Child with severed finger

A biting wind chilled him to the bone. Jiang Heng brushed aside the white silk draped over his face. Before him hung many veils, and through the haze, a figure appeared. Upon closer inspection, he saw a tall, solemn man wearing a high crown. Jiang Heng couldn't make out the details, but he wasn't afraid. The closer he got, the stronger the wind became. Suddenly, his eardrums vibrated, and the figure spoke: "Do you know your mistake?" Jiang Heng's eyes widened—it was indeed his father's voice. When he was young, he had been playing and missed reciting his lessons, and his father had often reprimanded him in this way. He looked up abruptly. The light veils filled the air, and the cold dew made his eyelashes droop. Jiang Heng stood there, stunned. The figure seemed to be waiting, remaining silent. Jiang Heng whispered, "This humble one doesn't know." Before, he hadn't dared to utter a single word in reply, but this time he truly didn't know where he had gone wrong. Was it his intention to benefit the weavers that was wrong? Or was there something inappropriate about his actions?

Thinking of this, Jiang Heng lowered his head, drops of cold liquid soaking the hem of his robe. The metallic taste of blood rushed to the top of his head. After a long while, he said in a resounding voice, "Heng'er is innocent!"

"Hahaha! Not bad, Heng'er is right!" Jiang Zhong laughed as before, his frankness illuminating all darkness and instilling fear in the petty officials of the court. "I still have a method to impart to you..." Jiang Heng quickly cupped his hands in a respectful manner, but he never received his father's instruction. He looked up in confusion, only to find that his father had already disappeared without a trace, leaving behind a distant message: "The road ahead will be difficult. You must be upright and honest, and walk with integrity." Then came another burst of laughter, which echoed for a long time.

Jiang Heng was extremely anxious. He tried to lift his clothes but was too weak to get up. He struggled but fell heavily to the ground. The intense pain brought him back to his senses, and he realized that he had bumped into the wooden frame behind him.

Hearing the loud noise, the maid outside the door quickly put down the food and opened the door. Jiang Heng, unusually, was slumped on the bed, his tears still wet, which he covered with his sleeve. "My lord, it's been two days, please eat something." The maid helped Jiang Heng sit up and hurried to get the food. "No need, Miss, please go and rest," Jiang Heng said, but a pang of pain shot through his heart as soon as he uttered "rest." "The food is at the door, I'll take it myself. Nothing will happen, you go and report to the Grand Preceptor." Hearing this, the maid said to Jiang Heng, "My lord, there's no need for a hunger strike. The Grand Preceptor has seen many such cases, he must be even more exhausted." Then she smiled slightly and went outside. Jiang Heng took the food, picked out only the filling pieces, and chewed slowly, his father's last words still echoing in his ears.

"A message from Attendant Zhao! To be opened by Jiang Heng himself—" A voice broke the silence outside the courtyard. Jiang Heng looked out the window and saw a maid running to retrieve the letter, her hands seemingly rummaging through her bosom. He called out through the window, "Could you please deliver this?" The maid turned sharply, her expression clearly displeased. She then tucked the contents of her bosom back inside before following him. The messenger quickly reached the window and whispered to Jiang Heng, "Young master, this letter was originally sent by carrier pigeon. Attendant Zhao knew it was extremely important, so he sent me to deliver it." Jiang Heng nodded, thinking that the pigeon indeed didn't know he had moved. Delivering it to the Zhao residence was safer; thankfully, everything was alright. At that moment, the maid arrived, and the messenger made his escape.

“Young master, the Imperial Preceptor has ordered that all letters and small items must be reviewed, so…” The maidservant curtsied and smiled, then clasped her hands together and spread them to her forehead.

"Is that so? Here." Jiang Heng took the letter opener from the table and handed it to the maid. The maid opened the letter with satisfaction, but found that besides a dried flower tucked inside, there were four words written on the letter:

Take care on your journey.

