The Yibin Garden was vast, separated from the Shiyuan Palace by nothing more than a single river. Walk out through the garden’s western gate, cross an arched bridge, and you were at the Shiyuan Palace.
In the days when Great Chu was at its most powerful, the treatment afforded to envoys from foreign lands was beyond what ordinary people could even imagine.
This was especially true during the reign of Emperor Yanying, when things reached a level that could only be described as absurd and depraved.
Emperor Yanying had commanded the Ministry of Rites that foreign guests must be granted whatever they asked for, without exception. To demonstrate the wealth of Great Chu, the magnanimity of the Celestial Dynasty, and his own boundless generosity, he issued an imperial decree stating that all foreign envoys and merchants — whether trade caravans or diplomatic missions — were to receive free food, clothing, lodging, and travel from the moment they set foot on Chu soil.
The result was widespread resentment. Foreigners swaggered about as though they were the lords of the land, with the people of Chu reduced to something like servants.
Once word of this spread, even more people flooded in — not only eating and drinking at Chu’s expense, but bullying men and harassing women. What was most maddening was that when confronted with the endless crimes these people committed, Emperor Yanying refused to stand up for his own subjects. Instead, he blamed his own people for lacking grace and embarrassing him in front of foreigners.
The Yibin Garden itself had been personally overseen and constructed during Emperor Yanying’s reign, reportedly at a cost of tens of millions of silver taels. To ensure foreign guests were comfortable and entertained, the garden was furnished with everything one could possibly think of. There were dedicated performers — singers and dancers — who put on daily shows on the lakeside stage to please those foreign dignitaries.
And Emperor Yanying reveled in it. He thought himself remarkable. So long as a foreign envoy arrived and called him “Great Emperor” or “Heavenly Khan,” he was delighted, and would shower them with lavish gifts.
At its peak, tens of thousands of foreigners were permanently residing in Daxing City. The entire capital had become a murky, chaotic place.
Fortunately, Emperor Yanying reigned for only seven years before dying. Some said it wasn’t illness that took him — that he died of something too shameful to speak of. He had no heirs, and passed away at only twenty-six. The official story was that on his deathbed he summoned his younger brother and entrusted him with the affairs of state.
In truth, the Emperor had dropped dead without warning. There was no time for any such deathbed instruction.
The brother who ascended the throne took the reign name Zaiqing.
Emperor Zaiqing’s first act upon taking the throne was to expel nine out of every ten foreign envoys and merchants who had overstayed their welcome in Daxing City. These people should have left long ago — their permitted residence had expired — but no one had dared raise the issue while Yanying was alive.
Emperor Zaiqing despised them. He ordered them driven out and escorted directly back to their home countries without being permitted to stop anywhere along the way.
The result was that many of these foreigners felt humiliated. Roughly a year and a half later, the first sign of blowback arrived: the Western Regions Revolt.
It was during that upheaval that a young man’s name began to be known — and then, gradually, to become a name that could never be replaced in anyone’s heart. The name of a war god.
That young man was Xu Qulu.
Now, Li Chi and his companions stood in the Yibin Garden, looking out at the performance stage. It was weathered and mottled with age, yet one could still make out traces of its former splendor. The stage sat in the middle of the lake, connected to the shore by a wooden walkway. From its scale to its finer details, it was remarkable enough to leave one breathless.
Yu Jiuling looked at the stage and blinked. “What’s even worth seeing here?”
Gao Xining said, in complete seriousness, “Now isn’t the time. The timing’s wrong.”
Yu Jiuling: “Are there really performances? When?”
Gao Xining said, “Come back tonight at the hour of Zi. The stage will be lit up with lanterns, and a group of willowy women in white will be dancing — graceful as falling petals. Lift the veil of the first one: your face. Lift the veil of the second: still your face. They’ll all remove their veils, and the entire stage will be filled with dancing Yu Jiulings.”
Yu Jiuling: “Willowy figures, front and back perfectly shaped… but my face…”
He’d just finished listening to Li Chi recount the story of Emperor Yanying, and now he turned and spotted the viewing platform to one side. “Is that where the dog emperor used to sit?”
Li Chi said, “Emperor Zaiqing never came to this place. Whoever sat there — it could only have been Yanying.”
Yu Jiuling wasn’t going to let that stop him. He spotted the throne still sitting on the platform and went to kick it — then came hopping back on one leg, clutching his foot. He’d assumed it was just a chair sitting there, not one that was bolted to the floor.
