The nineteenth day of the twelfth month.

All these years that Prince Qiao had been exiled to Junzhou, he had rarely seen anyone from Chang’an. With the Prince of Yong and his consort’s recent arrival, Prince Qiao was delighted and had feasted and reveled through several nights in a row. The previous night’s banquet had lasted until past midnight again; the masters had drunk themselves into a stupor, and today they were sleeping in late to recover — the entire Prince Qiao’s residence was quiet all morning, and it was not until the mid-morning hour that servants gradually began moving about to prepare the midday meal for each master.

In the east wing courtyard of Prince Qiao’s residence, the attendants heard no call from within, and assumed the Prince of Yong and his Consort were still asleep. They kept their distance, not daring to disturb the honored guests.

Yet in truth, the two inside had been awake for some time. Ming Huashang rubbed her temples wearily, thinking to herself that merrymaking was itself a physically demanding pursuit — these past several days, for the sake of keeping up appearances in every particular, she had been sitting through every banquet until it ended. If this went on much longer, Prince Qiao would not yet be captured and she would be the first to give out.

Fortunately, such an existence of indulgence and dissipation would soon be over. Ming Huashang held the latest urgent dispatch in her hand and said to Li Huazhang: “A message has just arrived from the Chang’an intelligence post. Last night Empress Wei summoned the Grand Counselors to the palace and announced that the Emperor had passed away. She had Shangguan Wan’er draft an imperial edict naming the fourth prince Li Chongmao as the new emperor. The proclamation of the new emperor’s enthronement is already on its way — in a few days at most, the various military governors and prefects will learn that Chang’an has a new emperor.”

Li Huazhang was unsurprised and said: “We have eyes in Chang’an, and so do Prince Qiao and the Jiannan Military Governor. At the latest two days from now, they will receive word and will certainly be on guard. We must act before they hear the news — there is no time to lose. Tonight, then.”

Ming Huashang was troubled: “But the troops from Chuzhou were only redeployed yesterday afternoon — they cannot have gone far. If we act now, isn’t that too risky?”

“On the contrary, this is an ideal moment.” Li Huazhang said. “Once troops begin moving, the situation becomes difficult to control. With so many people on the road, communication is poor and the journey is exhausting. Never mind whether the news can even reach them — even if a messenger were to find the main force, a sudden reversal would cause no small chaos in the ranks. We are rested and ready, waiting for an opportunity — the odds are greatly in our favor. Let us take the gamble and strike Junzhou while they cannot react in time.”

Ming Huashang had always trusted her elder brother — if he said it could succeed, then it could be done. She hesitated no more, rose to her feet, and said: “Very well. I will send word at once and inform everyone to act tonight according to plan.”

At noon, Prince Qiao’s Consort had only just finished her toilette and languidly invited Ming Huashang to join her for the midday meal. After eating, Ming Huashang suggested a walk in the garden to aid digestion. Along the way, she said to Prince Qiao’s Consort: “We have imposed on Prince Qiao and the Consort for the past several days, and we feel quite guilty about it. Tonight we would like to invite everyone to Wangxian Tower — my husband and I will be the hosts and properly repay your kindness. Please bring everyone close to Elder Brother Prince and Consort as well — we are genuinely grateful to all of you for the hospitality these past few days. Let us all enjoy the occasion together.”

Prince Qiao’s Consort hurriedly said: “How can this be? You are guests in Junzhou — how can we let you spend your own money?”

“We can.” Ming Huashang took Prince Qiao’s Consort’s hand in hers and said with a warm smile: “Courtesy must be reciprocated — we have troubled you so much these past few days, and if you and Prince Qiao refuse to come, we will be too embarrassed to continue staying in Prince Qiao’s residence.”

Ming Huashang had a sweet appearance, and when she smiled her eyes curved in a way that was genuinely infectious. Prince Qiao’s Consort, thoroughly charmed, laughed and said: “All right, I’ll tell the Prince. You two are really far too polite — we are family, after all; why stand on such ceremony?”

