Atop the mountain, the chanting of the six-character mantra around the prayer wheels resounded with grandeur. Alas, the common folk could not perceive the greater omens of shifting fortunes with their mortal eyes. Passersby near the tavern, having been startled by the commotion from Xiaolantuo Mountain, let out derisive laughter, a reaction to the absurdity they witnessed. In their view, a senior monk sat on a rooftop while a young man stood beside him, one hand holding an alms bowl. The two remained thus for nearly half an hour. Below the tavern, an ever-growing crowd from the outer city gathered, pointing and murmuring. Many mischievous children, emboldened by curiosity, climbed onto nearby rooftops.
Soon, elite cavalry units from the inner city arrived, escorting important figures at a gallop. The riders bore sabers, carried bows, and had lances hanging from their saddles. Their steeds were purebred Western Region warhorses renowned for their superior Impact, far outmatching ordinary horses. The mounted troops brutally forced their way through the dense crowd, trampling many innocent bystanders to death. Some outer city residents, seeing their friends slain, were overcome with rage and rushed forward to fight. However, even if a rider managed to knock one of them from his horse, the momentum of the charging steed behind would carry another rider forward, who would then thrust his spear through the attacker’s body. The iron-tipped wooden shafts of the lances bent into graceful arcs between the hands of the riders and the corpses they pierced, sending the bodies flying two or three zhang away. However, the wooden shafts, not crafted from the finest timber—rare and priceless—could not withstand such force and shattered upon impact. One rider, seemingly unsatisfied, discarded his broken spear and drew his saber. Leaning slightly forward, he did not slash downward but instead made a seemingly casual horizontal cut, riding toward an outer city man who was sprinting away. Without exerting himself, he simply relied on the horse’s momentum. The saber’s edge effortlessly sliced a deep, inch-long gash across the man’s throat.
From this detail, it was evident that these Western Region riders, well-paid and maintained by the inner city’s aristocrats, were seasoned veterans of countless battles. On the battlefield, cavalry warfare was never a one-time strike. To survive the longest, one had to know how to inflict the greatest damage with the least effort. Although the Western Region was not lacking in fine horses, quality ironwork was scarce. Moreover, the hardwood required to craft superior lances was strictly controlled by the Beiliang border forces and the Liyang imperial court, making it difficult to obtain. This significantly limited the combat effectiveness of the Western cavalry. As a result, they resorted to subpar alternatives. Only those with exceptional strength were equipped with high-quality iron-tipped long spears, while most others wielded disposable impact lances. Though these could also be thrown, they were sufficient for dealing with martial artists but would surely fall short against true, disciplined cavalry units.
As far back as twenty years ago, a bloody lesson had been learned. At the end of the Spring and Autumn Period, this city once possessed a cavalry force of five thousand riders, invincible throughout the Western Region. At that time, a dominant warlord who held absolute power within the city sought to annex the three border towns of Lin Yao as a supply base, then march into Liangdi, seize the high ground of the realm, and eventually dominate the Central Plains. However, the Xu family of Beiliang, then newly enfeoffed, dispatched only three thousand cavalry, who nearly annihilated the five thousand Western riders. Barely a hundred riders escaped with their lives, while the Xu forces suffered fewer than five hundred casualties. The survivors spoke for years afterward, shuddering as they recalled how the Xu cavalry were truly iron-clad. Two thousand of them were fully armored, man and horse alike, even equipped with face guards for the horses. Their iron lances were sturdy enough to endure multiple charges, while their own lances, crafted from waxwood shafts, were simply too flimsy in comparison.
Therefore, in the past twenty years, the wealthy families of this city, despite acquiring cavalry, dared only to engage in minor skirmishes behind closed doors and never dared provoke the Beiliang border forces. There were, of course, a few bold souls who, emboldened by reckless courage, attempted to challenge the status quo. After the Beiliang border forces established the practice of sending small units of five riders into the refugee territories for training to become White Horse Rangers (White Horse Scout Archers), one individual led eight hundred elite riders into what is now Liuzhou to take advantage of the chaos. Initially, they managed to surround and kill thirty or forty Beiliang warriors by sheer numerical superiority. However, they soon faced a brutal and merciless retaliation.
