On that late autumn day of the second year of the Xiangfu era, it was destined to spawn countless tales of the supernatural and bizarre. At the Imperial Astronomical Bureau, the sun and moon rose in tandem, with ethereal chants lingering in the air, rainbows stretching across the sky multiple times, and immortals hovering midair. Meanwhile, the Southern Army camp near the capital was a scene of sheer terror. Two peerless warriors, akin to terrestrial immortals, moved with the speed of dragons plunging into the sea. Their battle tore the entire camp asunder, leaving devastation in their wake, especially among the elite troops under the newly appointed Minister of War, Wu Zhongxuan, who suffered over a thousand casualties. While ordinary folk might complain of “not acclimating to the land,” it usually meant nothing more than discomfort. But for Minister Wu’s elite troops to lose limbs—or even their lives—was rare. The most galling part for the Southern Army was that almost no one could identify the two figures responsible for the carnage.
The instigator, Xu Fengnian, descended from the Altar of Land and Grain to find the Li family’s armored warriors, led by Li Shouguo and his son Li Changliang, standing resolute at the gates, vowing to defend the entrance to the death. Their stance was clear: anyone who wished to pass would have to step over the corpses of over a thousand men. Yet unbeknownst to them, the heavily decimated cavalry outside had already withdrawn from the streets under the frantic orders of General Ma Zhongxian of Andong, who had rushed to deliver a secret decree. To avoid alarming the citizens of the inner and outer cities and inciting further panic, this cavalry—which had yet to see action in the two Liao campaigns but was already severely weakened—did not immediately depart for their garrison. Ma Zhongxian had hurriedly left his father’s sickbed in the Northern Expedition General’s residence, even forgoing his official military robes, let alone donning armor. As he turned to gaze upon the remnants of his forces, shrouded in an air of tragic heroism, his heart bled.
Ma Zhongxian, intimately familiar with the capital’s political machinations, knew all too well what would happen once news of his family’s misfortune spread through the court and the streets. Soon, the entire court of Tai’an City would whisper that his father had chosen the worst possible moment to die—precisely when the Prince of Northern Liang was wreaking havoc in the Ministry of Rites and the Imperial Astronomical Bureau—implying that the old man had been scared to death by that young man surnamed Xu!
Amidst the clanging of armor, Ma Zhongxian, looking utterly out of place, clenched his fists, his eyes bloodshot. He yearned to turn his horse around and order his men to chop that Xu bastard into mincemeat!
An elderly man in plain robes passed through the Li family’s “fragile” infantry formation. Li Shouguo wanted to warn him, but the old man merely smiled and waved him off, striding straight toward the Prince of Northern Liang, who had halted at the edge of the Altar of Land and Grain. The old man did not stand directly before the young man; instead, they stood side by side, one facing north, the other south.
Xu Fengnian said coolly, “I expected the straightforward Tan Tanweng from the Secretariat to come as a mediator. I didn’t anticipate the Chief of the Central Secretariat, Lord Qi Yanglong, to play the bad cop.”
Qi Yanglong, the head of the Central Secretariat, gazed up at the towering altar and chuckled. “What a pity the Imperial Astronomical Bureau was destroyed.”
Xu Fengnian replied, “Over a hundred thousand Northern Liang soldiers died beyond the passes, all facing north in death. Is that not a pity?”
Qi Yanglong nodded solemnly. “In my eyes, both are regrettable. The destruction of the Imperial Astronomical Bureau saddens me as a scholar who loves history. The deaths of over a hundred thousand Northern Liang soldiers sadden me as a subject of Liyang—and they also command my respect. But now that I’ve come to the capital and donned this official robe, I have no choice but to come here and nag at you, Your Highness.”
Xu Fengnian’s left hand, gripping his saber, hung limp due to the rope that had pierced his shoulder. Blood continuously dripped from his sleeve, trickling down his fingers to the ground. His face alternated between deathly pale and a radiant purple-gold due to the turbulent energy raging within him. The gash between his eyebrows bled profusely, the blood sliding down his nose, adding a ferocious edge to the young prince’s handsome features.
