On the first day of the third month, Yong’an year four, it was time for the regular Grand Court session as usual. The emperor and his ministers rose at the fifth watch, and after a series of elaborate rituals, formal deliberations wouldn’t begin until the first quarter of the Si hour—not in the main hall, but in Dongming Hall.
The ministers waited outside the hall, called in one by one according to His Majesty’s custom to report, propose matters, receive orders, and so on. Each emperor, according to his own preferences, had a different order for calling in his ministers. Yang Zao paid particular attention to the Ministry of War, so he always called in Minister of Justice Sun Shouyi first, followed by Finance, then Personnel, then Justice, then Rites, and Works last.
Grand Court sessions ran on a tight schedule and rarely covered anything of great importance—it functioned more as a ceremonial procedure, tedious and exhausting, yet indispensable.
As one of the Imperial Guards on duty that day, Chen Dasheng actually had it easier than the ministers, even easier than the Emperor himself. Guards could quietly rotate shifts among themselves, finding some empty spot to have a cup of tea and rest a while.
So, following custom, Chen Dasheng stepped back while Yu Qingguan took his place at the doorway, gripping his sword, standing at attention.
Walking down the stone steps of Dongming Hall, Chen Dasheng heard someone call his name. Turning, he saw it was Zeng Anbang, Vice Minister of the Left in the Ministry of War, hailing him.
Chen Dasheng went over and bowed properly. “This humble servant greets you, my lord. May I ask what business you have with me?”
Zeng Anbang had always been on good terms with the men of Changdao—back when Chen Dasheng and the others were first starting out, he and Guo Qian had done no small amount to look after the Lao Dao brothers.
Seeing Chen Dasheng approach, the ministers waiting to be summoned watched curiously. Though they all stood together, only the truly important officials were the ones summoned by the Emperor, allowed private audience to speak their minds.
Chen Dasheng belonged to the Ministry of War, so Zeng Anbang naturally spoke to him without formality. “Does Feilian carry his usual clarity-restoring medicine on him?”
The work of the Imperial Guard wasn’t exactly grueling, nor exactly easy—it was the constant grind over the years, combined with being outdoors so often, that occasionally caused problems. Officers like Chen Dasheng liked to carry standard remedies when heading up the mountain—for bleeding, for colds, for heatstroke, sorted by season.
Chen Dasheng opened his small leather satchel and pulled out a small bottle of clear-mind pills, handing them to Zeng Anbang.
Restless with anxiety, Zeng Anbang poured one out and swallowed it dry right there in front of everyone.
For a high official of his standing to take medicine in public was actually a serious taboo—first, ministers who didn’t want to retire could otherwise serve for a very long time, but if word got out they had health problems, either the Emperor would remove them, or political rivals would find the crack and exploit it to bring them down.
To the Emperor, ministers were replaceable, while for the ministers themselves, reaching the pinnacle of power beneath only the Emperor was a lifelong ambition—once seated, who would willingly step down?
Even coughing up blood at home, even with hair gone entirely white, a minister could still stand ramrod straight through two full hours of Grand Court without swaying—this was the basic discipline required of an official.
Seeing Zeng Anbang take the medicine, Chen Dasheng asked with concern, “My lord? Is something wrong? Is it something you can speak of?”
Zeng Anbang sighed helplessly. “Feilian, our Ministry of War faces disaster. What’s convenient or not to say—by this morning it’ll be known throughout the realm anyway. Do you know, the various tribes of Eastern and Western Tan have joined forces to invade—Zuoliang Pass has fallen, the defending general Shangguan Yizhi has died in battle, the four counties west of Zuoliang Pass have been attacked, countless border civilians dead or wounded…”
As a military man, Chen Dasheng was utterly shaken. His brow furrowed tight, and he glanced back toward the main hall. “When did this happen?”
Zeng Anbang sighed. “Five days ago. The emergency dispatch—eight hundred li a day—just arrived.”
Chen Dasheng said nothing further, nodded to Zeng Anbang and the other Ministry of War officials present, gripped his sword, and turned to leave.
This wasn’t something he could involve himself in now.
