Ten shields had been set up along the city gate, and the Emperor inspected each one in person.
It wasn’t merely a matter of piercing through – from the shape of the holes, it was clear that anyone standing behind those shields would have been killed outright.
The Emperor’s face betrayed barely contained excitement.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty – and the speed of reloading too!” a general said, unable to hide his enthusiasm. “That young soldier just fired ten shots in a row – he only faltered when his breath ran short and his hands shook. With a heavy crossbow, that would’ve been impossible. It’s all because this one’s drawn by foot – easier to channel strength that way.”
At the mention of the young soldier, the Emperor turned his head.
Beside Fan Jianglin stood a teenage boy – his crossbow had already been taken away, for weapons were not permitted before the Emperor.
“Whose son are you?” the Emperor asked.
Zhou Liu-lang knelt and bowed.
“I’m Zhou Fu, sixth son of Zhou Yue of Guide General. I currently serve under Zhao Cheng in the Northwestern Command as a third-rank officer,” he declared in a clear, steady voice.
The young man was handsome and full of spirit – a sight pleasing to the eye. The Emperor nodded and smiled.
“Excellent archery. A reward,” he said – then paused. “Promote him to Right Guard of the Imperial Prohibition Corps.”
Four ranks!
Zhou Liu-lang drew a sharp breath. He had fought in the northwest for two years and had only risen one rank – yet with this single demonstration before the Emperor, he had just been promoted four ranks in one stroke!
Looking around, the surrounding officials remained largely unmoved.
The generals showed no reaction – after all, anyone qualified to stand before the Emperor was already of high rank. In their eyes, a Right Guard of the Imperial Prohibition Corps was hardly worth mentioning, so they naturally didn’t take it to heart.
As for the civil officials, though displeased by the emperor’s casual bestowal of titles and rewards, they knew he was in high spirits at the moment – and there was no point in spoiling the mood.
Besides, it was only a military appointment.
If it had been a civil official receiving such favor, there would’ve been those bold enough to argue with the emperor to his face, red in the neck and furious.
“Express your thanks, quickly,” the eunuch beside him prompted.
Zhou Liu-lang came back to his senses and loudly called out his thanks.
The Emperor wasn’t offended by his brief lapse – on the contrary, he seemed rather pleased and even praised him once more.
As Zhou Liu-lang rose to his feet, his feelings were mixed.
Do me a favor.
A favor – just helping her out – and I’ve ended up granted rank and title. So who was really helping whom?
While he was still dazed by the thought, Fan Jianglin spoke up again.
“Your Majesty, this crossbow can still be tested by others, to verify its effectiveness,” he said.
The Emperor smiled and shook his head.
“No need,” he replied. “I trust you.”
Face? Was his imperial dignity offended? Compared to the military merit earned in the northwest, being momentarily defied by a girl out of pique was hardly worth mentioning.
A young lady, after all – quick temper comes with the nature.
Fan Jianglin dropped to his knees and kowtowed.
The Emperor’s expression remained pleasant, smiling faintly – and beside him, Attendant Scholar Gao was smiling too, though his smile carried a chill.
His gaze drifted from Fan Jianglin to the shields at the side.
“A formidable weapon indeed,” he said. “About the same size as a heavy crossbow, but seemingly more refined. It currently takes the Imperial Armory ten days to craft a single heavy crossbow.” He turned his eyes back to Fan Jianglin, still smiling. “I wonder – how long did it take you to make this one?”
At those words, Zhou Liu-lang, who had been standing frozen in place, suddenly shuddered. Not good – Gao Lingjun’s strike is a venomous one!
According to the law, civilians were forbidden from privately owning or manufacturing crossbows; possession of five was punishable by death. If Fan Jianglin had built this one in secret and failed to report it – whether before or after coming to the capital – the span of ten days or half a month would not look good.
The Emperor might be pleased now and think nothing of it, but in the future, if someone brought it up to sow suspicion, His Majesty would inevitably begin to doubt his intentions.
Zhou Liu-lang opened his mouth, trying to cut in and divert the topic – but he was still a moment too late.
“This bow is rather rough in its making,” Fan Jianglin said, his tone carrying a hint of shame. “I worked day and night without rest – it took me a full six days to complete.”