The young man, who had single-handedly shaken the capital twice, said expressionlessly, “Three thousand men. For every one who dies, a thousand dan of Northern Liang’s grain tribute will be withheld. That’s what Zhao Zhuan said himself. Now, let me be equally blunt with you, Chief Qi: if even a single dan is missing from the three million dan of grain tribute, thirty thousand Northern Liang cavalry will ride south into Guangling! After all, a prince suppressing rebellion is only natural. If your court cares nothing for the lives of Northern Liang’s people, then I, Xu Fengnian, am more than happy to show Liyang what ‘loyalty’ truly means!”
Instead of feigning anger at these cutting words, Qi Yanglong maintained his smile. “Prince of Northern Liang, to be honest, regardless of my ancestral roots, I’ve always considered the Shangyin Academy in Guangling my home. Yang Shenxing and Yan Zhenchun have already ravaged my homeland once, followed by that bastard Song Li and Kou Jianghuai. Now, Wu Zhongxuan and Lu Shengxiang, these so-called famous generals, are about to do the same. If they could swiftly resolve things, win or lose, it would be a blessing for Guangling’s people. But if this stalemate drags on, depleting first the young and then the old soldiers, what happens when the armies are exhausted? Won’t it be the common folk who pay the price? Isn’t that the truth, Prince of Northern Liang?”
Xu Fengnian remained silent.
Qi Yanglong, more like a grumbling old man than a high-ranking minister, seized the chance to vent to a younger listener. “Cao Changqing had his demons, trapped by his own principles. Even the Duke of Yan couldn’t persuade him, so why should I waste my breath? As for those leading armies for the court, this Chief of the Central Secretariat has no sway over them. Besides, martial heroes seek glory on the battlefield—whether wrapped in horsehide or ennobled—each has their own path, their own fate. It’s not my place to preach about sparing lives when they’re fighting for their ideals. Even if I convinced Lu Shengxiang and Wu Zhongxuan, others like Ma Shengxiang or Song Zhongxuan would inevitably take their place. After all, I can’t stop the tide of history.”
Suddenly, Qi Yanglong turned to stare intently at the bloodied young man. “But I believe talking to you might actually work. Why? Because you’re Xu Xiao’s son. Xu Xiao always valued reason—why else would he pave a ten-mile lake embankment with gold and silver just to get his little girl into the academy? Before I came to the capital, I walked that embankment every day, rain or shine! Did Xu Xiao ever tell you about his visit to Shangyin Academy during his campaign through the martial world? He cornered me in my study, slammed his Liang saber—yes, likely the very one you’re wearing now—onto my desk, and demanded to know if ‘Xu Fengnian’ was a good name. Of course, I gave him a thumbs-up—it is a fine name. Instantly, his demeanor softened. He praised me as a truly learned scholar and even turned to your mother for the phrase ‘a mind full of stratagems’ to gift me. I was delighted—not by the flattery, but because he never once raised that saber against me.”
Xu Fengnian raised his right hand to wipe his face.
Qi Yanglong looked back at the symbolic Altar of Land and Grain. “You’d never guess how much silver Northern Liang sent for that embankment. A long embankment is one thing, but with Shangyin Academy’s resources, how much could it cost? Yet your father secretly sent three million taels! So the academy didn’t just gain a willow-lined embankment—it also quietly acquired a library unmatched in Jiangnan and over two hundred rare books. Alongside that mountain of silver, he sent me a letter. The handwriting was the ugliest I’d ever seen, but over the years, I’ve often taken it out to reread. In it, he wrote that his eldest son was surely cut out for scholarship, destined to study at Shangyin Academy, perhaps even earn the top imperial exam honors to bring glory to the Xu family. And if princely heirs were barred from office, well, having a top scholar as a figurehead would still be something… At first, I wanted to write back and ask: You, a warrior who slaughtered countless scholars, now want your son to be one? The Xu family, under you, reached the pinnacle of power—Grand Pillar of the State, hereditary titles—was a top scholar’s title really needed? And what’s three million taels compared to the countless lives lost during the Eight Kingdoms’ fall? Could it ever compensate for the shattered land and drowned scholars? You, the Butcher of Men, don’t want your son to be a prince—what kind of logic is that?!”
