The White Fox once again entered seclusion. No sooner had she stepped into the Listening Tide Pavilion than the lake’s surface shattered completely. Not just that—the entire body of water began to tremble, countless koi leaping out of the water, leaving Yu Youwei staring in a daze.
The Shangyin Academy taught a myriad of subjects but strictly forbade any talk of ghosts and gods. Yet the bizarre spectacle before them was something Yu Youwei refused to believe could be achieved by human hands. Even Jiang Ni, who had witnessed countless koi leaping skyward, furrowed her brows, unable to fathom the reason.
Xu Fengnian pondered for a moment, cursed under his breath, and tossed the half-eaten cucumber into the lake.
The old stableman, Lao Huang, scurried over with his hands tucked in his sleeves, likely drawn by the commotion.
This old servant held a peculiar status in the prince’s residence—no family, no ties, but having tended to the horses of the young master and the second princess for many years, even the usually stern Steward Shen would slow his steps and nod in acknowledgment. Yet Lao Huang remained the same simpleton no matter who he met—grinning, missing a front tooth, always laughing foolishly.
Xu Fengnian beckoned Lao Huang to sit. The lake had already calmed.
He ordered servants to prepare a black-canopied boat, taking Jiang Ni, Yu Youwei, and Lao Huang to the lake’s center to warm wine and admire the snow. Lao Huang, uninterested in anything beyond feeding horses and sneaking sips of wine, happily tagged along, his wrinkled face beaming.
Inside the boat, Lao Huang stoked the fire, adding dry wood as needed. The wine wasn’t the usual huangjiu but a local specialty from Lingzhou—a newly brewed rustic liquor from the prince’s estates. Unattractive dregs floated on the surface, the liquid tinged faintly green, fine as ants. The poor scholars of Lingzhou, unable to afford better, called it “Green Ant Wine.” It was unrefined, yet the Grand Pillar of the State had a taste for it.
The Green Ant Wine gained true fame from the first line of the poem *Younger Brother Admires the Snow*, written by the second princess of Beiliang at the age of ten: *”Green Ant newly brewed wine, red clay small stove.”* Scholars of the north praised it, and soon it spread widely, astonishing the refined elites of the capital. For a time, warming Green Ant Wine in winter became a trend.
The King of Beiliang, Xu Xiao, had two sons—Xu Fengnian and Xu Longxiang—and two daughters. The eldest, Xu Zhihu, and the second, Xu Weixiong. The second princess’s name held no trace of femininity. Exceptionally intelligent from childhood, skilled in swordsmanship, her poetry stunned the world. At sixteen, she entered the Shangyin Academy to study under Han Guzi in the art of strategy. Her only flaw was her plain appearance, far less striking than her elder sister or the young master.
Jiang Ni still refused to drink, despising Green Ant Wine and anything related to *that woman*—her hatred second only to Xu Fengnian.
Yu Youwei downed several bowls, while the rest was polished off by Xu Fengnian and Lao Huang.
Over at the Listening Tide Pavilion, the atmosphere was tense, as if facing a formidable enemy. The Grand Pillar of the State, wrapped in a thick fox fur, saw the group boarding the boat and waved his hand. Six or seven shadowy experts in the residence slowly retreated, three of them being guardians of the pavilion.
Drunk, Xu Fengnian pointed at Jiang Ni, then at Yu Youwei, grinning. “You, and you—truth be told, there’s no deep grudge between us, yet you act as if we’re mortal enemies. Kill me? Fine. Jiang Ni, take out the Divine Talisman. I’ll let you stab me once. Let’s see if my Black Tortoise Armor holds up or if your dagger is sharper. Or we could make a bet—if you win, well, the outcome speaks for itself. If I win, you smile for me. How about it, Princess Taiping? A fair deal, no?”
Jiang Ni narrowed her beautiful eyes, tempted.
*Jiang. Divine Talisman. Princess Taiping.*
Yu Youwei, whose mother had once been the late emperor’s sword attendant and whose father was a minor official of Western Chu, trembled slightly, disturbing the lazy mewl of Wu Meiniang in her arms.
Xu Fengnian flung off his priceless fox fur, pulling open his inner robe to reveal the dark blue armor he hadn’t removed since his return. “Go on, stab me.”
Jiang Ni hesitated, poised like a young leopard.
Lao Huang wasn’t worried about bloodshed. The young master had learned from his early lack of experience—clumsy at first, but growing ever more cunning.
In the end, she gave up the tempting opportunity, sneering, “You’d make a losing deal? I’d sooner believe in ghosts than you.”
Xu Fengnian swiftly redressed, laughing. “Thank goodness. Scared me into a cold sweat. This wine really shouldn’t be drunk in excess. Lao Huang, row us back. Just narrowly escaped death’s door.”
Jiang Ni’s eyes burned with regret.
Lao Huang chuckled along with his master.
Ashore, Jiang Ni stormed off in fury.
Yu Youwei hadn’t worn the sable coat he’d sent to her courtyard, so he draped his own—the only one of its luxury in the entire residence—over her shoulders, casually patting Wu Meiniang’s head. “You tried to hide with a Fengzhou accent, but a small test in the Banana Courtyard exposed you. On the boat, another half-truth about being the Western Chu’s Princess Taiping drew out your fox tail. Youwei, you’re truly unfit to be an assassin or death warrior. Stay as a caged bird, a golden canary. See? I didn’t lie. The snowscape here is breathtaking.”