“Exactly — we are family.” Ming Huashang thought of how Prince Qiao had schemed so meticulously to have Li Huazhang killed; her gaze settled and she smiled with a soft warmth: “We are family, which is precisely why I am not being formal with you, Consort. There is one more matter I would trouble the Consort to help with — my husband has a reserved temperament and does not excel at entertaining guests, so I would ask Elder Brother Prince to take on the task of extending invitations to all the civil officials, military officials, and local gentry of Junzhou on his behalf. We are new arrivals and, if we have not invited everyone we should, we would fear it would be an affront to propriety.”

Prince Qiao’s Consort was in excellent spirits and at once took it entirely in hand: “No problem — leave it all to me. Tonight I will make sure you have a lively and grand occasion.”

Word that the Prince of Yong was hosting a banquet spread quickly. Hearing that the Prince of Yong had reserved the entire Wangxian Tower, everyone of any name or standing in Junzhou received an invitation. This was the son of Prince Zhanghuai — a genuine imperial scion of the royal blood — and everyone in Junzhou felt honored. They dressed in their finest and went to attend the banquet in high spirits.

The banquet was to begin at the time of the rooster, and Wangxian Tower filled with festivity well before then. The carriages and horses blocked the road in front of the entrance. Inside the tower, lights blazed and warmth pervaded like spring — it was the depths of winter, yet the noble ladies wore gossamer-thin gowns and moved back and forth across the floors, the floral hairpins that fell from their foreheads swept away by their silk scarves, so that from a distance the air seemed dusted with gold.

Prince Qiao and his Consort were the last to arrive. Ming Huashang and Li Huazhang went out personally to receive them. Prince Qiao laughed as he mounted the steps: “I am late — I have made you wait.”

“Not at all.” Li Huazhang’s gaze was calm and clear as he watched Prince Qiao approach unhurriedly. “The Prince of Yong has chosen to come — that itself is my great pleasure. Everyone else is inside. Prince Qiao, please.”

Prince Qiao finally enjoyed the treatment he had yearned for but could never attain in Chang’an. When Li Huazhang had been a subject’s ward, he had been famous throughout the divine capital; even after recovering his identity, though his birth mother had not been a principal wife, as Prince Zhanghuai’s only child he had remained of noble and illustrious bearing — and those who came and went around him were all heirs of the great houses. It had been Li Chonglun first, then Li Chongjun — there was never any way for Li Chongfu to figure in the picture.

But now Li Huazhang had to receive him at the door, too. Now a banquet was being held specifically in his honor. Li Huazhang, so prized by the Imperial Grandmother and the court — looking at him now, he seemed no more than this.

Prince Qiao stepped across the threshold, and a bustling, glittering world rushed to meet him, as though he had been instantly transported from the cold and gloomy Junzhou back to the Chang’an of ten thousand nations paying tribute. Everyone he encountered paused in their conversations to greet him. Prince Qiao received an attention he had never known before; the whole of him grew weightless, and it was as though he were already drunk before touching a drop.

Li Huazhang observed Li Chongfu’s every expression while his own face betrayed nothing. With all the honors owed an honored guest, he invited Li Chongfu to the seat of highest prestige and personally toasted him three cups. Seeing this, the others could not help but follow with toasts of their own. When Prince Qiao saw that the famously cold and distinguished Li Huazhang was treating him with such warmth, his excitement only soared higher, and he accepted every cup of wine that came.

In no time at all his face had flushed red.

The Prince of Yong had paid full respect to Prince Qiao that day — not only initiating toasts to him, but toasting those at his side one by one as well. The assembled guests grew flushed with warmth, and the wine flowed cup after cup. In the midst of the clinking and the toasting, without anyone quite noticing, the hour of the dog arrived.

In the women’s gathering on the second floor, Ming Huashang accompanied the female guests watching the song and dance performance, and things were considerably quieter there. She cast a glance at the sandglass and without any visible sign of it called a maidservant over and murmured: “Go down and remind His Highness — it is the hour of the dog.”

The maidservant had no idea what this meant but accepted the order and went. She stepped quickly through the shifting lights and the crowd of tables and knelt beside Li Huazhang, deferentially saying: “Your Highness, the Consort asks your servant to remind you — it is the hour of the dog.”

