Shu Prefecture Jiedushi Pei Qi was meeting Yang Jing for the very first time. As he looked at the Emperor, he quietly calculated: he had probably not seen a Chu Emperor for over twenty years now, and had not returned to Da Xing City in just as long.

He had served as Jiedushi of Shu for over twenty years. Long enough that many people had the illusion he was a native of Shu.

In truth, he was born in Da Xing City, and had lived there until the age of nineteen, when he was appointed to an outer post. Since then, he had returned only a handful of times.

From county magistrate, to prefectural administration, then briefly recalled to serve in Da Xing City’s Ministry of War, then posted as a regional commander, then appointed Jiedushi of Shu — the decade from age nineteen to thirty was the period of Pei Qi’s fastest ascent.

Why do they call a Jiedushi a “great frontier official”? Replace those characters with three plain words the common people would use: local emperor.

A frontier lord who had not returned to Da Xing City in over twenty years — what kind of ironclad grip would he have built over Shu in that time?

Under the rules of Great Chu, a Jiedushi without an imperial summons was not to return to the capital without cause. But the court also had a rule: every four years, all Jiedushis were to return to the capital to report. Yet Chu had fallen into chaos — what Jiedushi would want to go to Da Xing City? As long as they stayed away, their position was solid as stone; go back, and there was every chance of being dismissed and replaced with someone new.

And so the Jiedushis who refused to return became, one after another, lords of their own domains.

Among them, Shu and Yong were the most exceptional cases.

Shu had been sealed shut by Pei Qi — its gates closed, nothing could come in, but anyone could leave at will.

Yong was simply so remote that no authority could reach it.

Now, the crippled Emperor of Great Chu was delivering a stirring oration, while his audience of people who didn’t take him seriously at all listened. Yet this did not seem to dim the brilliance in Yang Jing’s eyes.

The pity was that not a single word entered anyone’s ears — some were even suppressing the urge to laugh.

Pei Qi would not interrupt Yang Jing’s impassioned speech at a moment like this. He sat to one side sipping tea, occasionally exchanging a few words with those beside him.

Yet this man had a particular gift: you would think he hadn’t heard a word, but at every single point in Yang Jing’s speech where applause was appropriate, Pei Qi would immediately clap, and the people below would follow suit.

When Yang Jing finally finished — Pei Qi had spoken for nearly an hour — Pei Qi rose and delivered a summary. In half a quarter-hour, he hit every single key point in Yang Jing’s speech without missing one.

Afterward, Pei Qi accompanied Yang Jing back to his lodgings. Two strongmen carried Yang Jing; Pei Qi always remained just slightly behind, never walking abreast, never so far back that Yang Jing had to turn around to see him. The calibration was precise.

After chatting with Yang Jing for a while, Pei Qi stepped outside. Two subordinates were already waiting.

“Has he arrived?” Pei Qi asked.

A subordinate answered: “He’s here, resting at Daibei Cottage. I told him you would come personally tonight.”

Pei Qi nodded. “Prepare the carriage. I’ll dine at Daibei Cottage tonight.”

“Yes, sir!”

About half an hour later, in the eastern part of Mei City, at the foot of the hills, Pei Qi’s carriage stopped outside a courtyard.

Mei City, like most mountain cities of Shu, was built against the slopes — nothing like the orderly grid of a plains city. In the plains, great cities ran in straight lines, square and precise. In mountain cities, you could easily get lost going from the south to the north.

Daibei Cottage was old — its buildings somewhat worn — but the surroundings were simply without comparison. To stay there was to forget all one’s worries. Never mind going out for a walk: just the gardens inside, the flowers and trees, the little bridges and flowing water, were enough to make one linger and not wish to leave.

Han Feibao sat in a pavilion fishing — fishing in a pond stocked with fish.

He knew Pei Qi had arrived, but made no move to greet him — he was furious, and he refused to let himself look undignified.

Yang Jing’s arrival had knocked him, a man who could have been Emperor himself, right back down to earth.

Losing to Tang Pidi hadn’t particularly angered him. Nor had the loss left him with overwhelming bitterness — victories and defeats on the battlefield were something he could accept.

But Yang Jing being brought to Mei City was like someone stabbing him from behind and tossing him into a rubbish heap, saying: You’re useless now.

Han Feibao refused to accept this.

He was certain Pei Qi didn’t dare kill him. Didn’t dare act too presumptuously in front of him either.

After the repeated large-scale battles, Shu’s manpower was nearly exhausted. Even with generous inducements, the number of soldiers that could be recruited was pitifully small.

Whatever Pei Qi’s true intentions were, none of it could be accomplished without his Yong Army. Even if the four hundred thousand soldiers he had brought were now entirely wiped out, it was the easiest thing in the world to go back to Yong and conscript another few hundred thousand — by force if necessary.

Yong was poor, but not underpopulated — the poorer the place, the more people there tended to be. That had always been true.