The maid couldn't help but roll her eyes, saying, "With the young master by her side, even the attendant has developed a scholarly air, tsk." She examined the letter repeatedly, then tore open the envelope to confirm it was correct before returning it to Jiang Heng and leaving. Seeing the maid gone, Jiang Heng splashed the cold tea on the table onto the envelope, then held it up to the light. He saw that it read:

With the guidance of the Star Lord, all is well; nine out of ten fingers remain intact, and the enemy can still be repelled.

These few short sentences were the implementation of Jiang Heng and Zhao Chen's previous agreement to secretly write important matters in envelopes using alum. While not Zhao Peiming's own handwriting, the sixteen characters were enough to capture the young general's bright, sparkling eyes. Jiang Heng pondered the words. "Star Lord's Guidance" was Zhao Peiming's favorite teasing phrase; Jiang Heng knew it was praise and a smile appeared on his face. "All is well" was written lightly on the paper, yet carried the heaviest weight. It seemed they had followed the strategy and passed the inspection. Looking further, Jiang Heng was astonished—after learning he would be appointed as an assistant attendant, Zhao Peiming had actually deduced that Zhao Chen would tell him the story of his impulsive act of cutting off his finger to protect the grain, hence quoting it in the letter; their tacit understanding was truly remarkable.

Remembering the young general, covered in blood and with a severed finger, who repelled the enemy and whose first words upon arriving at the camp were, "Three hundred bushels of military rations, it's worth it!"—naive, straightforward, and full of spirit—Jiang Heng felt a warmth in his heart. Yet, remembering how his own spirit had been worn down by past events, he felt a pang of sadness. But Zhao Peiming hadn't actually succeeded either. He had escorted the supplies, drawing enemy troops to seize the camp, forcing a thousand men to set off overnight, suffering heavy losses along the way. Thinking back, without Zhao Peiming's pioneering efforts, it was likely no one could survive the long night without food, let alone maintain morale. He himself was in the same predicament—Fu Qinxiang periodically killed off a batch of people and reintroduced new ones, a cycle that repeated endlessly. Without his timely assistance, the weavers would probably never have had a full meal or a peaceful night's sleep. Now, with his limited strength, doing his best to help them was like a spark igniting a flame. Even with nine out of ten fingers intact, they fought to the death; with all ten fingers intact, he shouldn't back down. Jiang Heng gripped the corner of the envelope tightly. "Still able to repel the enemy"—these were resounding words. Upon seeing them, Jiang Heng's confusion vanished. The last eight characters even overlapped with the "upright and honest, upright and honest" that echoed in his mind, and together they sounded like a battle drum.

The maid walked to the street corner, smeared the bloodstains from the blade onto the assassin's body, and then tucked it into her bosom. The assassin, exasperated, clutched his collar, looking at the countless folds of blood, and said impatiently, "Where's the letter?" The maid tossed the letter to him, looking down at him and saying, "Sent to Half a Day's Flowers." The assassin hid the letter, then added, "Were you careful in your actions? Don't leave any clues." The maid replied obediently, "What clues? I just went to make tea." The assassin snorted and rode away.

“I previously investigated and found out that there’s a leader in the Half-Day Flower Garden named Jin Tao, but I’ve never heard of anyone named Tian Quan. There are no surnamed Heavenly Beings in Tian Song, so that person is most likely born on the frontier.” Fu Qinxiang stroked the white cat, and the cat looked up, meowing “Wonderful!” as if in response. At that moment, a male favorite knelt in, holding a letter. Fu Qinxiang picked up Jiang Heng’s letter and compared it to his, smiling with satisfaction, “Hmm, this time it’s very similar. A generous reward.” Upon closer inspection, the letter read:

Jade Balance descends, swiftly returning to the heavens in praise!

Before Fu Qinxiang could ask, the male concubine explained, "Your Majesty, please don't be offended. I thought that Tianquan and Yuheng were the stars of the Big Dipper. Since Jiang Heng and Yuheng are homophones, Tianquan is very likely an alias. This person has a close relationship with Jiang Heng."

Fu Qinxiang was pleasantly surprised and tapped her cheek with one hand, saying, "That's right. Then you might as well write the letter to me. If that person dislikes me, he will definitely distance himself from Jiang Heng, which can be used as a way to sow discord. If that person likes me, he will probably return to the capital soon and may even ask Jiang Heng to come see me. At that time, Banrihua will be easier to deal with."

