Once, it was said that the intricate network of imperial roads in the current Liyang Dynasty was laid out following the iron hooves of a certain cripple’s warhorses.
A grand procession of carriages halted at the Xiaoranpo Post Station within Youzhou. The station was modest, yet compared to those in the Central Plains, it was notably cleaner and more austere. In truth, ever since the convoy had entered Youzhou from Jizhou and Hezhou, passing into the territory of the Northern Liang, they had noticed an unusually dense distribution of post stations along the way, with couriers frequently galloping past on urgent errands.
Earlier, the convoy had even encountered a comical misunderstanding. Having heard much about the Northern Liang’s elite border troops—particularly their cavalry, renowned for their arrogance and ferocity—the high-ranking figures in the convoy, who were somewhat familiar with border military affairs, recalled a brutal rule: if a courier collided with someone on the road, the blame fell on the deceased. Thus, when the vanguard of sixty-odd imperial guards first encountered a Northern Liang courier riding southward in Youzhou, they panicked. If the courier continued his path, he might cut straight through the middle of their procession—right where the three or four carriages carrying the crimson-robed, jade-belted nobles of the palace were positioned. What if a conflict erupted with this Northern Liang courier?
The sixty elite guards from the capital were thrown into disarray. Though officials along their westward journey had treated them like revered ancestors, they dared not obstruct a lone Northern Liang courier. Without hesitation, the vanguard turned their horses to block the rear of the convoy, choosing to congest their own procession rather than impede the courier’s path. The courier, who had initially prepared to slow down, was baffled by the convoy’s excessive deference. As he rode past the intersection, he cast a puzzled glance at the disciplined yet overly courteous outsiders.
Later, a military officer from the Ministry of War’s Armory Division explained that the feather-stamped dispatch on the courier’s back indicated he was merely an ordinary messenger from Youzhou, carrying routine intelligence.
Yet, the vanguard commander who had acted on his own initiative was not reprimanded. An elderly eunuch in crimson python robes, representing the sentiments of the entire convoy, remarked:
*”In Northern Liang, caution is our best safeguard.”*
By now, most Liyang soldiers understood a fundamental truth: the world’s armies fell into three categories—weak forces, strong armies, and then there was the Northern Liang Iron Cavalry.
When the new Liang King once led fewer than a thousand White Horse Righteous Sons into the heavily guarded capital, he had cut through like a hot knife through butter—a humiliation that forced an imperial clan general to resign in disgrace. Though the Ministry of War did not intervene, everyone in the capital knew that for half a year afterward, the ministry had treated capital-born officers with thinly veiled contempt, as if they owed an unpaid debt of tens of thousands of taels.
Later, at the tail end of the Guangling Campaign, ten thousand Snow Dragon Cavalry suddenly surged out of the pass. Despite the efforts of Xu Gong, the Vice Minister of War, leading elite capital troops, and the coordinated attacks from Jizhou and Qingzhou cavalry, the interception ended in abject failure. Now, rumors swirled in the capital that the reason Lu Shengxiang—not Xu Gong—had risen to prominence after the Guangling Campaign was due to the emperor’s disappointment in the latter’s botched interception.
The Xiaoranpo Post Station treated these imperial envoys with neither warmth nor hostility—neither fawning nor dismissive. The Chief Eunuch of the Seal Office, accustomed to such attitudes, did not nitpick. After all, Liyang eunuchs rarely left the capital, and since the old emperor had granted asylum to eunuchs from fallen kingdoms, they had remained fiercely loyal to the Zhao imperial family, never meddling in court politics. Even the notorious “Human Cat” Han Shengxuan, the former head of the Ceremonial Directorate, had been infamous only in the jianghu as one of the Three Great Fiends of the Spring and Autumn Era, never for disloyalty. His young successor, Song Tanglu, had since earned widespread respect among officials.
The Xiaoranpo Post Station could not accommodate the thousand-strong entourage of decree-bearing eunuchs, imperial guards, and capital cavalry. Elsewhere, local officials would have arranged accommodations without disturbing civilians—or so they claimed. The Seal Office eunuchs turned a blind eye to such assurances. But in Youzhou, where post stations were numerous but small, most of the convoy often camped outdoors. Remarkably, the Seal Office proactively consulted with Youzhou stations to minimize disruption to Northern Liang’s civilians, and the convoy purchased additional supplies without ever imposing on the locals.
After entering the station, the three crimson-robed eunuchs gathered in the main hall for their customary meeting but remained silent, sipping tea while awaiting news from a trusted subordinate. Soon, a young eunuch respectfully ushered in a scholar-like figure. The eunuch bowed and withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Upon seeing the young man in scholar’s robes, the three eunuchs rose in deference, addressing him in hushed tones: *”Greetings, Prime Minister Chen!”*
The title *”Prime Minister”* had once been an honorific in old Liyang, reserved for military leaders or high-ranking ministers. In those days, only seven or eight individuals merited the title. During the Yonghui era, after Liyang unified the Central Plains, the term faded but resurfaced in the Xiangfu era, especially within the inner court, where eunuchs used it to address certain high-ranking officials. Now, no one dared confuse the term with its less savory connotations from the past.
