Chapter 67: Spring Winds Stir, War Drums Thunder

These days, many within the palace were aware that the Noble Consort called the Emperor “Second Son.” What a grave breach of propriety! It might have been acceptable for the Empress to address him so, but for a Noble Consort? Yet not only did the Emperor accept it, he even called her by her childhood name—Wild Goose!

“Wild Goose has flown away,” one sharp-tongued concubine remarked as she waited on the Emperor’s customary route back to the harem.

“The Emperor is coming,” a palace maid came running.

The concubine nodded. “Pay up.”

Her attendant stepped forward and handed over a string of copper coins. The maid, evidently well-practiced at this, snatched the coins with one hand and tossed them into a bulging money pouch with the other before sprinting away, her call echoing behind her.

“The Emperor is coming!”

“Pay up!”

Thus, when the Emperor arrived, he was greeted by a grand, mercenary welcome. The Noble Consort heard of this and merely smiled; her calm gaze was enviable.

“Second Son will not linger there,” she said quietly.

“The Emperor has arrived!”

Striding in, the Emperor reached for her even before she could bow. “Wild Goose truly has an eye for talent.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Second Son, what do you mean?”

“You advised sending that county constable to protect Princess Nanyang. Today, he foiled a plot by the envoys from Northern Liao.”

She paused. “Who?”

Jiao Li whispered, “Madam, it’s the constable who stopped the assassin.”

Understanding dawned, and for a moment, she was abashed.

The Emperor glanced at her, seemingly offhand, and said, “That young man has some courage.”

She took his arm. “Then my recommendation was not in vain.”

The two of them entered together.

“What is the boy’s name?” she asked.

Jiao Li replied, “I believe he’s called Yang… Yang Xuan.”

…

“No money to give, only my life,” Yi Niang grumbled, surrounded by a cluster of chicks at her feet.

Outside, the ward chief smiled wryly. “Miss Yi, everyone must pay taxes.”

“The powerful don’t pay a thing.” Yi Niang handed over the coins begrudgingly, having already prepared the required cloth for the tax.

“My household won’t be doing corvée labor.”

“That’s easily arranged,” the ward chief replied. As long as you provide money and cloth, you’re treated like nobility. This was the smoothest household for tax collection.

“The steward has returned.”

Seeing Yang Xuan, the ward chief greeted him with a broad smile. Behind him, several large carts were piled high with money and cloth, including the Yang family’s share.

Yi Niang was clearly disgruntled about paying taxes. As she dusted off Yang Xuan—removing imaginary dirt—she continued to complain, “Back in the day, we didn’t pay for taxes, nor even for food.”

Cao Ying chimed in casually, “Now we have money… Old Thief.”

Clang! The chest hit the ground, and Old Thief lifted the lid. Golden brilliance spilled out.

Yi Niang’s mood brightened, and her hand grew heavy. Smack! Yang Xuan received a slap on the back, certain to leave a bruise.

When she learned the gold was for buying a house and opening a noodle shop, Yi Niang reluctantly put the ingot down. “Back then, I’d seen plenty of wealth; it was just a blur. Saving is the way to prosperity, never extravagance.”

Despite her stern words, lunch included an extra hearty dish.

“Roast chicken!” Old Wang’s eyes shone as he squatted down to dig in.

“Ahem!” Yi Niang shot him a glance.

Old Wang, in the midst of tearing at the chicken, immediately stopped and knelt down.

Yi Niang fixed her stern gaze on the group. “Manners! How many times must I say it? Don’t bring shame to your young master. I’m talking to you, Old Thief!”

Old Thief, long accustomed to squatting while eating, protested, “Yi Niang, it’s been years…”

“And why is that?” Unable to explain, Yi Niang swore she’d serve him only wind for dinner.

Old Thief explained, “When grave-robbing, there are traps that take time to dismantle, and the tunnels are low. You can only squat to eat.”

“Why not sit?” Yi Niang doubted him.

Old Thief sighed. “It’s family tradition. Once inside the tomb, you can’t sit unless invited by the owner… The rule is to treat the dead as the living, and the tomb is their home. Unless the master invites you, you must not sit.”

An invitation from the master!

Yi Niang glanced at Yang Xuan. “From today, you sit! This house’s master is me!”

Yang Xuan felt a chill run down his spine.

Old Thief sat down.

The family ate lunch in silence.

After lunch, Han Ying arrived.

“I’d like you to come pick a spot.”

“To look at tombs? I’m quite the expert,” Old Thief, growing restless lately, would rather not stay home.

“To choose a location—for the noodle shop.”

Walking along Vermilion Bird Avenue, Yang Xuan felt a nouveau riche thrill. The agents, all deferential smiles, introduced their properties, making him feel almost divine.

When he pointed to a larger house, the agent nearly burst with delight.

“He wants to call you daddy,” Zhu Que teased, also brimming with excitement.

“This one will do.”

Yang Xuan finally bought a house fronting Vermilion Bird Avenue in Guangfu Ward.

“Renovate and decorate it, and hire staff,” Yang Xuan began to assign tasks. “Han Ying, instruct the cooks.”

“Yes, sir.” This was the core of the operation, and Han Ying felt appreciated.

“Every cook must sign a ten-year contract.”

If anyone leaked the secret of Yuanzhou noodles, Yang Xuan would make sure they regretted it for a lifetime.

Among nobles, large transactions rarely used copper coins; cloth or gold and silver were preferred.

