Chapter 990: Beiliang’s Sorrow

The Spring Snow Tower of the Guangling Prince’s residence had changed hands. In fact, half of the Liyang Empire had changed hands overnight.

The mastermind behind all this, Nalan Youci, sat atop the mountain by the river, perched on the edge of the Yanzhi Well. In his palm lay a dozen vibrant rain-patterned stones, a specialty of Guangling. One by one, he picked them up and dropped them into the dark well.

Standing beside Nalan Youci was the once-renowned Tangxi Sword Immortal, Lu Baixia, now a prisoner. Unlike the imprisoned Governor Wang Xionggui, Lu Baixia, as the military governor of Guangling, was free to move within the prince’s residence as long as he did not attempt to leave.

Lu Baixia asked, “What does Master Nalan wish to discuss with me?”

Nalan Youci bent low, peering into the pitch-black well, and replied with a soft smile, “Though the Yanchi Prince’s residence has spies and assassins planted in Tai’an City for years—some even holding high official positions—none can compare to someone like you, who has long been at the heart of the court. I simply wish to know, among the Liyang heavyweights who attend the ‘small court meetings’ in the Yangshen Hall, how many are steadfast loyalists, how many would waver in times of crisis, and how many have grown estranged from the young emperor. If you, Master Tangxi, are willing to speak frankly, we can tailor our actions accordingly, sparing Tai’an City from unnecessary bloodshed.”

Even as he spoke these ruthless words, the strategist of the Spring and Autumn era maintained a calm, measured tone and a faint smile, making it hard to dislike such a refined figure.

Lu Baixia shook his head. “Master Nalan, you overthink things.”

Nalan Youci wore an expression that said he had expected as much. With a graceful wave of his sleeve, he stood up and smiled. “Come, let me show you a room. I spent a full three thousand dan of rice to assemble a study just for you, Master Tangxi.”

Lu Baixia was baffled. A study as a gift? And what was this about three thousand dan of rice? Even in the land-rich Jiangnan region, let alone the exorbitantly priced Tai’an City, three thousand dan of rice wouldn’t buy much in terms of fine scholarly tools.

Nalan Youci, brimming with confidence, said, “Master Tangxi, you’ll see for yourself—I promise you won’t be disappointed!”

Lu Baixia followed Nalan Youci to a secluded courtyard within the prince’s residence. Passing through corridors and halls, Nalan Youci pushed open a door and gestured for Lu Baixia to enter first.

The first thing that caught Lu Baixia’s eye was a half-table made of huanghuali wood with black grain. Its low design marked it as a piece for display rather than writing, yet its craftsmanship was exquisite—banana-leaf edges on the waist, undulating like water, adorned with floral and avian motifs reminiscent of Dafeng porcelain. Below the waist, dragon-shaped carvings gazed upward with lifelike vigor, creating a striking contrast between intricate detail and simplicity.

Further in stood a long desk carved with chi-dragon patterns, upon which lay the “Four Treasures of the Study,” each a priceless heirloom that any scholarly family in Jiangnan would covet.

Nalan Youci walked to the desk, lifting the lid of a charmingly antique purple clay teapot with two fingers. The pot remained suspended, defying gravity. He grinned. “This is the legendary ‘Heaven and Earth Share Spring’ teapot, a lost treasure of the old Dongyue. In its heyday, it was so sought-after that tea-drinking became secondary—it was a collector’s dream. Now, it’s priceless. Sadly, most Dongyue scholars insisted on being buried with one, and too many were destroyed during the Hongjia Northern Exodus. Rare treasures like this are hard to come by. As a tea master, you surely appreciate its worth more than I do.”

Lu Baixia barely glanced at the teapot. Scanning the room, his expression darkened. “All of this… for just three thousand dan of rice?”

Nalan Youci laughed heartily. “Rest assured, it wasn’t the war in Guangling that forced noble families to sell their treasures. Frankly, since the fall of Great Chu twenty years ago, Guangling’s officials have been upstarts with little taste or heritage. Most were quick to switch sides when the Spring Snow Tower changed hands—they didn’t need to sell these treasures for gold or rice.”

Suddenly, Nalan Youci crouched and crawled under the chi-dragon desk, beckoning Lu Baixia to join him.

