ITIEQ C85

Chapter 85 – Come, Let Us Battle

Shen Qinghe already smelled the storm approaching, danger in the air thick as thunderclouds. After that day when the army struck the Youyan and Yu families, Xiao Yuanzheng had warned him to minimize outings. If he wished, he could reside in the palace for safety; if not, so long as he stayed within the royal villa, all precautions were in place. Shen knew the Emperor’s concern was genuine, and reassured him he would never falter at a critical moment. He refused, however, to hide within palace walls for protection—he could guard himself. He sent trusted messengers beyond the capital with letters, declined all invitation cards and requests for audience.

Both Qingbei Commandery and Danyang Commandery academies were given holiday; current students could not leave their prefectures. Qiuchuan’s new governor was one of his own people. In Danyang, Lady Pingyun herself supervised, so no disturbance would break out.

The only worry remained the recent graduates, scattered across the thirteen provinces. He feared they might be too bold, and thus make themselves targets.

Frowning, Shen set brush to paper. Just then a servant brought in the latest batch of replies. Seeing he meant to write, the servant hurried to grind the ink.

The new “master” of the villa was astonishingly approachable; the household served him with genuine loyalty.

“Thank you, brother,” Shen said with an easy smile, laying the replies across his desk. His brows arched at one letter—Lady Pingyun’s, rare indeed. She usually vanished into her study tinkering with mechanisms, seldom corresponding. He broke the seal and froze at the words inside:

“Neighboring prefectures stir, testing me repeatedly. From hidden lines within Yunzhong Wei, reports arrive: clans muster private troops—marching straight for the capital! I keep watch here, urgent letter to you: prepare at once!”

In Hánchāng Hall, petitions and memorials piled mountain‑high. Eunuch Jinchang sorted meticulously, names atop each record. Few were opened to be read; on the other side, enough had been red‑inked and dispatched outward already.

Palace banquets, secret travels—Zhaohuan Emperor’s daily labors of late outweighed three years past. The capital seethed with speculation: that His Majesty treaded the same bloody path as the late emperor, slaying loyalists. Rumors flourished—but stopped at the high palace walls. Inside, only silence; not half a word leaked.

Xiao Yuanzheng set a full cup of tea before Shen. “Speak slowly.”

Shen did not drink. His news could be told in a phrase, but what it contained struck like thunder. The arrogance of the clans only made him laugh coldly. “Do they truly think themselves masters of the realm? The moment displeased, they rebel. They muster troops now—sign enough they are squeezed by the throat, and can no longer endure.” He straightened. “This letter rode overnight from Danyang. Two days and a night at full pace. Likely right now still on the road.”

Such a desperate choice—they must have been driven into a corner. Better to strike first, they thought, than to sit trembling waiting for imperial punishment. Band together—rise now, or perish later.

But Xiao Yuanzheng’s face never moved. Calm, not even a twitch of brow. Shen’s own surge of panic cooled under that stillness.

“Your Majesty knew they would make so bold?”

The emperor pushed the cup closer. “No wall keeps all wind out. How much less palace walls, how much less theirs.”

Indeed—as always, the Emperor’s net had already reached. He was not a docile tiger waiting for slaughter. Shen finally set down his fear—and drank the tea given by the Son of Heaven. His eyes sharpened, stars lit his glance. He smacked the cup upon the case.

“If they dare come—then we dare to fight!”

His spirit burst aflame. The imperial war‑workshops roared day and night, smoke and hammer crashing. All this—for such a day.

A great spear leaned by the lacquered rack. The famed Overlord’s Golden Spear had long been gifted to Yaoguang. In its place, an iron‑black spear waited. Xiao Yuanzheng’s tall palm traced its shaft like greeting an old companion.

Shen thought privately: so there was still this one in reserve.

The golden spear, with its carved inscriptions, seemed grander to Shen’s tastes. But this dark iron weapon, severe and concealed in power, matched the emperor’s seasoned aura perfectly.

“There is also this directive. Look.” Xiao Yuanzheng gestured at a scroll tied across the desk.

