“Prince Ning.”

“Yes!”

“Hand me the broom, would you?”

“Sure thing.”

Li Chi trotted over eagerly and retrieved the broom — naturally, he wasn’t about to let Gao Xining do the sweeping herself. He bent at the waist and got to work, while Gao Xining laughed and said, “You won’t let me sweep — are you worried I’ve got clumps of dirt hidden away in here somewhere?”

“What if you swept one up?” Li Chi replied.

Gao Xining curled her lip. “As if I’d be that childish…”

She hooked her foot under the table and dragged out a wooden box.

She opened it.

“Ha ha ha ha — I collected a whole boxful!”

Li Chi sighed. “Princess Consort of Ning, could you manage a little dignity?”

“Prince Ning — then why are you holding the dustpan up like a shield?”

“I hold the dustpan as a shield to ward off the Princess Consort’s hidden projectiles — yet it cannot shield me from the Princess Consort’s world-toppling beauty. Why would you even need to strike me? One glance from you, and I turn to jelly.”

“Ugh! What dreadful lines… say them again, quickly.”

The Daoist Changmei sat in the main room, listening to those two little troublemakers carry on, and broke into a wide, foolish grin.

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, then drew several deep, forceful breaths.

Diudiu… has become a prince?

It seemed to have come so suddenly, and yet so naturally.

In all his ten years of wandering hardship, scraping together the money to change Diudiu’s fate, the old Daoist had never once imagined that his Diudiu would one day become a prince.

Back then, the old Daoist had only wanted one thing: for this child not to share his destiny. It had to change.

What it would change into — in those days, his most cherished dream had been nothing more than comfort, warmth, and the respect of others.

He had imagined Diudiu studying at the Four-Page Academy, never daring to hope for a government post, perhaps becoming a schoolteacher — dignified, respectable. Every day dressed in proper clothes. Every day greeted by “Teacher” from all he met.

That had been the most beautiful dream among all his dreams.

And now here was a Prince of Ning?

And the lord of Jizhou?

He sat there and carefully retraced the journey. When Diudiu had shed the name Diudiu’er and become Li Chi — that had been the growth of age, a natural change.

Just as the old Daoist himself no longer called out “Diudiu” so readily these days, but rather “Li Chi.” Only when they were alone, or nearly so, would the old Daoist still call him Diudiu’er.

But the transformation from Li Chi to Prince of Ning — that seemed almost too miraculous to fathom.

Had he fought so many great battles?

Not really.

Had he done anything earth-shaking?

It seemed not.

And yet everything felt both utterly astonishing and perfectly inevitable.

Li Chi came out of the inner room, looked at his master sitting there with that foolish grin, and asked: “Master, how long have these symptoms been going on?”

Changmei turned to look at him. “What symptoms?”

“Something like senility with a touch of adolescent mooning.”

Changmei immediately reached for his walking staff. Li Chi turned and bolted.

“Master, master — don’t use that one, it’s a short-range weapon. I’ve got something with much longer reach over here.”

Gao Xining dragged that box out of the inner room.

Changmei said, “Then help me put this wayward disciple in his place.”

Li Chi vaulted over the courtyard wall in an instant. Two clumps of dirt sailed over his head.

Li Chi leapt up, hung from the top of the wall by both hands, and poked his head over to peer back at them.

“You two — how dare you conspire against your Prince!”

Gao Xining sighed. “Master, I have to say… when other people become princes and start showing off, surely it doesn’t look like this.”

Changmei exhaled a long sigh. “That’s my fault.”

Gao Xining said, “I share the blame.”

Li Chi gave a derisive “tch,” climbed down from the wall, and strolled off with his hands clasped behind his back.

As he walked, he thought to himself: that fellow the Emperor had gone and bestowed on him a Prince of Ning title just like that, without a second thought. So naturally, he, this Prince of Ning, could go ahead and bestow a few general titles just as casually.

He walked on, thinking — what title should Elder Brother Zhuang get?

The man was so laconic and wooden. He could be the Great General Wooden Blockhead.

Dantai Qi, with those fine-robed young lord looks — the Great General Pretty Boy.