That day’s morning court ran unusually long. After Sun Shouyi was called in, the Ministry of War officials went in one by one, and none came back out.
Later, a eunuch emerged to announce the Emperor’s order, summoning the Ministers of Revenue and Works inside for deliberation; the other ministries, having no urgent business, were dismissed—today’s session was primarily concerned with matters of the Ministry of War.
With that, the senior officials of fourth rank and above from the Six Ministries bowed properly and took their leave.
Though they all knew each other, there was never any whispering among them—officials always kept a distance of at least three feet from one another. With over a hundred men walking together, proper decorum went without saying, yet their footsteps made no sound, moving swiftly, with absolutely no exchange of words or even meaningful glances between them.
If they had business or personal matters to discuss, they’d arrange to meet privately elsewhere—in public, this was always their manner.
Only the officials of fifth rank and below, gathered in the courtyard, made any kind of noise as they filed out. In She Qingling’s words to Chen Dasheng, once an official reached the fourth rank, he entered a long, lonely stage requiring independent thought and independent growth.
The matters you now handle, the world you now see, exist on a level your former strategists and advisors could never glimpse—their experience becomes useless to you from that point on.
If you still relied on outside help, your career had effectively ended right there.
Behind the stone steps of Dongming Hall stood a small triangular lean-to building, occupied by the inner guards, built as a place to rest and catch brief naps. Modest as the place was, sometimes when wind and rain kept fourth-rank-and-above officials waiting outside, they could half-recline here with a hot drink, even catch a bit of sleep—a subtle sense of privilege in itself.
Of course, the space behind the stone steps wasn’t exactly a desirable spot—even if those senior lords were invited in to rest, they might not necessarily want to.
Chen Dasheng didn’t mind such things. He went in, reclined, accepted a cup of hot tea brewed by a young eunuch, ate a pastry, and even poured some water into the chamber pot in the corner.
Truthfully, he’d felt strangely unsettled these past two days, plagued by the same strange dream repeatedly—dreaming that all his brothers had vanished, that heaven and earth stretched vast and empty, and he had nothing left to hold onto. In the dream, he couldn’t even remember he had a father, a wife… Behind him lay a burning, ruined lone city, and he stood before its gates with a group of wounded soldiers.
Across from him, he couldn’t make out who it was—only a stretch of desolate blackness, and the faint whinnying of horses. Were these the vengeful ghosts of horses he himself had slain, come seeking revenge?
Looking closer, no—these were pairs of eyes belonging to both men and demons. They were coming for him… he was about to die… yet why did his chest swell with a fierce, blazing spirit fierce enough to annihilate ten thousand armies?
Unable to release that pent-up breath, he woke himself up from the sheer intensity of it.
The low door was pushed open, and Yu Qingguan came in, saying upon seeing him, “Erdian and Yougui are on duty now, Old Liu’s rotated three shifts already—looks like we won’t get out of here till curfew tonight.”
Chen Dasheng made room for him. Yu Qingguan sat down and let out a long breath. “Every other year trouble comes after autumn—strange that it’s come this early this year.”
Chen Dasheng glanced at him. “You’ve heard, then?”
Yu Qingguan nodded. “Yeah, everyone’s heard. Old Liu usually slacks off wandering outside, but even he doesn’t dare today.” He pointed upward. “Someone’s listening at that window.”
Chen Dasheng glanced up, then suddenly asked, “Qingguan, do you like the life we have now?”
Slightly startled, Yu Qingguan laughed. “Chief, what kind of question is that—of course I like it. Old mother, wife, son and daughter, hot meals on the table, cool clothes in summer and fur coats in winter, not too cold, not too hot, just right. Something I never even dared dream of before. Now, on the rare occasion I dream I’m still back in the Changdao camp, I could grieve myself to death!”
Chen Dasheng laughed despite himself.
As the two talked, Wang Xiang, Zhang Minwang’s adopted son, came in and asked Chen Dasheng, “Young sir, looks like today’s going to drag on—shall I have the kitchen send up something to tide you over? What would you like?”
