ITIEQ C92

Chapter 92 – “All Lives Equal”

In the depths of Great Yong’s winter, the most prosperous places to the north no longer saw flocks of birds flying southward; what lingered was only an endless, cutting wind.

Yet there were warm chambers for the rich—layered curtains, a springlike warmth.

“You came to tell me just this?”

Yue Zhi’s voice was flat. Through the pale‑green gauze he regarded the figure outside, hands clasped and head bowed, giving away no trace of joy or anger.

“I have met the students of Qingbei Academy, seen their writings, and what they do,” Yue Jie said, hands faintly trembling. “Though they stand opposed to our cousin, yet… they could be turned to our use. Why force them to the brink, and kill them off?”

Yue Zhi was surprised. From childhood to now, this cousin had never defied him—yet for the sake of an irrelevant man, he had stood against him once, and now twice.

“I thought last time had taught you.”

“The Nine Discourses say: the pure and profound are the great sect among the myriad,” Yue Jie persisted. “What they do is not truly evil—and is to our advantage…”

“Have you studied yourself stupid?” Yue Yin was displeased, arms folded at Yue Zhi’s side, gaze stabbing from top to bottom. “Who would have thought the Yue clan would produce a traitor.”

“What soul‑bewitching draught did that Shen pour down your throat? So long as he lives in this world, he—”

“He may.” Yue Zhi’s mild voice cut them both short, startling them. “The pure learning of our time is a sea that admits all rivers. I have never said otherwise.”

Yue Jie’s head snapped up. “Brother…?”

“Academies and students are pillars of Great Yong. Why should we exterminate them?”

“From first to last,” Yue Zhi smiled, “the only thing I require is Shen Qinghe’s life.”

…

Outside the capital lay the eastern auxiliary capital, Dongjing. Xiao Tianxin had been taken there, and only then did the forced day‑and‑night march cease.

When he realized they did not mean to bring him to the main capital, he exhaled a long breath.

So—his crime was not one to doom nine clans. Perhaps his nephew would spare an uncle’s life.

He waited two days in terror. On the third, Long‑Rampart banners entered Dongjing; only then did he feel the blade long poised at his neck show its edge. Seated in Xiangtai Hall of the auxiliary capital, he looked toward the Zhaohuan Emperor, unseen for years—still unsure if that blade would fall, or stay.

“Your… Your Majesty…” His lips shook. Among all the Xiao emperors, the Zhaohuan Emperor had never sacrificed a city’s people, and merited the word “lenient”—but he was no easy sovereign.

Days of war had grafted fresh shadows onto old. Xiao Tianxin’s head swam when he looked up; had not the men behind prodded him forward, he would never have chosen to face this.

“Prince of Lu.”

The Emperor spoke his title. The youth kneeling at his side turned to look as well, brows arched.

—There had been no seat placed there. Now there was a small desk. But Xiao Tianxin had no spare wits for these details.

With a solid thud, he fell to his knees upon the blue bricks.

“Th‑this subject… deserves death…” He could hardly speak, eyes raised in tears, the very image of pitiable grievance—short of writing “I was forced!” upon his face.

Three days ago, the Prince of Lu memorialized for an audience; all would meet in Dongjing.

On this day, before the banquet even began, one of the protagonists had already collapsed in shambles.

The elders of the clans wore sour faces. A mouse of a prince—ill‑starred!

…But it mattered little. The Prince of Lu was merely a chip to draw the Emperor from the capital. Since the Emperor had already taken his seat in Dongjing, the aim was met.

Wei Hongli broke the farce first. “Your Majesty marched upon Yunzhong, and our Wei family’s blood flowed. What is the meaning of this!”

“Hmph.” By the throne, someone snorted first: a handsome youth propped his chin with one hand—no need for others to frame him; he already looked the very picture of a sly favorite.

“You should have stayed at home. Coming to Dongjing—are you so untouchable?”

Wei Hongli, affronted by a “boy,” flared into rage. “You are Shen Qinghe?”

“What of it?”

“This is the auxiliary capital—what place is it for a mere Secretary of the Chancellery to speak!” Face twisted with fury, he found no answers. He had long understood those beside him were wolves, but there was no retreat.

“Your Majesty’s awe is vast. Such petty flatterers must not linger by your side. This old man knows loyal words jar the ear, but for Yong’s altars and mountains, he must be seized and cast into the dungeon to await judgment!”

As his shout fell, all eyes turned upon the throne—awaiting reaction.

