In early May of the lunar calendar, the wind and sand in the north gradually rose, and the two huge city gates of Juyong Pass, wrapped in wrought copper, slowly pushed open amidst the dull friction of the bearings.
Li Sheng leaped from horseback and handed the customs clearance document stamped with the official seal of the Ministry of Revenue to the guerrilla general guarding the pass. The general sized up the massive convoy, his gaze pausing for a moment on the tarpaulin covering the carriages, and then fell on the straight sword at Li Sheng's waist.
"What's in these carriages?"
"Military supplies for the Ministry of Revenue."
Li Sheng didn't say much, merely turning sideways slightly.
The curtain of the carriage hanging with a windproof glazed lantern in the rear was lifted by the wind, faintly revealing the cold light of a pure gold scabbard.
The guerrilla general's heart skipped a beat. The reputation of the gold-mounted Son of Heaven's Sword had already spread through the passes along the way via the Ministry of War's reports over the past few days. He didn't dare ask half a word more, returning the document with both hands and stepping aside to make way:
"Let them pass!"
The convoy started moving again.
In the last carriage of the convoy, Jenny Huang sat cross-legged on a wooden board padded with thick felt, turning a deaf ear to the commotion of passing the customs outside the window.
The carriage was filled with the mixed smell of rosin and saltpeter. Holding a bamboo stick, she carefully smeared the melted rosin bit by bit on the outer layer of the fuse of the black powder bamboo tube.
The Northern Territory had a lot of ice and snow during the day. Although quicklime could generate heat, once the fuse got damp, this firearm would be a dud.
Jenny Huang wrapped the fuse firmly with rosin. After the rosin solidified and became watertight, she placed the coated bamboo tube on a nearby shelf and lowered her head to jot down two strokes on rough paper: Three mace of rosin for the fuse, infiltrated half an inch, moisture-proof and rot-resistant for seven days.
Xu Qinghuan's convoy thus crossed the natural barrier of Juyong Pass.
The capital, Xie Mansion's separate courtyard.
The wind swept through the covered corridors, rustling the early-blooming hibiscus in the courtyard.
In the main hall, the fragrance of tea curled upwards. Xie Yunwan sat upright in the main seat, and three young ladies from official families sat in the guest seats in turn. The one on the left was Shang Jia, the daughter of the Minister of Revenue, and the one on the right was Su Wan'er, the daughter of the Director of the Imperial Academy.
The maids served the freshly brewed Rain-before-Longjing tea, retreated silently, and closed the carved door.
The atmosphere in the hall carried a bit of the unique coldness of the boudoirs of aristocratic families.
"That debate at Shichahai really made a big fuss," Shang Jia said, skimming the foam with the tea lid in a critical tone. "Libationer Kong and Great Scholar Gu both went into seclusion. The Xu family has earned enough reputation this time."
"However, that phrase 'Thinking of the vastness of heaven and earth' has great spirit, but it is ultimately the tone of a man. And that essay 'Inscription on a Humble Cot' is also the style of an arrogant scholar."
"She is an unmarried woman, and her whole essay is full of courtly calculation and arrogance. Where is the slightest bit of a woman's gentle characteristics?"
Su Wan'er put down her teacup and softly agreed, "Sister Shang, you can't say that. Why can't a woman be heroic?"
"Just like money, it doesn't distinguish between male and female."
"However, what Sister Shang said does make some sense. Because when it comes to the elegant and graceful lyrics of the talented women in our Daqian, it has to be Sister Yunwan."
"Sister Yunwan, don't you think so?"
Hearing this flattery, Xie Yunwan didn't reply. She lowered her eyes, her gaze falling on the Duan inkstone at hand.
Xie Yunwan reached into her sleeve, pulled out the collection of lyrics, and placed it on the tall table beside her.
"This is what the Chengyi Count's Mansion sent someone to deliver yesterday," Xie Yunwan's voice was very soft. "Xu Qinghuan's manuscript."
Shang Jia raised her eyebrows: "She sent a collection of lyrics to you? Is she trying to show off in the boudoir after establishing her authority at Shichahai?"
Xie Yunwan didn't argue, merely stretching out two fingers and opening the first page of the collection of lyrics.
"Searching and seeking, cold and clear, miserable and sorrowful."
As soon as these fourteen reduplicated words came out.
Shang Jia's action of skimming the tea foam paused, and the tea lid knocked against the rim of the bowl with a crisp sound.
The corners of Su Wan'er's originally slightly raised lips suddenly didn't know whether to smile or close.
"When it's suddenly warm and then cold, it's the hardest to rest. How can two or three cups of weak wine resist the strong evening wind..." Xie Yunwan didn't stop and continued reading.
That kind of bone-deep loneliness and sorrow was vividly outlined by this seemingly ordinary plain drawing technique.
After reading a lyric, a pin drop could be heard in the main hall.
Shang Jia's breathing was slightly rapid. Ignoring the demeanor of an aristocratic young lady, she stood up directly, walked a few steps to the tall table, and picked up the collection of lyrics.
She turned past the first page, her gaze quickly sweeping over the paper.
"Last night the rain was sparse and the wind was fierce, deep sleep did not dispel the residual wine. I try to ask the person rolling up the curtain, but she says the crabapple is still the same..." Shang Jia's voice trembled slightly.
When she read the last two lines, she almost read them through gritted teeth: "Do you know? Do you know? It should be that the green is fat and the red is thin."
This kind of skill in choosing words and the exquisite understanding of the late spring scenery smashed her previous mockery of "lacking female characteristics" to pieces.
