Chapter 56

Gu Wan donned the left-lapelled cloth armor of the Northern Rong cavalry, mounted a Northern Rong warhorse, and, wielding a curved saber, escaped the chaos of battle under the protection of Xie Yun and others. Once away from the field, she tore off and discarded those items, then spurred her horse at full speed toward Yin County.

When Gu Wan arrived in Yin County, the fires had not yet been fully extinguished. Scattered flames and clouds of smoke left everyone with soot-streaked faces. Most people moved in a daze, heads down, their spirits broken; some shouted and ran, others, like the escorting officers, chose suicide, causing further chaos. With Xie Yun and a few others, Gu Wan searched the temporary camp, questioning people as they went. After nearly half an hour, they finally learned that Li Yi was in the medical camp.

Li Yi himself was uninjured, but given the intensity of the fire, there was little difference between those who had been rescued and those who had not. Nearly everyone present had inhaled thick smoke, and coughing echoed throughout the camp. Li Yi, after drinking a bowl of medicinal soup, had his coughing somewhat under control. The medical tents, set upwind, were still stiflingly hot and smoky; following the military physician’s advice, Li Yi had removed his armor. Dressed in a deep purple silk martial robe, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar loosened, he looked less orderly than usual but still carried an air of nobility.

The tent flap was drawn to block the smoke and dust; inside, the air was heavy and stifling, the atmosphere somber. Li Yi stood, his expression grim.

Li Yi was one of the overseers responsible for military supplies and logistics. Though the convoy he escorted this time was not grain, the court’s mandates made no such distinction; all officers assigned to escort duties would be held accountable, to varying degrees. Though his own supplies were largely unharmed, they had inevitably been affected.

An innocent victim of circumstance, but more critically, with the grain stores lost to fire, Li Yi’s trusted advisor, Tian Jian, remarked, “Let’s hope the grain can be replenished. Otherwise, this battle may end in disaster.”

Li Yi understood all of this. He said nothing, and the tent fell quiet. Tian Jian sighed.

Everyone present was capable and had, years ago, recognized the many ills plaguing Great Wei. They had sought out Li Yi, whom they saw as a worthy leader, but none of them had ever imagined that Northern Rong would breach the gates and trample their homeland.

Yu Manzhen, dressed in a green, right-lapelled riding outfit, sat silently on a chest at the side, watching the tall, handsome man before her, whose face was as dark as water.

In her previous life, at this moment, Li Yi was not on the Qing Shui plains; nor was he the overseer of military supplies. Instead, he was responsible for grain procurement—the stage before transportation—and a major problem in the procurement from Jiangnan had caused him to be implicated. That had been this man’s greatest early setback.

Now, though the circumstances had changed, the essence remained the same. Yu Manzhen, who had been on edge, finally relaxed a little, letting out a breath.

—When he was later exiled to Xiangzhou, it was in Xiangzhou that his father had died. This time, she would again accompany him through this tumultuous, difficult low point, and win entry into his heart.

It would not be long, just a few months.

But just as Yu Manzhen was having these thoughts, a sudden rush of hoofbeats sounded outside, and the captain of Li Yi’s personal guard strode in, lifted the tent flap, and whispered into Li Yi’s ear, “My lord, Lady Gu is here outside—she says the matter is urgent.”

“Lady Gu?”

Li Yi’s brow furrowed in surprise, while Yu Manzhen sprang to her feet. Who?

Lady Gu? Gu Xuan!

Her heart clenched, then began pounding wildly. An ominous feeling came over her. But Li Yi asked no one for clarification; he simply looked surprised, then strode out at once.

She stood frozen for a few moments, then hurried after him, lifting a corner of the tent to peer outside, only to see Li Yi mounting his horse and riding away at Gu Wan’s side.

Her fists clenched involuntarily.

…

Early morning, the sky was dim, scattered flames flickered, and the medical camp was noisy and chaotic; everyone’s face was heavy with worry. When Li Yi stepped outside, he saw Gu Wan, travel-stained.

From several miles away, black smoke still rose from Yin County’s burning city, with blackened debris drifting down. Gu Wan’s group had wrapped their faces in damp cloths, revealing only a pair of almond-shaped eyes, but Li Yi recognized her instantly.

“Come. This is no place to talk.”

The smoke scratched at their throats. Li Yi took the wet cloth, covered his nose and mouth, mounted his horse, and rode out, tying the cloth in place with both hands as he let go of the reins.

By any measure, this man—tall, handsome, vigorous—seemed unperturbed even in such a disheveled state; he was, indeed, an outstanding figure among men.

