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The first preoccupation of the Xiao clan was the war. The second was Xiao Chiye's marriage.
Even though Xiao Jiming had already informed his father and wife about the secret lover Xiao Chiye hid away in Qudu, as long as Xiao Chiye himself denied the fact and concealed her identity, they couldn't make public arrangements for the proposal. What was public, however, were Lu Yizhi's diligent efforts to find a suitable bride among the maidens of Libei, none of whom caught the Second Young Master's fancy.
Combined with Xiao Jiming keeping a tight rein on his brother's reputation at home and defending his men from spreading rumors about his brother's inclination for brothels, the rest of Libei had an impression of their Second Young Master as a rising official well-versed in matters of state, as opposed to matters of the heart. A Liuxia Hui, if you will.
Upon the Second Young Master's return home, the truth was exposed.
Xiao Chiye was married to Shen Zechuan.
Not only was he not a Liuxia Hui, he was a cutsleeve and had a taste for men of ill repute.
The news spread through the whole of Libei like wildfire. From Shayi camp all the way to Luoxia Pass, the junior soldiers and commanding generals alike went into a frenzy.
How did it happen? When? Why had no one heard of it before now? Had the Prince of Libei given his approval? Did the Xiao clan hide the fact? Why? Was the marriage conferred by the emperor? So on and so forth.
From one mouth to another, the tale sprouted wings, embellished and sensationalised with every iteration.
By the time it reached Xiao Jiming's study, the story had evolved thus: overcoming their grievances, Xiao Chiye courted Shen Zechuan for months after his release from Zhao Zui temple. He bought a residence from the Yao clan expressly to be offered as a betrothal gift. There, hidden from prying eyes, love blossomed among the autumn leaves.
Xiao Chiye eventually begged His Majesty to confer a marriage between them as a reward for rendering meritorious service. His Majesty refused and instead advanced his noble rank, while the empress dowager offered commandery princess Zhaoyue's hand.
Betrayed and deeply insulted, Xiao Chiye defected his post and eloped with Shen Zechuan to Cizhou. Their escape was a scenery from the legends; thunder resounding like war drums, clothes tainted in wedding red by the fierce battle, an army of twenty thousand men trailing behind them like a royal dowry.
“Details differ from one soldier to another but that's the general idea,” Zhao Hui said, as he refilled Xiao Jiming's cup with tea. “Even though the stories hardly make sense, the fact of their affair remains. I must commend Second Young Master for his impressive catch.”
Xiao Jiming briefly considered the ways he could jolt himself awake from this dream. His countenance remained impassive as the thought passed.
Shen Zechuan was a powerful ally to consider now that the charge of regicide hung over Xiao Chiye, and consequently the Xiao clan. Sooner or later, Xiao Jiming would need to meet with Shen Zechuan in person to discuss the matter of Zhongbo and the unification of the northern and southern battle lines. Libei was in need of an ally to the south before winter settled in, and Qidong still had to answer to the empress dowager. Zhongbo had to be reclaimed.
On the other hand, the path Shen Zechuan was walking, which Libei was now precipitated into by force of circumstances, opened a floodgate of uncertainty for the future. Or rather, the future now all too certain begot a critical question: would the Xiao clan, reunited at last, put a son back on the line?
“What did my father say?”
“His Lordship beat Second Young Master up on the spot, then ordered that a formal proposal and betrothal gifts be prepared to be sent to Cizhou. The Hereditary Prince's Consort is arranging those.”
And thus, the Prince of Libei had sealed the Xiao clan's fate.
Thirty years ago, Xiao Fangxu crossed the Hongyan mountains to conquer the eastern pastures hitherto part of the Biansha territory. With his inexorable rise in power, rumours of insurrection agitated the capital. To appease the central administration, the newly conferred Prince of Libei knelt in Mingli Hall and swore his allegiance to the emperor.
For decades, the Libei Armor Cavalry guarded the northeastern frontier, fighting on empty stomachs, losing countless men to the blizzard and Biansha assaults. Qudu repaid their loyalty by taking their wolf pup away from the grasslands. For the sake of his family, Xiao Fangxu had endured in silence.
That time had come to an end.
Xiao Jiming found levity in the fact that gossip somehow travelled faster than military orders. Indeed, he received several letters around dawn from various officials inquiring about the state of Xiao Chiye's marriage, while the associated military reports arrived a shichen later.
The latter described in great detail Xiao Chiye's defeat at Tudalong banner. The Liuyang Southern Route Army and the Imperial Army had suffered heavy casualties as the front had to split their forces to assist the convoy. The enemy troops were repelled but morale had fallen and his brother was demoted.
Nonetheless, although he'd never admit it for propriety's sake, Xiao Jiming counted each battle that saw his father and brother unharmed as victories.
