Chapter 1: The Withdrawn Youth Liu Chengyou

At the start of mid-spring, the second month, spring thunder suddenly stirred, and a fine rain pattered down. The ceaseless drizzle gently dampened the grass-down drifting within and beyond the city walls. The spring rain fell as a blessing, nourishing the earth, striving to dissolve the sharp aura of slaughter that pervaded this world.

This spring rain came quickly and departed just as swiftly. By the time it cleared, dawn was just breaking. The city of Jinyang, nestled beside the southward-flowing Fen River, had been washed clean, yet the misty rain veils left it shrouded in a hazy obscurity, appearing dim and indistinct—as if hinting at the treacherous state of affairs under heaven.

The Prince of Beiping's residence stood north of Jinyang city, adjacent to the Taiyuan palace complex, occupying a vast expanse of land. It had long been the military and political hub of Hedong, a seat of paramount authority. With the fall of the Central Plains, its status had risen even higher. In recent months, the Hedong military and civilian officials who came and went from the residence had all grown increasingly deferential and cautious. Many shrewd observers had keenly sensed the undercurrents brewing beneath the storm.

The residence was naturally a sprawling compound of deep courtyards and countless grand halls. As the first light of dawn emerged, the servants within the residence had already begun their bustling duties, attending to their proper tasks of serving their masters. Yet from the stewards and supervisors down to the maids and serving girls, all moved with extreme care, heads bowed and eyes lowered, not a trace of a smile on their faces.

This was solely because the master of the residence, His Highness the Prince of Beiping, was consumed with worry over the peril facing the state and concern for the Son of Heaven's humiliation, his mood growing ever more somber and indignant. Just two days prior, a latrine cleaner had been caught laughing and chatting with someone; the Prince of Beiping had witnessed it, had him beaten, and directly cast him out of the residence. The effect was naturally excellent—all above and below were on alert, the household fell into solemn order, and no one dared any longer to utter reckless words or act wantonly.

In a courtyard east of the rear garden—not a small one—the number of servants was noticeably fewer than in other courtyards of the residence, yet they appeared even more careful, and the entire courtyard was all the quieter for it.

On the silent covered corridor, three maidservants carried basins, bowls, and ewers for washing, taking small steps as they gently made their way toward the pavilion deep within the courtyard. Leading them was a sturdy middle-aged woman. A clatter—"Bang!"—shattered the stillness of the corridor, as one of the maids behind, hurrying her steps, tripped and fell.

The sturdy woman ahead immediately furrowed her brows deeply. Guiltily and nervously, she glanced toward the pavilion, then turned around, walked with a grave expression to the fallen maid, and, straining to keep her voice low, scolded: "You worthless slave girl—can't even carry a basin of water steady!"

The maid who had fallen was very young—more precisely, one might call her tender and immature, seemingly only fourteen or fifteen years old. She was petite, thin, and frail, with the look of one undernourished. Scolded, she bowed her head even lower, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. The other maidservant stood silently to one side, saying nothing, her gaze calm to the point of coldness as she watched the girl being reprimanded.

"Still sitting there for what?" The sturdy woman's expression darkened further at the sight, and she snapped: "Why haven't you gone to fetch a fresh basin of water? The young lord and the lady are still waiting for us to attend them. If you delay the hour and provoke the young lord's anger, do you want to drag us all down to be punished with you?"

"Yes. Yes." At these words, the maid hastily scrambled to her feet, ignoring her scraped palms, picked up the bronze basin, and turned back.

The winding corridor encircled the central courtyard. On the two-story pavilion, the doors and window lattices were beaded with mist, droplets clinging and about to fall. Behind the wide-open casement stood a tall, straight figure, silent and still, quietly gazing at the courtyard adorned with green trees and red blossoms. A gentle breeze wafted by, dispelling much of the morning drowsiness.