Li Huazhang gave a slight nod and rose without urgency. The others saw him rise and assumed he was going to make another toast, but to their surprise Li Huazhang’s hands were empty. He walked straight down from the raised platform through the banquet hall, which was alive with the clamor of goblets and voices, and came to a halt by the main entrance. The crowd fell quiet without quite realizing it. Li Huazhang swept his gaze over those around him, clasped his hands behind his back, and said: “Thank you all for honoring us with your presence tonight. I have prepared an entertainment for your enjoyment — if there is anything that falls short of proper hospitality, please forgive me.”

Those on both sides, hearing there was more to come, said one after another: “The Prince of Yong is too courteous.”

Li Huazhang gave a faint smile. In the sight of everyone present, he reached into his sleeve and produced a signaling arrow. With perfect poise and an air of high breeding, he said “You are too kind” — and then lit the fuse and released the arrow into the air.

Though standing in that sort of setting, his eyes were clear and bright, his bearing clean and distinguished — austere as snow on a great mountain, untouchable as though the wine, color, wealth, and vice around him could not so much as brush the hem of his robe. For some reason Prince Qiao felt that something was off about Li Huazhang — the entertainment was right here in the wine tower, so why would a signal arrow be needed? But he had drunk far too much, his mind refused to turn, and he only swayed and watched the signal arrow shoot into the sky and burst with a bang into fireworks. Li Huazhang stood to one side by the entrance, the fireworks falling in silence from the sky behind him; he parted his lips calmly, and his voice was still warm and proper, unhurried and composed: “The entertainment begins.”

A troupe of dancers in foreign costumes filed in one by one. Strangely, all these dancers were men. They walked to stand behind Li Huazhang and, like water flowing, divided themselves naturally into two columns. Li Huazhang stood in his dark ink-violet round-collar robe at the entrance of the brilliant and magnificent banquet hall — incongruous with the scene, yet like a pillar standing firm in the midstream of a current.

The dancers made their way to the central stage, formed groups of three and five, and struck the drums to sing. Yet unlike at an ordinary banquet, what they sang was the Battle Anthem of the Prince of Lanling. The crowd wore expressions of understanding — so Li Huazhang had specially prepared a performance for them. Someone raised a wine cup and called out from a distance: “The Prince of Yong is thoughtful. A song this martial is rarely heard lately. The Prince of Yong’s taste is truly unlike that of others.”

Li Huazhang looked at them and gave a quiet smile: “You will enjoy it.”

The city tower stood silently in the darkness. The shift change was approaching, and the soldier on watch in the watchtower yawned and yawned. He heard a loud burst and instinctively tensed — but then saw that it came from the direction of Wangxian Tower, and relaxed again.

He gazed with envy at Wangxian Tower, golden and resplendent in the dark like a heavenly palace. Even from this distance, the sounds of song and dance from within seemed to reach him. Lost in his own thoughts, in the shadow at the base of the city wall, a black-clad man quietly struck a short blade and slid it back into its sheath, brushed the dust from his body with casual ease, and murmured: “The entertainment begins.”

Because the Prefectural Governor, Vice Governor, and Military Supervisor were all in attendance at the banquet in Wangxian Tower, that night’s curfew was as good as nonexistent. Inside the military camp, soldiers had gathered together to drink and play finger-guessing games. Zhao Xing walked in from outside and, seeing discipline this lax, could not help but frown: “Where are the soldiers on duty? Drinking is not permitted in the camp, and neither is gambling.”

“Officer Zhao,” someone said, “Prince Qiao is at Wangxian Tower for a banquet — he can’t see what we’re up to. After a hard year, it’s rare that the Prince of Yong has sent us good wine — let us take a moment to relax.”

Zhao Xing was helpless, but knew that when an entire group did something, no one could be held responsible. Everyone was happily drinking, and saying something now would accomplish nothing — why dampen the mood? He waved away a wine jar that was thrust toward him, frowned, and walked away — out of sight, out of mind. He moved quickly, and so did not see a dark shadow flicker and vanish through the treetops — like the wind through branches.

