Joy of Life

As autumn began, above the northernmost plains of Qing Kingdom’s capital, the clouds boiled and swelled. The field workers didn’t raise their heads, for they had no interest in God’s play with the sky, its clouds and the sun – they merely wanted to harvest their crops before the rainclouds would arrive.

The volume of rain in this particular year had been high. The people spoke of the big river in the south breaching its banks and overflowing. For those that lived within the northern territories, however, this did not greatly concern them. Instead, it was the worrying prospect of the heavy rainfall delaying their annual harvests.

Occasionally, large, fearless muskrats came to scour the fields for grain, weaving between the farmers’ legs as they went. Uncaring for their presence, though, the farmers would continue to go about their harvesting duties, scythes in hand.

There were two well-trodden roads that bordered these far-flung fields. The sound made by a symphony of blades slicing in unison was known to bring about great joy to those who passed by and listened.

With their faces aimed at the soil and their leaf-cut backs aimed up toward the dreary skies, the farmers did not realize the passing of a grand congregation of travelers – a collective which went along the roads as far as the eye could see.

It was an envoy venturing home from the Northern Qi Kingdom, fulfilling their promise of leaving in the spring and returning in the autumn. And here they were, arriving home mid-September. The band was larger coming home than what it was when it first left. This growth had come not only from the swathe of gifts given by Northern Qi, but also the guards of honor and other diplomatic personnel that were now accompanying them.

It was evident by the large host that the marriage of the princess of Northern Qi was something of profound importance; and rightly so, for it was the first marriage between royalty of these two kingdoms. For this land, that had been peaceful for twenty years, what could these changes bring?

Although the princess’ luxurious stagecoach was the sort to draw awe, there was another in the company’s midst that was bound to elicit attention – but for not the same reasons. In contrast to Northern Qi’s painted carriages and Qing’s black carriages, this particular vehicle was rather grubby in its appearance. The carriage itself was being pulled by fare and healthy horses, but their pace was almost staggered as they plodded along with their heads lowered, slowly swinging from left to right.

Those within the envoy understood that the horses’ fatigue stemmed from the carriage’s obscene weight. The carriage contained Zhuang Mohan`s wealth of scriptures, that were given to the envoy`s head diplomat, Fan Xian, before Zhuang Mohan’s death. In appearance, the books looked to be of little importance; so it was surprising how such tatty manuscripts outweighed the princess` abundance of jewelry. But its presence there was not an ill one, for members of the envoy would always look upon the carriage with great admiration. Master Fan, the scholar that he was, was appreciated by the members of the envoy for his honorable nature and profound knowledge. Ever since they departed Cangzhou City, however, Master Fan had taken to locking himself inside his carriage to read and study the manuscripts, even foregoing meals and rest.

“I cannot go on like this.”

Fan Xian sighed. Returning a collection of poems to the chest behind him, the curtains of the carriage appeared to draw themselves shut by a sudden gust of wind, swiftly engulfing his chamber in complete darkness. Those outside were unable to see the expressions on his face, but hearing the sounds from inside the carriage, it was evident that Master Fan was not willing to continue his charade as a diligent scholar.

The road they were upon, leading south, was utterly unspoiled; it was both smooth and peaceful. The princess of Northern Qi was at last getting over the grief brought on by Zhuang Mohan’s passing, becoming once more the reserved and self-respecting noblewoman she was expected to be, and decided not to give him any trouble. Within the garrison at the courier station, Fan Xian would often speak with the beautiful princess and engage her in fairly ordinary conversations in order to relieve himself of his loneliness. Although possible courtiers wouldn’t dare to get so close, being with a woman was a far fonder experience than being with the cold, stone-like swordsmen or Yan Bingyun.

But following their departure from Cangzhou, these meetings never occurred again. This wasn’t because of their return to Qing, where Fan Xian couldn’t dare to speak with the Great Prince’s soon-to-be wife, but it was because the envoy suddenly received one additional member. This person’s identity was unique. Her origins were shrouded in an unsettling aura of mystery and uncertainty and possessed an unknown connection to someone else within the envoy. That person had been staying in the princess’ stagecoach the entire time. It was also due in part to the fact that Fan Xian did not desire to see this enigmatic person weep profusely, and thusly decided to hide himself within his own carriage and leave the delicate situation for Mister Yan Bingyun.

On the road, the Overwatch Council would sometimes receive intelligence, but investigations into the murders occurring in the south were yet to yield any details of worth. That aside, there was nothing notably new to report upon. The most dismaying of all possible news, however, came from the north.

Shen Zhong was reported dead. On a rainy night, under the protection of 13 of the Brocade Guard, Shen Zhong was killed by General Shang Shanhu; taken out with an unexpected joust.

Provost of the Discipline Commission, Shen Zhong was the most renowned agent after Xiao En in Northern Qi. It was difficult to believe this is how he met his end. Although it may seem too outlandish to believe, it was the truth. Fan Xian rubbed his temple and gave a wry smile as he thought about Wang Qinian’s report, detailing the events that had transpired. Pondering the details, he almost felt a little scared.