Xiangtai Hall was narrower than Chang Hall; the slightest expression on the throne was plain. The Emperor leaned back; the hand upon the dragon‑carved, pearl‑biting armrest slowly slid to cover the other hand at his side.

Wei Hongli, who stared intently, jolted in disbelief. So did the elders. Even Shen Qinghe started in private surprise.

Was this—an official proclamation?

“You! You two!” Wei Hongli’s eyes bulged red.

Shen Qinghe took in the full ugliness and said, “When we met before, none of you afforded Shen a glance. I suppose after today, you all will remember—never to forget.” Returning to the point, his ire was real. He had no love for false courtesies—and now, with the Emperor at his back, he would stand for his students.

The Zhaohuan Emperor cut him off and told Wei Hongli, “Someone will go to prison today.” His jaw tipped lightly; the look was one Shen had never seen before. “But not him.”

They sat nearest. Shen’s gaze slipped from the Emperor’s hands to his profile. Away from the capital’s court, a shell of imperial reserve seemed to have cracked; beneath it, an eye bright with interest emerged.

Struck as if by thunder, Wei Hongli stood stunned. He had never imagined such a relationship. Yes—how else but a favored bedfellow, well‑placed upon a pillow, to turn a sovereign’s head, so far as to war with all the noble clans?

“Choose beauty over empire? Heh heh heh—then do not blame this old man!” Reason gone, he tore a short dagger from his sleeve; it rang—a flash of cold.

A dozen imperial guards at the Emperor’s side drew as one.

“You still sit? Long‑Rampart is camped without the city—our men fill the auxiliary capital’s guard. Miss this, and there will be no second chance!”

He had gone mad. Only then did the “elders” beside him slowly rise.

Blades poised; breath held.

Shen frowned. He had known they would not come to lower heads for peace.

Just as well.

They themselves were not here to talk peace.

Wei Hongli’s lip curled. The Aux‑Guard Commander had followed the Emperor from the Northwest—an old hand whom he had painstakingly turned—now to rise. Surely, the Emperor would never imagine an old comrade could one day turn against him?

“…Old comrades?” Shen frowned.

“Mm.” Xiao Yuanzheng paused. “Choosing new masters—changing banners—it happens often. Life in Dongjing was too easy.” Most of his true confidants from the Northwest had not been brought out. Those with wrong minds—for Dongjing was a fine place to leave them under one’s eyelids, awaiting a day to settle accounts.

“Some will regret not resting easy.” He had gone to worms—no eye for backing; “old comrade”? Perhaps only luck and place. Shen’s lips tilted, sly; he leaned closer. “Your Majesty seems used to it. Are you afraid—someday, I too will…”

His hand was seized; Xiao’s gaze fell with a smile unlike his usually imperial air.

“…I was joking.”

“Mm.” He took it as such, and leaned back more comfortably upon the armrest—their closeness now unmistakable. A shallow ripple of gooseflesh rose upon Shen’s arm. He coughed and edged away.

Wei Hongli was near overturning the heavens, and those two flirted. Choking on fury, he turned to shout. It was not the guard but Yue Yin who strode in, longblade at his hip; Yue Zhi, in moon‑white robes and narrow sash, followed half a step behind.

“Why so noisy?”

Laziness shadowed Yue Yin’s brows. He gave a perfunctory bow.

“Mr. Yin…”

“What?” Yue Yin’s glance slid over the thin dagger; his lip quirked. “Wei Hongli—do you intend to usurp the throne?”

The dagger hand trembled. Wei Hongli stared, aghast. The men who had sworn to stand shoulder to shoulder did nothing. Each had a backer. Ripping all pretense was the worst choice.

With a casual flick, the dagger clattered to the floor. Yue Yin dragged him aside. “Idiot.” How had he lived this long?

Where Yue Yin was perfunctory, Yue Zhi bowed slightly to the Son of Heaven—a flawless courtesy none could fault.

The guard filed in from the great doors.

Dynasties rise and fall; imperial power stands. Never had the clans’ sway swelled so—nearly to the level of “fate,” pretending to steer the very bearer of heaven’s mandate.

Yue Zhi parted his lips. What he possessed allowed him to stand equal before the highest personage in the realm. “Your Majesty, the Yue’s respect for you has never waned.”

“But—” His gaze flicked to the youth at the Emperor’s side. Shen Qinghe did not flinch. Blade flashed from blade where their looks met. Yue Zhi could not avoid this: Qingbei’s students had come into peril, and the Yue could not claim clean hands.

