Chen Zhibao left the small village shaded by willow trees first, while the White Fox, having just exited the Listening-to-Tide Pavilion, followed behind.
Xu Xiao arrived at this secluded estate, which had no outer walls. The servants, having been thoroughly briefed by the maid Lu Qi, mostly knew of this figure who had caused the usually serious General Chen to act out of character. After seeing off the old man last time, Chen had clearly been in a good mood. Previously, they had speculated whether the old man might be Governor Li Degong of Xijing, but decided it was unlikely, as Li’s reputation was not good enough for General Chen to go out of his way to please him. They eventually guessed that it must be a retired general from the Beiliang Army, perhaps even an old subordinate of Chen’s. Only the estate’s senior steward had correctly guessed the truth, but he had not spread the information recklessly. This time, with the Prince of Beiliang arriving in person, the steward still did not make a big fuss, simply receiving him under the shade of the backyard trees. He had the maid Lu Qi, who had met Xu Xiao before, bring over some homemade fruits and pastries from the estate. After Xu Xiao had a bite or two, he smiled and stood up, asking the maid to lead him to Chen Zhibao’s study.
The young maid Lu Qi dared not take initiative, but she also hesitated to say directly that no maids were allowed to clean the general’s study. The general always came to this quiet estate to rest and did the cleaning himself. Over time, it had become an unspoken rule among the servants not to enter the general’s study, even though the door was always open and dust often gathered. As the maid stood there, uncertain of what to do, the senior steward, who had been quietly waiting in the distance, quickly ran over and personally led the great general to the study. Upon reaching the door, the steward took the puzzled Lu Qi aside and walked away quickly.
Xu Xiao crossed the threshold with his hands behind his back, walked to the desk, and saw a blank piece of white paper lying there—no words written upon it.
When a woman leaves home to marry, she brings her dowry. A man setting out, not having married into anyone’s family, naturally travels alone.
The litchi fruit had finally fallen from its branch.
Xu Xiao picked up the blank paper, rolled it, and tucked it into his sleeve. He murmured softly, “This is probably for the best.”
He looked around the study. The bookshelves were filled with rare and precious military treatises and historical records. They were not stored in luxurious zitan or huanghuali wood cases, clearly meant for easy access and frequent reading. Xu Xiao stood there in thought for a moment, reminiscing. He remembered how Zhibao had been a mischievous child, always playing tricks and pulling on the beards of the old general Chen. In his younger days, Xu Xiao often carried the boy around the military camp. That little rascal would hold it in until halfway through the ride, then suddenly let loose a stream of urine.
When had he become so quiet and reserved? Probably on the day he burned incense and poured wine at that hastily built tomb. That day, Zhibao had knelt by the grave, burying his face in the earth. Even Xu Xiao could not tell whether the boy had cried.
Later, as the Beiliang Army grew stronger and its iron hooves crushed the hopes of six kingdoms, Xu Xiao was summoned to the capital. Before appearing before the emperor, he had a candid conversation with Zhibao. He offered him the chance to become a non-imperial king, ruling over the northwest on behalf of the dynasty, while Xu Xiao would retire in the capital and take a nominal post like Minister of War. The emperor had also considered this option, but in the end, Zhibao refused. He said the capital was not a peaceful place, and he could not bear to leave his adoptive father behind as a hostage.
Later, in the imperial court, the emperor once again subtly tested him, asking whether Zhibao would be willing to join forces with the King of Yanche to pacify the southern barbarians. This would have meant creating two non-imperial kings at once, a move that shocked the entire court. Even the great general Gu Jiantang, known for his calm demeanor, had angrily turned away with a sweep of his sleeve. The King of Yanche merely looked up at the palace beams and said nothing. The venerable senior chancellor, mentor to the current Prime Minister Zhang, knelt on the ground and repeatedly kowtowed until his forehead bled, pleading with the emperor not to violate tradition.
That year, the white-robed Chen Zhibao was only seventeen, and Xu Fengnian was barely eight. Over the years, Xu Xiao had found it harder and harder to understand what his adopted son truly wanted, or where his limits lay. The more Zhibao seemed to want nothing, the more formidable he became. Xu Xiao, the Butcher of Men, knew that if he died, the seemingly unambitious Zhibao would gain everything. And when that day came, the fragile Beiliang might no longer be enough to satisfy Chen Zhibao’s ambitions. Why had the newly enthroned Zhao emperor granted Zhibao a feudal domain? On the surface, it was a gesture of magnanimity—rewarding merit and not minding having two non-imperial kings watching over the north and south. But in truth, it was also a way to pit father and son against each other, keeping them in check.
Xu Xiao had no doubt that Chen Zhibao, now independent, could and would vie for the throne.
