At the morning court session of the Liyang Dynasty, civil and military officials in their ceremonial robes entered the palace one after another, their jade pendants clinking melodiously, echoing for a long time.
A gentleman listens to the sound of jade to regulate his movements. The specifications of jade ornaments are akin to official ranks, and there are strict rules governing their use; one must not overstep boundaries. Although the political factional struggles within Liyang are kept under control by Chancellor Zhang, the censorial officials still find ways to scrutinize even the most trivial matters. Today, Jin Lanting’s appearance at court drew particular attention. Six months ago he had lost his prestigious position as a high-ranking eunuch, but he had remained in the capital, living in quiet retirement. Initially, his mansion was nearly deserted, but after he impeached Xu Xiong, the Prince of Beiliang, and was stripped of his office, visitors began coming in a steady stream. When he was summoned to court today, even a fool could tell that the court had deliberately kept him in the shadows for six months, a gesture of respect for Xu Xiong. It was time to promote Jin Sanlang.
Indeed, as Jin Lanting waited outside the court, he was surrounded by colleagues offering warm greetings. He now wore a brand new set of jade ornaments: jade pendants and beads clinking together, producing a clear, melodious sound as he walked between the palace steps.
Beside Jin Lanting, another figure attracted attention: General Gu Jiantang, recently returned from the northern frontier, had someone walking beside him. This was a new face, but one that had already become a household name in the capital over the past six months. A common swordsman named Yuan Tingshan, a nobody who had suddenly risen to prominence as half of General Gu’s adopted son. Rumors said he was stubborn, ruthless, and had nearly destroyed all the martial sects along the border. Yuan walked behind Gu Jiantang, roughly matching Jin Sanlang, who followed Chancellor Zhang Julu. Compared to Jin’s refined and elegant jade ornaments, Yuan’s were simple and rugged, carved in the style of flowing silk lines and Han dynasty knife strokes. Jin, now immersed in the capital’s bureaucratic circles for nearly two years, had endured many hardships and grown more tempered. Having joined Chancellor Zhang’s faction, he showed no signs of arrogance or recklessness. When Yuan glanced at him, Jin smiled politely. To his surprise, Yuan spat on the ground and muttered something under his breath, leaving Jin momentarily embarrassed. But Jin had grown much thicker-skinned since his early days in the capital and simply smiled it off.
Yuan’s audacious behavior made some of the eunuchs overseeing court etiquette shiver with apprehension. Clearly, another troublemaker had arrived.
Yuan quickened his pace and whispered to General Gu, “When can I wear a sword to court like you?”
Gu Jiantang ignored him.
Chancellor Zhang Julu glanced at this young martial artist, whose reputation had preceded him throughout the capital, and smiled as if amused.
Yuan was about to speak again when Gu coldly said, “Say one more word, and you’re out of the capital.”
Yuan chuckled, “No more talking, no more.”
Jin silently thought, “You’ve already said six words.”
But General Gu, who had controlled the Ministry of War for over a decade, chose not to dwell on Yuan’s cheek, earning Jin’s newfound respect for the young man.
At the same time, Gu Jiantang and Chancellor Zhang Julu both turned their gaze toward a distant corner. Jin Lanting was momentarily puzzled.
Standing there, dressed in red dragon robes like a palace cat that had long hunted mice within the palace walls, was a figure in silence.
Yuan Tingshan murmured, “A true expert.”
Jin Lanting dared not look for long, quickly lowering his head for fear that this infamous eunuch might remember his face.
Nothing remains secret forever. Word had recently spread from the palace that the chief eunuch, the most powerful among the ten thousand eunuchs in the empire, still held a high position, though not as unshakable as before. The reason was a young eunuch who had entered the palace as a child and was chosen by Empress Zhao Zhi to accompany the emperor alongside several court historians. His name was Tang Lu, and the emperor had recently bestowed upon him the surname Song—making him Song Tanglu.
Song Tanglu came from the Seal Office among the Twelve Bureaus, with a clean background. His master was the head eunuch of the Inner Court Bureau, one of the few old eunuchs who had long walked side by side with the feared “Cat of the Palace,” Han Diaosi. Song Tanglu had never made a mistake in the matters of imperial edicts and documents, and he was known for his kindness and gentle nature. While his status was far below Han Diaosi’s, their personalities were completely opposite.
At this sensitive moment, with several princes about to be enfeoffed as kings, the emperor’s favoring of Song Tanglu, who had risen through Empress Zhao’s influence, while distancing himself from Han Diaosi, who was close to Prince Zhao Kai, sent a clear signal to the court officials and aristocrats—a whiff of blood in the air.
Those who wished for Han Diaosi’s death were no fewer than those who wanted Xu Xiong’s downfall.
Several officials who had secretly placed their bets on various princes inwardly rejoiced, grateful they hadn’t wasted effort on the enigmatic Zhao Kai.
For the first time in over a decade, the red-robed eunuch Han Diaosi did not appear in the grand court hall. He quietly turned and walked away, soundless in his steps.
Han Diaosi habitually walked in the shadows of the palace walls, his expressionless, hairless face hidden in darkness.
