The Hongyuan Temple was well-known throughout Daxing City. It had once enjoyed flourishing incense and offerings, but the war had left it cold and quiet. The people of Daxing City could barely feed themselves — who had spare coin for temple donations? After Emperor Yang Jing had all but wiped out the great noble families, visitors had become rarer still.
The Emperor himself had never been here before. He had no faith in gods or spirits — only in people. And in truth, he barely trusted people either.
When word arrived that His Majesty was coming, the monks and priests of the Hongyuan Temple hurried to line up at the gate to receive him. They prepared an abundance of things in his honor. However diminished Great Chu might now be, the Emperor was still the Emperor — the supreme power in Daxing City. Emperors bowed only to their ancestors; the whole world bowed to them. They could not simply go and offer reverence to just anyone.
They prepared materials to present and explain, arranged a tour route, and attended to countless other details — all in the short time available, all done as thoroughly as possible.
But the Emperor gave them no opportunity. Upon arriving at the Hongyuan Temple, he said only one thing.
“We will go straight to the stone pagoda in the back courtyard to wait. No one else needs to follow — Minister Yu, you alone will accompany Us.”
The people who had assembled with such anticipation were left like they’d had cold water dumped over their heads, standing blankly in place.
—
Li Chi was in no hurry on his way there. He timed his arrival deliberately, giving Yu Wenli time to race back to the Shiyuan Palace and report, and giving the Chu Emperor time to arrive at the Hongyuan Temple first and make a show of natural casualness.
Knowing there was almost certainly no real danger, Li Chi still left Gao Xining behind — because that word *”almost”* always left room for the unexpected. Old Master Zhang had once said: *”Emperor shall not meet Emperor. If they meet, both are diminished — unless one is strong and the other weak.”*
These weren’t empty words. The principle was rooted in history itself. When two simultaneously existing empires meet, and their rulers come face to face, even nations at peace have a way of suddenly finding grievances and going to war. Among strong-willed rulers, peace never survives a direct meeting.
The historical record held more than a few examples of this — especially during ages of fragmentation and warring states.
The most famous was the great dual-hero encounter before the founding of Great Chu. At that time, the founding Taizu Emperor of Chu had already conquered all of the south, with everything below the Crimson River under Chu control. North of the river, the man holding dominant power was another leader of the rebellion against the Meng Empire — a man known as the King of Lofty Righteousness: Xie Dongcheng.
The two men were roughly matched in strength, neither confident of defeating the other. So they arranged a meeting in the small town of Weiting, south of the Crimson River, to discuss joint strategies for toppling the Meng.
Before the meeting, they had exchanged many letters and considered each other kindred spirits. In their correspondence, they had addressed each other as brothers and spoken of the other to outsiders as their closest confidant. Even their wartime strategies had been discussed openly in letters — along with their views on the situation under heaven.
When the day came, both men arrived with a measure of excitement. Though they had never met, they felt they had long known each other through the meeting of minds.
After meeting in person, they got on splendidly — deep in conversation until dawn on multiple occasions, trading praise for each other’s knowledge and insight. The encounter seemed a resounding success. Both men came eagerly and left satisfied.
Then they went home, and both men simultaneously reached the same decision: before toppling the Meng, destroy the other.
Without meeting, they had been the best of friends. After meeting, both understood: this man was the greatest threat they would ever face.
What followed nearly gave the already-dying Meng Empire several more years of borrowed life, as the two men tore into each other with everything they had. In the end, Taizu of Chu won by the narrowest of margins — and emerged from it gravely weakened.
After the King of Lofty Righteousness was captured and the two men met again, there was a long silence between them.
Taizu said: “If you are willing, remain at my side. I will use you well.”
The King of Lofty Righteousness laughed and replied: “Stop deceiving yourself. If you keep me close, do you think you’d sleep soundly?”
He said to Taizu: “Don’t let me die looking ugly. I’ve always considered myself something of a stylish man — an ugly death would be unacceptable to me.”