This was a youth, with delicate, handsome features and considerable charm, a hint of childishness showing in his bearing—though the grave expression on his face completely spoiled that youthful innocence. Compared to that nearly expressionless face, the youth's eyes held considerably more "liveliness," carrying a notable spark of spirit. As he appeared lost in thought, his gaze shifting, occasional glints of sharp light flashed through.

He was the master of this courtyard—Liu Chengyou, the second son of the Prince of Beiping.

"Second Young Lord." A soft, sweet, tender voice sounded at his ear. A beautiful woman with lovely features and a graceful figure walked with small steps to Liu Chengyou's side. Her clear, watery gaze lingered on his profile for a moment, then followed his line of sight to the courtyard, accompanying him in his watching. In a low voice, she said: "The rain has stopped!"

"Mm." Liu Chengyou only nodded in acknowledgment, seeming rather cold.

The woman was not old either—in the bloom of youth—yet she already wore married attire and a married woman's hair bun. She was Liu Chengyou's favored concubine, Lady Geng. Faced with Liu Chengyou's reaction, Lady Geng lowered her head with a hint of grievance, though she dared not show any resentment.

Ever since he had fallen into the water and awakened from his faint, Liu Chengyou had undergone a "great change in temperament," leaving Lady Geng quite alarmed. Over more than half a year, Liu Chengyou had completely shed the youthful impetuousness and frivolity of a boy, becoming instead grave and rigid, taciturn and inscrutable—and no one dared take him lightly.

Before long, several maidservants filed in one by one to attend to Liu Chengyou's and Lady Geng's morning routines. The sturdy woman from before was surnamed Li, a member of Liu Chengyou's mother Lady Li's household, who had been dispatched to serve at Liu Chengyou's side.

The washing was soon finished. He spread his arms straight out, letting the two maids use their soft, warm little hands to work on him—arranging his hair, straightening his lapels, fastening his sash... Though he dwelt in a deep mansion with vast halls and enjoyed a retinue of servants, Liu Chengyou's life appeared quite frugal. His clothing was simple—an old robe cut from black satin—and he wore not a single ornament.

Before the bronze mirror, Liu Chengyou gazed at his own reflection, his eyes blinking several times almost uncontrollably. The image was clear, yet for a long time now, every time he faced the mirror, he still felt a sense of unreality.

"You're late today!" Liu Chengyou tugged at his lapel himself, somewhat compulsively pressing the seam flat, and casually asked the sturdy woman, Goodwife Li.

At this, a flicker of awkwardness crossed Goodwife Li's face. She glanced sidelong at the trembling little maid, sighed, bowed her body, and said with a fawning smile: "It was this old woman's poor arrangement. This old servant begs the young lord's punishment."

That little glance did not escape Liu Chengyou's eyes. He looked at the maidservant—her dampened skirt hem, her scraped palms, and her nervous, uneasy demeanor. He rolled his neck twice and said flatly: "Mother Li, your tongue may be sharp, but I know you are in truth a soft-hearted, kind person."

The sturdy woman was startled by these words and was about to say something when Liu Chengyou waved his hand to cut her off: "Go on down. Go tell Mother that I will come to pay my respects shortly!"

"Yes!"

The servants withdrew. Liu Chengyou walked behind Lady Geng, who was still finishing her makeup, and gently pressed her shoulder, asking: "Am I truly so fearsome to people?"

Lady Geng turned her body around and looked up at Liu Chengyou. Made up, Lady Geng appeared even more beautiful—her delicate, flawless face bore only the lightest touch of powder, clean and elegant. She gave Liu Chengyou a charming smile and said: "Second Young Lord is strict with himself and with others, and carries such authority that people are awed by it. The servants of the residence are all base, vulgar folk—how could they face your might and behave as usual..."

Hearing her words, Liu Chengyou's somewhat numb face finally showed a trace of emotion. A fleeting twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth, though it revealed nothing of his pleasure or displeasure.