Su Xingzhi leaned against the wall and made a hand gesture toward the other side, signaling that there was no one ahead. Ming Yuji gave a nod, brought out a whistle, and blew a flowing trill of birdsong, telling the Xuan Xiaowei operatives outside that they had successfully blended into the prefectural militia camp.

Then she tucked the whistle away, gazed at the military camp unaware in the darkness, and said in a voice barely above a breath: “The entertainment has begun.”

A maidservant of unremarkable appearance hurried upstairs and leaned close to Ming Huashang’s ear, whispering something softly. Ming Huashang heard that Ming Yuji and Su Xingzhi had successfully infiltrated the military camp, and that Xie Jichuan had also taken up position on the city wall with his people. She gave an unnoticeable nod. Prince Qiao’s Consort noticed that Ming Huashang’s eyes had gone cool, with not a trace of a smile, and could not help asking: “Princess of Yong, what is being said — there is so much to talk about even in the middle of a banquet?”

Ming Huashang tilted her head. Her eyes were like a doe’s — wide, earnest, and guileless — as she smiled sincerely: “Just watching the entertainment.”

Soon other officials’ wives drew Prince Qiao’s Consort into conversation, and she thought nothing of it and turned away to socialize. Ming Huashang silently counted the time. By their pace, Ren Yao’s elite troops should nearly have reached Junzhou city — she hoped Xie Jichuan would make it to the gates in time.

Outside Junzhou city.

The torches on the city wall were already visible from here. Ren Yao silently climbed back down the slope; the field commanders accompanying her pressed close when they saw her return: “General, what do we do now?”

With only five hundred soldiers, they could not surround the city as in a conventional siege — they would have to use strategy. Ren Yao thought and said: “Send an advance squad to scale the city wall, kill the watchtower sentries, and open the city gates. Everyone else is to maintain cover and approach the city wall quietly — the moment the gates are open, charge.”

The field commanders looked at one another. The tactic itself was sound, but the question was — who was going to open the gates?

The alliance between Ren Yao and Li Huazhang was a secret, and so, apart from Ren Yao herself, no one else present knew that Li Huazhang would have people inside to support them at the city wall. The others naturally assumed they would have to scale the wall, kill the men on the city towers, then fight their way down the ramparts and through the enemy ranks to open the gates. This was clearly a road paved with blood — one misstep and it meant death, while the glory would go to those who came behind.

And for what?

Silence fell over the group, speaking more clearly than any words. Ren Yao sensed the attitude of the others and frowned deeply. She was about to say something when a voice suddenly cut in from beside her: “General, I wish to volunteer.”

The field commanders turned around, and to their surprise, the reckless fool willing to throw his life away was none other than Jiang Ling. They of course knew this man — the son of Marquis Jiang’an, a trusted subordinate of Princess Taiping. It was just that with the new reign came new favor, and with the Wei family in power, even the once-formidable Princess Taiping had to bow her head — let alone the families under Princess Taiping’s patronage. The Jiang family had fallen from favor, and Jiang Ling had fallen with it. Still, the man was the heir after all, and no one in the Imperial Guard dared offend him too openly; they treated him courteously enough and accepted him as a gentleman of leisure being maintained among their ranks.

Jiang Ling had originally been living comfortably enough in that idle existence — but some time before, he had apparently been struck by some inexplicable impulse and insisted on coming with the unit to Junzhou. The Imperial Guard troops assumed he had come to claim a share of the merit, and since no one above them said anything, they let it go without comment. But now this privileged second son who could not be crossed was on one of his reckless turns again — claiming he wanted to lead the advance squad to the gates?

What a joke. Even in an army, human relationships had their logic — dangerous missions were ordinarily given to the low-born soldiers who had no connections and no one standing behind them. When had the son of a noble house ever charged ahead? The field commanders fell collectively silent, and by unspoken understanding left the thankless task of delivering the uncomfortable words to Ren Yao. The moment Ren Yao saw Jiang Ling, she had been frowning, and now she had truly reached the end of her patience: “What do you think you are doing? Go back — follow orders.”