※※※
The Northern Meng Empire had no capital until Empress Murong seized the throne and ordered the construction of one. She mobilized 400,000 soldiers and 900,000 laborers to build the city over nine years. The project was overseen by Xu Huainan, the Grand Minister of the Northern Court, and a father-and-son scholarly duo from Zhongyuan, Zhang Rou and Zhang Lue. Experts like the Qilin Taoist Master and numerous geomancers also participated. After the city’s completion, it was first inhabited by the imperial clan, aristocrats, and civil and military officials, followed by stationed troops and their families. Now, it was said that the city housed as many as 30,000 courtesans, a testament to its grandeur, rivaling even the capital of Liyang. However, even after establishing the capital, the empress continued the traditional practice of seasonal migrations, traveling across the land in four directions, a custom criticized by the Zhongyuan court. The Meng practice of drawing plans in ash during meetings originated from this tradition. This year’s autumn hunting expedition, where the royal court gathered to discuss affairs while hunting tigers and deer, was postponed slightly, sparking much speculation among the Meng nobility. Many elderly aristocrats who had previously avoided attending such events now eagerly joined, only to be disappointed—those they wished to see did not appear.
Within the city, the once-revered Daoist temple Chongqing Temple had fallen into decline after losing its bid to become the state religion of Northern Meng against the Daode Sect. Its halls were now quiet, with only a few elderly worshippers coming to pray for blessings and ward off misfortune during festivals like the Yanjiu Festival. It was hard to believe that twenty years ago, this temple had been hailed as the pinnacle of Daoism in Meng. During festivals, nobles and commoners alike would gather here, drawn by the temple’s open lectures by Daoist masters who claimed to offer the secrets of immortality. In recent years, the temple had survived by offering lodging to scholars traveling to take the imperial exams. Yet, not a single scholar who stayed there had ever passed the exams, leading to a growing sense of desolation among the temple’s twenty or so Daoist priests. Fortunately, a few days ago, an elderly Confucian scholar paid a generous sum of silver to stay in a damp side room. The old scholar, eloquent and refined, often spent afternoons chatting with the elderly Daoists. When alone, he would browse through the temple’s long-forgotten scriptures, living a quiet and peaceful life.
One day, a tall, drowsy-eyed man entered Chongqing Temple. A young Daoist sweeping the courtyard barely looked up, continuing to sweep the endless leaves. The visitor softly asked twice before the boy lazily pointed with his broom toward the old scholar’s secluded quarters. The man smiled and walked toward the back, passing two courtyards before finding the old scholar sitting in quiet contemplation.
With genuine respect, the man bowed and said, “Jingyan pays homage to the Grand Peace Edict.”
The old scholar returned from his thoughts, smiled, and gestured for the man from the Qijian Le Fu, a master of timekeeping, to sit freely.
Hong Jingyan assumed a posture of eager listening.
The old scholar, glancing at his former protégé, whom he had deliberately restrained in the past, said softly, “I know why you’ve come. I could ask the emperor to grant you command of the five garrisons of Rou Ran, but that would be beneath us both. If I did, it would limit your future maneuverability. Around those five garrisons are either the watchful Dong army or the capital’s forces. Any general there with notable achievements would dwarf you. Even if you obtained the command, how much freedom would you truly have? So, rather than clumsily seizing control, it would be better to make a subtle move.”
Hong Jingyan asked with a smile, “Go directly to Junziguan?”
The old scholar nodded.
Hong frowned and said, “You expect me to raise several ten thousand troops on my own?”
The old scholar chuckled, “Your boldness remains unchanged. Don’t think I don’t know about your connections with those aristocratic youths from the north and south. Tens of thousands—why not hundreds of thousands if you dare? Just think of those noble sons in the capital who are desperate for military glory. They’d bring their personal guards and swarm into Longyao Province, forming an army of several ten thousand on their own. Let me be clear: the emperor is still undecided on who to send to confront the Beiliang army—whether Huang Songpu or Tuoba Pusa. I suggested Huang because I don’t want a full-scale war. I know Huang, though conservative, will keep the situation from escalating, allowing Beiliang to settle for a favorable outcome. This gives me time to plan my moves. I prefer to seize opportunities carefully, unlike that old turtle Huang Longshan who loves reckless gambles. You, however, are the first piece in this new game for Meng. What do you say? Will you go?”
Hong Jingyan furrowed his brow but gave no immediate reply.
The old scholar, now the emperor’s teacher, said, “Take your time. If you believe leading the Rou Ran cavalry is more advantageous and can convince me, I will allow you to become the mountain lord of Rou Ran.”
Hong said softly, “To be honest, whether I go to Junziguan or Rou Ran, I’m concerned about your safety without Jianqijin nearby.”
The old scholar shook his head. “I know what I’m doing.”
Looking around, Hong smiled and said, “Won’t you at least meet with those royal nobles who’ve gone to great lengths to find you?”
The old scholar replied coldly, “In politics, it’s an art to support those out of favor. Those who went hunting to find me would be better off burning incense for Xu Huainan, so the emperor would notice. Coming here with pig heads and offerings is foolish. If I were a real Bodhisattva, I’d be sick of such offerings. When the stove is cold, a bowl of porridge and a dish of pickled vegetables is enough to warm the heart.”
A long silence followed.
Suddenly, Hong stood up and bowed. “Please, Grand Peace Edict, play a game of Go with me!”
The old scholar waved his hand, signaling him to leave.
Hong chuckled at himself, made no further insistence, and left Chongqing Temple with a carefree air.
The old scholar slowly walked to the temple gate. The young Daoist sweeping the courtyard sat exhausted on the steps, with several baskets of fallen leaves already gathered.
Smiling, the old scholar bent down, picked up the broom, and helped the boy sweep the ground.
※※※
A poor scholar named Chen Liangxi wandered into a small teahouse and, in a haze, met an elderly man from Beiliang who spoke eloquently and shared his interests. In a daze, he followed the hunchbacked old man into a grand mansion.
Two jade lions guarded the entrance, and a large golden plaque hung above the gate.
A little beggar boy, who had learned to read many characters from traveling with Chen, softly looked up and read aloud: “The Beiliang Prince’s Mansion.”
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