“So long as Lord Shen lives, our hearts will not be at peace.” He smiled. “We beg Your Majesty to grant his death. In return, I promise the Yue will follow you henceforth—guarding Great Yong in a hundred years’ peace.”

Yue Yin turned in astonishment.

The old men traded looks. To say so before all—this was fealty in all but name. A nod from Yue Zhi, and the Yue stood behind the Emperor. All this—for a fifth‑rank clerk? So the Emperor favored him—still, such a cheap life, why not take it later? Why trade such a heavy pledge now?

Still young.

The process was surprising; the outcome—the same. With the spokesman leading, why gainsay?

Voices rose as one: “We beg Your Majesty to grant Lord Shen’s death.”

Yue Zhi remained composed, clouds light, wind mild. He had no need to elaborate Shen’s threat. Decision made, no regret, no care for others’ minds. It was no hard choice: any not mired in delusion knew which way to choose. As the world had feared—until today, he would not have been so absolute. Shen Qinghe had exceeded him—far beyond.

Cut open the clans’ bones to make way for a favorite? Hmph.

He had thrown absolute weight upon his side of the scale—to buy the outcome he desired.

Yue Zhi’s persuasion at the fore; guard pressing behind.

Such a death threat—what power I have to draw it. The Emperor moved; Shen’s gaze followed.

All craned for the decree—to slip away clean.

He seldom wore the plainest garb, and yet today he did. The clinking pendants had been removed; only a single long tassel—bright red—hung down to his shoe, swaying.

Xiao Yuanzheng looked down—nothing more to say. Yue Zhi’s offer, and this “trade”—he took it as a slight to Shen—and a slight to himself. The clans loved “face.” Within reason, he would give it—

“The blood of the clans—this I will see flowed safely—into the histories.”

“Ha.”

Yue Zhi watched them and closed his eyes.

“Such mettle—such mettle.”

He stepped back and opened them. His voice drifted, light and clear:

“Those nested within—enjoy greater power, and fewer fetters—and also more. Step beyond—and you may have nothing.”

“If so—first the minister at your side must be cleared. Later—we will persuade you well.”

At this point, he would have Shen’s life.

Pikes leveled. The Emperor’s close guard were drawn from the Golden Armor—each a match for two or three—yet if ten, twenty came—

Wei Hongli laughed like a madman.

Seize the sovereign—no better moment! The Wei’s fate within his nod.

“Kill! Kill him—”

Boom—

A deafening crack tore open a hall of chaos and madcap cruelty.

Xiao Yuanzheng’s hand was steady. Hands that drew the strongest bows absorbed the flintlock’s kick.

Nearest—Yue Yin, who flinched at the danger, straightened. The body beside him, fixed in place, tipped backward. He saw clearly the blood hole in Wei Hongli’s back. It happened in a lightning flash—no time for a spray of blood; only when the body struck the floor did it pool.

The reek of it still turned the stomach. Shen forced it down and caught Yue Zhi’s shock. He looked at him and spoke, biting off the words: “Last time I did not properly introduce it. I gave it a name—guess?”

“‘All Lives Equal.’ Whether prince or peddler—if one stands before it, one pull—and off to the underworld to meet the judge. Equal enough, is it not?”

He had said something terrifying. After a heartbeat of stillness, screams broke.

Prince Lu was close. He cared nothing for face—life above all—ducking under the table in a heartbeat.

Only now did the clan scions, proud of their “extraordinary” selves, seem to realize: stripped of halos, they were as fragile as the lowest bondservant. Faced with this ghostly art, they cast off their dignity—clutching their heads, scrambling for cover behind pillars and tables.

Yue Yin’s pupils shook. He saw the Emperor’s odd‑shaped weapon—the thing that sent Wei Hongli to Heaven in an instant.

He whirled to seize his elder brother’s hand. Yue Zhi stood unmoving.

Following his eyes upward, he saw the Emperor’s guards—each holding the same weapon.

“Gongyang Ci… dared deceive me…”

In the next breath, his arm was yanked. Jaw clenched, Yue Yin chose to flee the riot of Xiangtai Hall with his brother at once.

Shen frowned, reaching for the iron barrel still warm in Xiao’s hand. “Whoever moves—this is your end!”

The Aux‑Guard commander had gone pale. The spreading stench of powder screamed danger. High upon the dais, the Emperor’s eyes froze him—knees buckling. The old duke of the Northwest still lingered in him; his hands shook too hard to grip a blade—he fell, kneeling.