Jiang Ling lowered his eyes, but his body refused to move. He stubbornly said: “I comply — but I still want to say: I am willing to serve as the advance unit and open the gates for the main force. In any case, you will have to send someone, General — why not me?”

The other field commanders may not have understood Jiang Ling’s reasons, but since someone was volunteering to die, they were more than willing. One of them said: “General Ren, what Heir Jiang says is not without merit. He has been in the Imperial Guard for some time, knows the personnel well, and is skilled in archery and horsemanship. Having him lead the advance is most fitting.”

Skilled in archery and horsemanship my foot! Ren Yao silently cursed to herself — but with everyone watching, and Jiang Ling, that obstinate fool, stiff-necked and refusing to change his position, there was nothing she could say before the crowd. She could only hint once more: “Heir Jiang, you have an inherited title to your name — are you certain you have thought this through?”

Jiang Ling heard her address him as “Heir Jiang,” the same as she would address anyone else, and felt a bittersweet ache inside — even though he had been in the Imperial Guard for three full years already. He lowered his lashes, his gaze bitter and flat: “I could not be more certain.”

Jiang Ling was utterly immovable, and with everyone present watching, there was nothing Ren Yao could say — she could only yield. As he himself had said, he had already been in the Imperial Guard for three years. Once the order was given, Jiang Ling returned briefly and assembled his squad in no time at all. Under the cover of darkness, the group moved like a gust of wind across the plain and pressed themselves flat against the base of the city wall.

One of those with him, Gong Yong, could not contain his resentment and muttered furiously: “General Ren is truly ungrateful — back in the day, Jiang’s Chief was so good to her, and now she’s found backing and turned her back on him, using Jiang’s Chief as a cannon fodder. To be frank, Jiang’s Chief’s official rank is even higher than hers — if she hadn’t been fawning on the Empress, would it be her turn to give orders?”

“Hold your tongue.” Jiang Ling looked up cautiously, his expression cool: “I volunteered — it has nothing to do with General Ren. She was only acting as the situation demanded. Furthermore, do not speak carelessly about court affairs. If anything goes wrong, I cannot protect you.”

Gong Yong knew perfectly well how the world had changed and that one could not speak carelessly about the Wei family’s people — but he could not contain his anger: “Let the others go — but Ren Yao herself, what right does she have? When she first entered the Imperial Guard, she was nobody. You deliberately arranged to trade shifts with her, and privately disciplined the men who tried to take advantage of her. You made enemies for her sake, and now she has found a powerful backer and acts as though she doesn’t know you. A woman of this kind who blows with the wind…”

“That is enough.” Jiang Ling was ordinarily breezy, without any trace of a young noble’s airs — but now he was utterly cold, and the light in his eyes was like something that could kill. Gong Yong felt a chill run down his spine and could not get another word out.

So Jiang Ling was not, after all, the way he appeared. He also had a cold and severe side — only he had never previously chosen to let others see it. But what Gong Yong had just said had thoroughly enraged him.

Jiang Ling’s blade-sharp gaze swept over everyone present, and those he looked at involuntarily lowered their heads. Jiang Ling said icily: “I have said — all of this is my own choice and has nothing to do with anyone else. Gong Yong, report for forty strokes of the military cane after we return. If you speak carelessly about General Ren again, do not blame me for showing no leniency and dealing with you by military law.”

One of the soldiers, unable to stand by, said: “Jiang’s Chief, isn’t the punishment too heavy? Gong Yong was only speaking up for you.”

“If you acknowledge me as your chief, you must give me your genuine support. You can be informal with me, but you must respect her.” Jiang Ling’s voice in the latter half lost its control and softened, like the moon hanging over the open wilderness at that moment — lingering and sorrowful. “She is a woman — just finding her footing in an official sphere full of men is already enormously difficult. Sometimes, she has no choice either. She has already done the best that lay within her power.”

She was wonderful. The fact that she did not care for him was not her fault. Even though they were not destined for each other, he still cared for her very much.

Jiang Ling looked up at the city wall that towered beyond reach, having spent the time waiting at the base calculating the pattern of the patrol. This round was done; the patrol would not be back for a while. Jiang Ling reached behind him for his grappling hook, swung it with practiced force, and hurled it upward at the wall with a powerful throw: “Everyone — with me.”

