#136: Storm Clouds (2)

Guo Man was determined to launch an attack, despite the repeated pleas of his deputy officers, who even invoked the name of General Gu Juhan to dissuade him. However, consumed by his desire for redemption and glory, Guo Man refused to listen to their counsel.

He had long been a trusted subordinate of the elderly Yan Guogong and regarded Gu Juhan as a mere junior officer. How could he truly respect him? With disdain, Guo Man declared, “When Lord Guogong led us into battle, did we ever fight such a humiliating war? Though General Gu is valiant, he is still but a youth. In this dire moment, if we seasoned generals do not carve out a path to victory, will people not think that Great Wei has no capable men left?”

With that, he ceased further discussion and immediately ordered the gates of the city opened for battle.

On the twentieth day of the sixth month in the seventeenth year of Qinghua, Guo Man suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of Liang’s young general Pei Jian. Xuchang fell into the hands of the Liang army, and the gateway to the Central Plains was now open.

The next day, far away in the capital, Gu Juhan received the news with deep sorrow.

He had underestimated the situation.

He was well aware of how fiercely the Liang generals had resisted the Privy Council’s order to refrain from battle three years ago. Qi Jingchen had even publicly executed a fourth-rank military officer to stabilize the situation. And yet, here he was, relying on mere words to restrain Guo Man. How naive of him.

Now, Great Wei was under siege from both within and without, facing its gravest crisis yet. The imperial court was shaken, and the Wei emperor issued an edict commanding the elderly Yan Guogong himself to lead the troops against the enemy.

This was exhilarating news for the Wei soldiers!

Yan Guogong had spent his entire life in military service, earning countless victories for Great Wei and earning the title of “War God.” With him on the battlefield, surely heaven would favor Wei, and there would be no more defeats.

At the same time, another piece of good news arrived: Xu Zhengning, one of the twelve division heads of the Liang Privy Council, who had infiltrated north of the Yangtze to support the rebels, had been captured alive by General Gu Juhan.

The tides of war were about to shift once again.

The battles on the frontlines raged like wildfire, with countless casualties each day, turning the land into a living hell. Yet, back in Jiankang, the capital remained peaceful and prosperous, a final sanctuary of tranquility in a chaotic world.

Perhaps this was the last bastion of peace left in the realm. Shen Xiling knew well that this stability was being safeguarded by him —the man she loved.

Day and night, she thought of him, and day and night, she worried for him.

Before he left Jiankang, he had repeatedly sworn to her, at her insistence, promising that he would return safely. Even in their final moments together at Fenghe Garden, as they kissed goodbye, he whispered assurances in her ear.

He was a man of his word. Shen Xiling trusted his character and believed in his abilities. Yet, the battlefield was unpredictable, and victory or defeat was uncertain. Even with his promise, she lived in constant anxiety, unable to find peace.

Fortunately, he occasionally sent her letters.

His handwriting was hurried and messy, clearly written in stolen moments amidst the chaos of war. His letters were always brief, and though communication was difficult in the midst of such turmoil, he never took the opportunity to write more than necessary. He would succinctly assure her of his safety, give her a few instructions, and leave it at that.

But these short letters became Shen Xiling’s sole comfort during the six months he was gone.

Every day a courier delivered a letter was a festival for Shen Xiling. She would eagerly tear it open, confirm his handwriting, and read it with bated breath. Only after confirming his safety would she finally exhale, often feeling physically drained. After the initial heart-pounding read, she would pore over the letter repeatedly until every word was etched into her memory, awaiting the arrival of the next.

She also wrote to him.

Unlike his concise notes, her letters were often lengthy, sometimes spanning more than ten pages. She didn’t know if he had the time or energy to read them, or even if they reached him at all. Still, she wrote incessantly, as if through this act she could alleviate her anxiety and tension. It was as though writing allowed her to feel closer to him, as if he were still by her side.

Shen Xiling was resilient by nature. Some might avoid seeking news out of fear of bad tidings, but she was not one of them. Despite her constant dread of hearing ill news, she relentlessly sought information about the frontlines through various means.

It was during this time, driven by desperation, that she began to realize something: wealth was a form of power.

Previously, she had only known how to use money to make more money. Now, she discovered that wealth could be converted into other things—such as information. After Yang Dong’s death, the cotton-weaving business in Jiankang had largely fallen under her control, and her connections extended throughout the Jianghuai region. Merchants were resourceful, and with sufficient financial incentive, they could deliver reliable news straight to her.

She began to learn how to use her wealth to obtain what she desired.

As her sources of information expanded, her perspective broadened. She began to see the tension at the frontlines, the difficulties he faced, the desolation of villages reduced to ruins, and the suffering of both the court and the common people. She drew closer to him—not just as a girl confined to her chambers or a profit-driven merchant, but as someone who loved him so deeply that she began to see what he saw, think about what concerned him, and empathize with those he pitied.

She changed again.

Though Jiangzuo was prosperous, the prolonged war—lasting more than half a year—had begun to strain the court, especially since the Liang army was fighting far beyond the Yangtze River, making logistical support increasingly difficult. Under mounting pressure, the court appealed to merchants across the land for donations. But in such turbulent times, everyone was preoccupied with their own survival, and few heeded the call.

