan, and the subsequent administrative commissioner, Han Lin, quickly became the talk of the capital’s political circles. Officials in the capital were reluctant to speak well of Cai Nan, a former trusted general of the Great Pillar of the State, Gu Jiantang. However, Han Lin, the former vice minister of justice, was a widely respected scholar-official in Tai’an City, so most capital officials sympathized with him, lamenting his misfortune in being assigned to such a mess. Strangely, during this period, a certain Zhao who had entered the Lianghuai Circuit earlier than these two high-ranking officials was never mentioned—despite being the third son of the late emperor, though not as prominent as the eldest prince Zhao Wu or the current emperor, his mother was the daughter of the influential Peng family from the northern scholar faction. Yet after being enfeoffed as the Prince of Han and sent to Jizhou, Zhao Xiong seemed to vanish without a trace. This was surprising, given that the third prince had once been a notorious figure in Tai’an City, constantly embroiled in romantic scandals. In Zhao Xiong’s heyday, the current “Four Young Masters of the Capital,” led by Wang Yuanran, were still nobodies in some obscure corner. Of the late emperor’s six sons, the eldest, Zhao Wu, was enfeoffed in Liaodong and was the only prince with actual military authority, holding the title of General Who Guards the North, assisting Gu Jiantang and the old Prince Zhao Shui in defending the northern borders. The second prince, Zhao Wen, went to the misty, scholar-rich Jiangnan Circuit. The fifth prince, Zhao Hong, was enfeoffed as the Prince of Yue in the former Dongyue territory. The sixth prince, Zhao Chun, was still too young to leave the capital.
The newly built Prince of Han’s residence featured a lake named Tingtao Lake, a clear allusion to the famous Tingchao Lake in the Beiliang Prince’s residence. At the center of Tingtao Lake stood a pavilion surrounded by water, accessible only by lotus-picking boats. Inside the pavilion, a rattan bed and bamboo table were arranged, with plump peonies in a vase and incense smoke curling from a burner.
Dressed in plain white casual robes, Zhao Xiong reclined on the bed, holding a wine cup. A maidservant stood before him holding an ancient tome, another held a tray of seasonal fruits, and yet another fanned him from behind to ward off the summer heat.
Zhao Xiong read a page, drank a cup, and enjoyed his solitude.
The afternoon passed leisurely for the young Prince of Han.
Glancing at the sky outside the window, Zhao Xiong soon had a maid help him into his boots. He walked to the railing, squinting at the motionless figure on the lakeshore. “No wonder he became the youngest provincial general in our dynasty. He’s certainly persistent,” Zhao Xiong mused.
Leaving the pavilion, Zhao Xiong took a lotus boat back to shore. Approaching the embattled Jizhou general, the latter clasped his fists and said solemnly, “General Yuan Tingshan pays his respects to His Highness, the Prince of Han!”
Zhao Xiong waved casually and chuckled. “Speak freely, General Yuan.”
Yuan Tingshan slowly raised his head. Despite standing for an entire afternoon, his eyes were bright, showing no trace of fatigue, and his expression held no hint of flattery. “I beg Your Highness to include harsh words about me in the secret memorial that can reach the emperor’s desk.”
Zhao Xiong feigned surprise. “How does General Yuan know I have the duty to submit secret memorials? And why would you want me to speak ill of you? I’ve heard your situation is already dire enough—you gained no favor from your father-in-law, and recently, even some of your hard-won allies have defected to Jizhou’s deputy general, Han Fang. Even Governor Cai has refused to see you, let alone Commissioner Han. After waiting all afternoon in my residence, shouldn’t you be seeking aid in your time of need? Why ask for more trouble? Tired of being a general and eager to taste prison life?”
Unfazed by the prince’s sarcasm, Yuan Tingshan remained bowed, his tone earnest. “For this visit, I’ve brought ten thousand taels of gold and ten chests of rare antiques and paintings…”
As the young man, whom some capital officials privately called a “mad dog,” spoke calmly, Zhao Xiong momentarily lost focus, inexplicably recalling a scene he had never witnessed but heard of many times.
Years ago, a young military officer had behaved similarly, begging to bribe someone in the Liyang Ministry of War.
Zhao Xiong looked up at the blazing sunset and murmured to himself, “Pity it’s not raining.”
Yuan Tingshan glanced up at the distracted prince, then lowered his head, biting his lip secretly.
