Kaifeng sprawled along the banks of the Bian River, noisy, crowded, and forever awake.
It was nothing like the Kaifeng of a hundred years later, the kind of city said to give birth to transformations of fish and dragons across a hundred thousand li.
Even so, it already carried the air of a true capital. Four hundred military prefectures converged here, roads and waterways crossing until the city seemed to breathe on its own.
By Jinming Pool, sparrows perched on willows just entering their third spring, chattering nonstop. Inside Little Garden City, common folk gathered beneath flowers that bloomed through all four seasons, faces animated, voices lively.
"How can you say we did not see it with our own eyes?"
"My sister-in-law knows someone who works at the silk bureau. That man knows a hired hand over at the Prince of Jin's estate."
"They saw it themselves. Palace guards came out from the northwest corner, not a word spoken, and surrounded the Prince of Jin's residence. Fierce as wolves and tigers, every one of them."
Beneath the flowering branches stood a fencha tavern, the most ordinary sort in all of Bianliang. Places like this did everything. Wine, tea, hot food. When business was good, extra tables and benches were dragged out to sell meals. When things slowed, customers lingered with a few snacks and several pots of tea, drawing in storytellers who spun rumors half true and half nonsense. Soon enough, a handful of voices became dozens of idle onlookers, sitting about with tea and wine, content as could be.
Any movement of the palace guards inside Bianliang was impossible to hide from people like these. Just then, a man stood in the middle of the tavern, still wearing a short rough jacket despite the chill creeping into the air. His sleeves were rolled up, thick forearms exposed, his voice booming as he recounted what he had seen.
His words stirred immediate reactions. Some drinkers barely cared. Others frowned, worry plain on their faces.
Someone muttered quietly, "What Niu A'luo says is no lie. Jingying Street is already sealed tight. Not even water could leak through."
Hearing that, Niu A'luo puffed up even more.
A man nearby laughed and called out, "If your sister-in-law knows so many people, why did she marry your sickly brother? A silk bureau clerk or a princely retainer, either one earns several times what we do each month. All fine prospects."
Another voice chimed in, "Maybe she pours wine for officials. That would explain knowing so many people."
"A wine hostess?" someone scoffed. "Without real talent, how would she get near officials around the academies?"
"Exactly. More likely some washed-up clerk from Chicken Alley who has lost her looks."
That was enough.
Niu A'luo set his teacup down carefully, then strode over until he was nearly nose to nose with them.
"You thieving old dogs dare run your mouths about my family?" he snapped. "Two bowls of wine and your pig faces come right out. You think that makes you gentlemen?"
"If we break tables here, we will have to pay. Come outside. Let me see what kind of backbone you bastard women really have."
The men shoved and cursed as they were pushed toward the door. Only after they left did the tea-and-wine master finally breathe again. He had been terrified they would start fighting inside, and then there would be no explaining things to the proprietor.
With the shouting gone, the tavern fell quiet for a moment. Soon, another voice rose.
"The Prince of Jin has always been close to His Majesty. Suddenly such heavy troops gathered… could it be…"
"Hah. Feels like another Zhenguan affair waiting to happen."
That exchange immediately made the tea master tense. Some patrons leaned toward the door, listening for trouble. Someone hurried to the counter, counted out several large copper coins, and pressed them into the speaker's hand.
"There is another fencha tavern at the street corner. Good sir, take this money and talk about Zhenguan matters over there."
Afterward, one tea master muttered under his breath, "I do not know any Zhenguan affair. I only know the officials are about to get busy again."
Another disagreed. "If something serious were happening, the night curfew would return. The markets are calm. I fear…"
Someone sighed. "Why bother with this talk? Drink your tea and wine. If anything truly happens, we will know tomorrow."
In truth, he was right. There were simply too many people in Bianliang. Before dawn broke, the news had already spread through the entire city.
"The Prince of Jin has gone mad."
Early that morning, the tea-and-wine masters who had been dragged out of bed wore exhaustion openly on their faces.
Ever since the night curfew had been abolished in the third year of Qiande, taverns and markets no longer closed for wind, rain, heat, or cold. Day and night, they stayed packed.
Today was even stranger. Fencha taverns usually did not open until around noon. Who drank tea and wine at daybreak?
But yesterday's mobilization of palace guards had produced results, and at dawn the proprietor went door to door, pressing money into hands and ordering the shops opened.
Even with the extra pay, the tea masters were startled by the crowds that flooded in. People ordered a single pot of tea, then immediately began speaking with animated faces.
One man swore he had risen in the night and seen a noble relieving himself, palace guards standing watch. It had to be the Prince of Jin.
Another insisted the Prince of Jin had already died yesterday, swearing that Great Song now bore the signs of an Early Tang revival.
