Among officials, rivalries abound. Have you ever seen high-ranking officials tearing off their masks, rolling up their sleeves, and brawling inside government halls? No, they always favor the art of smiling while wielding hidden daggers, or striking from the shadows with concealed arrows. The noble sons and daughters who joined this pleasure cruise were merely here for the spectacle, lending prestige to the Zhao family’s event. They hoped to witness the rare sight of the Yellow Dragon warship’s crushing stanchions smashing apart enemy vessels. Never could they have imagined that this outsider, friendly with Wang Linquan, would prove to be such an unbearably prickly opponent—accompanied by a hundred armored men, and bold enough to issue an open challenge! Goodness, the challenge wasn’t aimed at mere household retainers, but at two great warships of the Qingzhou navy.
To the people of Qingzhou, the Yellow Dragon was already an unmatched leviathan of the waters, always spoken of as the dominant vessel unless an Azure Dragon itself took the stage. In recent years, Qingzhou’s navy had consistently ranked highly against other naval forces across the empire. Thus, although Wei Dong held no particularly lofty rank, within Qingzhou he dared glare down officials several levels above him; even the regional Governor and Prefect treated the “Dragon King of Wei” with utmost cordiality, competing to attract his favor.
If Wei Dong had not wielded such special authority via the Qingzhou navy, he could never have raised a lawless son like Wei Wei. When a daughter of the family—an imperial censor serving in the capital, her rank modest but her influence significant in advising the throne and inspecting officials—returned home only to be molested and forced to her death by the dragon-born rogue Wei Wei, the sorrowful censor in his final moments could not even secure justice for his daughter. All that came of it was that Wei the Dragon King briefly lost his command over the navy’s great warship banners, while the troublemaker Wei Wei, after merely being confined to house arrest for half a year, emerged again as rampant and wild as ever. The tale clearly reflected how Qingzhou, a province that birthed many court officials, and the Qing faction that pursued separate ambitions at court, marched hand in hand.
It was rumored that the ill-fated censor, on his deathbed, wrote a farewell poem soaked in blood and tears, mocking the lost integrity of the current officials.
One line, especially poignant, struck the deepest:
“Oft I declared the censors fickle souls,
Dogs bark still, dogs bark still; a rooster crows alone.”
Xu Fengnian now shifted his sights once more to the most prominent among the noble youths, doing so intentionally to force Jing’an King Zhao Heng into constraint, like fearing to strike a mouse lest the precious vase be shattered. The wider this net spread, the deeper Zhao Heng would be dragged into the fray. The more chaotic the waters became, the greater the fish Xu Fengnian might catch in his murky opportunism. That legal codex—the “Laws and Precedents”—which tightly restrained the feudal princes was, to Xu Fengnian’s father Xu Xiaojun, an alien king, no more than a loose shackle. Even powerful royal princes like Guangling King had to report to their regional Governor’s office thrice every ten days—failing to show once warranted immediate detainment. Weaker ones, like Huainan King Zhao Ying, had so many adult children still unnamed and thus unmarried.
Yet the Duke of Beiliang, whose sword-bearing presence even in court was permitted, had not once stepped into Liangzhou’s Governor’s office in more than a decade. Every time Xu Xiaojun returned home, the former Governor Yan Jiexi would scramble up to the mansion to offer reports and seek instructions. No wonder Yan, having later “defected” from Beiliang, was so full of resentment when arriving at the capital that he became the most fervent voice opposing Beiliang’s military and governance policies. With his daughter wedding Prince Zhao Yanwu, Yan took on the role of an imperial in-law, and many speculated it wouldn’t be long before he claimed the fourth-ranked position among the palace’s three halls and three pavilions, that of the Lingyan Pavilion scholar. The top honor—the Baohé Pavilion University post—was akin to the Grand Commander title, a pair of symbolic honors unattainable for centuries.
If Zhang Julu could elevate his already towering status even further, he might stand a chance for such a distinction. Yet, with Zhang the Premier’s two decades of patient Cultivating one’s ability in seclusion (taoguang yanghui)—nurturing talent in obscurity—it was unlikely he’d place himself on the spit like his political nemesis Xu Xiaojun.
Yet Xu Fengnian had underestimated the bloodthirsty audacity of Qingzhou’s young ruffians like Wei Wei. After missing with one arrow, Wei Wei listened to Xu’s challenge to fight and was furious beyond reason. He bellowed at the general behind him, who always obeyed his every command, “Use the stanchions!”
Stanchions were powerful naval weapons especially effective in close quarters between large ships, where grappling hooks couldn’t overturn vessels. Veteran navies often smeared thick chemical paste over their sails to resist fire attacks. When all else failed, they resorted to massive stanchions to crush and demolish enemy ships. A stanchion functioned like a ship’s main mast, over ten zhang long, with a huge stone on one end and a mechanical pivot at the other. When enemy ships neared, the stanchion was flipped over to crush them to splinters.
