On the sixteenth day of the sixth month of the eleventh year of Changshun, a night of thunderstorms, with old palace lanterns lit, the Emperor had dismissed the morning court and then summoned his most crucial ministers to Dongming Hall, spending the entire day discussing how to handle the matter of the Little Tan King.

Naturally, those permitted to sit and deliberate with Emperor Wu inside Dongming Hall were no ordinary old ministers—even someone as trusted as Chen Dasheng, the Emperor’s confidant, had no right to enter.

After all, how the Little Tan King’s case was resolved was a matter of grave importance, one that would shape the country’s foreign policy for the next decade.

His father, Prince Furui, had gone in, but this time, from start to finish, Prince Furui had not uttered a single word.

Everyone knew he was in low spirits over having lost his grandson, and so no one dared disturb him.

Around the last quarter of the hour of Mao, as the sky gradually darkened, eunuchs and palace maids began emerging from the edges of the inner palace, heads lowered, chests hunched, walking briskly. Overhead, dark clouds obscured everything—one couldn’t make out the people at all, only what looked like two long rows of dim, flickering lanterns drifting by.

These people arrived before Dongming Hall and began hanging rain-proof lanterns. Once they’d finished, Chen Dasheng sat down in the corridor outside the hall to wait for his father to emerge.

This spot was actually where he used to sit often back when he served as an Imperial Guard, though it had been given to someone else starting seven years ago.

Sitting here again now, watching the curtain of rain over the Daliang Palace beyond, Chen Dasheng felt a strange sense of—ah, this place is still just the same as before.

Only the palace, or perhaps the people, had grown old.

A furious roar erupted from within Dongming Hall.

“Wen Fengshu, you scoundrel who’s crawled headfirst into a money pit!”

“Lord Sun, that statement makes no sense. How exactly have I become a scoundrel? Where is this ‘herd’ you speak of that I’ve harmed? And which horse have I supposedly harmed? You know perfectly well that all these years, whenever your Ministry of War requested funds, when did my Ministry of Revenue ever refuse you? Especially for the officers and soldiers guarding the frontier—whether for equipment or provisions, whenever you asked, my ministry never said a word against it! Today His Majesty is here too, so go ahead and ask him—even when His Majesty wanted funds to repair these old palace halls, we didn’t provide them. And now, over nothing more than this Little Tan King, whether to pardon him has its merits and killing him has its advantages—how does this rise to the level of you pointing your finger in my face and insulting me?”

“You’re twisting words to argue your case! Don’t you dare claim you haven’t skimmed from the Ministry of War’s funds!”

Chen Dasheng rubbed his forehead helplessly.

The reserves his father had built up in the Ministry of Revenue—they wouldn’t dare embezzle from them, but they could certainly stall you to death. Did you believe that?

Several young eunuchs came over and set up a small table in front of Chen Dasheng, taking out a few tea snacks from a palace box, along with tea, arranging everything neatly.

Lao Dao had always received this kind of treatment in the palace—especially him, still the little favorite of some of the old-timers.

As for the new people, well, Chen Dasheng didn’t bother thinking about that. Each emperor brings his own ministers, after all.

Another roar, unmistakably Sun Shouyi’s, erupted from inside the hall. Chen Dasheng picked up the pot and poured himself some tea, took a sip, and thought: our Lord Sun’s been outmaneuvered by Lord Wen again—they’ve been arguing like this for over a decade now, and he’s never once won.

Inside, two factions led the argument. One was the military faction led by the Minister of War, Sun Shouyi, who advocated executing the Little Tan King—better yet, having Tao Jizong lead troops to wipe out the Little Tan King’s stronghold entirely, to give an accounting to the people of Daliang who had died at the Little Tan King’s hands over the past decade or so, and as a deterrent.

The other faction was the civil officials represented by the Minister of Revenue, Wen Fengshu, who favored extorting some concessions and then releasing him. After all, these tribes had spent years fighting amongst themselves over succession to the Little Tan King’s position—why help their enemies smooth the path forward? That would be foolish.

As for the third faction, the classic conservatives, they proposed detaining the Little Tan King and keeping him hostage in Yandu permanently as the wisest course. After all, the Duluqian tribe the Little Tan King belonged to was one of the strongest tribes in Western Tan, and the Little Tan King, Ibiya Yiben, had three strapping sons said to be very close to their father.