Hu Kui, the commander of the Lieju Cavalry, who had not yet become the governor of Lanzhou, and Liu Jishou, the deputy commander of Hutou City, each led a thousand light cavalry into Liuzhou and slaughtered the entire Western force of eight hundred riders. They then impaled their enemies’ heads on their lances and rode all the way to this city, thousands of li from Liangzhou. Many within the city were unaware of this tragedy because the man who had recklessly initiated the attack, along with forty or so family members and over nine hundred retainers, were wiped out overnight by a coalition of other inner city factions. They then carried the heads out of the city for thirty li to apologize to the Beiliang border forces. Thinking their actions had shown sufficient sincerity and would pacify the situation, they were unprepared for what followed. Hu Kui, the very man who had forged the Beiliang White Horse Rangers (White Horse Scout Archers), shamelessly launched a surprise charge during the standoff, especially after Liu Jishou had nearly agreed to withdraw the army back to Beiliang. The sudden assault sent the three thousand cavalry of the city, who had merely been brought out to serve as a show of force, into disarray, their riders and horses thrown into chaos. Had Liu Jishou not charged into the fray alone and intercepted Hu Kui in the midst of his massacre, the power dynamics within the city might have been completely altered.
Xu Fengnian paid no heed to the onlookers in the streets. After slinging the corpse of the Master of Chicken Soup onto his back, he carried the alms bowl in one hand and soared toward Xiaolantuo Mountain at the heart of the inner city. There, near a thatched cottage at the foot of the mountain, he buried the old monk and placed the bowl atop the grave.
Xu Fengnian began to wait—for the one who was coming.
Toba Pusa.
※※※
In the second year of the Xiangfu era, as the days grew gradually warmer and the spring season lulled people into a drowsy mood, the imperial capital suddenly held two grand ceremonies—an offering to the land and grain deities and a ritual at the Imperial Ancestral Temple—both conducted in a manner that violated established protocol. This unexpected move threw the Ministry of Rites, the Office of Ceremonial, the Directorate of Ceremonial Affairs, the Bureau of Arrangements responsible for ceremonial processions, and the Divine Temple Supervision Bureau, which managed temple affairs, into chaos. Everyone was exhausted and overwhelmed.
Those who paid attention noticed that standing beside the emperor was not only the solemn-faced Chancellor Qi Yanglong but also a strange young man dressed in the robes of the Bureau of Astronomy, whose expression was even darker. After the two grand ceremonies, as dusk approached, the emperor did not grant respite to the exhausted senior officials. Instead, he moved the small court assembly to the military affairs hall of the Ministry of War. Not a single high-ranking official from the Zhongshu and Menxia Provinces or any of the purple-robed ministers from the Six Ministries was absent.
As the emperor and the two elderly ministers, Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen, entered the hall together, a massive sand table depicting the lower reaches of the Guangling River was already placed at the central table, along with over a dozen intricately crafted models of warships. The young emperor, his steps brisk, waved off the formal greetings before they could be offered and strode directly toward the models. Lu Baijie, the Minister of War, exchanged a glance with Gao Tingzhu, the Director of the Military Selection and Evaluation Bureau, who had gained considerable fame after observing military affairs along the frontier. The young scholar, who had prepared his speech in advance, hastily cleared his throat and stepped forward to present a detailed comparison of the two Guangling naval forces.
“Your Majesty,” he began, “the naval forces under the Prince of Guangling currently number eighty thousand. They possess thirty-five large warships of three types—the Huanglong, Fengyi, and Fuyao. There are one hundred and forty medium-sized warships of seven types, including Mengchong, Maotu, and Xiandeng. There are also approximately four hundred small vessels, such as Chima and Shouchou, of twelve different kinds. On the other hand, the naval forces of the Western Chu consist of about fifty-six thousand men, with around seven hundred warships in total. However, they have only eighteen large warships and fewer than seventy medium-sized Mengchong and Maotu warships. Moreover, among their fleet, no fewer than two hundred are crude modifications of fishing boats, giving them neither numerical nor tactical advantage. Additionally, the forty thousand naval forces of Qingzhou, personally led by the Prince of Jing’an, have already begun moving downriver. Their vanguard has successfully taken control of the Baotaji area, where the Guangling River meets Bai Lu Lake, and they will soon be able to encircle the Western Chu fleet from both front and rear.”
Emperor Zhao Zuan remained silent. He was no negligent ruler; he was thoroughly familiar with the military situation in Guangling. However, what truly troubled him was a single, weighty decision—whether to allow the two ends of the naval forces to “miss the opportunity” so that they could first assist the one hundred thousand elite troops of the Southern Mountains in crossing the Guangling River, or to seize the chance presented by the Western Chu fleet’s decision to engage the Guangling fleet head-on, allowing the Qingzhou fleet to swiftly enter the western end of Bai Lu Lake and stage a more secure pincer attack from the east, thus avoiding the risk of being defeated piecemeal.