The situation at the front was precarious and finding an advantageous way out of the standstill with the Biansha was pressing, yet throughout the day he found himself distracted with the news of Xiao Chiye's relationship with Shen Zechuan.
Later that night when he retired to bed, Lu Yizhi was already sound asleep. He slid in beside her, holding her close. Though he was careful, she stirred in his arms.
“My husband,” she whispered, her voice mellow with sleep, “Even in the midst of war, the heavens have blessed us. Our family is growing.”
Xiao Jiming was awake at once. His hand went to rest on her belly, with both care and trepidation.
“Yizhi?”
Lu Yizhi laughed in a quiet voice, shaking her head. “A-Ye is bringing his lover home.”
Xiao Jiming fell back on the pillow with a sigh. “That's right.”
“Isn't it wonderful?”
“I suppose.”
“To think I only ever sent him portraits of young ladies when our Libei has its fair share of fine men.”
Xiao Jiming hummed noncommittally.
“Xiao-lang,” she coaxed in a soft voice, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Under the blanket, she gently ran her fingers back and forth over his arm, like a cat flexing its paw. “You were worried sick about him fighting alone in Qudu. Aren’t you relieved? He had someone to look after him.”
“I thought the worst he could do was bring home a noble daughter. That brat will always exceed my expectations.”
Qi Zhuyin had once warned him about his brother bringing home a courtesan, but at that point, Xiao Jiming was willing to accept any maiden Xiao Chiye presented to them.
The most catastrophic scenario would have been Xiao Chiye fleeing Qudu with Hua Xiangyi. The carefully crafted power checks between Libei, Qudu and Qidong would have fallen apart, not to mention the noble clans descending upon them like the wrath of the heavens to retrieve the pearl of the empress dowager. Still, he would have honored Xiao Chiye’s choice and fought the consequences.
As a matter of course, Xiao Chiye outdid all conjectures and brought home an entirely different level of catastrophe.
Lu Yizhi's shoulders shook with quiet laughter, pulling him from his musings.
“Father was reluctant at first but eventually gave his blessing. A-Ye had no reservation and sang Shen Zechuan’s praise for three pages in his last letter,” she said. “You met him when you were in Qudu, is it true what A-Ye said? That he's more upright than any court official, strong and brave as heroes of yore, a beauty that could bring a nation to ruin?”
Shen Zechuan was objectively an attractive man but attractiveness alone couldn’t justify the blind adoration Xiao Chiye had for him. Xiao Jiming knew his brother well, and knew for a fact that he had never been interested in beauties, women or men.
He recalled a pair of eyes hungry for power, all too conspicuous on a fair face bullied into silence by the very same brother who now swore unfailing devotion.
To Lu Yizhi, he said, “I've only seen him from afar but he's certainly a looker. You can confirm the rest when you meet him.”
“Father asked me to appraise his character. We'll stop in Cizhou on the way to Qidong. If he's a suitable match for A-Ye, I'll give him Mother's bracelets.”
“I trust your judgement,” he said, holding her closer still. “Shen Zechuan has his eyes set on the whole of Zhongbo, he'll have to come to Dajing to negotiate with Father and I at some point. Now that A-Ye has chosen his side, there's also the matter of Xun-er to discuss.”
Lu Yizhi searched his gaze for a moment. She said, “Xun-er is safe.”
“We must look forward to the future, beyond the war.” And softer, as though the words ought not be said, “Beyond Dazhou.”
She turned in his arms to face him fully. “Xun-er is safe,” she repeated.
Xiao Jiming still had a vivid memory of his wife crying the entire night before Xiao Chiye departed for Qudu. He nodded.
After Lu Yizhi met with Shen Zechuan in Cizhou, she sent to Dajing her own three-page letter of praise, expanding on his many qualities from his temper to his demeanour to his household management abilities.
A perfect match for Xiao Chiye, she concluded her analysis.
Two months ago, news came that Xiao Chiye was besieged in Qudu by the Eight Great Training Divisions. Despite the late hour, and though the physician had forbidden him from mounting his horse, Xiao Jiming ordered his generals to prepare to depart immediately and ride hard towards the capital.
His father had to physically restrain him from leaving the residence. He thundered at the men to stand down, threatening execution for anyone who saddled up. The gash on Xiao Jiming's stomach reopened in the scuffle.
Xiao Fangxu was mindful of his son's dignity as commander-in-chief, so he cleared the hall first, then, like an unruly child, Xiao Jiming received a stern dressing down from his father. The physician that had been yanked out of bed in the middle of the night was trembling in fear while he redressed the wound.
Xiao Jiming never was an unruly child. When they were truly alone, Xiao Fangxu laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Your brother belongs in the grasslands of our Libei. He will find his way home.”
