Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 1105: Into the Wolf’s Jaws

Li Kexiu understood the Song dynasty’s system of royal investiture well. The court exercised rigorous control over the number of title-holders at each level.

At the highest tier were the full princes — the Kings of Qin, Jin, Chu, and so on. These titles went either to princes of exceptional imperial favor who were considered potential heirs, or to a handful of extraordinary figures: Chai Zongxun had been enfeoffed as Prince of Zheng, Meng Chang as Prince of Chu, Li Yu as Prince of Wu, Qian Chu as Prince of Deng — all of them genuine rulers of their own states in former times who had surrendered to Song after defeat and received corresponding titles in return.

Occasionally a minister of truly exceptional merit might also receive a princely title — Zhao Pu had been posthumously made Prince of Han, Cao Bin Prince of Han, Wang Anshi Prince of Shu — but without exception, these were all posthumous honors. Not one of them had enjoyed the title while alive, let alone held an actual fief with independent troops.

The second tier consisted of hereditary princes, generally reserved for transmission within the imperial clan and not available to those of different surnames.

The third tier was the commandery prince — Runan Commandery Prince, Qinghe Commandery Prince, and so forth. These were likewise used mainly for imperial sons and grandsons. The practice of bestowing commandery princely titles on men of different surnames had begun with Tong Guan. Before that, a living minister could expect at most the rank of Duke of the Realm.

Li Kexiu had begun his negotiations hoping, at best, for a Ducal title — and would have been deeply grateful for that. A title like Prince of Guangling would have been beyond anything he could reasonably expect. And now Wan Qili had simply set a Princely title of Wu in front of him — a genuine, fully-endowed princeship, with domain and army intact. [G: Guangling being the ancient name for Yangzhou.] 

Li Kexiu stared, struck speechless.

Wan Qili watched that expression with satisfaction and stroked his beard with quiet pride. His own generosity had its own compulsions behind it, of course. He understood his position better than anyone: nominally he stood first among the chief ministers, but the actual power below him had been divided and parceled out between Han Dingxiao and Jia Sidao’s factions. His entire value to Zhao Gou was as a counterweight — a tool for keeping the two power blocs in check and the court in a state of precarious equilibrium. The moment that balance became inconvenient, both he and Zhang Jun would be discarded without a second thought.

Neither man was prepared to accept such an ignominious end.

Their power came entirely from Zhao Gou’s favor — they had no independent foundation the way Han Dingxiao and Jia Sidao did. Zhang Jun at least had a measure of military prestige from his days as one of the Four Great Restoration Generals, and had Zhang Rou and the Loyal Righteous Army as external support. 

Wan Qili’s situation was far worse. When Qin Hui had fallen, Wan Qili’s network of supporters had been swept away with him, and Wan Qili himself had spent years living in retirement. He had returned to the ministerial ranks as little more than an empty shell — no faction, no dependents, no base of real power. He was hungry for a following, and the formidable Li Kexiu was the most attractive candidate available to him. In the contest to win Li Kexiu’s allegiance, Wan Qili was more motivated than any rival, and was prepared to offer more.

Li Kexiu’s expression shifted through several moods. At last he said: “But I have already given my word to Song Qingshu…”

A smile touched Wan Qili’s lips. He knew those words meant the decision had already been made. “That need not concern you. I have my own way of dealing with him.”

Li Kexiu’s frown deepened. “The Left Minister may not fully appreciate what Song Qingshu is capable of. His martial arts stand nearly without equal in the world. Even combining the full strength of Ruyang Palace with all the masters under Han Dingxiao’s command, I doubt anyone could hold him. The moment he realizes what has happened, his fury could bring the entire Golden Serpent Camp down on us. I…have no confidence of defeating him.”

Li Kexiu commanded a hundred thousand Green Standard Army troops — numerically superior to the Golden Serpent Camp. But Song Qingshu had shattered a hundred thousand elite Qing imperial soldiers, and a name, once made, cast a long shadow. Li Kexiu thought of himself as a capable commander — but the court had previously sent Prince An, Yue Le, Tu Hai, and Sa Busu, none of them lesser figures, and they had all been swept aside.

