Chapter 8

“Yang Zhijian?” Zheng Xuanfu stared blankly at Qi Yun, unable even to wipe the soup dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Qi Yun tossed two pieces of dry charcoal into the blazing fire. As the charcoal crackled alongside the kindling, the sharp sound seemed to pull Zheng Xuanfu’s spirit back. Suddenly, he raised his voice, “Yang Zhijian!”

Everyone knew this man—indeed, which general in the Qi army didn’t? Yang Zhijian was the chief clerk to the Inspector of Jingzhou. Ordinarily, the position of chief clerk was second only to the inspector in the prefectural hierarchy, wielding authority over thousands, often reserved for local powerful clans.

The imperial court, wary of local magnates growing too strong, typically appointed outsiders to official posts. Yet to ensure the court’s decrees were enforced, they made concessions, allowing locals—usually the aristocrats—to serve as chief clerks under inspectors.

But now, with the dynasty reduced to a nominal emperor, the old appointment system was but a shadow of its former self. The appointed inspectors were either killed and replaced by local powers or merged into their ranks. Jingzhou, a vital southern gateway, had long since seen its inspector collaborate with local elites; the office had become hereditary, with no need even to report to the court.

Consequently, the chief clerk role was also dominated by local magnates. However, Jingzhou’s current inspector was an exception. Yang Zhijian was known to come from humble origins, with no ties to the powerful clans of Jingzhou.

Among the Qi generals, some looked down on Yang Zhijian because of his background. Yet after facing him in battle, they found him extraordinarily tenacious. Rumors had it that he studied under wandering mystics, learning arts to command the elements—though unconfirmed. His military formations were unorthodox and unpredictable. Moreover, he was remarkably composed, indifferent to the Qi army’s schemes to lure the defenders out for a swift victory; the garrison inside Jingzhou showed no sign of stirring.

One general resorted to insults beneath the city gates, cursing the inspector’s ancestors and even Yang Zhijian himself, deriding him as a lowly, cowardly trickster who hid behind the city walls, suspecting some unspeakable collusion with the inspector.

For a man, especially one who rose from the bottom, one’s face and honor were everything. Yet, despite more than twenty days of such insults, the defenders remained unmoved.

Qi Yun did not pin his hopes on mere curses. Instead, he asked his uncle Qi Huan to devise another plan.

Qi Huan ordered tunnels to be dug covertly beneath the city walls for a surprise assault. Yet, despite the secrecy, several patrols emerged from the city gates daily, firing arrows wildly at the tunnel diggers—not to kill, but to warn that their efforts were known and should cease.

When the news reached the commander, he angrily vented his frustration. Qi Yun, however, was unbothered. Leaks were inevitable in wartime, with scouts on both sides. Knowledge of their plans was not surprising.

He longed to persuade his uncle to retreat. Jingzhou was a tough nut to crack—not only to break but to swallow whole. Given the current circumstances, such victory was pure fantasy.

Triumph required favorable timing, terrain, and harmony among the troops. The northern soldiers were ill-suited to the southern climate, with disease spreading through the ranks despite the presence of medics. Morale was faltering.

Without advantage in these three critical aspects, dreaming of devouring this prize was folly. Even with heavy losses, rival warlords lurked, eager to snatch the spoils once seized.

So it made no sense to linger here. While the situation was still salvageable, they should turn back. But his uncle refused to listen, accusing Qi Yun of cowardice unbecoming of the family’s eldest son. If afraid, he could leave on his own; the uncle would write a letter excusing him, sparing him from their father’s reproach.

At this juncture, retreat was off the table. Qi Yun could not simply abandon the cause.

His uncle ordered a siege around Jingzhou, planning to wear them down.

As the standoff dragged on, before the city’s supplies could run dry, winter arrived. With provisions growing scarce, the defenders launched a night raid.

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“A defeat like a landslide.” Qi Yun casually struck a large piece of charcoal with the fire tongs, breaking it into smaller fragments and dropping them back into the fire, which glowed warmly.

“One must admit, the timing was impeccable.”

He smiled.