Of course, if the Southern Mountains troops successfully crossed the Guangling River, and the recently arrived Song Li had already eliminated the majority of Xie Xichui’s forces, then on the battlefield of the Western Chu territory, the one hundred thousand elite troops from the Southern Mountains would surely advance like an irresistible tide, perhaps even managing to besiege the Western Chu capital outright.
However, the Guangling suppression campaign had never been a simple matter of battlefield victory. If the Southern Mountains forces managed to surround the Western Chu capital without suffering a single casualty, then the outcome of the battle on Bai Lu Lake would become a mere afterthought—a redundant engagement. If the Southern Mountains merely seized the glory of conquest before the imperial court, that would be one thing. But the worst-case scenario was far beyond what the court could bear—if both the Guangling and Qingzhou fleets were defeated by the Western Chu fleet, commanded in person by Cao Changqing, and if Zhao Bing, a border prince like Xu Xiao at the time, harbored ill intentions and rebelled under the cover of chaos, then would the several thousand troops under the Southern Campaign Commander Lu Shengxiang be sufficient to withstand the seasoned and ruthless Southern Mountains forces? An even more terrifying scenario was the possibility of collusion between the Southern Mountains and the Western Chu, with both forces marching north together. In such a case, Liyang would have no choice but to divert General Gu Jiantang’s forces from the Liangliao border to rush south and protect the Taian capital. The Northern Barbarians had already been struggling against the Beiliang forces on the Youliang front, and outside the Liangliao defensive line, they maintained a standing force of nearly two hundred thousand. Would Emperor Zhao Zuan then find himself standing atop the walls of Taian City, facing both the Northern Barbarians and the Southern Mountains savages at the same time?
All these grim possibilities were based on the worst-case scenario, so deep within his heart, Zhao Zuan felt regret. Had he been wrong to heed the advice of Chancellor Qi Yanglong and Minister of War Lu Baijie and refuse to allow the Shu forces to march?
After all, it was only ten thousand Shu soldiers. Even if Chen Zhibao himself led them, how much glory could they possibly claim on the Guangling battlefield? Could ten thousand men truly lay siege to the Western Chu capital? Although the young emperor had indeed intended to prevent the Prince of Shu from leaving his domain, when the campaign began to bog down, he found himself secretly harboring resentment, though well-hidden. As an emperor who had always enjoyed smooth sailing, Zhao Zuan lacked the experience of making difficult decisions under pressure. He was far from the caliber of his late father, let alone his grandfather, who had spent most of his life fighting on horseback.
At this moment, Zhao Zuan found himself increasingly irritated by the inept Tangxi Sword Immortal, Lu Baijie. Were it not for the fact that the two deputy ministers of the Ministry of War—Xu Gong and Tang Tieshuang—were newcomers to Taian, and Song Li’s experience was too shallow, and the old generals from the Spring and Autumn era were either dead in battle or had passed away from old age, the emperor would have already dismissed Lu Baijie from the Ministry of War. Yuan Guo was already preparing to head to his fief to serve as the newly established Deputy Military Commissioner. Lu Baijie was also supposed to be among those departing. However, both Qi Yanglong and the venerable Tan Tan Weng had expressed reservations about this matter, so the decision was postponed.
Since ascending the throne, Zhao Zuan had his own calculations. In his view, his late father had made a mistake by allowing Chen Zhibao to leave the capital, following the advice of Yuan Benxi and Zhang Julu. He should have kept Chen tightly bound to the position of Minister of War. At most, he could have given him a final military victory in the Guangling campaign. After all, if it came down to it, with the same number of troops, if the court doubted Lu Shengxiang’s ability to resist the Southern Mountains forces, no one would doubt Chen Zhibao’s ability to crush them easily. In fact, as long as Chen Zhibao remained in the capital as Minister of War, the Southern Mountains would never dare to rebel.