To the discerning eyes of these eunuchs, even a Minister of the Six Boards did not warrant the title. Only four individuals in the entire court—Chancellor Qi Yanglong, Vice Chancellor Zhao Youling, Left Deputy Huan Wen, and Left Regular Attendant Chen Wang—deserved it.
The identity of the man before them was thus unmistakable: **Chen Wang, the Junior Guardian, the undisputed next Chancellor of Liyang.**
The Chief Eunuch, a kindly, thin old man who would have looked more like an immortal in Taoist robes than his flamboyant crimson attire, waited for Chen Wang to sit before taking his own seat. Without hiding his concern, he said in a soft but clear voice, *”Prime Minister Chen, are you truly heading north into Youzhou? Without you as our anchor, this old servant’s heart trembles with unease.”*
Chen Wang’s secret departure from the capital was known only to a select few. Smiling, he reassured, *”Eunuch Liu, there’s no need to worry. Delivering the decree to Qingliang Mountain will proceed without incident.”*
Had anyone else offered such bland reassurance, the Chief Eunuch might have taken offense. But coming from Chen Wang, it eased his mind.
In the labyrinthine world of court politics, where every word carried layers of meaning, officials often dissected conversations like scholars parsing ancient texts. Yet, a rare few—like the late Grand Chancellor Zhang Julu, the forthright Huan Wen, and now Chen Wang—spoke with such clarity that no one needed to overanalyze their words. These men, true paragons of virtue, could not be flattered, nor would they punish others for careless speech. They were not saints without desires, but their ambitions lay beyond the comprehension of ordinary officials.
In recent years, the capital had seemingly lavished praise on the rising star Jin Lanting. Yet, as Huan Wen’s early slap had hinted, the truth was far more complex.
In a world where the clever were forever outmatched by the cleverer, rising to the top of the bureaucratic ladder was no small feat. Becoming a minister was hard; becoming Chancellor was nearly impossible.
Now, the capital firmly believed that no amount of admiration for Chen Wang was excessive.
Compared to the formidable Zhang Julu, Chen Wang’s disadvantages lay in his lack of a prestigious mentor or political inheritance. Born into humble circumstances, his rise was solely due to the emperor’s favor. Yet, his demeanor—gentle as jade, devoid of aggression—promised a stable era for Liyang’s bureaucracy. Under his future chancellorship, court rivalries would remain civil, free from the life-and-death struggles of the past.
Strangely, no one in the court understood what Chen Wang truly sought in his ascent. He never spoke of it, nor did his actions betray any hidden agenda.
His sudden appearance in the convoy had startled the Chief Eunuch, who dared not speculate on his motives. Now, as Chen Wang announced his intention to leave the convoy and head north alone, the three eunuchs exchanged uneasy glances.
A flicker of nostalgia crossed Chen Wang’s face before he smiled faintly. *”Perhaps the three of you have forgotten—my hometown is in Northern Liang’s Youzhou.”*
*A triumphant return?*
Eunuch Liu ventured cautiously, *”Prime Minister Chen, how many capital cavalry should escort you?”*
Chen Wang waved a hand. *”Not a single rider. I would never misuse imperial resources.”*
Before Eunuch Liu could protest, another eunuch interjected urgently, *”Prime Minister Chen, this is unthinkable! We dare not assign all the imperial guards and cavalry to you—the court’s dignity must be upheld. But taking half would raise no objections. If anyone dares complain… this servant will tear out their tongue! You are Liyang’s pillar—we cannot risk your safety in Northern Liang. Should harm befall you, we’d have no face returning to the capital alive!”*
Eunuch Liu nodded fervently in agreement.
Chen Wang chuckled. *”The three of you need not worry. His Majesty has already personally requested someone to escort me home.”*
The eunuchs, masters of parsing imperial language, stiffened in shock.
*Requested!*
Who in the world could compel the emperor to *”request”* their protection for Chen Wang?
Not even Chai Qingshan of Dongyue Sword Pool or the ancestral master of the Wu Family Sword Mound held such weight.
Chen Wang left it at that. After discussing decree-related matters, he rose to leave.
As the eunuchs escorted him out, they noticed a young, unfamiliar eunuch waiting at the steps. None recalled such a junior in the Seal Office.
Yet Chen Wang nodded to him in acknowledgment—a gesture the young eunuch ignored. As they departed, the eunuch walked slightly ahead.
Soon after, a carriage quietly left Xiaoranpo, heading north.
Before boarding, Chen Wang bowed to the driver. *”Thank you for your trouble, sir.”*
The young eunuch, clad in plain attire beneath an outer robe, remained expressionless.
Less than half a mile down the road, two riders awaited: an elderly swordsman with an imposing aura and a stunningly beautiful woman with a sabre at her waist.
They were Mi Fengjie, the Xuan-rank expert recruited by the young Liang King into the Fushui Bureau, and Fan Xiaochai, now a rising star within it.
The two fell in as escorts, trailing the carriage at a respectful distance.
At the next post station, a young Northern Liang official boarded the carriage, carrying a jug of Green Ant Wine.
Sitting opposite Chen Wang, he studied the Left Regular Attendant—the highest-ranking Northern Liang native in Liyang’s court—and raised the jug with a grin. *”Minister Chen, care for a drink?”*
Chen Wang’s expression remained placid. *”No, thank you.”*
The young official sighed inwardly.
*Trouble has come knocking. No wonder our prince didn’t dare face this himself.*
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