“That gold barely warmed my hand,” Old Thief muttered upon returning home.

“Money is a trifling matter,” Cao Ying and Yi Niang conferred, then returned to speak to Yang Xuan.

“Young Master, the ward chief mentioned something when collecting taxes: Northern Liao has been stirring up trouble on the northern borders.”

“What are you getting at?” Yang Xuan sat down; Yi Niang served him tea and softly said, “The realm is slowly descending into chaos.”

Cao Ying knelt beside him and nodded. “We must act more swiftly.”

Yang Xuan pondered for a long while.

“Prepare a gift.”

“Where are you going?” Yi Niang was puzzled.

“I’m going to see that fierce general.”

Carrying several oil-paper packages, Yang Xuan arrived at the gates of the Ministry of War. The doorkeeper asked, “Whom do you seek?”

“I am Yang Xuan, constable of Wannian County, here to see Minister Song.”

“What’s your business?” The doorkeeper eyed his packages, his heart pounding. Song Zhen was known for his incorruptibility—did this man dare attempt a bribe?

“To pay my respects.”

The doorkeeper shuffled inside, taking his time to compose himself.

“Minister.”

“Yes?”

Song Zhen had just completed official business and was resting with his eyes closed.

“Constable Yang Xuan of Wannian County requests an audience,” the doorkeeper announced.

Song Zhen opened his eyes, considering. The doorkeeper, keen to impress, added, “He brought a gift.”

“Let him in.” Song Zhen was surprised by the doorkeeper's daze and snorted, “Were this the army, you’d be punished severely!”

Soon, Yang Xuan was ushered in.

Song Zhen glanced at the oil-paper package. “What have you brought?”

“I heard your legs suffer from rheumatism, sir. I know a renowned physician and procured some medicine.”

“Very well,” Song Zhen’s tiger-like eyes swept over him. “What brings you here?”

With the gift accepted, the conversation could begin.

“I’ve heard the northern frontier is unsettled,” Yang Xuan ventured.

Song Zhen replied coolly, “Men in the army speak plainly. Your probing earns only contempt. Speak up!”

Caught off guard, Yang Xuan blurted, “Is it true, sir?”

“Why, are you looking to join the army?” Song Zhen picked up a document—a signal that he was busy and, unless it was important, Yang Xuan should leave.

“Yes,” Yang Xuan replied, though he knew he could not enlist just yet.

He gambled that Song Zhen would look favorably upon him.

“That’s some ambition.” Song Zhen’s expression softened. “Last time, you and the Guozijian stopped a Southern Zhou spy at the north gate—decisive, resourceful…”

“You flatter me, sir,” Yang Xuan bowed his head.

Song Zhen tapped the table with his document. “In years past, Northern Liao was so mighty that even Great Tang had to bow. But later, Emperor Wu endured humiliation for over a decade before leading a campaign beyond the frontier, crushing Northern Liao’s army in a single battle. Since then, they have never recovered. But now, after years of rest and rebuilding, they have grown ambitious again—all because of their hundreds of thousands of elite cavalry.”

“I’m ignorant, sir. Does Northern Liao intend to attack Great Tang?”

“When a dynasty’s army grows too powerful, the ruler must find a cause for their strength—or else that might is wasted, draining the state’s resources. Worse, it stirs up ambition in the troops. Listen, young man: the army is not child’s play. The army… is for killing!”

Not just the enemy—but sometimes their own.

Which would you choose?

“Thus, the Emperor of Northern Liao must find an outlet for his powerful cavalry.”

“Smart boy. I like that analogy,” a rare smile flickered across Song Zhen’s stern face, then vanished. “I don’t see in you the ardor and courage to serve the country, but I do see a certain calm. You need courage, or you’ll die in the north.”

Yang Xuan felt as though Song Zhen could see straight through him. He bowed respectfully. “I will remember your words.”

“Go on, then.”

As Yang Xuan left, Song Zhen gave a long, weary sigh. “Northern Liao is reforming, and Helian Feng is determined to avenge past humiliations. And what is His Majesty doing? Sending fruit by courier from the south to his favored consort.”

The room was silent for a long while.

Bang!

Someone hurried in to find the entire office covered in wood shavings.

The desk—gone!

Leaving the Ministry of War, Yang Xuan ran into Liang Jing.

“Earned yourself some merit?” Liang Jing grinned. “Come, let me show you some foreign delights.”

These so-called “foreign delights” were nothing more than a group of exotic women.

“Keep yourself pure,” Zhu Que warned. “But this man is the future imperial in-law, Yang Xuan. You should bond with him—not just bond, but share a bed!”

Sharing a bed was, of course, out of the question.

Each man took a foreign beauty into a separate room. The rooms were adjacent.

The exotic beauty’s Tang dialect was awkward; she blushed and said, “The walls are thin.”

“Spring winds blow, war drums thunder—who in this world fears whom?” Zhu Que cried out.

The beauty looked at Yang Xuan, thinking he seemed young and tender—a fine specimen. She’d gladly go unpaid for such a client!

Yang Xuan approached. Without a word, the beauty untied her sash.

“Skillful hands,” he praised.

The beauty climbed onto the bed, beckoning with a finger. “My cries are louder than hers.”

Yang Xuan sat at the table, poured himself tea, sipped, and said coolly, “Cry by yourself.”

…

Thanks to “Dibala Duke” for the generous patronage. My lord, could you change your username? Every time I have to explain: you’re “Duke,” I’m “Scholar.”