And my sister only took three.
Impossible! Attendant Scholar Gao nearly shouted aloud – he had to clench his teeth hard to keep the words from escaping.
But the officials around him could no longer restrain themselves and cried out,
“Impossible!”
The Emperor, however, had already taken an excited step forward.
“Six days?” he demanded. “Truly?”
Fan Jianglin nodded.
“I would not dare deceive Your Majesty.”
“By yourself?” the Emperor asked again, his breath quickening.
Fan Jianglin nodded once more.
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
“Quick – send word to the Armory to start production! Gather and deploy everyone – all the craftsmen! Within ten days we must have a hundred of these built! Send them to the northwest, send them to the northwest! I will personally deliver this great gift on Your Majesty’s behalf!”
The general beside the Emperor was shouting almost madly.
No censor stepped forward to rebuke him for his breach of decorum – because everyone was too stunned by what they’d just heard.
Impossible… impossible…
“And also, Your Majesty,” Fan Jianglin added, “this crossbow of mine fires wooden-shafted arrows.”
The shouting ceased at once.
Also…
For a moment, the Emperor felt as though even his breathing had stopped.
“No fletching needed…” he murmured in a trembling voice.
“Yes, wooden slats will do just fine,” Fan Jianglin explained. “Also, the bowstock and limbs needn’t use ox sinew or horn – mountain wood is sufficient. Add some hemp rope, and–”
And…
Fan Jianglin’s voice continued, but in the Emperor’s ears it seemed to fade in and out, distant and dreamlike.
The weapon’s power – its terrifying lethality – was astonishing, yes.
But that wasn’t what amazed him most.
The true burden of military strength was money.
Armaments drained the treasury faster than anything. Every ruler desired formidable weapons and mighty armies – but the cost! Tens of thousands of taels upon tens of thousands, and still never enough.
The national coffers were bare; even the palace itself had countless rooms left in disrepair. The Emperor had already lived frugally – yet still, the empire felt poor.
That was why ministers constantly decried warfare as a national scourge: the expenditure was too great, the drain on the realm unbearable.
But now – this problem was solved.
This crossbow was not only a hundred times deadlier than a heavy crossbow – its cost was less than half!
Out of the corner of his eye, the Emperor saw a few courtiers who had been frowning and on the verge of speaking draw their feet back.
They, too, realized there was no ground left for objection on the matter of cost.
What Fan Jianglin had said was perfect – one sentence had spared the Emperor from yet another tug-of-war with his ministers in court.
And what did it mean?
It meant that equipping the entire army with such crossbows was no longer an impossibility!
The entire army! The entire army!
“…It can be soaked in water without absorbing moisture… only, compared to the heavy crossbow, the wear is somewhat faster…”
Fan Jianglin’s voice went on, but the Emperor’s hands were trembling.
“Attend me – someone, quick, calculate – calculate the cost to outfit the entire army, the entire–” he began shouting, then stopped midway, realizing he didn’t even know the weapon’s name. He turned urgently to Fan Jianglin.
“What is it called?”
Fan Jianglin bowed low once more.
“I have not yet named it,” he said. “May Your Majesty bestow its name.”
The Emperor looked toward the base of the city gate – the crossbow had already been taken away.
“Divine bow… divine… Divine Arm Bow – yes, we shall call it the Divine Arm Bow,” he said after a moment’s thought.
“Congratulations to Your Majesty on obtaining such a heavenly weapon!” Attendant Scholar Gao was the first to cry out.
Though he seethed with hatred inside, he was not so foolish as to miss the right moment to speak.
At once, those around them dropped to their knees and shouted in unison. The cry rose from the gate tower, echoed by the soldiers below, until the chorus of voices surged like crashing waves.
The Emperor could no longer contain himself – he burst into hearty laughter.
Excellent, excellent! What a fine birthday this is indeed!
After receiving the cheers and congratulations of the people, the Emperor turned and returned to the palace.
All the ministers, royal relatives, and high officials followed to the banquet within the palace – Fan Jianglin and Zhou Liu-lang were also invited to attend.
