Qin Shi’san-lang also laughed.
“Father, it’s just a coincidence. Besides, countless people come and go from the government office every day. If we go by that logic, then there must be an awful lot of capable people out there,” he said with a chuckle.
Qin An nodded. Indeed, how could it be anything more? It must just be a coincidence.
“Well then, is the Zhou family’s luck good or bad after all?” he murmured, shaking his head.
Good luck, yet always encountering mishaps; bad luck, yet always managing to turn danger into safety—just a false alarm.
Thinking this, Qin An couldn’t help but laugh.
“In that case, you really are a lucky star for the Zhou family but a calamity star for the court officials. If this keeps up, no one in the government office will dare to let you in…”
Before he could finish, Qin Shi’san-lang’s expression shifted slightly.
“Father!” he exclaimed.
Qin An startled, realizing his slip of the tongue—how could he call his son a calamity star for court officials? If such words spread, his son’s political career would be ruined!
The imperial court was deeply superstitious about matters of ghosts and gods in private.
But as for his career… his son’s career…
He looked at Qin Shi’san-lang. Perhaps because his legs had healed, he had grown much taller, standing tall and graceful before him.
“Shi’san, how old are you this year?” he suddenly asked.
Qin Shi’san-lang smiled.
“Father, I will turn seventeen after August,” he replied.
“Seventeen—it’s time to enter the examinations,” Qin An said with a nod. “You must devote yourself to your studies now.”
In the past, Qin Shi’san’s disability had barred him from official service, so his daily studies had not been tailored for the imperial exams. But now, things were different.
His son was handsome and brilliant, sharp-witted and well-connected—his future would surely be boundless.
Qin Shi’san-lang bowed respectfully.
“Yes, Father,” he said.
Qin An nodded, watching as his son turned to leave.
“Shi’san,” he called out once more.
The young master turned back.
“Was it really not you?” Qin An pressed.
A hint of exasperation colored Qin Shi’san’s smile.
“Father! Do you truly think I am capable of such a thing?” he replied.
No.
Even he couldn’t have managed it—let alone a child. Qin An chuckled wryly and shook his head, waving his son off with a dismissive hand.
Three days later, Master Zhou came with updates regarding the deserters’ case.
“…The matter has been thoroughly investigated. Fan Jianglin and his men indeed didn’t kill anyone—that man died from a fall during the altercation. At worst, it could be considered accidental homicide,” Master Zhou said with a hint of satisfaction. “So the charges of murder and desertion can be dropped.”
“What about the desertion charge?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
“Who cares about desertion now? Once the murder charge is cleared and they’re released, they’ll no longer be soldiers. Naturally, the desertion label won’t apply either,” Master Zhou replied with a laugh. But then his expression darkened. “That bastard Liu Kui, though—still ungrateful, still…”
He trailed off abruptly.
“Liu Kui? What else did he do?” Cheng Jiao-niang asked.
“Nothing of concern, Jiao-niang. You needn’t trouble yourself with this. Even the higher-ups aren’t pursuing it anymore—a mere patrol captain like him can’t stir up trouble. But I’ll make sure he learns his lesson!” Master Zhou snorted.
Though he couldn’t eliminate someone as effortlessly as his niece, toying with a lowly patrol captain was still well within his power.
“He insists on pressing the desertion charge to send them back to the northwestern camp, doesn’t he?” Cheng Jiao-niang remarked.
Master Zhou nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but she continued with a nod of her own.
“He’s not wrong—they did desert,” she said. “Then let them be sent back to the northwestern camp.”
Master Zhou was taken aback.
“There’s no need, Jiao Jiao. This is nothing serious—we can get them out of it,” he said hurriedly.
Was she looking down on his capabilities?
“No,” Cheng Jiao-niang replied. “Send them back to the northwestern camp.”
Master Zhou froze again.
Returning to the northwestern camp meant leaving the capital…
So she meant to banish them.
Suddenly, everything became clear to him.
Of course—after all this trouble, how could they keep them around? They’d saved their lives and restored the family’s dignity—that was more than enough. Out of sight, out of mind. Best to send them far away.
“Very well, Jiao Jiao. I understand what needs to be done,” he said with a knowing nod.
Cheng Jiao-niang bowed slightly in acknowledgment.
At the same time, Old Master Chen also inquired about this matter.
“Deserters?” Chen Shao frowned slightly, his face unable to conceal exhaustion.
This was an old matter that had finally reached a conclusion—and an unsatisfactory one at that. Shouldn’t they have discussed this first?
But since his father asked, he had to respond.
“I’ve instructed the Ministry of War to show them leniency, ensuring they aren’t mistreated in prison,” he said. “At this point, Gao Lingjun’s faction knows that this won’t pressure me into pleading on their behalf, so they’ve stopped insisting on execution. They’re too busy covering up evidence of crimes in the northwest. As long as no one higher up investigates, this matter remains trivial. The Zhou family will likely secure their release within days.”
Old Master Chen nodded, his expression pensive.
“Father, why are you particularly concerned about these deserters?” Chen Shao asked.
“I simply find it rather unbelievable, so I wanted to inquire further and verify the details,” Old Master Chen replied with a faint smile.
“Unbelievable? How so?” Chen Shao frowned.
Old Master Chen gave a slight smile.
“Just as unbelievable as Zhang Jiangzhou suddenly emerging to impeach the two of you,” he said.
“Father, there’s nothing unbelievable about that,” Chen Shao said, his expression darkening.