Zhao Zuan was not blind to his late father’s original intentions in stationing Chen Zhibao in Xishu. However, unlike his predecessor, Zhao Zuan harbored deep suspicions toward this “White-Robed Military Sage.” Moreover, the new emperor had to admit that there had been a bond of loyalty between his late father and Chen Zhibao. It was widely known that his late father had held little affection for the entire Beiliang region, yet he had shown particular favor to Chen Zhibao. At one time, he had nearly bestowed an imperial title upon the young man before his coming-of-age ceremony. Later, he had appointed him as Minister of War in place of Gu Jiantang. Even after a delay of more than a decade, he had still made Chen the Prince of Shu, and after Xu Xiao’s death, Chen had become the last remaining non-imperial prince. But Zhao Zuan did not share such a bond with Chen. The people with whom he shared such connections were figures like Chen Wang, Tang Tieshuang, and Song Li—promising but not yet at the pinnacle of the bureaucratic or military hierarchy.
The emperor remained silent for a long time, and the hall fell into a heavy hush.
Gao Tingzhu had spoken at length, his voice growing hoarse as he exhausted the carefully prepared strategies he had rehearsed in advance. He dared not indulge in any unnecessary embellishments before the assembled ministers. After cautiously glancing at Lu Baijie, the pillar of the Ministry of War, and receiving a confirming nod, Gao fell silent, avoiding any further unnecessary words. Finally, the emperor broke the silence, offering a few words of encouragement and commendation to this young rising star of the Ministry of War, clearly indicating his favor. The gathered ministers smiled at the young man, renowned in the capital for his refined demeanor and nicknamed the “Jade Tree of Taian.” Only the Deputy Minister of the Ministry of Rites, Jin Lanting, regarded him with a complex and subtle gaze.
The emperor then left the Zhao Family’s stronghold and proceeded to the newly relocated Hanlin Academy, which stood as a neighbor to the Zhongshu and Menxia offices. Today, the Hanlin Academy was hosting a tea gathering. The emperor saw the expected figures—Chen Wang, Sun Yin, Yan Chiji, Fan Zhanghou, Li Jifu, and Song Kelǐ—among the dozens of Hanlin scholars present. Yet, no matter how densely the crowd gathered, none of them could catch the emperor’s eye at first glance.
At this moment, the proud and defiant scholar Sun Yin was engaged in a game of Go with Fan Shihou, the Tenth Dan. Chen Wang and the top scholar Li Jifu stood side by side, whispering to each other. Meanwhile, the nation’s imperial brother-in-law, Yan Chiji, and the rising young talent from the Song family, Song Keli, stood together on the opposite side. When the Emperor approached, he noticed several rare and precious books placed beside the Go bowls of Sun Yin and Fan Shihou. Sun Yin had four books stacked neatly, while Fan Shihou had only two—clearly the stakes of their wager.
Upon the Emperor’s arrival, the other courtiers in the courtyard were visibly anxious, but the six individuals nearby displayed similar yet subtly different expressions. Sun Yin remained completely still, focused entirely on the game. Fan Shihou did not rise either, but the young eunuch who had been holding a piece in contemplation slowly placed it back onto the board as a sign of respect. Yan Chiji and Song Keli both stepped aside to make way, especially Yan Chiji, who, despite having the most reason to remain indifferent, wore the most solemn expression—his demeanor even more intense than Song Keli’s. Chen Wang stepped forward, but after taking two steps, he noticed Li Jifu had not moved. Quietly, he reached out and tugged at the scholar’s sleeve. Li Jifu cast a grateful glance, and together they approached the Emperor.
Chen Wang smiled and explained the stakes to the Emperor, “A few days ago, it was agreed that Fan Shihou would give Sun Yin a two-stone advantage. Along with the four others, we all placed bets using rare books from Gu Fang Zhai, purchased with three months’ worth of our salaries.”
Chen Wang’s smile widened. “This idea was actually Sun Yin’s. It’s clearly meant to take advantage of me—after all, everyone knows I have the highest salary among the six of us.”
Then, Chen Wang subtly shifted his position, making Li Jifu more visible before the Emperor, and teased, “Li Jifu has always sent his salary back home, so he barely has any spare coin left. Therefore, he had to borrow the money for the books from me. He was the most reluctant when placing the bet, hesitating for quite some time, afraid of falling into debt again so soon after just barely getting through the New Year. Your Majesty, I dare to make a small, impertinent request—if Li Jifu and I lose, perhaps Your Majesty could cover our losses? Compared to Your Majesty’s vast wealth, Li Jifu and I are nowhere near as well-off.”
The Emperor laughed. “That’s no problem. But speaking of which, isn’t your father-in-law, the Duke of Chai, also quite wealthy? Hasn’t he been making a fortune every day for the past six months? I’ve even been tempted to go begging from him. So yes, I can cover Li Jifu’s losses, but don’t expect me to cover yours.”
