Chapter 192: Political Crisis

Lin'an. Grand Preceptor's Mansion.

Han Tuozhou has not attended court for three days.

It is not that he does not want to go, but that he dares not. Three days ago, he entered the palace in his sedan chair as usual; the moment the sedan chair exited the mansion gate, it was blocked by a group of imperial students. Those people did not dare to curse him; they simply stood by the roadside, silently watching the sedan chair, holding up a banner with eight characters written on it—"Where is the Wang Shi? The Huaihe waters have turned red." No stones were thrown, no slogans shouted; they merely stared at him in silence. That silence was more chilling to the spine than any shouting.

The sedan chair turned back. When Han Tuozhou stepped down from the sedan chair, he missed the step, stumbled, and nearly fell. A servant moved to support him, but he shoved the servant away with one hand. He walked straight into the study, closed the door, and never came out again.

At this moment, he sat in the study, a pile of military reports spread out before him. He had flipped through these things countless times; every time, he could see new scars. Guo Zhuo's great defeat at Suzhou resulted in nearly half of the eighty thousand elite troops being lost. Li Shuang retreated in defeat from Lingbi, Tian Junmai retreated in defeat from Hongxian, and Zhao Duan opened the gates of Sizhou. Xue Shuxi withdrew from Dengzhou to Xiangyang, pursued by Jin cavalry for six days and six nights along the way, losing over ten thousand men and the entire Tangzhou. And Wu Xi—Wu Xi held his troops motionless at Shukou; eight orders for reinforcement were sent, and each one was blocked by him on the grounds of "defending the north against the Xia invaders and preparing the west against the grasslands."

"Eight," Han Tuozhou murmured to himself, his finger tracing over the military report. "Eight orders, and he won't even send two thousand men."

The study door was gently knocked upon. Su Shidan entered; his face was no better than Han Tuozhou's. This confidant, personally promoted by Han Tuozhou, was now the most conspicuous target in the court. Memorials to the throne impeaching him had piled up on the desks of the State Council, with charges ranging from "embezzling military rations" to "framing loyal officials," as many as one could want.

"Grand Preceptor," Su Shidan's voice was pressed very low, "Shi Miyuan's people submitted three more impeachment memorials today. One impeaches Deng Youlong for 'falsely reporting military achievements and delaying military affairs,' one impeaches me for 'embezzling grain and rations,' and the third one—"

He paused.

"Who does the third one impeach?" Han Tuozhou asked.

"It impeaches you, Grand Preceptor." Su Shidan almost squeezed the words out between his teeth. "'Carelessly opening border hostilities, trusting treacherous villains, losing troops and shaming the nation.' The signatories number twenty-three."

Han Tuozhou did not erupt in rage. Rage was the reaction of the past. When the first impeachment memorial arrived, he smashed the inkstone; when the third arrived, he threw the tea cup; when the fifteenth arrived, he publicly scolded the impeachers in court for "framing ministers and shaking the foundation of the state." But now, with the twenty-third, he found he no longer even had the strength to be angry.

"Shi Miyuan." When he spoke this name, a smile even tugged at the corner of his mouth. "At the beginning of the year, he knelt right here, saying the Northern Expedition was a 'great undertaking for a thousand autumns,' and that he was willing to 'spill his brains and blood to assist the Grand Preceptor.' You all advised me to beware of this man then; I did not listen."

Su Shidan said nothing. His silence was the answer in itself.

Han Tuozhou stood up and walked to the window. The Lin'an of July was hot like a steamer, yet he felt cold air seeping out from the cracks in his bones. Outside was the garden he had meticulously tended: rockeries and flowing water, winding paths leading to secluded spots; every stone had been placed with care. When he first built this garden, he thought he would spend his remaining years here, dandling his grandchildren on his knees and enjoying peace and tranquility. Now, looking at this garden again, he felt as though every stone was staring at him.

"News from the north," he suddenly asked, "is it confirmed about the grasslands?"

