Flower Stealing Master

Chapter 1112: The Cold Ways of the World

“Minister Han is quite mistaken,” Wan Qili said, his expression unmoved. “When national interests are at stake, propriety is a luxury we cannot afford. Has the Minister forgotten the cautionary tale of Duke Xiang of Song?” [G: Duke Xiang of Song was a Spring and Autumn period ruler famous for his rigidly principled refusal to attack his enemies while they were at a disadvantage in battle — and for being comprehensively defeated as a result. His name became a byword in Chinese for impractical, self-defeating chivalry.]

The implied insult — that Han Dingxiao was being a naive fool — stoked a surge of fury. “From the Left Minister’s tone, it sounds as though he is quite confident the Mongols will return Sichuan. But if something goes wrong — if the agreement falls through — is the Left Minister prepared to answer for that?”

Wan Qili chuckled softly. “These steppe people are famously slippery. If they don’t return Sichuan, it will simply mean Minister Han was deceived — naive enough to fall for their tricks. What would any of that have to do with me?”

Decades of court survival had made him as smooth and frictionless as polished stone. He had learned the cardinal rule long ago: seek not merit, only the avoidance of blame. History was littered with the bodies of men who had stepped forward in moments of passion and promised to bear responsibility for outcomes not yet settled. He would not be so foolish as to attach his name to a promise he could not control.

“You—!” Han Dingxiao choked back what rose naturally to his throat. His retinue was equally livid — but rank was rank, and none of them could speak freely.

“There really is no need for the Minister to be so agitated,” Wan Qili continued pleasantly, as though the killing glances directed at him from all sides were entirely invisible. “Even if Sichuan cannot be recovered, it is hardly a catastrophe. My journey to Yangzhou has successfully persuaded Minister Li to bring the Jianghuai region back under Song’s banner. Gaining Jianghuai is no lesser prize than recovering Sichuan — and it costs us nothing. No tribute to Mongolia, no provisions for the Golden Serpent Camp. If I may say so, Minister Han, your previous agreement was somewhat recklessly generous with the court’s resources. Rather easy to be magnanimous with money that isn’t yours.”

The needle-work in that speech left Han Dingxiao nearly incoherent with suppressed rage. More infuriating still was the manner in which Wan Qili invoked the court’s interests at every breath, performing the part of a devoted and selfless minister with breathtaking shamelessness. Han Dingxiao bit down on a retort and thought: I have never in my life encountered a more shameless creature.

The difficulty was that Wan Qili outranked him in formal title, and had delivered his sophistry with just enough surface plausibility to make open refutation awkward. Han Dingxiao’s anger had nowhere to land.

Wan Qili watched the reactions around him with quiet amusement. He understood his own position clearly. The Emperor had placed him in the chancellery as a counterweight — to hold Han Dingxiao and Jia Sidao’s factions in check. The moment he showed any warmth toward either side, the Emperor’s wariness would be triggered, and his power derived entirely from that trust. An open breach with Han Dingxiao was not a failure — it was the correct move.

“Young Master Song has rendered our dynasty a great service!” Cheng Yaojia could bear it no longer. The thought of Song Qingshu out there somewhere, his life ebbing away, made her chest tight with urgency.

Every eye in the courtyard turned to her at once. Cheng Yaojia was naturally shy and unaccustomed to being looked at — her face went crimson — but she held her ground and pushed her voice out: “Young Master Song saved one of our court’s own princesses!”

Han Dingxiao’s people recognized the reference immediately. The princesses who had been kept in the Laundry Courtyard and had escaped from Jin captivity — Song Qingshu had been behind that rescue. The story had circulated widely in Lin’an.

“The Chai family once rendered a great service to our dynasty’s founding Emperor as well,” Wan Qili replied, without haste. 

Every face in the room changed. They all knew it was sophistry. But he had invoked the founding Emperor — Taizu — and no one dared open their mouth on a subject that touched on dynastic legitimacy, for fear of giving Wan Qili ammunition for future attacks. With a man like this, the saying held: better to offend a gentleman than to offend a petty villain. He had helped bring down Yue Fei at the absolute height of that general’s fame and power. No one here underestimated what he was capable of.

“If the Mongols renege on this agreement,” Han Dingxiao said at last, with cold precision, “I will submit a full and complete account of these events to the Emperor and let His Majesty decide.” He swept a final hard look around the courtyard and turned to his people. “We are leaving.”

The disruption caused by their arrival and departure gave Li Yuanzhi’s attention to wander for just a moment — and the guard beside her seized it. Her acupoints were sealed in an instant; the dagger was lifted from her fingers.

Li Kexiu fixed his daughter with a hard look. “Take the young lady inside. Have Matron Zhang examine her thoroughly — I want to know whether she has done anything to disgrace this household.” He raised a hand before she could speak. “From this moment, she does not leave her room without my direct order.”

“Yes, sir.”

When Li Yuanzhi had been led away, Li Kexiu turned to Wan Qili with an anxious expression: “Minister Han—”

Wan Qili gave a cold smile. “Don’t concern yourself. He’s only worried that our actions tonight will interfere with his credit for recovering Sichuan. Do you honestly believe he cares whether Song Qingshu lives or dies?”

*****

Back in their guest quarters, Ding Dian finally stepped forward: “Minister Han — are we truly going to do nothing?”

Xin Qiji and Lu You voiced agreement. Both men had found Song Qingshu a remarkable companion — his conversation and learning had resonated with them from the first exchange.

Han Dingxiao answered in a measured tone. “Wan Qili is nominally my superior. He has already been using the pretext of my personal interests to impugn my motives — and you know how skilled he is at that particular art. If I move openly to rescue Song Qingshu, I hand him exactly the evidence he needs. Back in Lin’an, with Jia Sidao ready to pile on, I may not survive the aftermath.”

The unspoken truth was also this: had Song Qingshu been poisoned with something curable, Han Dingxiao would have seriously considered intervening — Song Qingshu was a powerful ally, and such allies were not easily replaced. But a man condemned by the Golden Bodhipāśa Bloom was a man already dead. Why wade into this for nothing?

Statesmen are realists. Han Dingxiao had weighed the costs and benefits clearly.

“But—” Ding Dian began again.

Han Dingxiao raised a hand and brought it down with finality. “This matter ends here. We observe and do not act. And none of you are to intervene on Song Qingshu’s behalf — the moment any of you moves, it implicates me directly.”

Xin Qiji, Lu You, and the others exchanged looks. The dissatisfaction was plain in every face — and the atmosphere in the room became strained.

Su Shidan stepped in quickly to smooth things over: “The Minister has no good options here. We came to Yangzhou and took heavy losses. When we return to Lin’an, Jia Sidao and Shi Miyuan will not pass up the chance to make things worse. To provoke another enemy at this particular moment would be unwise.”

Ding — who had never had any warm feelings toward Song Qingshu — found his predicament secretly satisfying and added her voice to Su Shidan’s with evident enthusiasm. Ding Busan and Ding Busi, always in step with their granddaughter, followed suit.

Ding Dian and the others fell into unhappy silence. Cheng Yaojia had her fingernails driven so deep into her own palm that the skin was breaking — but she and her husband held no real standing here, and her own martial arts were negligible. There was nothing she could do but pray that Song Qingshu would find some way through.

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