Chen Dasheng thought for a moment, then gave his usual instructions. “Let’s keep it modest for now—His Majesty’s temper won’t be good today. Have them roll up a few dozen meat pancakes, prepare some water skins, and distribute them among the Jinwu Guard—don’t drink too much water either, hold it in as needed. Bring over two extra chamber pots to have ready too, and don’t let the charcoal fire go out. Oh, and everyone stay sharp today—slacking off other days is one thing, but if I make a mistake today, it won’t end well for me either, understand?”
Wang Xiang nodded and withdrew carefully.
Once he’d left, Yu Qingguan said idly, “Thanks to our Seventh Brother’s blessing, I’ve been attending lectures at the Imperial College lately. I remember the teachers talking about the border, about the Tan people—they said ‘Tan’ is actually a fine character for us, meaning open and candid. But for the people across the Tan River at Zuoliang Pass, ‘Tan’ is a rotten word—they’ve been a nuisance to us for centuries.
“Since ancient times, those petty people over there have always caused trouble. When our inland nation was prosperous and strong, they’d come bearing tribute, calling us father. When we hit hard times, they’d start stirring trouble. The previous dynasty was a spineless coward, only cared about feeding themselves, didn’t give a damn if the border folk lived or died—if that doesn’t doom a dynasty, what does? Wouldn’t you agree, Chief?”
Chen Dasheng nodded. “The sages long ago said, a small punishment serves as a great warning—it’s the fortune of petty men that in all the wars of past dynasties, none dared act quite this brazenly…”
He finished speaking, stood, and left the little corner room, going to stand guard outside the hall, where he listened to His Majesty’s furious cursing for the entire day.
Even the Emperor’s favored minister Wen Fengshu got scolded all day long.
There was nothing to be done—Daliang had only just been founded, with everything still in disarray, and having thrown the nation’s full strength behind suppressing Chang Mianshen’s three-year rebellion, the treasury was simply empty. They couldn’t afford a war.
The senior officials inside Dongming Hall got scolded the entire day, and by the time they were dismissed, curfew had already fallen.
Chen Dasheng came down together with the senior officials, and from a distance saw several of the older ministers, having endured standing all day, barely able to contain their distress as they exited the palace—when they saw their servants coming to fetch them, their legs simply gave out, and they had to be carried bodily into their carriages.
He returned alone to the Commandery Prince’s residence, sending someone to Qinwei Lane to inform his father and wife that he likely wouldn’t be able to come home for nearly a month.
He hadn’t expected, though, that the next day when he returned from his night watch at the palace, his wife and father had already arrived.
Seeing a table full of hot, steaming food lifted his spirits considerably. He hurriedly removed his armor and washed up, then sat down to eat ravenously.
She Qingling quietly served his son more food, urging him gently as he did. “Eat slower.”
Chen Dasheng shook his head. “His Majesty’s been in such a foul mood, no one dared even approach the corner room today, we all just stood there the whole day—I’m famished. It’s been ages since I went this hungry.”
Sitting to the side, Qiqian’er still looked as brisk and capable as ever; her belly hadn’t shown yet, though she could feel it firming up.
Hearing Chen Dasheng mention he’d gone hungry, she said, “Why don’t I send you up something to eat tomorrow, to tide you over?”
Chen Dasheng shook his head. “His Majesty hasn’t been able to eat much these past two days either…”
Before he could finish, She Qingling set down his chopsticks with a heavy thud and snorted. “Heh~ Serves him right. I told him long ago the front against Chang Mianshen shouldn’t be stretched too thin, the nation’s strength shouldn’t be drained so heavily—I advised having Jiu Si Tang slowly infiltrate instead, but he wouldn’t listen, insisted on fighting it out openly. Does he think warfare doesn’t call for deception, that deception is something shameful and sneaky? These bookish fools who read too much and understand too little have caused no end of harm! Well, here we are, four years of this mess, and the reserves are all gone—let’s see how he handles this now!”
Anger flaring, he stood and strode out.
Qiqian’er rarely saw her father lose his temper like this. She moved to sit beside the table, ladling a bit more broth into Chen Dasheng’s bowl—he liked his rice soaked in broth.
“Father rarely gets this angry.”
