Before sunrise, the area outside the main tent of the Royal Court was already crowded with people.
The Great Shaman had calculated the auspicious hour last night; the sheep bones were burned three times, and the ashes were sifted twice.
Finally, the moment to present the treasure was set for exactly when the sun crested the eastern slope.
This might sound absurd, but no one in the Royal Court dared to consider it a nuisance.
If the Great Khan was to view a treasure, it could not be presented casually.
Three layers of felt blankets were laid in front of the tent. The first layer was white sheep wool, the second was black cowhide, and the third was trimmed with red fox fur hunted during last year's autumn hunt.
Even the corners had to be weighed down with four copper nails pointing east, symbolizing that wealth comes from the direction of the sunrise.
Four scribes stood in the four corners inside the tent, each holding a parchment ledger.
One recorded the time.
One recorded the etiquette.
One recorded the name of the treasure presenter.
And one was specifically assigned to record every single movement the Great Khan made after picking up the glazed cup.
This was not just for show.
It was the rule of the Royal Court: when a precious item entered the Khan's tent, it must be recorded in a ledger, it must have a name, and it must have a witness.
If anyone mentioned this glazed cup in the future.
The historians could flip open the ledger and read out exactly which year, which month, and which day it was.
They could recite which slope the sun rose from when the Great Khan accepted the precious artifact from the Great Qian dynasty in the main tent.
This was called dignity.
And dignity, in the Royal Court, was far more valuable than human life.
The treasury official, Tsagaan, had changed into a new robe.
There was not a speck of dust on his black sheepskin outer robe. The two bunches of copper keys at his waist were polished bright and jingled as he walked. Behind him, two treasury guards carried a wooden box. The box was wrapped in soft leather, and the soft leather was covered with a piece of red felt.
Tsagaan had not slept soundly since last night.
He had memorized the treasure presentation speech for so long that even he could not count the days.
After waking up early, he hid behind the storehouse and recited it seven more times.
Yet, when he actually stood outside the main tent, the base of his tongue still felt dry.
Sukh stood on the other side.
He wore a new wolf-fur-trimmed robe, the copper buttons on his chest all replaced with silver ones, and his waist sword swapped for one with a gold-inlaid handle.
Today's treasure presentation was nominally submitted by the treasury official.
But for this batch of goods being escorted all the way from the Right Division into the Royal Court, Sukh's name would certainly not be missing from the book of merits.
To receive the seal of a Myriarch after the autumn hunt, all he needed was this final step today.
As long as the Great Khan was pleased, as long as this glazed cup won the Great Khan's favor.
He, Sukh, would no longer be a mere Centurion who had crawled up from the border tents, but someone who could truly secure a seat at the council table of the Royal Court.
In front of the tent door, the Great Shaman raised his bone staff and struck the ground three times.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
All the whispers inside the tent stopped.
"The auspicious hour has arrived."
The treasury guards knelt down and placed the wooden box in front of Tsagaan.
Tsagaan fell to both knees, lifted the wooden box with both hands, and bent his waist as low as possible.
From the tent door to the Great Khan's seat, it was exactly nine steps.
He could not stand up to walk.
The rules were clearly written: when a foreign treasure first entered the Khan's tent, the presenter must walk on their knees for nine steps, signifying that the treasure was offered by a person of the earth to the Khan of Heaven's Mandate.
Tsagaan shuffled forward on his knees.
First step, the felt blanket pressed against his knees, the hem of his leather robe dragging on the ground.
Second step, he heard the scribe beside him scratching charcoal across parchment.
Third step, the wooden box felt a bit heavy in his hands.
Fourth step, he dared not look up, only staring at the stitching on the felt blanket.
Fifth step, someone inside the tent coughed, and he nearly broke out in a sweat on his back.
Sixth step, Sukh shifted half a step forward from the side, the corner of his clothes brushing past his sleeve.