“But over time, as the letter grew more crumpled, my heart grew calmer.”
“Later, when I heard that after the old emperor’s death, you dared to revel atop Qingliang Mountain, filling the city with fireworks and music—only to be thrown out of the palace gates, leading to your three-year wanderings—I knew Northern Liang would never stay quiet. I once hoped you’d outmaneuver Chen Zhibao, inherit the title of Prince of Northern Liang, and then willingly become a peaceful vassal, allowing one of Liyang’s generals to enter Northern Liang. Then Northern Liang would truly be Liyang’s, its people Liyang’s people. Half the nation’s taxes to the two Liaos, half the grain tribute to Northern Liang—the realm would be at peace!”
At this, Xu Fengnian smirked.
The old man chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Of course, that’s just the wishful thinking of a pedantic scholar.”
Finally, the old man turned to stand beside Xu Fengnian, both facing the densely arrayed Li family warriors. He asked with a smile, “How do these elite Liyang troops compare to your Northern Liang border cavalry?”
Xu Fengnian countered, “Do you really want to know?”
The old man waited.
Xu Fengnian answered, “Ten versus ten, it’s a toss-up. A hundred versus a hundred, Northern Liang wins handily. A thousand versus a thousand, you’d be crushed. Ten thousand versus ten thousand? Why even bother fighting?”
The old man grinned. “Really?”
Xu Fengnian laughed softly. “I’ve just read more books than Xu Xiao, so I’m more patient.”
The old man nodded. “Indeed, indeed. So today, after lecturing two vice-ministers at the Ministry of Rites, you came here alone, disregarded even the Empress Dowager’s authority, and slaughtered your way through the Imperial Astronomical Bureau—even felling a host of celestial immortals. Truly, Your Highness’s temper is most admirable.”
Xu Fengnian retorted irritably, “First you play the nostalgia card, now you’re pulling rank. Do you really think I lack the strength to return to Xiamawei?”
The old man burst into laughter. “Enough. Invoking Xu Xiao to cozy up to you has gone far enough. Any more, and even I’ll be embarrassed. You, Xu Fengnian, are formidable, and the Northern Liang cavalry even more so. So let’s drop the pretenses. Whether it’s the threat of withholding a thousand dan per death or the bravado of three million dan of grain tribute, those are just the youthful emperor’s impulsive words. As Chief of the Central Secretariat, I dare not take them seriously, and I beg you not to either. But I can promise this: from this autumn to next summer, Liyang—especially Tai’an City—will tighten its belt to deliver one million dan of grain tribute to Northern Liang. If possible, we’ll add another five hundred thousand. Beyond that, all I can say is: we’ll do our best!”
Xu Fengnian frowned.
The old man sighed. “Know when to stop. Both sides need a way out. In the court, from the lowliest clerk to the highest noble—even those in python robes or dragon robes—no one has ever acted with true freedom.”
Before Xu Fengnian could respond, the old man mused, “I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but though the court is filled with more young faces than ever, I feel an overwhelming sense of decay. Perhaps… perhaps after Li Dangxin’s almanac was rejected, even Zhang Julu felt this melancholy.”
The old man turned to stare intently at the grievously wounded young man. “In that unlikely-to-be-published poetry collection of Zhang Julu’s, he wrote that life holds two great joys and one great sorrow. In the martial world, finding chivalry in desperate straits is a joy! On the battlefield, raising your blade in certain death is a joy! But reading historians’ casual mentions of ‘piles of bones’ and ‘devastated lives’ in books—that is a sorrow!”