Su Shidan hesitated: "The latest report from the scouts confirms that Western Xia has completely become a vassal, and the garrison troops of the grasslands have entered the Western Xia Northern Border, numbering no fewer than fifty thousand. The Jin Kingdom's elite forces on the northern front are pinned down and unable to move."

"So," Han Tuozhou's voice suddenly became very soft, "we attack the Jin Kingdom, the Jin Kingdom is crushed, yet they would rather transfer old, weak, and sick soldiers from the southern front to plug the gaps on the northern front than move a single soldier from the northern front. What are they afraid of?"

"The grasslands."

"Yes, the grasslands." Han Tuozhou turned around; there were bloodshot veins in his eyes, yet his gaze was unusually clear. "My initial judgment was that the Jin Kingdom was empty and vulnerable, presenting a perfect opportunity for a decisive strike. Now it seems the Jin Kingdom is indeed empty—but the emptiness is not for us to occupy. They would rather abandon territory to us than let go of the northern front. This shows that the thing up north is far more terrifying than us."

He paused, as if weighing the words he was about to say next.

"But why did I only realize this now?"

Su Shidan had no answer.

Just then, the sound of hurried footsteps came from outside the study. A staff member pushed the door open, holding a secret report in his hand, his expression panicked to the extreme. Han Tuozhou took the secret report, opened it, and after only one glance, the color drained completely from his face.

The secret report read: Cheng Song, the main commander of the western front, urgently reported that Wu Xi had secretly mobilized his trusted troops to control key passes into Sichuan such as Jianmen Pass and Jiameng Pass. The messenger Cheng Song sent to order troop movements was blocked outside the pass; Wu Xi replied, "Border situation is urgent, troops cannot depart." At the end of his memorial, Cheng Song wrote four characters—"I have lost control."

Han Tuozhou crumpled the secret report into a ball and clenched it in his palm. The veins on the back of his hand bulged one by one, like earthworms wriggling under the skin. He stood with his eyes closed for a long time, then opened them and spoke a sentence that made Su Shidan's whole body go cold.

"Cheng Song is the Pacification Commissioner. I knew long ago that he could not control Wu Xi. But I did not replace him, because replacing him would be useless—the Western Army only recognizes the surname Wu. For three generations, the Wu family has cultivated roots at Shukou that are far deeper than this Grand Preceptor's Mansion." He threw the crumpled secret report onto the desk. "Now Wu Xi wants to establish a separatist regime, and I do not even have a single army capable of entering Shukou in my hands. The Eastern Route Army is crippled, the Central Route Army is crippled, and the court's troops are all facing the Jin people along the Huaihe. Who will pacify Sichuan?"

Su Shidan opened his mouth but made no sound. The answer was clear to them both: no one.

Han Tuozhou slowly sat back down in his chair. That chair was his favorite red sandalwood chair, its armrests polished to a shine by constant rubbing. Leaning against the back of the chair, he felt old for the first time.

"On Shi Miyuan's side," he suddenly asked, "how much do they know about Wu Xi's matter?"

The staff member bowed and replied: "Replying to the Grand Preceptor, Shi Vice Minister's people have recently been frequently entering and exiting the Bureau of Military Affairs to review western front military reports. According to our observers, they may have already obtained evidence of Wu Xi's secret correspondence with Jin envoys."

"But they have not impeached Wu Xi." Han Tuozhou's voice was terrifyingly calm. "Shi Miyuan impeaches me for 'carelessly opening border hostilities,' impeaches you for 'embezzling grain and rations,' impeaches Deng Youlong for 'falsely reporting military achievements'—but Wu Xi has held his troops motionless on the western front for two months, and he has not submitted a single impeachment memorial. Why do you think that is?"

Su Shidan finally spoke that answer: "He is hoarding cards. Wu Xi is a card he intends to keep until the very end."

