Chapter Seventy: Outside the City of Taiyuan

It was now certain that Qin Xi had received secret orders from Liang Shicheng, intending to kill Zhao Yu on the road. Yet clearly, Qin Xi was not bold enough to act openly. The great fire had not harmed Zhao Yu in the slightest, but it had brought all matters into the light.

Though Zhao Yu was crippled, he was, after all, still a prince, and had been commanded to marry into the Liao dynasty. If he were to die mysteriously en route, Qin Xi would certainly not escape death himself. Of course, this was a point Qin Xi only understood after Zhao Yu enlightened him; Zhao Yu, however, did not reveal that should Qin Xi fail his mission, Liang Shicheng himself would likely not spare him either.

So many lives had been lost that the authorities could not remain silent. While the incident was being reported to the court, warrants were also issued against the Ming Cult. It was not Zhao Yu who had exposed them; though Lin Chong and Yan Qing had killed many, numerous wounded remained, and under harsh interrogation, the Ming Cult soon resurfaced.

Throughout history, imperial courts had never spared any effort to suppress heretical sects, and this disturbance was particularly grave. For a time, a storm of purges swept through Jiangnan, aimed at eradicating the Ming Cult.

Yet all this had little to do with Zhao Yu. After a brief rest, the procession continued on its way. It was already past the tenth month; the further north they traveled, the colder it became. Fortunately, Zhao Yu lacked neither silver nor foresight, and had already purchased thick garments for the changing season when passing through towns.

The journey passed without incident. After more than ten days, the party finally arrived outside the city of Taiyuan. Liu Wenguang, who had previously been betrothed to Zhao Yu, had promptly broken off the engagement upon learning of Zhao Yu’s demotion. Zhao Yu could not be bothered with such opportunists and petty men; he had known from the start that the engagement was merely a matter of mutual convenience.

At the city gates, an official from Honglu Temple awaited to handle the formalities. In truth, it was less a handover than a takeover.

While Qin Xi conversed with the official from Honglu Temple, Zhao Yu stood on the carriage shaft, hands clasped behind his back, gazing at the ancient walls of Taiyuan.

Taiyuan Prefecture, one of the largest cities on the Song-Liao border, boasted towering walls and a majestic presence. Though lacking the splendor of Bianliang, it possessed a more archaic and weathered dignity. The travelers and townsfolk on the official roads were robust and honest in bearing.

Zhao Yu knew that the northern lands valued martial prowess. Had it not been for the endless concessions of Zhao Ji and Zhao Huan, those hapless father and son, the Jurchens would never have breached their defenses.

“Your Highness, this old servant shall take his leave. Is there anything else you wish to instruct me?” Qin Xi’s somewhat sycophantic voice interrupted Zhao Yu’s reverie; the man had been much more docile since suffering a beating.

“Old Qin, you’re a clever man. Though we had our differences on this journey, things have gone fairly well. Before we part, let me give you a word of advice: don’t tie yourself to a single tree. Men like Liang Shicheng will come to no good end. Also, you’d best take some injuries back with you, or else Liang Shicheng may not let you off.”

Qin Xi was momentarily taken aback, but soon understood. He bowed deeply to Zhao Yu, turned his horse, and prepared to depart.

Just then, the sound of urgent hoofbeats rang out from the road behind them, followed by a shout: “Your Highness, wait...”

The voice was familiar. Zhao Yu turned and saw dozens of fast horses racing toward them, raising clouds of dust. As they drew near, he recognized the old eunuch Feng Quan, and behind him, several well-known faces: Liu Hei, Pang Hu, Song Zhong, and others, all Zhao Yu’s companions from his days in the capital’s underworld.

Upon seeing Zhao Yu, these youths could not hold back their tears. Once a band of fierce and unruly fellows, Zhao Yu had been their spirit and leader. With his exile, they had lost their place in the capital. Upon learning that Feng Quan was bringing gifts to Zhao Yu on the Empress’s orders, they had all chosen to follow.

Zhao Yu felt a heaviness in his chest, though he did not show it outwardly. He dismounted and addressed Feng Quan, “Did my mother send you?”

Feng Quan dismounted as well, his steps unsteady after such a long ride. After bowing to Zhao Yu, he said, “The Empress could not come herself. Worried for Your Highness heading north to that bitter land, she ordered this old servant to bring you some clothes.”

He turned and took a bundle from the hands of a guard, presenting it to Zhao Yu.

Thinking of his mother’s kindness, Zhao Yu could no longer hold back his tears. He carefully put the bundle away, then knelt down and bowed in the direction of the capital, choking out, “Mother, take care. Forgive your son for failing in his filial duty...”

Silently, he resolved, “Mother, rest assured—your son will come for you...”

This grand entrance was far from over. Zhao Yu even spotted Yang Xu, Lu Zhishen, and Shi Qian in the distance, mingling with the crowd, though he made no move to greet them—he did not wish to reveal his connections in Taiyuan at this time.

At that moment, a shrill melody sounded from the direction of the city gate. A group of Khitan soldiers, accompanied by a full ceremonial retinue and several Liao officials, approached Zhao Yu and his party.

At this sight, everyone froze. They all knew Zhao Yu was to marry a Liao princess, so it was not surprising for Liao to honor him. But Feng Quan, Qin Xi, and the Honglu Temple official recognized that such a grand display was far beyond what a mere imperial son-in-law should receive.

A single thought flashed through everyone’s mind: “What are the Khitans up to now?”

The spectacle caused many passersby to stop and watch.

The party quickly reached Zhao Yu. One of the Liao officials, holding what looked like an imperial edict, called out loudly, “Who is Zhao Yu? Zhao Yu, step forward and receive the decree!”

Zhao Yu could not help but laugh. He stepped forward and said with a smile, “I am Zhao Yu, but surely there’s a mistake? I am a subject of Song, and only accept decrees from our sovereign. Your Liao edicts do not apply to me—if you have something to say, speak plainly.”

His words left the Liao official at a loss, embarrassed before so many onlookers. Flustered, he snapped, “You dare belittle our Liao emperor?”

“This is not belittling, but a statement of fact. This is Song territory, the land of the Han; no foreign power has the right to issue orders here.”

“You—!”

The Liao envoy, unable to contain his anger, was about to flare up when another official behind him gently tugged his sleeve and whispered a few words in his ear.

The Liao official frowned, but soon composed himself and said, “If Your Highness is not yet accustomed, that is of no matter. I shall read our emperor’s decree here.”

“By the mandate of Heaven, the emperor proclaims: Zhao Yu of Song, esteemed in character and outstanding in learning, is hereby granted the title of King of Song...”

A wave of shock swept the crowd before the words were finished. The people lining the road, as well as Qin Xi and Feng Quan, all erupted in astonishment.

A prince who had just been exiled had, in the blink of an eye, become a prince of a rival nation—what madness was this?

Zhao Yu himself was stunned. Was he not to be a mere imperial son-in-law? How had he suddenly become King of Song?

The Liao official seemed quite satisfied with the commotion among the Song people, and smiled, “Your Highness, King of Song—not even our own imperial clan has received such a title. You are truly without precedent, ha ha!”

Zhao Yu fell silent for a moment, then strode forward, seized the imperial edict from the hands of the Liao official, and...