At the end of the eighth month, after lingering in Cizhou for two months to eradicate the bandits, Xiao Chiye crossed the border and claimed his first victory against Huhelu. He subsequently took command of the troops in charge of supply, and sparked controversy among the generals of the various camps.
What did it matter?
Xiao Chiye was home.
The two brothers hadn't seen each other since the Feast of a Hundred Officials in winter. They reunited in the quiet of night at the entrance of the Prince residence in Dajing, one waiting in front of the steps, the other advancing in great strides. Xiao Chiye was taller than him, yet he seemed so young, so ingenuous with his reddened eyes.
“Dage,” he said in a soft, fragile voice, “You've lost so much weight.”
“And what, you've grown some more. You could carry the Hongyan mountains on your shoulders.”
Xiao Chiye seemed to have not even the heart for pleasantries, his expression so crestfallen one could think him bereaved.
“I should have come back sooner. I should have been on the battlefield.”
“You were, A-Ye.”
Xiao Chiye said no more, his mouth pressed in a thin line. With a hand on his shoulder, Xiao Jiming led him inside.
Official business came first as Xiao Chiye diligently relayed messages from the various camps. Then, Xiao Jiming dismissed their guards for the night.
Instead of retiring to their courtyards, the two brothers sat under the eaves. Autumn was settling in, the nights were getting colder but the fragrance of summer lingered in the air. Six years had passed like an entire lifetime. The war and court machinations had ground to dust all that was innocent, all that was spirited in them. Yet, the remnants of the boys they used to be were tenderly preserved in each other.
They were an odd pair in that their relationship was antithetical to the lawful sons of nobility.
There was devotion and admiration and love, but there was also a persistent sense of regret for something that never was. Both brothers had the sentiment that their order of birth was unfair, and at the same time, that it was necessary–Xiao Jiming wished for the carefree life of the second son, but the second son could be carefree only because he was the firstborn who’d championed him; Xiao Chiye wanted the freedom of the firstborn, and yet that freedom, he could only have because he was born second.
There was never jealousy nor even a sense of rivalry but there was resentment for their circumstances. Nevertheless, they were thankful for those very circumstances that had shaped them.
They loved each other in a world where love was a liability, and yet that liability was the strength of their clan.
They talked through the night, as they used to in their younger years.
In an unhurried voice, Xiao Chiye related the results of his investigation, unveiling the conspiracies that sank the empire in a mire of corruption. He told him the truth of the Eastern Palace's demise, the misappropriation of military provisions, the collusion between the noble clans and the Biansha Horsemen, and the terrible secret of the fall of Zhongbo. It was so monstrous in magnitude, so frightening in its meticulosity.
Had any of this information been recovered six years ago, Libei would have torn the power out of the hands of the noble clans. Had their schemes been exposed twenty six years ago, the late crown prince would be their emperor. Xiao Jiming was an infant when the Eastern Palace was at its prime, yet he'd heard enough from Xiao Fangxu to believe that, had the assassination failed, Dazhou would still be bathed in glory.
There was no use lamenting over wasted opportunities.
Xiao Jiming listened in silence to the final act of Emperor Tianchen's tragedy, Han Cheng's treason and the last words of Li Jianheng as he died by the hands of the concubine he had so loved.
This was how an empire fell; with the consortium of its most powerful men.
He ran his fingers along the massive bow his brother had brought back; one hundred and twenty catties, forged of black iron and dragon tendons, as the legend went. The wound on his shoulder flared when he tried to lift it. Even without his injuries, he couldn't say with certainty that he could ever wield such a weapon.
“His Majesty bestowed upon you the great treasure of the Li clan. It was with this bow that the Founding Emperor crushed the previous dynasty and established Dazhou,” he said. After a beat, “How fitting, that it would also see their fall.”
Xiao Chiye picked it up as though it weighed nothing and considered it under the moonlight. He made as if to speak, but hesitated.
“I didn't want it,” he said in a quiet voice. “I didn't want many things.”
When he lowered it back, Xiao Jiming squeezed his forearm once.
For a while, they remained silent.
“You've stayed in Zhongbo for two months before coming home. How have you been?” Xiao Jiming asked.
Xiao Chiye looked up to the moon. With renewed enthusiasm, he recounted in detail his escape from Qudu, the battle against the bandits in Cizhou, and all he had learned at the head of the Imperial Army and Bianbo camp.
Most of all, he talked about Shen Zechuan. He deconstructed his reputation and painted the man he loved in warm, lavish strokes.
They had a residence in Cizhou, big enough to receive family, but they would need another on the Libei-Zhongbo demarcation line for convenience. They would marry in spring, as Shen Zechuan enjoyed the fragrance of orange jasmine in bloom; it needn't be a grand affair as the two of them were private men. They had no need for descendants, but Shen Zechuan was good with children and Ji Gang shifu wanted grandchildren to play with, so taking in a student or two was not out of the question. In their twilight years, they would retire to the Hongyan mountains to plant sweet potatoes and raise sheep and horses.
