When Qu Yunmie had just gotten injured, Yuan Baifu and the others decided to block the news. Even the Yanmen Command, which was the closest, hadn’t heard a thing and thought the world was still at peace.

However, after Xiao Rong and the others arrived, Gao Xunzhi took full control of the military and openly ordered people to track down those who had dug up the corpses of Qu Yue and his wife. As a result, the news could no longer be kept secret.

Chenliu found out. Jinling found out. Naturally, Xiakou found out too.

 

＊

 

Although this matter was orchestrated by the Qingfeng Sect, its leader only learned of it around the same time as the general public — just two or three days earlier, when he received a letter from the Sect Protector, sent from Pingyang City. The Sect Protector didn’t mention wanting to kill Qu Yunmie, only that he intended to clear obstacles from Chen Jiancheng’s path. As for the details, he begged Chen Jiancheng not to ask and not to send anyone after him. Once everything settled, if he was still alive, he would return and personally apologize.

Chen Jiancheng: “…”

Chen Jiancheng had known Han Qing for seven years. His attitude toward Han Qing had shifted from initial disdain to full reliance — treating him almost like a cripple — both inside and outside the Sect. Han Qing rarely acted first and informed later, and just as he’d said before, whenever he did, it meant the situation was extremely dire.

After receiving the letter, Chen Jiancheng went completely mad for a whole day. When Xizhu died, he had only sighed for a few days, but now Han Qing wasn’t even dead yet, and he already seemed half-possessed.

In the same residence, Zhou Liang also felt something strange.

These days, no matter how busy Chen Jiancheng was, he always made time to see Zhou Liang. Sometimes, he even brought up troubling questions for Zhou Liang to help solve. During that time, Zhou met the other two Protectors of the Qingfeng Sect and five or six of Chen Jiancheng’s concubines.

 

…

 

In Zhou Liang’s eyes, being lustful was never a flaw. Besides, Chen Jiancheng was impressive — and all his concubines had real abilities. This was how it should be. Those who achieved great things didn’t fuss over small details. Men needed to be roped in, and so did women. In the eyes of a qualified ruler, there were only two types of people in this world: those who could be used and those who couldn’t.

The former should be nurtured. The latter should be killed at the first opportunity.

Zhou Liang’s worldview was surprisingly similar to that of the Qingfeng Sect. The Sect believed the living were more valuable than the dead. Zhou Liang believed that those with no value should simply die.

 

…

 

Because Zhou Liang’s fate had already changed, no one knew whether Chen Jiancheng or He Tingzhi held more sway over him now. At this point, Zhou had nowhere else to go, and after a deeper understanding of the Qingfeng Sect, he felt it was a great place for him to showcase his talents. He even began considering whether to betroth his daughter — not yet six years old — to Chen Jiancheng’s son, forming a childhood engagement to strengthen his own importance in Chen Jiancheng’s eyes.

In truth, becoming in-laws wouldn’t increase his status by much. If only his daughter were a bit older, he could become Chen Jiancheng’s father-in-law. Then Chen Jiancheng would have no choice but to show him greater respect.

Zhou Liang had spent several years with Huang Yanjiong and had never entertained such thoughts. Yet after less than two months with Chen Jiancheng, he was already willing to play this kind of card. Zhou himself might not have realized just how determined he was to build his standing within the Qingfeng Sect.

Therefore, when he noticed that something was going on within the sect, and that neither Chen Jiancheng nor anyone else intended to tell him, his expression immediately darkened.

 

…

 

Chen Jiancheng disappeared for an entire day. When he reappeared the next day, he could only barely keep himself from going mad. He was still deeply worried about Han Qing’s safety, so he locked himself in his room and refused to see anyone. If Zhou Liang were the kind of man who backed off easily, he wouldn’t be Zhou Liang. He left his own quarters and kept hovering around Chen Jiancheng’s, subtly probing to find out what had happened.

Another day passed. Just as Chen Jiancheng was about to lash out at Zhou Liang in frustration, news arrived at the residence: the King of the North had been seriously injured. Since this information came from ordinary Sect members and was already widely known outside, the person who brought the news didn’t hide it. He said it directly in front of both Chen Jiancheng and Zhou Liang.