This only made him angrier. He found an iron rod and gave it a thorough beating, smashing both the chair and the platform into a pile of rubble, which he then stacked neatly to one side for grilling fish later.
The news soon reached Emperor Yang Jing.
“He smashed the Late Emperor Yanying’s throne?”
The Emperor looked toward Yu Wenli. “Minister Yu, how do you read this? Is Xiahou Zhuo simply letting his subordinates run wild, or is there a deeper meaning?”
Yu Wenli replied, “According to the report from the Yibin Garden, Xiahou Zhuo had been telling his people about Emperor Yanying. One of his men — the sharp-faced one — heard the story, got worked up, and smashed the throne.”
He looked at the Emperor. “In this minister’s view, this was likely not Xiahou Zhuo’s intention. He is of imperial blood — a descendant of Prince Yu — so he would be familiar with such historical anecdotes. But his men are mostly of bandit stock, with quick tempers.”
“That said, Xiahou Zhuo made no attempt to stop him — he stood by and let his man commit this outrage. That does suggest a certain deliberateness.”
The Emperor frowned. “What is Minister Yu’s interpretation? What is he trying to tell us?”
Yu Wenli said, “He is applying pressure. Smashing the throne… the meaning is quite plain.”
The Emperor narrowed his eyes. “Does he truly believe We would not dare do anything to them?”
Yu Wenli said, “Your Majesty, please be calm. Xiahou Zhuo is merely making use of the opportunity — he is pressuring the court, trying to compel Your Majesty to grant them an audience sooner.”
The Emperor asked coolly, “Minister Yu, do you think it appropriate for Us to grant that audience right now?”
Yu Wenli said, “It would not be appropriate. Leave them for now. Tomorrow I will go see them and explain that Your Majesty is occupied with affairs of state and unable to receive them at this time. If they choose to wait, they may wait. If they choose not to — they will wait anyway.”
The Emperor made a sound of assent. “Tell them that if they don’t want to wait, they are free to leave. It was not We who invited them here.” He paused. “Handle this yourself.”
—
Yibin Garden.
Li Chi sat by the lake fishing. Yu Jiuling, having already kicked and smashed the broken chair, chopped it further into firewood and stacked it nearby, preparing to grill the fish.
The Yibin Garden had been unoccupied for so long that the lake’s fish had grown enormous with no one to fish for them. Just a moment ago, Li Chi had hooked one — at least as long as a man’s arm, easily thirty catties. The rod and line couldn’t hold against something that size and snapped instantly. Li Chi casually hurled a javelin and skewered the fish dead.
As for Yu Jiuling’s smashing things earlier — Li Chi hadn’t given it a second thought. He certainly hadn’t sat around analyzing it the way Emperor Yang Jing and Yu Wenli were doing back in the palace. In Li Chi’s mind it was simply: Yu Jiuling didn’t like the look of the chair, so he smashed it. That was just Yu Jiuling — one of a kind.
Yet this small matter had apparently created pressure for the Chu Emperor and the entire court. Li Chi genuinely hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Not long after, Yu Wenli arrived at the Yibin Garden.
He looked considerably less pleasant than his previous visit — face set, posture stiff with authority.
“His Majesty is already aware of your deliberate destruction of property within the Yibin Garden,” Yu Wenli announced. “Moreover, what you destroyed was a relic of the Late Emperor. That is a grave offense.”
He continued, “His Majesty is furious. By rights you should all be punished. However, in consideration of your ignorance and lack of cultivation, His Majesty has chosen to deal with this with benevolence.”
“You are all hereby confined to these grounds and forbidden from entering or leaving freely. Any further offense against imperial dignity will be met with consequences.”
“Furthermore—”
Yu Wenli looked at Li Chi. “The Young Lord’s personal escort must surrender all weapons and armor.”
Yu Jiuling spoke up immediately. “And if we don’t?”
Yu Wenli’s voice sharpened. “Young Lord, how can your man be so utterly without manners? Is it his place to speak here?” He fixed his eyes on Yu Jiuling. “You’re the one who destroyed the Late Emperor’s relic, aren’t you.”
Yu Jiuling said, “You can’t even handle a smashed chair — what would you do if the throne in the great hall got smashed too?”
Li Chi said, “Mind your manners. You can’t say that sort of thing outright in someone else’s house.”
Yu Jiuling smiled. “This subordinate understands. This subordinate knows he was wrong.”
Li Chi said, “Minister Yu, we were at fault first. Whatever reparations are owed, we will pay them in full.”
