Chapter 30

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Chapter 30 – Tears at the Corners of His Eyes, Red-Rimmed and Disgraced

The attendant immediately turned to cautiously observe Wei Yan’s expression.

Wei Yan said in a low voice, “Bring it here.”

Only then did the attendant go to the study’s entrance and carefully carry the brocade box over to the desk.

Wei Yan’s sharp, aging phoenix eyes studied the box in front of him. It was clearly old—its brocade covering had yellowed with age.

He tapped open the keyhole and lifted the lid. The moment he saw what was inside, his gaze darkened at once.

Seeing his expression change, the attendant glanced inside as well. At the sight of the contents, he cried out in alarm, “He… He Jingyuan has already seen the letter?”

Inside the brocade box lay a letter and a black iron token.

Wei Yan raised his hand and picked up the letter. The envelope was aged, but the seal remained intact. There was no signature, and it looked as though someone had carefully placed an old document inside a newer envelope a long time ago.

“He didn’t dare open it,” Wei Yan said, voice low.

He raised his hand and tore open the envelope. Inside was, as expected, another letter—this one already unsealed. Both the letter paper and its original envelope were yellowed with age, and stained with dried blood that had long since oxidized into a pale yellow hue.

Scrawled across the envelope were the bold, forceful characters: To Uncle Meng, with respect.

Though Wei Yan had long ruled the court by manipulating the emperor to command the lords, and his domineering presence was much criticized in the court, few could deny the renown of his calligraphy. Among the great calligraphers of their generation, he still held a place of honor.

Anyone who had ever seen his brushwork would recognize that the words on the envelope had been penned by him.

At the sight of the inner letter, the cold austerity on Wei Yan’s face eased ever so slightly. Even so, his eyes remained sharp and hawk-like. “I sent death guards of the Xuan rank to retrieve this. Why did it end up in He Jingyuan’s hands?”

The attendant bowed his head, cold sweat dripping. “This old servant will send someone to investigate at once.”

Wei Yan raised a hand to stop him, signaling there was no need. Among the items delivered alongside the brocade box was a memorial from Jizhou. He opened and read it, then tossed the document onto the desk.

“He’s asking me to spare the two daughters of that traitorous dog.”

The attendant had served at Wei Yan’s side for many years and was well-versed in reading the nuances of his master’s words. A glance at the memorial from He Jingyuan—reporting that mountain bandits had attacked Qingping County, killing several innocent households before being subdued—was enough for him to grasp the meaning behind Wei Yan’s remark.

He Jingyuan had recovered the object Wei Yan desired and was now hoping Wei Yan would withdraw, sparing the two daughters of that man.

The attendant’s eyes flickered with understanding. “General He likely acted out of sentiment for your past camaraderie. You previously tasked him with testing his loyalty by ordering the execution of those two girls—and he carried it out. From that, it seems he has always been loyal. It may only be a moment of softness… the pity of a man for women.”

Wei Yan sneered. “Do you believe he had this item from the start? Or do you believe, as he claims in the memorial, that he mistakenly took it during a suppression campaign in Qingping, having confused our Xuan-ranked death guards for bandits, and only then realized I was searching for it?”

The attendant considered carefully. “You had someone follow up after instructing him to kill those two. From what we’ve seen, General He appeared unaware of the object’s nature. It seems likely the latter.”

Wei Yan said coldly, “Better to kill a thousand by mistake than to let one slip. Though he did not open the letter, the fact that he used it to beg mercy for that traitor’s daughters means he has already guessed what it is.”

The attendant ventured cautiously, “Do you mean to deal with him… the same way you did with the Marquis?”

He made a slicing gesture across his neck.

Wei Yan stared at the memorial on the desk, lost in thought for a long while before finally shaking his head. “The Battle of Jinzhou was more than sixteen years ago. Yet only a few months ago, the deaths of Crown Prince Chengde and Xie Linshan suddenly resurfaced among the common folk. That my Zheng’er would investigate the battle records from that campaign—it can’t be coincidence. Someone must have guided him there. And now, though that person hasn’t shown themselves, they’ve already forced my hand to break the best blade I had.”

His voice suddenly turned sharp. “The military stalemate in Chongzhou may also be their doing, sabotaging us from the shadows. If I lose He Jingyuan as well, the entire southwest will fall into enemy hands. That traitorous dog must have known what was coming—he told his daughters nothing of what happened back then. Just two ignorant girls. Harmless. Let them live—for now.”

The attendant promptly praised, “Prime Minister, your foresight is unmatched.”

But in his heart, he understood. Wei Yan was sparing He Jingyuan not out of mercy, but pragmatism. So long as He Jingyuan, even after learning the truth of the Jinzhou campaign, remained a useful blade, his life would be spared. The traitor who had turned against Wei Yan had left only two daughters behind. Women. Hardly a threat. No cause for concern.

But Xie Zheng was different.

The enmity of a father’s murder could never be forgiven.

And so, it was the person lurking in the shadows who struck first—setting a trap within the conflict at Chongzhou, bringing down Dayin’s young war god, the one who had earned his marquis title through battlefield merit in his youth.

Wei Yan paid no mind to the attendant’s flattery. He cast one final glance at the letter, its paper yellowed by sixteen years of time, then tossed it into the brazier by the desk.

The glowing silver-charcoal flared, burning an instant hole through the sheet. As the scorched brown hollow spread outward, the entire letter was slowly consumed by flame. Sixteen years of bloodshed and turmoil seemed to dissolve into ash and smoke, and with it, the truth of that war was lost—forever erased from history.

The firelight reflected in Wei Yan’s eyes as he said in a low voice, “Let the Chongzhou front remain under He Jingyuan for now. Whoever’s so desperate to drag the Jinzhou campaign from sixteen years ago back into daylight—they won’t stop here. Send death guards of the Di rank to monitor the situation closely. If there’s another stir… I want that rat who stirs the storm from the shadows brought before me.”

The attendant asked, “Could it be Grand Tutor Li’s faction…?”

Wei Yan shook his head. Though aged, his face remained as steady and commanding as a cliff overlooking deep waters. “If that old fox had caught even a trace of the Jinzhou campaign’s secrets back then, he wouldn’t have waited sixteen years to bring it up.”

Wei Yan spoke slowly. “After Crown Prince Chengde died in battle, the Eastern Palace caught fire. The Crown Princess and the imperial grandson both perished in the blaze. The princess’s body could still be identified—half her face remained. But the imperial grandson… his corpse was burned to the point of mummification. Let us hope that the one who died… was truly the imperial grandson.”

The attendant heard the implication behind his words. Cold sweat seeped down his back. “To have died alongside the Crown Princess… it must have been the imperial grandson. Who else in the Eastern Palace could that young child have been?”

Wei Yan only replied, “Let us hope so.”

***

Jizhou.

It was meant to be New Year’s Eve.

But with the court’s forces defeated in Chongzhou—and Jizhou bordering that very front—none of the officials ranked seventh or higher had been able to enjoy a peaceful year-end. All were summoned to the Jizhou prefectural yamen to deliberate countermeasures.

A sealed intelligence dispatch was delivered to He Jingyuan’s desk. After reading it, he could only sigh. “The Prime Minister’s eldest son… it seems he doesn’t think the fire at the Chongzhou front is burning hot enough.”

Standing below, Zheng Wenchang asked, “My lord, why do you say that?”

He Jingyuan handed the official document—bearing the seal of the Northwestern Military Governor—to his subordinate. As it passed from hand to hand around the room, murmurs of concern began to ripple through the assembled officials.

Zheng Wenchang burst out in anger. “Across all of Dayin—one capital and seventeen provinces—the northwest alone holds four. Chongzhou has already rebelled. That leaves only Huizhou, Jizhou, and Taizhou. But Huizhou is a garrison zone. In order to curb military governors’ power, the court has long prohibited stockpiling grain or cultivating fields in garrison zones. Now, only Jizhou and Taizhou can supply food—and Wei Xuan wants each of us to requisition one hundred thousand shi within three days? That’s nothing short of impossible!”

Another official added, “I heard Taizhou couldn’t meet the quota, so just yesterday the military governor sent troops to seize grain by force. They even took the seed stock farmers had saved for spring planting! At this rate, forget sowing next year—surviving this harsh winter will be a miracle for the people.”

“The troops under Wei Xuan don’t see the people as human. Word is they even beat several farmers to death when they resisted surrendering their grain. It hasn’t spread yet, but when it does, the Wei family’s infamy will only grow worse.”

As the officials grew louder in their indignation, He Jingyuan remained silent. Only when their shouting reached its peak did he speak, asking calmly, “Why is it that the northwest can’t produce grain this year?”

The answer was simple: the rations for the hundred thousand soldiers stationed in Huizhou had always been provided by the imperial court. But the chaos in Chongzhou had severed the supply routes. That was the only reason provisions had failed to arrive.

Had the battle at Chongzhou ended sooner, things might not have reached this dire state. But alas, Dayin’s god of war—the Wu’an Marquis—had already fallen there, and the blow to the morale of the three armies could not be overstated.