Baffled by the strategist’s antics, Lu Baixia hesitated but eventually followed suit. Nalan Youci ran his fingers along the underside of the desk and chuckled. “It’s broad daylight, so lighting a candle would be odd. But with your keen eyes, you should still be able to make out the carvings here.”

Lu Baixia looked where Nalan Youci pointed and saw six crudely carved characters, clearly made by an untrained hand. Yet their childish charm held immense significance: “Feng Nian,” “Zhi Hu,” “Long Xiang”—three names, all without surnames.

Lu Baixia was stunned. Xu Zhihu, who had married into the Jiangnan Lu family, was his niece-in-law, and he had always held a soft spot for her. He recognized her handwriting instantly. Moreover, the absence of Xu Wei Xiong’s name—given the well-known tension between Xu Zhihu and Xu Wei Xiong—was undeniable proof of authenticity. He could almost picture the young girl in red, sitting on the floor, carving these words with a knife years ago.

Lu Baixia fell into a long silence, even after emerging from under the desk.

Nalan Youci, delighted with his discovery, mused, “I doubt the desk’s owner even knew his sister carved these words here. Otherwise, he’d never have sold it.”

Lu Baixia thought of the young man who had once asked him to “sell him a few pounds of benevolence and righteousness.” His smile was bitter. “How could the Xu family come to this? You once said Zhao Xun lost control of Jing’an after leaving Qingzhou, so how could he block grain shipments to Liang? And why haven’t you seized Jing’an? I assumed it was to avoid overextending your forces against Wu Zhongxuan’s army. But now I see—this was your plan all along. You wanted to sow discord between Liang and the court, fearing that if the Liang border army unexpectedly won the second Liang-Mang war, the Xu cavalry might still have strength to quell rebellions in the Central Plains!”

Nalan Youci leaned against the window, his demeanor playful. “Otherwise, do you think an old official like Wen Taiyi could have returned to Qingzhou as governor so easily? The law forbids officials from serving in their hometowns!”

He smirked. “No matter how well-connected Wen Taiyi was in Tai’an, he should have been promoted elsewhere. I pulled strings to get him appointed in Jing’an. But the court outdid me—they sent Ma Fulu’s son to command Jing’an’s troops. Now, with civil and military leaders colluding to block grain shipments, even Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen’s pressure couldn’t break their resolve. Otherwise, those two might have forced the remaining two million dan of grain to Liang!”

Lu Baixia’s palm slammed onto the desk, its legs splintering under the force of his rage.

Unfazed, Nalan Youci continued, “War requires grain, and the Liang border army is no exception. Even if Xu Beizhi, the young governor, foresaw this and stockpiled rice, Liangzhou alone can’t sustain the army through another war. So what did Xu Beizhi do?”

He answered his own question. “A clever housewife can’t cook without rice. Xu Beizhi went to Qingliang Mountain and told the Xu king: ‘Sell your family’s treasures. I’ll handle it. You focus on building Jubei City. Pay the laborers with the proceeds, and demand grain, not silver, from buyers.'”

Nalan Youci pointed to a folding fan beside Lu Baixia. “One of only two surviving fans by the late master Ma Xiaoguan of old Western Shu. The emperor keeps one in his study, too precious to use. The other is here. Guess how much rice it cost? Six hundred dan. A steal, right? But the Xu king’s calculations aren’t like ours. Sadly, even if you, Qi Yanglong, and Huan Wen understand, it changes nothing.”

He perched on the huanghuali half-table, facing Lu Baixia. “You’re no bookworm—you’ve served as Minister of War. You know the annual grain consumption of our people and soldiers. In wealthy Jiangnan, the rich feast four or five times a day, while commoners eat three meals. But in barren Liang, even in prosperous Lingzhou, two meals a day is the norm. With one soldier per household, a Liang family needs sixteen or seventeen dan a year. Xu Beizhi’s efforts ensured three years of grain security, with a reserve of five hundred thousand dan for emergencies. But that’s Liang’s limit. If the second Liang-Mang war lasts a year, the border army will need three million dan. The court has sent only eight hundred thousand. The rest? The grain officials won’t budge. Why should they sacrifice their profits for Liang?”

The desk collapsed under Lu Baixia’s grip, its legs shattered.

