VII. Interlocking Links
At midnight, the northern wind was desolate, making the candle flames in the watchtower above Xiangyang flicker restlessly.
The firelight illuminated Su Zhiqiu’s face, as luminous as the autumn moon. Her fox-like eyes were already alluring, and the pair of animal ears atop her delicate head lent her an even more bewitching charm.
Su Zhiqiu’s long, curled eyelashes trembled slightly. With her slender legs elegantly crossed, she pointed at the sealed letter on the table and asked, her tone cool and detached:
“When was it intercepted?”
Kneeling several paces away, the demon soldier, watched by the assembled generals, answered with trepidation, “Your Majesty, the scouts intercepted it at nightfall. The couriers disguised as merchants, destined for the northern state of Weishui, were transporting it. The caged birds on their wagons carried this very missive. I dared not delay and sent it at once to our army’s Xiangyang garrison, with not a moment’s rest along the way.”
“Enough. You may go.” Su Zhiqiu read the letter, then pondered for a moment. When the secret message had passed from hand to hand among the gathered generals, she raked her long, sharp nails across the table, leaving a deep mark, and finally asked,
“What do you make of this, generals?”
The demon generals exchanged uncertain glances. A tiger demon in golden armor stepped forward, clasping his fists and bowing deeply.
“I believe, since Zhaoning wishes to catch us in a trap, and our army of two hundred thousand is already at the front, we should press the attack before dawn. If we capture Hangzhou, the waterways will open, supplies will be plentiful, and the defenders of Weishui’s two states will be of no concern.”
Another demon general, winged and standing to the right of the table, immediately objected in a firm, righteous tone:
“That would be unwise. Our army has penetrated deep into Zhaoning territory; pressing further risks attacks from multiple fronts. If the two states send reinforcements, we could find ourselves isolated and without aid.”
“I believe we should stabilize our hold on Yunchuan and use it as a base for gradual expansion. I recommend assigning several tens of thousands of troops to secure our rear and protect the route back to Qingqiu, in case the southern and northern garrison armies of Weishui attempt a surprise assault.”
With two leading generals expressing such opposing views, the Qingqiu officers quickly split into radical and conservative factions.
A voice from the radicals rose immediately:
“Nonsense! With the whole army pressing at the border, who would pull back now? The men are at the height of their morale; redeploying troops now would be pouring cold water on a blazing fire. War is about striking when the iron is hot—hesitate, and you lose your chance!”
Unlike the Great Zhou dynasty, Qingqiu had little patience for elaborate etiquette—the two sides argued their cases with mounting fervor.
“What do a bunch of muscle-bound beasts know about warfare? The secret message from Zhaoning is out. If the Weishui garrisons fight to the death and surround us, would we not be handing ourselves over?”
“Curse your mother! Since when did a few extra feathers on a bird make you a commander? Do you think our troops spent a year preparing outside Xiangyang for nothing?”
“How long would reinforcements from Weishui’s southern and northern states take to reach Xiangyang? Even if they arrive, what of it? We have over two hundred thousand troops. How many do the two states and Xiliang combined muster?”
Amid the heated debate, Su Zhiqiu, who had remained silent, finally rose. Barefoot, she stepped softly to the window of the watchtower.
In the boundless night, the vast Central Plains were dotted with campfires of the frontline armies. Under her command, the Qingqiu forces had never suffered defeat, and the soldiers’ confidence was at an all-time high.
Seeing her stand, the generals fell silent, bowing towards her back.
“There is one thing you’ve all overlooked.” The fox-demon princess turned, her eyes gleaming like ghost-lights in the darkness.
“The Central Plains are vast. We just broke through Xiangyang, and it’s only been a few days. Could news and reports really reach that old human emperor so quickly? Could he convene the court, make decisions, and send orders to Weishui, only for our army to intercept them—so conveniently?”
The spacious watchtower grew restless. Indeed, they had all missed the most important point: the timing was simply impossible, and the coincidence too great. Was this secret message deliberately sent for them to intercept?
But if the message was false, then what was Zhaoning afraid of?
Or was it the third prince of Zhaoning, now holding military power, who sought to gain something by this ruse?
Was it time he wanted?
Su Zhiqiu glanced at the sand table in the central hall. This obscure, unmarried prince—was he finally making his move?
Unfortunately, she had already anticipated his every ploy; such tricks could not blind her.
She shook her head slightly. Still too inexperienced.
Since he craved time, she would give him none. Su Zhiqiu’s crimson lips curled in a confident smile. She was certain her next move would utterly entrap the Xiliang forces.
