If adding chairs to the council hall was like pouring oil on the flames—a self-inflicted trap by the young prince—then the arrival of Yuan Nanting, commander of the White Feather Cavalry, accompanied by several retired generals from the border army, was akin to adding frost to snow. Not only did former deputy cavalry commander Wei Tieshan and former deputy infantry commander Liu Yuanji appear, but even Lin Doufang showed up. The latter had not only beaten Liu Yuanji during the grand military review at Liangzhou’s border for attempting to defend Zhong Hongwu’s honor but had also appeared earlier in the entourage bidding farewell to the heir apparent alongside the brocade partridge Zhou Kang. This old Xu family soldier had once nearly become kin with Xu Xiao, making him an exceptionally unique figure in the eyes of the two-generation master of the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry, far surpassing the status of ordinary Northern Liang generals.
The council hall, already crowded, became even more packed after chairs were added for heroes like Liu Jinu and Wang Lingbao. By the time Lin Doufang and his companions took their seats, the long-desolate hall was now nearly overflowing. At this moment, nearly sixty chairs filled the room—commanders and deputy commanders of the Northern Liang cavalry and infantry, governors and generals of the three provinces, influential local officers, and strategists from Qingliang Mountain—all gathered under one roof, the tension thick as a brewing storm.
After sitting down, Lin Doufang scanned the room. Some faces were young and unfamiliar, but most were old comrades he’d known for half a lifetime. His expression was complex. Judging by the current standoff, neither side had yet torn through the thin veil of pretense—he hadn’t arrived too late. Though it appeared to be two factions, at its core, it was Xu Fengnian against the entirety of Northern Liang. The old soldier, who had once fought tooth and nail for the Xu family, felt his mind drift to the past. After the victory at Xileibi, the Great General had faced a similar scenario, with Zhao Changling leading the charge to carve out a separate rule with the increasingly treacherous Liyang Zhao court. Yan Wenluan, still seated in the council hall today, had been among them, as were Xu Pu and Wu Yong, who had since left Northern Liang, and the late Zhong Hongwu. Lin Doufang himself had stood firmly in that camp.
Yet, the two generations of Liang kings faced similar but not identical situations. Back then, the Great General had Li Yishan by his side, and apart from the scheming Chen Zhubao, his five most accomplished adopted sons had stood unwaveringly behind him. But now, the young prince seemed truly isolated, abandoned by all.
Lin Doufang’s gaze flickered subtly toward the brocade partridge. Rumor had it that Zhou Kang had been forced to relinquish some of his military authority at Jubei City, creating a rift with the prince. His eyes then shifted to Northern Liang’s Protector Chu Lushan and cavalry commander Yuan Zuozong. Chu Lushan stared at his toes as if counting ants, while Yuan Zuozong meditated with closed eyes. Beside them, Qi Dangguo, another of the Great General’s adopted sons, sat rigidly, fists clenched, looking as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t—an almost comical sight for such a burly vanguard warrior.
Lin Doufang’s gaze swept over Tian Peifang, the soon-to-retire governor of Liangzhou. As the nominal third-ranking civil official in Northern Liang, he sat like a lamb among wolves, visibly uneasy. Lin Doufang sighed inwardly. He had learned of this New Year’s Eve audience with the prince early on, courtesy of Chen Yunhui, still holding significant power in the border army. Chen hadn’t elaborated, only mentioning that all notable figures in Northern Liang would gather at the prince’s residence and asking if Old Lin wanted to join the fray. Knowing it wouldn’t be pleasant, Lin Doufang had initially hesitated, but in the end, he couldn’t bear the thought of the Great General’s hard-earned legacy crumbling overnight.
At the last moment, he had rallied his sworn brother Liu San’er and the steady-handed Wei Tieshan, hoping that, no matter what happened, the three old men could at least act as mediators, preventing things from spiraling out of control. Strangely, when they arrived at the prince’s residence, Yuan Nanting was already waiting outside, relaying a message from Yan Wenluan and Chu Lushan: observe quietly and refrain from hasty declarations. The urgency with which Lin Doufang had rushed to Liangzhou had nearly erupted into fury, but he held back, remembering that Yuan Nanting had also been among those who bid farewell to the heir apparent.