Turning to Ning Emei and Wei Shuyang, Xu Fengnian gave a light smile: “To test a navy’s strength, count how many times those heavy stanchions strike. From the looks of it, Qingzhou Navy might manage two hits at most. A third would take divine intervention. Compared to Guangling’s Navy, they pale by far.”
As their casual conversation flowed, the Yellow Dragon of Qingzhou was already preparing for the stanchion strike. At the command of two flagship generals, helmsmen and stanchion crewmen under the command of paddle-rowers began their preparations. Arrows bristled from the arrow slots. The spectators watching from the third deck retreated into their cabins, while Wei Wei and several young ruffians stained with murders calmly took window seats to observe the battle. The noble youth, indirectly insulted and confronted by Xu Fengnian, raised a wine cup but did not drink. Instead, he spun the porcelain cup between two fingers, his face stern. Seated alone at a table, no one dared approach. Once known in Qingzhou for his refined demeanor, this aristocratic youth now resembled a coiled and venomous serpent.
Clad in flowing silks, groups of young women whispered excitedly among themselves. Some, initially loyal to Qingzhou, found their opinions swayed by their affectionately gossiping friends. Now glowing with admiration, they gossiped about the outsider, praising his heroic bearing, his fine eyes, his spectacular swordplay. Their loyalties, so easily shaken, quickly betrayed their own kin, longing to leap outside and cheer on the anonymous white-robed prince.
Among noblewomen whose lives often centered on the rare and intriguing men they encountered, the men were inevitably their hot topic. Apart from that standout noble youth, their family backgrounds were no less than Wei Wei’s, so they cared little for his frown or smile. Qingzhou, with its tightly woven networks of mutual interests, was fiercely exclusive. Thus, even after Wei Wei killed the censor’s daughter, the Qing faction in court had no choice but to clean up his mess. With little internal conflict, the feared Wei Wei, however brutal and overbearing with commoners, treated women aboard the ship quite kindly and even tolerated their teasing about past blunders. To the folks, he was the evil dragon of the river; to them, a worm—jokingly called “Wei the Worm.”
Wei accepted the jab with no anger, laughing it off.
The Qing faction owed its current stature precisely to such unthinking camaraderie among Qingzhou’s elite youth and their ability to band together against external powers—competing with factions led by Premier Zhang, General Gu, and remnants of the previous dynasties.
This unity of purpose was the very foundation of the Qing faction’s survival, well understood by Wei Dong, Governor Huangfu Song, and the fox-eyed old hares at court, who clung to it with fierce determination. Otherwise, why would Qing faction leaders force through the marriage between Princess Sui Zhu and Prince Huangfu Jie, firstborn son of Governor Huangfu Song of Qingzhou? Initially a far-fetched prospect, they poured all their energy into turning it into reality.
“Who is he, with so many armored escorts?” asked a lady, her feet wrapped in dainty embroidered shoes, her words hitting the nail on the head.
“Who else could it be?” replied a woman in golden yellow silk, smirking. She glanced briefly at the noble youth holding his cup deep in thought, lowering her voice. “We only heard tales of the Prince’s arrogance in Beiliang. Now I’ve seen it firsthand. Imagine if our own Prince ever dared to confront Xu Xiaojun’s heir directly in Beiliang lands—could he dare?”
“I don’t think so,” chimed in another beauty with a round face. “Our Jing’an King could never match Beiliang’s might. Now that Duke of Beiliang has arrived at the capital to pay homage to the Emperor—my father says he’s here to request a dragon-embroidered robe for the young Prince. Other Princes can’t even dream of being received in the capital. Only the Grand Duke can pull it off.”
“They say the Beiliang Prince treats beautiful women he fancies with great tenderness. Spending thousands of gold just for a smile is putting it lightly. My second elder sister was married to Beiliang, and she writes me letters saying that the women of Liangzhou consider it an honor to be escorted to the Prince’s mansion. Compared to our own Wei Worm, who only knows how to destroy delicate flowers, how can they be compared?”
“Is it really possible that the Beiliang Duke can be succeeded by his son forever?” asked another girl, her feet daintily slender. Who says women should be without talent? To wed into a noble family and manage a household successfully, a woman must have wit. Even in domestic rivalries with concubines, cleverness is essential. Once, a beauty reviewer ranked women across the land, suggesting Beiliang women could ride and ride, Dongyue women favored gentle talents, Xichu women valued loyalty, while Qingzhou women were schemers. This was no idle remark—Qingzhou women who married far were always able to hold their ground as the primary wife, leaving concubines helpless. Naturally, this resilience was inseparable from the power of the Qing faction. Qingzhou women possessed an instinctive acumen for court intrigue and martial deceit. Noble families seeking political advantage always wished to marry a Qingzhou daughter into their households to manage affairs within.
“Well, according to normal protocol, the court would absolutely resist recognizing any indefinite hereditary succession for Beiliang. Otherwise, why did the “Imperial Clan’s Statutes” only mention two royal dukes inheriting titles, deliberately avoiding specifying Beiliang? It’s precisely because they fear Beiliang is Xu Xiaojun’s domain, not the Empire’s.”
