1. Chapter 1

Part One

Meng Zhi woke up the day after his capping ceremony feeling distinctly the same as he did before it: too young, too foolhardy, too inferior.

There was nothing for it but to wander to his mother’s quarters and ask to see her. He could only pray that she was well enough for company, given the exertions of the day before. She had put forth a lot of her limited energy to arrange and oversee the capping ceremony and subsequent feast.

He was eventually granted entrance by Ye Qiao, the aged female doctor who guarded his mother like a hawk and who was, for all intents and purposes, Meng Zhi’s third grandmother. He bowed to her in thanks, and carefully, softly, entered the main room. It was, as always, a little too warm for his own comfort and smelled of fragrant but medicinal incense.

“My little boy is still seeking his mother’s counsel? What will people say,” she said with a smirk as she poured him a cup of rejuvenating tea prepared for them by one of her younger handmaidens.

“Mother,” Meng Zhi said, unashamed of whining. His head hurt.

“It is not my fault you drank too much last night.” She sipped delicately and ruthlessly from her cup.

“Mother.” He sighed.

She straightened up at the tone. “My son, you are twenty years old now, and a man of this family. What is it that bothers you so much to come running to hide in my skirts?”

“The exams.” He stared at his empty cup.

“Ah.”

They sat silently together for a moment before she rallied. “I’m certain you will do well.”

“Doing well is not the same as passing.”

“Few pass the Imperial Exams the first time they try.” She waved for the handmaiden to refill the teapot with hot water, and slowly set about making them more tea. They both ignored the way her arms shook a little with the strain.

He sighed again. “Mother, we both know I will never pass.”

She opened her mouth, but then closed it. He was glad she at least had the honor of not lying to him. She looked out over his shoulder to her private courtyard. “You still must take it.”

“Why?” He was whining again, and even less ashamed about it despite her glare.

“Because it is expected. Because we are not a noble family but a wealthy one with many connections to court. Because it is what is done. Because it is filial.”

All of those things were true, of course, but did not change the fact that he, Meng Zhi, was not a scholar and never would be. He had been taking private tutoring for the exams for years, and still could not write a decent poem if his life depended on it, much less anything resembling proper Confucian theory.

“I am doomed,” he said, slumping over.

“You are overly dramatic and need to stop spending so much time playing with your baby sisters.” She clucked at him, but the tone was fond. They both knew that nothing would ever stop Meng Zhi from playing with his baby sisters. Then she reached across the table and put her hand over his, her skin chilled to the touch and yet so soft, so loving. “My dearest son, I have known since you were a boy that you were never meant to serve the Emperor as a minister. It is not your temperament. You take after me.” She glanced over at her sword, sitting majestic and lonely on its stand, untouched for years but still filling Meng Zhi with the images of the stories his mother spun for him in his youth about her adventures in the Jianghu. She had once promised to take him on his own adventures, but those dreams faded along with her health.

She pulled her hand back, slowly, with a heavy sigh. “But your father wants his only son to carry this family forward, up the ladder into the nobility, and you cannot do that by being a merchant. Not honorably, at least, and you are an exemplary man of honor.”

He gnawed on his lower lip. “I could marry?”

She frowned at him. “You will marry, that is not up for debate!” She soothed her own ruffled feathers, tugging on her sleeves. “Such a son! I expect many grandchildren, you ungrateful brat.”

He bowed, grinning. “I will do my duty, Mother, I promise.” Then he sat up again. “But to marry above my station is not something all of father’s money can buy, is it?”

Instead of answering, she took a long sip of her tea and stared intently at him. She then set the cup down, the glossy dark blue of the glaze accentuating the delicacy of her wrists and her gaunt, yet elegantly graceful, fingers. “True. But I think we must look beyond Imperial exams and lucky marriages to set the fate of the Mengs upon a fortuitous path.”

It sounded like she was reciting part of a poem he should recognize, but of course he didn’t. “How?”

“You have been studying martial arts for years.”

For longer than he had been studying for the exams, even. He started on his mother’s hip, learning the stances as she moved through them until they sang in his blood. She was his first teacher, and he learned to love sparring and fighting from her. He was exceptionally good at it, much to his father’s chagrin. He nodded.

She studied his face intently and he tried not to squirm since he was officially an adult man and not five years old. “You are good at math, and weiqi,” she added thoughtfully.

“How will any of that help me with the Imperial Exams?”

But she did not answer him, instead pouring them tea again, her handmaiden hovering nearby, ready to to grab the teapot just in case his mother’s strength faltered. But in this, as in so many things, she remained steady.

“You leave this to me, silly boy.” She grinned and Meng Zhi smiled back at her, his heart full of love for this fragile, fierce woman who always protected him, even from his own failings.

Part Two

Meng Zhi flew over the roofs of countless houses and businesses, crossing half of Jinling in a chaotic scramble, cussing the whole way.

Ahead of him, Lin Shu and his friend kept appearing and disappearing from his sight, trying but failing to lose him. The boy was swift and clever, so it was definitely a chase that Meng Zhi had to put his back into, but despite his precocious nature Lin Shu was still just an eleven-year-old child and not quite as clever as he thought he was.

“Ah hah!” Meng Zhi grabbed them both by their collars and dropped down into a filthy, dirty alley. “Got you!”

“Let go!” Lin Shu squirmed, snarling like a wet cat.

“I had no idea becoming the attache for Grand Marshal Lin would make me a babysitter but I will not let you or your raggedy friend here besmirch my reputation!” Meng Zhi tried to sound angry but mostly he was relieved to have caught the brat. “Time to take you both back to your father.”

That got a rise out of them but instead of trying to get away again, Lin Shu clawed at the hand holding his friend’s collar. “Let him go!”

“No, I think not.” He looked down at the boy who was obviously a few years older than Lin Shu but still fresh faced. Dressed in worn, grubby robes, he had eyes like a doe and was very pretty, and if Lin Shu were a couple of years older, Meng Zhi would probably be having a different conversation with them both. As it was he shook the boy hard. “You’re coming with us, before I return you to your family.”

“Yes sir,” the boy mumbled, his eyes wide as if in shock.

“No!” Lin Shu howled.

“Yes!” He shook them both again. “You were instructed to stay with young Prince Jing to keep him company! Not run away to cause mischief with commoners! You are the Young Master Lin, and you should act like it!”

“We — uh, I was bored,” Lin Shu grumbled, going limp. He was very proud and did not take criticism well, but at least he knew he was in the wrong.

Meng Zhi sighed. It was not that he didn’t sympathize — from what he could tell, life in the palace was dreary and stressful, which was not a fun combination and especially not fun for rambunctious young boys. Not that he had any idea if Prince Jing was rambunctious, as he had never seen him for more than a few moments and from a great distance, but children were the same all over to a certain degree. Even Meng Zhi’s most staid and reserved sister had once released all their chickens and chased them around the courtyards, laughing like a maniac. She had been fourteen at the time.