“A little earlier or later, and the result wouldn’t have been the same. But on that very day…” His voice brimmed with admiration. “This man truly has skill. For the Inspector of Jingzhou to command such a talent, it’s enviable indeed.”

Zheng Xuanfu’s expression was inscrutable. “Jingyue, how did you know this was Yang Zhijian’s home?”

Qi Yun pointed to the stacks of bamboo slips piled inside the room—bundles wrapped carefully in silk.

“Last night, with nothing else to do, I flipped through some. I found his signature. Since names can’t be signed lightly, I assumed this must be his residence.”

At night, Zheng Xuanfu had changed into dry, warm robes and fallen asleep, too exhausted for anything else.

Suddenly, he almost jumped up. “No wonder that young woman was so audacious—it turns out she’s related to Yang Zhijian!”

“No wonder,” Qi Yun said, rubbing his palms heavily. “Her temperament is exactly like his. So rude… does she know something?”

He looked up at Zheng Xuanfu pacing nearby.

“No, we can’t keep her.”

Shortly after, Zheng Xuanfu went to the armor pile to fetch a sword.

“Sit down.”

Qi Yun tapped the wooden edge of the fire pit with the tongs, producing a deep thudding sound.

“Jingyue!” Zheng Xuanfu fretted, raising his voice as he turned. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll turn us all in?”

“I said, sit down!”

The tongs struck the wood again, the heavy sound striking a chord deep within.

Gritting his teeth while clutching the sword, Zheng Xuanfu reluctantly sat by the fire.

Qi Yun stirred the glowing coals, making the flames roar brighter.

“Go open the door.”

No matter how cold, the door had to be opened halfway; a closed room with a fire was dangerous. Zheng Xuanfu rose and opened the door, letting the chill wind and cold rain seep inside.

Used to fine living, the cold made him shrink into his robes. Yang Zhijian’s old winter coat was small on Qi Yun but fit Zheng Xuanfu well. He pulled his hands and neck inside, shielding himself from the biting wind.

Qi Yun glanced at his comical figure and snorted. “With you like this, thinking of killing someone—what a joke. You’re all bark and no bite, only brave around women.”

Zheng Xuanfu bristled, about to retort, but the cold wind filled his mouth, forcing him to shut it again.

Qi Yun’s mocking laughter grew louder.

“Come sit close, lest you end up swallowing more wind.”

Helpless, Zheng Xuanfu obeyed and sat by the fire, now burning fiercely against the cold gusts.

“Jingyue, you’re fearless now. How did you get so bold?” Zheng Xuanfu shivered as he spoke, despite the warmth. “I remember you once urged the commander to retreat, so cautious that even your uncle was displeased. And now, when your own life’s at stake, you’re so daring.”

He spoke with a sharp edge.

Qi Yun gave him a sidelong glance. “I advocated retreat because there’s no need to linger. Better to withdraw than to waste time. As for that young woman, there’s hardly anyone around. On such a freezing day, do you think they could travel twenty miles to report us at the magistrate’s office?”

For days, snow and sleet had fallen. The roads outside were glazed with ice, impassable even for oxen or horses, let alone people.

Still, Zheng Xuanfu wasn’t satisfied, smirking slyly. “Are you saying she lacks the ability? Or that you’re just smitten by her looks, feeling sorry for her?”

“She should be Yang Zhijian’s sister,” Qi Yun said calmly.

Zheng Xuanfu scoffed. “So what? Without Yang Zhijian, we wouldn’t be in such a bind. Besides, he’s our enemy.”

“Even if we harm his family, it’s not entirely our fault.”

Qi Yun raised his eyes, lifting the fiery tongs threateningly. The glowing iron looked as if he might strike Zheng Xuanfu with it.

If he did, it would burn him alive.

“Qi Yun, what are you doing?” Zheng Xuanfu turned pale, screaming.

“See? I knew it!” Even now, he shouted, “You’re blinded by desire and acting out of spite, aren’t you?”

Qi Yun grabbed Zheng Xuanfu’s outer robe and yanked him down with force, pinning the fleeing man to the ground.

The burning tongs hovered before Zheng Xuanfu’s face.

“If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll shove this right down your throat.”