As the oil burned, Xiao Chiye went on and on in a candid mixture of daydreams and pragmatism. Xiao Jiming realized that in the few months since they last met, his brother had truly grown.
Under duress, one could hardly yearn for anything besides relief. Thus caged in Qudu, Xiao Chiye had dreamed of freedom for six years.
Home at last and delivered from his torment, he could finally conceive of the future. He was drunk with it, with the possibilities that stretched before him like the sky, like the grasslands.
And above all, Xiao Chiye, who was once so proud and guarded, now dreamed for two.
As they were away from prying eyes, Xiao Jiming patted his brother's head. “I did say you would mature a little once you get married.”
Upon waking, Xiao Xun hurried over to his father's study to meet Xiao Chiye, the uncle whose stories had filled his days for the past six years.
He looked up at the man–tall as the mountains, his lively mien so similar to his grandfather–and bowed in deference. Then, he was promptly picked up and tossed into the air.
Xiao Fangxu met with Shen Zechuan in Shayi camp. A detailed letter from him followed suit. It first outlined the agreement between Zhongbo and Libei, a supply of military provisions for the coming year in exchange for a commercial trade road connecting the northeastern territories. Then, it urged Xiao Jiming to meet his brother-in-law posthaste.
Xiao Fangxu said nothing else of Shen Zechuan in the missive, but the fact that he'd mentioned him at all, addressing him as a member of their clan no less, was eloquent enough.
“Will he join us for the spring festival?” Lu Yizhi asked from where she was combing her hair at the vanity.
Passing behind her, Xiao Jiming draped a robe over her shoulders, covering her skin still damp from the bath. “If all goes well. A-ye said he's prepared gifts as thanks for the bracelets you gave him.”
Lu Yizhi laughed. “Silly child, family heirlooms aren't to be returned.”
“He may not be familiar with all the intricacies of marriage among nobility.”
“Is he not? He has the bearing of a noble. I heard he grew up in the Prince of Jianxing residence.”
“Shen Zechuan was driven out of the residence when he was very young. From what A-Ye said, he had no contact with Shen Wei.” Xiao Jiming paused, then carefully said, “His teacher in Qudu was Qi Huilian.”
Lu Yizhi looked up in surprise. Their eyes met in the mirror.
She was quiet for a time, pondering his words. Her hands still holding the comb rested on her lap, absentmindedly turning it over. A slight frown marred her delicate features.
Qi Huilian’s name sank in disgrace after the death of the late crown prince. At the time, he was the only one claiming his master’s innocence, to the point of insanity. Many among the younger scholars and officials only knew him as a lunatic, an acolyte of the traitor prince, but for those of them who had known the prosperous reign of Emperor Guangcheng, Qi Huilian was a legend.
Libei in particular had greatly benefited from his contribution. He and Xiao Fangxu had pushed against the central administration to establish the yellow register, and in a matter of years the Luoxia Cavalry had become a fearsome army, free from the muzzle of the local civil officials dispatched by the noble clans.
That he'd chosen Shen Zechuan, the scorned son of a pariah, as his student after losing the Eastern Palace was not insignificant.
After a spell, Lu Yizhi said, “Then I suppose Xun-er will be in good hands.”
Xiao Jiming studied her face. She seemed to have come to a resolution. So had he, too.
White banners were erected throughout Dajing in mourning.
Xiao Fangxu's death marked the end of an era for Dazhou. The dynasty was sinking, and with it, all the heroes that carried its banner. No amount of glory could stop the march of time.
The day Xiao Chiye brought their father home, they had not exchanged a word, not in front of the steps, not while kneeling in the funeral hall, not when a procession of officials came to the manor to present their respects in turn.
Xiao Xun was overwhelmed by the amount of strangers coming and going in the residence, some of them wracked with sobs, all of them with grave eyes. He hid in his parents’ courtyard, causing a minor scandal among the servants but a word from Lu Yizhi silenced any loose tongue.
After his son fell asleep in Lu Yizhi’s embrace, Xiao Jiming went to Xiao Chiye’s courtyard.
His brother was sitting under the eaves, watching the snow. Clothed in mourning white, he drowned in the landscape. A fuming cup of tea remained untouched on the low table. When Xiao Jiming settled beside him, Xiao Chiye didn't acknowledge his presence, eyes lost in contemplation.
They sat in silence for a long time.
At some point, when the tea had completely cooled down, his brother spoke.
“He said…” Xiao Chiye paused. His voice was rough, each word scraping. “He said he was returning the favour in kind, because Father took his brother's head.”
It was easy to guess who'd said those words that haunted Xiao Chiye.
“Then you've denied him his revenge. It's your head Hasen will want in return.”