He raised his hand and gently pinched Lady Geng's tender cheek, his motion soft. Lady Geng's beautiful eyes were like water, and she pressed her soft cheek against Liu Chengyou's hand, nuzzling it gently—it was rare to see Liu Chengyou display such tenderness.

His gaze swept over and landed on her hair bun, where a green jade hairpin was fastened, its shape exquisite, clearly the work of a master craftsman. He removed it, then picked up an ordinary wooden hairpin from the dressing table and replaced it in her hair: "Use this one..."

When Liu Chengyou had first crossed over, he had found himself in the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms period following the end of the Tang, where the Central Plains were held by the Jin dynasty founded by the 'Son Emperor' Shi Jingtang—though it was already on the verge of collapse. The Khitan ruler Yelu Deguang had been invading southward year after year with the full strength of his nation, seeking to seize the Central Plains and pasture his horses across the southern lands. The Jin court, with its benighted emperor and its internal contradictions piled high, had resisted for years but ultimately could not hold.

Liu Chengyou was comparatively fortunate—in this chaotic age, he had crossed into a powerful and prestigious princely household. At least he had food and clothing, and safety from harm.

Of course, when he realized that he was Liu Chengyou, the Emperor Yin who would bring the Later Han to ruin, his heart had indeed fluttered with panic. But it did not take long for him to calm down. The Later Han had not even been established yet—why worry about its downfall years hence, fretting like the man of Qi who feared the sky would fall?

Before crossing over, Liu Chengyou's nature had been one of going with the flow—withdrawn, taciturn, and quiet. After spending some time figuring out the situation, he began slowly seeking to integrate into his new identity and new environment. And then, under the strange gazes of those around him, Second Young Lord Liu of the Prince of Beiping's residence had, rather abruptly, become "withdrawn."

Now it was the fourth year of Kaiyun (947), though for the sovereign and ministers of the Shi Jin, it might better be called the beginning of their ill fortune. The Shi Jin had already fallen. In the twelfth month of last year, the Khitan ruler Yelu Deguang had led an army of three hundred thousand in a great march south. At the Battle of Zhongdu Bridge by the Hutuo River, a hundred thousand Jin troops, under the heavy pressure of their commander-in-chief Du Chongwei, surrendered without a fight.

Thereafter, the turncoat 'guide' Zhang Yanze led two thousand cavalry as the vanguard, marching double-time, and drove south to seize Bianliang. Emperor Chu of Jin, Shi Chonggui, who had been living in drunken oblivion in Bianjing, had intended to die for his state, but before he could act, he was seized by the yabing officers of the palace guard. Thereafter, the sovereign and ministers of the Shi Jin surrendered in plain clothes, and the Jin state was no more.

At this time, the heavens over China had toppled, the state had perished, the Central Plains had no master, and the Khitan occupied it. The situation under heaven had not settled because of the Khitan's strong soldiers and sturdy horses; rather, with their tyranny and cruel governance, popular indignation surged, and men of hot blood and righteous spirit vied to resist.

Yet in the region of Hedong, a rare relative tranquility was maintained. When the state is in great turmoil, that is precisely when ambitious men raise their heads. Liu Chengyou's convenient father, the Prince of Beiping Liu Zhiyuan, was certainly among them.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Liu Chengyou slowly walked past the pavilions and towers of the residence, still wearing his withdrawn expression. But when he thought of his father's recent performances and posturing before the people and officials of Hedong, a slight change appeared in his brow. He knew in his heart that Liu Zhiyuan must have begun to stir with ambition.

Even if Liu Zhiyuan had no such intention, as the situation developed, there would be no shortage of people seeking "advancement" who would push him to the top—the Liu clan's kin, the civil and military officials of Hedong.

In this age, the emperor's seat went around in turns. Like beating the drum and passing the flower, given the current state of the world, the flower ought to fall to the Liu family. Liu Zhiyuan might still be hesitating and wavering, but Liu Chengyou was already prepared—and thoroughly confident.

As he pondered, the expression on Liu Chengyou's cold face seemed to grow even more somber and grave.