According to the reports, on that rainy night, Shang Shanhu was clad in dark armor, pike in hand, above a lengthy street. As Shen Zhong’s horse galloped by, a sudden pike-thrust pierced his head. Then, in one mighty swing, Shang Shanhu sliced the remainder of Shen Zhong’s guard. It was at this moment, when he sheathed his weapon, that rain began to fall – concluding the night’s frightening turn of events. Shang Shanhu, the high-ranking warrior that he was, made use of this doughty method to bring ruin to the conspiracies. He was now using force to challenge the entire government’s authority. It was reckless – even ruthless. Shang Shanhu was never previously thought to be so barbaric. Fan Xian knew he had always underestimated the jagged minds of soldiers during the heat of battle and, pondering these events further, his head began to throb. Yet no matter how much he massaged his temples, the pain would not recede. After all, the people knew he was involved with the freeing of Xiao En; and even when Tan Wu committed suicide, his influence was not made known. Looking forward, he believed Shang Shanhu would lay the blame of Xiao En’s death and the defection of the Southern people upon him.

Fan Xian only hoped that Qing and Northern Qi would maintain their peace and stability forevermore, without the need for any further wars and a possible confrontation with Shang Shanhu himself.

Doubts and suspicions continued to surround Shen Zhong’s death. After all, he was both a powerful and influential figure in the Brocade Guard. And now, Shang Shanhu’s violence and volatility had made him the target of the army. So great was the desire for his arrest, they were willing to kill him in the street. Unfortunately, it was never to be that simple. Following the incident, Northern Qi’s response was tame. After a quiet night in the palace, they only put Shang Shanhu under house arrest at his manor and stripped him of his titles. Also, it was only just brought to light that quite shockingly, Shen Zhong had been partaking in numerous illegal deeds for many years. It was hard to believe that they were dirtying the name of a man who had just died.

Because of these revelations, Shen Zhong’s relatives had their assets seized and the Brocade Guard underwent significant personnel changes. This news in particular made the kingdom’s army quite happy. The young emperor maintained his quiet composition, but it was suspected that even he himself was made joyous at these disclosures. After this, Shang Shanhu’s enmity towards the royal family lessened. But someone like Shang Shanhu can be compared to a tiger, in the way he is not easy to control. By keeping him locked within his manor, it was evident that the palace was still unsure of exactly how to deal with him. He couldn’t be killed, for the risk of a military revolt was too high. Letting the issue slide, however, would be like releasing an untamed tiger unto the populace – who would know what were to happen then?

Fan Xian shook his head. Haitang overheard Fan Xian talking to himself from within his carriage. The way Shen Zhong was killed was so abrupt and violent, and picturing it in his mind, the fear he possessed gave way to a manner of appreciation. It was a quick death, one that brought no remorse to the murderer. When Shang Shanhu raised his black pike, mounted his steed and prepared to harvest Shen Zhong’s life, he must have been completely devoid of a conscience. He even thought the sky agreed with Shang Shanhu’s actions, releasing a torrent of rain right after the deed was done.

Opening the curtains of his carriage once again, Fan Xian leapt out without calling for the driver to stop. Standing on the road, Fan Xian raised his arms as a visor against the wind. Looking at the farmers working hard in their fields of grain, ease returned once more to Fan Xian’s mind. He was now able to put all of the events that had transpired in the north behind him. With a renewed resolve, he determined that all that had happened would no longer affect him and that dwelling upon it would yield no good.

Looking up, Fan Xian watched the clouds brighten and dim as they traversed the sky. He squinted and, knowing that he was to arrive at the Longquan Station by the end of the day, breathed a sigh of relief. The princess was to marry somewhere so far from home, but the journey’s pace seemed to be shorter than what they had initially estimated. Fan Xian was not completely free from worry, but none in the envoy would stop to ask him of his troubles and as such, they traveled with greater speed. Seeing that it would not be long before he reached the capital, he finally stopped thinking about his family. It was possible that he might even see Wan’er the next day and he wondered if her body was recovering. Regarding her sister, if Wu Zhu was in the capital, she would undoubtedly be fine.

Hopping onto the carriage behind him, he saw Yan Bingyun pretending to be asleep, and so Fan Xian scowled. “This is all your fault,” Fan Xian said. “You caused all these troubles and you need to sort it out. We are headed into the capital now, are you simply going to allow her to follow the princess? If Northern Qi discovers that we are providing asylum for one of their greatest criminals, how are you going to explain this to the council?”

Yan Bingyun opened his eyes, but didn’t even bother to look at Fan Xian. Looking out at the golden fields of grain outside the carriage, he wrestled with whether or not he should tell his boss. Quietly, Yan Bingyung said, “It’s just a step for the Northern Qi emperor to take over. I don’t think the kingdom will care very much about her life.”

Fan Xian looked at him and spoke in a softer tone, “If you do not care whether this woman is dead or alive, allow me to deal with it.”

Yan Bingyun slowly turned around to look at Fan Xian and replied, “Killing her is not an ideal solution.”

Fan Xian shook his head and stated, “If you cannot let it go, you cannot let it go. I thought you were special. I cannot believe you are deceiving yourself in this way.”

Yan Bingyung did not answer. He silently returned his gaze back to the hard-working fieldworkers, harvesting their majestic crops.

Inside the luxurious carriage that was spear-heading the envoy, the princess of Northern Qi sighed. She looked at her best friend, who was sat at the window and did not say anything. Miss Chen had made it out alive from Shangjing city. At that moment, she saw her lying against the window’s wooden lattice, looking out upon the same views Yan Bingyun was also engaged in, without any idea whether or not she was thinking about her heartless lover, the tragedy of her family’s demise, or even the sadness involved with leaving one’s home country.