Shen rolled it open. Brilliant vermillion seal, list of appointments. His eyes stopped, astonished. “All of these—graduates of our Academy?”

“Mm. You know them. Is there anyone more to be added?”

For years, special examinations had doubled recruits, barriers swept away: nameless youths, men without ancestry—all admitted. Most of all from his Qingbei Academy.

“The Emperor trusts me far too much.” Shen looked down the names, remembering many. “But fine pens can only add to silk—real proof must come in deeds.”

Then he laughed: “If the old ministers knew His Majesty showed me this first, their memorials scolding me would pile ten‑fold across a desk. The yin‑yang wiles of their quills would rot my teeth by reading!”

“Let them,” answered the Emperor, putting aside the spear. His voice as calm as water: “If they must impeach, so be it. I and Shen Qinghe—our bond is closer than with any other. Better they rail at me than suspect you.”

Tenth Month, Second Day. Approaching winter, Qingbei Commandery.

Li Dazhuang returned home stinking of iron.

Once he was a smith—hammering farm tools. But his shop failed, and he moved his family to Qingbei, where technicians were hired. By luck he joined a factory, gained stable bread. Rich he was not, but his family lived warm, with meat now and then—luxury undreamt before.

His wife Tian Xiujun waved him back outside. “Reek of steel! Wash before you set foot inside!” Their little daughter stood by the kang in padded coat. Their older boy bent over a stack of sums, teachers’ assignments even during break.

“New order today,” Tian muttered, sewing winter clothes. “Cotton coats and boots, endless to be stitched. I thought you’d cook the evening meal while our loom rested—but no, the steel‑plant released you even later.”

“It’s worth it,” Li grunted, rinsing his skin with scalds of boiled water. “Did you see the wall‑posters? I reckon—war’s coming.”

The government’s notices, changed every seven days, written in plain tongue, were read aloud thrice each hour. And in the forge, his hands shaped not ploughs, but blades and arrowheads. He had read the signs.

“War?” Xiujun gasped, setting down her needle. Fear flickered. But then—Calm. Qingbei was too peaceful. Lord Shen guarded them too well. Her shoulders eased.

“Indeed. Refugees arrive, too. The county’s walls shut tight; many coats from our factory sent to their camp.” She put aside cloth, clasped hands before the little household idol. “Bless us, Lord Shen. Bless us.”

“Bah!” Li scolded. “No superstition! Didn’t the Lord himself forbid it?” But he hadn’t removed the idol either. He fumed only when his son dawdled at sums, snatching snacks. “Lazy brat! Have you read the posters? Do you know the world beyond our gate?”

Li Shan pouted. “What’s it matter to me?”

“Wretch!” Li flung down towel. “Do you know what we’d seen—nothing—if not for Lord Shen? Now we taste the world, and you sulk. Such shoulders will never carry a house!”

His son muttered, “Teacher said women hold half the sky. Let little sister carry it.”

Li nearly roared blood. “She’s two years old! You heartless imp!”

But then, sighing, he lifted the toddler to the warm kang and spoke low. “There’s enlistment at the plant. Repairs, aids. I mean to go to the South by year’s end…begin in Danyang.”

“What? March with the army?!” his wife cried. Son gaped.

“Better men than shirkers die for this! Lord Shen commands—and we follow. Did he not once smash the nomad king’s host to rubble? Even their crown‑prince studies in our academy! When gods battle, why should mortal steel fear?” His grin showed proud teeth. “Wait ‘til I return—I’ll bring us a fine big house!”

She trembled at “war”—but with Shen Qinghe’s name, it steadied her like a talisman. Still she whispered: “…And our son, Shan? He is strong. Should he not go with you?”

Li Dazhuang: …

Footnotes

1. “Seven inches” (捏住七寸) — idiom from snake‑handling: the fatal grip to control a snake is seven inches from its head, symbolizing a deadly chokehold on one’s weakness. 
2. “Enke” (恩科) — special “grace examinations,” held outside the regular imperial exam cycles, often to recruit more officials. 
3. “Gold‑purple robes” (金紫) — robes of third rank above, color‑coded to denote high nobility and intimate imperial favor.