The battle raged on inside the hall, the Ministry of Revenue and Ministry of War attacking each other—fortunate that His Majesty had such a good temper and always let these old ministers carry on like this; in any other dynasty, this would surely count as an offense of disrespect before the sovereign.

In the distance, another group approached slowly with palace lanterns. Once close enough to make out clearly, Chen Dasheng recognized him as Tan Shize’s adopted heir, the Emperor’s third son-in-law, young Marquis Tan Weixin.

Chen Dasheng was always careful about such things, unwilling to let anyone catch him at fault, so he stood and cupped his hands in salute to Tan Weixin.

That man held a genuine marquisate, while his own was merely honorary; besides, he was an old associate of Tan Shize’s household, so he couldn’t afford to be disrespectful.

Tan Weixin’s manner was equally courteous; he hurried to step aside, and after returning the salute, asked with a tone of concern: “Still arguing in there?”

Chen Dasheng nodded. “Indeed.”

Tan Weixin’s face showed concern. “At this hour—has Marquis Chen eaten dinner yet?”

Chen Dasheng answered, “Not yet. I only came to fetch my father.”

Tan Weixin laughed. “His Majesty will probably keep everyone here a while longer.”

Chen Dasheng shook his head. “Today’s different from usual. Unlikely they’ll be kept.”

Tan Weixin sighed helplessly. “Ah, they’ve been at this for days now. The old folks are getting on in years, unsteady on their feet most days—yet look at them, so full of energy for this kind of squabbling! If you ask me, let them squabble all they like, why should His Majesty suffer these past few days without proper meals or sleep because of it? It’s getting late—please wait here, I’ll go bring something warm for the stomach inside. You see, turn your back for a moment and even our old man gets caught up in it too!”

He gestured toward the food box in the hands of the eunuch beside him, then winked at Chen Dasheng.

Chen Dasheng stepped back half a pace, inviting him in. “Please, young Marquis.”

“Forgive my rudeness.”

“Not at all.”

“We’ll speak again another day!”

“Of course.”

The relationship between the two sides had never been good—over a decade of indifferent coexistence with no real connection. But in this place, they had to display familiarity, all courtesy and proper manners.

Since His Majesty cared about such things, the two of them had to maintain a cordial appearance.

As he passed by Chen Dasheng, he could sense that this young Marquis was quite pleased with himself.

He was pleased that Chen Dasheng, having arrived, could only wait beneath the eaves, without even the qualification to enter the hall.

He was pleased that he himself, upon arrival, could go in whenever he wished, could display his filial devotion around His Majesty, letting the whole court of old ministers see that he was the one truly held dear in His Majesty’s heart.

Not that Chen Dasheng understood what there was to compete over in that.

Once he’d gone, Chen Dasheng sat back down in his original spot, drinking his tea with the same indifference, never letting emotion show on his face.

After a while longer, someone approached beside him. He looked up to see Liu Daya.

Ten years ago, when the Daliang Palace was attacked, in the aftermath of assigning blame, Liu Daya had been caught in some fault and his career prospects were damaged, permanently barring him from advancing beyond his position as head of the Imperial Guards.

In ten years, Liu Daya had gone completely gray-haired, even the thick beard on his chest now more white than black. To outsiders, his official title sounded impressive, but they didn’t understand—everything he carried was hollow, without a shred of real benefit.

Fortunately, the man was an optimist by nature. Seeing Chen Dasheng, he grinned. “Yo, back for a visit to the old haunt? How’s it feel?”

Chen Dasheng nodded, smiling. “What do you think? Just got home and heard the old man hadn’t left the palace yet, so I came. Sit.”

Liu Daya sat down, joining him in watching the curtain of rain outside. After a long while, he finally said, “How’s the matter with your eldest son going?”

Chen Dasheng kept smiling. “Thanks for thinking of it. Plenty of people out searching—should be fine, I’d think.”

Liu Daya let out a long breath. “Can’t afford to be careless about this—it’s your own flesh and blood son! We’ve suffered this kind of loss before ourselves. It’s not that old Liu here means to pour cold water on you, but some things are best handled personally. If you ask me, in this world, aside from your parents, there’s no one else you can truly rely on. Isn’t that right, old brother?”

Chen Dasheng nodded. “Right.”

After another pause, Liu Daya finally stammered out, “My third boy—he’s gotten engaged to the third daughter of the Yucheng Earl’s family.”