Seventh step, he ran the presentation speech through his mouth one more time.
Eighth step, the smell of the sheep fat lamp drifted into his nose.
Ninth step, he stopped, pressed his forehead to the felt blanket, and raised the wooden box over his head with both hands.
The four scribes inside the tent lowered their pens simultaneously.
When Tsagaan spoke, his throat was tight and astringent.
"A treasure bestowed by Heaven, to protect our Royal Court!"
As soon as these words came out, even the sound of boot soles scraping the floor inside the main tent ceased.
The Great Khan, Ashina Hongfang, sat in the seat of honor.
He had a broad stature and was no longer young. His beard was combed into three strands, a golden headband with wolf fangs was tied across his forehead, and a short sword rested by his hand, its scabbard inlaid with red stones.
The Right Luli Prince, Ashina Gudu, sat to his lower left.
Further down were the nobles of various tribes, Myriarchs, and Centurions. Female officials from the rear tent also stood by the curtains, ready to register any treasures bestowed by the Great Khan into the ledger.
The lid of the wooden box was opened by a treasury guard.
The glazed cup lay in the middle of the soft cloth.
The body of the cup was thin, its rim delicate, and the bottom was embossed with patterns. When the lamplight shone on it, the entire piece was translucent, even reflecting the texture of the red cloth at the bottom of the box.
A few gasps echoed inside the tent.
Someone muttered softly.
"The craftsmanship of the Great Qian people is truly wicked."
"If you use this thing to drink wine, I'm afraid you could even see right through the color of the liquor."
"If we display this at the autumn hunt banquet, those fellows from the Left Division will have their eyes glued to it."
Hearing these words, Sukh felt his chest puff up.
Yes, look at it just like that.
Everyone look.
Everyone praise it.
The louder the praise, the heavier his merit would be.
Tsagaan was still kneeling, supporting the box with both hands, his wrists already aching.
The Great Khan finally reached out.
Ashina Hongfang picked up the glazed cup.
He held it very casually, his fingers gripping the body of the cup, turning it over to look at the bottom.
He rotated it once, inspecting the rim, and then the walls of the cup.
The charcoal pens in the scribes' hands scratched rapidly.
"The Khan King took the cup on the seventy-second breath after sunrise."
"The Khan King holds the cup in his right hand."
"The Khan King observes the embossed pattern on the cup's bottom."
"The Khan King observes the translucence of the cup's walls."
Sukh held his breath.
Tsagaan lowered his head even further.
Bayan stood by the tent door, his shoulders completely stiff.
After Ashina Hongfang finished inspecting it, he placed the glazed cup on his knee and spoke.
"So this is the glaze of Great Qian?"
This was the exact sentence Sukh had been waiting for.
He shuffled forward on his knees, speaking up before anyone else could.
"Great Khan, this cup is the finest piece in this batch of goods, escorted all the way from the border city of Great Qian."
"It crossed the Black Water Ditch and traveled the Spring Mud Road. Two carts broke down on the way, and many servants were lost."
"The escorts did not close their eyes for days and nights just to deliver it flawlessly to the Royal Court."
He spoke very urgently, his spit splashing onto his beard a few times.
"On the stretch of road at Black Water Ditch, the cart wheels sank into the mud."
"If the subordinates hadn't used their lives to pad it, the glass box would have overturned long ago. The goods were inspected at the transit station, and inspected again at the storehouse. It was checked layer by layer before we dared to present it before the Great Khan."
"This cup is not only a testament to the craftsmanship of Great Qian's artisans, but also the sincerity of the Right Division's trade route, and even more so, the result of the Royal Court's prestige!"
"Only because of this was Great Qian willing to send over such precious goods."
He had practiced these words outside the tent.
Where to pause, where to raise his voice, and where to emphasize the words 'Royal Court's prestige'—he had calculated it all.
After listening, the Great Khan gave a nod.
"Mhm."
Just one sound.