Chen Dasheng nodded, his mood turning heavy. “Today’s urgent dispatch reported two more border cities have fallen. The Tan people…” His expression turned grim. “The Tan people massacred the cities.”
With that, he lowered his head and shoveled down at least three times his usual amount of food.
This was an old habit from before—every time before heading into battle, he ate as if it were his last meal.
Chen Dasheng wanted to fight.
Watching him like this, Qiqian’er felt a strange complexity of emotion. She knew this battle would, in fact, be the first campaign in which Chen Dasheng lost his brothers—yet in her past life, Daliang hadn’t been in such dire straits. That general named Shangguan Yizhi had had capable commanders under him, and had managed to drag out the conflict, grinding down both Eastern and Western Tan’s forces through attrition, while Chen Dasheng’s brothers had died one by one, and he himself had spent twenty years of his life, ultimately his very life, buried at the border.
Qiqian’er touched her belly, a swirl of mixed feelings rising in her heart.
She was a Daliang woman, and she despised the word “massacre.” Who knew, among those six lost cities, how many old grandmothers there’d been, how many children like An’er.
That night, She Qingling, who normally avoided entering the palace, went in of his own accord.
When he arrived, His Majesty was drinking alone in gloomy silence in the main hall, while Consort Xiao and Empress Cao waited anxiously in a side chamber, worried for him.
Seeing She Qingling, both women let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. They rose to take their leave from within and inform His Majesty that She Qingling had arrived.
Unexpectedly, something heavy crashed against the door, and His Majesty’s furious roar came from within: “Send him away! I have no jokes to entertain him with!!”
Without the Emperor’s favor to fall back on, Empress Cao’s face turned pale at this. Consort Xiao, braver, took her by the hand and led her away.
Once everyone else had cleared out, She Qingling sat down slowly, his back to the hall door.
Before long, Zhang Minwang came bearing a tray and set down a jug of wine for him.
So the two brothers-in-arms began drinking, one inside the door, one outside.
After a jug had gone down, She Qingling’s voice remained unhurried as ever. “Your Majesty is a first-time emperor too—this isn’t your fault…”
The person inside choked violently and began coughing hard.
She Qingling’s tone stayed lazy, at ease. “A person is born into this world to suffer losses—suffer enough, and eventually you understand. The problem with the Tan people isn’t of this generation’s making—it’s that the previous dynasty indulged them without restraint, fed them too well. You’re a poor man now, can’t afford to keep feeding them, so the trouble surfaces…”
“You’re mocking me.”
“No, Your servant-brother mocks himself. They say I look down on everyone, think myself above it all—but truthfully, I’m hollow inside, and I put up a hard face just to scare others off first, so they wouldn’t dare provoke me…”
“You’re talking about the Tan people? Heh, I’d love to scare them too, but the moment an army moves, provisions must go first—the seeds have only just been sown, and you know better than I do how thin the granaries are right now…”
“The two sides have been entangled for centuries. If your servant-brother wanted, perhaps the original intent was only to intimidate—but once the blade came down, they realized it was cutting through mere tofu, and it became addictive…”
“…Guo Xiaoshan said something similar.”
“Him? What else did he say?”
“Useless words, all useless words, ah~!”
She Qingling’s lips curved slightly; unwilling to offer any more opinions, he simply kept his brother company drinking until His Majesty fell into a drunken stupor, and stayed the night in his old quarters there.
From that day on, the emergency dispatches—eight hundred li a day—arrived at least five times daily. Word of the border civilians’ suffering had begun spreading into Yandu through the mouths of escort agencies and traveling merchants.
To steady public sentiment, the Ministry of War concentrated its forces for drilling, yet everyone who understood the true situation knew the court simply didn’t have the silver or grain to support tens of thousands of troops marching out.
Coming home from court that day, Chen Dasheng again went looking for wine, and came home drunk again that night.
Qiqian’er asked the accompanying guard where he’d been drinking. The man explained that a soldier had come to the capital carrying urgent dispatches from the border, and Chen Dasheng, together with Liu Daya, had gone to see him and ask about conditions at the border, ending up drinking themselves into a stupor together with the soldier.