But Gu Wan had no mind to appreciate such noble beauty. As soon as they left the medical camp, she reined in sharply, turned, and said, “An imperial edict has just arrived: the grain stores at Yunbei are to be requisitioned on the spot. But there’s a problem with Yunbei’s main granary—the reserve grain is in jeopardy!”

Smoke and dust billowed in the morning light, a gray haze hanging over the land. Gu Wan tore off her damp mask, her fine features taut with gravity.

“What did you say?!”

Li Yi’s brow twitched, his face darkening at once. Gu Wan wasted no words. “I need your help to resolve this. Xie Ci said you can name your terms!”

Li Yi jerked his head around. In the half-light, through the rolling smoke, the vast mountain range stretched to the horizon, its silhouette faintly visible in the dawn.

Beyond those mountains lay Yunbei.

“How could this be?” Li Yi’s disbelief was clear, but since Gu Wan had been sent by Xie Ci, he almost instantly believed her. The earth trembled faintly—the battle some two hundred miles away was still sending reverberations as far as Yin County.

—They had just said that if the military grain was lost, the Northwestern Army would face annihilation! Li Yi’s heart sank. “But I have no men in Yunbei!”

He had no one in Yunbei, much less in the main granary there. He had paid attention to the major granaries north and south, but who could have foreseen Yunbei’s would become so crucial?

He wanted to help, but had no means.

He turned sharply to Gu Wan, his handsome face grim and tense, but he reasoned that Gu Wan would not have come to him at such a critical moment without cause.

Gu Wan was direct. “You don’t, but Yu Manzhen does. If I’m not mistaken, she also has information about a Northern Rong spy in the Yunbei granary.”

“It’s a captain-level officer.”

Gu Wan looked him in the eye. “That person is vital. You must get it out of her.”

Li Yi’s brow furrowed at once. Gu Wan gave him a firm nod. “Yu Manzhen and I have a personal grudge. She sent people to kill me. I know a few things about her.”

Why hadn’t Gu Wan struck back at Yu Manzhen earlier? Or preempted her? The former was because so much had happened recently that she nearly forgot about this woman.

As for the latter, Gu Wan had suspected Yu Manzhen would move against her, but after Xie Ci and Qin Ying arrived in Lingzhou, she had not asked for their help to strike first.

For this very reason: Yu Manzhen knew things she herself did not. Who could say when that might become useful? So as long as it wasn’t necessary to eliminate her, Gu Wan kept her distance.

See? Now it was needed.

The morning was dim; a layer of black ash dusted the low shrubs and brambles on the hillside. Li Yi’s brow relaxed slightly, then tightened again, suspicion and doubt in his eyes. “Yu Manzhen?”

But after a moment’s thought, he jerked the reins, turned his horse. “Wait here for me!” He spurred his horse, which neighed and shot away like an arrow.

Gu Wan’s revelation had caught Li Yi completely off guard.

But if Yu Manzhen truly knew, he was sure to get the information from her.

Yu Manzhen had already returned to her tent, where a guard had brought water; she was anxiously washing up.

Suddenly, a rush of hoofbeats, heavy boots on the ground—the tent flap lifted, and Li Yi, tall in deep purple, appeared.

Yu Manzhen’s heart skipped. She had no idea what Gu Wan had said to him, but quickly composed herself, feigning calm. “Husband?”

She looked surprised, all attention on Li Yi. He tossed aside his riding whip and walked in.

His demeanor was as noble and graceful as ever, as if that air of prestige and composure was in his very bones. Yet today, Yu Manzhen felt something else in his gait—like a leopard, graceful yet dangerous.

—She had not seen this in a long time. Since becoming Princess of Xiaoshan, having accompanied Li Yi from humble beginnings, she had rarely seen him display this in front of others.

Li Yi stopped, smiled faintly. “You sent someone to kill Lady Gu?”

Yu Manzhen’s heart thudded, but she was prepared for this question. Her lashes flickered; she pressed her lips together, defiant. “My family and hers have a longstanding feud.”

Li Yi smiled, neither confirming nor denying. “Do you have people in Yunbei? Tell me! Who is the Northern Rong spy in Yunbei’s main granary?” He stood by the camp bed, suddenly raising his gaze, his sharp eyes like lightning.

Yu Manzhen froze, thrown off by the question. She had kept her private agents secret from Li Yi; in many respects, her network surpassed his and made up for his faction’s weaknesses.