“I'll kill him.”
The words were so blunt, so heavy with anger and grief, that for a single moment Xiao Jiming allowed himself to feel his own anger, his own grief. Under the cover of night, with no one else to hear, he said,
“You will.”
Xiao Chiye spoke no more. The wind howled through the night.
Xiao Jiming rarely slept in the past few days. He would remain in his study through the rotation of watchmen striking the clapper, ostensibly to pore over military reports. The truth was he'd hold the same report in his hands through the night, making no sense of the words if he read at all, or hold a brush for so long it would dry out without being used once.
The aches in his body, that he'd endured for many years, had surged forth with a savagery that left him lightheaded. He was stuck in a state of lethargy, unable to find rest.
“Xiao-lang.”
Xiao Jiming almost knocked over the brush rack.
He turned to see Lu Yizhi walk into the study on quiet feet, closing the door behind her. The candle she held illuminated her weary face. She had draped one of his heavy furred robes over her night clothes. It dragged on the floor, engulfing her.
“Yizhi, you should be sleeping. It's late.”
“It's late now but soon it'll be early. Come to bed with me.”
“In a moment. There are still some matters to attend to,” he said, gesturing at his desk.
“Xiao-lang,” she called in a soft voice. She seemed to have more to say but hesitated.
Leaving the candle on the table, she shuffled over to settle on his lap. Xiao Chiye had remarked that he'd lost weight since his injury, but so had Lu Yizhi. Anxiety, the harsh winter and war time had rendered her so frail, her bones bird-like. He kissed each of her palms in turn. Her fingers so slender, so cold against his own skin, were nicked in several places from sewing winter coats all day. He pressed his mouth against them.
“Don't fall ill because of me, Yizhi. I couldn't forgive myself.”
“My husband,” she said, softer still. “It's now on your shoulders that rests the weight of Libei. So bright is the glory you cast upon us, so heavy a burden it is to carry.”
“I carry it as my father did, as I ought to.” The mere mention of Xiao Fangxu was a struggle. He swallowed once against the strain in his throat. “Six years ago, when they took A-Ye from us, there was nothing I could do. And now I lost Father. What's the use of glory? What's the use of military might if I can't protect my family?”
She cupped his face to meet his gaze, running her thumb over his jaw. “When grief takes root, it becomes a poison. It blinds and gnaws away at the heart.”
“I cried when Mother died, and I didn't understand then why Father hadn't. I do now.”
The Prince of Libei couldn't afford to grieve. The war was still raging, the Biansha would make use of the fallen morale to launch another heavy assault. Xiao Jiming had to find a way out of this predicament, or they wouldn't make it past the winter months. There was no time to cry.
“Xiao-lang, you are not Xiao Fangxu.”
“I know.”
“Libei has a Prince and that Prince is Xiao Jiming. You don't have to be Xiao Fangxu.”
“I know,” he repeated, closing his eyes.
“Husband and wife are one, we share bliss and sorrow alike. I ensure the sanctity of our union, so that there will always be a place where you can find solace–” she removed his crown with nimble fingers, “–where you can put down the heavy mantle of Prince and be my Xiao-lang.”
He remained silent for a long moment. There was so much he wished to say, remorse, pain and gratitude, all the love in him that bled like an open wound, but the words had rusted in his mouth. Instead, he leaned forward until he rested on her chest, close to her heart.
“I'm tired, Yizhi,” he said in a quiet voice.
Lu Yizhi cradled his head in her arms. The heavy robes were filled with her fragrance, her hair falling like a curtain around him. He counted each steady heartbeat as her fingers carded through his hair.
Eyes closed, for the first time since his mother's death, he allowed himself to mourn.
Shen Zechuan arrived in Dajing in a matter of days. He bowed to Xiao Jiming in the main hall, then went to pay his respects to Xiao Fangxu.
When Xiao Jiming passed by his brother's courtyard that evening, Xiao Chiye and Shen Zechuan were sitting before the open curtain, bundled in heavy coats. They spoke in low voices with their heads bowed towards each other.
He left.
Among Shen Zechuan's retinue was his head advisor Yao Wenyu. The two of them were quite a conspicuous sight. The servants lingered in the halls attempting to catch a glimpse of these twin jades.
Xiao Jiming had only met Hai Liangyi's precious disciple once, at a formal banquet held in Qudu over a decade ago. He'd been a teen under his father's wing then, Yao Wenyu younger still, but the boy had left an impression on him. He'd left an impression on everyone, truth be told. How many scholars in the capital could outwit the masters hand-picked by Emperor Guangcheng's administration, let alone a child? Yao Wenyu was the promise of revival for the illustrious Yao clan.
He had been placed on a pedestal so tall, so untouchable, one could think him a heavenly sage exiled to earth from hear-say alone.