Shen Xiling, however, responded.

She had been in business for some years, and her cotton-weaving enterprise had yielded substantial profits. Over the years, she had accumulated tens of thousands of silver taels. She donated a significant portion of her savings, taking care to ensure the funds would not be embezzled by corrupt officials along the way. To this end, she mustered the courage to write a letter to Lady Yao, who had always been kind to her. Upon hearing of Shen Xiling’s intentions, Lady Yao was deeply moved and immediately arranged for her eldest son, Qi Yun, to oversee the matter, promising to ensure the funds were used effectively and to report her virtuous deed to the court.

Shen Xiling declined any recognition, choosing to remain anonymous. This wasn’t because she sought fame; rather, she felt it unnecessary to draw attention to herself. Besides, when Qi Yin returned, they planned to leave together, and she didn’t want to cause unnecessary trouble by making a spectacle of her generosity.

She simply wanted to stand by him. Though she couldn’t share his burdens, she hoped to contribute, however modestly, to the protection of the land he cherished so deeply.

Aside from letters and donations, what brought Shen Xiling the most solace was prayer.

She had always believed in the divine, but now her faith deepened—not out of enlightenment, but out of mortal greed and desperation. Unable to control his fate, she turned to the gods, praying for his safety.

Her most frequent visits were to Qixia Temple.

Time flew swiftly. When the war began in April, it was now October. A year ago, around this time, she had first visited Qixia Mountain and Qixia Temple with Qi Yin. It was hard to believe that a year had passed so quickly.

A year ago, she had made three wishes before the great Buddha: for her parents’ peaceful passage, for his and his family’s well-being, and for their continued union. Aside from her parents’ fate, which she could not verify, the other two wishes seemed to have come true. Grateful, she felt a special connection to the temple and visited often.

Qixia Temple was not as bustling as Jiming or Dingshan Temples, but it had its fair share of visitors, unlike the deserted scene she had encountered a year prior. Wearing a veil, she entered the temple with Shui Pei and Feng Chang. As a frequent visitor and generous donor, she was well-known to the monks, who greeted her warmly whenever she arrived.

When she entered the main hall, she found it empty. Removing her veil as a sign of respect, she knelt before the Buddha to pray.

She had no other wishes. She prayed only for his safety—again and again, endlessly.

She knelt before the Buddha for a long time, repeating her prayers until dusk approached before rising to leave.

What she didn’t know was that another worshipper had already been in the hall before her. Having finished praying to Maitreya at the rear of the temple, this person had returned to the main hall and noticed her presence, hesitating to approach.

This person was none other than Fu Zhen, Shen Xiling’s stepmother by marriage.

Lady Fu had followed her family in Buddhist practices when she was younger, though she hadn’t truly believed. However, after experiencing many upheavals in life, particularly the deaths of her children, her faith had grown stronger. Several months ago, her lover Shen Cheng had died in an unexpected tragedy, deepening her sense of life’s impermanence and intensifying her devotion. Due to her sensitive status, she avoided crowded temples like Jiming and Dingshan, instead coming to Qixia Temple discreetly, wrapped head to toe to conceal her identity.

Never did she expect to encounter Shen Xiling.

After Shen Cheng’s death, Lady Fu had felt both grief and relief, believing that her karmic ties with the Shen family had finally ended. But upon seeing Shen Xiling, memories of the past rushed back, forcing her to confront what she had tried so hard to forget.

The first time she saw this girl… it must have been nearly ten years ago.

If it were anyone else, she wouldn’t have recognized them after a decade. But Shen Xiling’s distinctive red mole between her eyebrows and her striking resemblance to her mother made her instantly recognizable to Lady Fu.

As Shen Xiling knelt before the Buddha, Lady Fu stood silently in the shadows at the rear of the hall, watching her. Waves of sorrow washed over her, as if spanning lifetimes.

Even after Shen Xiling left, Lady Fu remained lost in thought.

It was Deng Wu, a servant beside her, who finally snapped her out of her reverie.

Deng Wu was no stranger. Several months ago, when Shen Xiling had invited Yang Dong to meet at Yi Lou, Yang Dong had arrogantly declined. Deng Wu, disguised as Yang Dong, had met with Shen Xiling instead. After Yang Dong’s death, Deng Wu, having nowhere else to go, sought refuge with Lady Fu. Initially, she had intended to place him under the supervision of one of Fu family’s other businesses. However, due to Yang Dong’s offense against the Privy Councilor of the Qi family, even his former servants were shunned. Everyone feared association with Yang Dong would incur the wrath of Young Master Qi, so they refused to take Deng Wu in.

With no other options, Lady Fu kept Deng Wu as a manservant, giving him a place to stay.

Deng Wu had seen Shen Xiling before and knew that his former master had died because of her. Consumed by bitterness, he muttered under his breath after Shen Xiling left, “Enemies meet on narrow paths.” Lady Fu, hearing this, was puzzled and asked about Deng Wu’s grudge against her late husband’s illegitimate daughter. This inquiry uncovered the truth.

...This wretch was none other than Fang Yun, the one who had caused Shen Cheng’s death!