She had never intended to tell him, only to use them if needed, according to her own interests. These behind-the-scenes dealings must never be revealed to him.

Suddenly confronted, Yu Manzhen’s heart shrank into a tight ball. Panic flashed—had Gu Xuan revealed it? Why? What should she do? Fortunately, she recovered quickly, hesitating just a moment before choosing her words. “...Yunbei’s main granary?”

She instantly recalled the bloody execution from her previous life.

Yu Manzhen forced herself calm, mind racing. She pretended to think. “...Yunbei, in Hebei? I don’t, but my family does!”

She looked up at Li Yi. “Because of this mission, my father informed me about the major grain routes and granaries, and mentioned several suspect locations. This granary isn’t much tied to us, so I didn’t pay much attention. I think the name was Sun Huang—a warehouse captain.”

Sweat slicked her palms.

Yu Manzhen’s father was an official in the Prince of Tang’s household. The Prince of Tang, unlike Li Yi, was a direct son of the late emperor and brother to the current sovereign. After Li Yi married Yu Manzhen, he had become, at least outwardly, aligned with the Prince of Tang. Yu Manzhen often heard news from her father.

Until now, Li Yi had been very satisfied with her. Though she came from humble origins, she worked hard for him, as did the Yu family. For a subordinate household, such access to information was already impressive.

He did not disdain her for her low birth. Li Yi, with few close relatives and a difficult path, cherished his sincere wife. Their relationship had always been strong, marked by love and trust.

He had not expected today’s revelations.

To be fair, Yu Manzhen showed no sign of abnormality; she covered the mess well.

Li Yi bent down; for an instant, it felt like a scene from a past life. This man, dangerous and charismatic—Yu Manzhen unconsciously leaned back, supporting herself on the camp bed.

Li Yi’s sharp eyes bore into hers. “This is a grave matter. You’re sure you remember correctly?”

Yu Manzhen forced a smile, nodding firmly. “I’m sure.”

“Very good.”

Li Yi straightened at last.

The oppressive air dissipated. Yu Manzhen felt weak in the limbs, but managed to act as usual, seeing Li Yi hurriedly don sleeve guards and a dagger. She rose to help him, feigning ignorance. “Husband, what has happened?”

Fortunately, news here was slow; she had not yet heard of the imperial order regarding Yunbei, giving Yu Manzhen maximum cover.

“I have business to attend to.”

Li Yi didn’t answer directly. He smiled, looking at her deeply. “Your family is indeed capable.” With that unsettling remark, he left quickly. The sound of his footsteps and departing horse soon faded, and Yu Manzhen collapsed onto the bed, drained. She had implicated her own father. And Li Yi didn’t fully believe her.

Yu Manzhen’s face showed alarm. This was bad—what should she do now?

Rolling smoke and gray haze blanketed dozens of miles around Yin County, the acrid scent of burning detectable as far as Qingshui Pass a hundred miles away.

To the left, the towering green mountains; to the right, the surging Qingshui River. Li Yi and Gu Wan, avoiding patrols, skirted the river and headed straight for Qingshui Pass.

At the moment, Li Yi had no thought to dwell on Yu Manzhen. The two of them, each with only a few trusted guards, rode at top speed toward the pass.

Qingshui Pass was tightly shut. They avoided the main road, heading instead for the mountain pass. Their horses could not make it, so they abandoned them, crossing the mountains on foot. Once over, Li Yi called, “Follow me!” He led the group to a small town thirty miles east, retrieved seven or eight horses from a warehouse outpost, and they all mounted at once.

The best warhorses could cover fifty to sixty li per hour. For urgent military messages over eight hundred li, they could reach the capital the next day if they changed mounts frequently and rode without rest.

Li Yi had such a high-priority covert courier route; now, in this race against time, he used it openly.

Switching horses as they went, Li Yi and Gu Wan, each with a single guard, arrived in Yunbei City just after noon.

The city was under martial law. They disguised themselves as conscripted laborers to enter, then broke away, relying on their skills to dash through alleys toward the northeast warehouse.

By dusk, they had tracked down Sun Huang. But when they kicked in the door, they found Sun Huang already dead!

His corpse lay sprawled over a footrest before the bed, blood pooling beneath him, still warm—he had died only moments before.

He wore ochre armor, collapsed atop the footrest. Gu Wan, seeing his posture, immediately moved the rest aside.

Beneath it was a secret compartment. Sun Huang had been about to open it when he was killed. Its contents had already been taken; a quick search of the room revealed not even a scrap of paper.

...How could this be?!

