Chapter Text
As they opened, complaints from the turning pivots [1] of the old side doors of Lin Manor blended into the bustle of dusk.
Lin Shu gave a quick tug on the reins of his horse, and the staccato beat of its hooves sounded across the rain-slicked grey stones of the street. This young rider looked nothing like one would expect of someone who had hastened home through the spring chill - his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled, every inch the triumphant twelve-year-old who’d just bested his tutor in an argument.
But his dismount carried the gravitas of a veteran general returning from the frontier, and as soon as Lin Shu’s feet touched the ground, his gleeful expression transformed into a serious one. With a sleeve-flicking motion that suggested what he brushed away was enemy blood rather than dust, he handed the reins to the waiting stable boy.
“Uncle Lu! Has Father returned?” He greeted and asked in the same breath as he stepped through the doors, striding toward the long walkway [2], his measured tone belying his quick steps.
“Yes, young master, howe - ” The steward barely had the chance to open his mouth, much less deliver the more important news before it was too late; Lin Shu’s figure was disappearing through the half moon door and out of sight, leaving only the breeze from his passing to rustle the bushes lining the courtyard of the main hall.
In the master of Lin Manor's study, the intertwined fragrance of sandlewood and pine-soot ink brought a touch of tranquility to the room. Dusk's slanting light shining through carved lattice windows gilded floating dust into drifting gold. Amidst this stillness, murmured voices from deep within reverberated off the smooth, polished stone floor - one voice was as deep as a dark mountain pool, the other clear as the chime of jade.
“Uncle,” The Crown Prince, Xiao Jingyu’s stone found its place with a clack on the board. The ivory of his weiqi pieces seemed yellow in comparison to the white sleeves of their wielder, candlelight glinting off subtle embroidery at their edges. “I fear that something is not right with the reports from the northern borders. They should still be cross examined against the Ministries of War and Revenue's archived records across the years.”
Lin Xie’s hand hovered with the black stone between his fingers with nary a twitch of his brow. “At the borders, even the most well concealed changes will leave traces. I will send word for loyal men stationed in the north to investigate discreetly.”
If Xiao Jingyu was about to make a reply, he held himself back, because…
“Jingyu-taizi-gege!” Came the call of delight.
From outside, the sound of the boy’s hurried steps, quiet as they were to ordinary ears, had already betrayed him from the moment he turned the corner into the walkway. And in the time he took to reach all the way up to the doors of the Lin Manor’s main study, uncle and nephew had set their game aside. Two figures emerged from behind the painted screen. Prince Qi was composed and at ease, while across Lin Xie’s face flashed the imposing sternness of a marshal and a father’s long suffering resignation in equal measure.
Lin Shu performed his obeisances with precision, a slighter bow to his father first, then a full ceremonial bow to the crown prince of Liang.
Lin Xie’s mouth twitched. “The respect between ruler and subject precedes that of father and son – and what is this ‘Jingyu-taizi-gege’ nonsense? Such impropriety!”
Prince Qi’s laughter startled even the sparrows perching above the wind chimes under the eaves. “Oh don’t scold him, Uncle. When xiao-Shu grows into solemn maturity, you’ll miss his days of casual mischief! Jingyan was just the same at his age.”
Immediately as if he had been granted leave for mischief with those words, Lin Shu peeked through his lashes, his posture still textbook-perfect but with craftiness dancing in his eyes. "Father, Jingyu-gege, were you discussing news from the northern borders just now? How might I be of service?”
Lin Xie studied his one and only child, the severity in his gaze softened by smile lines. Though he knew indulging childish whims courted trouble, the brightness of curiosity and hope in those eyes was – as always – irresistible. All the considerations and worries he had been holding closely resolved into a nearly inaudible sigh.
“Well now, there is one curious matter.” The marshal’s eyes took on the same sharpness they held when he was drilling troops. “Though it’s a little closer to home – our stable master reports unfamiliar hoofprints in the training grounds. The horses in the stables grow restless at dawn, and yet no strange steeds are seen.”
“Mysterious hoofprints? Truly?” Lin Shu’s head jerked up, mature, dutiful performance forgotten, sparks lighting in his eyes. “I can get to the bottom of this!”
The jade pendant that hung from Prince Qi’s belt swayed as he mimed stepping out of the way of this energy. With a raised eyebrow, he delivered an ominous prophecy, “Marshal beware – there is truth in what I said earlier, but there is truth in this too: Such enthusiasm may unroof your mansion.”
Lin Xie ignored this teasing with the ease of years of practice, raising a finger as he would an unsheathed sword. “You may not seek help from any of your uncles from the Chiyan Army. This is a test for you. I want to see what your eyes can discern.”
The boy’s smile was as bright as sunlight breaking through clouds. “I shan’t disappoint you, Father!”
