It must be said: the scenery near Meicheng was truly the kind that made one reluctant to leave.

Meicheng was built against the mountains. Not far outside the city walls lay a great lake, and on one side of the lake tumbled a waterfall. That single view from the mountain alone — one could come every day for a year and still not exhaust it.

When Li Chi and the others arrived outside Meicheng, the first thing they did was climb the mountain.

Not for the scenery, but because from its heights, one could look down directly into the city.

It was a pity the high ground could not be put to better use — had they been able to position catapults up here and bombard the walls from above, the Shu Army would have been in considerable misery.

“By any reckoning, the feng shui here at Meicheng is quite excellent,” Li Chi said, looking around.

He had traveled the roads with the Long-Browed Daoist; the matter of reading the land’s fortune was something he understood — after a fashion.

But feng shui, as they say, has no fixed rule. Move to a different place, and you get a different reading. The same principle, planted elsewhere, can sprout an entirely different story.

Hearing Li Chi say this, Xiahou Zhuo was immediately intrigued.

“What makes it excellent?” he asked.

“If you were to ask a wandering geomancer who makes his living at this art,” Li Chi said, “he would tell you the feng shui here is exceptionally fine — that it is certain to produce great figures, that it could bless a hundred generations, and so on and so forth.”

He paused briefly, then continued: “If my shifu were the one looking, he would say something rather different. He would think: *all these geomancers are saying the feng shui here is magnificent, so a great many wealthy and powerful families have come to settle here. What a wonderful place to make money.*”

Xiahou Zhuo froze for a moment, then couldn’t help but marvel.

“So what you’re saying is — a pack of wandering tricksters lured a crowd of rich people to gather in one spot, for the convenience of fleecing them?”

Li Chi thought about it. “That angle, I confess, has broadened my perspective somewhat…”

He turned to Yu Jiuling. “I’ve suddenly thought of another way to make money.”

Yu Jiuling replied: “Other people spend a lifetime and might not think up a single one. You turn that clever eye of yours — or rather, that *wise* eye — and they come by the basketful.”

Li Chi glanced at him sideways, then said with a smile: “Send word to Commissioner Lian — have him assign more people to spread this around. Tell people: *Do you know why the Ning Prince is building the city of Chang’an?*”

He only gave the opening. Yu Jiuling instantly understood where it was going.

“Ha!” Yu Jiuling laughed. “Spread the word that it’s because the Ning Prince suddenly discovered that the location of Chang’an City just so happens to possess the finest feng shui in all the Central Plains.”

Xiahou Zhuo picked up the thread: “The Ning Prince dispatched many accomplished masters to travel the realm, and in the end these sages from every corner unanimously selected Chang’an.”

Yu Jiuling continued: “Declare that Chang’an City has gathered the feng shui energy of the entire Central Plains into one place — that anyone who settles there will have blessings for a hundred — no, a *thousand* generations, ten *thousand* generations…”

Xiahou Zhuo added: “When word like this gets out, anyone with sufficient means who hears it will absolutely send someone to go have a look.”

Yu Jiuling: “More than just look — going by the principle of *better to believe it than not*, of course they’ll want to secure property in Chang’an. That’s the only sensible thing to do.”

He looked at Li Chi. “Our liege is truly a cunning old fox.”

Xiahou Zhuo: “Perhaps not so old, but certainly an enlightened one.”

Li Chi smiled. “Quickly — go find Little Zhang the Daoist and Peng Shiqī. Give this task to those two. They’ll handle it splendidly.”

Yu Jiuling sent someone to fetch the two of them, and before long, the two little round fellows came trotting over.

Li Chi explained the scheme. Peng Shiqī’s face immediately took on an expression that seemed to say: *When it comes to being ruthless, no one can touch our liege.*

Little Zhang the Daoist was different. The moment Li Chi finished speaking, he was already thinking about how to negotiate his cut.

“Liege, if we do this well, there should be a reward.”

Li Chi smiled. “What would you like?”

“We’re not greedy,” Little Zhang the Daoist said. “If me and Shiqī con — I mean, *persuade* — a wealthy household to go settle in Chang’an, and that brings in a hundred taels, we want a two-tael cut.”

Li Chi smiled. “Two taels out of a hundred. That’s fair.”

Little Zhang the Daoist said: “If we push the land prices in Chang’an up to something truly outrageous, you won’t turn around and prosecute us for it later, will you?”

Li Chi said: “What are you talking about? We’re short on money right now, so of course I won’t. We can settle old scores after we’re not short anymore.”

Little Zhang the Daoist: “How refreshingly honest!”

Peng Shiqī: “How remarkably candid!”

What had begun as a few words of banter was suddenly, in the space of a breath, being organized and set into motion — handed off to Little Zhang the Daoist and Peng Shiqī to run with.

Those two: one from Longhu Mountain, one from Zhongnan Mountain. Should they go off to sweet-talk wealthy families, the pedigree alone would lend them a certain built-in credibility.

“When I get back,” Little Zhang the Daoist said, “I’ll write a letter to my shifu first. My shifu speaking up — that’s where the real effect lies.”

Li Chi said: “Your shifu’s fee comes out of your share.”

Little Zhang the Daoist: “…”

Though the task had been handed off, Li Chi didn’t hold out much hope that it would have any dramatic effect.

So he was all the more astonished later on, when it did.

A single phrase — *the finest feng shui under heaven belongs to Chang’an* — was enough to move many hearts. And this near-jesting notion ended up organically furthering the groundwork for declaring Chang’an the capital — almost by accident.