Chen Dasheng blinked in surprise, then looked at him with genuine delight. “That’s wonderful news! When’s the ceremony? You must tell me early—when the time comes I’ll bring a few of the boys over to help out at your place.”

The old Lao Dao faction now held half the Ministry of War between them; their willingness to show up and back Liu Daya would give him considerable face.

But Liu Daya looked embarrassed, and it took him a good while before he spoke. “Ahem, well… you know, I’ve got several children, none of them particularly accomplished, and… well, funds aren’t exactly plentiful right now…”

Ah, so that was it. Chen Dasheng laughed, speaking readily and generously. “However much you need, Brother Liu, just name a figure. I’ll have someone send it to you tomorrow—no rush on paying it back.”

But Liu Daya waved his hand, glancing behind him before speaking. “Look at you, talking like that—as if I’d need your help for something like this. No need.”

Then, leaning in closer, he lowered his voice. “Good brother, I heard that this year the Consort Prince isn’t running the house?”

A strange glint flashed in Chen Dasheng’s eyes. “You mean the Taize Number operation?”

Liu Daya’s face flushed—fortunately his thick beard hid it—and he lowered his head, nodding. “That’s right. Nowhere else to go for it, it’s got to be that place.”

“You want to place a stake in it?”

Liu Daya sucked in a breath. “Not me, how would I dare! Not me—it’s my wife’s younger brother, he’s a man of leisure, he’s the one who wants to get in on it. Sigh! I’ve scolded him plenty of times, no use at all. No use—he just has to jump into this pit. I hear the number of people wanting to put money into this operation these days keeps growing… even quite a few from the imperial clan, I hear. Right now with no one running the house, they’ve already got several million strings of cash just sitting there waiting, isn’t that frightening?”

He glanced behind him again, listened to a few more shouts from inside the hall, then said cautiously, “Only, no one knows who’ll run the house this time—worried no one will step up and the whole thing will fall flat. Though people say, given the Shaoshang faction’s usual disposition, execution is certain. What do you think, Brother… Brother Chen?”

Chen Dasheng tilted his head, studying him for a long while, until Liu Daya’s face turned ashen with a sigh, before finally saying, “If I were you, I wouldn’t get mixed up in this.”

“I see.” Liu Daya looked somewhat embarrassed, scratching his head with a sigh in the end. “That’s… that’s right too. I’ve got no other way, really. Back then I was foolish, only managed to build such a small estate, and with a wife and concubines and a houseful of little ones. When they were young it was fine, just needed enough to eat and stay warm.

But these last few years, as you know, this old brother’s fortunes have gone cold, gotten old! Can’t even lift a blade steady anymore, Marquis Chen—no matter how stubborn a man’s temperament, it can’t outlast age. Forget it, my mistake to bring it up…”

He stood up, about to slink away in shame, but Chen Dasheng caught hold of the hem of his robe.

Liu Daya’s eyes reddened as he looked at Chen Dasheng, and heard him say: “This business with the Little Tan King isn’t mine to manage. My own son’s fate hangs uncertain, and I haven’t paid much attention to much else. These days my household’s been gloomy, even the old man’s grown quiet with words… I’m sorry.”

Liu Daya sucked in a breath, forcing a grimace of a smile. “No, no, no, you mustn’t say that—it’s my fault entirely.”

But Chen Dasheng stood up, speaking earnestly. “Old brother, some waters just aren’t meant for us to wade into. If you’re truly short on funds, I’ll point you toward somewhere else—not hard to make a bit of loose change there. What do you say?”

Liu Daya had been pushed to his absolute limit. Because of that incident a decade ago, he hadn’t easily shown his face in these circles since—yet now, for his children’s future, he’d finally come to feel out the situation.

This itself was a highly taboo thing to do. Imagine—the Emperor discussing state affairs with the six ministries, and even the old ministers wouldn’t easily breathe a word of it at home once they returned—yet here was the head of the Imperial Guards, taking such information out to gamble with?

A matter that could cost you your head.

Liu Daya’s eyes lit up, and he immediately clasped his hands together in a full salute—though outside the hall doors, he didn’t dare perform a full bow, only cupping his hands respectfully.

This was truly a man at the end of his rope.

Facing a battlefield held no fear—at least death there came quickly. But the soft blade of this mortal world cut away at your dignity piece by piece until nothing was left.

Fortunately, he’d encountered Chen Dasheng.

After all, this was someone who, from his own early days entering Daliang Palace, had been willing to extend goodwill—a person shouldn’t be without conscience.

Chen Dasheng simply smiled and said, “Brother Liu, don’t be like this. Tomorrow, send your child to look for my sister-in-law…”

Liu Daya’s eyes brightened. “You mean—?”

Chen Dasheng smiled. “Yes, her. The one who heads the guild—she’s got connections everywhere, all sorts of channels. Don’t underestimate her just because my family holds a princely title; there are matters we simply can’t handle, and once you’re in those back alleys, you’ll need to go begging to her.”

Liu Daya nodded. “Of course—who in Yandu doesn’t know of Huo the Ninth Young Master? Never mind that she’s a woman, wherever she goes, she commands respect as the great guild leader.”

Chen Dasheng patted his shoulder. “That’s exactly why I’m telling you to send your boy to find her. Her side has hosted the Matini spice merchants several times—especially rose, ambergris, and frankincense. As long as it enters Yandu, it’s guaranteed to pass through her hands at some point.

When the time comes, just tell her I sent you, and whatever you need, just have her arrange it. Take a turn or two around and you’ll come away fine. Old brother, we’ve both had our share of hardship in this life—don’t you dare think of doing something foolish. Taking that kind of dead-end path just isn’t worth it!”

Liu Daya kept nodding in agreement, his voice trailing off with gratitude: “Yes, yes, yes…”

After Chen Dasheng finished speaking, overwhelmed with gratitude, he finally took his leave, his steps considerably lighter, his back straighter with restored dignity.

One shouldn’t underestimate those few kinds of spices—these were luxury goods that Daliang didn’t produce at all, imported from foreign lands, the kind of thing money alone couldn’t buy.

Liu Daya had spent his whole life as head of the Imperial Guards, too honest by nature to make a fortune through his post—this was exactly what Chen Dasheng admired in him.

Having his boy go find Huo Wurong—whatever spice it might be, there was no worry about securing several dozen catties. Send those spices out to sell around the streets afterward, and even if the price wasn’t ideal, there’d still be tens of thousands of strings of profit to be made.

And this wouldn’t be a one-time deal either. Chen Dasheng had merely pointed the way—now it was up to whether Liu Daya’s son proved clever enough. If he did, and built a relationship with Huo Wurong, there’d be no shortage of foreign goods trading to be had—honest money, earned the right way.

You think just anyone could go do business with the Matini people? That required the Matini themselves to trust you, to be willing to trade with you.

These Matini merchants carried tokens of good faith from Xie Wuhao—only then did they dare come open trade routes in Daliang. Any other person, and they’d fear being cheated by the people of Liang.

After all, coming and going tens of thousands of miles for just that much merchandise—they’d rather earn less and keep things secure.

Watching the once-imposing, now aged head of the Imperial Guards depart, Chen Dasheng’s face showed nothing, but inwardly he sighed deeply.

Never mind Liu Daya—even the people Chen Dasheng himself had personally promoted were gradually being replaced, one batch after another, by the growing imperial princes.

Just as he was thinking this, a rustling commotion arose at the entrance of Dongming Hall—had they finished?

Chen Dasheng turned his head and saw his old father emerging, leading the group out.

She Qingling came out, and upon seeing his son, the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile.

His son had always been like this—especially in bad weather, he’d always be there waiting to escort him.

Yet this made the other old ministers seem hard done by—everyone had sons, but whose son could sit here waiting for their father like this?

In all of Daliang, this was the only one. Even the imperial princes had to request an audience just to see their own fathers.

Yet this man could come and go freely—not because of his official rank, but because it had been this way from the very beginning. Everyone had simply grown accustomed to it, an unspoken rule by now.

And so, amid the envious gazes of the assembled old ministers, Chen Dasheng bent down and lifted his old father onto his back, while a eunuch came over to hold a large umbrella above them—said to be a gift from His Majesty—and they left the inner palace together.

Not until they’d reached the outer palace and boarded the carriage did Chen Dasheng, satisfied they were safe, finally ask: “A whole day’s arguing—did they reach a conclusion?”

She Qingling snorted coldly. “Sun Shouyi’s simply a fool! Following him, you’re bound for bad luck—I just watched Wen Fengshu dig a hole, and sure enough, the man jumped right into it every single time!”

Wen Fengshu was his man, and Chen Dasheng caught a note of pride in these words.