Then there was Liu Ge — one of the rare genuinely normal people. The Great General Genuinely Normal.

And that fellow Yu Jiuling — the Great General Fast at Everything.

As for Old Tang…

Li Chi thought: someone like Old Tang couldn’t be contained by an ordinary general’s title. His presence demanded something grander.

Perhaps bestow a princely title on him as well — Prince Wager would do nicely.

After all, using the other word directly would be rather vulgar.

The more Li Chi thought about “Prince Wager,” the more pleased he was with himself. What a fine, beautiful, fresh, original, razor-sharp bit of wordplay.

Truly, no one but me.

He returned to the main hall of the front courtyard and thought it through carefully once more.

Of course, none of the above could actually be done. If titles like that got out, would the Ning Army have any dignity left?

When making introductions before battle, Zhuang Wudi would icily declare to the enemy: “I am the Great General Wooden Blockhead of the Ning Army.”

And Yu Jiuling would stand before the enemy, jiggling his leg, and announce: “I am the Great General Fast at Everything of the Ning Army.”

That, honestly — if it were just the title by itself it might be tolerable, but add “Ning Army” in front, and it took on a whole other meaning.

Ning Army Fast at Everything… the soldiers themselves wouldn’t stand for it.

He was still mulling this over when Tang Pidi walked in from outside, holding a stick of candied hawthorns, eating as he walked.

Li Chi looked at him and couldn’t help but sigh. “I was just trying to think of a proper title for you, and you walk in looking like that. How is anyone supposed to take you seriously?”

Tang Pidi looked at Li Chi, perched on his chair like a crouching frog. “If you were a proper prince, you wouldn’t be squatting like that.”

“Force of habit…”

Li Chi sat down properly and looked at Tang Pidi, who read the scheming glint in Li Chi’s eyes at once.

So he finished the candied hawthorns at maximum speed.

“You’re not human,” Li Chi declared.

Tang Pidi sat down beside him and asked, “What title were you thinking of for me?”

“Think of one yourself.”

“I figured you wouldn’t come up with anything decent anyway.”

He looked at Li Chi and said, “Since we’re still flying the banner of Prince of Ning under Dachu for now, let’s frame things according to the Chu military system for the time being. Our own military structure is essentially the same as the standing militia anyway — we can adjust whatever titles don’t fit.”

“This sort of thing gives me a headache…”

Tang Pidi pulled a sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Li Chi. “Already written it out for you.”

Li Chi said, “This paper looks like you just finished writing it not too long ago.”

“It was the wrapping paper from the candied hawthorns.”

A system of ranks and grades was essential to maintaining the structural integrity of any army. Without it, a fighting force was nothing but loose sand — impossible to coordinate or command.

Tang Pidi said to Li Chi, “The composition and chain of command of our forces has already been established. This is simply a matter of giving things more formal titles.”

Li Chi nodded.

“If we adopted the Chu standing militia’s general titles wholesale, our own people would resent it — and they’d feel as though we’d been completely co-opted by the court.”

Li Chi looked at Tang Pidi and said, “So the names need to change. Anything we don’t change, we push down a grade.”

Tang Pidi had overlooked that point. He thought for a moment, then nodded. “You make a fair point. We truly cannot use the same titles as the Chu Army.”

“First of all, it would make everyone, from top to bottom, feel that this time we’ve genuinely been bought off by the court.”

“Second, even if they didn’t consciously think that, they might begin to identify as Chu Army — as imperial regulars.”

Tang Pidi said, “If the mindset shifts, the army’s fighting strength will suffer considerably.”

Li Chi murmured in agreement. “So I’ve been turning it over in my mind as well.”

He looked at Tang Pidi and said, “For local civil offices, we can temporarily keep the Chu official grade designations — the impact is minimal.”

“But for military titles, the changes should be more substantial…”

Li Chi stood and paced as he spoke. “Let me walk you through what I’ve come up with, and you tell me if anything seems off. We’ll adjust from there.”

Tang Pidi nodded. “Go ahead.”

Li Chi said, “First, on grades: we cap at Senior Third Grade. Nothing above that.”