The old man smiled. “Pity that Zhang Julu died too soon to see a place on Liyang’s map where the names of over a hundred thousand dead are carved into stone steles. Now, the annals read by generations of scholars will no longer record only the names of victors and vanquished.”
“Earlier, someone boasted to me about having met you, as if it were something to flaunt. Had it not been for the emperor’s orders, I wouldn’t have come here to endure your temper. What’s so special about seeing Xu Fengnian? I’m just an old man, not some lovestruck maiden pining for a young hero.”
“Heh, in my youth, I might’ve been even handsomer than you.”
Xu Fengnian said, “Then it’s settled.”
The old man pressed further, “So when will you leave the capital, Your Highness?”
Xu Fengnian walked forward. “The day after tomorrow.”
The old man watched his back and asked with a grin, “Not today? How about tomorrow? There’s nothing worth seeing in Tai’an anyway.”
Xu Fengnian halted and turned with a mocking smile. “Tomorrow? Fine. Would the Chief of the Central Secretariat like to see the steles? I’ll personally escort you.”
The old man’s smile froze. “The day after tomorrow it is! I’ll come knocking at Xiamawei’s gates bright and early!”
Xu Fengnian ignored the shameless old man and strode toward the Imperial Astronomical Bureau’s gates.
Behind him, the old man waved his hands, and the Li family warriors swiftly parted, clearing a wide path.
Suddenly, the old man dashed forward and grabbed Xu Fengnian’s right hand, refusing to let go.
Xu Fengnian turned to face the suddenly solemn elder.
The old man whispered urgently, “Xu Fengnian, you must ensure this world sees fewer deaths!”
Xu Fengnian tried to pull away.
But the old man, with unexpected strength, clung stubbornly, his face flushing red.
Xu Fengnian could have easily shaken him off, but for some reason, he sighed and nodded resignedly. “Was that even necessary?”
Only then did the old man reluctantly release his grip.
After a few steps, Xu Fengnian heard the old man mutter, “Had to do it. Otherwise, how would anyone know I, Qi Yanglong, am committed to saving the world?”
Xu Fengnian’s lip twitched. He raised his right arm, thumb pointing downward.
Watching the young man’s retreating figure, the old man added, “Hmph, reminds me a bit of my younger self.”
Assuming the prince was out of earshot, the old man was startled when Xu Fengnian suddenly glanced back. With lightning speed, he turned away, hands clasped behind his back, and hurried up the Altar of Land and Grain as if eager to admire the view.
One old, one young, walking away from each other.
The old man’s expression sobered as he thought silently, *Zhang Julu, if you were alive, would you grit your teeth and refuse a single dan of grain tribute, or would you override all opposition to open the floodgates? Either way, I’m no match for you.*
At the altar’s peak, the old man knelt, staring at the freshly disturbed soil.
*Xu Xiao, Zhang Julu.*
*You two fought half your lives. Now that you’re both in the underworld, are you sharing a drink?*
※※※
At the Imperial Astronomical Bureau’s gates, a girl in a sable hat munched on a scallion pancake, one hand adjusting her hat.
Xu Fengnian approached and gently straightened it for her.
Then, a figure in crimson robes fluttered over like a butterfly, spinning gracefully before him.
When she stopped, Xu Fengnian smiled softly. “Still beautiful.”
Taking both their hands, he said, “Let’s return to the inn. We’ll go home together the day after tomorrow.”
Xu Yanbing had already reappeared by the carriage at the gates, his spear, *Chana*, stowed away.
Wiping fresh blood from his lips, Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Back so soon? That spear is truly swift.”
Baffled at first, Xu Yanbing eventually caught on and laughed. “Damn it, insulting me without a single curse!”
His laughter faded as he gazed into the distance, lost in thought.
The girl in the sable hat and the woman in crimson veils chose not to enter the carriage.
Inside, the blood-soaked young man removed his Liang saber and buried his face in his princely robes.
His shoulders shook.
No expression visible.
No sound of weeping.
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