The setting sun bathed the world. Despite the distant war, here all was calm, save for the noise of wagon wheels outside.

Gu Wan and Li Yi, faces drained of color, exchanged a heavy glance. “This is bad,” Li Yi said.

Sun Huang was certainly not alone. To destroy so much grain at Yunbei’s granary, whether by sabotage at the warehouse or ambush en route, was not the work of a single man.

Their next step would have been to interrogate Sun Huang’s web of contacts. But now, Sun Huang, likely suspected and exposed, had been silenced by his own. Their forced entry had already alerted the enemy.

Gu Wan, who had relaxed upon learning Sun Huang’s identity from Li Yi, now could not even muster a smile. She stared in disbelief. How could this have happened?

“Who leaked the information?”

Her first thought was Yu Manzhen. She looked sharply at Li Yi, whose face was as dark as water. He shook his head. “She wouldn’t dare.”

But there was no time to investigate Sun Huang’s death—the urgency was too great for a drawn-out inquiry.

By the time they found out, it would be far too late.

Li Yi’s expression was grim. “The man in charge of everything behind Qingshui Pass, including reserve grain and munitions, is Imperial Uncle Lin.” He had been granted emergency authority.

But nowadays, Li Yi and Imperial Uncle Lin were not equals; the latter had no reason to heed him, leaving Li Yi powerless. He pulled Gu Wan. “Let’s go!”

Footsteps sounded outside—perhaps coming for them.

The four of them slipped out of the warehouse without a word, only to immediately receive new intelligence:

—After receiving the imperial edict, the four commanderies of Feng, Yun, You, and Yuan, nearest Longshan, mustered troops overnight and arrived at Qingshui and Longshan passes today. Not many—a total of twenty-seven thousand men, since the northern armies elsewhere had already deployed.

But Imperial Uncle Lin had no intention of opening the gates to reinforce the battlefield. Afraid of a rout and another breach, he ordered the gates locked, massed his troops behind the passes, and swore to protect the heartland north of the Yellow River—Guanzhong and the capital region.

It should be mentioned that after He Xin and Zheng Shoufang led the princes back inside the passes, they too were ordered to garrison Longshan and Qingshui by Imperial Uncle Lin, taking seventy thousand troops with them.

Gu Wan and Li Yi, upon hearing this, felt their blood rush to their heads. Was Imperial Uncle Lin insane?

Even Li Yi’s usually taciturn captain could not help but curse in disbelief.

Dusk fell, the hot wind blowing, yet Gu Wan felt a chill. For the first time, she was truly frantic. “What do we do now?”

How could it come to this?

Damn it—who killed Sun Huang?

Her heart pounded like a drum—her chest cold, her back drenched with sweat, hot or cold she could not tell.

Li Yi exhaled deeply, covering his eyes. After a moment, he opened them sharply. “There’s only one person who can resolve all this now!”

Gu Wan pressed, “Who?!”

Li Yi replied without hesitation, “Feng Kun!”

The same imperial envoy involved in the Lingzhou case—the powerful eunuch Feng Kun.

With the Lin family wielding so much power, only Feng Kun, the Keeper of the Seal, could match and oppose them.

Gu Wan felt her heart race. She and Li Yi knew little of court intrigue, but the logic was obvious. She heard herself ask, “Can you do it?”

Li Yi closed his eyes. “At best, a fifty-fifty chance.”

After a moment’s thought, he steeled himself. “Let’s enter the capital—now!”

At such a sensitive moment, only the two of them could go. Four couriers riding at full speed would draw too much attention. Gu Wan told Xie Yun, “Follow after us—maybe wait for me on the north bank of the river.” Before leaving, Xie Ci had given strict orders, but Xie Yun gritted his teeth and agreed.

The horses kicked up clouds of dust as they raced south.

They reached Zhongdu the next afternoon, exhausted, having not eaten a bite and parched with thirst. Gu Wan had never imagined she would return to the capital under such circumstances.

The atmosphere at all official posts was tense, but Li Yi had agents in place. After some effort, they slipped away. Li Yi said, “Wait for me outside the city. Don’t go in.”

He hurried to a safe house near the west gate, washed quickly, changed into clean clothes—a noble’s pale apricot robe with arrow sleeves—tied his hair up still damp, and, after writing a note of request, mounted his horse and rode into the inner city.

Near the imperial city, all was solemn and orderly—curved eaves, sweeping roofs, a grand painted gatehouse. Beyond it, a long avenue of bluestone, flanked by imposing stone lions, led to three red lacquered doors studded with gold and guarded by blade-bearing soldiers and blue-robed eunuchs from the Directorate of Ceremonial.