(Or maybe that was just a family trait.)

In any case, he sympathized with Lin Shu’s decision, even if it was also a very wrong decision. The problem with Lin Shu, he thought, was that while the boy was undeniably brilliant, he was still a boy. He understood the bigger picture, but not the important one. He had been set up to be a companion for Prince Jing because they were closely related and close in age, but above all because the adults around them saw the political alliance that would benefit them when the boys eventually turned into men. The Emperor had kept Prince Jing isolated until Prince Qi had been made crown prince, robbing him of a childhood and childhood friends until his mid-teens. And here was Lin Shu, ducking out on him to go run around the city with some insignificant urchin, probably because he had been bored and did not think the politics of it were as important as the adults around him did.

Meng Zhi, on the other hand, felt there was a more important lesson for the boy to learn than successful politicking. As his mother had reminded his father often, there was more to being a good man than just having connections at court.

He pulled Lin Shu up to dangle him in front of his face. “Shu’er, you will always be able to make friends wherever you go, but Prince Jing will never have that luxury. I know your parents think of it as a political alliance but I ask you to think of spending time with Prince Jing as something more important than that: a friendship.”

Both boys looked at him with wide eyes.

“Prince Jing is a very lonely boy. It is hard for any prince to have a true ally; the palace is a dangerous place to try and make friends. You do him a kindness to spend time with him.”

Lin Shu simply nodded, which was a first. Usually he had a retort for every lecture.

“Ah. Uh, good! Now, time to head back.” He looked around, keeping a firm grip on the boys, and walked out of the alley to a part of town he had never seen before. “Uhm.” He looked up and down the busy street.

“Where are we?” Lin Shu asked.

“You led us here, and you don’t know?” Meng Zhi grumbled at him. He looked at the other boy. “I don’t suppose this is your side of town?”

The boy shook his head solemnly.

He could jump up and orient himself from atop one of the buildings, but carrying two boys would make it hard and he dared not let them go, especially Lin Shu who was never above taking advantage of an advantage when he could.

Off to one side was a quiet boy who looked to be about Lin Shu’s age. “You! Where are we? How do we get back to the eastern quarter?”

The boy was dressed in fine clothes and carried a basket of goods, possibly out shopping for his family. “It is not too far to Zhuque Street,” he said, pointing.

“There’s a coin in it for you if you take us there,” Meng Zhi offered.

The boy shrugged, eyeing the other boys critically. “I do not need the coin. Follow me.” He promptly turned and strode away.

“What’s your name?” Lin Shu called out as Meng Zhi dragged him along.

“My mother told me not to associate with criminals,” the boy said, quietly and primly.

“What? What! We are not criminals!” Lin Shu bounced around in Meng Zhi’s hold, utterly affronted.

“A lieutenant from the Chiyan Army is dragging you around,” the boy said. “Surely if you were innocent he would let you walk on your own?”

He had a simple and direct manner that Meng Zhi appreciated, given the circumstances, and was sharp to make out Meng Zhi’s rank. He laughed. “He has you there, Shu’er.”

“Running away is not a crime!”

“You will make a great minister one day, with your clever legal arguments,” Meng Zhi said thoughtfully. “However I doubt that will save your backside today.”

Lin Shu turned a truly nasty look at Meng Zhi. “I’ll get you for this.”

“No you won’t. If anything I owe you retribution for leading me on this ridiculous chase when I have other duties to attend to. And what am I supposed to do with him?” He nodded at the boy in his other hand, who still seemed to be in shock, his eyes wide.

“Let him go?” Lin Shu perked up hopefully.

“No.” Meng Zhi glanced down at the boy, who had gone pale and bloodless. “Don’t worry, kid, I’m mostly bringing you along as a witness.”

“Hey!”

“Oh no, Shu’er, I don’t trust you at all to tell your father the truth.”

The boy leading them glanced back at Meng Zhi, a gleam in his eyes. “Are you sure they aren’t criminals?”

Meng Zhi laughed while Lin Shu sputtered again. “What is your name?”

“Lie Yang, sir.”

“I’m Lin Shu! This is my friend, uh, A-Yan.”

A-Yan coughed and stumbled.

Lie Yang stopped and pointed at the crossroads they had come to, which Meng Zhi recognized as the southern arm of the Zhuque Road.

“Thank you, Lie Yang. If you will not accept payment, please remember my name: Meng Zhi, of the Chiyan Army. If you ever need assistance ask for me.” He bowed as best he could to the boy, who bowed low in return and started to walk back towards his home.

“Okay you two, we have a solid walk ahead of us, no lagging!” He marched up the road with purposefully long strides, causing the boys to jog to keep up or get dragged behind. When they finally made it to the Lin residence, he was told that Grand Marshal Lin had answered an urgent summons by the Crown Prince to attend to him at the Eastern Palace.

“Just leave us here!” Lin Shu yelled as Meng Zhi set off again, the guards at the manor chuckling at their backs. “Mother will punish me, I promise! Just leave us!”

“After all this work? The hell I will!”

Lin Shu groaned like he was dying and the other boy discreetly, but pointlessly, tried to wiggle himself free the whole way.

Finally, over an hour after he started out, Meng Zhi strolled onto the training grounds of the Eastern Palace, earning a few strange looks from various soldiers as he passed. Grand Marshall Lin stood with Prince Qi, both of them bent close together with very serious expressions on their faces that melted away into shock when they saw him.

The boys had gone completely limp in his hold and he was dragging them like carcasses across the grounds. Meng Zhi got up to the other men and tossed the boys onto the ground with a heavy thud before bowing properly.

Meng Zhi had stumbled over himself the first time he met the Crown Prince, but after just a few months, his tall, calm presence had become familiar so he spoke with confidence. “This one asks forgiveness for barging in, but I found Young Master Lin running around the streets with this commoner boy.”

“Traitor!” Lin Shu hissed at him as he pulled the other boy to his feet.

“Bow,” Meng Zhi hissed back, thwacking them both on the back of their heads until they bowed properly toward their elders. He did not think A-Yan bowed low enough but he had to forgive the boy for not knowing proper etiquette.

He heard a strange coughing noise and looked up to see Prince Qi staring at him with a completely unreadable expression on his face.

“Well, Shu-er, I think you really boiled yourself this time,” Grand Marshal Lin said with a gravity that seemed unwarranted to the situation.

Prince Qi pursed his lips. “I suppose I can call off the rescue mission, now.”

Lin Shu’s expression went still and the blood drained from his face. Meng Zhi watched in morbid fascination as he dropped all the way into a deep kowtow, forehead in the dirt. “It was my idea! I accept full responsibility!”

The other boy startled then did the same thing. “No! It was my idea!”

“With all respect, no one believes that for a second, Your Highness,” Grand Marshal Lin said, talking to A-Yan. Meng Zhi frowned, looking back and forth.

Prince Qi closed his eyes, resignation on his face. “This is, perhaps, justice for my folly in thinking we could leave them alone together. Aiya.” He reached down and grabbed the ear of the commoner and yanked him up. “A-Yan, I do not know why you are dressed like a street urchin but it is time to go back to the palace.” He turned and walked away without another word, gliding gracefully across the yard, the boy’s ear firmly in his grasp. The boy himself was stoic and silent as he was pulled painfully along.

“What?” Meng Zhi asked, staring after them.

Lin Shu remained flat on the ground, silent and unmoving.

“Don’t worry, Lt. Meng. It’s not your fault you did not recognize Prince Jing in that ridiculous costume.” He kicked some dirt over his son’s back. “Your idea, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.” Lin Shu said, as meekly as Meng Zhi had ever heard him.

“Dress him up in dirty clothes, sneak him out of the palace, and go exploring? Without a guard, without any protection at all?” Grand Marshal Lin shook his head.

Understanding fell into Meng Zhi’s brain like a rock. “That was Prince Jing? That was Prince Jing? I chased Prince Jing over half of Jingling and dragged him around like a sack of rice?” He had a vivid memory of slapping the back of the boy’s head and nearly fainted. “Oh no.”

Grand Marshal Lin nodded once, but then shrugged. “I would not worry about it. Prince Qi clearly saw the situation and knows exactly who is at fault.” He glanced up at Meng Zhi again. “He will remember that you brought his younger brother back safely, in one piece. Even if you did drag him here like a sack of rice.” The bastard smirked at him.

Meng Zhi was pretty sure that was not how he wanted anyone, much less the crown prince, to remember him.

Oh, he was definitely going to make Lin Shu pay for his little game.

Part Three

A little over three years as personal attache to Grand Marshal Lin had served Meng Zhi — and his family — better than any number of attempts at the Imperial Exams, and granted him multiple promotions and political opportunities that otherwise would have been closed to him. He did not like the bloody battles at the borders (no one did, he assured himself) but he comported himself well enough to even win a congratulatory scroll written by young Prince Jing himself, which he treasured.

(He still had no idea how his mother had wrangled the appointment for him, but he suspected it had something to do with a great-aunt, a pug nosed dog named Clumsy, and some expensive tea sets. The ways of women were a true mystery, he decided with a vow to simply never ask about it.)

However, despite all of that — or perhaps because of all of that — he remained first and foremost a babysitter to the loud, bright, annoying, and tragically horny fourteen-year-old Lin Shu.

“If you spend another hour describing her ‘exquisite eyelashes’ to me I will throw you out the window and no one will blame me,” Meng Zhi snarled as he tried, again, to focus on his work. His desk was cluttered with the reports of subordinates he was trying to condense for the Grand Marshal’s consumption, and Lin Shu whinging on and on and on about Young Lady Mu’s great beauty was distracting.

“But—”

“No! No, actually, I will not throw you out the window. I will tell your mother how improperly you are describing your twelve-year-old betrothed.” He narrowed his eyes at the boy, who stuck out his jaw but also went a little pale at the threat. “Hmph,” Meng Zhi grumbled and went back to work.

His guards shuffled a little at the door, and he looked up in time for his own attendant to announce Prince Jing himself. Lin Shu straightened up with a wide grin.

After the bows were done, Meng Zhi opened his mouth to inquire about the prince’s visit but was rudely cut short by, of course, Lin Shu.

“Are you here to rescue me, A-Yan?”

The eighteen-year-old prince was far too generous with his affections, Meng Zhi thought, as Prince Jing gave Lin Shu a look that was somehow both annoyed and fond. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Then I will stop, Yanyan!”

“You!”

“Boys,” Meng Zhi rubbed his temples, forgetting (as he often did) that Jingyan was actually an imperial prince who technically outranked him. Whenever he got within sight of Lin Shu the mild-mannered, obedient princeling dissolved and left behind a teenager far too easily felled by peer pressure. Everything really was Lin Shu’s fault in the end, he mused.

Prince Jing cleared his throat, trying to sound older. His voice had started breaking late and he was still self-conscious about it, apparently. “Ah. Yes. I am, actually, here for Shu’er.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Smirking, Prince Jing ignored him. “Prince Yu gifted me a new horse, and I thought Lin Shu might enjoy helping me with it.”

“And by helping, you mean to abscond out of the city and go gallivanting around?” Meng Zhi folded his arms over his chest.

“Of course not,” Prince Jing said with a gravitas he was totally copying from Prince Qi and very clearly did not mean at all, if the gleam in his eyes was any indication. He was shaping up to be a fine soldier, but the poor thing couldn’t lie if his life depended on it.

“Just take a guard with you,” Meng Zhi sighed, nodding at his own second-in-command to ensure the boys did so.

At that point Li Gang stumbled through the door, saw Prince Jing, startled in surprise, bowed, and froze, eyes wide. Meng Zhi rubbed his temples again. He was surrounded by children.

“Come on, Yanyan! Let’s go!” Lin Shu grabbed the prince’s arm and left by way of dragging them both out of the window and...and Meng Zhi was past caring. His second-in-command stared after them in shock before leaping through the window to follow the miscreants, and gods willing, keep them out of trouble.

Not that he’d ever call the prince a miscreant. No, that was reserved for one individual, just one.

“What is it?” He growled at Li Gang, who was still frozen in his bow.

“Eh? Oh.” He stood up when he realized the prince had somehow left. “The window? Really?”

“Li Gang!”

The kid snapped to attention. “Sorry, sir! You have...a visitor?”

“You don’t sound certain of that.”

“He’s definitely a visitor! Sir! Just, ah, rather young?” Li Gang squinted and held up a hand to show how tall the person waiting for him was.

“Did he, perhaps, state his business?” Meng Zhi asked, crossing his arms again.

“No, he didn’t. He said that his name is Lie Yang and you would see him. Rather insistent about it.”

Which was bold of a young boy, but the name rang a bell. “In that case, he is correct. Send him in.”

“What, really?” Li Gang asked, then shook himself. “I mean, yes sir!” He spun out of the room, then returned a few minutes later with a boy who was definitely Lie Yang, if a handspan taller and a few years older.

“Here is the child, sir.” Li Gang said with a bow, finally remembering etiquette.

“You aren’t much older than I am,” Lie Yang said, placid as a lake on a windless day.

“You’re excused, Li Gang,” Meng Zhi said before the boys could get into a damn shoving match (boys! Surrounded by boys! What in his past life earned him such misery?). He came around the desk as Lie Yang bowed low to him.

“Thank you for seeing me, Commander Meng. I am here to ask for your help.”

Meng Zhi sketched a shallow bow in return. “What can this one do for young Master Lie?”

Lie Yang looked surprised for a moment to be addressed so formally, and Meng Zhi took the time to really look at him. His clothes were still of decent quality, but worn and patched. Hems let out, sleeves extended, old stains still visible despite the overall cleanliness.

Lie Yang coughed, a nervous tell, but then looked him straight in the eye. “As I once led you back to the safety of a familiar road, this one is asking that you might do the same for me.”

Interesting. It sounded rehearsed, but not polished. He doubted that the boy’s family knew he was here. He nodded for him to continue.

“My father has died of a wasting disease. He was the only child of his parents, who passed on years ago, and I am the only son of mine. My mother and my two older sisters are all that are left. We have sold our manor and treasures for a small siheyuan in the western quarter, among the tradesmen, but with no income and no dowry for my sisters, our future is bleak.”

“Have you no trade?”

Lie Yang shook his head. “Father was an architect, but gave me over to tutors when I turned ten in order to study for the Imperial Exams. That was three years ago, and I cannot afford tutors anymore. I will not pass the exams.”

Meng Zhi sighed heavily. “Sit.” He motioned toward a low table on the other side of the room and called out for one of his staff to bring them tea. The boy looked small and wan sitting next to a table built for soldiers to work on, but he had a stubborn set to his jaw that Meng Zhi appreciated.

They sat in silence until the tea was poured. “You honor me,” Lie Yang said in gratitude as they drank.

“What can you do?” Meng Zhi asked instead, cutting to the heart of the matter.

“I am good at math, and I am a very good weiqi player.” The boy slumped.

The words, familiar and haunting, struck a chord.

“Have you studied martial arts?”

Surprised, Lie Yang nodded carefully. “Not extensively, but I took lessons twice a week from the time I was a boy.”

He was still a boy, and it looked like Meng Zhi was going to add another one to his long list of young charges. At least this one seemed to have a good grasp of proper manners. Meng Zhi sighed yet again.

“In that case, it seems I do have need of a personal assistant.”

Finally, hope bloomed in Lie Yang’s face, and it was like watching the sun rise at dawn.

Part Four

Grand Marshal Lin was generally a very easy-going man, but his tempers, when they showed up, were justly legendary. He had been stewing the whole morning for reasons that were obscure to Meng Zhi but, if he had to guess, it was probably related to the political instability of relations with Da Yu which somehow just kept getting worse.

Meng Zhi earlier sent Lin Shu off to unscheduled sword practice under the capable guard of Lie Yang, just to keep him out from underfoot. The boys were roughly the same age but Lie Yang’s implacable calm had turned out to be an excellent foil for Lin Shu’s excesses, especially when Prince Jing was around. Unlike other, older guards, Lie Yang could not be shaken nor swayed by Lin Shu, who found it both infuriating and impressive. Prince Jing had once even commented within Lie Yang’s hearing that he admired his ability to wrangle Lin Shu, and Meng Zhi thought he was going to have to dump a bucket of water on Lie Yang’s head to keep the blush from burning him alive.

Meng Zhi himself was treading lightly around the Grand Marshal, knowing that a blow-up was coming but not sure of what might trip it.

It was, of course, Lin Shu.

Lie Yang stood immobile and blank faced as Grand Marshal Lin walked over to stand in front of him. “What?” He asked in that quiet way that meant he was truly, violently, furious. His personal guards did not flinch but Meng Zhi saw them fight it.

“Young Master Lin is...gone. And Honeysuckle is not in her stable.” Lie Yang repeated.

“That fucking brat!” Grand Marshal Lin yelled, spinning around. “I told him not to leave the city today! One day! One day of filial obedience is all I ask! And you!” He turned around and pointed at Lie Yang, who to his credit did not move a muscle. “How the hell did you lose him?” He paused, and just as Lie Yang opened his mouth, slashed a hand through the air. “No! It doesn’t matter! Go get my horse saddled. Get Commander Meng’s horse saddled. Get your horse saddled.” Lie Yang bowed low and practically flew out of the room. “Commander Meng! With me!” He turned to his personal assistant and guards. “Stay here and if my rebellious son shows up, chain him to my desk.”

Everyone bowed and kept their faces pointed at the ground as the Grand Marshal stalked out of the room. It was not uncommon for Grand Marshal Lin to leave his personal guards behind if he was going anywhere with Meng Zhi, which Meng Zhi found both extremely flattering and also extremely nerve-wracking, but there was nothing to be done for it. Such an honor could not be refused, so he simply stopped by his office to grab a few spare knives and his battle sword before meeting his commanding officer at the stables.

Outside the city, he pointed Lie Yang to the north-west and then headed north-east himself, Meng Zhi in his wake. They meandered around for a while before Grand Marshal Lin stopped and let out a huff of annoyance. He looked over at Meng Zhi. “Follow me.”

“You have an idea of where the rascal ran off to, then?” Meng Zhi asked, hoping against hope that the sixteen-year-old had not absconded with his fourteen-year-old betrothed, not that Nihuang would have put up a fight. Those two are unfortunately well matched, he thought with chagrin.

“Mn,” Grand Marshal Lin nodded.

They ended up at what looked like an abandoned barn, which did not assuage Meng Zhi’s concerns at all. But when they got inside, it was not Lin Shu they found.

“Your Highness!” Meng Zhi bowed to the crown prince, trying to cover his confusion.

“Commander Meng. Please, let us sit.” Prince Qi motioned for them to follow him down to the ground. He was dressed like a commoner, the only giveaways being his excellent bearing and ethereal beauty which no amount of dirt could hide.

It was Grand Marshal Lin who spoke next. “I apologize for the subterfuge, Commander Meng, but we needed to speak to you with the utmost privacy.”

Meng Zhi frowned and they let him sit with that in silence for a moment. He thought about sending off Lin Shu earlier, and how the boy had not even argued with him at all, and he thought about just how much effort Grand Marshal Lin and Prince Qi himself — dressed in rags that would horrify Meng Zhi’s own manservant — had put into the subterfuge. He slapped one hand on his knee. “Lin Shu is not really missing, is he?”

Prince Qi gave him a small, approving grin. “No he is not. Prince Jing and Lt. Lie have him squirreled safely away, to be ‘found’ by Lie Yang soon.”

Meng Zhi nodded but did not say anything more. There was nothing for him to say, even as his thoughts churned in his head.

For a brief, terrifying moment the idea that they had decided to pull him into some traitorous plan against the emperor flashed by, and his heart dropped. But he pushed it aside as unworthy of the men before him, who had never shown anything but devotion and loyalty to the emperor. He knew the stories of the emperor’s own ascension, the bloody overthrow of the previous emperor and his other sons. Only the emperor himself and Prince Ji remained of the boys of that generation. He knew that life was a cycle and that such stories had a way of coming back around, in one life or the next, and it was too easy to be dragged into that kind of destruction. One could not outrun a mountain being pulled down.

He trusted them, though.

Then he realized as they all sat in the heavy silence that they trusted him in return. If nothing else, though, such a secret meeting was enough for a paranoid man to name them as enemies, and the emperor was if nothing else exceptionally paranoid. Prince Qi and Grand Marshal Lin were trusting him with their lives.

He willed his heart to calm, and focused on them, waiting.

Prince Qi took a deep breath and looked out through the open doors to the fields beyond. “I am having you transferred to the Imperial Guards.”

Meng Zhi opened his mouth instinctively to protest, but caught himself. He looked over at Grand Marshal Lin in anguish, who shook his head. Meng Zhi could not help but feel the creep of betrayal through his veins.

Prince Qi looked back at him, sympathy clear in his eyes. “I know your home is the Chiyan Army, and that you have an important role there. You have demonstrated your talent, skills, and loyalty time and time again. Which is why I am transferring you. Or rather, Grand Marshal Lin is transferring you. Officially, I have nothing to do with it, or you. Nor will I. When you enter into the Imperial Guard I will ignore you, and you will behave accordingly.”

Meng Zhi nodded, stopped, and reconsidered. Everything was cascading through his mind, thoughts skittering away even as he tried to sort them out. He took a deep breath. “With all due respect, Your Highness, and begging forgiveness for my impudence, but: I do not understand.”

Grand Marshal Lin chuckled, and at Prince Qi’s slight nod, picked up the thread. “The political situation is unstable in the palace, more so than you might even imagine. We are purposefully not explaining more to you so that you remain outside of the machinations.”

Meng Zhi nodded gratefully. It was for the best — he had a mind for battle tactics, but less for strategy, and subterfuge was definitely not one of his better skills.

Prince Qi continued. “What I need is someone trustworthy and reliable to be close to my family, especially Prince Jing and the other younger princes who are completely in the dark as well. If there is one thing I know about you, Commander Meng, it is that your loyalty to the Imperial family is faultless.”

It was high praise and Meng Zhi lowered his forehead to the floor. “Your Highness is too gracious.”

“Meng Zhi,” Grand Marshal Lin said, and Meng Zhi startled at the use of his name instead of his title. The older man looked worn and tired. “I am loath to lose you, but Lin Shu has me and 70,000 other men to look after his welfare. I will be keeping him close for the next few years, just in case, even if it means bringing him on campaigns with me. Prince Jing has his own army now, who are loyal to him, but there is not much they can do inside the palace.” He paused. “Do you understand?”

Meng Zhi’s mind reeled but he nodded and bowed again. “I am honored by this trust, Grand Marshal Lin, Crown Prince Qi.”

“I thought to send Lie Yang and Li Gang with you, if that’s acceptable?” It was offered as a gift, to bring the boys he had all but raised with him to his new position. It was kind, but ill-advised, Meng Zhi realized as he considered it. If they were all to play a role then, as in any battle on a field or on a board, the players must be placed where they would do the most good for the sake of winning.

“No.” He shook his head, then bowed again. “Forgive my presumptuousness.”

“Forgiven,” Prince Qi said with a wave of his hand. “Go on.”

“Keep Li Gang. Keep him close to Lin Shu. He is not as immune to his ways as others but he adores the boy and would lay down his life for him. More importantly, Lin Shu is fond of him and does not object to his presence.”

“And Lie Yang?”

“Give him to Prince Jing as a personal aide in his own army. He is young but there is no one I would trust more with his safety and well-being. He is quiet and crafty,” he added as an afterthought. “Prince Jing is sometimes too straightforward, and needs a man who can think around corners at his side. If that cannot be Lin Shu for now, then let it be Lie Yang.”

“So be it, then.” Prince Qi nodded at Grand Marshal Lin before turning his sharp eyes on Meng Zhi. “One other matter. More of a warning, actually: you are going into the palace. It is a nest of vipers, and few if any can be trusted. Stay out of schemes and gossip, and particularly I must stress this with utmost sincerity: do not trust anyone aligned with the Xuanjing Bureau.”

Meng Zhi realized with shock that Prince Qi was talking about the Emperor himself, and paled. Prince Qi saw his understanding and nodded again. “Good. Keep that caution fresh in your mind, Commander Meng.”

He felt like there was no air in his lungs, but he bowed gratefully. “Yes, Your Highness. Your graciousness is again appreciated.”

Grand Marshal Lin was looking away, grim and stone-faced, but finally let out a weary sigh. “Time for you to go, Your Highness.”

“Wait!” Meng Zhi yelped, then bowed and spoke fast to cover up his unforgivable rudeness. “If you will yet again forgive my presumptuousness, may I add another suggestion?”

“You may,” Prince Qi said, head tilting in curiosity in much the same way Prince Jing’s often did.

Meng Zhi gathered his scattered thoughts which were laced with confusion and genuine fear. He did not want to bring more problems to the table, but he had spent enough time with Lin Shu and Prince Jing to understand their very different reactions to fear and anger. If things were about to get messy in the palace, they would be experiencing a lot of both, likely. Lin Shu would fall into it with his sharp and ruthless mind, protected by his own father and everyone around him who had a hand in raising him and knew what to expect.

The same could not be said for Prince Jing, whose father was a distrustful and cold-hearted man to start with and whose mother was kindly but unfavored. A young general, for all of his experience, with an untested army and a reputation for stubborness, brutal honesty, and brutal anger (when pushed too far, as Lin Shu had discovered numerous times). Meng Zhi knew Prince Jing would hurl himself into harm’s way, if given the chance and a reason. He could not, of course, recommend that Prince Qi lock his brother away for the duration, as tempting as it was. He pondered how to say it, then thought of his mother and her weary, if fond, exasperation with Meng Zhi’s own similar tendencies.

He took another deep breath. “I was a loud child, Your Highness. I stomped everywhere like a horse on a wooden floor. There was nothing for it, as my feet outgrew my body for years.” He shrugged. “My mother once said she only knew peace when she sent me out of the house on errands.”

The other men glanced at each other, but kept silent, waiting for him to continue.

“If I can, if it is indeed that dangerous, I will do my best to protect who I am able to protect. But the best way to keep Prince Jing’s loud feet quiet is to, ah, send him away on errands.” He grimaced at the terrible analogy. This was why he failed the Imperial exams the one time he took them, he thought miserably.

But Prince Qi looked thoughtful for a long moment, then nodded, and it was done.

Part Five

For three days straight Meng Zhi had been both awake and in shock. He did his job by rote, and he was still new enough to the Imperial Guards to be given all the shit duties that other officers didn’t want, so he was, if nothing else, kept busy.

The palace itself had become an anthill upturned and turning on itself. The Xuanjing Bureau was hauling people away every minute of the day and the Imperial Guard was on high alert. There was panic in some quarters and open rebellion in others ever since word came in three day ago that the Chiyan Army was gone. Just...gone, like dust in the wind, cut down as traitors. Grand Marshal Lin, Lin Shu, Li Gang and the dozens of others Meng Zhi knew personally and the thousands he knew by sight had been wiped clean from the world. Seventy thousand men.

Gone.

When he stopped to think about it his whole body seized up with fury and fear and despair so he tried to keep moving, but he was eventually sent home at some point and he stood in his meager home, in the courtyard, staring at nothing. His manservant hovered nearby, hands out as if to take his outer cloak or maybe catch him if he toppled over.

Meng Zhi, still upright by dint of years of training, needed a drink or ten and a good cry and a very long night’s rest.

Instead, he gave over his cloak and stumbled to his rooms, letting his staff guide him to a hot bath and then carefully drape him in soft robes. No one spoke, the usual chatter that he not only allowed but encouraged was gone. Perhaps forever, he thought dully as he tapped his spoon against the bowl of plain turnip soup, the cook’s attempt to feed him some cooling yin energy.

By the time his usual bedtime approached, though, he was too restless to sleep. Too heartbroken.

Yet, there was nothing he could do, and to say anything critical of the Emperor’s decision was to invite punishment, if not execution. There were already a number of high-ranking ministers in the dungeons, and rumor (when he caught it) was that Prince Qi might even be charged. The thought was horrifying and made Meng Zhi feel ill.

He had purchased his modest siheyuan when he had been transferred, thinking that now he was settling down in the capital he could honor his mother’s final wishes and get himself a wife and start a family. But his grief gnawed at his heart like a rat feasting on carrion and he thought bitterly that he would never marry just to bring children into a world so cruel and vile.

He was musing such thoughts, sitting in the darkened courtyard, wrapped in a blanket someone had draped over his shoulders and simply holding a full jar of baijiu when he heard a clattering at the front door. His heart sank but he was a battle-tested soldier and if the Emperor had decided to round up all former members of the Chiyan Army as well then he would meet his fate with a straight spine and his honor intact.

He waved his staff behind him — they would not be spared if the Xuanjing Bureau had come for him and they all knew it, but it was all the protection he could afford them — and walked through the front courtyard to the main entrance. He unbarred the doors and threw them open and barely managed to catch Lie Yang as he spilled through them like a newborn colt.

“What?” Meng Zhi pulled him up. The boy had just turned seventeen but at the moment reminded Meng Zhi more of the ten-year-old child he had first met. No, even younger, looking lost and scared and wild-eyed. “Lie Yang!” He shook him and motioned for his staff to close the doors quickly. “Lie Yang! What are you doing here? Where is Prince Jing?”

Lie Yang stared at him for a moment, visibly trying to pull himself together. He looked like he had been riding hard for days and given where the Prince’s Army was supposed to be he probably had.

“Commander Meng!” Lie Yang breathed out right before his legs gave way. Meng Zhi and his manservant both hauled the boy further into the house, setting him down on a cushion in the front hall. His household was fully awake, and while he only had five people in service at the time they were all fluttering about, lighting candles, getting braziers stoked and moved, and probably heating water for tea.

Meng Zhi sat down across from him silently and waited. After two cups of hot water, Lie Yang shook his head and looked at Meng Zhi with a familiar solemn expression, tinged with exhaustion. “We got word. About...about the Chiyan Army, about Grand Marshal Lin—” he stopped, choking on the name, and drank another sip of water.

“I thought as much. But why are you here? Where is Prince Jing, Lt. Lie?”

Lie Yang closed his eyes briefly. “He went to Meiling.”

“Damnation!” Meng Zhi hissed.

“He took his personal guard and lit out of camp, told me to stay behind. He left General Wang in charge but I asked him to allow me to come here to prepare the estate for Prince Jing’s return to the capital.”

General Wang knew full well that was not why Lie Yang wanted to leave, and Meng Zhi made a note to himself to find a way to thank him. Eventually. Later. Far, far later.

“That’s one way to put it, I guess. We’ll have to lay in wait for him before he can make it to the Palace.” Meng Zhi rubbed his chin.

Lie Yang stared at him.

Meng Zhi chuckled, but it was a grim sound. “We both know he’ll charge in there and start slinging accusations around if he isn’t stopped.”

“That...yes, that was my thought as well. I was hoping you would help.”

“Of course I will,” Meng Zhi said, softening his tone. “But understand that we are all walking into the middle of a political catastrophe. Even Prince Qi is not above the Emperor’s suspicion, and if he is charged with treason...aiya, heads are going to roll, Lt. Lie, and we need to make sure Prince Jing’s — and yours, and mine! — are not among them.”

“I will do anything to keep my prince — Prince Jing safe,” Lie Yang said. Meng Zhi ignored the stumble. If Prince Jing wanted more intimate relations with his personal assistant, well...he would not be the first prince to do so, and it was truly not Meng Zhi’s business.

“Finish your tea. My men have already put your horse in my stable, but you are too worn-down to ride anyway. I will have you escorted to Prince Jing’s palace.” He raised up a hand at Lie Yang’s expression. “Everyone is being watched, Lt. Lie, including me. Reports of your arrival at my door have likely already been received at the palace.”

Lie Yang went even paler.

“This is not a bad thing. It will let others be aware that Prince Jing intends to show up here soon, and it is much better that this not come as a surprise. But since everyone knows that I do not engage in underhanded politics, they will expect nothing from me regarding this meeting anyway. Perhaps they will even read it as my rebuking you, and by extension, Prince Jing’s intentions.” He nodded, lost in thought. “You will be escorted to his estate where you will do exactly what you told General Wang you will do. In the meantime, I have a few men I trust in the City Guards who can send word to me when Prince Jing is spotted. Our primary goal will be to get him to his estate first before he rides his damn horse right up the steps to the Imperial Reception Hall.” He slapped his thighs and stood up.

Lie Yang followed slowly, still a bit unsteady but at least vertical. He said nothing but bowed low, his gratitude evident, before turning and following the servants out of the room.

Meng Zhi sighed. Prince Jing was like an ox when he set his mind to something, steadfast and inexorable. It usually worked in his favor as a soldier but was going to get himself, Lie Yang, and his own army killed if not curtailed. Meng Zhi could not afford to publicly support Prince Jing — he was already doing small, mysterious favors for Prince Ji that involved passing messages between eunuchs, and that made Meng Zhi nervous. He could not stick his neck out on the block any further and expect to protect anyone else.

It was with these thoughts at the forefront of his mind that he returned to his duties the following day. There was much to do, and while the Xuanjing Bureau was handling all the cases of “traitors” the Imperial Guards were doubled up around the Imperial Family. For the next several days, Meng Zhi found himself being shuttled from one place to another almost randomly, which he suspected was on purpose.

He was in between two such postings, walking down back hallways used mostly by palace staff and which reflected that in their plain, darkened atmosphere when he heard one of the last people he wanted to hear calling his name.

“Commander Meng,” Prince Yu called out down the hallway, echoing along the bare stone walls. Meng Zhi almost skidded as he came to an abrupt stop and wheeled around to bow. Up to that point, he would have bet money on Prince Yu not even knowing his name, and he was not comforted by the fact that he was wrong.

The prince walked up, unhurried, with only one of his personal guards at his side. “Commander Meng,” he repeated, and Meng Zhi stood up.

“Your Highness. How may I be of assistance?”

The young man, for all his haughty demeanor, had the fragile look of an inexperienced soldier facing his first battle. He was holding brave in the tempest that was the palace but Meng Zhi knew the signs of a person on the brittle edge of losing control.

“I would like to ask you to contact my brother, Prince Jing, and tell him not to return to the capital.”

Meng Zhi bowed low again, because such a request was nothing less than a command when coming from a prince, however pointless. “I will do so,” he said, holding the bow.

He felt the edge of a fan tap his elbow, and he stood up again.

“He is already en route, isn’t he,” Prince Yu said, whipping the fan open. It wasn’t a question, so Meng Zhi simply didn’t respond. Prince Yu hissed through clenched teeth. “He will make things complicated.”

Meng Zhi wanted to laugh at that. How much more complicated could things get? Ministers were being executed hand over fist and the Crown Prince and his whole family were living in the Celestial Chamber in the dungeon, likely doomed down to the infant child.

Prince Yu stepped closer, but Meng Zhi knew better than to retreat. “Keep him out of the palace, Commander Meng. The waters are dangerous and they will get much, much worse before we ever know calm again.”

Meng Zhi bowed slightly into the scant space between them. “I will try, Your Highness, but Prince Jing is, ah, stubborn.”

Prince Yu snorted in amusement, fanning himself leisurely as he turned his back on Meng Zhi and started to walk away. Then he stopped, and talked to the empty hallway before him. “The vines that cannot be controlled must be pruned,” he said, and then continued on his way.

It was as close to a warning as Meng Zhi was going to get that his own life was on the line.

Part Six

Word of Prince Jing’s arrival hit like a bomb. Meng Zhi was lucky enough to be on a short break, trying to nap in the late night/early morning hours at his desk, when a servant he had never seen before burst into his office, slapped a slip of paper down then ran off.

Prince Jing five miles out, western road

Taking a deep breath, he burned the paper and then ran out into the fray. Clearly, the Emperor along with everyone else expected Prince Jing to show up right away and make a scene, as eunuchs and guards and support staff were already scrambling, some visibly still waking up from their own naps.

Meng Zhi wasn’t even questioned as he ran out of the palace and took to roofs and shortcuts to get to the gate at the western road. Few people were being let out or in, so his best chance at waylaying Prince Jing was to nab him just inside the gate. He was milling around in a darkened alleyway when he saw Lie Yang barrelling up on a horse, and leading another saddled horse behind him.

“Lie Yang!” Meng Zhi ran out to meet him.

“Here! We will have to box him in to get him to change direction,” he said, throwing the reins at Meng Zhi. “Is it safe for you to be here?”

“Honestly the Emperor will probably give me a medal for steering Prince Jing away from the palace at this point,” Meng Zhi said, mounting the horse.

Lie Yang snorted in amusement, and they waited. It wasn’t long before thundering hooves were heard, and the guards outside the gate were rolling it up quickly. Meng Zhi moved to the middle of the road and braced himself, Lie Yang at his side.

The gate had barely cleared the height of the horses’ heads before Prince Jing, ducked down on the saddle, charged through, his small guard struggling to keep up behind him. In the moment it took for Prince Jing to register that the road was blocked and pull his horse up short, Meng Zhi saw just how shattered and furious the young man was. His eyes were bloodshot and his clothing was battered, muddy, and worn. He likely had not changed out from the moment he had left Lie Zhanying behind at their camp.

In short, he looked like hell. It told Meng Zhi all he needed to know of what he had seen at Meiling. His heart crashed like shattered glass but he held still, Lie Zhanying pale but determined next to him.

“Out of my way, Commander Meng,” Prince Jing bellowed at them, his voice even lower than Meng Zhi remembered but rough and raw.

“I am here to escort you to your estate, Your Highness,” Meng Zhi shouted back at him. The guards and early morning observers would think that Meng Zhi had been sent by the palace, which is what they would report if asked. It was the extent of protection Meng Zhi could offer.

Prince Jing’s nostrils flared just like his horse’s, and he stared at Meng Zhi before looking over at Lie Yang, who silently bowed from the saddle.

“Are you now? Or are you here to arrest me too?”

Meng Zhi sent his horse forward and lowered his voice. “Would Lie Yang stand by my side in that case?”

Prince Jing glanced over at his lieutenant, then back to Meng Zhi. “Would he?”

“You know he would not, Your Highness.” Meng Zhi shook his head and spoke up again. “Please allow us to escort Your Highness to your estate, which has been prepared for your return.” He turned his horse to fall in next to the prince, nearly pushing one of his guards away. The guard gave Meng Zhi a slight but grateful nod, certainly knowing that all their lives were forfeit if the prince wasn’t stopped by someone.

Lie Yang approached slowly, his eyes locked with Prince Jing, both of them in a private and wordless conversation. After a long pause, Lie Yang broke eye contact and moved to mirror Meng Zhi on the prince’s left. All three horses were battle trained and did not balk at standing haunch to haunch, obediently starting forward in sync at Meng Zhi’s command. They rode three abreast the entire way, Prince Jing effectively caged in between his subordinates.

Nothing was said, then or when they arrived or when they sat in Prince Jing’s private parlor for tea. Nothing was said as tea was served to Meng Zhi and Lie Yang, or while Prince Jing sipped his preferred cup of hot water. Nothing was said until the servants retreated and closed the doors behind them.

“They are all dead. The bodies were burned. Were still being burned when I arrived.” Prince Jing stared at the cup in his hands while Meng Zhi felt his heart break. He had not been holding out hope, he knew what the facts of the matter were, but hearing from an eyewitness made the reality of it sink into his bones like hot lead.

“They are collecting identity bracelets to verify the dead, and I was shown Grand Marshal Lin’s.”

Something twisted in Meng Zhi’s heart. “But not Lin Shu’s?”

Prince Jing shook his head slowly, like the water buffalo Lin Shu always called him. “But it is not reason to hold out hope. Some went over the cliff, and their bodies were torn apart by scavengers. That too, I saw for myself.”

Meng Zhi could imagine Prince Jing doggedly picking through body parts at the base of a mountainous cliff and he shook his head to clear it. Dwelling on the tragedy would be just as bad as allowing a shred of hope to exist. It was not the time for either.