One imagination ran even wilder, claiming the Prince of Jin was not mad at all, and that the emperor in the palace was no longer the same emperor as before. That man was promptly thrown out by the tea masters.
At the same time, inside the palace gardens of Bianliang, Zhao Kuangyin walked with Zhao Pu. Thinking back on the arguments at morning court, Zhao Kuangyin felt a rare sense of relief.
"Thanks to Zeping's efforts, Guangyi's matter is settled."
This referred to his announcement that morning that the Prince of Jin had gone mad. The officials had asked only a few perfunctory questions before dropping the matter entirely, instead showering praise on his decree to expand the Imperial Academy.
Zhao Pu shook his head. "Your Majesty, after leaving the palace yesterday, I rested at home. I persuaded no one."
"Then this…"
With no one else around, Zhao Pu spoke frankly. "Does Your Majesty truly believe that the words later recorded, Zhao Pu telling the Prince of Jin that 'the Taizu has already erred,' were my opinion alone?"
Zhao Kuangyin was no novice in politics. He had simply not thought it through before, distracted by the crude joke from later generations about an elder brother going blind once already.
Now, with Zhao Pu's reminder, he finally understood. It was not that the officials did not care about the twists of the Prince of Jin's affair. Rather, they were relieved that the matter of succession seemed to be returning to its proper path.
After all, alongside the declaration that the Prince of Jin had gone mad and intended rebellion, there had also been the appointment of Zhao Dezhao.
The imperial heir was being raised again. From any angle, it looked like His Majesty was signaling an intention to establish a successor.
Even though Zhao Kuangyin's original thought had merely been to let his son gain early exposure to learning.
These thoughts circled in his mind, finally leaving as a slow exhalation.
After pacing twice around an awkward open patch in the garden, Zhao Kuangyin asked, "Zeping, what do you think of placing a stone table here?"
Zhao Pu glanced around and recalled the stone table he had seen in the hall before. He realized at once that the strange phenomenon must have begun here.
Back then, His Majesty had likely moved the table elsewhere on a whim.
Now, however, the light curtain was clearly growing more important, and His Majesty had grown cautious, afraid that any careless act might cause it to vanish.
Zhao Pu looked around again and stamped the ground lightly. In the end, he shook his head. "This spot is better left open, as a place to take in the view."
Zhao Kuangyin nodded, and they continued on.
"Yesterday I sent another order, commanding Wang Ming to seek an opportunity to move south as a feint, and Guohua to lead heavy forces in search of a chance to cross the river. The man Li Yu relies on, Zhu Lingyun, is incompetent and poses no threat. We should advance boldly."
After speaking of the campaign against Southern Tang, Zhao Kuangyin hesitated slightly.
Zhao Pu understood at once. "If Southern Tang is destroyed, the commanders of all three routes should enter the capital to present their merits and speak of enfeoffment. The King of Qiantang should not suspect anything."
The plan against Southern Tang involved three routes. Wang Ming's feigned attacks against Qian Chu to seize grain formed two routes. The central route, led by Cao Bin and Pan Mei with elite troops, was the true main thrust.
In Zhao Pu's view, there was little cause for worry. In troops, supplies, and morale, the gap between the two sides was immense. The only lingering concern was the King of Qiantang.
From what he had seen of later generations, Zhao Kuangyin was most struck by the south's unprecedented wealth.
Ignorance had once been one thing. Now that he knew, how could he allow great clans to sit there quietly building influence? And there would be education to consider as well. Thinking of the Donglin faction that would arise centuries later, though he did not know its details, its conduct resembled the famed scholars of Later Han. He could not help but be wary.
Thus it was not only Qian Chu. If possible, Zhao Kuangyin even wished to uproot the entire Qian clan and bring them north, weakening their influence as much as possible.
Hearing Zhao Pu's suggestion, Zhao Kuangyin nodded in satisfaction and set the matter aside for now.
They walked on and soon saw Zhao Dezhao waiting ahead. Zhao Pu tactfully withdrew, leaving father and son together.
Unlike Zhao Kuangyin's easy rapport with Zhao Pu, this walk was mostly Zhao Kuangyin speaking while Zhao Dezhao listened quietly.
After discussing plans for the Ministry of Works, Zhao Kuangyin studied his son and sighed without meaning to.
That sigh drew Zhao Dezhao closer, steadying his father. "Father, about Uncle…"
"The Prince of Jin is mad. He dared even to strike at me, let alone you. Keep him in your thoughts, but do not visit him."
Dismissing Zhao Guangyi with a single sentence, Zhao Kuangyin looked at his son's young face and suddenly understood why, since founding the Song, he had so rarely summoned his sons, citing the press of affairs.
Such heroic features. Such a young body. And himself, no matter how unwilling, already nearing fifty.
Emperors through the ages all cherished their youth. He was no exception. Yet before him lay matters far more urgent.