Inside the hall, there was no lively chatter of “harmony between ruler and subjects,” nor any polite small talk among the officials. Lin Doufang, Wei Tieshan, and Liu Yuanji all felt an oppressive tension—silence spoke louder than words. It was clear just how much pressure weighed on the young prince.
Liu Yuanji, ever blunt, turned to He Zhonghu beside him and whispered, “Old He, what the hell are you all planning? Give me a heads-up so I don’t feel like a knife’s hanging over my neck—this suspense is killing me.”
The ailing old marshal hesitated before replying quietly, “The Northern Barbarians could invade any moment, and yet the prince plans to lead an elite cavalry force south into the Central Plains…”
Liu Yuanji’s eyes widened. “What? We’re finally going to teach those Liyang ingrates a lesson?! Count me in! I don’t care about being deputy infantry commander again—just give me a general’s rank and twenty or thirty thousand foot soldiers. Are we hitting Western Shu or Hezhou first? But mark my words, I want to be the vanguard!”
He Zhonghu shot him an exasperated look. Back when Liu Yuanji had returned from the frontier, he’d nearly beaten his three delinquent sons to death and almost marched to Qingliang Mountain to apologize in person. Only a letter from the Great General had stopped him. Still, the old general had promptly sent his sons to Yan Wenluan’s army, demanding they be sent to the deadliest spots in Youzhou—if they died, so be it; he still had five grandsons at home. The funnier part was Yan Wenluan’s blunt refusal, declaring that Youzhou’s infantry didn’t take trash, which had nearly sent Liu Yuanji into a rage. The two old men almost severed ties, and it was only through Chen Yunhui’s intervention that Liu’s sons were enlisted.
Lin Doufang asked softly, “Marshal He, what’s really going on?”
He Zhonghu sighed. “Have you heard of the Western Chu empress, Jiang Shi?”
Lin Doufang nodded. “The rumors are everywhere, even in the countryside. They say the Great General rescued her and secretly raised her in the prince’s residence until Cao Changqing took her, sparking the Western Chu rebellion.” He frowned. “Don’t tell me…”
He Zhonghu confirmed grimly, “You guessed right. The prince is ready to storm the Central Plains for a woman. If this were any other time, with the Northern Barbarian war not looming, sending seven or eight thousand cavalry—or even twenty or thirty thousand—wouldn’t be an issue. Under the banner of a prince suppressing rebellion, and without actual intent to revolt, Northern Liang wouldn’t fear court criticism. Worse comes to worst, if the Zhao family used this to harass us over grain shipments, we could turn the tables and trap them in their own game. But now? The Northern Barbarians are desperate, their mad empress likely unhinged. Jubei City isn’t even finished, and our border defenses aren’t fully prepared…” He sighed. “Old Lin, you see the problem, don’t you?”
Lin Doufang fell silent.
Liu Yuanji felt a pang of frustration. He wasn’t one for scholarly debates, but something about this felt wrong. The old man, who had once been the loudest critic of the heir apparent, now stared at the young prince seated at the head of the room, an empty chair beside him. Scratching his head, Liu Yuanji’s thoughts were in turmoil.
Yan Wenluan—the only border army general who could openly rally Northern Liang’s forces after the deaths or departures of pillars like the Great General, Li Yishan, and Chen Zhubao—finally broke the suffocating silence. He looked directly at the young prince and demanded, “I, Yan Wenluan, commander of Northern Liang’s infantry, have heard that Your Highness intends to lead the Phoenix Battalion and ten thousand elite cavalry south to Guangling? May I ask your purpose? And whether this will jeopardize our border defenses?”
The young prince leaned forward to adjust the charcoal brazier, then straightened. Before he could speak, Lin Doufang interjected hastily, “Marshal Yan, the Northern Barbarians lost three hundred thousand men. Their southern supply bases are crippled and won’t recover soon. This war was fought like a Central Plains campaign, not their usual hit-and-run tactics—such losses are devastating. I doubt they’ll attack within three months. Given our cavalry’s speed, a round trip to Guangling won’t affect the bigger picture.”
Yan Wenluan ignored him, sneering, “You think three months of peace is guaranteed? What if that old hag and the Southern Court’s Dong Zhuo send elite troops south while Northern Liang is leaderless?”
Lin Doufang turned to the prince. “Your Highness need not go to Guangling personally.”
Before Yan Wenluan could retort, Xu Fengnian shook his head. “If Northern Liang sends troops to Guangling, I will lead them myself.”
Lin Doufang’s head throbbed. How was this negotiation supposed to proceed?
Xu Fengnian suddenly smiled. “I said *if* we send troops. Since none of you agree…”
At that moment, a scholarly old man rushed panting to the council hall’s entrance, one foot over the threshold, the other frozen outside as if afraid to step further. Red-faced, he raised his voice in fury: “The mighty Northern Liang Iron Cavalry, feared across the land—has winning made you cowards?! What’s the harm in sending ten thousand cavalry south? Hell, even twenty or thirty thousand wouldn’t hurt! Are you telling me you can’t guard Northern Liang’s borders without the prince holding your hands?! Yan Wenluan, your infantry is peerless—do you need the prince standing behind you in Youzhou, whispering strategies or serving tea?! He Zhonghu, Zhou Kang, Gu Dazu—do you need the prince charging into battle for you to defeat the Northern Barbarians?!”
The old man grew angrier, jabbing a finger at the front-row dignitaries as if cursing them to their faces. “Chu Lushan! Yuan Zuozong! Qi Dangguo! Remember why you’re sitting here!”
He turned to the Liuzhou officials with a sneer. “As for you Liuzhou lot, you’ve got every reason to beg the prince to stay. If not for him leading troops to Qingcang City, you’d have lost Li Yishan’s precious Liuzhou!”
Liuzhou governor Yang Guangdou nearly leapt up to retort, but Chen Xiliang, equally grim-faced, yanked him back down.
Outside, Jin Baoshi listened from the corridor, awed by the old scholar’s audacity. It wasn’t about logic—just the sheer guts to berate Northern Liang’s elite was enough to fuel a lifetime of bragging rights. While Central Plains scholars loved mocking Northern Liang’s warriors, who’d dare do it to their faces? Yet this old man had just insulted nearly every official in the room. No wonder he’d dragged Jin Baoshi to the Listening Tide Pavilion earlier—he’d been steeling his nerves.
Recent letters had mentioned Gu Dazu’s clash with local generals at Liangzhou’s border. Even a renowned veteran like him, once the Southern Tang’s pillar, had been sidelined after angering Northern Liang’s military establishment. Everyone knew the next infantry commander wouldn’t be Gu Dazu, even if the prince forced it—he’d never hold the position securely. This proved just how entrenched the generals’ influence was.
Having burned his bridges, the old scholar abandoned all restraint, planting his hands on his hips and roaring, “Now that the Great General’s gone, you all think you’re hot shit, ganging up to bully the Xu family! I refuse to believe no one here stands with the prince! Xu Beizhi! Chen Xiliang! Li Hanlin! Stand up and speak the truth!”
Yet neither the strategists nor the reformed prodigal Li Hanlin moved a muscle.
The old scholar staggered, then collapsed onto the threshold like a furious fishwife, wailing, “Why must our Northern Liang prince, with three hundred thousand iron cavalry at his command, live without joy?! Just once—is that too much to ask?! Yan Wenluan, you old tortoises! How dare you bully a man not yet thirty?!”
The hall fell deathly silent.
The old scholar’s eyes burned with rage as he lifted a hand and laughed bitterly. “Do you know why the Snow Dragon Cavalry ventured deep into Northern Barbarian territory for the first time in over a decade since Liyang’s failed invasion?!”
He stood slowly, hand still raised, then slammed it against the wall like Xu Xiao once had. “The Great General stood right here, pointed at the map, and told me: *‘My son is there.’*”
Glaring around the room, he thundered, “Xu Xiao asked me: *‘Is that reason enough?!’*”
He raised his other hand and slammed it down again. “Now, the head of the Xu family tells you someone is in Guangling—and Xu Fengnian *must* save her. Is *that* reason enough?!”
After a brief silence, Yan Wenluan replied stonily, “No.”
The old scholar scrambled up, snarling, “I’ll beat you to death, you old turtle—”
Then he froze mid-lunge, catching sight of someone at last.
The one he’d been waiting for had arrived.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage