1066 AD, Kaifeng, Bianjing

The morning sun had not yet fully risen, with the eastern sky only tinged with faint red clouds, when crisp cock crows had already pierced through the morning mist, echoing over Bianjing city.

The morning bells of various temples also rang out one after another. In an instant, the quiet streets became noisy as early-rising citizens gradually appeared.

Hou Fangjie rubbed his eyes, leaning against the palace wall as he bid farewell to colleagues filing out. He was waiting for his friend Di Yong, who had also worked the night shift, to emerge.

They worked night shifts at different locations. He was just one of many guards at Qianyuan Gate, while Di Yong was on duty at Chuigong Hall where the emperor held court – truly a promising position.

But this wasn’t surprising, since Di Yong had a good father – Di Qing, the martial star of the Great Song, styled Hanchen.

Though Di Qing had passed away years ago, he had served as Deputy Privy Councilor, a position representing an unprecedented height for Song Dynasty military generals.

Everyone knew the Great Song emphasized literature while suppressing military affairs, and ultimately Di Qing died in depression due to coordinated suppression by court civil officials.

Hou Fangjie sighed inwardly. Every man harbored dreams of heroic battlefield exploits and achieving merit, and Di Qing had been his boyhood idol. But the famous general hadn’t even reached old age before succumbing to worldly suspicion – truly lamentable.

Lost in random thoughts, the palace gate creaked open again. An incomparably handsome young man pushed through the door, with the first ray of sunlight happening to fall upon him, creating a faint golden halo around his entire figure that left observers breathless.

Really leaving no way for others to live. Hou Fangjie ground his teeth secretly in envy and jealousy.

Di Qing was renowned as the most handsome man of the Song Dynasty, but in his youth, having taken responsibility for his brother’s crime, his face bore tattoo marks, earning him the title “Face-Tattooed General.”

When charging into battle, Di Qing would wear a demon mask like the Prince of Lanling over four hundred years earlier – not to hide the facial tattoos, but because he was simply too beautiful.

Speaking of it, Di Qing was actually the second beautiful man in history handsome enough to require a mask for battle, showing what extraordinary bearing this Face-Tattooed General possessed back then.

Though this Duke Wuxiang eventually reached the position of Deputy Privy Councilor, he never used medicine to remove the facial tattoos, remaining unmoved even when the emperor personally urged him to do so – a great regret from emperor down to common peddlers.

So Hou Fangjie completely understood why Di Yong would be assigned to Chuigong Hall right before the emperor – after all, this was a living reincarnation of Di Hanchen.

Now Di Yong was walking slowly toward him in the crisp spring breeze. His eyebrows were like distant mountains, his eyes like cold stars – even the most critical person couldn’t find any flaw in his features.

He wore the same armor as other guards – silk facing with crow-blue hemp lining, the armor painted with scale patterns in blue-green pigments, red brocade trim, red leather belt, leg wrappings, and a curved sword at his waist.

This ceremonial, tight-sleeved outfit that prioritized ritual over practicality somehow gave him an imposing, commanding presence, further emphasizing his tall, handsome, and martial bearing.

Hou Fangjie cursed himself for the countless time for befriending this fellow. Walking alongside such a beautiful man created too much pressure! This was probably why Di Yong had been isolated since childhood – ordinary people with weak willpower simply couldn’t bear it.

But the naturally carefree Hou Fangjie only grumbled as usual before casting aside his resentment, yawning: “Sitao, what shall we eat this morning? Sweet sand dumplings from Xiaoren Ward? Bean cakes from Guanqiao Street? Four-color bundles from Taiping Ward? Intestine and blood powder soup from Temple Lane? Or pig pancreas bread from Zhong’an Bridge…”

Actually, imperial guards received meals after palace duty, but young men from official families naturally preferred not to eat that unchanging fare.

Bianjing Kaifeng was incredibly prosperous – as long as you had money, finding whatever you wanted to eat posed no problem.

Hou Fangjie rattled off a long list of snacks without pause, momentarily banishing sleepiness and flooding his mouth with saliva.

Di Yong looked at his friend’s drooling expression, the corners of his stern lips curving slightly as he sighed softly: “Let’s go to Qingfeng Tower. I’ll treat today – sorry for making you switch shifts with me.”

Qingfeng Tower was a famous restaurant in Bianjing that operated not only at night but also gathered various Bianjing snacks for breakfast, offering everything imaginable.

Hou Fangjie touched his empty stomach and smiled: “Come on, talking like that makes us strangers. We’re brothers – how could I watch you suffer that torment every day?” Though his words sounded serious, they carried a teasing tone.

Mentioning this matter, even the usually stern Di Yong rarely let out a frustrated breath.

In fact, he originally worked day shifts at Chuigong Hall, appearing before the emperor almost daily and even able to overhear ministers discussing politics outside the hall – truly a meteoric career opportunity.

But he simply couldn’t handle the crowds that surrounded him every time he finished duty and went home. The frenzied scenes grew worse and worse until he finally had to bite the bullet and request a shift change – which indeed brought peace.

“Puff! Who told Princess Bao’an to specifically want someone like you as her prince consort? The emperor even called you a ‘proper person.’ Who wouldn’t want to personally gaze upon this imperial-acclaimed, far-famed ‘proper person’?” Hou Fangjie gloated gleefully.

Di Yong couldn’t be bothered responding to this fellow who enjoyed mocking him, knowing that even without his participation, Hou Fangjie could happily talk to himself.

Hou Fangjie understood Di Yong’s nature and didn’t expect any reaction, clapping his shoulder with a grin: “So how does it feel being favored by a princess?”

Di Yong remained expressionless, knowing this was purely impossible.

Princess Bao’an was Empress Gao’s eldest daughter, extremely noble – how could she marry someone who was merely a fifth-rank Eastern Palace Gate Commissioner? So from the beginning he held no illusions. Recently the emperor had personally summoned him, hinting at plans to arrange his marriage to a princess, making him a prince consort. This was already supreme honor – he had no objections.

Only marriage wasn’t what he sought. He preferred following his father’s path – throwing himself into battlefields, defending borders through bloody combat.

As Hou Fangjie walked with Di Yong toward Xijiaolou Street in the city’s west, recalling the spectacle of Di Yong’s street appearances, he couldn’t help snorting with laughter: “You should be grateful those girls threw hairpins and flowers at you, not fruits – otherwise it would eventually become another human tragedy like Wei Jie being stared to death.”

Di Yong’s handsome face darkened several shades as he pondered whether to get a bronze mask like his father, but this would be too exaggerated in Bianjing city and might invite gossip.

Hou Fangjie leaned closer, lowering his voice mysteriously: “Know what? Street rumors say the great handsome Di never wears flowers because he’s waiting for the one his beloved will give him.”

Men of this dynasty enjoyed wearing flowers – already an upper-class custom.

During major festivals, the emperor would bestow flowers upon ministers, with these imperial flowers differing according to rank.

Moreover, different occasions, seasons, and outfits had strict matching requirements. For instance, silk flowers alone came in dozens of colors and varieties – foreign envoys couldn’t wear gold-threaded flowers, and sometimes even petal quantities had various restrictions.

Di Yong always despised such powder-heavy customs, firmly refusing to wear flowers regardless of occasion. Some colleagues who disapproved privately mocked his father’s humble origins, crude upbringing, and ignorance of etiquette.

But Di Yong knew he stood out too much. He never cared about such gossip.

Besides, his father indeed came from poor background, had served punishment and been tattooed, and wasn’t descended from Duke Di Renjie of Liang – what couldn’t others discuss?

So he took Hou Fangjie’s current words as jokes, his tense features relaxing somewhat with rare gentleness that others seldom saw.

Hou Fangjie was even more energized for gossip. The two walked shoulder to shoulder through Right Armpit Gate, reaching the southwest of Xijiaolou Street, following the relatively wide Yong Road past the street-facing Kaifeng Prefecture, Palace Front Command, and Ministry offices.

Before these solemn government buildings, early-arriving officials had already begun appearing sporadically. Those they knew exchanged greetings and brief pleasantries.

Di Yong wasn’t naturally eloquent and didn’t socialize widely – mostly Hou Fangjie handled the cheerful conversations.