The girl he cared for deserved the best the world had to offer. As long as she could be glad, he was willing to pay any price, whatever it took, to let her have her wish.

The ropes rose like reaching fingers in the night, scaling the wall without a sound. Several dark shapes climbed upward with the swift agility of spiders. Gong Yong’s grappling hook did not catch properly, and when only a few steps remained, the hook suddenly gave way. Gong Yong’s hands lost their grip and he began to fall backward. At the critical instant, a hand reached out from beside him and seized his arm in an iron grip.

Gong Yong looked up, his heart still hammering, and saw Jiang Ling half-hanging over the outer face of the city wall — jaw clenched, every tendon in his arm standing out — hauling Gong Yong bodily back up.

Gong Yong exerted himself to help; his hands finally reached the brick. He seized hold at once and vaulted up and over the top. After that near-fatal moment, both men were gasping for breath. Gong Yong wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, awkward and unsure how to say thank you. Jiang Ling seemed able to read his mind, clapped him firmly on the shoulder, and laughed: “You still owe forty strokes of the military cane — stay alive and come back to take your punishment.”

Gong Yong looked up and met Jiang Ling’s dark, bright, unclouded eyes, and found himself smiling too. He raised his fist and gave Jiang Ling a light bump. Jiang Ling paid it no mind, gave a short laugh, and said: “Let’s go — time to work.”

The awkwardness between the two men from just moments before dissolved in that shared glance and laughter. Gong Yong knew this Jiang young general was generous and big-hearted, free with his money and loyal to his friends — but there were certain things that he would never allow anyone to touch.

And that was their other general.

Jiang Ling moved in shadow along the top of the wall, making his way down while killing the patrolling soldiers along the route. Ahead was a watchtower. Jiang Ling hid beneath the wooden planking and listened as footsteps slowly approached overhead. He suddenly flipped himself through the gap in the boards, drew his blade, and struck toward his opponent’s throat. Yet the other seemed to have anticipated the attack, stepped back, and raised his blade to block the ambush.

The moonlight that night was like a pool of cold water — diluted and faint, cold and clean. A blade caught the moonlight and scattered a flash of silver in an instant, illuminating the eyes of both people at once.

Jiang Ling started and studied the masked figure across from him intently. Uncertain, he said: “Xie Jichuan?”

The force on the blade eased. The black-clad figure gave a metallic ring as the short blade was slid back into its sheath with an irritable air: “How exactly did you pass your assessments? Didn’t anyone tell you that when you encounter a colleague in the middle of an operation, you are supposed to use code names?”

Jiang Ling scratched his head, only now remembering that there had indeed been such a rule: “Oh right — I forgot. You know how it is — every assessment I’m either second to last or dead last. I genuinely can’t keep track of everything.”

Xie Jichuan thought of the other person who fiercely competed with Jiang Ling for dead last — Ming Huashang, who currently appeared to be in charge of the Xuan Xiaowei. He rolled his eyes, growing ever more alarmed for his own prospects: “To think I have to work with people like you for the rest of my life — this is truly absurd.”

The fallen soldiers were piling up and eventually someone noticed something amiss. The sounds of battle cries on the city wall grew fierce. Jiang Ling and Xie Jichuan blocked and fought, but in the end a soldier broke through and beat the war drum on the wall. Zhao Xing had only just lain down when the drum signaling enemy attack sounded without warning; he shot upright: “Something is wrong — we’re under attack!”

He grabbed his clothes in haste and was heading to the front to muster the soldiers when he stepped out the door and sensed something wrong. Instinctively he threw himself backward and barely dodged a thrown weapon. Seeing her strike miss, Ming Yuji was about to give chase when Su Xingzhi came running up from behind and said quietly: “You go ahead to deal with the others — leave this one to me.”

Ming Yuji threw him a quick look, uneasy about his wound. Su Xingzhi had already drawn his blade and was locked in combat with Zhao Xing, saying: “Go quickly — we won’t be able to maintain the cover at Wangxian Tower much longer.”