The new military governor, Wei Xuan, was a man obsessed with fame and achievement. In his haste to seize full command over Huizhou’s hundred-thousand-strong army, he demoted or reassigned nearly all of the Wu’an Marquis’s key officers.

The men Wei Xuan had brought with him knew nothing of the northwest’s terrain or conditions. One defeat followed another. Each failure sapped morale further, dragging out the battlefront and depleting what remained of the garrison’s food supplies.

With Huizhou in crisis, the other three prefectures in the western region should have provided emergency support. Even now, with only two prefectures left able to respond, it shouldn’t have been impossible to gather any grain at all.

Zheng Wenchang—always as volatile as firecrackers—stepped forward and clasped his hands. “I ordered an investigation. Not long ago, a merchant surnamed Zhao purchased large quantities of grain across both Jizhou and Taizhou, offering high prices. The common folk kept only enough seed for spring planting and a bit of coarse grain for themselves. The rest they sold off to get silver for the new year.”

He Jingyuan said, “Look into that Zhao merchant.”

Zheng Wenchang answered with a crisp, “Yes, sir.”

He Jingyuan then added, “It’s New Year’s Eve today. Let’s adjourn here. Go home early, all of you.”

The officials below had all worn grim expressions a moment ago, but upon hearing He Jingyuan’s words, their faces lit up with joy. Still, they suppressed their delight, bowed properly, and departed one by one in order.

Only Zheng Wenchang remained, his brow furrowed tightly.

Once the room had emptied, leaving only him standing there, He Jingyuan rose from behind his desk and, seeing the young man unmoving, asked, “Why haven’t you gone home?”

Zheng Wenchang said with worry, “My lord, Wei Xuan has clearly ordered us to gather one hundred thousand shi of grain within three days. If we fail… what then?”

He Jingyuan replied, “Didn’t I already instruct you to look into that merchant named Zhao?”

Zheng Wenchang said nothing. That merchant had been buying up grain for some time now. Even if they could trace it, if the grain had already been sold elsewhere, it would be too late to help—like trying to quench a fire with a distant stream.

He Jingyuan suddenly stopped walking. He turned toward the young man before him, gaze steady and kind. “You want me to be like Wei Xuan? To send our people to snatch grain from the hands of the common folk?”

Zheng Wenchang quickly said he wouldn’t dare, but hesitation still lingered on his face. “But… how will you explain things to the Wei family?”

He Jingyuan said, “There’s always a way. But that way doesn’t involve pressing blades to the people’s throats. Wenchang, it doesn’t matter what the court officials and scholars call us. What matters is this: in our own hearts, we must be clear—we serve this post for the people of Dayin.”

Zheng Wenchang bowed his head in shame. “Your humble subordinate has been taught a lesson.”

He Jingyuan said nothing more.

Outside, snow was falling thick and heavy, like feathers from a goose. As he stepped out of the study, his thoughts drifted not to the weather, but to what he had sent to the capital after learning of the defeat at Chongzhou. Wei Yan must have seen it by now.

If the transfer order from the capital had arrived before Wei Xuan made his move, then there was nothing to fear from him.

Wei Xuan’s urgent push to gather grain likely came from fear—fear of being reprimanded by Wei Yan. That desperation, that eagerness to prove himself, explained everything.

There was no one else left in the northwest. He was the only one Wei Yan could still use. If Wei Yan was willing to take that risk to buy those two girls a chance at life… then perhaps it would work.

And this—this was all he could do.

In the distance, firecrackers exploded through the alleys, their sharp cracks echoing across the snow-covered streets. He Jingyuan’s gaze turned distant, a shadow of complexity and sorrow flickering in his eyes.

“During the New Year, we always ought to burn offerings for those on the other side. There’s someone… someone no one remembers to honor anymore. I don’t have the face to see him myself. Wenchang, come with me. Let’s take a trip outside the city. Burn some paper money on my behalf—for an old friend.”

Zheng Wenchang gave a solemn nod.

A carriage rolled out from the main gates of Jizhou, coming to a halt at the foot of a hillside.

The mountain wind howled. He Jingyuan personally lit the incense. After bowing three times toward the north, he placed the sticks into the ground and then stepped aside, allowing only Zheng Wenchang to remain and burn the spirit money at the site.

The wind stirred the flames, and a stack of half-burned paper money scattered across the hillside. The white ashes and fluttering sheets mixed into the snow-covered landscape, adding a bleak and mournful tint to the already desolate scene.

When Zheng Wenchang descended the small slope after finishing the offerings, he saw He Jingyuan standing with his back to him, his expression faintly sorrowful.

