The capital, the southern city.
Before the morning mist had fully dispersed, an old man named Old Man Feng had already set up his tea stall.
Old Man Feng arranged the long benches and square tables.
A blackened copper kettle sat on the charcoal stove, bubbling and puffing out white steam.
The tea leaves were cheap broken bits, mixed with aged tangerine peel from the previous year to mask the taste.
A bowl of tea cost two copper coins, with free water refills, though it wouldn't fill your stomach.
The stall was located at the corner of Zhushikou in the southern city, right opposite the entrance to the morning market.
Before dawn, vegetable farmers carrying loads on shoulder poles would pass by, as well as porters driving carts, and various peddlers and laborers doing small business.
They spent two coins to rest their feet, gulping down a bellyful of hot water to warm their bodies before going their separate ways to make a living.
Old Man Feng weaved through the tables and chairs carrying the long-spouted copper kettle, his cloth shoes making a rustling sound on the bluestone pavement.
Coming, coming, Brother Liu Er, take a seat, your usual spot is saved for you.
Master Zhao, you are early today. The tea is brewed, nice and hot.
A few regular customers occupied the seats by the wall, chewing on baked flatbreads bought from next door, slurping the broken tea leaves, and chatting aimlessly about this and that.
The topics of conversation were always the same.
Someone mentioned that Widow Wang from the next street had fought with her landlord again.
Others complained that the grain price at the rice shop in the eastern city had risen by another five percent.
Still others mentioned whose daughter was engaged, and the bride price demanded was eight taels of silver, which was simply too greedy.
Hey, have you guys heard?
Old Zheng, who sold braised meat, came over with his bowl. Before his buttocks even touched the bench, he started shouting loudly.
Heard what?
Liu Er didn't even look up, spraying flatbread crumbs all over the table from his mouth.
Old Zheng looked around and lowered his voice, though the volume was still quite loud.
You know about the war in the north, right? I heard the Helian people have gathered an army of hundreds of thousands and are heading south!
As soon as these words were spoken, the diners at the surrounding tables all pricked up their ears.
Hundreds of thousands? You're bragging, aren't you?
Liu Er sneered, wiping the grease from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
My brother-in-law works in the Ministry of War. He's just a minor clerk who copies documents, but he says troops are indeed being mobilized in the north.
Old Zheng slapped the table, causing more than half of the tea in his bowl to spill out.
And it seems the imperial court intends to move the capital!
Move the capital?
As soon as these two words were uttered, the entire tea stall instantly fell silent.
The hand of Old Man Feng holding the copper kettle also paused for a moment.
Move where?
To Jiangnan!
Old Zheng took a sip of tea, smacking his lips.
They say His Majesty intends to tour the south and move the court to Jinling.
The atmosphere at the tea stall suddenly became somewhat tense.
A few vegetable farmers sitting in the corner exchanged glances, but no one said a word.
This was the kind of topic people usually dared not mention.
But everyone was very curious, and since they were far from the imperial palace, no one would care if they said a few words about the north at a tea stall in the southern city.
Bullshit!
A loud shout came from behind the vegetable stall nearby.
Granny Zhao, who sold vegetables, slammed her vegetable basket onto the ground with a bang, and walked over quickly, her face flushed red, spitting as she spoke.
I say, Old Zheng, have you lost your mind?
What moving the capital? Our current Emperor is such a wise and martial figure, how could he be scared out of the capital by a few barbarians?
Granny Zhao stood with her hands on her hips, her voice booming.
Our Great Qian has been established for over a hundred years. When has any dynasty ever feared those sheep-herding savages from the north?
His Majesty is in the prime of his life and in robust health. It's not your place to gossip here!
Exactly, exactly!
Liu Er chimed in.
I saw His Majesty leaving the city to offer sacrifices to Heaven a while ago, what grandeur!
Riding on his horse with the gait of a dragon and the pace of a tiger, his face glowing with health, he was in excellent spirits!
Several diners nodded in agreement.
The last time they saw the Emperor was actually last autumn.
At that time, the imperial carriage passed through Vermilion Bird Street. Separated by hundreds of imperial guards and the vanguard honor guard, they only caught a distant glimpse of the bright yellow carriage roof.
As for what the Emperor looked like, or whether his face was actually glowing with health, they hadn't seen clearly at all.
But that didn't stop them from speaking as if it were the absolute truth.
Scolded by Granny Zhao, Old Zheng shrank his neck and muttered a quiet retort.
I didn't make it up, everyone on the streets is talking about it now...
Talking? Who is talking about it?
Behind a square table in the corner, a man wearing a gray cloth robe put down his broken folding fan.
The man was in his early forties, with a sparse goatee on his chin.
His complexion was sallow, and there were unwashed ink stains embedded under his fingernails.
Anyone could tell at a glance that he was a down-and-out clerk who couldn't make a name for himself in the government office.
The clerk waved his folding fan, which was missing some ribs, striking a knowledgeable pose, and spoke slowly.
Do not panic, everyone. Just listen to me for a moment.
Granny Zhao rolled her eyes.
The clerk pretended not to notice, twirling his beard and lowering his voice.
This matter of moving the capital, in my humble opinion, is not some cowardly flight from the enemy.
On the contrary, this is His Majesty's strategy to temporarily avoid the brunt of the enemy's attack.
The art of war says that a good commander guides actions according to the circumstances.
The Helian people have come from far away, and their provisions are insufficient.
His Majesty moving south will stretch the enemy's front lines. Once they venture deep into our territory and their supplies are cut off, the royal army will strike with the force of a thunderbolt and wipe out the barbarians in one fell swoop!