Now forsaken by the imperial college and relegated to a wheelchair, his wrists so thin and skin so pale, he was like a crane shot down from the sky. How high he'd flown, how hard he'd fallen.
Though the Prince of Libei manor was modest compared to those of the nobles in Qudu, they still followed the rules of propriety and offered a private courtyard to Yao Wenyu and Qiao Tianya, the guard assigned to him.
Xiao Jiming found the two of them on the walkway under the plum trees. Yao Wenyu had a coat about his shoulders and a blanket covering his legs. A book sat open on his lap, but he wasn’t reading. He was looking towards the setting sun, towards Qudu.
The two men bowed in greeting when he came close. The cat that had been nipping at Yao Wenyu’s fingers hurried to hide into his sleeve.
“I had someone summon the physician in residence to your courtyard,” Xiao Jiming said.
“Thanking your Lordship for the solicitude,” Yao Wenyu’s voice was clear, precise like wind chimes, “Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done about those legs of mine.”
“Even if recovery is not possible, there are ways to ease the pain. Our medics are used to treating broken limbs and long term injuries.”
A slight smile pulled at Yao Wenyu’s mouth, though no delight reached his eyes. He closed the book and smoothed out the creases from the blanket.
“Your Lordship came back from the battlefield gravely injured and unable to pick up the sword anew, and yet the central administration still quakes at the mere mention of your name. For many years, the noble clans have tried to eliminate your Lordship, but when misfortune befell Libei, they dared not celebrate the deed.”
“There is no investigation in place for the death of Emperor Tianchen. The noble clans will keep accusing Ce’an, and our name will be marked with regicide.”
“Unless the next emperor passes a new judgement. Which of the local officials in Libei still dares look your Lordship in the eye? Who in the capital dares publicly denounce Xiao Jiming for treason? Your Lordship has years of military achievements to rely on, your name carries more prestige than the officials in Qudu.”
“A civil official is owed regards while a general inspires fear. I dare not compare my reputation to that of Yao Yuanzhuo.”
Yao Wenyu’s index finger tapped on the book as he considered his next words. “I, Yao Wenyu, have nothing to my name. No achievements, no connections, no favours to call on. My teacher kept me from the quagmire of the court and I am forever in his debt for the freedom he gifted me. And yet…”
“Yet you missed the opportunity to gather allies,” Xiao Jiming said, not unkindly. “There is no such thing as impartiality for prodigies in war times, if they choose no master, they will be ambushed from all sides.”
Yao Wenyu looked at the Hongyan mountains in the horizon, his long fingers loosely intertwined over the blanket.
“I have paid dearly,” he said, “for escaping the yoke of my name.”
His eyes, that reflected the dying sunlight, were bright. Xiao Jiming had the impression that he was crying, but no tears would come, as if he had none left.
Changing the subject, Xiao Jiming said, “You have followed the lead of Qi Huilian and cast in your lot with Shen Zechuan. There has to be something extraordinary about the Prefectural Lord for him to draw the favour of not one, but two talents seen once a generation.”
“Your Lordship is too generous. I have no likeness to the esteemed Grand Mentor Qi other than being a student of the imperial college, and drawing the opprobrium from my peers. The Prefectural Lord has greatly suffered from the Biansha invasion six years ago. He has at heart the dignity of Dazhou and the prosperity of its people.”
“Is that why Ce’an chose him?” Xiao Jiming wondered, “The dignity of Dazhou and the prosperity of its people?”
“Second Master’s goals and values align with that of the Prefectural Lord, and while the two of them are vying for power, there would be no overlap between their respective jurisdictions. Their partnership came as a natural development.”
“Is that so?” Xiao Jiming’s gaze drifted towards the opposite wing of the residence, where his brother’s courtyard was situated. “It is true that beyond a respectable background, shared sensibilities are essential to a harmonious marriage.”
After wallowing in despair for six years in Qudu, had Shen Zechuan ignited Xiao Chiye’s desire to return home, buried deep under his sense of duty? Xiao Jiming remembered asking a fourteen year old Xiao Chiye what kind of woman he wanted to marry, only to have him point to the moon, bright and aloof. Yao Wenyu was made from the same mold as his Lord, clever, beautiful and unreachable and yet his brother never looked at him. There was something more.
His brother was a son of the Hongyan mountains through and through, in love with the wind, the sky and the wilderness.
Perhaps he had found his freedom in Shen Zechuan.
When Xiao Jiming looked back at the two men, they were staring at him with wide eyes. Yao Wenyu lowered his gaze in an instant, as though having transgressed propriety. Schooling his expression, he said, “I dare not speak for Second Master.”
Xiao Jiming found his son in Xiao Chiye's courtyard, as he often did these days, since this was the place Shen Zechuan was most likely to be in when not handling official matters in the main hall. Xiao Xun had taken almost immediately to Shen Zechuan, following close behind like a duckling and asking to be led around by his hand alone.