If Li Chi had thought of it sooner, he might have announced Chang’an as the imperial capital long before.

But when you get down to it, the thing that truly moved people wasn’t feng shui.

It was the speculation the story sparked — that the Ning Prince was planning to make his capital in this place no one had heard much of before.

The founding of a new dynasty…

Before the capital was officially announced, securing property in Chang’an — settling there with one’s family, putting down roots — how many winding roads would that spare one’s descendants?

Small places follow feng shui; great places, feng shui follows them.

Once everyone knew Chang’an was to be the capital, what was there left to discuss about whether the feng shui was good? Where the imperial capital stands, can the feng shui be anything but favorable?

But that is all a story for later. Li Chi sent the two of them off because he was genuinely short on money.

Years of warfare had nearly depleted the silver he had accumulated, and the campaign into Shu Province had dragged on long enough that the grain and provisions consumed amounted to a staggering figure.

To build roads, he would have to be resourceful by whatever means available.

Not that Li Chi thought there was anything shameful about raising funds. So long as the means were reasonable and lawful, there was no cause for embarrassment.

Standing at the mountain’s edge, Li Chi raised his long-distance viewer and looked into Meicheng for a while, then said to himself: “Do you suppose Pei Qi once used a scheme like this to lure a number of wealthy and powerful families to Meicheng to back him?”

Yu Jiuling replied without thinking: “That’s different — how many men in this world have as thick a hide as our liege?”

Li Chi: “Hmm?”

Yu Jiuling gave a start, and immediately said: “How many men in this world can see as far ahead as our liege.”

As Li Chi’s group observed Meicheng from the heights, the defenders on the city walls spotted the Ning forces on the high ground. General Pei Xuecheng and the other Shu commanders raised their own viewers and looked back.

On the walls, Pei Xuecheng watched for a long time before lowering his viewer. There was a weight pressing down on him.

The Ning Army’s main force had arrived; full-scale assault couldn’t be far off.

After years in command, Pei Xuecheng could see clearly that the Ning Prince would be pushing for a swift and decisive victory at Meicheng.

The pressure on him was immense.

The Ning Army had never lost.

“That man in black standing at the front, looking in our direction — he’s probably the Ning Prince Li Chi, isn’t he?”

A young general beside Pei Xuecheng said quietly.

His name was Guan Zaixin — twenty-seven years old, but already twelve years in the army. He had followed his father on campaign at fifteen.

His father had once been a fourth-rank general in the Chu imperial garrison troops, known as the Winter Plum in Snow — for his father’s favored weapon was a silver spear, and he fought always in white. The red tassel caught the blood; it hung there red among the white, like plum blossoms against snow.

By seventeen or eighteen, Guan Zaixin’s spearwork had already far surpassed his father’s.

By any reckoning, when rankings were drawn up for the finest spear-wielders in the Chu imperial garrisons, he should have been on the list.

But no one knew him.

Partly because Shu Province was relatively isolated from the wider world; partly because his background was not illustrious enough, and his name had not yet spread.

In truth, in a genuine contest, Zhang He — ranked second among the garrison’s spear-wielders — might well not be his match.

By now, with the Martial Prince and Luo Jing both dead, enthusiasts had begun drawing up new rankings for the realm’s finest military spear-wielders. At the top was the Ning Army’s great general, Tang Pidi.

Second was the great general Tantai Yajing — acknowledged without dispute, since Tantai Yajing excelled with both spear and halberd.

Third was named as the young general Gao Zhen. The world knew little of Gao Zhen in detail, but once it was said that he was Luo Jing’s own disciple, most agreed: *that makes sense*.

Guan Zaixin, too, used a spear. He had heard of these rankings.

Young men in their prime, freshly come to fame — they have their own sharp edge, their own courage, and their own unyielding pride.

When he pointed toward the man in black on the high ground and named him as the Ning Prince, he was also carefully scanning the figures beside that man, looking for Tantai Yajing.

He knew General Tang Pidi wasn’t in Shu, so he thought: *if the opportunity arises, I want to cross spears with Tantai Yajing — to find out just how much that number-two Ning Army spearman actually has.*

“Have you ever seen Tantai Yajing in person, General?” Guan Zaixin asked.

Pei Xuecheng said: “No. But didn’t His Majesty say — Tantai Yajing was already killed by Yan Yusheng in the southwest?”

Guan Zaixin said: “General — do you believe that?”

Pei Xuecheng didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, he said: “His Majesty has spoken it. You had best believe it, and not raise the subject again where His Majesty might hear.”

Guan Zaixin gave a sound of acknowledgment.

Pei Xuecheng paused again, then said: “But — he is not here yet.”

Guan Zaixin gave another sound of acknowledgment.

“So Luo Jing was once second,” he murmured to himself.

Pei Xuecheng suddenly caught Guan Zaixin’s meaning and shook his head. “Luo Jing… Luo Jing in his prime was essentially without equal.”

Guan Zaixin asked: “And Tang Pidi?”

Pei Xuecheng sighed. “Tang Pidi is… Luo Jing without limits.”

Guan Zaixin said: “That is something you probably shouldn’t say aloud either, General — not where His Majesty might hear.”

Pei Xuecheng gave a slight, bitter smile.

True enough, it wasn’t safe to say. And yet — who did not know of Tang Pidi’s peerless reputation?

Even Guan Zaixin had never thought about testing himself against Tang Pidi. He only wanted to try his hand against Tantai Yajing.

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