Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 1104: A Legacy of Infamy

With the Jin and Qing envoys gone and Mongolia and Southern Song having reached their accommodation, Li Kexiu no longer needed to keep himself sequestered in his military compound. He brought everyone back to his residence as General.

Li Kexiu bustled about personally, installing Ruyang Palace’s people in the east wing and summoning Yangzhou’s finest physicians in the middle of the night to tend their wounds. He opened his private stores of medicinal remedies without hesitation. 

Wang Baobao found his attentiveness genuinely pleasing, and his expression softened considerably.

Han Dingxiao’s delegation was settled in the west wing. Of the envoy party, it was the lower-ranking members like Lu Guanying who had endured rough treatment — the Mongols had not troubled those of higher station, since Wang Baobao had no wish to push Southern Song entirely beyond reconciliation. The group had suffered more from prolonged captivity than anything else — they were unwashed and weary. Li Kexiu arranged for serving maids to prepare hot water and fragrant oils for bathing and a change of clothes. Han Dingxiao and his people were deeply grateful.

Song Qingshu had intended to find Li Kexiu and begin working through the details of their merger — but watching him run back and forth managing everyone, this clearly wasn’t the moment to press for a conversation. The night was already late, and there would be time enough tomorrow. He accepted the secluded, quiet pavilion that Li Kexiu had prepared for him and retired.

“What a shame Cheng Yaojia is too shy to come keep me company,” he murmured, staring at the ceiling with a helpless sigh. Several times earlier he had sent whispered messages through his internal energy, catching her eye and indicating for her to slip away quietly — but each time she had shaken her head, face bright red, and refused. In private it was one thing, but in front of all these people, including senior members of the Lu household, how could she possibly show the slightest hint of anything improper?

Song Qingshu understood her position and did not press her further — though the memory of her shy, flustered expression inevitably led his thoughts elsewhere, and he found himself rather parched. I should never have brought all those people out in the first place… He was still vaguely aggrieved when sleep quietly claimed him.

*****

On the other side of the residence, once Li Kexiu had finished settling both Ruyang Palace and Han Dingxiao’s people, the warm smile that had adorned his face all evening gradually faded. He walked back to his own bedchamber with a deeply thoughtful expression.

He opened the door to find an elderly man of perhaps seventy seated within, slowly savoring a cup of tea. On the surface he looked much like any weathered old man from the countryside — but his eyes gleamed with the alert, coiled watchfulness of a viper poised to strike, and made the skin prickle. A handsome young man stood behind him in respectful attendance.

Li Kexiu’s brow furrowed slightly — but he did not cry out. He closed the door quietly behind him, as if he had known all along that this visitor would be here.

“General.” The old man set his teacup down with unhurried ease. “Have you given any further thought to what we discussed?”

Li Kexiu gave a rueful smile. “Left Vice Minister — it is hardly a small matter. These decisions don’t come quickly.”

Left Vice Minister.

Had Han Dingxiao been present, he would have drawn a sharp breath — for the old man before them was none other than Wan Qili,the reigning Left Vice Minister of the Southern Song court — nominally the highest-ranking minister, standing even above Han Dingxiao. [G: 万俟卨 — Wan Qili — was a historical Southern Song official notorious for his role in the judicial murder of Yue Fei, acting in concert with the Vice Minister Qin Hui. Here he serves as the Left Vice Minister of the Southern Song court and political antagonist.] 

Wan Qili said mildly: “Since the General finds it difficult to make up his mind, allow me to help him make it up.”

He paused, then continued: “I imagine you had occasion to speak with Han Dingxiao just now, when you received him. How did he respond?”

Li Kexiu’s expression was uncomfortable. “He spoke around the subject the entire time — and hinted, not very subtly, that I should content myself with the Golden Serpent Camp.”

Wan Qili wore the look of a man who had anticipated precisely this. “Naturally. Song Qingshu has brokered an agreement between Han Dingxiao and the Mongols — recovering Sichuan is an achievement of historic proportions. Han Dingxiao would not risk complicating that for anything.”

“You already know about that?” Li Kexiu was genuinely startled. He had only learned of the three-party agreement himself moments ago at Yuqing Temple — and this man had been sitting in the General’s residence the entire time?

“I have my channels.” Wan Qili’s tone was light, and he changed direction at once, clearly unwilling to be pressed on the point. “In any case, General — surely you’ve given up on Han Dingxiao now? You spent considerable effort trying to arrange a meeting with him, and you’ve seen how that turned out.”

“We did have a prior understanding…” Li Kexiu trailed off with an awkward expression.

Wan Qili had in fact arrived in Yangzhou quite some time ago, and had been working to bring Li Kexiu into his camp ever since. But Li Kexiu had been weighing his options carefully. Wan Qili was currently Left Vice Minister — but Han Dingxiao had consistently seemed the more advantageous choice: first, because Han Dingxiao was a descendant of the great Minister Han Qi, and the Han family was the most deeply rooted and powerful clan in the Song court, with generational influence that Wan Qili’s relatively shallow network could not match; and second, because Wan Qili had been one of the principal architects of Yue Fei’s judicial murder — a stain on his name among Han Chinese that had never faded. Aligning openly with him risked inviting the contempt of the very people Li Kexiu needed to govern.

So Li Kexiu had focused his efforts on engineering a meeting with Han Dingxiao. If he could reestablish that connection, it would be far preferable to casting his lot with Wan Qili.

As for his earlier, apparently easy promise to align with the Golden Serpent Camp — that had been purely a delaying tactic, a way of using Song Qingshu’s strength to extract Han Dingxiao from Mongol custody, nothing more.

From the very beginning, Li Kexiu had never seriously considered the Golden Serpent Camp as a destination. For all its momentum over the past two years, it remained, in his estimation, a force that did not yet belong in the same conversation as the established powers.

In terms of territory, Li Kexiu’s own Jianghuai domain was among the wealthiest in the realm, crisscrossed with waterways that formed a natural nightmare for any northern cavalry — a position considerably more defensible than Song Qingshu’s Shandong, which was exposed on all sides. In terms of military strength, Li Kexiu commanded a hundred thousand Green Standard Army troops — a force that already exceeded the Golden Serpent Camp’s. Why would a man of his standing consent to fall in under Song Qingshu and accept a subordinate position?

Seeing the hesitation still written on Li Kexiu’s face, Wan Qili judged that the moment had nearly arrived. “General,” he said, “you will have heard — Han Dingxiao and Jia Sidao are formidable men in their own right, but when it comes to closeness with the Emperor, neither of them comes close to me.”

Li Kexiu nodded slowly. Wan Qili was a thoroughgoing advocate of peace and accommodation — a position that had always sat comfortably with Emperor Zhao Gou’s own inclinations, which was why he had been so deeply favored in former years and why he and Qin Hui had been able to bring down the great Yue Fei at the height of his power. Now, with Han Dingxiao and Jia Sidao locked in open struggle for dominance, Zhao Gou had recalled Wan Qili precisely to hold the balance between them.

“Han Dingxiao cannot promise to place your daughter on the Empress’s throne,” Wan Qili said. “I can.” He dropped it quietly, like a stone into still water.

Li Kexiu sat up sharply. He had nursed the dream of becoming imperial father-in-law for a long time. If Li Yuanzhi could be seated as the true Empress of Song — why would he give a moment’s thought to Song Qingshu’s earlier, insubstantial promises? Song Qingshu had offered only the position of Noble Consort, a rank below Empress. This was something else entirely.

“You are certain of this?”

“Entirely.” Wan Qili watched Li Kexiu’s interest kindle and allowed himself a small smile. “And that is not all. Once the General has come over to our side, I will persuade the Emperor to invest you as King of Wu — with your current domain as your fief. Your territory and your army remain entirely your own. Everything stays exactly as it is.”

One offer layered upon the next. Li Kexiu’s resistance finally cracked.

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