Before long, the next one was presented with the phrase "to throw to others" replaced with "to play music with others on the riverbank".

—————

Zhao Peiming rubbed dirt on his linen clothes, took the letter, and opened it. He was expecting words of comfort from Jiang Heng, but when he saw a line, he suddenly froze—the music playing by the river was clearly a veiled reference to Fu Qinxiang. Could it be that Jiang Heng had sided with Fu Qinxiang? Was he blinded by greed or forced into this situation? And what was the rush for the next line, "Return quickly"?

Seeing his somber expression, the soldiers cautiously stood on the mound behind him, peering intently. Upon seeing the words, they could no longer contain themselves and began to whisper amongst themselves. Zhao Peiming suddenly turned around, and the crowd fell into a deathly silence. "Jiang Zhong clashed with the Grand Chancellor in court before his death; I doubt his son can be trusted either," said Zhou Ze. Wang Sheng, drenched in sweat, hurriedly dragged the boy down with a smile. The crowd nodded in agreement.

Zhao Peiming did not respond and walked straight into the house. He opened the "Agricultural Book," found the previous letters and compared them one by one. Then he nodded and said to the people at the door, "Look, there's something strange about this ink." After everyone gathered around, Zhao Peiming continued, "Jiang Heng usually uses aged ink, but this time the ink is as black as lacquer. I'm afraid this letter was not written by Jiang Heng himself."

"What if Young Master Jiang were to serve as an attendant, and the attendant were to bestow upon him new ink?" "Perhaps Jiang Heng, while ill, would have someone else write on his behalf?"

Zhao Peiming listened to each of them and replied, "Chen Mo is Jiang Heng's habit and also our secret code, to prevent anyone from copying it. He's not so arrogant as to need someone else to write a few words for him while he's ill."

Upon hearing this, people suddenly understood. "Can the flower still bloom for half a day?" Xiaohan asked.

"The imperial court has already learned of this place. Jiang Heng has made meritorious contributions in reclaiming the wasteland and should be appointed as the supervisor of this area. We can expect to stay here permanently," Zhao Peiming said firmly.

"Stay here permanently? We still have to fight the enemy!" "Yes, if we stay here permanently, wouldn't that just be garrisoning?" "If we don't fight, I'm afraid there will be more princesses sent to marry foreign rulers!" The eyes of the crowd gleamed with indignation.

Should we continue fighting? That is the question. The half-dayflower experiment is over, and the military and civilians have long been integrated. The half-dayflower's role is no less than that of a safe haven. But now the secret letter has been intercepted, and Jiang Heng is under Fu Qinxiang's control. It seems that we can no longer communicate with each other. The letter's urgent return is clearly an inducement, but we have no choice but to return.

"Once the wounded have recovered, we will immediately set off back to the capital." Zhao Peiming gazed towards the capital, squinting as the sandstorm swept in. Hearing his words, the others dispelled their doubts and dispersed to their respective tasks.

Zhao Peiming went back inside, copied the letter exactly as it was, held it three inches from his nose, and slowly said, "Indeed, Guixiang is gone." After saying that, he threw it into the stove fire to burn.

Xiao Han knocked on the door and entered, whispering, "Brother Zhao, once we return to the capital, can we still seek refuge with Young Master Jiang?"

Zhao Peiming closed the book and said calmly, "Pretend you don't know me, and don't let anyone get close."

Xiao Han scratched his head and said, "Young Master Jiang must have his reasons for becoming Fu Qinxiang's student. I don't think we should distance ourselves from him because of that."

Zhao Peiming sighed slightly and said, "I'm using the alias Tianquan. If I deliberately distance myself or intentionally get close, it will arouse Fu Qinxiang's suspicion. The best thing to do is to pretend to escape danger and return to the capital. I won't mention anything else."

"Then who will act as Tianquan to attract Fu Qinxiang's attention?"

“There’s no need to attract him. We don’t know Tianquan at all. In Fu Qinxiang’s eyes, this person should still be hiding in Banrihua.”