In the eastern Shattered Lands, a convoy moved forward at an unhurried pace, escorted by cavalry in gleaming armor. Banners fluttered above the wagons, bearing a striking character: Zhao.
At the center of the procession was a boat-carriage three zhang long and one zhang high. Its hull was jet-black with gold embellishments. Its wheels did not touch the ground at all, hovering just above the earth so steadily that one could barely tell it was moving.
Its dark carriage windows were shielded by dharmic power, barring any prying eyes, though those inside could look out at will. Within the carriage, a young woman quietly watched the scenery, suddenly remarking, "This place is full of vibrant life, not at all like the books describe with thousands of li of miasma and venomous waters everywhere."
Also seated inside was an elderly man holding a scroll of an ancient book. His long eyebrows nearly hung to his chest; there was no telling how old he was.
Hearing the young woman speak, he opened his somewhat cloudy eyes and said slowly, "If we had arrived three months earlier, what the Princess saw would still have been the scene from the books. As for now, while it still falls a bit short of the true human domain, people can at least survive here."
"Did something happen in these three months?"
The old man reached out and tapped a spot on the sand table map atop the table. "A little over two months ago, someone erected a boundary stone here. According to this old man's conjecture, that boundary stone is very likely Qingming, recorded in ancient texts. Shamanic qi does not appear from nowhere; it must flow from high to low. But with Qingming standing to the west, cutting off the path of the shamanic qi flowing east, this region came under the influence of the human domain's clear qi and gradually sprang to life."
The young woman asked, "Teacher, didn't you say that Qingming, Kong, and the like are all legends—tales that have existed ever since the human race had recorded immortal history?"
The old man replied sluggishly, "Perhaps some descendant made a counterfeit according to the legend's description."
The young woman felt this explanation was somewhat unconvincing, but her attention was quickly drawn to the location the old man pointed to. "This place is far from the human domain, isolated with no support and no defensible terrain. Why would anyone erect a boundary stone here? This goes completely against the art of war you taught me!"
"Military strategy is for clever people, but there are always those in this world who are not so clever."
The young woman extended a slender, pale finger and traced several routes from the west—all possible advance directions for the Shaman army. Then she drew two more lines, one north and one south, both unobstructed passages that could bypass the domain to complete an encirclement.
She took on a contemplative look and said, "Even if Western Jin sent large-scale reinforcements, the distance is vast and the terrain unfavorable. If I were commanding, I would thrust through both the northern and southern routes, cutting the Western Jin reinforcements in two. Taking this place would be effortless. Could Western Jin have colluded with the Shamans again and struck some deal?"
The old man said, "The person who erected Qingming has no ties with Western Jin—at least not right now. Therefore, not only has Western Jin failed to offer support, they have even blockaded his grain route."
"Then the Shamans didn't attack?"
"Full-scale assaults alone occurred three times."
Puzzled, the young woman asked, "Then how did he hold it?"
"Indeed, how did he hold it?" the old man murmured, halfway between waking and sleeping. With a dip of his head, he was already lost in dreams.
The young woman fetched a robe and gently draped it over him. She then sat back before the sand table, took out a manual on military strategy, and began leafing through it while cross-referencing the sand table. An hour passed in the blink of an eye, without her losing focus for even an instant.
The interior of the massive boat-carriage was unexpectedly austere. Inside the carriage, there were no paintings, calligraphy, gold, or jade; instead, sabers, spears, swords, and arrows were set out. Hanging on the interior wall were two longbows. Their limbs were ornately adorned, looking like pure ornaments, yet beside the longbows hung three quivers filled to the brim with long arrows.
Upon the carriage desk sat no fine wine or delicacies, but rather a sand table map for military operations. The map before her spanned the entirety of Western Jin.
***
Hanyang Pass.
In a corner of the pass city, within the study of a quiet, secluded courtyard, a middle-aged scholar held a brush, writing the words: "Benefiting all things without contending." The characters were penned with a rippling fluidity like flowing streams, exuding an almost palpable vapor.