The two paragraphs Sukh had prepared to say next were completely stuck in his throat.
He was still waiting for the Great Khan to praise their hard work.
Even just a simple 'well done' would have been enough to be written into the book of merits.
But Ashina Hongfang had already placed the glazed cup back into the wooden box.
The cup gently touched the soft cloth, making a very low sound.
The Great Khan did not touch it again.
He turned his head to look at Gudu.
"Gudu, you mentioned a few days ago that the pastures at Wild Fox Beach have had a good spring this year. How many warhorses can it produce?"
Gudu leaned forward slightly.
"To answer the Great Khan, if the rains are favorable, it can produce three thousand horses."
Ashina Hongfang raised his hand and slapped his knee.
"Three thousand horses!"
He began to laugh, his chest vibrating so much that the felt on the roof of the main tent shook along with it.
"Now that is good news!"
The nobles inside the tent laughed along.
Some slammed the tables.
Some raised their wine bowls.
Some began to flatter him.
"If Wild Fox Beach produces three thousand horses, when we head south after autumn, our Right Route can add two more cavalry units!"
"It is the Great Khan's immense fortune; even the pastures grow horses for the Great Khan!"
"With horses comes manpower, and with manpower comes swords. No matter how good Great Qian is at firing glass, they cannot stop our iron hooves!"
Waves of laughter echoed through the tent.
The glass cup lay quietly in its wooden box, the light on its surface half-obscured by the red felt.
Sukh knelt in place, the flush of excitement slowly fading from his face.
He had spent so much breath detailing the deaths, the broken wagons, and the immense hardships endured on the journey.
He presented it all to the Great Khan, only to find that the Khan cared solely about horses.
Three thousand warhorses.
A cup for holding wine could never compare to a horse that carried men into battle.
Gudu took over the conversation, his tone steady.
"The winter snow at Wild Fox Shoal was thick last year, so the grass roots didn't freeze to death."
"This year's spring waters are plentiful as well. Assuming there is no severe drought, three thousand is merely a conservative estimate."
"I believe we should dispatch two teams of pastoral officials in advance to count the mares and strictly forbid the tribes from unauthorized slaughter."
The Great Khan nodded.
"Granted."
"Furthermore, during the autumn hunt at Black Stone Shoal, select two hundred prime horses for the royal tent. The rest will be distributed among the tribes according to military merit."
"Whoever earns merit on the border gets the first pick."
At these words, everyone in the tent sat up straighter.
A glass cup could give a man face.
Warhorses could give a man military power.
Face could host a banquet, but military power could be exchanged for pastures, slaves, and the grain and meat needed to survive the winter.
Everyone in the royal court knew how to calculate this ledger.
Sukh's throat tightened.
He should have interjected at this moment to bring the credit for the trade route back into focus.
But the Great Khan and Gudu had already begun discussing horse administration, pastures, and the troop quotas for each tribe.
If he inserted himself now, it would not be claiming credit, but rather inviting disgust.
Tsagaan was still kneeling in the center, holding the wooden box.
Unable to advance, unable to retreat.
His knees were going numb from the pressure, and his arms were losing the strength to hold the box up.
The scribe stood in the corner, his charcoal pencil paused.
The record about the glass cup was only half-written, as the anticipated grand spectacle never materialized.
The Great Khan did not offer praise.
He did not bestow a name upon it.
He did not use it to drink wine on the spot.
All that could be written in the historical annals was, The Khan viewed it, and ordered it into the treasury.
Gudu cast a glance at Tsagaan and waved his hand.
"Take it away. Put it in the treasury."
Tsagaan quickly complied, shuffling backward on his knees while supporting the wooden box.
Nine steps forward, nine steps back.
By the time he emerged, his forehead was covered in sweat.
Outside the tent, the wind blew down from the dirt slopes and crept into his sleeves.
Tsagaan looked down at the wooden box in his hands.