The mention of this matter still stoked his anger.
Just as victory had been within grasp, someone had to come and disrupt everything. No matter how disciplined his temperament, he had no desire to ever lay eyes on that Zhang Jiangzhou again.
“You may not wish to see him, and neither does Minister Gao—but I suspect His Majesty is quite pleased to have him around,” Old Master Chen remarked.
Chen Shao fell silent.
As a seasoned official, he understood the Emperor’s calculations all too well.
The ruler’s art of balancing his ministers—this Legalist principle had remained unchanged for millennia.
“Scholars may preach virtue, yet none hesitate to scramble for fame and profit when the time comes!” Chen Shao said darkly.
All his meticulous planning, on the verge of bearing fruit—only for someone to snatch the prize, climbing to success by stepping on his back. No one could endure such a slight with equanimity.
Yet there was nothing to be done.
Such was the way of the court: one always rose by trampling others. Even he himself was no exception.
“Actually, this outcome might not be so bad,” Old Master Chen remarked.
The words made Chen Shao straighten abruptly.
“Father, the Doctrine of the Mean has no place in this matter!” he declared firmly. “The decisions I made were for the good of the nation and its people.”
“Many things are indeed good in intent, but good intentions don’t always yield good results,” Old Master Chen countered. “Consider this—had you succeeded in uprooting the Gao family’s influence from the northwest, not only would it have been difficult to dismantle their entrenched power, but the resulting turmoil would have been disastrous for the entire region…”
“Reform brings pain, but prolonged suffering is worse than short-term hardship,” Chen Shao argued.
“…With unrest along the northwest border, the western barbarians would surely seize the opportunity to strike. Your faction has held control for too short a time—soldiers unfamiliar, generals disobedient—while earning the bitter resentment of the Gao faction. When men are driven by hatred, there is nothing they won’t do. If conflict had erupted then, they would have swarmed like hornets. A single defeat in battle, and their combined accusations would have torn you apart.”
“I do not fear death,” Chen Shao said.
“I know you don’t, and I wouldn’t mourn your death either,” Old Master Chen replied. “But would such an end be worthy of you? If you die, the Gao family would simply reclaim control of the northwest’s military forces. What meaning would all your efforts hold then?”
Chen Shao fell silent, offering no reply.
“By taking a step back now, the Gao family can breathe easier, reassured that their foundation remains intact. They won’t be driven to desperate, frenzied retaliation against you. Meanwhile, you gain breathing room—your own people have already been positioned, and with time and opportunity, you can proceed methodically,” Old Master Chen said. “This way, the northwest remains stable while reform continues steadily. What seems like retreat is, in my view, better than pressing forward recklessly. I suspect this was precisely Master Jiangzhou’s reasoning as well.”
He paused, studying his son.
“And this reasoning aligns with the Emperor’s calculations—something you and your faction surely recognize, even if you’re reluctant to acknowledge it in the heat of the struggle.”
Chen Shao exhaled and bowed to his father.
“Your counsel is wise, Father.”
Old Master Chen nodded, pouring tea for him himself.
“You’ve been under strain. Allow yourself some respite,” he said.
The father and son sat in silence for a moment, sipping their tea.
“Tell me,” Old Master Chen suddenly said, “could Master Jiangzhou’s sudden intervention be related to those deserters?”
Chen Shao’s expression turned to one of astonishment.
“Father, are you suggesting that Lady Cheng was behind Zhang Jiangzhou’s involvement?” His voice rose in disbelief. “That’s impossible!”
Zhang Jiangzhou—a man of his stature! And on matters of state importance—how could he possibly take orders from some girl!
“Does Lady Cheng know Zhang Jiangzhou?”
Old Master Chen nodded and recounted what his old servant had told him that day.
“I originally thought she was there to see her brother, but now it occurs to me…” He shook his head.
Chen Shao fell silent for a moment.
“Impossible!” he insisted, shaking his head firmly. “Zhang Jiangzhou isn’t that kind of man. Once he’s set on something, nothing sways him—certainly not the pleas of others.”
“But what if what she said aligned with what he already believed?” Old Master Chen countered.
Chen Shao’s expression stiffened slightly.
“If even a young girl can see the truth so clearly, then it must be plain to all under heaven. For you and your peers to remain blind to it would be nothing short of ridiculous,” Old Master Chen said with a note of lament. “And how could a man like Master Jiangzhou tolerate such absurdity continuing?”
Is that really what happened?
Chen Shao’s face flickered with doubt and disbelief.
Had the half-year power struggle between his faction and the Gao family over military appointments in the northwest—a conflict of such magnitude—ultimately ended in stalemate because of a girl?
Because this girl wanted to save a few deserters? Because she exchanged a few words with Master Jiangzhou?
What nonsense! How could that be possible!
Absolutely impossible!
“This is absolutely impossible!” Chen Shao declared resolutely, his voice slightly strained—whether to convince Old Master Chen or himself, it wasn’t clear.
“It can only be sheer luck on her part.”
Luck?
Old Master Chen paused, then nodded with a faint smile.
“Yes, you’re right. It must be luck,” he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “So she actually knows Master Jiangzhou… Truly unexpected…”
He had assumed this noblewoman had no other notable connections in the capital. Who would have imagined Master Jiangzhou suddenly appearing in the picture?
She had been in the capital for so long, yet there had been no rumors of this—no signs of interaction in daily affairs.
This girl never failed to surprise.
I wonder… who else unexpected she might know…