If it came to a real war, Li Kexiu was not confident of the outcome. And even a costly victory would gut his army — and his army was his only capital. With so many hungry eyes on his territory, a severely weakened force would be an open invitation.

“The Golden Serpent Camp is nothing more than a pack of brigands,” Wan Qili said with measured weight. “Their victories rest entirely on Song Qingshu. Without him, that rabble would amount to nothing.”

“True enough — without Song Qingshu, I could absorb the Golden Serpent Camp’s territory within a month.” Li Kexiu’s confidence deflated almost as he said it. “But with his martial arts at that level, who in the world could stop him?”

Wan Qili’s smile did not waver. He gestured to the young man standing behind him. “I brought this grandson of mine precisely to deal with Song Qingshu. Gui, come and pay your respects to the Commander.”

The young man stepped forward with a bow. “Wan Qili Gui, at the Commander’s service.” [G: 万俟圭 — Wan Qili Gui, using the family’s original compound surname before it was shortened to Wan. Known earlier in the text as Wan Gui — the antagonist from The Blood Sword, who used treacherous means to steal the girl Qi Fang from her betrothed, the protagonist Di Yun.]

Had Song Qingshu or Di Yun been present, either of them would have cried out in shock — for this Wan Qili Gui was unmistakably the same Wan Gui from Jingzhou, the man who had used despicable methods to take Qi Fang, Di Yun’s childhood sweetheart and fellow disciple, for himself.

The explanation unfolded simply enough: Wan Gui’s father Wan Zhenshan was a bastard son of Wan Qili. After Qin Hui’s death and fall from power, Wan Qili had soon been forced into retirement as well, and to protect the family from their many enemies they had contracted the surname from Wan Qili to simply Wan. Wan Zhenshan and his son had been dispatched into the jianghu to search for the legendary treasure of Emperor Yuan of Liang, against the day when the Wan Qili clan might rise again.

Later, after the upheaval that Song Qingshu, Ding Dian, and Di Yun had brought crashing down on Jiangling, Wan Zhenshan had feared reprisals and hurried his son and daughter-in-law Qi Fang back to the main family. The timing had coincided with Zhao Gou’s recall of Wan Qili to the chancellery, and the entire household had followed him to Lin’an, where they had kept themselves quietly buried within the machinery of court.

This explained why Di Yun, even drawing on the intelligence network of the Blood Droplets, had never managed to find any trace of Qi Fang’s whereabouts.

“Please rise, young master.” Li Kexiu looked him over with one sharp, measuring glance, then turned to Wan Qili with a slight frown. “Forgive my frankness — the young master is clearly a man of fine appearance, but his martial arts…”

He left the sentence unfinished, but the meaning was transparent enough. Li Kexiu was a man who had spent his life on campaign and had his own martial cultivation to draw on. He could see at once that this young man, while not without some training, was nowhere near a serious level. He could not have bested Li Kexiu himself, let alone Song Qingshu.

A pretty face with nothing behind it. That was Li Kexiu’s honest assessment.

Wan Qili said nothing and simply smiled. Wan Gui answered for himself: “The Commander misunderstands. Song Qingshu’s martial arts are peerless — no one could defeat him by force. It is not I who will deal with him. It is this.” He reached into his travelling case and drew out a wooden box, setting it on the table with careful deliberation. There was something in his expression — a weight, a gravity — that made the simple act seem significant. A fine dampness had appeared at his temples.

Li Kexiu leaned forward, curious in spite of himself — and found inside the box a glass vial, sealed, containing a cluster of flowers shaped like lotus blossoms, each petal gleaming with a golden light as though hammered from precious metal.

He had expected something impressive to match the reverence with which the box had been handled. A flower was not what he had in mind. The disappointment was audible in his voice. “Young master intends to defeat the peerless Golden Serpent King Song Qingshu — with a flower?”

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