This is a foolproof master plan to lure the enemy in deep and shut the door to beat the dog!
The clerk became more and more excited as he spoke, waving his fan so hard it whirred, saliva flying from his mouth.
Good! Well said!
A burly man nearby slammed his hand on the table, making the bowls and plates jump.
The man was missing two fingers on his right hand, and there was a long, old scar on the web between his thumb and index finger. At a glance, it was obvious he was an old veteran retired from the battlefield.
Brother, you hit the nail on the head!
The veteran with the missing fingers wiped his mouth, his voice booming.
In my early years, I served in the border army. The Helian people fight purely on brute strength; they run fast, loot, and then retreat.
You want them to fight their way south? Stretching their supply lines a thousand miles is just asking for death!
His Majesty is wise! This is a grand stroke of genius rarely seen in a thousand years!
Once these words were spoken, the atmosphere at the tea stall immediately lightened.
The diners chimed in one after another, making the story of moving the capital sound more and more plausible.
Some called it shutting the door to beat the dog, others called it catching a turtle in a jar, and still others called it gathering them up to annihilate them.
Everyone talked at once, turning what was actually a political calculation in the imperial court into a century-long master plan by the Emperor.
Granny Zhao slapped her thigh. That's what I said! What kind of figure is His Majesty? How could he be frightened by those Helian barbarians!
Liu Er, gnawing on his flatbread, repeatedly agreed. Exactly! Our Great Qian's century-old foundation is as steady as a rock!
Old Zheng originally wanted to argue a bit more, but seeing everyone around him nodding, he went along with the crowd and let out a dry, awkward laugh.
That's true too. My brother-in-law also said that the roads in the south are well-built and the granaries are full. If the Emperor really goes to Jinling, he might even go on a royal tour and enjoy the blessings of Jiangnan!
Hey! That makes a lot of sense!
At some unknown point, two more people had appeared at the edge of the crowd.
The two men were dressed in half-worn silk robes.
They had jade pendants hanging from their waists and each held a folding fan in their hands.
Their demeanor carried the air of educated men, and they seemed to have seen the world.
Judging by their attire, they looked like stewards from a wealthy household.
The slightly older steward on the left came over holding his teacup, picking up the conversation with a smile.
"This good sister is right. Actually, the lords in the imperial court have already made their conclusion."
Granny Zhao had never been spoken to by someone dressed like this and was taken aback for a moment.
"What conclusion?"
The steward lowered his voice.
"His Majesty's southern tour is a highly auspicious omen."
"Lord Liu of the Imperial Astronomical Bureau said it himself. On the day of the Autumn Equinox this year, the Ziwei Star shifts south, perfectly aligning with the celestial sign of the Emperor personally visiting Jiangnan."
"This is no flight from disaster; it is an auspicious act that complies with the heavens and follows the will of the people."
"Yes, exactly."
The other steward chimed in unhurriedly.
"I heard the Ministry of Rites is already drafting the protocol for the southern tour's honor guard, and the prefectures along the way are sweeping the official roads and repairing the temporary palaces."
"With such a great and joyous event, you shouldn't think the worst."
The commoners at the tea stall felt relieved.
Since it was an auspicious omen, aligned with the celestial signs, and even the Ministry of Rites was preparing the honor guard, there was nothing to worry about.
Granny Zhao grinned from ear to ear. She grabbed her vegetable basket and prepared to leave, adding one last remark before going.
"Just as I said, His Majesty is blessed by heaven. The days of our Great Qian Dynasty are still long!"
The patrons dispersed, and the tea stall returned to its usual lively state.
Old Man Feng carried his copper kettle, continuing to pour water and serve tea.
Sunlight pierced through the morning mist and spilled onto the bluestone paved road, painting a picture of perfect peace.
The two stewards had left the tea stall at some unknown point, disappearing into the bustling streets and alleys of the southern city.
...
At the exact same time.
Within the imperial palace, in the Imperial Study.
The heavy nanmu wood doors were tightly shut.
The Emperor was slumped over the imperial desk.
He coughed incessantly, his entire body hunched forward.
A mouthful of fresh blood sprayed onto the memorial before him, soaking through the small, neat calligraphy and leaving a pool of crimson.
Companion Li knelt two steps away from the imperial desk, his forehead pressed against the floor, his voice kept very low.
"Your Majesty... at the tea stalls in the southern city, the commoners are all saying that Your Majesty's southern tour is an auspicious sign of the Ziwei Star shifting south."
"We... have already let the word out."
The Emperor's coughing gradually ceased.
Gripping the edge of the imperial desk, the Emperor slowly straightened his body.
He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a silk handkerchief, pressing it against his lips to wipe away the remaining bloodstains at the corners of his mouth.
This was already the third silk handkerchief he had soiled today.
Inside the drawer of the imperial desk lay a stack of seven or eight more blood-stained handkerchiefs.
Companion Li would quietly replace them with new ones every day and take the old ones away to be burned.
The Emperor folded the bloodied silk handkerchief, placed it back into his sleeve, and raised his head.
"Well spread."
The Emperor reached for the medicine bowl at the corner of the desk.
The medicinal broth had gone completely cold, a thin film congealing on its surface.
The Emperor picked up the bowl and downed it in one gulp.
Wiping his mouth, the Emperor looked out the window at the palace walls shrouded in the morning mist, his gaze growing profoundly deep.
"I shall see... when this play reaches its final act, who will be the first to lose their composure and jump onto the stage."