The approving nod from Lin Xie came from a place of satisfaction, and the subsequent shake from twelve years of experience. Already, he could envision the coming days – grooms subjected to relentless questioning, cooks ambushed with interrogations, shadowy figures haunting moonlit training grounds.
Yet… those blazing eyes were a flame no father’s heart could extinguish.
“Then I await your good news.” He said, but it was to the back of Lin Shu’s heels. His son was already at the courtyard’s doorway, and so Lin Xie called at his retreating figure, “Report back here when you have your answer!”
To that came a distant but roof tile rattling: “Understood, Marshal!"
Prince Qi didn’t bother concealing his wide smile as they retreated into the study. “With such fervor, given time, this blue shall surpass indigo’s hue [3].”
Lin Xie’s sigh stirred the incense ashes in his hill censor.
The stables at dusk, after the horses had been returned, fed, watered and settled into their stables, were a place as quiet as an ancient temple. Chilly winds of early spring swept across the eaves, scattering straw and stretching shadows across the nearby sanded training ground.
Lin Shu knelt in the sand, carefully measuring each indentation with his small hands. He had deliberately brought a ruler, compass and mulberry paper from the study, sketching and mapping every hoofprint with meticulous precision. And even when dust and sand had thoroughly changed the colour of the hems of his robes, the boy was still frowning over the diagrams.
“I know nothing about horse appraisal,” he admitted. It was a realization both frustrating and novel. He could recite the Seven Military Classics [4] backward and explain the weak points of formations, commands, and leadership strategies, yet he could not distinguish the differences in horseshoe patterns, nor did he have the authority to retrieve rosters and records for review. He rolled up the paper and tucked it away in the breast of his robes. Next, out slipped a tiny scroll, and for this, Lin Shu wielded his brush like a young marshal drafting a military order:
“Jingyan, to Lin Manor at dawn. Utmost urgency.”
By the time the carrier pigeon streaked into the indigo sky, Lin Shu was already considering his next key supporter – none other than Mu Nihuang, who had come back to stay in the capital with Prince Mu of the seat of Yunnan, in preparation for Liang’s annual Spring Hunt.
At the break of dawn, Xiao Jingyan stood with hands clasped behind him at the hanging flower gate within Lin Manor. When Lin Shu appeared with Mu Nihuang, the seventh prince’s tight jawline looked more suited to a military meeting than a game of children’s pretend.
“Good morning, my advisors,” Lin Shu greeted, deliberately performing a peer's bow with full formality. “A strange matter requires your consideration...”
In the corner of the training grounds where an old pagoda tree stood, leaves scattering the morning sun into flecks of gold upon the sand, three youthful figures wrestled and sparred, their shadows tumbling together.
At fourteen, in Xiao Jingyan's lanky reach, one could already see the beginnings of the young man he was growing to be. With a sweeping strike, his spear sliced the air so sharply that it forced Lin Shu to bend backward. The blade grazing a stray hair and slicing it.
"That was close!" Lin Shu laughed, leaning into his bend and executing an elegant flip. He threw a handful of sand he'd grabbed on the way down between them as a distraction, but the real strike came as he slipped in close and swept his leg toward Xiao Jingyan's ankle.
"'Continued Chronicles of Cosmic Concord [5]' goes to the person who gets Jingyan's guan [6]!" He cried out quickly before the other could revenge himself for the sneak attack.
A pale blue blur darted suddenly into the fray. Eleven year old Mu Nihuang's footwork was astonishingly nimble. As she vaulted herself into the air by stepping on the pole of Xiao Jingyan's spear, the silver chain woven into her hair tinkled and glinted in the sun. Then borrowing the momentum of his resultant block, she twisted in mid-air, her fingertips grazing his golden guan.
"I've got it!" But her triumphant laugh was cut short as Xiao Jingyan gave up on defense, leaving himself wide open to yank at her sleeve. Lin Shu instantly took the opening, only to get tripped up by a sudden inward jab of the end of his 'loosely' gripped spear. The three of them fell to the sand in a messy heap, with the spear clattering noisily to the ground beside them.
They had been at this for a while at this point, and finally observing that they no longer had any onlookers, dusted themselves down with a conspiratorial nod.
Lin Shu could finally unfurl his diagrams with a flourish like he was presenting a map to treasure.
“Here, here, and here - ” Tapping lightly along the thick lines marked with the lead stylus [7], he looked every bit like a street hawker peddling rare wares. “Father said unfamiliar prints appear daily without any trace of horse nor master, if there is one at all.”
Mu Nihuang squatted to examine the sketched trail and the traced prints on the sheets behind those, her ponytail brushing her sleeves. “Lin Shu-gege, you said these are warhorse prints, none for personal riding?" She picked up one sketch in particular. "These ones are two sizes smaller than the hooves on any of the others you have here.”