Not by hanging. Not by beheading. After due reflection, he suggested: “Send me a cup of poison wine. But before that, let me eat a proper meal. And if there’s a truly exceptional beauty — let her keep me company for one night.”
So Taizu had an extravagant meal prepared and sent the most celebrated courtesan of the city to accompany him.
The King of Lofty Righteousness spent the night in full contentment, then drank the poison wine and died coughing blood. Before the end, he asked his attendant: “Please wipe away the blood — let me not look so wretched.”
Taizu ordered his men to wash and dress the King of Lofty Righteousness properly and gave him a full state burial with the honors of a prince.
Then he ordered the courtesan who had spent the night with him to be strangled. Her body was thrown in the wilderness outside the city.
Taizu later said: “The King of Lofty Righteousness was more open-hearted than I. If he’d lived, I truly could not have slept soundly.”
Not just the King himself — even the woman who had spent one night with him could not be allowed to remain. What if she had conceived? That would be a future source of disaster.
It was for this reason that later generations said: Taizu of Chu alone deserved the name of ruthless genius — cold enough, thorough enough, leaving nothing undone and nothing to chance.
Li Chi sat in the carriage recalling the old story, and couldn’t help but smile.
Old Master Zhang had said: *”Emperor shall not meet Emperor. King shall not meet King.”* And yet this situation was unlike any in history. The Chu Emperor, however diminished, was still the sole emperor in the world. Li Chi had not yet claimed the imperial title — so it could not quite be called emperor meeting emperor.
Meanwhile, not far from the Yibin Garden, in a courtyard of the Ministry of Rites that had been cleared out and set aside for guests, Yu Peien and his party had been staying for over ten days. He had arrived shortly after Li Chi came to Daxing City.
Part of why the Chu Emperor had not rushed to see Li Chi was precisely because he had first met with the King of Geling Han Feibao’s emissary.
After leaving the Shiyuan Palace, Yu Peien returned to the Ministry of Rites courtyard. The general of the Yong Province army who was responsible for his protection, Qi Lianshan, hurried over to meet him.
“Master Tailai — how did it go?”
Qi Lianshan asked.
Yu Peien spoke with easy composure. “Persuading the Chu Emperor presents no great difficulty. The question is whether, after his meeting with King Ning’s emissary today, his resolve will shift.”
He spoke lightly, but Qi Lianshan was worried.
“Master, if the Chu Emperor is swayed by whoever King Ning sent — then won’t all your efforts have been wasted?”
Qi Lianshan said, “I’ve heard that King Ning sent Xiahou Zhuo. That man also carries the blood of the Yang imperial line — he might be more familiar to the Chu Emperor.”
Yu Peien smiled. “Among those of imperial blood, have you ever seen any two people who were truly close to one another?”
Qi Lianshan paused and thought it through. He supposed that was true. Even full brothers within the imperial family couldn’t be said to have any genuine closeness — they schemed against each other constantly. How much less so two cousins who had never laid eyes on each other?
And besides, the imperial family regarded purity of lineage as paramount. Xiahou Zhuo was the illegitimate son of Prince Yu — he couldn’t even be entered into the family register.
“How confident are you, Master?”
Qi Lianshan asked once more.
Yu Peien said, “At least seven parts out of ten.”
He walked to the side and sat down. His attendants immediately brought tea and set out a few plates of dried fruits and pastries.
Yu Peien said, “To persuade the Chu Emperor, there is really only one thing that needs to be made certain.”
Qi Lianshan sat down across from him and said sincerely, “Please, Master, instruct me.”
Yu Peien smiled as he explained. “If I came here and immediately declared that the King of Geling’s forces far surpassed King Ning Li Chi’s — this whole thing would accomplish nothing.”
Qi Lianshan thought on this for a moment, then understood. He said to Yu Peien: “The Chu Emperor wants to see two weaker forces join hands. That is what he’s willing to accept.”