On the way back, he couldn’t help but ask, “My lord, you’ve always been known for your fairness and compassion. Why do you say you’re ashamed to face your old friend?”

He Jingyuan sat with his eyes closed in the carriage, as if resting. At the question, he merely replied, “In times like these, there are always things one must do against their will.”

***

Lin’an Town.

Soggy spirit money, soaked and torn, lay scattered over the trampled snow.

When the wind picked up, some of the paper was still lifted into the air, spinning wildly.

The road, slick with melted snow, had turned to a mess of mud. Fan Changyu carried Changning in her arms as she carefully walked along the edge of a field. Xie Zheng followed behind, expression unreadable, carrying a bamboo basket stuffed full of incense, candles, and paper offerings.

It was a town tradition—on New Year’s Eve, one must visit the graves of departed loved ones to offer incense, light candles, and burn spirit money.

Fan Changyu’s parents were buried just outside the town, on a hill famed for its excellent feng shui.

Because the graves were still fresh, little weeds had had time to grow. Once they arrived, Fan Changyu gently set Changning down.

Though it had been nearly two months since their parents passed, the moment Changning saw the twin mounds of earth, her grape-like eyes welled up with tears. “Papa… Mama…”

Fan Changyu stroked her younger sister’s head, gently coaxing, “Don’t cry—it’s New Year’s. We should be happy, so they can rest easy watching over us from heaven.”

Little Changning sniffled hard, doing her best to hold back the tears.

After lighting the incense and candles, Fan Changyu had Changning kneel and bow before the graves. She herself took the paper offerings from the bamboo basket and began burning them in a metal basin meant for collecting ash.

Once she finished kowtowing, Changning crouched beside her sister to help burn the paper. She noticed Xie Zheng standing to the side and generously handed him a large stack from her pile. “Brother-in-law, burn some paper!”

Xie Zheng hesitated for a moment, then took the offerings and joined in. The smell of burning ash was sharp and acrid. Smoke curled upward, stinging Changning’s eyes until she had to retreat, squinting, to a spot farther away.

Only Fan Changyu and Xie Zheng remained beside the brazier.

He noticed she had divided the spirit money into four equal stacks. “Who are the other two for?” he asked.

Fan Changyu replied, “My maternal grandfather and grandmother. It used to be my parents who made offerings for them. Now that they’re gone too, I figured I’d burn some for them all together.”

Xie Zheng furrowed his brow slightly, though his expression didn’t change. Her mother hadn’t even known her original surname—how could she possibly have known her parents’ birth dates and zodiac signs?

More and more, he suspected that the memorial tablet for her mother had deliberately omitted the family name.

As for why her father’s surname hadn’t been hidden—either “Fan” wasn’t truly his original surname, or… it was a name he had adopted later in life.

Though his mind was filled with doubts, he had no intention of asking what her grandfather’s surname was.

He already had a good guess. And if he asked, she’d likely know nothing anyway.

Fan Changyu noticed his silence and assumed he was thinking of his own late parents. Generously, she said, “There’s more spirit money at home. Later, you can burn some for your parents too.”

Xie Zheng held a piece of spirit money between his long fingers, watching the flames curl its edges. His features, faintly illuminated by firelight and shrouded in drifting smoke, showed a trace of detached calm. “Do you really think burning this stuff does anything?”

Fan Changyu genuinely didn’t have a solid answer. After a moment’s thought, she said, “Maybe it does. The old folks always say, once a person passes on, they need money to grease the wheels with the underworld’s officials. Otherwise, they’ll suffer. And even if it doesn’t do anything… it’s still a way of remembering them.

To burn spirit money during the New Year was to prove that someone in the living world still remembered the dead.

Xie Zheng said nothing more. From time to time, he simply tossed another handful of spirit money into the brazier, his lashes lowered just enough to obscure whatever emotion might be in his eyes.

He added so much paper at once that the fire couldn’t keep up—thick smoke began to billow from the basin. Fan Changyu was nearly brought to tears from the stinging ash. She turned her face aside and closed her eyes, saying, “Don’t throw in so much at once.”

Reaching into the basket for more offerings, her hand brushed not paper but a cool, steady palm.

She jerked back like she’d been shocked, pulling her hand away in a flash. Her apricot eyes, now rimmed with tears from the smoke, blinked open in embarrassment and dismay. “Sorry.”

But the warmth of that brief touch still lingered on the back of her hand.

Xie Zheng pressed his lips together slightly. He had meant to say “It’s nothing.” But when he looked up and saw her tear-brimmed eyes and the redness at the corners, disheveled and vulnerable—he froze, just for a moment.