As Xu Xiao left the estate, he murmured to himself, “I hope it’s not too late for both sides.”
Returning to the Beiliang Prince’s Mansion.
Inside the main hall, there were no armored guards to enforce solemnity. Half of the six adopted sons had arrived: Qi Danguo, who carried the banner; Ye Xizhen, who had studied under the brilliant strategist Zhao Changling; and Yao Jian, an expert in geomancy and dragon-seeking.
Chen Zhibao, Yuan Zuozong, and Chu Lushan were no longer in Beiliang.
Only the father and the remaining four sons remained.
Seeing their adoptive father sit down gently, Ye Xizhen and Yao Jian exchanged glances before slowly kneeling. Qi Danguo stood unmoving, glaring at the two brothers who had already achieved success, his face filled with anger.
Xu Xiao, his hands in his sleeves, leaned back and said, “Our intelligence network in Beiliang has been split into two halves for years. Lushan controlled one half, and Xizhen the other. Recently, two men each paid a thousand taels of gold to hire a blind musician named Xue Songguan to kill Fengnian. Xizhen’s was the first order, and Lushan’s the second. Since this blind female lute player never breaks her word once paid, Lushan’s payment was somewhat wasted, as she only needed to make a symbolic attempt. Whether Fengnian survives in the Northern Desert will depend on his own strength.
I know that Changling always believed in Zhibao until his last days, thinking that if he could command the Beiliang cavalry, unifying the Spring and Autumn Period would be easy, and even conquering the Northern Desert would be possible. Changling was a man of integrity, never one for trickery, and he never hid his opinion from me. On his deathbed, he held my hand and said clearly that Zhibao could become a ruler as great as the Emperor of the Qin dynasty. So Xizhen, inheriting Changling’s will, you’ve spent years doing things indirectly—things I couldn’t trace, and didn’t want Lushan to investigate. But I can guess who was behind it. Combined with the original intent of Yishan’s strategy of concealing our strength, I don’t blame you for it. You, Xizhen, just wanted to prove your master right, to show that Li Yishan was wrong, and that Zhao Changling was superior.
As for you, Yao Jian, you’ve always believed in Huang Longshi’s saying that a man in white could cut down both the dragon and the serpent. You’ve always been stubborn, wanting to become a national master like the Qilin Sage of the Northern Desert, and to preserve the Daoist lineage for the world. If I had openly advised you, I feared our father-son bond would have broken early. That’s why I held back all those years while you traveled across Beiliang with Fengnian.
Xu Xiao was truly old now. He placed his hands on the back of the chair and slowly stood up. The young general who once led every charge without fear of death or fatigue now struggled to rise. Finally, he said, “Now I can’t even say for sure that I was right and you were wrong.”
Xu Xiao walked out of the hall. Qi Danguo stood at the door, his back to Yao Jian and Ye Xizhen.
Ye Xizhen stood up first, staggering over to pick up the wine jug left by their adoptive father. He held two cups between his fingers, raised the jug to his nose, and sniffed. Tears streaming down his face, the scholar smiled and said softly, “See? I told you it was Lüyi wine. You bet it was yellow rice wine. You’d have to warm it up, and you know how much of a hassle that is.”
Yao Jian did not stand. He simply sat cross-legged.
Ye Xizhen sat before him and poured two cups of Lüyi wine.
He raised one cup and wiped his tears with his sleeve, smiling. “What’s the matter, Old Yao? Don’t want to leave your pile of old books behind?”
Yao Jian, expressionless, gripped his cup and shook his head. “What’s there to miss? I’ll leave them for Fengnian. It’s actually better this way. He used to sneak books from me when he was a kid. Now he won’t have to worry about me scolding him. Whether I live or die, I’m just one person. But you—what about your family?”
Ye Xizhen laughed. “I’m not worried. With our adoptive father, how could I be?”
Yao Jian nodded.
Ye Xizhen raised his cup toward Yao Jian. “A toast?”
Yao Jian rolled his eyes. “No way. You’ve always been a terrible drinker. After every victory, there’s always a puddle of wine around your feet. You waste half of it. Toasting with you would lower my standards.”
The scholar Ye Xizhen covered his face with his sleeve and drank deeply.
Without a word, Yao Jian did the same, closing his eyes and murmuring, “Pity there’s no snack to go with it.”
They finished their two cups, then both knelt toward the main gate.
Qi Danguo, standing at the door, rubbed his eyes.
He turned to look at his adoptive father, leaning against a red-painted pillar outside. Qi closed the door and crouched beside the old man, his voice hoarse. “I just don’t get why they think so much. Isn’t it better just to live?”
Perhaps tired from standing, Xu Xiao sat on the steps and whispered, “I don’t know either. The people who could have given me answers—men like Changling and Yishan—they’re gone.”
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