Moreover, Yong’s people were unlike those of most regions of the Central Plains. In most places, common people instinctively stepped aside for those of higher station.

But in Yong, nobody was too good to be taken down a peg. A Yong man pushed too far wouldn’t care who you were.

Yet the people of Yong deeply feared the Jiedushi’s office — because the fiercest men had all ended up working for the government. Especially men like Han Feibao, whose reputation for killing was absolute. Wherever his Yong Army went, no one dared resist.

So this was Han Feibao’s leverage. No matter how skilled Pei Qi was in scheming, without power, what good were schemes?

So he was certain that when Pei Qi saw him, it would be with an apologetic face, pouring on reassurances and flattery.

Pei Qi entered the garden and saw Han Feibao sitting in the pavilion fishing, not even turning his head. A cold smile tugged at the corner of Pei Qi’s mouth — but it was quickly replaced by a warm and apologetic expression as he strode forward.

“My dear General Han — my young lord — you’ve finally come back to us.”

The moment he heard those words, the corner of Han Feibao’s mouth curved into a cold smile too.

Half an hour later, wine and food were laid out in the pavilion, and Pei Qi personally poured Han Feibao a cup.

“Young Lord, you know this was all unavoidable,” Pei Qi said with a smile. “Surely you don’t think we truly intend to restore Yang Jing’s empire?”

Han Feibao said coldly, “From the look of things, that’s exactly what it seems like.”

Pei Qi said, “My Lord, how can you be so muddled? The only reason Yang Jing is still breathing is because he happens to be useful at this particular moment.”

He shifted his seat, moving closer to Han Feibao.

“Right now, the King of Ning Li Chi is dominant and holds the hearts of the people. We have no better justification for opposing him. Only by using Yang Jing’s imperial name — raising the banner of restoring the dynasty — can we win the support and backing of the great clans of the Central Plains.”

“When the day comes that we truly reclaim the realm, how Yang Jing dies will be entirely up to the Young Lord.”

Han Feibao said, “And when that day comes, if I’m the one who’s no longer useful — how I die will be up to the Jiedushi and that Emperor, won’t it?”

Pei Qi said, “My Lord, you are being foolish.”

He waved his hand. “Bring the letter.”

A subordinate brought a letter over. Pei Qi took it and offered it with both hands to Han Feibao. “A letter from the Sacred Master.”

Han Feibao opened it and read. His expression shifted slightly.

Pei Qi said, “The Sacred Master has issued an order to eliminate Yang Jing’s son at any cost.” He looked at Han Feibao. “Can the Young Lord still not see that the Sacred Master intends to place him on the throne?”

Han Feibao set the letter down. After a long silence, he said, “I only had some grievances in my heart. Can’t you let me vent a little?”

“Of course I understand the Young Lord’s feelings,” Pei Qi said. “Yang Jing is nothing more than a pawn right now — but at this moment, he is the only pawn that can cross the river. So the Young Lord must endure for a time. Sooner or later, we will let you vent this grievance.”

Han Feibao finally smiled. “Does the Jiedushi have a plan?”

Pei Qi said, “My plan is to conscript again within Shu. If we can raise another five hundred thousand soldiers and give them to the Young Lord to train, after two years they will be a force worth fighting with.”

Han Feibao frowned slightly. “Conscript in Shu? How many can Shu still produce? I think I should go back to Yong myself. You make your preparations here in Shu. Give me a year, and I can raise a million soldiers in Yong.”

“My Lord,” Pei Qi said, “I only worry about the danger you would face there. Yong is a rough place — if they know you’ve been defeated, some might harbor ill intentions…”

Before he could finish, Han Feibao let out a derisive snort. “Do they have that nerve?”

He said to Pei Qi, “Give me ten thousand troops. I’ll take them back to Yong. On my reputation alone, no one will dare act out.”

Pei Qi said, “We should be more careful. The Young Lord is someone who will one day rule the realm — we cannot take even the smallest risk, not even one in a hundred.”

“You underestimate me far too much!” Han Feibao said. “I insist on going back. Let me show you what my standing is in Yong — whether they still heed my call.”

“But—”

“No more words. Go and prepare the column for tomorrow.”

“Yes…”

Pei Qi bowed his head in assent — and as he lowered it, the corner of his mouth curved once more into a smile. He knew exactly which approach worked best on a man like Han Feibao.

Han Feibao was very satisfied, thinking that his read of the situation had been correct: Pei Qi still couldn’t do without him.

Afterward, the conversation between the two grew relaxed and pleasant — especially after Pei Qi clapped his hands and brought out several young and beautiful dancing girls, at which point Han Feibao became even more relaxed and pleasant.

By the time Pei Qi left Daibei Cottage, it was already dark. Settling back into his carriage, he exhaled heavily.

Scheming for the realm is so difficult. So exhausting.

If not for the inexplicable rise of the King of Ning Li Chi, this realm would probably already be firmly in his grip.

“Good things take time…” he murmured to himself — perhaps the best consolation he could offer himself.

—