All who passed held their breath and bowed low.

Feng Kun, originally named Feng Shangyi, was granted the name Kun by imperial decree. He had risen from the Directorate of Ceremonial, was the emperor’s most trusted confidant, served as governor of Panzhou, then rose to General of the Cavalry, Minister of State, Duke of Bohai, and finally Duke of Qi.

Now he was both Left Chancellor and Director of Ceremonial, barely thirty, yet wielded immense power, rivaling the Lin family.

Li Yi glanced up at the golden plaque reading “By Imperial Command, Residence of the Duke of Qi,” the calligraphy imperial. The sight of guards and blue-robed eunuchs left him ill at ease. He composed himself, dismounted, strode forward, and handed a pouch containing a large banknote and his note to the gatekeeper.

Li Yi’s luck was good; Feng Kun had just returned home. The young eunuch at the gate, feeling the weight of the pouch and seeing the name “Li Yi, Prince of Xiaoshan,” raised his brows.

The note, more than the bribe, caught Feng Kun’s attention. He was an unusual man.

Feng Kun, with his delicate, striking features and piercing phoenix eyes, sat in the garden pavilion, idly playing with a caged thrush.

Several notes and pouches were brought to the side table. The eunuch withdrew quietly.

Feng Kun toyed with the bird a while longer, then glanced at the notes.

Hmm? Li Yi, Prince of Xiaoshan.

He raised his brows in interest, leafing through the note—its calligraphy bold and sharp, with none of the usual concealment, written to command attention.

Beyond the formalities, the note, in urgent tones, reported: “The northwest is about to suffer a great defeat. The Imperial Uncle Lin seizes command of the border forces!”

What was Li Yi doing here, rather than awaiting punishment in Yin County?

Feng Kun smiled, tossing the note aside. “Well, if he has leisure, bring him in.”

Li Yi took a deep breath, was led through the gates, and into a pavilion by the garden. Feng Kun, dressed in a blue robe and scholar’s headscarf, looked every inch a refined young literatus, toying with his thrush.

Li Yi, as a member of the imperial clan, bowed. “Li Yi greets the Chancellor.” He waited; only the sound of the bird could be heard.

Li Yi inhaled, then dropped to his knees with a slap. “Chancellor Feng, please discern the truth! According to reliable information, there is a Northern Rong spy in the Yunbei granary; the reserves are about to suffer the same fate as Yin County! The Imperial Uncle holds the passes, refuses to open the gates to reinforce the front. The northern army is on the verge of annihilation!”

“Only you, Chancellor Feng, have the power to turn the tide!”

Whether by personnel or decree, only Feng Kun could act immediately, seizing the window—twelve days—to resolve all.

Should Yunbei’s granary fall, only Feng Kun could organize emergency requisitions from the counties and provinces. In recent years, poor harvests in the northwest meant that giving up grain would create trouble for local officials—demotions or worse. Only Feng Kun, with his power and reputation for vengeance, could ensure their compliance.

“But why should I help you?” Feng Kun, a eunuch, had no sons and no particular ties; his relationship with the Lin family was, at least on the surface, amicable.

He set down the birdcage, leaned over the table, his striking eyes close to Li Yi.

Li Yi gritted his teeth, raised his eyes. “His Majesty is old and ailing... Chancellor, the Fourth Prince is young, and you know the emperor favors the Third Prince.”

The Third Prince, whose mother was from the Lin family.

Now, Feng Kun and the Lins were rivals, and the emperor relied on Feng Kun; often, the Lin family had to give way to him. But what if the Third Prince ascended?

Li Yi had come here to be frank. Now, the Lin family was maneuvering for military power.

Feng Kun’s casual demeanor vanished, his pale face suddenly severe.

Li Yi knelt, “I, along with Xie Ci, swear that from this day forward we will serve you, Chancellor Feng!”

He had five-tenths confidence Feng Kun would see him. Concealment was pointless—Feng Kun surely knew more than he did. Only by tying his and Xie Ci’s fates together could they make a valuable offer. Li Yi had always tried to rely on the imperial clan to avoid factionalism, but today he threw caution aside.

Head bowed, body tense, Li Yi waited. After what felt like an eternity, Feng Kun’s voice came at last.

Feng Kun stood. “Remember what you said today.”

The matter was settled.

As the wind whistled, Li Yi’s taut heart finally relaxed. He took two deep breaths. “Yes, Chancellor!”