“Fan Jianglin,” the Emperor said, seated upon his dragon throne, his excitement not yet faded; the pallor that usually marked his face was now tinged with a rare flush of color. “You shall be rewarded. Tell me – what do you desire?”
Fan Jianglin bowed deeply.
“I wish only to slay the enemy and serve the realm,” he said. “But as I am now crippled and can no longer draw the bow myself, I wish instead to make bows and arrows so that others may fight. In that way, it would still fulfill my lifelong wish.”
The Emperor nodded with satisfaction.
“Then I appoint you Commander of the Imperial Vassal Forces before the Throne, and Inspector-General of the Imperial Armory.”
At those words, the entire hall drew a collective breath.
If the promotion Zhou Liu-lang received at the city gate earlier had been astonishing, this was something else entirely – even the seasoned generals present could not remain composed.
“Your Majesty, perhaps this matter should first be discussed with the Imperial Archives?” one official ventured.
The Emperor’s expression darkened.
“Have you settled the affairs of the northwest war, then?” he countered instead of answering.
The courtier choked on his words and could only retreat in silence.
After all, though the title bestowed was lofty, in truth it merely meant overseeing the manufacture of crossbows at the Armory – nothing more. Just another craftsman, really.
Spending a fortune to buy bones – the gesture was an old one: to inspire and attract more people to offer their ideas, skills, and resources for the good of the realm. It was a time-honored and entirely reasonable move.
Fan Jianglin bowed low and gave thanks for the imperial favor.
“That man who made the horseshoes – is he also your brother?” the Emperor asked, as something suddenly came to mind.
Fan Jianglin replied at once, “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“At the time, when my sister sent the seven of us to the battlefield,” he explained, “she said she would grant each of us a skill suited to our strengths and temperaments. My fourth brother was skilled in caring for horses, so she taught him the craft of forging horseshoes. As for me – since I am now crippled and unable to fight – my sister bestowed upon me another skill, one meant for slaying the enemy.”
The moment those words left his mouth, the Emperor’s expression changed – and as realization dawned, the faces of everyone else in the hall changed as well.
Jiang Wenyuan was finished.
Attendant Scholar Gao closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over him.
From the crossbow’s deadly power, to its ease of manufacture and low cost – one blade after another had been thrown, each sharper than the last, until this final strike pierced straight into the Emperor’s heart.
Seven brothers, each granted a skill according to his own strength and temperament -two of them had already chosen arts of war suited to themselves, both now proven to be invaluable to the army and the state. Then what of the remaining five? What astonishing crafts or weapons might they have mastered, based on their own talents and passions?
No one would ever know – because those five were dead. They no longer had talents, nor the chance to voice their desires.
Disaster for the realm.
This – this was the true disaster for the realm.
Every time that thought arose, it would lead to the memory of those five men. And remembering those five would lead to remembering their deaths. And once their deaths came to mind, the emperor would inevitably recall the whole affair.
Day after day, thought upon thought – it would fester and grow.
Jiang Wenyuan would not only lose his standing in the northwest – he would never again find favor in the Emperor’s heart for the rest of his life.
Good heavens – what a ruthless fool that young lady from Jiang-zhou turned out to be!
Man’s schemes could not outmatch Heaven’s – but this time, someone’s scheme had forced Heaven itself to yield.
“Master, master!”
At the Chen residence, Chen Shao was playing chess and drinking tea with his father when a servant rushed in, interrupting his move.
The servant knew nothing of what had just transpired in the imperial palace, but the events at the city gate had been witnessed by all. He recounted them with animated excitement.
Chen Shao listened in astonishment, then waved the servant away.
Old Master Chen placed a piece on the board and said quietly, “Jiang Wenyuan is finished.”
He looked up at his son with a knowing smile. “So, she really was helping you.”
Chen Shao nodded. His expression was a mix of surprise, realization, and a faint melancholy.
“So that’s why she pressed me to urge His Majesty to issue the commendation,” he said slowly. “It was to use that opportunity to present a gift of gratitude to the Emperor. And by offering that gift – she’s overturned heaven and earth.”
The Divine Arm Bow!
What a devastating weapon!
“What is there to worry about?” he went on. “So she angered the Emperor – so what? So her fame stirs jealousy and suspicion – so what? In the end, it was never those things she relied upon.”