Ding Tao and Li Xiong, whom Xiao Chiye had assigned to Shen Zechuan’s protection, were playing by the pond in his courtyard. They stood up straight when Xiao Jiming passed by them on the walkway.
Shen Zechuan was writing at the table, his sleeve slightly pulled back, exposing the sharp bones of his wrist. Two of his fingers were bandaged. He’d allegedly missed losing them entirely by a hair during the battle in Dunzhou. Still, his strokes were assured, decisive.
Qi Huilian had been the Grand Mentor of the late crown prince, and he had clearly taught Shen Zechuan as he did his first student. His posture was exquisite, as was his elocution, as were his manners. Even in casual settings, he would sit on his heels, his back and neck straight, only his gaze lowered to the material under scrutiny. During audiences or when dispatching orders, he spoke clearly, his words exacting, his positions firm but not domineering.
One could mistake him for royalty, if his reputation did not precede him. And even that reputation was hard to believe, so refined his bearing was.
Beside him, Xiao Xun slept soundly, head pillowed on his arms. A white coat had been draped over him, the thick fur engulfing his form almost entirely.
When Xiao Jiming approached, Shen Zechuan put the brush down and bowed low.
“Your Lordship,” he greeted. “Xiao Xun fell asleep from exhaustion. Given the circumstances, I've deemed it reasonable to let him rest when he's able to.”
Xiao Jiming nodded. Until he recovered from his injuries, he couldn’t carry his son, lest the stitched muscles tore anew, but he was loath to wake him when his sleep had been fitful for days. In any case, opportunities to speak with Shen Zechuan in private were scarce, both of them up to their necks in political and military affairs. He sat at the table.
“Your Lordship wanted to see me?”
“There's no need to stand on ceremony. Knowing A-Ye, we would already be family if it weren't for the war.”
Shen Zechuan stared for a long while.
“Your Lordship means to say…” he paused, but still couldn't find the words.
Xiao Jiming frowned. Was Shen Zechuan not aware…? He had some suspicion since talking to Yao Wenyu, but surely his brother wouldn’t–
“Upon his return, A-Ye announced to the whole of Libei that the two of you were husband and wife.”
Shen Zechuan opened his mouth but no answer came.
The two successive Princes of Libei had an atypical vision of marriage compared to the rest of nobility–choosing a single principal wife, refusing to take concubines, showing no interest in political matches. Xiao Jiming wouldn’t have faulted his brother for observing the widespread custom of entertaining multiple partners, but he would not sanction a marriage by force.
And he would have Xiao Chiye dragged back from the training grounds right this instant to receive a sound beating.
“I was under the impression that the decision was a common agreement,” he said slowly.
Shen Zechuan regained his composure at once. He seemed to re-evaluate their relationship in an instant, making subtle adjustments to his tone and demeanour, appearing softer, almost filial.
“It was, thanking dage for the consideration. I have chosen Ce’an and am honored to have been chosen by him in return. We’d initially resolved to propose marriage after the war. Pray forgive Ce'an his eagerness.” He bowed his head slightly, hands clasped. “Thanking dasao as well for the battle horse gifted to me a few months ago. Ce'an has been teaching me to ride so that your generosity will be well deserved.”
“Have you found a name for the horse?”
“Feng Ta Shuang Yi.”
A perfect match for Xiao Chiye, Xiao Jiming echoed his wife's pronouncement.
“I have yet to repay you for taking Xun-er under your tutelage.”
“It’s a modest contribution in exchange for Libei’s hospitality, there’s no need for compensation. I will convey your gratitude to Yuanzhuo.”
Xiao Xun would soon be of age to start school, but with the war ravaging the plains, many civilians had relocated to Luoxia Pass or Huaizhou. Finding a teacher in Dajing was as difficult as ascending to heaven. With no other alternative, Xiao Jiming intended to call on his and Xiao Chiye’s old teacher who had moved to Juexi for retirement a few years back.
The arrival of Yao Wenyu in the residence was like a boon from the gods. When Xiao Xun was not with Shen Zechuan, he would look for Yao Wenyu instead, to listen studiously to the classics or practice calligraphy.
Although Xiao Chiye was not entirely pleased with this development, he dared not say a word of it to his brother. Xiao Fangxu had already set the terms of this arrangement; Libei would support Shen Zechuan in the struggle for power, but to reclaim the deer of Dazhou, Shen Zechuan needed an heir. That heir would be Xiao Xun.
Xiao Jiming ran a gentle hand through his son's hair, causing him to sigh in his sleep.
“Seeing dage with Xun-er, it is reminiscent of your relationship with Ce’an.”
Xiao Jiming looked up in surprise. “In what way?”