With that, Xu Fengnian shouted the bandit’s retreating cry—*”The wind’s tight, let’s bolt!”*—and dashed off with Lao Huang.
Yu Youwei, wrapped in the priceless fur, stood still, unable to tell if the flakes on her were snow or fox fur.
—
In the sixth year of Qianyuan, on the twenty-eighth day of the lunar calendar, the King of Beiliang, Xu Xiao, and his heir, Xu Fengnian, set off at dawn. Apart from Chen Zhibao and Chu Lushan, the other four adopted sons accompanied them. Three hundred iron cavalry marched grandly toward Jiuhua Mountain in Kunzhou.
Though the mountain was the Bodhisattva Ksitigarbha’s sacred ground, the Liyang Dynasty had long favored Daoism over Buddhism. Remote and lacking grand temples, Jiuhua Mountain had grown increasingly desolate under the Grand Pillar’s deliberate suppression of idle pilgrims.
At the summit stood the Thousand Buddha Pavilion, its roof bearing a massive bell. Striking it followed strict rules—108 tolls a day, no more, no less. Morning and evening, eighteen fast, eighteen slow, then eighteen moderate, repeated twice. The number symbolized the twelve months, twenty-four solar terms, and seventy-two climatic periods, said to dispel 108 earthly afflictions.
After the princess’s death, Xu Xiao, who had never taken a concubine, vowed never to remarry. Every year on Qingming, Chongyang, and the twenty-ninth lunar day, he climbed to the pavilion to strike the bell himself.
Before even entering the mountain gate, all dismounted and removed their armor. Xu Xiao walked side by side with Xu Fengnian, while the four adopted sons—Yuan Zuozong, Ye Xizhen, Yao Jian, and Qi Dangguo—kept a respectful distance.
Of the four, “Left Bear” Yuan Zuozong was a vanguard general who could pluck an enemy commander’s head from amidst ten thousand troops—peerless in combat and strategy.
Ye Xizhen was a scholarly general, adept at open stratagems, the polar opposite of the scheming “Fortune Ball” Chu Lushan.
Yao Jian, from a Daoist offshoot, excelled in geomancy, always carrying a worn copy of *The Green Satchel Classic of Geography*, often tasting soil for divination. Qi Dangguo was the standard-bearer of the Xu royal banner among the Beiliang cavalry.
As for the foremost of the six, Chen Zhibao, dubbed “Little Butcher,” his deeds spoke volumes.
That night, the six lodged in the ancient temple atop the mountain. On the twenty-ninth, Xu Xiao struck the bell 108 times. Before descending at dusk, father and son stood on the pavilion’s corridor.
The Grand Pillar murmured, “When you come of age, the duty of striking the bell will pass to you.”
Xu Fengnian nodded.
A mountain wind rose, scattering the sea of clouds at sunset, revealing peaks like immortal islands before veiling them once more. Occasionally, mushroom-shaped cloud pillars surged skyward before dissipating—a unique spectacle of Jiuhua Mountain.
Xu Xiao pointed at the mystical sight. “Few sail smoothly through life. Ups and downs are the norm—even the dynasty’s elder statesmen, one foot in the grave, are no exception. Your father’s glory was gambled countless times. What I fear most isn’t falling from height, but dragging you down with me. As a general, a prince is the pinnacle. As a statesman, Grand Pillar is the limit. Such glory is rare in Liyang’s four centuries.”
Before them, the scene resembled rolling waves or tumbling snowballs.
Xu Xiao’s voice, rich and firm, carried the fiery tang of Green Ant Wine.
“Here, it’s just us—father and son. Maybe your mother watching from above. So I’ll speak plainly. Li Yishan was right—success is easy, retreat is hard. I’m riding a tiger now.
Three years ago, the court wanted to summon you to the capital, even offering the emperor’s beloved twelfth princess in marriage. You’d have been a gilded hostage. I refused, sending you on a six-thousand-li journey to silence them. But that’s no permanent solution.
I’m waiting. If the emperor persists—ha! Xu Xiao killed at ten, fought for forty years, and never read moral tracts. If forced, don’t blame me for disloyalty! Thirty thousand Beiliang cavalry under the Xu banner—who dares face them?”
Xu Fengnian smiled wryly. “Father, I’ve no interest in the throne. At your age, don’t play the fool conquering the world for your son. Even as emperor, I doubt I’d be happier than as heir.”
Xu Xiao glared. “So you’d rather be a damned prince consort? A caged bird like that Yu girl?”
Xu Fengnian rolled his eyes. “Even if we rebel, you’ll never be emperor. Beiliang’s feng shui has never birthed a dragon. Who from here ever unified the realm?”
Xu Xiao sighed. “Li Yishan said the same. If you were a waste like Li Hanlin, I wouldn’t care—be a prince consort, live under the palace’s roof.
But before your second sister left for Shangyin, she said something piercing—a family may flourish outwardly, but without worthy heirs, it rots within. The richer the house, the swifter its fall if the next generation falters.
So I don’t fear your extravagance. But Fengnian, you’ve given me a colossal problem. Tell me truthfully—do you want to command Beiliang’s armies? With your sister as strategist, Huang Mian as your vanguard, and my six sons, even after I die, the cavalry won’t scatter.”
Xu Fengnian countered, “What do you think?”
Xu Xiao huffed. “I’ve worked hard for this legacy. Can’t you spare your old man some hope?”
Xu Fengnian grinned. “No problem at all. Squandering fortunes is my specialty.”
For an instant, the Grand Pillar’s hunched back seemed to straighten.
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