He shook his head with a sigh of admiration.
“She relied on strength – real, tangible power that cannot be denied. Not the illusory kind born of miracles and legends.”
Her status was ordinary, with no family or noble backing; her reputation, fragile as a castle in the air.
But if beneath that fragile reputation lay solid achievements that served the nation’s greatest interests – then what could anyone say?
“I can’t see through her anymore… I truly can’t,” Chen Shao murmured.
Before his words had even faded, shouts came again from outside the door.
“Congratulations, master! Congratulations!” Two servants rushed in, dropped to their knees, and called out joyfully.
Congratulations? It might have been fitting to congratulate the Emperor at this moment – but for Chen Shao, who had resigned from office and was living in quiet retirement, what was there to celebrate?
“Master! The Eighteenth Lady presented her writing to His Majesty – he praised it greatly and has granted her the title of Imperial Calligrapher, to instruct the First Prince in his studies!” the servant reported, bowing low.
“What?”
Chen Shao shot to his feet in astonishment – and even Old Master Chen could not conceal his delight.
At the imperial banquet, Chen Shi’ba-niang was kneeling to give thanks for the Emperor’s favor. Under countless envious gazes, she turned and stepped down from the dais, cradling in her hands the imperial decree bestowed upon her.
Though she had dreamed of this moment many times, the feeling when it truly came – that swelling, trembling joy – was something no dream could ever capture.
Chen Shi’ba-niang descended slowly. She wasn’t sure if her expression still looked composed, but her eyes were already shimmering so much she could barely see the path before her. Still, she lifted her chin, straightened her back, and walked with steady, graceful steps.
“Today is the happiest day of Our reign,” the Emperor said from his throne, raising his cup with a broad smile. “Never have I received a greater or more splendid birthday gift than this.”
At once, the hall resounded with cries of “Long live the Emperor!”
Court music swelled; dancers twirled in bright robes and streaming ribbons – a scene so radiant it seemed like a mortal glimpse of paradise.
In the secluded Palace of Prince Qing, all was quiet – none of the noise or festivity from the imperial celebration could be heard there.
Duke Jin’an was hosting a small banquet with Prince Qing. Because Prince Qing was feeble-minded, he was rarely brought before others, let alone to such grand occasions where he might cause the Emperor displeasure.
“Here, try this,” said Duke Jin’an, spooning a bit of tea soup and offering it to Prince Qing.
Prince Qing, happily gnawing on a piece of mutton, shook his head and turned away in protest.
“Careful not to choke,” Duke Jin’an said patiently, coaxing him until he managed to feed him half a bowl. Only then did he lift his gaze to the eunuch standing before him.
“So,” he said lightly, “three people were granted imperial favor today? It seems His Majesty’s birthday has been quite a successful one.”
The eunuch smiled and nodded.
Duke Jin’an gave a faint smile.
“As long as they’re happy,” he said softly.
The eunuch bowed and withdrew, glancing back before closing the door – inside, the young duke reclined slightly in his seat, lifting a golden cup to his lips, drinking slowly.
Outside the capital, on the main road, passersby couldn’t help but glance curiously toward a patch of wasteland nearby, where a newly built grave stood. In front of it, a young maid held a basket, and beside her, a lady in a cloak sat quietly on the ground.
The autumn air was clear and crisp. Sunlight filtered through the branches above, scattering mottled patterns across the woman’s figure, blurring her features into a soft haze.
Cheng Jiao-niang reached out and rested a hand against a tombstone. At her feet lay scattered chisels and carving tools. After a moment, she picked up a chisel and hammer and began to tap gently against the stone.
“Fan Shitou.”
“Xu Maoxiu.”
“Xu Layue.”
“Fan Sanchou.”
“Xu Bangchui.”
Your little sister has come to carve your names.
A new grave beneath an old locust tree; a maid standing with a basket; a lady seated on the earth – together they formed a scene like a living landscape painting, so striking that several scholars passing by stopped in their tracks, dumbfounded.
“What a pity, what a pity,” one of them murmured. “Such beauty – if only she were holding a zither instead of a chisel, it would be perfect.”