“Dage is concerned about Ce’an’s military achievements as it’s the main aspect Ce’an measures his own worth with. But you’re content to have Ce’an home and in good health.”
Xiao Jiming remembered that bleak night six years ago when, upon being confined in Qudu by the emperor, Xiao Chiye had lashed out in front of Zhao Zui Temple. Xiao Jiming had not uttered a single word in the aftermath, but his brother had meekly sought him out the following day to ask for forgiveness.
Xiao Chiye had never acted this way with their father. He had acted this way with their mother.
“I have always been likened to our mother, while A-Ye inherited everything from our father. Perhaps it is only consistent that I would care for my son’s health more than his station.”
“One need not be a mother to care for a child. My shifu likewise expresses concern primarily for my health. It was my teacher who was preoccupied with the advancement of my rank.”
Still stroking his son’s head, Xiao Jiming considered the words.
“Who would ensure both for Xun-er in Qudu?” he asked, more to himself than his companion.
Shen Zechuan gave no answer, as it was not his place, but his gaze did not waver.
Lu Guangbai barged into Xiao Jiming's study.
“Jiming! Is it true what they say?! Ce'an and Shen Zechuan, they–” He cut himself off, checked the empty walkway, shut the door, then continued in a softer voice, “They're married? When did that happen?”
Xiao Jiming could feel the start of a headache. He gestured for Lu Guangbai to sit, while Zhao Hui filled a cup of tea for him.
“It didn't happen. A-Ye disclosed his relationship with Shen Lanzhou to Father, and the announcement was inflated all the way to marriage. They do call each other husband and wife nonetheless, so the rumour persists.”
“They're really together,” Lu Guangbai said in a daze, “And you allowed it?”
“If A-Ye wants to marry him, who can stop him?” Were Libei to refuse his intended, Xiao Chiye would simply sneak out one night, then return to his post the following day, newlywed. Somewhat endeared, mostly exasperated, Xiao Jiming said, “He's too much like Father.”
“And like you. Runs in the bloodline, it seems.” Lu Guangbai sighed with emotion. “They grow up so fast. It still seemed like yesterday when Ce’an could fit on my shoulders.”
“Don’t talk like your old man just yet, you’re not even married.”
“Our Bianjun commandery has not a beauty in sight, Marshal Qi’s distinguished father is hoarding them in his residence. Maybe I should look towards Libei, Yizhi is always praising the brave daughters of the grasslands.”
“Guangbai, I implore you not to mention it to Yizhi.”
How many sleepless nights had they suffered as Lu Yizhi scoured the land in search of a bride for Xiao Chiye? Now that the ordeal was over with, Xiao Jiming wouldn’t allow it to start anew, even for a bosom friend.
“So when’s the grand wedding?” Lu Guangbai asked.
“They’re waiting for the end of the war. Libei is at a critical juncture, the swift unification of Zhongbo will be decisive. ”
“Is it wise to wait?”
Xiao Jiming brushed aside the foam on his tea. He thought about his father, who disregarded the six etiquettes and had wedding gifts sent to Shen Zechuan as soon as Xiao Chiye expressed his intent. Xiao Fangxu himself married during the war; bride and groom had just bowed thrice when he had to rush back into battle, with barely a moment to share the nuptial wine on horseback.
For those fighting at the frontier, time was more precious than the gold of the empire.
The door slammed open.
“Jiming!” Qi Zhuyin called out, “What's this I hear? You gave Shen Zechuan your brother and your son?!”
Lu Guangbai choked on his tea. “Your son?!”
Xiao Jiming rested his forehead on his palm, in a rare breach of decorum.
Mother in Dajing and Father in the grasslands, the whole of Libei nestled between their gazes. An era of peace finally settled in the land, granting repose to the brittle bones of fallen soldiers under their feet. Orange jasmine were in bloom, the sight just perfect for festivities.
Xiao Jiming watched speechless as Xiao Chiye and the emperor rode off into the summer rain at their own wedding.
When they returned, flushed and dishevelled and entirely beyond propriety, no one dared censure the emperor for instigating such breach of convention. Mostly because breaches of convention had become part of the course for the Chunsheng Emperor's court, but also because, as the saying went, a smiling face ought not be struck.
Xiao Jiming had no such reservation and gave Xiao Chiye a sound beating.
Still, he saved the wine for his brother as promised and they made merry well into the night.
When Xiao Jiming eventually went to bed, shy of sunrise, Lu Yizhi broke the news. In the cocoon of dawn, warm behind the heavy canopy curtains, she stroked his arm, like a cat flexing her paw.
“My husband,” she said sweetly, “the heavens have blessed us.”
Xiao Jiming hummed in inquiry.
She caught his hand that was holding her waist and brought it lower over her belly. Then, against his mouth, she whispered, “Our family is growing.”