Lifting his brush on the final stroke, the scholar examined the work closely, exceptionally pleased.
This scholar wore a neat trim beard, had eyes like precious gems and skin like fine jade; he was remarkably handsome. Looking at the painting-like calligraphy, he chuckled. "People often say my writing strays into superficial extravagance, lacking discipline and understated charm. I, however, disagree."
An old Confucian scholar beside him remarked, "Though the Marquis did not write the word 'water,' the spirit of water rushes to meet the eye. Writing as if painting is indeed pleasing to look upon."
The middle-aged scholar chuckled ruefully. "Old sir, that tongue of yours never spares a truly kind word."
The old scholar sighed. "It is simply that the Marquis's calligraphy gives this old man nothing worthy of praise."
The middle-aged scholar lifted the paper to let the ink dry slowly. "If I didn't write it so straightforwardly, I fear most people in this world wouldn't even realize I was evoking water."
The old scholar replied, "Calligraphy carries one's aspirations. Since the Marquis harbors great ambitions, and true confidants are few in this world to begin with, why go to such lengths?"
The middle-aged scholar said, "In this world, the lucid are few and the turbid many. A kindred spirit is hard to find, and this marquis cannot wait that long. Is this piece of mine truly that bad?"
The old scholar reluctantly glanced at the writing, which looked like splashed-ink landscape painting, and sighed. "Its conception is at least somewhat higher than that of those village scribes who sell writing for a living. When they write the word for horse, they inevitably draw a horse's head; at least yours resembles splashed-ink landscape."
The middle-aged scholar laughed heartily. "Water benefits all things, yet it can also conceal sharpness. Look at this piece of mine today—there isn't the slightest hint of killing intent."
Only then did the old scholar truly open his eyes and examine it carefully, nodding after a moment.
Once the middle-aged scholar put the calligraphy away, the old scholar asked, "Are you not going to see the Pacification Commissioner?"
"No need. That fellow is devoted solely to pursuing the Dao and cannot be won over. As long as he doesn't disrupt my affairs, that's enough. Besides, though the old scoundrel claims heaven-reaching dharmic power, he consumed plenty of pills that burned his lifespan to achieve his breakthroughs in his early years; his foundation is unstable. Even if he wins this time, I doubt he can carry on for more than a few years. When that time comes, being associated with someone named Xu might not be a good thing."
Just then, a knock sounded at the door. A slightly bashful maid entered and handed an envelope to the middle-aged scholar. As she turned to leave, he called her back, saying, "Stay and read this as well."
He opened the envelope and pulled out the paper within, which was densely covered in tiny script.
After reading it carefully, the middle-aged scholar handed the letter to the old scholar, who read it and passed it to the plain-looking maid, who appeared not yet of age.
The middle-aged scholar pondered for a moment before saying, "Wei Yuan... I truly didn't expect his Dao Foundation to have fused with Qingming. In that case, wouldn't it mean he cannot stray far from the domain?"
The old scholar said, "Even if he fused with the immortal stone Qingming and gained immense dharmic power, the restrictions have become all the more severe. I fear that before reaching dharma idol, he cannot leave the domain at will."
"No wonder the Left Prime Minister, with a nose as sharp as his, turned a blind eye to him. He must have known about this long ago."
The maid asked timidly, "Isn't achieving a dharma idol just a matter of time? Once Wei Yuan reaches dharma idol, won't he be able to move around?"
The middle-aged scholar replied, "Achieving a dharma idol is both difficult and not difficult, yet no one knows when he will succeed. When he can finally travel, that will be in the future. Political struggles are all about the present—who cares about the future? If one cannot get past the present, no matter how far-reaching the plan, one only weaves bridal clothes for others. The Left Prime Minister holds plenty of chips; he doesn't care about having one more or one less."
The old scholar asked, "Then should we continue?"
The middle-aged scholar smiled faintly and said, "Though the Western Regions are shattered and barren, they remain a slice of interest. The best outcome would be for him to swallow just enough, and for us to catch just enough. That would be a match made in heaven."
Chapter 253