FYM - 159

His heart inevitably grew heavy as well, yet he could find no better solution—some in the court called the Marquis’s northern campaign a reckless pursuit of glory, failing to realize that if they didn’t take advantage of the Eastern Turks being temporarily subdued by Xie Ci, there would be no future opportunity to drive the barbarians out of the Central Plains. However, Zhou’s national strength had not recovered enough to sustain such a costly war. Both resources and morale were stretched to their limits. If the Marquis failed to create another miracle this time, perhaps...

“Bingshu.”

Her voice suddenly came during his deep thought. He turned to look at her; the sovereign’s gaze toward the distance was both sorrowful and calm.

“Considering it, you’ve been in court for nearly a year... How is it? Do you still enjoy being an official?”

This seemed like idle chatter, far from the previous heavy atmosphere. He was taken aback, then seriously pondered, replying: “I can’t say whether I like or dislike it—when poor, one perfects oneself alone; when successful, one benefits all under heaven. I want to do something, so I can’t remain a peddler in the wilderness. However, being an official is not omnipotent, always involving many compromises. This is also the lesson taught by Your Majesty.”

She smiled at his words, teasingly glancing at him, surprised that he too spoke flowery language to flatter her like those in the officialdom. After a pause, she asked again: “Then, do you regret it? Those so-called ‘compromises’ can wear people down.”

He thought again, treating each of her questions with great importance, much like when he answered policy questions in Qian Ding Palace. After a moment, he shook his head and firmly said: “No regrets.”

“The things I want to do, I can only achieve one-tenth or two-tenths of them. But if I hold back on my own, I won’t even achieve these small portions—A tree that embraces starts from a tiny sprout, and a nine-story terrace rises from accumulated earth. Some things must be done step by step, and over time, differences become apparent—Sometimes I think, the Fang family of Yingchuan is so upright, and the Marquis sacrifices himself so completely, yet they still suffer slander and criticism from the world. Compared to them, the minor grievances endured by ordinary people... what do they count for?”

This time, it was her who was lost in thought, unexpectedly hearing others mention him at this moment. Her brief reverie was an uncontrollable longing; after months of separation, she truly missed him deeply.

Xu Zongyao misunderstood her meaning at that time, thinking that the sovereign still harbored resentment over the Marquis’s overreach in the southern incident—he was indeed troubled, respecting both the Marquis and the sovereign. Now, he didn’t know how to make amends and fell into an awkward silence.

Song Shuyan realized his misunderstanding but couldn’t explain herself at that moment—she actually felt some guilt. Xu Zongyao was straightforward and upright, loyal to her as a minister. Yet, she and Fang Xianting... She wondered if he would despise and disdain them upon learning the truth about their relationship.

“What if you weren’t an official?”

She slightly averted her eyes, changing the subject.

“If you lived in a prosperous era and didn’t enter Tai Cheng... What would you most want to do?”

This question seemed to ask him and herself. Xu Zongyao felt her expression was somewhat detached, looking up at the distant stars and lights with her, thoughts gradually drifting further away.

“Perhaps write some treatises...”

His eyes lit up faintly.

“Articles are the great undertaking of governing a country, immortal grand events. Life and wealth have their limits, pleasure stops at one’s body—both have inevitable ends, unlike the infinite nature of articles... Cao Zhi’s words are profound, though he himself failed to achieve them.”

“If our dynasty were still in its prime, perhaps I would truly cleanse my feet and return to the mountains, planting beans by the southern hills, admiring morning clouds daily, befriending pen and ink, and spending my life thus.”

This was indeed a beautiful vision. If she hadn’t entered the imperial city, she might have envisioned the same life—what about Fang Xianting? If he weren’t from the Fang family of Yingchuan, would he be willing to spend a simple, ordinary life with her?

She became somewhat entranced, snapping back to reality to find Tai Cheng still Tai Cheng, Fengyang Palace still Fengyang Palace. Her unmentionable lover was still far away, his life uncertain, his return indefinite.

“I would indeed like to see you write more articles,” she turned to look at Xu Zongyao, having emerged from her unreal fantasies. “Jinling has buried a top scholar; future generations should know that the Guangyou era once had first-class elegant charm recorded in history.”

Xu Zongyao smiled at her praise, humbly accepting the sovereign’s commendation. They exchanged smiles, a rare moment of mutual respect and admiration between ruler and minister.

Matters of the Guangyou era...

...this certainly counts as one.

In the following months, Jinling received mixed news of joys and sorrows.

Duolo of the Eastern Turks never wanted peace with Jinling; the previous negotiations were merely due to circumstances. Now, incited and enticed by the Western Turks, he indeed contemplated war again. Within half a month, he purged the royal court, eliminating the pro-peace faction, and immediately formed a pincer attack against the imperial army alongside Tuona.

Upon hearing the news, Jinling was shaken. The young emperor, enraged, personally ordered the execution of Duolo’s second son, Bihunu, and sent his head to the north of the Yangtze to humiliate them. However, this act served no purpose other than venting anger, turning the situation in the north into chaos. Fortunately, before departing, Fang Xianting anticipated the Eastern Turks’ betrayal and invited Xie Ci south during the New Year to discuss defensive arrangements. The northern frontier generals still followed imperial orders, so the western front remained relatively stable.