Yu Wenli said, “His Majesty is gracious — the matter of reparations need not be raised. But your weapons and armor must be surrendered, and you are not to leave or enter without permission. As for the matter of requesting an audience with His Majesty — you will need to wait patiently. His Majesty is occupied with affairs of state…”
The Emperor had intended to add that if they couldn’t wait, they were free to leave temporarily — but Yu Wenli recognized that for what it was: anger speaking. If he said it and they actually left, the court would be in the humiliating position of having to beg them back. That would be losing all face entirely.
Before Yu Wenli could even finish, Li Chi cut in: “If we can’t wait, we could always leave first.”
Yu Wenli felt his heart lurch. *I was trying to hold that card back — how did you manage to play it yourself?*
In truth, all of this was still a game of testing each other’s resolve.
Emperor Yang Jing’s intent was to apply appropriate pressure to King Ning’s emissaries and offer no warm welcome. If they still refused to leave despite the treatment, it would signal that King Ning was desperate for this alliance — and the court could renegotiate from a position of strength. Emperor Yang Jing understood perfectly why King Ning’s people had come: they wanted him to abdicate. But if King Ning was the one who needed something from him, then “abdication” could be negotiated into a partnership instead.
Even now, the Emperor hadn’t given up on his dream of governing the north and south with King Ning, each holding half the empire. A divided Chu was the only way for any version of Great Chu to survive.
Turning surrender into cooperation — that, for the court and for the Emperor, would be a decisive victory.
Yu Wenli understood all of this perfectly. Even as he’d spoken with that stiff authority just now, he’d been carefully weighing every word. Getting the Young Lord’s men to hand over their weapons was already the absolute upper limit of what he’d hoped to achieve today.
And now Li Chi had said, *”Why don’t we just leave?”* — and Yu Wenli was on the back foot.
If it was true that Li Chi hadn’t thought anything of the throne-smashing incident earlier, he couldn’t afford to ignore this one. The Chu Emperor had apparently decided to use that incident to probe his limits — so it was time to be direct. He couldn’t let the Chu Emperor think he was the one who needed something.
Yu Wenli said, “Young Lord, if you truly wish to leave the city, that will not be so easy. His Majesty’s gracious dispensation was contingent on your remaining in the Yibin Garden. If you now wish to leave, His Majesty’s graciousness will be reconsidered accordingly.”
Li Chi suddenly laughed. He said to Yu Wenli, “Is that so? All right, then. We won’t leave. And we’ll hand over the weapons too. Let’s leave it at that.”
That casual *”all right, then”* left Yu Wenli thoroughly off balance.
But somewhere beneath the confusion, he felt a quiet surge of relief — because Xiahou Zhuo’s reaction seemed to confirm something. King Ning urgently needed the Chu Emperor’s armies.
Yu Jiuling was a little lost. “General, so we’re just… going to be obedient?”
Li Chi smiled. “First — you smashed their things, so they’re unhappy. Isn’t that right? Second — they’re not arresting us, just taking the weapons. That’s already quite lenient, wouldn’t you say? Third — the Emperor said to wait, and we’re guests here. A guest follows the host’s lead. We wait.”
He looked at Yu Wenli. “That said, I do have one small request. All personal swords can be surrendered. But I’d ask to keep the armor — it can’t be used to hurt anyone, it’s purely for protection.”
Yu Wenli considered this, then nodded. “Very well. As the Young Lord says.”
He gave the order to collect the Ning army soldiers’ weapons, then returned to the Shiyuan Palace to report.
When the Emperor heard the news, he laughed and said, “Let them wait, then. We’ll see how many times they come to beg.”
Not once.
A full half month passed, and Li Chi and his group spent every day in the Yibin Garden finding new ways to entertain themselves, seemingly having forgotten entirely why they’d come.
Eventually Yu Wenli had to come himself, making casual remarks here and there, suggesting that if the Young Lord was in any rush, he could go ask His Majesty when he might be available.
Li Chi’s answer was always the same: *”No need. We’re happy to wait.”*
Three more days passed. Yu Wenli came again, saying His Majesty was nearly available and asking Li Chi to submit a formal request for an audience.
Li Chi said: *”No need. We’ll wait a bit longer.”*
Three more days. This time the Chu Emperor was the one growing anxious. He decided to swallow some of his pride and summon Xiahou Zhuo himself. He sent Yu Wenli to deliver the message: tomorrow, you may come to the Shiyuan Palace for an audience.
Li Chi’s response: *”No need. Actually, there’s no need to see him at all. It’s comfortable here. I don’t feel like going out.”*
—