Nalan Youci ignored the destruction. “Of course, Liang isn’t just selling treasures. The Xu boy’s Yulong Gang is setting up shops along the Guangling River, trading antiques for grain. And they’ve made it clear: any official who obstructs them will face the Liang cavalry. Most local garrisons are too terrified to resist. So now, it’s my turn to muddy the waters.”

He pointed at himself, grinning.

Lu Baixia clenched his fists, glaring at the last surviving strategist of the Spring and Autumn era.

Zhao Changling, Huang Longshi, Yuan Benxi, Li Yishan—all dead. Only Nalan Youci remained, seemingly the last one laughing.

Lu Baixia demanded, “You just want to help Zhao Bing seize the throne. Why go this far?”

Nalan Youci’s smile faded. He leaned on the desk. “I’ve spent as much effort on Liang as on Tai’an.”

Lu Baixia, usually composed, erupted in anger. “Do you not fear that while Liyang and Liang fight, only the Northern Mang will profit? Nalan Youci, what do you truly want?!”

Nalan Youci yawned, unbothered by Lu Baixia’s killing intent. “Those who know me understand my worries; those who don’t wonder what I seek.”

He turned to the door and called, “Stand down. Master Tangxi is only joking.”

Lu Baixia laughed bitterly. “You think I’m joking?”

Nalan Youci retorted, “Or do you truly dare to kill me?”

The Tangxi Sword Immortal slumped, defeated. Never had he felt so powerless—not when he withdrew from his illustrious family for a woman, not when the emperor exiled him from Tai’an, not even as a prisoner in the Spring Snow Tower.

Nalan Youci jumped off the desk, sneering. “The entire Central Plains will soon share your despair. You’re just the first to feel it.”

Lu Baixia knelt, flipping the desk to stare at the girl’s carvings, lost in thought.

Nalan Youci left quietly, closing the door behind him. His final words lingered:

“I wonder how that Xu boy plans to guard the Northwest for you all.”

Alone atop the Spring Snow Tower, Nalan Youci gazed at the Guangling River.

He murmured, “Drunk with wine, I could swallow the winds of Jiangnan! In armor, I could inhale the vigor of Qinlong!”

But now, he lived in Jiangnan, while the man who had spoken those words lay dead in the Northwest.

Nalan Youci looked up and whispered, “Li Yishan, if you were alive, would you tell your student to abandon the Northwest?”

A voice answered from behind him. “Li Yishan would never say that.”

Without turning, Nalan Youci smiled. “What brings the King of Shu here for a view?”

Chen Zhibao, the uninvited guest, replied coolly, “Wu Zhongxuan is a nobody. In the Liang army, he wouldn’t even qualify as deputy commander. Why should I care?”

Nalan Youci finally turned, leaning on the railing. “Don’t let Zhao Bing hear you say that. Wu Zhongxuan and I were once his right-hand men.”

Chen Zhibao scoffed. “Which is why your southern troops are only fit for civil wars.”

Nalan Youci sighed. “Chen Zhibao, your blunt honesty needs work.”

He didn’t deny Chen Zhibao’s contempt for the southern army.

Nalan Youci asked, “Do you regret leaving Liang?”

Chen Zhibao smirked, refusing to answer.

Nalan Youci turned back to the river. “Who said, ‘The iron cavalry at Jubei are like a halberd across the river’?”

Chen Zhibao remained silent.

Nalan Youci rested his chin on his hands. “Liang—sounds like ‘sorrow.’ Unlucky. I wonder why no one advised Xu Xiao to change it.”

Chen Zhibao laughed coldly. “Sorrow? My three hundred thousand Liang cavalry live in sorrow but die in glory! The soft Central Plains could never understand!”

Nalan Youci murmured, “You said ‘my Liang’?”

He nodded to himself. “Once a Liang soldier, always a Liang veteran. I see now. Your actions have nothing to do with Xu Fengnian—or even Xu Xiao.”

Resting one hand on the railing, he gazed into the distance. “Chen Zhibao, don’t worry. I’ll make sure the Central Plains understands too. After all, that’s why we’re standing here.”

Chen Zhibao asked, “Aren’t you afraid Zhao Bing or Zhao Zhu will kill you? Especially Zhao Zhu?”

Nalan Youci chuckled. “I’m terrified.”

Chen Zhibao turned to leave. “I care only for results. If you fail, I’ll kill you before they do.”

Nalan Youci’s voice was calm. “Then let’s watch together—this grand, unfunny joke.”