Yu Peien nodded. “Precisely. If I kept insisting the King of Geling was stronger than King Ning, the Chu Emperor would immediately start thinking about what happens after they jointly defeat King Ning — what would become of him then?”
“Instead, I have led the Chu Emperor to believe that our two combined forces, working in perfect cooperation, would amount to only a marginal advantage over King Ning.”
He smiled and continued, “With that understanding, the Chu Emperor would be far more willing to ally with the King of Geling. First defeat King Ning together; as for what comes after — well, both sides would remain the weaker party, and any future contest between them would end in stalemate.”
Yu Peien leaned back slightly. “King Ning is the Chu Emperor’s greatest concern — the thorn lodged closest to his heart.”
Qi Lianshan thought for a moment, then asked, “Does that mean we still proceed with the original plan?”
The original plan was this: to ensure no possible alliance could form between King Ning Li Chi and Emperor Yang Jing, they needed to eliminate King Ning’s representative inside Daxing City — and do it cleanly enough that King Ning would be convinced the Chu Emperor had ordered the hit. Once King Ning’s envoy died here, no alliance could ever be made.
Yu Peien fell briefly into thought, then said, “Not yet. Wait until after the Chu Emperor meets with Xiahou Zhuo. I have my arrangements.”
He looked at Qi Lianshan. “Go now and send Ye Huasheng to the Hongyuan Temple. There’s someone at the back gate who will receive him. As for what to do once he’s inside — he already knows. I’ve given him his instructions.”
Qi Lianshan immediately stood up. “I’ll see to it right away.”
This Ye Huasheng was one of Yu Peien’s disciples — formerly a notorious figure in the jianghu, a despicable predator whose crimes were innumerable. No one quite knew how it happened, but he had abruptly taken Yu Peien as his master and never returned to the jianghu.
The man’s lightness technique was exceptional, and he excelled at concealment, tracking, and assassination. Yu Peien had sent him to the Hongyuan Temple for a different purpose altogether.
—
Li Chi arrived at the gates of the Hongyuan Temple. As he stepped down from his carriage, the monks were already waiting outside — Yu Wenli had arranged this, and they didn’t dare be lax.
“Welcome, Young Lord.”
The receiving party bowed deeply.
Li Chi smiled. “Thank you all for waiting. Much appreciated. Could you tell me which way I should go?”
The abbot of the Hongyuan Temple, whose religious name was Mingyuan, pressed his palms together and said, “The honored guest is waiting for the Young Lord in the back courtyard. I have arranged someone to guide the Young Lord there.”
Li Chi thought: *This is supposed to be a chance encounter?* It’s not charming at all.
He thanked them, and as he stepped through the gate, he instinctively looked back across the road, slightly narrowing his eyes before asking, “What is that place across the way?”
Mingyuan answered, “That is the Qionglu Temple. But it has been abandoned for some time now — no one there.”
Li Chi looked again at the Hongyuan Temple’s own facade, then at the wild grass growing out of the Qionglu Temple’s walls across the road. His brow furrowed a little deeper.
“Why was it abandoned?”
Mingyuan bowed slightly. “I don’t know.”
Li Chi made a sound of acknowledgment and walked on through the gate.
Yu Jiuling followed behind, deliberately hanging back at the rear of the group. He noticed that when the Qionglu Temple came up, a young monk near the back of the procession gave a slight shake of his head and sighed quietly. Something stirred in Yu Jiuling, and he drifted over.
“Does the little master know why the Qionglu Temple was abandoned?”
The two of them fell behind, trailing at the very back, with no one else paying attention to them.
The young monk — no more than fourteen or fifteen — looked around carefully, then dropped his voice low. “Several years ago, when the Black Warriors raided the border and word reached the capital, the stubborn Taoists of the Qionglu Temple took up their swords and walked north. The eldest was past seventy. The youngest was sixteen or seventeen. More than thirty of them… None have returned.”
As he finished speaking, the young monk looked back one more time at that crumbling, desolate courtyard, and let out a long, quiet sigh.
—