The round-faced beauty whose second sister married into Beiliang, passionate about military and political secrets, now whispered in private conversation. Such palace gossip was forbidden to leak; doing so would break Qingzhou’s rules, branding her a traitor and ruining her entire family. Confident in her circle, she could speak freely now. Leaning her cheek on a hand, she gazed out the window, eagerly awaiting the battle’s climax.
“In court, the Premier Zhang Julu, General Gu Jiantang, especially the Spring and Autumn remnants who hate the Grand Duke with a passion. The most famous is the former senior Grand Tutor Sun Xiji of Xichu, who once desired only death, but seeing the Grand Duke still standing, he chose to serve the regime instead, enduring endless curses just to witness the Duke of Beiliang’s downfall in his lifetime. As for our ancestors in Qingzhou and Jing’an King—we all know what needs no explanation. Would they ever allow Beiliang to pass titles indefinitely?”
“Yan Ni, tell us what you know of the Beiliang Prince. You seem to know more,” the lady in crimson-purple silk asked her round-faced friend eagerly. Her eyes danced with excitement. Earlier, when Xu Fengnian cut down arrows with his blade, she nearly cheered aloud if not restrained by a friend. Her family’s tradition and Qingzhou’s culture had always led her to dismiss the Grand Duke and his infamous son, Xu Fengnian. Yet seeing the Prince’s commanding presence at the bow today, she was utterly enchanted. She thought now, if she were to marry, it had to be someone like Xu Fengnian. The more arrogant Qingzhou sons became, the more she saw the Beiliang heir’s superiority. Even daring to challenge Zhao Xun, a fellow royal heir, and openly threatening to beat him so badly even Jing’an King wouldn’t recognize him—was this not the portrait of a heroic figure?
“All men despise them in Beiliang, especially those like our own “worm” Wei Wei, who are green with envy and hatred,” Yan Ni grinned, covering her mouth. “The women are divided—some admire, others criticize. My second sister once saw the Prince from afar and found him fascinating. My brother-in-law quarreled endlessly with her over it, accusing her of being bewitched. You know what sharp words she had to silence him?”
“What did she say?” All the ladies cried in unison.
“She declared, ‘If you keep bringing up this nonsense, I’ll start moaning the Prince’s name during our bedroom affairs!’” She burst out laughing at her own tale.
That was indeed a brutal verbal dagger.
The others were stunned for a moment, then burst into laughter too, tears streaming.
They could casually exchange romantic confidences and discuss political fortunes, but Wei Wei and his gang of noble youths were growing increasingly tense.
Initially, they viewed using a stanchion to smash a boat as trivial entertainment, a side attraction amid their lake gathering. Now, none but fools in the room failed to recognize the adversary—the standardized Beiliang blade, the very symbol of that chilling declaration of death in battle. Wei Wei, proud of his noble heritage and Qingzhou upbringing, having made one mistake, doubled down recklessly on another, ordering the Yellow Dragon flagship to deploy its stanchion. If he didn’t flinch from humiliating and killing the daughter of a revered censor in the capital, he certainly wouldn’t from this.
No matter the outcome of the fight, so long as he didn’t kill the Beiliang Prince, Wei Wei’s defeat of Beiliang’s reputation would echo across the nation. Even within the emperor’s palace, they would speak of how Wei Wei, though illiterate, embodied loyalty and righteousness. His father, once disgraced and unable to command the red-flagged fleet due to his son’s misdeeds, had harbored that pain for years. Today’s feat might finally raise the Dragon King Wei to the pinnacle of Qingzhou.
Thus, the white-cloaked, sword-bearing Beiliang Prince had become the perfect stepping stone.
Unlike the brute Wei Wei, the noble youth who hesitated with his cup bore even deeper thoughts, his expression darkening.
The Emperor above the palace walls always took pleasure in the struggles between feudal princes. Otherwise, why would the law forbid two Princes from meeting? This clash with Xu Fengnian was less a petty dispute between heirs than a continuation of the twenty-year-old feud between their fathers—the Prince and the Butcher Xu. Though his father had sought Buddhist solace, the young heir remembered clearly those days when his father was repeatedly denied entry to Mount Longhu to pray, and even publicly scolded by the Emperor. His younger brother had been demoted to a commoner, sent to be imprisoned in the Gaoceng walls of Fengyang; over sixty associates were exiled to Liaodong border posts. If not for a kind-hearted concubine from Qingzhou pleading their case at court, not only would his father’s chance at Mount Longhu pilgrimages be lost, but even his own hereditary Duchy might be in doubt.
What consequences would arise from this naval clash, win or lose? The Emperor’s mind was deep and impenetrable; his whole reign had been built on balancing feuding vassals, local lords, civil officials, military generals, and rival political factions. The young Prince dared not presume the divine thoughts of that distant imperial heart.
Should they just kill Xu Fengnian outright?
The shocking thought flashed briefly. The Prince of Jing’an finally took a sip of wine, lowering his gaze to conceal his face’s sudden shift in expression.
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