Both his fathers-in-law had made their positions clear: Great General Gu Jiantang would not intervene in Jizhou’s crumbling situation, and the Li family of Yanbao hinted that their nearly ten thousand private cavalry were their last reserves—not to be squandered by their son-in-law. Even if deployed, they would only fight in southern Jizhou or, if possible, retreat to northern Jiangnan, never to be led by Yuan Tingshan to Jizhou’s northern border to clash with the Northern Barbarians. Thus, the once-promising Jizhou General’s Office was now beset by internal and external crises. None of this troubled Yuan Tingshan—he could even retreat further in his career, relinquishing his generalship. But one person terrified him: the young emperor on the throne in Tai’an City. Yuan Tingshan feared being branded as incompetent in the ambitious emperor’s eyes. Once that fatal impression took root, even a hundred victories would be meaningless. Hence, he sought Prince Zhao Xiong’s help in denouncing him in a secret memorial. Only by making the emperor believe the entire Jizhou establishment opposed him, casting him as a lone, unyielding minister, could he secure a chance to rise again.
“Gold? My surname is Zhao—do I lack such things? Antiques and paintings? I’ve handled more in my lifetime than you’ve ever seen.”
Zhao Xiong patted Yuan Tingshan’s shoulder. “So, Yuan Tingshan, if you ever rise to greatness, remember who pulled you up when you were desperate.”
Yuan Tingshan clenched his right fist with his left hand, veins bulging. “I will never forget!”
Leaning closer, Zhao Xiong whispered in his ear, “Whether you serve as a general in Jizhou or lead troops to quell rebellions in Guangling, one person will never truly trust you. Only when your father-in-law dies will you have your day. Consider this my gift in return.”
Yuan Tingshan shuddered.
Zhao Xiong, seeming weary, waved him off. “You may leave. I won’t see you out.”
Yuan Tingshan bowed and retreated several steps before turning away.
Watching his retreating figure, Zhao Xiong smiled. “You underestimate my third brother—and me, Zhao Xiong. Fine, I’ll help you this once.”
—
In Jiangnan’s Yangzhou, there was a scenic spot called Sanhua Terrace. Though not tall, its isolation made it stand out. Legend held that during the Dafeng Dynasty, an enlightened monk preached here, causing celestial maidens to scatter flowers and stones to nod in approval.
At dusk, Jiangnan’s literati gathered at Sanhua Terrace to bid farewell to summer and welcome autumn under the moonlight. Each brought their own mats, wine, tea, utensils, incense, and firewood, arranging them in rows atop the mountain.
Tonight, nearly a thousand people assembled. Led by a prominent noble scholar, they rose and recited, “Our writings surpass the lofty snow,” before singing the timeless classic *Jiangnan Wanderings*, their voices thunderous, their drinking unrestrained.
Late into the night, the white moonlight bathed Sanhua Terrace.
Among the Jiangnan scholars seated by social rank, one group stood apart at the prime viewing spot. At their center sat an elderly man in white, a large white cat dozing on his lap. Around him were only six or seven others, including the former Minister of Rites, Lu Daolin, patriarch of the Huting Lu family and elder brother of the ex-Minister of War, Lu Baijie. In just a decade, the Lu family had produced two ministers, living up to the late emperor’s praise: “The Lu clan’s descendants are a dazzling array.” Though Lu Daolin had retired and Lu Baijie left the capital in disgrace, the Lu family still overshadowed Jiangnan’s other three great clans. Also present was the elderly Xu Yinsheng of the Gumu Xu family. After his eldest son, Xu Gong, was named General Longxiang, Xu Yinsheng retired contentedly. Though the Xu family suffered when Consort Xu was confined to Changchun Palace, Xu Gong’s rise as Vice Minister of War restored their standing. Xu Yinsheng, who had long secluded himself, now reappeared, accompanied by his youngest daughter, Xu Huipu, a Daoist nun whose ill-fated romance with the “Tangxi Sword Immortal” Lu Baijie was well-known in Jiangnan’s scholarly circles. The middle-aged scholar Yuan Jiangyan, pillar of the Boling Yuan family, was also a famed debater in court and beyond.
Beside the white-haired elder with the cat sat a handsome young nobleman, gently fanning the lazy feline with a folding fan. Behind him stood a sober, green-robed swordsman—conspicuously out of place among the revelers.
The Huting Lu, Jiangxin Yu, Boling Yuan, and Gumu Xu families were the southern counterparts to the northern scholar faction. Once allied with Qingzhou’s Qing faction, they had been effortlessly dismantled by the late Chief Grand Secretary Zhang Julu. Though these four families constantly vied for dominance in Jiangnan, they united tightly in Tai’an City’s court. Xu Gong’s rise to Vice Minister of War owed much to Yu Jiankang, the Yu family patriarch who kept a white cat and had personally traveled to the capital to lobby for him.