The guard grew more distressed the more he spoke, finally choking up. “Madam, the Tan people~ they don’t take prisoners, they don’t carry off captives—not even the women, they don’t want them either…”
Hearing this, Qiqian’er went utterly numb.
If they took no prisoners and carried off no captives, there was only one possible conclusion: they left no one alive.
That night, Qiqian’er stood beneath the moon for a long while, hand resting on her belly.
She had once been merely a timid woman, knowing only that her husband guarded the border, that his brothers had all died in battle—she’d never truly considered, never could have imagined, what exact role these seven men of Lao Dao had played at the border.
This lifetime, with just a few words, she’d changed Lao Dao’s fate—Chen Dasheng had risen in rank and fortune—yet she’d never imagined, never could have imagined… that without Lao Dao, Zuoliang Pass would crumble this badly?
How could that be? How could it possibly be? The Tan people commanded thousands upon thousands of troops—these were merely seven men, flesh and bone alone. Then what, exactly, had happened in her past life to hold the Tan people back at the pass?
Who had played the crucial role in all this? By what method?
So many dead, and with Qiqian’er now pregnant, her thoughts inevitably grew tangled and complicated—the waves of morning sickness returned once more.
Five more days passed, and the atmosphere at court grew ever more tense. Daliang wasn’t short on generals—there were plenty capable of fighting—yet no troops could be dispatched.
That day, father and son, who’d been away from home for several days, finally returned. After dinner, She Qingling had both Qiqian’er and Chen Dasheng summoned before the verse tablet.
Chen Dasheng, from the moment he entered, could barely bring himself to look at Qiqian’er. He sat down, and She Qingling picked up the wine jug, pouring him a cup with a smile. “Sheng’er, try this wine.”
Having only enjoyed a few good days recently, Chen Dasheng couldn’t tell good wine from bad anymore—he simply took the cup and drained it in one go.
Seeing his son drink, She Qingling poured him another cup and said, “Does my son resent his father?”
Qiqian’er, who’d remained silent, was suddenly startled. She looked up sharply at father and son, then instinctively reached for her own belly.
She Qingling didn’t dare pour wine for his daughter-in-law—instead, he took a fresh cup and poured her plain water, then stood, holding it out to her with both hands. “Dasheng’s wife, today at court, I… I proposed a strategy to His Majesty…”
In that instant, Qiqian’er understood. These past days of restlessness, this sense that something was coming—it had finally arrived.
Stunned, she took the cup, but didn’t drink. Instead, she set it slowly down on the table and sat back down.
Chen Dasheng took a breath, forcing a smile for Qiqian’er. “Wife, this has nothing to do with Father. Really, it’s for my own good—my position isn’t secure yet, I haven’t achieved anything significant enough to stand on my own. My past merits were all earned under the Tan family’s army, they won’t count for much going forward…”
Suppressing her anger, Qiqian’er slammed her hand on the table and growled low, “It’s been over ten days! You two have been going back and forth treating me like an outsider—I asked you about it and you brushed me off, told me just to eat and drink as usual, and now, now there’s finally a result? Is this how you two treat me?”
Chen Dasheng flinched back from the surge of anger, but She Qingling, seeing his son so spineless, reached out and smacked him. Yet Chen Dasheng still couldn’t straighten up, hunching over with a sheepish grin, trying to placate Qiqian’er. “Don’t be angry, don’t be angry, it’s all my fault, just be careful, don’t startle our An’er, alright? Wife? If you’re anxious, our An’er gets anxious too. If you’re upset, our An’er gets upset too…”
Qiqian’er took a breath, narrowing her eyes and clutching her belly, thinking, could it be that she and her child were truly fated to be widow and orphan?
Then Chen Dasheng’s voice reached her ears again. “Wife, honestly, this isn’t Father’s fault either—I went to see His Majesty privately three times myself, asking to be sent to the front. It’s not just me, all the brothers feel the same way—our Daliang cannot fall into chaos…”
Qiqian’er opened her eyes and looked at Chen Dasheng. “That’s an army of thousands upon thousands—do you think I’m a fool? The court can’t afford to send troops, it’s all just for show—but you all going… what difference would that even make? Cushioning their horses’ hooves for them?”