“You are mistaken, sir,” Mei Yan refuted. “I am not entirely entangled with women. If I were to return to Yanzhou at this moment, what would Father Emperor think?”
The Emperor of Beicang, Pei Hui, had only just declared his intention to appoint the eldest son, Pei Tai, as Crown Prince. If he hurried back to Yanzhou now, his ambition for the succession would be far too obvious and would easily invite suspicion and suppression.
Thus, it was not the time to return north.
After some thought, Zhao Cheng nodded. “Your concerns are entirely justified, my lord.” He frowned slightly. “Then I shall reply to Chancellor Zhang, saying that unless Later Yue surrenders, you will not return, and that you remain here awaiting the great Beicang army.”
Mei Yan smiled faintly. “Wenchang, that’s going too far.” “Wenchang” was Zhao Cheng’s courtesy name.
Beicang had long desired to swallow up Later Yue, to devour this fat sheep slumbering beside its bed. Yet their state had only been founded for a short time, its national strength still weak, while Later Yue’s realm was stable, free from upheaval for years. A southern campaign was no easy undertaking. Even if Father Emperor wished to wage war, Mei Yan would submit a memorial to advise against it. Now was not the right moment. If war were rashly initiated, Beicang might not gain any advantage.
Thus, Later Yue could only be taken slowly. First demand annual tribute, then destroy the pillars of its court, then seize the cities along its borders with Beicang, gradually nibbling away at it bit by bit. Sooner or later, this splendid land would be absorbed into Beicang’s territory. Before that, it might take ten years or more.
Ten years was far too long.
He would not remain in Lin’an forever. At the proper time, when the struggle for succession in Yanzhou turned in his favor, he would return.
For now, he had to lie low in Later Yue.
Zhao Cheng said, “His Majesty and Chancellor Zhang both like to hear such words.”
“As you wish.” Mei Yan smiled again.
Once Zhao Cheng had drafted the reply, Mei Yan suddenly said with a trace of melancholy, “Wenchang, I may not be able to wait that long. What about destroying Later Yue within two years?” He wanted this land to already belong to Beicang by the time he set out for Yanzhou.
And by then, Cheng Yunxiang would be his woman.
Outside the window, the moon shifted, and the shadows of flowers crept across the lattice.
Zhao Cheng’s hand hovered near his short beard in a loose fist. “…Two years.”
Mei Yan rose, stretching his arms and letting his sleeves fall open, his brows filling with resolute ruthlessness. “Song Yu is far inferior to his father. It’s time for our people to start making moves.”
“Our people” referred to the spies they had planted in Lin’an’s Imperial City Division, the assassins they had raised, and the various commoners they had gradually bought over the years.
They had placed spies in nearly every prominent household in Lin’an, most disguised as cooks, grooms, or maids. When Song Ting still reigned in Later Yue, the Embroidered Guard kept watch over all households, and they had feared exposure, lying dormant for years without making any major moves.
Zhao Cheng was thinking along the same lines. Lightly fanning himself, he asked slowly, “Who does my lord intend to deal with first?” At some point, a string of wooden plaques appeared in his hand, each carved with surnames such as “Fan,” “Pan,” “Xie,” “Liu”… all the great aristocratic families of Lin’an.
To destroy Later Yue, these powerful clans tied to the imperial family had to be broken first.
Mei Yan took the plaque engraved with “Fan.” “In the early years, Emperor Song Ting of Later Yue had a secret organization called the Embroidered Guard, said to monitor and surveil the noble families and officials everywhere,” he said. “I have always feared them and did not dare act rashly. After Song Ting died, they suddenly vanished. Did they not pass into Song Yu’s hands?”
Zhao Cheng replied, “From my inquiries, during Song Ting’s reign, the Embroidered Guard was led by a Daoist nun named Li Lingzhu.”
Li Lingzhu.
Mei Yan pondered for a long time before recalling, “The nun from Peach Blossom Temple?”
Zhao Cheng nodded. “Reports from our agents in various households indicate she is highly suspicious. At first, I could hardly believe that someone outside the court, and a woman at that, could be in charge of the Embroidered Guard. But judging from all the gathered information, it is most likely true.”
Li Lingzhu was too inconspicuous in Lin’an. So inconspicuous that they could not even recall her origins, her age, or her appearance. Only that she had long taken vows at Peach Blossom Temple.
“Song Ting was always deeply calculating,” Mei Yan sneered. “Using Li Lingzhu to command the Embroidered Guard fits his style.”
Zhao Cheng said, “Perhaps in his later years, when he was often ill, he had no chance to pass it on to Song Yu. Or perhaps that useless son of his simply thought it was of no use and cast it aside.”
“Song Ting ruled peacefully for so many years,” Mei Yan said. “The Embroidered Guard deserves at least half the credit. Now that Song Yu is unaware of it, heaven is truly helping me.”
He glanced at the calendar and calculated. There were still two years and seven hundred thirty days until Later Yue’s fall. Tomorrow he would cross off one day, the day after another… time would pass quickly, he thought.
“Has Li Lingzhu made any moves recently?” he asked.
Zhao Cheng shook his head. “Since Emperor Song Ting’s death, she has had no contact with the palace.” It seemed the Embroidered Guard of Later Yue had truly disbanded. “But if the Imperial City Division begins to act, and if she still commands the Embroidered Guard, her experience and instincts will quickly detect our movements.”
