Chapter 862

The Great Zhou Imperial City, Qianyang Palace, rear hall warming room.

The heated walls of the warming room radiated warmth; inside the blue-enamelled, auspicious longevity purple copper incense burner, premium red clay charcoal burned bright and glowing.

Yet even so, the moment Guo Lin spoke, the once springlike warmth of the room seemed instantly drained, leaving an icy chill.

Emperor Jiazhao’s face darkened, his heart brimming with disappointment and contempt; he sighed coldly: “Spirits and demons—human hearts are unfathomable.”

He turned and asked: “Guo Lin, you are Deputy Director of the Eunuch Service. How should the junior eunuchs from the Imperial Pharmacy and the Water Room be dealt with?”

Guo Lin bowed deeply and replied: “Your Majesty, these two have violated palace regulations, harbored sinister intent, and shown utter disrespect to the sovereign—they deserve to be beaten to death.”

Emperor Jiazhao said coldly: “Carry out this punishment immediately. Have the Palace Guards arrest them tonight; execute them at dawn tomorrow. Announce it throughout the palace as a warning to all.”

After a moment’s thought, his voice grew deeper: “Enough. Keep the Water Room eunuch imprisoned overnight; hand him over to the Empress for disposition tomorrow.”

Do not mention the Zhao Wangfu affair—give the Empress some dignity. She knows well enough; I hope she awakens to her duty and properly educates her son.”

Hearing this, Guo Lin’s back chilled—he was to arrest and imprison tonight, yet hand the man over to the Empress tomorrow.

The Emperor meant to kill not just the body but the spirit; tonight, within Fengzao Palace, fear and sleeplessness would surely reign.

————

Ningrong Street, Marquis’s Mansion, Jia Cong’s courtyard.

Jia Cong entered the courtyard and saw two kitchen forewomen, each carrying bowls and chopsticks, emerging from the main hall—having just cleared the maids’ meal.

He walked into the main hall and saw Zhi Shao seated on a Luohan bed, holding a small embroidery frame, stitching a handkerchief.

Ying Lian sat beside her, watching with keen interest; she took the embroidery frame from Zhi Shao and stitched a few stitches herself, the two whispering and laughing softly.

Ling Guan and Dou Guan leaned against a small table, playing dice for amusement, each with a dish of candied chestnuts before them—the one who rolled the lower number lost a chestnut.

Dou Guan, small and slight, could not fully sit in the round chair; she knelt upon it, and when she rolled a high number, she clapped and laughed loudly.

Though a simple game, both found it endlessly entertaining; yet Ling Guan’s luck seemed poor—Dou Guan’s dish of chestnuts had piled higher and higher.

Jia Cong watched their carefree demeanor and recalled his earlier laughter with Daiyu, and how Yingchun and the other sisters quietly remained within their chambers, utterly detached from the world.

He thought of the current rebellion in the north, the urgent military crisis there, and the growing unease within Shenjing.

Inside and outside the home were truly two different worlds; yet no matter how turbulent things became outside, as long as he could protect his family’s safety, he asked for nothing more.

Once he understood this, his inner worries eased considerably. He walked to Ling Guan’s side and playfully helped her roll the dice—won two rounds in a row.

Soon after, Ping’er and Wu’er returned from the Eastern Mansion; the main hall grew livelier still, and Qingwen also came back with word.

The group stayed in the main hall for half an hour, chatting and playing, enjoying themselves; as night fell, they each retired to their rooms.

Only Ping’er was on night duty tonight; she returned with Jia Cong to the main bedroom, and as she closed the door, she moved to help him undress.

Footsteps sounded on the corridor; Ying Lian called from the window: “Third Master, word has come from the outer courtyard—a junior clerk from the Ministry of Public Works has entered to deliver a message.”

“The steward feared delay—he asks if you will meet him?”