Caught between the Emperor and Chen Wang, Li Jifu felt a whirlwind of emotions. He envied the Emperor’s trust in Chen Wang, which allowed such candid remarks about the Duke of Chai’s wealth. Yet, deep down, Li Jifu was profoundly grateful for Chen Wang’s quiet support.
After inquiring about the stakes, the Emperor removed a jade pendant from his waist, took the rare book Li Jifu had bet from Sun Yin’s side, and handed it back to the scholar. Li Jifu accepted the book, his eyes suddenly welling up. He held the book with both hands, quickly lowering his head to hide his tears. The Emperor patted the young minister—who, despite having the highest imperial examination rank among the “Eight Steeds of Tai’an,” had the lowest reputation—comforting him with, “After all, you haven’t lost yet.”
However, in the end, the game’s outcome, both on and off the board, saw Chen Wang, Li Jifu, Yan Chiji, and Song Keli emerge as the losers.
Sun Yin, who lost, and Fan Shihou, who won, each reclaimed their own books and divided the three remaining books and the priceless jade pendant between them. Sun Yin took two rare books first, leaving Fan Shihou with one rare copy and the jade pendant. Seeing this, the Emperor shook his head with a wry smile, “Fan Shihou betting on his own victory is understandable, but Sun Yin—you actually bet on your own defeat?”
Sun Yin smiled calmly. “Go and betting are two different things.”
The Emperor turned to Fan Shihou, the greatest Go master of the realm, and asked helplessly, “Even you, the Tenth Dan, are willing to play Go with such a rogue?”
Fan Shihou stood up and laughed. “Your Majesty, after giving two stones, the two sides are actually evenly matched. From there, the outcome is up to fate.”
The Emperor joked, “People say that when you, Fan Yu Tian, play Go, it’s as if celestial beings are guiding your hand. If that’s the case, then next time you play a wagered game with Sun Yin, be sure to bring me along. I’ll bet one of the rare books from the Six Libraries on the outcome.”
As dusk fell, under the Emperor’s personal instructions, eunuchs brought many jars of imperial wine from the palace. However, the Emperor, along with Chen Wang, Sun Yin, and his brother-in-law Yan Chiji, left the noisy courtyard together.
Turning to Sun Yin, who had lost the game but won the stakes, the Emperor casually asked, “I’ve only heard of komi, but why did you give stones this time?”
Sun Yin replied, “No matter how many points I get, I can’t beat Fan Shihou. If the gap is too wide, there’s no fun in the bet.”
The Emperor nodded. “When it comes to drinking, Go, and poetry, once you reach a certain level, advancing even a single step is as hard as climbing to the heavens. It’s truly a matter of predestined fate, not something that can be changed by human effort.”
Chen Wang softly said, “It’s just like the war in Guangling. If the remnants of the Western Chu hadn’t placed two or three stones first, no one would have dared to bet or even take the field.”
Sighing, the Emperor said with some regret, “The reason I brought you two along is because Chen Wang has always believed in the Guangling campaign, while Sun Yin has always thought otherwise. Today, I want to hear your true thoughts. No matter how shocking your words may be, I will listen carefully and consider them. The debates in court are inevitably clouded by various interests and entanglements, but you two are different.”
Sun Yin glanced at Chen Wang, who gently gestured for him to speak first.
Without hesitation, Sun Yin spoke with a bold and confident tone, “Your Majesty is worried that after the Southern Army crosses the river and surrounds the capital of the Western Chu, it will become too powerful to control. Even if they don’t rebel, they might demand unreasonable concessions from the court, becoming another Northern Liang Border Army. Moreover, the situation is different this time. Although Northern Liang’s Xu Xiao never declared independence, the Southern General Zhao Bing has spent over a decade consolidating power in the south. Who knows what choice he might make? Your Majesty doesn’t want to leave such a decision to fate and the whims of the people, do you?”
The Emperor hesitated, then nodded. “Exactly.”
Sun Yin smiled. “There are three ways to break this stalemate. First, Your Majesty must publicly express dissatisfaction with the Ministry of War’s incompetence, and in a show of anger, remove the current Minister of War, Lu Baijie, from office. He can be appointed as the regional commander of either the Southern or Guangling front—anywhere he can meet with Wu Chongxuan, the deputy commander of the Southern Army. You must appeal to his emotions, reason with him, and offer him incentives. As for emotions and reason, I need not elaborate. With his cultivation and demeanor, the Sword Immortal of Tangxi should be capable. But when it comes to incentives, Your Majesty will have to make a painful sacrifice—far more painful than parting with a jade pendant.”
