In the carriage, Li Chi pointed at the waterskin across from him. “Come on, Noble Lord, hand me the flask.”

Yu Jiuling paused, then looked at Li Chi. “Your Majesty said… what?”

“Noble Lord. Hand me the flask.”

“Your Majesty called me… Noble Lord? Surely not — did Your Majesty really say that?”

Li Chi glanced at him sideways. “You misheard. I said *Chief Eunuch* — or not Chief, just Eunuch. Standard eunuch.”

Yu Jiuling: “Then Your Majesty wasn’t calling me… but I still heard the second part — hand the flask to Your Majesty.”

He passed it over. Li Chi took it and said: “Interested? Say the word and I’ll approve it immediately.”

“Your servant is not interested.”

“What if *I* am?”

Yu Jiuling took the flask right back out of his hands and tucked it into his robe. “This water may have gone a bit cold. Your servant will warm it up in here.”

Li Chi: “……”

“Your Majesty can’t drink cold water — bad for the health. You see, someone always needs to be around to take care of Your Majesty. Can’t rely on women for that. It takes a man to understand a man’s needs.”

“Sounds like you *are* interested.”

Gao Xining said: “Whether he’s interested or not, whether Your Majesty acts on it or not, *I* am done with this. As Empress, I should be able to recruit a eunuch for the palace, shouldn’t I?”

Yu Jiuling: “Ugh… has it backfired on me?”

Gao Xining: “Sounds like a confession to me.”

Yu Jiuling was genuinely at ease these days. Li Chi had wanted to give him a post, but he’d wailed and howled against it.

He said he had no great ambitions and truly no great talents — assigning him minor tasks would bungle minor tasks; assigning him major tasks would bungle major tasks.

So he begged Li Chi for a role that required nothing, just a monthly stipend.

After being ennobled as a Duke, Yu Jiuling did hold a nominal sinecure — so undemanding he didn’t even need to attend morning court.

Yet he came to court every single day before anyone else, the first to stand outside the great hall and wait.

When others asked why, he just smiled and said nothing — a look that said *the secrets of heaven must not be revealed.*

He didn’t say. But Li Chi knew, though he’d never asked.

Yu Jiuling treasured relationships above all else, and things were different now. Before, he could see Li Chi and Gao Xining whenever he wished. But now Li Chi was no longer a prince but the Emperor, and Gao Xining was not just his “big bro” but the Empress — not exactly people one could visit on a whim.

Li Chi might still be as informal as ever, but the formality existed around him, enforced by others.

Yu Jiuling came early every day, waiting at the palace gates, then at the court hall doors — just to see Li Chi a little sooner.

“Here, this is for you,” Li Chi said, producing something from behind him and handing it over.

Yu Jiuling examined it carefully. “What is this, Your Majesty?”

“Yesterday a batch of tribute arrived at the palace. I picked out a few things. This one is part of a pair — one for you to wear, the other I’ve already sent to your manor.”

Yu Jiuling looked more closely. It was a pair of jade locks — he held one half, the matching half going to his wife, the two together forming a whole.

“I’ve locked you in,” Li Chi said with a smile. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Gao Xining sighed. “You didn’t give me anything like this.”

“Don’t be like that — didn’t I give you a pair of locks long ago?”

“When?”

Li Chi pointed to his own chest. “A pair of heart-locks. Half in my heart, locking you in. Half in your heart, locking me in.”

Gao Xining’s eyes immediately lit up — she thought: *this little scoundrel has actually gotten better at this. Did becoming Emperor unlock some hidden power of sweet-talking?*

Yu Jiuling sighed beside them. “Your Majesty, big bro — could you do this when someone’s not watching? Right in front of your servant…”

Li Chi: “Consider it a demonstration.”

Yu Jiuling: “If your servant tried something like that on his wife, she’d probably think he was sick.”

Li Chi turned to Gao Xining: “Once the northern campaign is done, have Yu Jiuling’s wife brought to the palace to stay a few days. Let them be lovey-dovey in person every day.”

Gao Xining: “Gladly.”

Yu Jiuling sighed, wondering what had gotten into the Emperor and big bro today.

Then, inexplicably, something lit up in his mind — like a pitch-dark room when the window is thrown open and sunlight floods in.

He was the most pleasure-loving of men. Since arriving in Chang’an he’d been rather unrestrained — which might’ve been fine before, but he was a Duke now.

Being that indulgent as a Duke, and the censors at the Imperial Censorate would single him out. He had a copper head and iron hair, but the censors could still strip him bald.

Li Chi and big bro hadn’t said it plainly — they were sparing his wife’s face.