So he went along with it, smiling. “Lord Sun’s just straightforward by nature—don’t hold it against him.”

As he spoke, he pulled a blanket over She Qingling’s legs.

Outside, the rain alternated between thunderstorms and drizzle; at his father’s age, this kind of damp weather was what he feared most.

She Qingling scoffed. “Me, hold it against him? Over such a trivial matter, dragged on for so long—finally settled, at least.”

Chen Dasheng raised an eyebrow. “Settled?”

She Qingling nodded, leaning against the carriage wall and closing his eyes. “Yes, more or less settled now. How could he possibly outwit Wen Fengshu, ha! Why, do you have some idea in mind?”

Chen Dasheng only smiled. “No.”

Leaving Chen Dasheng aside—once the court ministers had dispersed, Emperor Wu, Yang Zao, sat before his desk in prolonged silence.

Tan Weixin, having replaced Zhang Minwang, personally attended to His Majesty at close quarters, urging him at one point to close his eyes and rest a while to preserve his energy. Just as His Majesty closed his eyes to rest, Tan Weixin brought over a robe and carefully draped it over him, saying: “Your Majesty, today’s rain comes in fits and starts, carrying damp winds throughout—please, do keep warm while you rest.”

Emperor Wu, finding this thoughtful, patted his hand and asked, “And you—where did you go today?”

Tan Weixin took a bowl of tonic soup handed to him by Zhang Minwang, first pouring a small portion into a saucer to personally taste-test for poison, then said after drinking it: “Where would your subject go? Just the usual places around our household. Today the Sixth Prince called in a few masters to paint a Thousand Buddhas mural at home—says he wants to mark the tenth anniversary for Consort Xiao.”

Emperor Wu took the tonic, downing it steadily in one go, then set down the bowl. “Ten years already?”

Tan Weixin took the empty bowl and handed it to a young eunuch. “Yes, indeed—ten years since your subject came to serve at your side too. How time flies, you’d say.”

Emperor Wu laughed, bracing himself on the table as he stood with a grunt. Tan Weixin didn’t dare offer support, stepping back instead.

“Fast or not, some worthless creatures only grow taller, not wiser in the heart! Can’t accomplish a single thing all day, always working against me… ha, a Thousand Buddhas mural!”

Grumbling in the manner of an ordinary old father, Emperor Wu picked up a memorial from his desk and glanced up at Zhang Minwang.

Zhang Minwang hurried forward, holding out a box wrapped in yellow silk. Emperor Wu tossed the memorial inside and instructed: “Take this and have them draft it properly first. After the fifteenth, hold a small memorial rite in the palace… yes, and starting tomorrow, I’ll observe a fast as well… right, after the small rite, then issue the decree. She… she never liked killing.”

Having finished speaking, Emperor Wu draped his robe and left the hall, gazing at the curtain of rain for a long while before sighing, “Ten years—how quickly it’s gone!”

With that, he stepped down the stairs, and the waiting palace attendants hurried forward to escort the Emperor of Daliang back to the inner palace.

Tan Weixin bowed as he saw Emperor Wu off, then turned and, with a full smile, went back into Dongming Hall.

Inside Dongming Hall, Zhang Minwang had already left, and several young eunuchs were filing away the memorials the ministers had submitted that day.

A minor eunuch supervisor on good terms with Tan Weixin came over to curry favor. “Consort Prince, heading back now?”

Tan Weixin smiled. “Ah, time to go, or the Princess will worry again.”

He walked a few steps to the imperial desk, casually gathering up the untouched bowl of soup he’d brought, then, seeing a few eunuchs struggling with an armful of things, reached out to help—only to knock several memorials to the ground.

Several memorials fell open, revealing some of the writing within.

Tan Weixin gave an apologetic smile, glancing down briefly without bending to help, saying instead to the young eunuch picking them up: “Look what a mess I’ve made—my arm went a bit numb there, my fault, take your time.”

Then, turning to the supervisor, he added: “Don’t you dare scold him for this.”

The eunuch supervisor laughed. “Of course not, it’s nothing at all.”

With that, he personally escorted Tan Weixin out.

Under the night curfew, Tan Weixin’s carriage nonetheless traveled unimpeded all the way back to the Tan Marquis estate.

What he didn’t know was that not long after he left, another eunuch supervisor took a token and made his way toward the Furui Prince’s estate.

Lightning split the sky, and for an instant the entire Yandu blazed bright as day.