Zhao Xing had just woken, his head still ringing, and hearing their words he jolted fully awake. Now he understood everything. So the Prince of Yong’s great banquet was nothing but a trap. The Prince of Yong had gathered every high-ranking official of Junzhou in Wangxian Tower while this group of black-clad operatives infiltrated the military camp to assassinate the mid-level officers. With the senior officers out of contact and the mid-level ones killed, the rank-and-file soldiers would be like a dragon without a head, stripped of fighting capability, and could only wait helplessly to be dealt with. And at that moment their accomplices would open the city gates, allowing the forces from outside to charge straight in.

What a formidable and ruthless stratagem — killing only a handful of people could turn the tide of an entire battle. Zhao Xing blocked a sweeping blade in desperate haste; the one attacking him was unknown, but possessed tremendous arm strength, and Zhao Xing struggled enormously to hold him off. He fixed his eyes on the face hidden beneath the black cloth, trying to read something from his opponent’s eyes: “Who are you people, exactly?”

Why attack Junzhou? Why could the Prince of Yong be made to cooperate? How did they know where he lived? How could they have orchestrated an operation of this scale without making a sound?

Su Xingzhi said nothing. He noticed Zhao Xing’s eyes shift to the left — most likely intending to withdraw his blade and mount a surprise attack. He feigned being taken in; the moment Zhao Xing pressed forward, his left hand drew a dagger and drove it without hesitation into Zhao Xing’s abdomen — a killing blow.

Zhao Xing stared at Su Xingzhi fixedly until his death, still wanting to know in whose hands he had died. Su Xingzhi drew out the dagger, carefully wiped the blood from it, and sighed as he closed Zhao Xing’s eyes: “I was raised working with farm tools and have always had more strength in my left hand. You and I had no quarrel or enmity. In your next life, remember to stay well away from anyone surnamed Li — do not involve yourself in the affairs of the imperial clan.”

Inside Wangxian Tower, the song and dance continued without pause, and the drumbeats from the stage covered most of the discordant sounds from outside. But those with the nerve to embroil themselves in a prince’s succession struggle were not all fools; in the end there were those who felt something was wrong with the noises outside. Someone opened a window and looked — from the direction of the city gates, war cries rose continuously, and the military camp had even caught fire. The guests were momentarily stunned, then realization struck: “Something is wrong — we’re under attack!”

These words were like a drop of water falling into a vast sea, instantly setting off a wave upon wave of spreading ripples. Panic, as though it had grown legs, spread with terrifying speed. The officials, half-drunk and half-sober, stumbled to their feet and immediately tried to leave — but it was already far too late. Li Huazhang sat in the upper seat, still with that same spotlessly luminous and cold, distinguished bearing. He unhurriedly clapped his hands three times; instantly the foreign dancers on stage shifted their expressions. One by one they drew weapons from beneath the stage platform and leveled them at the assembled officials.

Prince Qiao’s cloudy intoxication snapped clear in an instant. His head shot up — he found that the Consort on the second floor had collapsed on the table, of unknown condition. And Ming Huashang, who had all along been like a decorative vase, was nowhere to be seen. He stiffened, feigned composure, and said: “Prince of Yong, what is the meaning of this?”

Li Huazhang turned his head and, astonishingly, smiled at Prince Qiao. His voice was still refined and courteous: “The entertainment is only at its midpoint — Prince Qiao’s brother is welcome to remain and watch it through to the end.”

At this point, Prince Qiao knew full well what Li Huazhang intended to do, and rose to bolt. But the moment he moved, the drink-pouring girl behind him — whom he had never given a second glance — suddenly pulled a dagger from her sleeve and pressed it with perfect accuracy to Prince Qiao’s throat, the edge no more than a single hair’s breadth from his blood vessel. Prince Qiao was so frightened he nearly lost his nerve; he trembled and said: “Prince of Yong — what exactly are you trying to do?”

“I have already said.” Li Huazhang rose with composure, his countenance cold and clear as snow. “Please, all of you — remain in the tower and watch the entertainment. Anyone who dares to leave will be killed.”