Xu Yinsheng sighed to his elder, Yu Jiankang. “The times are chaotic. Take Yuan Huo—after struggling to return as Minister of Revenue, he was soon exiled to Guangling as a deputy military governor. And if not for the Grand Tutor and Tan Tanweng’s intervention, our Tangxi would’ve been sent to Lianghuai as military governor instead of Cai Nan. Though Tangxi remains Minister of War, the emperor clearly intends to move him. What should we do next?”
Yu Jiankang pointed at Lu Daolin with a smile. “The Minister’s own brother isn’t worried. Why are you, Xu Yinsheng, so anxious?”
Lu Daolin sighed helplessly, “It’s not that we’re not anxious—it’s just that anxiety won’t help. Fortunately, Cai Nan has already gone to the Lianghuai Circuit, and Yuan Huo has arrived in Guangling Circuit. As long as Tangxi isn’t exiled to the Southern Border, things shouldn’t be too bad.”
Yu Jiankang stroked the head of the white cat in his lap and said calmly, “In the past, with the Zhanglu and Gulu factions, everything from the capital to the provinces revolved around the struggle between civil and military officials. Now that both factions have faded into history, the next conflict will be between the North and the South. The Grand Sacrificer of the Central Secretariat, Qi, is a typical Southerner, as is his deputy Zhao Youling. The Tantan Elder of the Chancellery is a Northerner, while Chen Wang is from Northern Liang—barely a balance. Now, let’s count the six ministries of the Secretariat. The newly appointed Minister of Personnel, Yin Maochun, is a Southerner. The successive Ministers of Revenue, Wang Xionggui and Yuan Huo, are both Southerners. If we add Lu Daolin, the former Minister of Rites, and Lu Baijie, the current Minister of War, don’t you think we Southern scholars hold far too many of the highest positions in court? If Xu Gong were to take over the Ministry of War next, and the former Vice Minister of Justice, Han Lin, were to become Minister of Justice, where would that leave the Northern scholars? Moreover, Southerners have dominated the recent imperial examination rankings. So, Han Lin being sent to Jizhou and Yuan Huo to Guangling Circuit—these are all logical outcomes. No need for surprise. If Tang Tieshuang becomes Minister of War while Xu Gong remains a Vice Minister for another four or five years, that too should come as no shock.”
Here, Yu Jiankang paused briefly and smiled. “What’s interesting is that a new force has emerged in Tai’an City—one that cannot be underestimated. Grand Academician Yan Jiexi, Left Sacrificer of the Imperial Academy Yao Baifeng, Chen Wang of the Chancellery, Vice Minister of Rites Jin Lanting, Huangmen Lang Yan Chiji, and the temporarily dormant Sun Yin—all without exception hail from Northern Liang, yet each enjoys a solid reputation in officialdom. Though few in number, their words carry weight, especially Chen Wang, who is nothing short of extraordinary. Even compared to the legendary Bi Yan’er’s career, Chen surpasses him. This resembles the rise of the Qing faction between Zhanglu and Gulu, except unlike the opportunistic Qing faction, these so-called ‘Liang faction’ officials have never actually formed a clique. Have you noticed? Though they all come from Northern Liang, their loyalty to His Majesty surpasses that of any other court official. In the future, I suspect the immensely promising Chen Wang will lead them, forming a three-way balance with our Northern and Southern scholars.”
Yuan Jiangyan mused, “Could he be another Bi Yan’er?”
Yu Jiankang shook his head. “I fear he may surpass even that.”
Lu Daolin gazed at the moonlit night, lost in thought.
Xu Huipu, for some reason, wore a sorrowful expression—perhaps thinking of the distant Tangxi Sword Immortal in the capital, or perhaps of a certain woman surnamed Xu who once loved wearing red but now dwelled beyond the veil of life and death.
Yu Jiankang smiled faintly. “What our four families must do now is take a step back. Let the Northern families like the Pengs of Liaodong scramble for seats in the capital. On the surface, we’ll reluctantly yield to them. As for when to advance again? Simple—we wait. Wait until the Pengs and their ilk become overstretched, and before Chen Wang, Sun Yin, Fan Changhou, and their generation truly rise to power. Then we’ll strike. For now, let the Northerners and those young talents clash. They may be able to trip up the newcomers for a few years, but sooner or later, they’ll pay dearly. In the meantime, you all shouldn’t retreat entirely. Instead, lend a hand to the promising young talents of Tai’an—help them gain fame in literary circles, boost their reputations, exchange poetry now and then. Consider it planting seeds of goodwill.”
Yuan Jiangyan laughed heartily. “That’s hardly difficult!”
Then Yu Jiankang did something peculiar. He raised his wine cup, turned toward the northwest, and offered a silent toast.
*I, Yu Jiankang, toast Northern Liang on behalf of the Central Plains.*
*I toast you, father and son.*
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