However, this increased the pressure on the court to supply provisions, making the voices of discontent among Jiangnan’s populace increasingly difficult to control. Many commoners demanded the withdrawal of troops and cessation of hostilities, even willing to cede the Central Plains to foreign tribes. In June, several uprisings erupted, all suppressed by the forces of the Thousand Mechanisms Bureau.

Song Shuyan worked tirelessly to stabilize the situation in court. Fang Xianting likely heard about it from the front lines. In July, he requested reinforcements of 30,000 elite Shenlue troops in his reports, preparing for the decisive battle. Song Shuyan naturally agreed, disregarding opposition from the Luoyang faction, dispatching 50,000 Shenlue troops south of Shangzhou. Chang’an was within reach; reclaiming the old western capital would give her room to pacify the populace and quell dissent.

The puppet court in the north also knew Jinling’s plans. Zhong He, driven mad, personally led troops onto the battlefield despite his age to resist the imperial army. Both sides fought fiercely around Shangzhou, advancing and retreating daily, resulting in thousands of deaths each day—Turks, Han, Central Plains people, Jiangnan people... corpses littered the fields, rivers ran red with blood, a veritable human hell.

The elite Shenlue troops crossed the Yangtze River, dramatically changing the battlefield situation. Even combined efforts by the Eastern and Western Turks failed to prevent their union with the main army. More Fang banners were planted on land originally belonging to Zhou, just one final step away from reopening the gates of the western capital, Chang’an.

The enemy was terrified. People across the land eagerly awaited the day of return to the capital. Seeing the unfavorable situation, Tuona held hostage the cities west of Jingji Road, including Qizhou. He declared that for every mile the Shenlue troops advanced, he would massacre one city, vowing to force Jinling’s surrender with the lives of hundreds of thousands of Han people north of the Yangtze.

“Barbarians are cunning and despicable! How can our dynasty submit to their threats!”

The news reached Jiangnan, causing uproar in Qian Ding Palace.

“They are cornered and desperate! Precisely because of this, our army must press on and capture Chang’an! Wei Zheng and Zhong He’s time has come; how can we allow tigers to escape and leave future troubles!”

“The barbarians kill mercilessly and thirst for blood. Even if our army retreats now to save the lives of those few cities temporarily, there’s no guarantee Tuona and Duolo won’t massacre recklessly later! Our immediate priority is to capture Chang’an. If Qizhou falls, they die for the country, bringing honor to their ancestors, assuredly smiling in the afterlife!”

These impassioned speeches made the lives of tens of thousands seem insignificant, like floating duckweed. Perhaps at the brink of despair, everyone had gone berserk, discarding the morality and righteousness they often preached.

“Nonsense!”

Among the ministers, Xu Zongyao was the first to speak out. The young chancellor was straightforward and decisive, never fearing to be the target of a thousand pointing fingers.

“These are people loyal to Zhou! Refugees longing for the royal army! Hundreds of thousands of lives—how significant they are, how can they be abandoned carelessly!”

“Even without considering the so-called benevolent rule, only discussing strategy—if Zhou steps over countless corpses to take Chang’an, the western capital will become a bloody, shameful place! From then on, the hearts of the people will scatter, and who would sincerely wish to pledge allegiance!”

His piercing questions left the elder ministers, older than his father, speechless, trembling with rage. One angrily pointed at Xu Zongyao: “Then what does the secretary suggest we do?”

“The northern campaign has lasted over half a year; Chang’an is right before us—are we to turn back now?”

“The whole country scrimped and saved to gather funds for military needs—should all that gold and silver be wasted?”

“Rebellions have already broken out in Jiangnan! If the Marquis returns empty-handed, what will the court use to silence the masses!”

Back and forth, inch by inch, refusing to yield. Everyone had a reason that couldn’t be easily refuted. In a life-or-death situation, everyone was desperately struggling—it was a monumental gamble, with human lives and the dynasty as pieces on a chessboard, clashing and slaughtering each other.

“Empress Dowager...”

Amidst the fierce debate, a steady, aged voice slowly rose, silencing everyone momentarily. Even the usually defiant Xu Zongyao respectfully bowed his head, realizing the speaker was his tutor, the current Grand Tutor Chen Meng.

After the decline of the Song family, the Grand Tutor had become the foremost civil minister in court, gaining even more respect as an assistant minister during the Marquis’s absence. At that moment, Qian Ding Palace was silent, everyone waiting for this venerable tutor of the emperor to offer his advice.

“All the lords’ words make sense, but this lowly official believes this matter cannot be decided by His Majesty or the Empress Dowager.”

“The military situation at the front is ever-changing, with unpredictable variables. Sending military reports from the western capital across the Yangtze to Jinling takes two days via express courier—an eight-hundred-mile journey. A four-day round trip would surely delay crucial military decisions, greatly harming our dynasty.”

“The Marquis has experienced numerous battles, knowing best the methods of advance and retreat while on the battlefield. In this lowly official’s view, it would be best to grant the Marquis full authority to decide. Whether to fight or negotiate in this campaign, the ministers will have no objections.”

His words silenced everyone. After reflection, all factions deeply agreed—yes, the Empress Dowager is but a woman, the young emperor a child—what do they know about leading troops and fighting wars? Their debates from afar were mere theoretical talk, meaningless. Ultimately, if the outcome was unsatisfactory, they would bear the blame. Why not leave everything to the Marquis to decide? Wasn’t Fang Xianting a domineering minister? If he could single-handedly determine the fate of the southern incident, why not face the Turks now?