Jia Cong knew that each of the Six Ministries kept junior clerks and yamen runners on duty every night, but it was unprecedented for one to enter the mansion after dark.

He recalled today’s military reports arriving in the capital; he had already been alert to all signs. This unusual occurrence demanded careful attention.

The outer courtyard steward understood neither court politics nor official business; his message would inevitably be incomplete. It was best he speak directly.

He told Ping’er to wash and prepare herself first, then rose and left through the inner courtyard’s second gate. An outer courtyard steward waited at the gate and led Jia Cong to the side hall.

Inside, a young clerk in blue robes waited. Seeing Jia Cong enter, he said: “Master Jia, just now, palace eunuchs delivered orders to all ministries: tomorrow’s morning court is suspended.”

“We are to notify all fifth-rank officials in the ministries: remain at your posts, await orders. If you have memorials, submit them to the Tongzheng Office for transmission to the palace.”

Jia Cong asked: “When the palace eunuchs delivered the order, did they mention why court was suspended?”

The Ministry of Public Works clerk replied: “The eunuchs gave no reason. But before sunset, several waves of fast cavalry bearing military reports entered the city—every ministry has heard the rumors.”

“The Five Armies have mobilized large forces, reinforcing the Nine Gates of Shenjing. Patrols by the Five City Military Command have increased on the streets.”

“Many colleagues speculate: the remnants of the Mongols must be stirring in the north, prompting this heightened alert.”

“His Majesty suspending tomorrow’s court is surely tied to the war situation. Since the court has not clarified, I dare not speculate further.”

Jia Cong found this reasonable—the clerk’s guess matched his own thoughts.

Unless the northern military situation had changed again, the city would not be in such turmoil tonight. Emperor Jiazhao suspending court meant he had no time for routine ministry affairs.

Tomorrow, the Emperor will surely summon key ministries to respond to the northern emergency—the war is now unavoidable.

Jia Cong recalled the sixty thousand troops summoned from across the realm, now encamped just north of the city, and the ongoing establishment of two northern prefectures.

Shenjing housed eighty-five thousand elite troops of the Five Armies, guarding the four sides and nine gates, securing the imperial capital—solid as a fortress.

The clerk’s visit to the mansion clarified the situation for Jia Cong; the uncertainty caused by the fast cavalry’s arrival had now vanished entirely.

When he returned to the inner courtyard, his mind was firmer, calmer—he waited only for tomorrow, ready for the storm.

————

He had just entered his courtyard and saw Zhi Shao, Ying Lian, Qingwen, and others still standing on the corridor.

Hearing the official messenger had come at night, they were all anxious, waiting for his return to feel at ease.

Jia Cong smiled: “A messenger came from the ministry—tomorrow’s morning court is suspended. Saves everyone from crowding at Wumen.”

“Go to bed early, sleep well. No need to rise early tomorrow.”

Hearing there was no crisis, they all relaxed and returned to their rooms. Jia Cong pushed open the door to the main bedroom.

Inside, curtains hung low, candles burned bright, the incense burner’s charcoal glowed red.

Ping’er had already removed her outer garments, wearing only a pink Songjiang cotton embroidered undergarment—her slender waist, delicate as if breakable, her springlike figure full and rounded.

Her long hair, unbound from its bun, loosely tied at the nape, her skin like snow with a soft glow, her eyes clear as autumn water.

Seeing Jia Cong enter, she stepped forward to help him remove his outer robe and padded jacket, replacing them with a soft emerald-green silk sleeping robe and trousers.

She asked: “Third Master, why did the ministry send someone at night? Is something urgent?”

Jia Cong said: “New military reports from the north—the Mongols have likely crossed the border. The court is preparing to mobilize troops.”

“The messenger informed me: tomorrow’s court is suspended. His Majesty will appoint generals and dispatch troops—the war will begin soon.”

“My second sister warned Second Sister-in-law to stockpile grain in the Western Mansion. Has that been done?”

Ping’er replied: “Don’t worry, Third Master. Yesterday, five carts of grain arrived and were properly stored—enough to last the Western Mansion until April or May.”

Jia Cong smiled: “Whenever war breaks out, grain prices soar. We won’t hoard for profit—but we must ensure our daily needs are covered. Better safe than sorry.”

Ping’er asked: “I once heard Second Mistress mention this—several days ago, in Rongqing Hall, they spoke of it.”

“They said war had broken out in the north, and Third Master would surely be sent to fight. Is that truly going to happen?”

————

Jia Cong saw Ping’er’s delicate brows slightly furrowed, her expression troubled. He reached out and rubbed his fingers lightly against her soft cheek.

He said: “The Mongols ride swift horses, wield sharp blades, move like wind. If we meet them in open battle, countless soldiers will die.”

“His Majesty values the power of firearms. These past years, he has continuously expanded the Divine Engine Corps. I am the one who first advocated for them—leading troops into battle is unavoidable.”

Ping’er sighed softly: “Last time you went to Liaodong, you were gone half a year. When you returned, you were dark and thin—it broke my heart.”

Jia Cong smiled: “When the state is unstable, the home cannot be at peace. I am a military noble, enjoying imperial favor and glory—I must serve the state in return. I cannot take only the benefits.”

Though Ping’er felt uneasy, she knew this was right. A man of Third Master’s rank and fame could not have achieved such status without hardship.

He must endure more than others, suffer more than others—only through loss and gain, pain and joy, can one achieve what others cannot.

How could a man like him be confined at home seeking comfort? He is not Second Branch’s Baoyu, doing nothing, living off others’ labor…

Though she understood these truths, her heart still trembled. She asked: “Third Master, if you are sent to war this time, won’t it be some time yet? It’s not even the fifteenth yet.”

Jia Cong sighed: “War is like fire—it cannot wait. Look at the city’s current state—it will come soon. Likely before the fifteenth.”

Ping’er’s heart trembled; without thinking, she pressed herself into his arms, her hands clasping his waist.

She said: “If you go to war this time, how long will you be gone? On the battlefield, swords and spears show no mercy—Third Master, please be careful.”

Jia Cong’s arms were full of soft warmth and fragrance, the sweet scent of womanhood intoxicating. He smiled: “Don’t worry—I’ve never returned from any mission unscathed.”

Ping’er said nothing, her arms around his waist tightening unconsciously, unwilling to let go.

————

Jia Cong felt the firm, soft fullness pressed against his chest, the yielding warmth spilling over his arms.

Though Ping’er appeared slender and delicate, Jia Cong knew her true form intimately—each time they were alone, her narrow waist, slender ribs, faintly visible bones, left an unforgettable impression.

Her slender frame held unexpected plumpness—delicate limbs bearing ripe fruit, snow-white curves like mountain ridges, words failing to capture it all.

Now, her slender yet full form pressed against him, he could not resist lifting her snow-pale chin, capturing her petal-soft lips, kissing her tenderly, deeply.

In the past, when they were intimate, Ping’er often playfully evaded him, making him work hard to win her compliance.

Perhaps the talk of war had grown heavy, stirring her reluctance, her heart swelling with emotion.

Her hand caressed his face, her head tilted upward, surrendering fully, yielding to his will.

In moments, warmth and heat filled the room; Jia Cong undid each button of her Songjiang cotton undergarment, revealing her proud hills, crimson dew, which he claimed without restraint.

The candles had not yet dimmed; the pale autumn-scented gauze curtains fluttered softly.

Her narrow waist sank, her peach-like curves like the moon, her snow-white legs long and straight, lightly pressing against the brocade bed, as if scattered with pear blossoms.

Turning, rolling, murmuring whispers, bird-song gliding beneath blossoms, gurgling streams struggling beneath ice.

Long after, the candles burned low—yet love’s warmth still lingered…