Yue Yin’s brows drew wickedly taut. He stared into the black maw of the unknown; a vein jumped hard at his temple—and he sprang toward the dais!

“Ziyuan!!” Yue Zhi came back from shock and anger, reaching—grasping air. “Do not go!!”

The close guard reacted fast, but whether from scruple or orders, they did not fire. Cold steel reached to stop him.

Face set, Yue Yin’s hands clawed like iron toward Shen—

“Don’t—”

Bang!

Eyes shut, Shen pulled the sear. The recoiled, improved flintlock kicked; he staggered back two steps before steadying. A rush of numb pain climbed his tiger’s mouth and forearm, leaving them senseless.

Yue Zhi’s pupils shook; his mind whitened for a moment—a blankness he had never known, like water rising over bone. The clever machine of his heart stopped—only the roar remained.

Pain arrived before the sound. Yue Yin sank to one knee, forcing his head to turn—vision failing to focus.

“…Go… now…”

Yue Zhi looked back. Behind him—the wide‑open doors.

At seven, he had been chosen as the Yue heir; more than twenty years since. From the first day, he knew: the Yue’s glory and the heir’s life outweighed all; all else could be cut away for a time.

Shen had wounded Yue Yin. Here was the Yue’s chance to strike. Should Yue Yin die, not even the Emperor could protect Shen.

He took two steps toward the light. Yue Yin’s head hung; a smile pulled up his mouth.

The flintlock’s weight was taken from Shen’s hands by another. His palms still burned; he stood numbed. He had fired before—this time he had less shock seeing blood—yet his face was grim. He had not expected an outright rush—nor intended to take a life.

Coming to Dongjing, he had wanted only to seize all—secure bargaining chips—to keep all students safe. Even on wires, his mind whirled quick.

For students, for the greater arc—the Yue must not die in Dongjing—not under his and the sovereign’s gaze.

“Your Majesty—wait—” He turned and saw Xiao lifting the barrel toward the man on the ground. His voice caught.

Xiao Yuanzheng’s eyes were steady—decision made at once. Seeing the youth stunned, he explained, “He may live; he may die. But he cannot remain here half‑dead. Do not fear.” From the start, he had not planned to spare any participant’s fate. And this one—was a great threat.

“No, no—he mustn’t die, he…”

Today, for all the turning of fortune’s wheel—he still could not move it—and he burned.

Yue Yin could bear pain—but it did not mean he felt none. Small breaths hissed through his teeth; a dull fire gnawed three inches below his chest, as if a red‑hot rod had been thrust under his ribs and twisted. He knew—pain, not mortal—he would live awhile yet.

Sounds faded. He wanted to see if his brother had gone—and lifted his face to the black mouth of the thing that had nearly killed him.

At such distance, aimed at the skull—death without doubt.

Yue Yin narrowed his eyes and, still defiant, spat filth.

“My failure to restrain—let Your Majesty spare him!” Yue Zhi’s voice cut, freezing all taunts upon Yue Yin’s face. He watched his aloof elder kneel forward, full‑long—doing the great obeisance of minister before sovereign.

Blood loss took him; his eyes rolled, and he fell insensate.

The Yue—so exalted a house, exempted from kneeling. Who had seen Yue Zhi thus? Who had thought it possible? The hall fell still; the same stark fear crept over every face. If even the Yue bowed—then they—

The thought that noble clans could tower above all began to totter in every heart. Reality, raw and bloody, lay before their eyes. Scattered across thirteen provinces, never had they felt it more clearly.

The Emperor looked down without “yes” or “no.”

Two men of equal years had sat across the board even before the opening move—shoulder to shoulder, court against court. Now, it seemed a result had come.

“All of it.”

Yue Zhi closed his eyes.

“This subject will bear the blame in his stead.”

Footnotes:

1. “Nine Discourses” (九辩): An allusion to classical texts praising refined learning and moral cultivation; Yue Jie quotes it to argue Qingbei’s scholarship is a rightful, beneficial tradition. 
2. “All Lives Equal” (众生平等): A starkly ironic name Shen gives the flintlock—claiming that in front of the weapon, rank and status are null; one shot sends anyone to judgment, “equalizing” lives. 
3. “Choosing new masters” (择主而事): A literati phrase for changing allegiance to a new patron; here, betraying former comrades for clan alignment.