The Emperor frowned. “Is appointing him as a regional commander enough?”
Sun Yin scoffed.
The Emperor murmured, “Should I promise Wu Chongxuan a future position as Minister of War in the capital?”
Sun Yin sneered.
The Emperor asked, “Could it be that my Yiliang will have to create another non-imperial prince?”
Sun Yin countered, “Why not? Can future non-imperial princes be compared to the Princes of Liang and Shu? Will the court be unable to control them? Wu Chongxuan is already in his sixties, and his three sons are mediocre. How long can he remain a regional prince?”
The Emperor nodded slightly but remained silent.
Sun Yin continued, “Second, after Lu Baijie is removed from the Ministry of War, allow the Prince of Shu to lead ten thousand elite troops out of his domain, and issue an imperial decree appointing him as the acting Minister of War. He must rush to Guangling to suppress the rebellion. Furthermore, allow Chen Zhibao to take half of the Jing’an Prince Zhao Xun’s Qingzhou naval forces in addition to his own elite troops. Chen Zhibao must not be given too much power, yet he must not be left powerless either. If he holds too much military authority, it will be difficult to curb his ambitions. If he has no power at all, he may grow resentful and rebellious. The ideal number of troops for him is between thirty and forty thousand—never exceeding fifty thousand. If the court believes he can only train one thousand soldiers just because he is not allowed to leave Shu, then it is a mistake. Just as water must be channeled rather than blocked, the late Emperor and Yiliang allowed him to go to Western Shu, where he achieved success. Now that the Northern Meng has a million troops pressing on the Northern Liang’s western front, it is time to bring Chen Zhibao back under the Emperor’s watchful eye in the capital.”
This time, the Emperor simply nodded.
Sun Yin took a deep breath. “Third, allow Northern Liang to fight the Northern Meng to the bitter end. The court must not only open the Guangling grain transport routes but also halt the replacement of the household registers. Furthermore, order Gu Jiantang and Jizhou on the eastern front to launch simultaneous offensives, pressuring the Northern Meng’s entire border and forcing them to fight on multiple fronts. This way, no matter how chaotic the Guangling campaign becomes, it will only be a temporary setback. In the end, Yiliang will be able to clean up the mess, leaving the Northern Meng with only half its former strength, and the Western Chu utterly ruined, like a bow at the end of its strength—Cao Changqing will have no choice but to seek death.”
The young Emperor remained silent, then turned to Chen Wang, who smiled bitterly and said, “Your Majesty, I have nothing more to say.”
Sun Yin waited for a response but received none. He chuckled and said, “Taking advantage of this fine wine, I’ll go back and drink. If I fall drunk in the Hanlin Academy, I’ll trouble Chancellor Chen to drag me back.”
Watching the defiant scholar’s retreating figure, the Emperor softly said, “Chen Wang, Chiji, come with me. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
This time, not even a single guard followed the Emperor. Only Song Tanglu, the chief eunuch of the Grand Secretariat, carefully led the way through a maze of corridors to a quiet courtyard on the edge of the palace grounds.
Pushing open the courtyard gate, in the lamplight, Chen Wang and Yan Chiji saw a man and a woman seated on two rattan chairs. The man appeared blind, and the woman was reading a book to him.
Despite their closeness to the Emperor, Chen Wang, Yan Chiji, and Song Tanglu were all left at the courtyard gate. The Emperor alone entered, exchanging a few brief words with the blind young man.
When the Emperor stood up and walked back to the gate, his expression was no longer heavy. A relaxed and carefree smile had returned to his face.
Chen Wang smiled and said, “Congratulations, Your Majesty, on gaining a new strategist.”
The Emperor laughed joyfully. “Chancellor Chen is no less capable than him. They are just different kinds of people. Sun Yin is not a hermit—he’s just a rogue cultivator. The scholar in the courtyard, Master Lu, is a true hermit, a wild fox spirit. But in the end, it is still you, Chancellor Chen, who will govern the nation and bring peace to the world.”
Inside the courtyard, Lu Xu lay on the rattan chair, blindfolded.
The female assassin from the Jing’an Prince’s Mansion, whose real name was Liu Lingbao, knelt briefly before the Emperor and rose with a puzzled expression.
Lu Xu “opened his eyes,” as if trying to see this world where no one was truly free.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage