The White Horse Academy was constructed following the traditional layout of a central lecture hall flanked by dormitories on either side. Three hundred scholars resided within the sixty dormitories spanning east and west. Currently, there were only nineteen instructors permanently teaching at the academy, including Yao Baifeng and Xu Beizhi. The deputy headmaster, Bai Yu, still had to manage affairs at the Qingliang Mountain residence. However, the academy planned to invite over twenty guest lecturers for the autumn and winter terms—an impressive lineup indeed. Among them were Huang Shang, the headmaster of the Qinglu Cave Academy; Song Yan, the newly appointed governor of Youzhou who championed Legalism; Wang Xihua, the great Confucian scholar from Huangnan County, whom Yao Baifeng praised as having “the talent of three governors”; and Chang Sui, the senior disciple who once studied under Han Guzi at the Shangyin Academy alongside Xu Weixiong, Xu Huang, and others. It was even rumored that Yu Youwei, a renowned music scholar currently teaching at the Shangyin Academy, would also be invited.
Xu Fengnian followed Dai Yuanjie at a leisurely pace, eventually stopping at the open area in front of the library. Yao Baifeng and the veteran generals Liu Yuanji and Wei Tieshan sat basking in the sun, while Xu Beizhi led a group of young scholars in airing books.
Yao Baifeng, who had retired from his position as the Imperial Academy Chancellor in the capital, appeared vigorous—far from the decrepit, ailing figure rumored in the Liyang court to have resigned due to illness. Even Xu Fengnian wasn’t entirely sure why Yao Baifeng had voluntarily left Taian City and chosen to return to Beiliang instead of retiring peacefully in the capital. The Yao family’s scholarly tradition was said to rival the entire Shangyin Academy—an exaggeration, perhaps, but no one questioned Yao Baifeng’s towering reputation in Liyang’s literary circles. In recent years, he had been one of the few officials willing to speak fairly for Beiliang’s military and governance in court. Xu Fengnian believed that had Yao Baifeng not “defied” the Zhao emperor, his prestige and erudition would have long secured him a central position in Liyang’s government alongside figures like Huan Wen, Zhao Youling, and Yin Maochun—rather than remaining in the largely ceremonial role of Imperial Academy Chancellor. Moreover, after Yao Baifeng followed Yan Jiexi into court service, many Yao family members had entered officialdom. His decision to join the White Horse Academy in Beiliang now even made Xu Fengnian worry for the old man.
Earlier, during discussions with Song Dongming at Qingliang Mountain, Xu Fengnian had suggested that Yao Baifeng serve only as a lecturer rather than the academy’s headmaster to minimize political backlash in Liyang. Song Dongming, the deputy economic commissioner who had once been groomed as a future chancellor by Yuan Benxi and knew the intricacies of Liyang’s court, supported the idea. Yet Yao Baifeng declined, jesting with sixteen words: “Not young, craving power, rather lead a small group than follow a great one.” He insisted on being the academy’s headmaster. Unable to sway the esteemed elder, Xu Fengnian and Qingliang Mountain relented, allowing Yao Baifeng to take the helm.
When Xu Fengnian arrived, Liu Yuanji and Wei Tieshan—former deputy commanders of Beiliang’s border forces—rose immediately to greet him, not daring to presume on their seniority. Liu Yuanji, whose family had once acted arrogantly in their hometown without his knowledge, seemed particularly uneasy. Before Xu Fengnian’s official succession, during a military exercise beyond the pass, Liu Yuanji had been scathingly rebuked by his old comrade Lin Doufang. Furious, Liu Yuanji returned home and summoned all his descendants to the ancestral hall, where he personally whipped each of them a hundred lashes—unwilling to spare even the innocent. Seven or eight fainted from the beating, their blood staining the floor, while the women outside the hall were too terrified to even weep. That day, three of the seven household stewards were beaten to death, and all the young Liu family’s tutors were dismissed. From then on, the Liu family’s discipline was restored, and Liu Yuanji secluded himself—until He Zhonghu, commander of the Left Cavalry Army, urged him and other veterans to return to service. Otherwise, the old general might never have rejoined his former comrades.
It was true that Beiliang’s generals, hardened by the Spring and Autumn Wars, were proud, unruly, and difficult to control.
Yet they differed from many of Liyang’s “founding” heroes in one crucial way: their deep, inexplicable loyalty to the Xu family—or more precisely, to Xu Xiao. If Yan Zhenchun, Yang Shenxing, and Ma Lulang were the generals who helped the old emperor secure the Zhao dynasty, then Yan Wenluan, Wei Tieshan, and Liu Yuanji were the ones who fought alongside Xu Xiao to build the Xu family’s domain. The difference was stark. Simply put, Xu Xiao had shared their hardships and battles, forging not just a lord-subject bond but also the brotherhood of life-and-death comrades. In the murky world of court politics, sincerity was rare; on the battlefield, where life hung by a thread, true character shone brightest.
Before and after the notorious Xu Fengnian inherited the title of Prince of Beiliang, undercurrents surged. The execution of Zhong Hongwu, the former cavalry commander, was privately called “slaying the tiger to warn the wolves” in Beiliang—proof of the region’s fierce temperament. Even when Xu Fengnian, as heir, took command of the Lingzhou garrison while Xu Xiao was still alive, didn’t the entrenched military families still stir up trouble?
After greeting everyone, Xu Fengnian spotted Lin Doufang, the old soldier from the Lianzi Battalion, and suddenly understood. The first-generation Xu blade must have been this one-armed elder’s treasured possession. He recalled Xu Xiao often musing that if any such blade still existed in the world, it was likely the one he had personally gifted Lin Doufang as a betrothal token for their children. But Lin Doufang never had offspring, and after fading into obscurity in Beiliang, the marriage pact was voided. Yuan Nanting, now commander of the White Feather Light Cavalry, hailed from the Lianzi Battalion. During the six hundred veterans’ farewell to the heir’s journey to the capital, Lin Doufang, Yuan Nanting, and Zhou Kang—current commander of the Right Cavalry Army—had all appeared.
Dai Yuanjie brought chairs for Xu Fengnian and Song Yu. Xu Fengnian took his but didn’t presume to occupy Yao Baifeng’s central seat, instead placing it casually beside Lin Doufang. Song Yu, the steward of Qingliang Mountain, declined outright, standing respectfully at a distance.
Yao Baifeng observed all this with a faint smile before turning solemn. Cutting to the chase, he asked, “Your Highness, dare I ask if Qingliang Mountain had any hand in the upheaval at Guangling’s Chunxue Tower?”
The early autumn sun was warm, but Yao Baifeng’s question sent a chill through even the hardened veterans like Lin Doufang and Wei Tieshan, who straightened in their seats.
Xu Fengnian remained unruffled, shaking his head lightly. “I wish we had some involvement, but alas, no.”
Yao Baifeng studied the young prince’s narrow eyes for a long moment, finding no expected clues. Sighing, he muttered, “Signs of a chaotic era. Barely twenty years of peace, and already we’ve come to this?”
Xu Fengnian smiled faintly. “Does Master Yao wonder why, beyond Beiliang’s border clashes with the Northern Desert, even the Central Plains are descending into war?”
Yao Baifeng was taken aback, then smiled wryly. “Your Highness need not mock. This old man has never believed Beiliang’s soldiers should die on the frontier just to keep the Central Plains safe.”
Xu Fengnian pondered before replying slowly, “The chaos in the Central Plains today is the court’s fault. Liyang’s policies of curbing regional warlords and reducing feudal power were correct in principle, but their execution was too harsh. Men like Yan Zhenchun and Yang Shenxing, loyal to the Zhao clan, and even Huainan King Zhao Ying—who needn’t have died in battle—were the dynasty’s lifeblood. Letting them die naturally, though slow, would have been far better than orchestrating the Guangling campaign to swiftly eliminate them. Moreover, Liyang’s officials are no fools. While vilifying my father was within bounds, the disgrace of Chief Grand Secretary Zhang Julu’s twilight years was especially chilling. The current emperor isn’t a tyrant—he should have been a ruler of revival. Measures like expanding academies and posthumously honoring Yan Zhenchun were commendable. But some things Zhang Julu did well as a subject, Emperor Zhao Zhuan couldn’t—at least not in time.”
Calmly, Xu Fengnian continued, “Where does the chaos lie? In people’s hearts. Huainan King Zhao Ying died resentful; Jiaodong King Zhao Shui retreated in gloom; Jing’an King Zhao Xun groveled to Taian City in fear; Guangling King Zhao Yi tarnished his name to secure his heir’s succession. So Yanchi King Zhao Bing’s rebellion was inevitable. As for Liyang’s generals—not just the old guard like Yan and Yang, but even younger ones like Lu Shengxiang, Cai Nan, and Tang Tieshuang—all surely nurse unspoken grievances. Had Zhang Julu lived, even if retired from court, or at least not disgraced, the Central Plains wouldn’t be in turmoil today.”
Yao Baifeng’s face twisted in anguish. “Regardless, the common people are innocent!”
Wei Tieshan shook his head slightly, while Liu Yuanji rolled his eyes. These Beiliang veterans, survivors of countless battles, had little patience for such scholarly idealism.
Xu Fengnian said flatly, “Since the Great Qin’s founding eight hundred years ago, through cycles of unity and division, war has never ceased. Which dynasty’s people weren’t innocent? And Master Yao’s ‘regardless’ is too glib. Emperor Zhao Zhuan may have countless excuses, but as long as he sits on the throne, this disaster is his burden. Just as I, Xu Fengnian, block the Northern Desert’s advance—earning no gratitude from the court matters not to me. But if I fail, if Beiliang loses the second war, future historians may revile me, and the Central Plains’ people may curse my name. That, too, I will not care about.”
Xu Beizhi, crouched nearby flipping through books, coughed loudly. “Enough of this grand, gloomy talk! You may not care, Prince of Beiliang, but I, Xu Beizhi, do! And remember, Master Yao is our academy’s headmaster—show some respect!”
Xu Fengnian fell silent, chastened.
Yao Baifeng laughed heartily. “No matter! That His Highness speaks such unpleasant truths today gladdens this old man, already half-buried in the earth!”
Liu Yuanji grinned. “Of course! Our prince is a true Beiliang man—honest, never spouting courtly nonsense like those Liyang officials!”
Lin Doufang snorted. “The prince’s ancestors were from Liaodong’s Jinzhou! And he wasn’t even born in Beiliang! Liu, you’ve flattered countless times, yet never gracefully.”
Liu Yuanji, fearless even of Xu Xiao, dreaded only Lin Doufang—his old comrade who had once beaten him bloody when no one else dared. Had others not intervened, Lin Doufang would have kicked him senseless.
Wei Tieshan hesitated before speaking.
Xu Fengnian noticed. “Speak freely, General Wei.”
Wei Tieshan gritted his teeth. “Your Highness, must Beiliang truly rely on those youngsters? Entrusting 300,000 elite cavalry and Beiliang’s survival to the war in Liuzhou?”
This time, Yao Baifeng coughed, subtly signaling Xu Beizhi. With scholars nearby, military matters demanded caution.
Xu Fengnian waved a hand. “It’s fine. Discussing this here no longer risks leaks.”
He met Wei Tieshan’s gaze. “Before Xie Xichui left for Liuzhou, he asked me privately: Do you want Beiliang’s 300,000 soldiers to die gloriously beyond the pass, their conscience clear but their land doomed? Or gamble—risking eternal infamy as a reckless prince who overreached—for a sliver of hope?”
The veterans pondered deeply.
Lin Doufang was the first to snap out of it, his expression grave. “If that’s Your Highness’s stance, this trip was worth it. I’ll drink two pounds of Green Ant Wine tonight and save my curses—unless we lose. Then I’ll visit Qingliang Mountain’s memorial forest and unleash them at your tombstone.”
Liu Yuanji muttered, “Lin, you’d curse the prince?”
Lin Doufang glowered. “As Prince of Beiliang, commanding the world’s finest army, victory is his duty! The Great General conquered half the Central Plains—why can’t His Highness stop the Northern Desert barbarians?”
Yao Baifeng looked bewildered. Since when was this the standard?
Xu Beizhi smirked. “General Lin’s logic is impeccable.”
The mild-mannered Wei Tieshan hurried to mediate. “Old Lin, you’re not even drunk yet! Your Highness, don’t mind this stubborn ox. Behind your back, he defends you most fiercely among us.”
Lin Doufang glared, exposed.
Xu Fengnian grinned, eyes crinkling. “General Wei, I know. After all, General Lin nearly became my father-in-law. Of course he’d side with me.”
Liu Yuanji blurted, “Your Highness is so handsome, while Old Lin’s so ugly—any daughter of his would be unworthy!”
Lin Doufang, long accustomed to kicking Liu Yuanji mid-insult, barely restrained himself in the prince’s presence.
Xu Fengnian suddenly said softly, “Master Yao, I propose the White Horse Academy send scholars periodically to rural schools in and around Liangzhou to teach impoverished children. The lessons needn’t be profound—simple basics suffice. This wouldn’t disrupt the scholars’ studies, nor overwhelm the children. I hope Beiliang’s future scholars can early on learn of the Central Plains’ culture, broadening their horizons beyond our harsh homeland. Even casual chats about Central Plains cuisine would help.”
After a pause, he added tentatively, “I know this may seem beneath the scholars’ talents. If none are willing, I can offer books from the Listening Tide Pavilion as incentives.”
Yao Baifeng was stunned into silence.
Before the library, under the autumn sun, the young scholars airing books couldn’t hear the conversation but could see the scene clearly:
An elderly scholar sat rightfully at the center.
Beiliang’s battle-hardened generals flanked him.
And the prince commanding 300,000 cavalry sat quietly at the edge.
Then the youths witnessed another sight.
The revered Confucian master, whose disciples spanned the realm, rose slowly and bowed deeply to the young prince, his voice trembling with emotion:
“I, Yao Baifeng, and the White Horse Academy, on behalf of all Beiliang’s scholars, pay homage to the Prince of Beiliang!”
His tears fell freely as he spoke.
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