Chapter 52: Winter Plum Blossoms in Bloom

The early snow in Luoyang fell upon the flying eaves of the Southern Palace, dyeing the glazed tiles a pristine white. Liu Xie gathered his fox-fur coat around him, gazing at the late-blooming green-calyx plum tree beneath the veranda. Ice crystals clung to the floral branches, refracting tiny rainbows in the morning light—almost resembling the mirror-fire on Gan Ning’s prow that day.

"Your Majesty, it is time for your medicine."

Sun Ru stood at the steps holding a gilded medicinal cup, her skirt hem stained with the distinct sulfur scent of the alchemy chamber. Ever since returning from Xuchang, she had taken over the duties of the Imperial Pharmacy, ostensibly under the guise of "inspecting alchemical pills," but in truth because Jia Xu did not trust anyone else to touch the Emperor's wounds.

"How much longer must I drink this bitter concoction?" When Liu Xie took the cup, he deliberately let his fingertips brush against the back of her hand, earning the anticipated faint blush at the tips of the woman's ears. "Sage Zhang said only the day before yesterday that my pulse has stabilized..."

"The divine healer never said you could stop the ginseng soup." Sun Ru pulled her hand back with a swiftness akin to drawing a sword. "At the third watch past midnight last night, Your Majesty was still coughing up blood in the secret chamber." She suddenly fell silent, turning her face away in vexation. The bronze bell at the corner of the eaves was startled by the cold wind, its tinkling sound blending with an almost imperceptible sigh.

Jia Xu’s cough broke the stalemate at a timely moment. The veteran strategist crossed the moon-gate through the accumulated snow, the rolled map in his arms still fragrant with ink. "The envoy from Yizhou has arrived at the Vermilion Bird Gate, bringing three boatloads of well-salt and five carts of Shu brocade." He emphasized the words "well-salt" heavily, his gaze sweeping over the new fish-tally hanging at Sun Ru's waist—the token granting authority to mobilize the Shadow Guards.

Liu Xie suddenly dashed the medicinal broth into the roots of the plum tree, the brown liquid staining the snow with a grim, sprawling trace. "Tell Liu Jiyu that what I want is the cinnabar mine of Wushan." He tapped his fingertip against the celadon cup on the stone table. "Cinnabar of this grade cannot refine gunpowder capable of shattering Gongsun Zan's iron armor."

Sun Ru’s grip on the cup tightened sharply. The Marquis of Yue crest engraved on the base of the cup pressed painfully into her palm—it was a trophy seized three days ago from Yuan Shu’s subterranean palace. Recalling the eerie scene in the limestone cave that day, where the mechanical beasts had paid homage toward Luoyang, she blurted out, "Does Your Majesty truly intend to revive the puppet-corpse technique?"

The cold wind whipped snow granules into the corridor. Jia Xu’s cough grew heavier, his aged frame almost shrinking back into his fox fur. Yet Liu Xie chuckled softly, reaching out to brush the falling snow from Sun Ru's shoulders. "Does Miss Sun know why the Mohists declined?" His fingertip lingered at the side of the woman's neck, feeling the rhythmic pulse of her blood. "It was not because the First Emperor of Qin burned the books, but because they always clung to the notion of universal love and opposition to offensive warfare."

The ice crystals on the plum branches suddenly shattered, startling a few cold crows. Jia Xu unfurled the map, the mountains and rivers of Yizhou winding like dragons in the snowy glare: "Liu Yan has sent his heir, Liu Xun, as a hostage. He is currently waiting in the side hall."

"Send him to the Imperial Academy to attend lectures." Liu Xie dipped his finger in residual tea to draw three watery trails on the table. "Tell Cai Yong to compile the *Discourse on Salt and Iron* and the *Biographies of the Moneymakers* into the primer books." He suddenly turned his gaze to Sun Ru. "Would Miss Sun be willing to serve as tutor to this hostage heir?"

"Your Majesty!" Jia Xu and Sun Ru exclaimed simultaneously. Catching the playful glint in the Emperor’s eyes, the veteran strategist suddenly understood, bowing deeply. "This old servant will go and arrange the matters of the Imperial Academy."

When only the two of them remained under the veranda, Sun Ru could finally contain herself no longer. "Your Majesty knows full well that I was once..."

"An assassin?" Liu Xie cut off her words, his fingertip grazing the fish-tally at her waist. "Or the Vermilion Bird Envoy of the Yellow Sky Cult?" He suddenly pulled open his robes, revealing the grim scar across his chest glowing a faint reddish hue in the snowy light. "The eighth day of the twelfth lunar month in the first year of Jian'an, on the Yingchuan official road, that bone-piercing nail amidst the torrential rain—does Miss Sun still remember?"

Sun Ru staggered backward, the medicinal cup shattering into ceramic shards against the bluestone pavement. Of course she remembered; it had been her first assassination mission. The torrential rain washing away the blood on the carriage shafts, and the young Emperor protected in the center by Shadow Guards, gradually overlapped with the composed and smiling figure before her.