They walked to the end of Longjin Bridge and saw an elegant, magnificent high building.

Qingfeng Tower was quite renowned in Bianjing. Located near numerous government offices, many officials liked resting and socializing here. Entering through the painted, carved balustrade door, a poem “Harmonizing with Sun Qizhe’s Qingfeng Tower” by Sima Guang hung on the right wall of the main hall.

Though morning sun was just rising, Qingfeng Tower was already bustling. Knowing Di Yong disliked being watched, and sitting in the main hall would draw everyone’s attention, Hou Fangjie simply went up to a third-floor private room.

Hou Fangjie casually ordered several desired breakfast items. Before the food arrived, a server entered again, informing them someone wished to visit.

Hou Fangjie figured perhaps some acquaintance had seen them come up and wanted to share a table. Seeing Di Yong had no objection, he nodded agreement.

Shortly after, someone knocked and entered. This person wore Qin-Han style wide-sleeved, fitted, wrapped deep robes. The black garment further accentuated his jade-like countenance. His long hair wasn’t bound but hung loosely behind his ears – exactly like an elegant figure stepped from ancient paintings.

Such a person, even if not as handsome as Di Yong, would be unforgettable. Hou Fangjie immediately recalled the man’s identity and rose to greet him.

“Hey! What wind blows today to let us encounter you? What a coincidence!” Hou Fangjie familiarly pulled the man to sit at their table, then introduced him to Di Yong: “This is an antique shop owner near Cai River Bay. I once bought things from his shop.”

Di Yong nodded slightly in greeting.

His naturally cold temperament also stemmed from knowing that excessive friendliness would make his surroundings even less peaceful, so he preferred aloofness.

But after exchanging pleasantries with Hou Fangjie, the shop owner looked toward Di Yong, saying slowly: “I’m about to leave Bianjing. My shop recently acquired an item, and I thought even if I can’t return it to its original owner, I should give it to someone who should inherit it.”

“Ah? Dumb House is closing?” Hou Fangjie was startled, immediately feeling reluctant.

Calculating, this shop had been open several years, but the owner always seemed so young…

“Ah, time to return home.” The shop owner smiled faintly without further explanation. He took out a silk handkerchief from his robes, placing it on the table and slowly unwrapping it. On the handkerchief, a copper coin lay quietly.

The moment Di Yong saw it, his pupils contracted slightly, his thin lips pressing into a straight line.

“This is…” Hou Fangjie examined it with puzzlement, stroking his chin hesitantly: “Could this be the legendary Imperial Song Nine-Fold Seal Script?”

Imperial Song Nine-Fold Seal Script was the most precious type of Imperial Song Tongbao copper coin issued during Emperor Renzong’s Huangyou reign. Though only issued over ten years ago, due to rarity, it was already priceless on the market – completely unavailable for purchase.

So-called nine-fold seal script was based on small seal script with repeatedly folded, coiling, curved strokes. Each character’s folding quantity depended on stroke complexity. It was called nine-fold not because it folded exactly nine times, but because nine represented the ultimate number, describing the abundance of folded strokes.

Hou Fangjie rubbed his hands together, grinning: “Shop owner, why did you specifically bring this Imperial Song nine-fold seal script coin here? Though this nine-fold seal script is valuable, my brother doesn’t lack this little money!” He glanced at Di Yong, implying he wanted to intercept it for his own collection – naturally he wouldn’t take it free but would definitely pay.

The young shopkeeper’s eyes narrowed slightly, his entire face immediately becoming lively and mysterious.

He said nothing, simply reaching out to flip the Imperial Song nine-fold seal script coin over.

Hou Fangjie gasped, pointing at the Imperial Song nine-fold seal script coin and gnashing his teeth: “Fake! This is absolutely fake! What copper coin has characters on both sides, both being fronts? This is clearly fake!”

The shopkeeper smiled inscrutably: “Are you certain? Are you certain there have never been coins without backs – backless coins?”

“I’m cert…” Hou Fangjie’s voice stuck in his throat, because he suddenly remembered there really were such coins, and he remembered that incident very clearly – almost could recite it backwards.