“Will you go to the palace?” Lie Yang asked, his voice and expression blank.

Prince Jing looked at him, his own face giving nothing away, but then he nodded. “I must.”

“Prince Qi and his family have been arrested,” Meng Zhi said, ready to leap up and catch Prince Jing if he tried to bolt.

But it was as if something had broken in the young man, who simply closed his eyes. “I will do what I can.”

“At the cost of your own life?”

“Lie Yang!” Meng Zhi snapped, his patience and his heart worn thin. “You do not ask a prince such things!”

“Yes. Even at the risk of my own life. What has been done is...wrong. Tragically and horrifically wrong. It is too late to save Lin...Lin Shu’s life, but there are others who need me.”

Lie Yang frowned. “Your Highness—”

“What of Madam Lin?”

Lie Yang and Meng Zhi looked at each other.

“Arrested?”

Meng Zhi let out a heavy, weary sigh. “No. They tried, but she...she slit her throat with one of Grand Marshal Lin’s own swords when they entered the manor. As far as I know her body is still there.”

Prince Jing put a hand over his mouth and swayed a little, tears pricking at his eyes. He took a deep breath. “I can only hope that Father will see reason.”

Meng Zhi tried not to grimace. If there was one thing he had come to know well, it was that the Emperor did not like having his decisions questioned. Truly the right of an emperor, of course, but Meng Zhi had learned to see him as simply a man under all the gloss and glitter of his title. A man that he was surprised to find he did not respect at all. Not that he would ever say as much aloud, especially not to Prince Jing.

He settled for approaching it tactically. “You do not want to make an enemy of your father, Your Highness. Confront him if you must but do not push too hard.”

Prince Jing raised an eyebrow at him. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that you must follow your brother’s lead...ah, I mean Prince Yu.”

“I do not trust Xiao Jinghuan.”

Lie Yang snorted and then hid behind his sleeve to drink some tea.

“Nonetheless, he is more politically savvy than you are. I cannot speak for him but he has been pushing for leniency for the accused, particularly on Prince Qi’s behalf. Not enough to earn the Emperor’s distrust, but he has not backed down from the arguments with ministers. You must promise me, Prince Jing. Promise me that you will not throw your life onto the pyres of Meiling.”

Prince Jing looked solemnly at him and promised no such thing.

Part Seven

It was a day that reminded Meng Zhi in painful ways that, despite his father’s continued ambitions for him, he had not ever once actually wanted to be the commander of the Imperial Guards. Let others have his status, he thought, if only he could get out of the frankly ridiculous number of inter-departmental meetings his position inexplicably entailed.

He was fully aware that there was a layer of vicious politics that swirled under the calm he managed to maintain in the Guards, but he honestly did not care about it as long as everyone did their damn job and did not go out of their way to make him look bad. For over ten years, as he tripped up the ranks, that approach to leadership had served him well. It had not, alas, reduced the number of meetings he had to attend.

Nor did it mean that he was oblivious to his staff being sneaky.

As he left an over-long meeting with the Minister Coachman (who bored Meng Zhi to tears with gleefully detailed updates on the imperial horse breeding program) he noticed both Lt. Liu and Lt. He smirking at him like smirking, sneaky rats. He glared. They smirked.

Since there was no way to demand answers from them in the well-traveled halls and thoroughfares of the palace, he settled for continuing to glare at them as they all wound their way back to his offices.

Lt. Liu opened the door with a bit too much enthusiasm and gestured for Meng Zhi to enter. His upper level staff were all standing inside in neat, orderly rows three-deep and taking up all the spare room of his office. They were also all, to man, wearing what his mother had called shit-eating grins.

“What is going on?” He put his hands on his hips and glared at all of them.

Major Fei stepped forward and held out a piece of obviously blank paper as if it was an imperial proclamation. Clearing his throat, he put on a solemn expression and pretended to read it. “We, the dedicated and loyal and efficient and upstanding and handsome staff of—”

“Get on with it, Major Fei!” Meng Zhi growled while the full-grown men around him giggled.

“—Congratulate the brave and honorable Commander Meng Zhi on achieving the enviable ranking of First Gentleman of Martial Arts on the Langya List!”

They all started hooting and hollering like cadets on leave, not upper level officers in the palace, and Meng Zhi covered his face. He was going to kill Lin Chen. Keeping his face covered — because he had no face left, not with that crowd — he pointed at the door with one hand. They laughed and congratulated him as they went out, their ribbing of him well-meant and a sign of the general affection they held for him, despite his authority over them. He knew that once they were out the door, they would be the well-behaved and proper gentlemen soldiers they were known to be, but he secretly enjoyed the fact that they felt comfortable enough with him as their superior officer to joke around a little in private.

“The actual notice is on your desk, Commander Meng,” Major Fei said with a smile. “It had some personal salutations included so I did not wish to hold it up in front of the men.”

“Get out,” Meng Zhi mumbled, and slammed the door shut on Major Fei’s laughing face.

He went over and picked up the notification with a touch of sadness. His mother had been dead for years and it hurt that he would not be able to hear her exclaim over the news. Her sword sat on its stand in the corner of his office, its place of honor sacred and well-cared-for by his staff. This was all due to her training and belief in his abilities, and he would give anything to share the moment with her. His father wouldn’t care and his sisters would not understand how hard he had worked for such recognition, taking all his vacations in the Jianghu, meeting the masters of Langya Hall, fighting every challenger that came his way. The names of the others he might share the news with, were they still alive, he dared not even to think.

He read it over in that melancholy mood, stopped, and reread it. The notice was noticeably not in Lin Chen’s hand, for one thing, and for another was...wordy. There were a lot of characters on the page explaining his ranking and...the weather? Was it a metaphor? He squinted. The handwriting, if elegant, was weak and a bit shaky and the characters did not line up entirely. This was not the work of either master of Langya Hall, even if the seal on the outside was official.

It was odd, and he sat down, puzzling over it, when his gaze fell on a couple of radicals in two adjacent, but not connected, characters. He put down the document and rubbed his eyes before picking it up again and going over it, slowly, character by character.

He ended up throwing it across his office before he was halfway done.

He put a hand on his chest and practiced basic breathing exercises, willing himself down from panic, thankful that not even his closest aides were there with him to see his reaction.

There was only one other person left alive who knew that code — the last secret military code of the Chiyan Army — and that handwriting was definitely not Lie Zhanying’s. As far as he knew, Lie Zhanying had never even been into the Jianghu regions, much less Langya Hall itself.

He did not remember how long he sat in his chair, staring at the simple paper crumpled on the floor of his office, but he did remember picking it up. Reading it again. Sitting down and laboriously picking out the code. Waving off his lunch. Decoding the message until it made sense.

And even then, after all his careful work, it still did not make sense. But the message, while studiously vague on specifics, was definitive:

Lin Shu was alive.