"That night, I thought to myself..." Liu Xie stepped closer, his fox fur brushing away the accumulated snow on the branches. "If I could tame such an assassin, it would surely be more interesting than killing her." He suddenly began to cough violently, and the beads of blood seeping between his fingers dripped onto Sun Ru's skirt, blooming into several red plum blossoms.

"Your Majesty!" Sun Ru instinctively steadied him, only to have her wrist pulse seized in return. Liu Xie's breath, carrying the scent of blood, brushed against her ear. "Do you know why I kept you?" His fingertip pressed against the pulsing blood vessel on her wrist. "Because this pair of eyes of yours is identical to those of the young woman who saved me in Yingchuan back then."

The sound of chime-bells suddenly drifted from the direction of the side hall, shattering the quiet of the courtyard. Watching the Emperor's retreating figure, surrounded by attendants, Sun Ru suddenly noticed that the very first flower bud had somehow blossomed upon the branches of the green-calyx plum tree.

Meanwhile, at the nanmu desk in the Imperial Academy, Liu Xun sat staring blankly at the *Discourse on Salt and Iron*. His Shu brocade sleeves brushed against the bamboo slips, kicking up a fine powder of debris—these were scrolls made with Luoyang's new papermaking technique, far lighter and thinner than the paper of Marquis Cai from Chengdu.

"Does the young lord know what the art of weight and balance entails?"

A cold, clear female voice came from behind the screen, and Liu Xun hurriedly stood up to bow. When he raised his head, he saw that the newcomer was a woman draped in dark official robes, a single cinnabar mole between her brows startlingly vivid.

Sun Ru flicked a *Wuzhu* coin from her fingertips, the copper coin spinning ceaselessly upon the desk. "The Jiyuan Tongbao weighs five *wuzhu*, while privately minted coins in the region of Shu weigh no more than three *wuzhu*." She suddenly pressed her hand down upon the coin. "Yet the grain prices in Yizhou are three times higher than those in the Central Plains. Does the young lord know why?"

Staring at the characters "Jiyuan" on the copper coin, cold sweat seeped down Liu Xun's back. His father's parting admonition still echoed in his ears: *Luoyang paper is expensive, but in truth, it is because the Emperor wishes to drain the blood of Shu.*

"Because... because the roads of Shu are treacherous..." The youth's voice was faint.

"Because your Liu clan connives with local magnates to hoard grain." Sun Ru abruptly flipped open the map, her vermilion brush circling the location of Wushan. "Three months ago, Zhang Lu intercepted thirty carts of cinnabar here, and upon inspection, all were found to be engraved with the official seal of the Governor of Yizhou."

Snowflakes drifting in from the window landed on the cinnabar markers, melting into bloody stains. Liu Xun suddenly recalled those starving wretches by the river clutching at the oars when he left Chengdu—his father had said they were remnant rebels of the Yellow Turbans, but thinking of it now, perhaps they had merely been ordinary people begging for a mouthful of life-sustaining grain.

The bronze clepsydra in the secret chamber of the Southern Palace pointed to the hour of the rat as Jia Xu tossed the secret letter into the brazier. The sheepskin scroll curled in the fierce flames, revealing the fragmented characters: "Gongsun Zan allies with Wuhuan."

"An urgent report from Youzhou: the White Horse Volunteers have breached the Juyong Pass." The veteran strategist's cough mingled with the muffled turning of mechanical gears. "Yuan Shao has sent ten bushels of Eastern pearls, begging Your Majesty to temporarily stay the military campaign in Bingzhou."

Liu Xie toyed with the newly minted Jiyuan Tongbao coin, which danced like a butterfly across his fingertips. "Tell Benchuh that what I want are not pearls." With a sudden flick of his finger, he shot the copper coin toward the sand table, striking dead center on the position of Youzhou. "The five thousand sets of iron armor his cousin Yuan Yi has hidden away in Henei ought to see the light of day."

A sequence of three long and two short knocks suddenly sounded from the hidden door. Sun Ru slipped into the room trailing cold air, the snow clinging to her hair not yet fully melted. "Liu Xun secretly met with Yang Xiu tonight."

"Oh?" Liu Xie raised an eyebrow. "Yang Dezu is quite warm-hearted."

"They met at a tangyuan shop south of the city, speaking in the secret cipher of Yizhou." Sun Ru slapped a copied confidential letter onto the desk. "Yet Yang Xiu concealed this in his sleeve." She opened her palm, half a gilded tiger-tally glowing with a cold light.

Jia Xu suddenly coughed violently, his aged eyes blazing with fierce light. "This is not the one from Yuzhang!"

Liu Xie stroked the fracture of the tiger-tally, then chuckled low. "Such a noble family of 'three dukes and four generations,' yet they have actually carved the Bingzhou military tally into the Yuan family crest." Turning toward Sun Ru, the dancing candlelight reflected in the depths of his eyes, he said, "Tomorrow, take Liu Xun to the Ministry of Works and show him the new trebuchets."

As Sun Ru accepted the command and turned to leave, she heard the Emperor's sigh, as light as drifting snow: "That green-calyx plum tree has blossomed after all."