At this thought, Yu Jiuling grinned. “Your servant doesn’t need the Empress to send anyone. Once the campaign is over, your servant will bring the wife to the palace himself to keep the Empress company.”

This told Li Chi and Gao Xining that Yu Jiuling had understood.

If Yu Jiuling’s wife came to stay at the palace for a few days afterward, those who still wanted to press the issue at court would know to hold their tongues.

It wasn’t about stirring trouble — the censors were doing their duty. If they said nothing, *that* would be dereliction. But if Li Chi had to reprimand Yu Jiuling over it, it would frighten and unsettle him.

Yu Jiuling thought it through and felt a retrospective chill. He had been a bit too indulgent since arriving in Chang’an — drinking through the night, not coming home. He had always assumed that since he held no real power, just being a carefree Duke, it was harmless fun.

He had forgotten that even fun had limits.

Li Chi said: “Earlier, Grand Chancellor Gao and Elder Yan were discussing opening an academy in Chang’an. Once the campaign is over, go and help out however you can.”

“Noted, all noted.”

“Good. That’s the personal matters. Now let’s talk business.”

Yu Jiuling thought: *if that was personal, what must business be?* He sat up straight. “Your Majesty — what is it?”

Li Chi pointed to the jade lock. “That thing — I made sure to ask the price, afraid of overcharging you since we know each other so well. Just pay me half the market rate.”

Yu Jiuling sighed. “Your servant wants to skip out on the debt.”

“Granted. Skip all you like — just acknowledge you owe it.”

“Why on earth should I—”

Just then, a voice outside: “Your Majesty, Master Ye has sent an urgent dispatch from the frontier.”

Li Chi had it brought in immediately. Reading it, his expression grew slightly grave.

He called out: “Ye Xiaoqian — go and fetch Master Chu.”

Master Chu was Fang Zhuhou — he had changed his surname to Chu, which was of course connected to the old Chu Kingdom. Li Chi had known this all along, as had many others.

Yet on only the second day of the Great Ning’s founding, someone had come before Li Chi to report the matter — saying that taking the surname Chu showed Fang Zhuhou’s lingering attachment to Chu, that he harbored treasonous intent.

That person was then hauled out by the palace guards and given thirty strokes of the rod — no leniency, beaten to death on the spot.

It sounded almost like a joke. Amusing to hear — but on reflection, frightening.

The Great Ning had only just been founded. Half the court were still Li Chi’s old comrades. In such a clear and united atmosphere, someone had still done such a thing. Was that not terrifying?

The lingering habits of the Chu Kingdom’s culture could not be erased in a moment.

When Master Chu arrived, Li Chi explained the situation at the northern border and asked him to go ahead to the frontier.

Master Chu thought a moment, then shook his head. “It would be better for your servant to go alone — somewhat faster.”

Li Chi nodded. “As you see fit.”

And so, shortly after, Master Chu departed alone from the main party, riding ahead to the frontier.

By this point, Li Chi’s convoy had been on the road for seven or eight days since leaving Chang’an. By the reckoning of days, Xiahou Zhuo’s vanguard should be close to the frontier by now — they had departed several days earlier.

Even riding now, Master Chu likely could not catch Xiahou Zhuo’s forces.

Indeed, part of the vanguard had already reached the border fortress — Gao Zhen’s Wolf-Ape Battalion, the tip of the spear. They had marched nearly without rest, and arriving at the border to find the Black Wu had not yet attacked, everyone exhaled with relief.

Master Ye was waiting at the city gates. When he saw Gao Zhen arrive with the Wolf-Ape Battalion, he came quickly forward.

Gao Zhen would not hear of making the Master come to receive him — he leaped from his horse while still at a distance and hastened forward with a bow.

Atop the wall, Master Ye pointed outward. “The Black Wu outriders are already appearing brazenly outside the city.”

Gao Zhen nodded, raised his spyglass and looked into the distance. The vast open plain filled him with quiet unease.

So flat. Endlessly, almost perfectly flat — almost no variation in the terrain.

Fighting the Black Wu head-on in such an environment would be unlike any battle the Ning Army had ever fought.

Since the Black Wu’s founding, they had never once lost an open-field engagement. They were no great experts at siege warfare — but this kind of direct confrontation was exactly the battle they loved most.

Gao Zhen exhaled slowly. “We are here to fight in this kind of place and make the Black Wu afraid of us?”

He said it, then smiled slightly, the corners of his mouth curling upward.

“This is going to be genuinely interesting.”

He was only slightly uneasy — not afraid. That unease was simply what a commander ought to feel.

When had Gao Zhen ever feared a fight? No matter who the enemy was.

When had anyone in the Ning Army — from Grand General to foot soldier — ever feared a fight?

No matter who.

—