She issued her orders calmly: “Before dawn, march north. Take Hangzhou directly.”
The generals departed to carry out her command.
The darkest hour, when night yields to dawn, is when the human heart is most vulnerable.
And for a fox demon, this time was most opportune.
From Xiangyang to the borders of Hangzhou was a march of a day or two at most; they would soon reach the city gates.
Before long, Su Zhiqiu heard the organized sounds of the army breaking camp below.
She sat on the windowsill, her long, slender legs swinging idly.
Watching the mighty procession of two hundred thousand demon soldiers, she felt that crushing the Xiliang army would be effortless. Her broad fox tail swayed behind her in the wind.
———
Pei Xiunian awoke to the gentle, elegant notes of a pipa, and dawn was just breaking.
Days without rest had left even him exhausted. He yawned and sat up, and the music ceased abruptly.
Xiao Qin entered quickly, set the pipa aside, bowed respectfully, and came to help him dress, asking softly,
“Did I disturb Your Highness’s rest?”
“No matter. You play well,” Pei Xiunian replied, waving a hand. “We’re not running late, are we?”
As she straightened his robes, Xiao Qin answered, “Your Highness, it’s just past the middle of the hour—it should be just right to arrive in time.”
After a brief wash, Pei Xiunian greeted Prefect Sun, who had come for a visit, then left the residence with Xiao Qin.
Outside the Prefect’s compound, the teahouse was deserted, its sign with the character for ‘tea’ the only thing left swaying in the morning breeze.
On the way to Xuanwu Terrace, Pei Xiunian encountered many cultivators, some wearing conical hats, others with swords at their waists, weaving through the streets and alleys.
There were even some in Daoist robes, riding wine gourds across the rooftops, while the townsfolk seemed entirely accustomed to such sights.
Only then did Pei Xiunian feel a true sense of the world of xianxia and jianghu; after these days of military maps and maneuvers, he’d nearly begun to doubt whether this was just another lowly martial kingdom vying for supremacy.
By the time the two of them reached Xuanwu Terrace, the place was already packed with people.
The early-arriving cultivators were discussing the current state of Great Zhou with fervor. Sun Hong had kept his word—even with all the commotion and debate over forbidden topics, not a single soldier appeared.
When someone waved a broadsheet, asking if the brave soul who dared defy the court was present, Pei Xiunian stopped waiting, raised a plain red banner, and strode to the platform amid the crowd’s spontaneous deference.
Planting the flag in the ground, he clasped his fists to the assembled heroes and, as the noise died down, declared openly,
“I am the one who distributed these broadsheets to you all.”
No sooner had he spoken than someone recognized him and shouted angrily,
“Damn it! Weren’t you the third prince who entered the Prefect’s residence yesterday?!”
His words were like boiling water splashed into hot oil; the crowd erupted.
There had been many martial artists at the teahouse the previous day—it was only natural they recognized Pei Xiunian. The only reason they hadn’t drawn their swords was either their fear of Xiao Qin’s cultivation or their curiosity to see what tricks the third prince of Great Zhou might have up his sleeve.
But Pei Xiunian was prepared. He said loudly,
“If I hadn’t impersonated that so-called third prince, how could you all have gathered safely in Jiangdu today without a single county soldier interfering?”
The crowd looked around and, indeed, not a single officer was in sight. On any other day, the authorities would have already swooped in.
Still, the idea of impersonating a prince struck the wandering cultivators as utter fantasy. Such repeated offenses were capital crimes—was the emperor really his father?
Someone voiced a doubt at once: “Yesterday you entered with a seal; that was a prince’s seal. Who in the world would dare forge it?”
Pei Xiunian smiled and introduced Xiao Qin, standing beside him.
“This young lady was once the daughter of a high-ranking official. When her father was falsely accused and demoted to Yunchuan, she escaped from the capital to live as a wandering cultivator. Now, with Yunchuan fallen, she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see her father again, and so she contacted me… She once served in the Imperial Insignia Office. Yesterday’s seal was her handiwork.”
Xiao Qin had not expected to be drawn into this game, but her expression did not change; she merely nodded obediently.
Her bearing alone marked her as a child of noble birth.
The protests among the warriors gradually faded, but then someone called out, “But how do we know you really impersonated the third prince? Wouldn’t the prefect have seen through you?”
“Exactly!”
Amid the clamor, Pei Xiunian smiled faintly at Xiao Qin and said, “Show them the portrait.”