The Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun crouched low in the tall grass, carefully peeking out.
Inside the courtyard, Sun Chuanting was bent over his desk, brush flying as he wrote without pause.
From this low angle, Li Daoxuan couldn't see a single word of what was being written.
Left with no choice, he turned his gaze to a large tree nearby. Stretching out his two wooden, stick-like hands, he began to climb.
Frankly speaking, climbing a tree was no easy task.
For a modern urban youth, this would have counted as a full five-star difficulty challenge. The Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun managed to climb less than a meter before his grip slipped. His body tumbled straight back into the tall grass below.
Rustle.
Fortunately, Sun Chuanting was completely absorbed in his writing and heard nothing.
Feng Rong did hear it.
He turned his head and glanced toward the grass. Seeing the faint movement, he assumed it was probably a rabbit or a mouse and paid it no further attention, calmly turning his gaze away again.
Li Daoxuan waited a few seconds, making sure everything was quiet, then began climbing again.
This time, he found several knobby footholds on the trunk and finally managed to climb up. Perched high on a branch, he leaned forward and looked down.
At last, he could clearly see what Sun Chuanting was writing.
"On the Strict Management and Regulation of Border Merchants"
The short essay urged the imperial court to strengthen its supervision of merchants. It argued that border patrols should be increased to prevent merchants from privately crossing the frontier to trade with the northern barbarians.
Special emphasis was placed on so-called official merchants—those holding salt permits. Their authority was extensive, their networks deep, and frontier garrisons had no effective means of restraining them. If such merchants turned corrupt, it would be all too easy for them to conduct illicit cross-border trade.
When he finished writing, Sun Chuanting carefully folded the document, sealed it with wax, and handed it to a household retainer.
"Send this to the capital," he instructed.
The retainer hesitated, looking awkward.
"My lord… you no longer hold an official post. This essay cannot be submitted directly to the Six Ministries. To whom should it be delivered?"
"This…"
Sun Chuanting froze.
After a long pause, he finally said,
"Deliver it to the residence of Grand Secretary Wen Tirenin. He enjoys the Emperor's deep trust. If this essay catches his eye, the Emperor will surely see it as well."
The retainer bowed and hurried off.
From his perch in the tree, Li Daoxuan couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
Wen Tirenin?
That's it—this essay is doomed.
Wen Tirenin's greatest talent was accomplishing absolutely nothing.
Alas.
Then, suddenly, an idea flashed through Li Daoxuan's mind.
He reached out and plucked a large leaf from the tree. Using his wooden stick-hands, he dragged one edge across the surface, leaving a shallow groove.
With quick, nimble strokes, he carved a single character:
"Hong."
He plucked another leaf and repeated the process, carving a second character:
"Zhang."
The two leaves were ready.
Li Daoxuan climbed higher, branch by branch, until he was directly above the stone table in the courtyard.
He pointed twice at the table below.
Then he loosened his grip.
The two leaves drifted gently downward.
At the same time, the Puppet Dao Xuan Tianzun withdrew deeper into the foliage, hiding himself completely.
The leaves fluttered slowly through the air.
By sheer chance, they landed squarely on the stone table.
At this moment, Sun Chuanting was still seated there, gazing off into the distance, lost in thought.
Two falling leaves did not catch his attention.
But Feng Rong, unable to sit still, had been glancing around restlessly. Seeing the leaves land on the table and partially cover it, he reached out to flick them aside.
The instant he touched them, he froze.
"Eh?"
Feng Rong stared at the leaves in his hand, then abruptly looked up into the tree canopy.
Above him were only branches and leaves—nothing else.
He immediately called out,
"Teacher! Look at these leaves!"
Sun Chuanting asked,
"What is it?"
"These leaves…" Feng Rong said, astonished.
"They have characters written on them!"
Sun Chuanting let out a surprised sound and took the leaves. He, too, looked up, but saw nothing beyond the branches overhead.
"These characters were written just now," Sun Chuanting said slowly.
"Look—the marks are still fresh. They weren't carved long ago."
Feng Rong nodded.
"They're clearly fresh. But it's just the two of us here, master and disciple. Above us are only branches—there's nowhere for anyone to hide. Who could have written these characters directly above our heads?"
Sun Chuanting fell silent for a moment.
Then he said softly,
"Could this be… a hint from Heaven?"
This was the difference between ancient and modern thinking.
A modern person might consider countless explanations—drones, hidden mechanisms, optical camouflage, elaborate pranks, or other absurd possibilities.
But an ancient scholar's first instinct went straight to the metaphysical.
Sun Chuanting studied the leaves carefully.
"One character is 'Hong,' the other 'Zhang.' What could Heaven be telling me?"
Feng Rong admitted honestly,
"This student does not know."
Sun Chuanting pondered.
"They appear to be surnames. But Hong and Zhang are both common names. Why would Heaven give me these two characters specifically?"
Feng Rong furrowed his brow, deep in thought.
Suddenly, Sun Chuanting's eyes lit up. He slapped his thigh hard.
"I've got it!"
Feng Rong jumped.
"Ah? What have you realized, Teacher?"
"I frequently discuss border affairs," Sun Chuanting said firmly.
"So if Heaven offers guidance, it must concern the frontier. These two characters must refer to people involved in border matters."
His voice grew confident.
"One is the 'Hong' of Hong Chengchou, Supreme Commander of the Three Borders. The other is the 'Zhang' of Zhang Zongheng, Supreme Commander of Xuan-Da."
"Ah!" Feng Rong exclaimed.
"Teacher's insight is surely correct!"
Sun Chuanting continued his analysis.
"The matter of the Shanxi border merchants has clearly long angered both Heaven and man. Heaven itself disapproves of their wickedness and has enlightened me. This essay must not be sent to Wen Tirenin."
He clenched his fist.
"It should be sent instead to Hong Chengchou and Zhang Zongheng—both men of military experience. They will certainly take it seriously."
Feng Rong praised him eagerly.
"Teacher's wisdom is profound. Shall we copy the essay twice, then? I will help transcribe one."
And so, master and disciple took up their brushes once more.
Each copied the essay with swift, practiced strokes, their calligraphy neat and forceful.
One copy was sent west to Shaanxi, addressed to Hong Chengchou, Supreme Commander of the Three Borders.
The other, intended for Zhang Zongheng, was even easier to deliver.
At present, Zhang Zongheng was not stationed in Xuanfu or Datong at all, but was resting at Yanmen Pass, just twenty li north of Daizhou.
For more than a year, he had barely fought the Mongols. Instead, he had been leading his troops through northern Shanxi suppressing bandits, clashing repeatedly with Zijing Liang, the Chuang King, the Dashing General, and others, leaving many bloody battlefields behind.
Only recently had the roaming bandits fled into the Taihang Mountains and vanished.
With no immediate enemies to pursue, Zhang Zongheng was now leading his army back toward Xuanfu and Datong, passing through Yanmen Pass, where they were temporarily encamped.