"Correct." A smile tugged at the corner of Han Tuozhou's mouth again. "What use is impeaching Wu Xi? Wu Xi was placed on the western front by my own will against all opposition. Back then, how many people advised me, saying the Wu family has long governed the Sichuan region, becoming too powerful to control, and that their power should not be increased further. I said, 'If you employ a man, do not doubt him; if you doubt him, do not employ him.' It was I who personally signed the appointment, it was I who personally wrote 'entrusting full authority of the western front to Wu Xi.' Now Wu Xi wants to rebel; this responsibility—Wu Xi's treason is me, Han Tuozhou, raising a tiger to harm the state. This is not 'carelessly opening border hostilities,' not 'improper employment of personnel'; this is 'national traitor.'"

When he spoke those last two words, the study fell into a suffocating silence. The sound of cicadas outside the window suddenly became extraordinarily grating, as if desperately reminding of something.

The staff member bowed and withdrew. Su Shidan stood in place, looking at Han Tuozhou, wanting to say some comforting words, but finding he could not speak them. They were both smart people; between smart people, comfort is unnecessary, only facts are needed. And the fact was: the Northern Expedition failed, the eastern front collapsed, the western front is about to rebel, twenty-three impeachment memorials on the court are jointly signed, and Shi Miyuan still holds a card in his hand capable of delivering a fatal blow, yet has not played it.

Han Tuozhou suddenly stood up, walked to the bookshelf, and took a letter from a hidden compartment. The envelope's corners were worn, obviously having been flipped through repeatedly. He pulled the letter out and spread it on the desk. Su Shidan recognized that handwriting—it was Xin Qiji's handwriting.

The letter contained only four sentences: "The Jin people retreat but remain orderly; the Western Army is suspicious and does not advance. The tigers and wolves of the grasslands have already formed; the Wang Shi should delay its northern settlement."

"This was written before the war began." Han Tuozhou pointed to the date on the letter. "At that time, I read it and thought it was the view of a scholar, timid and hesitant. Now looking again—" he fell silent for a long time. "Old Xin was right. He was right about everything. The Jin people retreat but remain orderly; this is a voluntary contraction. The Western Army is suspicious and does not advance; this is Wu Xi waiting for a price. The tigers and wolves of the grasslands have already formed—the greatest enemy of my Northern Expedition is not in Bianjing at all."

He refolded the letter and put it back in the hidden compartment. Then he turned to face Su Shidan, his gaze suddenly becoming extremely sharp.

"Shi Miyuan wants my life; I know this. But I cannot fall now. Wu Xi has not yet openly rebelled, the Jin army has not yet crossed the Huaihe, and the grasslands are still licking their claws up north. If I fall, the court will be in chaos for at least three months—those three months are enough for Wu Xi to declare himself king, enough for the Jin army to cross the Huaihe, enough for that person in the grasslands to figure out the next step."

He clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white.

"Go and arrange one thing. Two things. The first: find a way to stabilize Wu Xi; even if you have to grant him an even higher title, as long as he temporarily refrains from raising the banner of independence, any conditions can be negotiated. The second—" he paused. "Send someone to Jiangxi to invite Xin Qiji to Lin'an. Now."

Su Shidan was stunned: "The Grand Preceptor intends to employ Xin Qiji?"

Han Tuozhou did not answer directly. He walked to the window, gazing north, his voice so low it seemed like self-talk: "Among the entire court, the only one who understands this game is him. I did not listen to him, so I lost the first half of the game. Now the second half is about to begin; I hope he is still willing to come."

Outside the window, the night of Lin'an was deepening. From the drum tower in the distance came the sound of the watch drum, dull and resonant, striking four times. It was midnight.

Han Tuozhou still stood by the window, motionless. He knew that tonight, he would not be the only one unable to sleep. At the other end of Lin'an City, the study of Shi Miyuan was probably also lit—this man who had endured for a full half-year was now, at this very moment, pondering a memorial word by word. At the end of that memorial, a conclusion of four characters had probably already been written.

He could guess which four characters those were.