Chen Jiancheng always had a feeling — it was Han Qing after all, who had urged him to prioritize killing the King of the North. The moment he heard this, he immediately stood up and anxiously asked, “Any news of the Grand Protector?!”

The man cautiously shook his head. Chen Jiancheng’s face showed irritation as he muttered to himself, “No, I need to gather the men and send reinforcements!”

With that, he rushed out in a flurry, completely forgetting that Zhou Liang was still standing nearby. Most of the people in the room followed Chen Jiancheng out, and when the place quieted down again, two young servants in the corner exchanged a glance and resumed their tasks.

One of the servants held a broom and slowly swept dust toward the door. Just as the broom was about to reach the entrance, a shoe gently stepped on the bristles.

The servant looked up in surprise to see Zhou Liang smiling kindly at him. “So there’s a Grand Protector in the Sect too? Young man, would you be willing to tell me who he is?”

 

＊

 

The Buddhist’s Son lived in the tent that had previously been set up for Gao Xunzhi. Since there had been no major military operations recently, the tent hadn’t been taken down and now served conveniently as lodging for the disciple — all he had to do was move in.

…

He had arrived hoping to return victorious with the army, so he brought quite a lot with him. Once he got settled, he set up a desk and began writing letters.

Back when the summer peace period hadn’t ended, Mijing wrote many letters — some for checking in, some casual, some in response to questions. Each letter was unique and contained meaningful content, aimed at rebuilding his network for future needs.

He hadn’t expected that those efforts would be useful so soon. Thinking over what he had seen and heard, the relationships between the nations, and the personalities of those truly in power, Mijing sat for a long time without writing a word.

Trying to influence international relations alone was no easy task. One wrong phrase could turn allies into enemies.

He liked to clarify his thoughts before writing. As he pondered and his ideas finally began to come together — swish! — someone violently pulled up the curtain. Xiao Rong strode in like a gust of wind and sat directly in front of him.

Xiao Rong said, “I need you to write a letter for me — to the Emperor.”

Mijing: “…”

Not everyone could shift mental gears like Song Shuo. It took Mijing a full two seconds to react. “The Emperor?”

Xiao Rong nodded. “Normally, either His Highness or Chancellor Gao write such letters for me, but His Highness is injured now. If he writes, Jinling might misinterpret things. Chancellor Gao isn’t here either, so I can only turn to you. Have you corresponded with the Emperor lately?”

Mijing nodded as well. “Yes. He wrote to ask me about Buddhist Doctrine. After I replied, he sent another letter to thank me.”

Xiao Rong: “…”

So this was a true monk — even a young emperor had to send him a thank-you note.

If Mijing had been in Jinling, he surely wouldn’t have been treated so poorly.

Xiao Rong used to pity him — he hadn’t done anything wrong, after all, but ever since Mijing exposed his secrets, that sympathy vanished.

So annoying, he had it coming.

…

That thank-you note arrived last month. In this era, exchanging one letter a month — even every few months — wasn’t uncommon. Mijing prepared to write the letter immediately. He asked Xiao Rong what to include. Xiao Rong shrugged. “Write whatever you want. Just hand me the finished letter.”

Mijing glanced at him, smiled slightly, and didn’t ask what trick he was playing. Picking up the brush, he paused for a moment and then quickly filled a page. He gently blew the ink dry, didn’t seal it, and handed it straight to Xiao Rong.

Xiao Rong took it, folded it carefully, and said, “Thank you. I’ll be going now.”

Mijing called him back. “Wait. After His Highness recovers, how does he plan to attack the Xianbei?”

Xiao Rong blinked. “With a full-scale assault, of course.”

Mijing said, “Can the Xianbei be completely routed in a single battle?”

Xiao Rong paused and shook his head. “Probably not. Even if we scatter their army, Shengle City won’t be easy to breach. Its walls are thirteen meters high and ten meters thick. They copied the capital of the Yuwen tribe and also took inspiration from the Changan walls they saw during the southern campaign. They’re tall and sturdy. If we want to force our way in, we’ll need to break their gates.”

Of course, the Northern Army knew this — and so did the Xianbei. They’d surely concentrate their forces at the gates, doing everything to protect them. Throughout history, opening the gates was always the hardest part of any siege — and often achieved by stepping over the bodies of the fallen. Slaughter and anguish would mix in one brutal scene.

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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