"If you oversee the Imperial Academy, you must also study. The classics of governance must be read. Military strategy for expanding borders must be learned. Works that enrich the state and benefit the people must also be mastered."
"Next year, when we campaign against Taiyuan, you will lead troops and enter the battlefield with me. Go and see how Song's territory is won."
Those words shattered Zhao Dezhao's carefully restrained expression. A smile he could not suppress spread across his face, though he still managed an awkward show of humility.
"I only wish to take the field and slay the enemy to ease Father's burdens. I have no other thoughts."
Zhao Kuangyin pretended not to hear. For now, he could only judge from later records, which suggested that this son did indeed possess some talent for command.
He added, "Since the Prince of Jin is mad, you should grow closer to your Fourth Uncle."
Watching his son leave in high spirits, Zhao Kuangyin stood alone in the garden and felt unexpectedly lonely.
He found himself longing for March to arrive, so he could ask Emperor Taizong of Tang whether there was any way to eradicate his chronic illness.
The imperial physicians of Bianliang had considered it, of course. But recalling how most of his brother's sons who later ascended the throne died young of illness, Zhao Kuangyin could not help distrusting their skills.
And then there was another thought. Zhuge Wuhou and Emperor Taizong had been praised through the light curtain for their mastery of gunpowder. Who could say they had not also obtained methods from later generations to cure disease?
Zhao Pu had analyzed this with him as well. Since the light curtain displayed the name Pei Xingjian, it could not have been the early Zhenguan era. According to the histories, Du Ruhui should already have been dead.
Perhaps it was Zhuge Wuhou, versed in statecraft, military affairs, the hundred crafts, yin and yang, and medicine, who had seen later knowledge and treated Du Ruhui.
For once, Zhao Kuangyin's mind was unsettled. He deeply regretted forgetting to ask the most important question at the time.
After wandering the garden twice more, he decided to steady himself and return to reviewing memorials.
When he sat down, the top document was Zhao Pu's submission. Opening it, he found pages of writing stating that the tenth month was drawing to a close and preparations for the New Year should begin. Sacrificial dates should be set, rest days proclaimed, and iron-flower fireworks, Kongming lanterns, and festive lights prepared so that ruler and people might rejoice together, strengthen morale, and ready themselves for the northern campaign next year.
"He knows how to apply what he learns," Zhao Kuangyin said with a laugh.
Yet his mind drifted to the scenes of farewell to the old and welcome to the new he had glimpsed from later generations. For a moment, he lost all interest in the memorials.
He set them aside and turned to the territorial map hanging nearby. Crude though it was, two places were marked most clearly, the ones weighing heaviest on his mind.
Taiyuan. Youzhou.
"If Youzhou is not recovered, I will not rest easy even in death."
He murmured to himself, and considered that perhaps he should train his body again.
Whether the looming calamity could be averted or not, he was resolved to personally lead the expedition against Youzhou and fulfill his lifelong wish.
And perhaps then, he could bring his brother along. By the banks of the Gaoliang River, drinking together and speaking of victory and donkey carts. Would that not be fine?
…
Chang'an of Han, the General's Residence.
"A single commandery's strength stands against the world alone. Why did flooding the Seven Armies shake all under Heaven?" Lu Su wrote the title on a slip of paper and tossed it into the light curtain. The paper vanished as quickly as snow beneath the sun.
As the images shifted, Ma Chao's mouth fell wider and wider. His envy of General Guan was written plainly on his face, and his contempt for the so-called Marquis of Ten Thousand was just as obvious.
Lu Su's expression, by contrast, grew steadily worse.
To march north with the strength of a single commandery left Lu Zijing in awe. Jiangdong's schemes made his face burn.
Fortunately, Lord Xuande had excused himself on private business before the playback began. Otherwise, Lu Su felt he truly could not have remained.
Even so, he felt as though everyone in the hall was watching him. He sat as if on needles, restless and ill at ease.
Only when he saw Lü Meng cross the river in plain clothes, saw Mi Fang "die loyally for righteousness," and saw Guan Yunchang fall from shaking all under Heaven to utter defeat in a single night did Lu Su let out a long sigh.
He wanted to force a bitter smile, but could not. In the end, only boundless disappointment remained.
"No wonder Jingzhou was already guarded last year. Marquis Sun does not resemble a true ruler."
"Confucius spoke of benevolence, Mencius of righteousness, Xun of trust. Jiangdong has lost them all. To seek death, one need only proclaim it oneself."
Seeing him like this, the others could say little. Zhang Fei muttered that such an outcome had nothing to do with Lu Zijing.
In the end, Pang Tong pulled Lu Su to his feet.
"Jiangdong's trouble lies with its great clans. Rather than drowning in regret, better to devise a plan to uproot Jiangdong's powerful families."