Tang Pidi nodded. That made sense — bestowing a First Grade rank at this stage would paint them into a corner later. Besides, it would invite ridicule from the public, as though the Ning Army were handing out titles the way a street vendor sold cabbage — cheap and plentiful.

“Senior Third Grade: Grand General of Martial Prestige.”

Li Chi looked at Tang Pidi. “You, and you alone.”

Tang Pidi offered no response, waiting for Li Chi to continue.

Li Chi said, “Junior Third Grade: General of Soaring Prestige. Myself, Elder Brother Zhuang, and Dantai.”

Tang Pidi frowned. “Why is your military rank lower than mine?”

Li Chi said, “Otherwise, how will you command respect? I’m still the Prince of Ning — my military rank is simply beneath yours.”

Tang Pidi felt this was improper, but Li Chi was resolute.

“In military matters, there must be one person with full authority over the whole.”

Li Chi said, “I have too many other things pulling at my attention, so it must be you — and besides, you’re the better soldier.”

Tang Pidi said, “If you insist, then so be it.”

Li Chi said, “As long as you don’t mind taking the complaints.”

Tang Pidi was hardly the sort to care about complaints. He told Li Chi, “That’s settled — let’s move on.”

Li Chi said, “Everything else — all the other people — you’re the Grand General, so you handle the assignments and arrangements.”

Tang Pidi nodded. “Very well. Then: Senior Fourth Grade, Eagle Prestige General; Junior Fourth Grade, Majestic Prestige General; Senior Fifth Grade, Valor Prestige General; Junior Fifth Grade, Resolute Prestige General.”

Li Chi said, “Not bad — they sound good.”

Tang Pidi said, “So then, going forward, if we ever disagree on strictly military matters…”

Li Chi said, “That won’t happen. On military matters, your word is final — everyone obeys, myself included. There’ll be no disagreement. I’ll be too busy flattering you.”

Tang Pidi smiled. “Then that’s settled. I’ll head back now, and tomorrow I’ll bring you the drafted proposal to review.”

Li Chi said, “Why not eat dinner before you go?”

Tang Pidi considered, then nodded. “All right, I’ll eat first then.”

Li Chi: “Can’t you at least pretend to decline?”

Tang Pidi replied, “Decline? Hmm… thank you for inviting me to stay for dinner.”

Li Chi: “…”

A few days later, Tang Pidi formally announced the decisions he and Li Chi had reached.

When those assembled learned that Li Chi’s military rank was actually below Tang Pidi’s, there was a general murmur of bewilderment. Li Chi was a prince — how could his military rank be a full grade lower than Tang Pidi’s? No matter how one looked at it, it seemed wrong.

And yet they could also see it clearly: if even the Prince of Ning’s military rank was subordinate to Tang Pidi’s, then the Prince of Ning’s stance was perfectly plain.

Even Zhuang Wudi — who rarely bothered to think about anything — had worked out what was going on.

To elevate Tang Pidi’s authority over military affairs without appearing to slight the other veteran brothers, Li Chi had simply placed himself below Tang Pidi. That way, the old brothers had nothing to grumble about.

Beyond military matters, Li Chi also made arrangements on the civil side.

The Emperor’s purpose in enfeoffing Li Chi as a prince had been to drive a wedge between him and Luo Jing. But this kind of maneuver was a double-edged sword — if it couldn’t cut the other man, it might just as easily cut oneself.

With the title now in hand, Li Chi could legitimately assume control over all of Jizhou — every local government office fell under his jurisdiction.

Li Chi split the authority of the Jizhou Military Governor into two halves, giving Tang Pidi everything military, and giving Mister Yan everything civil. He also conferred the post of Jizhou Military Governor on Mister Yan — outside of military matters, Mister Yan had authority to handle all affairs.

Li Chi had extracted himself from the picture entirely, like a proprietor who signs things over and walks away.

Everyone had their domain of authority. He, by contrast, seemed to have delegated everything and left himself with nothing to manage.

But when Changmei learned of this, he couldn’t help but laugh.

His precious disciple — he was already a seasoned old fox.

—