“Will she inform Song Yu?”
They had spent years in Later Yue and understood well how formidable the Embroidered Guard was, which made them deeply wary.
“The Embroidered Guard answers directly to the emperor. If we want to know their movements…” Mei Yan mused. “We need to find a capable informant inside the palace.” Ideally, a eunuch of some standing, someone who could observe whom the emperor met and what he said at all times.
Zhao Cheng nodded. “Palace maids cannot easily leave the palace. A eunuch would be best… I will think of a way.” Besides serving as Mei Yan’s strategist, he had also spent years building a jewelry business in Lin’an and was a wealthy merchant.
Perhaps he could use this identity to befriend palace eunuchs.
That night, he searched through bizarre and fanciful medical texts and finally found a prescription—one that included placenta, desert cistanche, Hepu pearls, and other strange ingredients, boasting that after taking three doses, even a castrated man could regrow what was lost, and after three years, be fully restored…
A false prescription.
Zhao Cheng did not believe in such nonsense. There was no way a man who had lost it could grow it back.
But it didn’t matter whether it was true or false. He wouldn’t be the one using it. As long as the eunuchs in the palace believed it, the prescription could serve as bait.
Before fishing, one had to lay the ground bait—and lay it well.
That night, even in his dreams, Zhao Cheng was planning how to do so. Early the next morning, he went to his jewelry shop in Lin’an—Zhao’s Jewelry absentmindedly inventorying gold, silver, jade, gemstones, pearls, and coral. His gaze finally settled on Hepu pearls.
An idea struck.
He set up a sign in the most prominent spot at the entrance, posting the dubious prescription. Not only did he exaggerate its ability to regrow what was lost, but also claimed it could enhance virility and cure men’s ailments—even restoring what was gone. Yet the advertisement itself had nothing to do with the prescription; it was simply selling pearls: see, Hepu pearls are excellent—buy them, stock up!
At first, only a few people stopped to look, just as Zhao Cheng had expected. They remembered the prescription vividly and joked, “Shopkeeper Zhao, it’s a pity to post this. Why not sell it to the palace eunuchs at a high price and let them regrow themselves?”
“Yes, yes, sell it to them—you’ll make money and earn great merit too.”
Zhao Cheng only smiled. “I deal only in jewelry, I know nothing of this.”
As more people gathered, the prescription spread throughout Lin’an, becoming a topic of casual conversation and amusement.
Soon, it reached the palace. Eunuchs of all ranks learned of it. Some, taking advantage of leave, went to Zhao’s Jewelry to see it, memorized it, and returned to copy it down for others. “Make a copy and keep it safe. When we leave the palace someday, we can try it. Who knows, maybe we’ll become whole again and marry a wife…”
Wei Shun, the adopted son of Eunuch Wei Heng, neatly copied a version and presented it to him. “Godfather, you’ll need this in about ten years.”
Wei Heng, now in his forties, would indeed retire in another decade or so.
Wei Heng smiled and shook his head, his voice shrill. “I’ve already accepted my fate.”
“Don’t say that, Godfather,” Wei Shun grinned. “You’ve received so many rewards from His Majesty over the years. Without children, who will inherit them?”
Wei Heng sighed, his face darkening. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, but…” He glanced at the prescription. “These formulas are all lies. Once it’s gone, it’s gone…”
Wei Shun said, “When I get leave, I’ll go ask the shopkeeper at Zhao’s for you.”
…
By day, Zhao Cheng ran his business while waiting for the fish to bite. By night, he met with Mei Yan.
One evening, they had just sat down for tea.
A faint chime sounded.
A spy in night attire arrived and reported softly from behind the curtain, “My lord, Lord Gao has already departed for Beicang a few days ago. He took only the tribute and failed to obtain the maps of Later Yue’s thirty-two prefectures.”
Zhao Cheng frowned. “Didn’t Later Yue initially agree to copy them and provide them?”
“They did,” the spy replied, “but the next day, Song Yu changed his statement in court, saying he had only recently ascended the throne and had not yet compiled the maps.”
An excuse.
“Did anyone speak to Song Yu about the maps before he changed his mind?” Zhao Cheng asked, glancing at Mei Yan.
“This… I could not find out,” the spy answered.
Mei Yan frowned. “Before Song Yu changed his stance, did he meet anyone?”
The spy thought hard. “No one in particular.”
“Leave us,” Zhao Cheng said impatiently.
The spy turned to go, then suddenly returned. “That evening, Daoist Cheng from Ganquan Temple entered the palace.”
Cheng Yunxiang.
How would a woman like her understand the importance of those maps?
“Did Daoist Cheng meet anyone before entering the palace?” Zhao Cheng asked. “Could someone have asked her to pass along a message?”
The spy recalled, “Before entering the palace, our people saw Fu Xian, the commander of the Imperial Guard, visit Ganquan Temple. I found it strange—those two had no prior acquaintance. Why would he suddenly visit her?”
Fu Xian.
Mei Yan stood up at once, dismissing the spy with a wave.
After pacing the room for a moment, he returned to the desk, handed the “Fan” plaque back to Zhao Cheng, then picked up a brush and wrote two characters on the paper:
“Fu Xian.”
“This man is an eyesore.”