Shang Jia dejectedly let go and handed the collection of lyrics to Su Wan'er behind her.
Su Wan'er took the collection of lyrics and didn't read the content first, but leaned closer to carefully compare the handwriting on the paper.
The flowing and vigorous brushstrokes were exactly the same as the calligraphy used to write the "Inscription on a Humble Cot" at Shichahai that day. It was indeed Xu Qinghuan's handwriting.
Su Wan'er flipped through page by page and found that any single one taken out was enough to establish a sect in the lyric circles of Daqian.
They passed this collection of lyrics around to read in turn, and no one spoke. The previous aloofness and disdain had long been crushed by this absolute talent.
"I originally thought she could only write some wild words of men..." Su Wan'er put the collection of lyrics back on the table and smiled bitterly. "After reading this collection, I wish I could go back to the mansion right now."
"I'll immediately throw all those works of grieving for spring and sorrowing for autumn that I usually take pride in into the brazier and burn them. In front of these words, the things I wrote are not even considered moaning without being ill."
Shang Jia sat back in her chair, her expression changing a few times, and finally sighed: "Forget it. Articles are made by heaven and obtained by chance by skilled hands. Since she can write such lyrics, I, Shang Jia, am completely convinced."
Xie Yunwan raised her eyes and scanned the crowd. She knew that Xu Qinghuan had played this move perfectly.
Subduing the scholars of the world with poetry and prose, and incorporating the clear stream boudoirs with lyrics. In this capital, I'm afraid no one can pick faults with the Xu family in the way of articles anymore.
"This collection of lyrics cannot only be hidden here with us," Xie Yunwan tapped the cover with her fingertips. "I want to send it to the Songzhu Bookstore for overnight printing."
"Let the literati in the capital, Jiangnan, and even the whole world see what a lyric is."
A smile appeared on the corner of Xie Yunwan's mouth.
Xu Qinghuan, I have already lit this fire for you from the boudoir. Let's see what you can burn the court of Daqian into.
...
At the same time, on the Yanshan path a thousand miles away.
The smell of gunpowder smoke in the canyon had been mostly blown away by the mountain wind, but that sickening smell of burnt flesh had seeped into the cracks of the stones and couldn't be dispersed no matter what.
At the top of the cliff, on a centuries-old pine tree that had been blown in half.
Shen Lian, wearing a flying fish suit, stood steadily on a trunk. This was exactly where Xu Wuyou had stood previously.
The deerskin boots under Shen Lian's feet stepped on a mark where the bark had peeled off. He squatted down, stretched out his right index and middle fingers, and scraped hard on the depressed bark.
A layer of powder stained the pads of his fingers.
Shen Lian brought his fingers to his nose, took a deep breath, and instantly understood—saltpeter and sulfur.
A muscle twitched slightly on his cold, perpetually expressionless face.
He stood up and looked down at the devastated valley floor below.
The originally narrow mountain pass had been blown into several deep craters. Scorched earth mixed with rubble completely buried the wreckage of thirty horse-drawn carriages.
Fifty Imperial City Bureau guards clad in flying fish robes weaved through the boulders and blackened soil, searching for clues.
A centurion of the Imperial City Bureau swiftly scaled the cliff using a rope and knelt on one knee behind Shen Lian.
"My Lord," the centurion kept his head bowed, his voice crisp and sharp. "We have searched the bottom. All four hundred corpses have been burned to a crisp."
"However, on the surviving weapons and jade ornaments of a few bodies, we found the plum blossom secret mark of the Wang family of Jiangning. It is confirmed that they are death-sworn assassins raised by the Wang family."
"And the Xu family?" Shen Lian did not turn his head; his gaze remained locked on the valley floor.
"None," the centurion swallowed hard. "The men sifted through the scorched earth three times, but could not even find a single scrap of cloth belonging to the Xu family guards."
"The thirty carriages were filled entirely with hay and wood, with no military supplies. The Xu family convoy must have retreated completely unscathed."
Shen Lian's fingers unconsciously stroked the hilt of his blade.
Four hundred highly trained death-sworn assassins, occupying the most advantageous terrain, had been annihilated by Xu Qinghuan without her losing a single soldier.
Moreover, this was absolutely no ordinary gunpowder. Shen Lian had seen the military firearms of the Great Qian Dynasty; at most, they made a loud bang. They possessed nowhere near the destructive power to collapse an entire gorge.
The Xu family held a terrifying firearm that even the Imperial City Bureau knew nothing about.
Shen Lian took out a piece of specially made mulberry paper from the leather pouch at his waist and drew out a charcoal pencil.
He quickly jotted down two lines of words on the paper.
After writing, he rolled the mulberry paper into a tiny scroll, stuffed it into a specially made copper tube, and sealed it tight with beeswax. The centurion, in tacit understanding, pulled a carrier pigeon from his robes.
Shen Lian tied the tube to the pigeon's leg, then tossed it upward with both hands.
The pigeon flapped its wings and soared into the sky, circled half a turn above the Yanshan trail, found its bearings, and flew straight south toward the imperial palace in the capital.
...
Nearly ten days later.
A travel-worn convoy finally drove out of the last desolate gorge, and the view ahead suddenly opened up.
At the end of the blowing sand and the setting sun, a towering, isolated city of black stone was wedged between heaven and earth.
Bloodstains had dried along the crevices of the city wall's bricks, exuding an aura of death that had not dissipated for hundreds of years. Above the mottled city gates, two characters were carved as if hacked by axe and blade—
Zhenbei.