The Great Khan had just held this glass cup. According to the rules, it had now been graced by the Khan's noble aura. From now on, it would be stored in the inner treasury, wrapped in three layers of soft cloth, only to be taken out during the grand autumn hunt banquets.
Yet, Tsagaan's palms felt cold.
It wasn't from the wind.
Flashing through his mind were the two wagon wheel tracks at Black Water Trench, the cavalrymen being whipped at the treasury door, the maid banished to the north slope, and the two names crossed out in the transit station's ledger.
This cup had been wiped spotlessly clean, untainted by wine stains or dust, yet it rested upon the foundation of exactly eighteen human lives.
From beginning to end, the Great Khan hadn't even given it a second glance.
Bayan followed behind him and spoke in a low voice.
"Lord Tsagaan, which shelf should this cup be placed on?"
Tsagaan paused for half a step.
"The third shelf on the east wall of the inner treasury. Seal it away as an item personally viewed by the Great Khan."
"Should it be listed in a separate registry?"
"Yes."
Tsagaan handed the wooden box to a treasury guard, his voice growing slightly hoarse.
"Write it clearly: Presented by the Right Division trade route, one Great Qian glass cup, intact."
Bayan nodded and hurried off to instruct the scribes.
Intact.
Once these two words were set down in the ledger, this mission would be considered a complete success.
As for those who died beneath the wagon wheels, those who suffered the whip, and those driven to the north slope, they all had their respective places in the accounts.
Deceased slaves written off as losses.
Cavalrymen punished for dereliction of duty.
Maids penalized for breaking rules.
Every single entry could be explained.
Every single line could be filed away.
The only thing no one would do was write their names on the same page as this glass cup.
The treasury doors opened.
The wooden box was carried inside, the copper lock was fastened, and the clay seal was stamped.
Tsagaan stood at the door, listening to the click of the latch closing.
He suddenly felt that once this object was locked inside, it had a better resting place than the people outside.
At least it would not go hungry.
It would not be crushed by wagon wheels.
It would not be banished to the north slope just because its fingers touched something precious.
At that same hour, in the royal court's penal labor camp.
Amur was kneeling by the horse pens, using a wooden shovel to break apart sun-hardened blocks of manure.
His shoulder had not yet healed. The rag bandaging it had been changed twice, but the wound had split open again. Blood and pus clung to the fabric, and raising his arm caused a pain that made his teeth ache.
The labor overseer walked past the fence gate and tossed out a command.
"Hurry it up. The Great Khan is holding a banquet in his tent today, and the horse pens must be swept clean."
Amur did not make a sound.
He thrust the wooden shovel into the dung heap and forcefully turned it over.
Beside him, a child so starved he could barely stand bent down to pick up half a piece of bean cake that had fallen from the horse trough.
The overseer turned and immediately delivered a strike with his rod.
"That is for the horses to eat!"
The child curled up in the mud, clutching his head.
Amur's hand, gripping the wooden shovel, paused for a moment.
The glass shard tucked inside his robe pressed hard against his chest.
Last night, he had hidden it in the inner lining of his sheepskin robe. It had cut through the cloth and pierced his skin, but he had not thrown it away.
That tiny object was hard and sharp. Pressed against his flesh, every step he took brought pain.
But the pain kept him awake and clear-headed.
He heard horns sounding in the distance from the direction of the main tent, followed by the clamor of feasting.
The nobles were drinking wine.
Their cups were clean.
Their wine was clean.
Their ledgers were even cleaner.
Amur lowered his head and pulled the wooden shovel from the dung heap, his knuckles coated in filth.
He suddenly recalled the crude curse Bagan had uttered before he died.
Don't cry out. Crying out is useless.
Amur reached into his robe and touched that shard of glass.
Its edge sliced open his palm.
Blood welled up, flowing down his wrist and dripping into the horse manure and muddy water, quickly vanishing from sight.