Lin Shu nodded, pulling out the corresponding trail for those prints alone for her to inspect. He had noticed the difference but wasn't confident in his judgement, and it was good to have confirmation from someone who could be. It was why he had immediately thought of Nihuang, glad that Prince Mu had had urgent affairs to discuss in person with his uncle Xiao.
Xiao Jingyan crossed his arms, snorting. “Could Chiyan possibly tolerate random horses appearing among their number? With Spring's stock take just completed, not a single stable hand noticed anything suspicious?”
“They are being unusually tight-lipped, that’s for sure,” Lin Shu replied, having already tried casually asking some questions earlier that morning.
A dead end that may very well be a clue in itself. Mu Nihuang was undeterred. “All that means is that we have to be stealthier. If we’re too rough in our motions when looking in the grass, we’ll startle the snake and never learn the truth [8].”
Lin Shu nodded in agreement and met eyes with Xiao Jingyan. While different in form, this was a familiar game. “So let us observe in the field and record the times, the routes, inspect the documents, and nose around with an eye for patterns. When enough information has been gathered for our plan of attack, we’ll set our trap!” He clapped then, laughing, the sound annoying a roosting egret, causing it to take flight for quieter grounds.
That very night, the hoofprints had reappeared on the training ground. With the light spring drizzle earlier in the day while they were away in the palace for their afternoon lessons, the quality of the sand was different, and so the prints could be more distinctly observed.
Lotus leaf-shaped, shallower than those of Chiyan’s warhorses, they faded eerily wherever torchlight touched.
Lin Shu crouched over them like some seasoned Ministry of Justice scribe. Comparing a print against the diagram in the book he held, he pronounced, “Non-regulation. This one’s got a different type of shoe.”
“Could be reserve mounts,” Jingyan offered, looming over his shoulder.
Mu Nihuang scooped up a handful of sand, lifting it to her eyes. “Look at that. I don’t believe you use dried coarse grass in the feed of your horses here.”
Xiao Jingyan and Lin Shu both shook their heads. This had been covered in the very first of their horsemanship lessons [9].
Then as if struck, Lin Shu straightened suddenly, wildfire in his eyes. “Jingyan, you check the horse records and stable logs. Nihuang, please scout the stables nearby. I…” he coughed under their knowing looks, “…have the beginnings of an idea.”
The next morning, Nihuang lingered near the grooms, pretending to watch them oil tack straps. She spotted a scrap of straw clinging to the cuff of a kitchen boy’s trousers – not the long stalks from the Lins’ grain store, but shorter, hollow stems from sweepings. Barley chaff. Good enough to keep a horse alive, but not for heavy training.
Perhaps it was someone taking the sweepings but not the full feed.
Jingyan verified all mounts on record, but uncovered an anomaly in the duty rosters: Empty stalls scrubbed daily, tended to by a boy not much older than themselves, who turned out to be a cousin of a fallen soldier.
Lin Shu found traces of faint but unusually frequent latch and unlatching on a disused storeroom near the side gate, fresh manure wrapped in oiled paper deep in the old hay, and faded hoof-marks in an empty corner stable, so light they probably had had dust kicked over them.
“What a cautious one we have here,” He thought to himself, as he carefully restored all to the condition in which he had found them, then proceeded to inspect the surroundings.
At dusk, the three little detectives reconvened triumphantly in Lin Shu’s rooms. A sample of the barley husks and hay bits brought by Mu Nihuang, the guard roster and records copied by Xiao Jingyan, and the old hay and a scrap of manure taken by Lin Shu were laid out on the flagstones, forming a complete picture.
“Now here are the things that look the most likely,” Lin Shu declared, pointing with a stick at the ‘evidence’. “First, the horse is fed on coarse feed but tended to regularly, so its caretaker has some knowledge, but limited means. Second, there is definitely no horse of this size on Chiyan records, yet the caretaker is aware of both the patrol paths well enough to avoid them, and places to hide a horse in the short term. Third, ” He suddenly grinned brightly at Mu Nihuang.
“You’ll never guess -”
“He’s a woman in disguise?” Mu Nihuang said immediately.
“The horse is pregnant?” That deserved the quirked eyebrow from his cousin, but Xiao Jingyan shrugged. He didn't want to be outdone in outlandish guesses.
“No, even better!” Lin Shu whisked away the top layer of notes and opened books on his table to reveal yet another sketch of the hoofprint found near the storeroom, rendered carefully in ink this time. “Now I know nothing of its origin and make,” He admitted, “But for sure a shoe with such patterns does not belong in Jinling.”
“That’s because it’s a rattan-weaved horseshoe from Yunnan. And little chance for you all to see it. They’re convenient at home and in the mountains but ill suited to long travels.” Nihuang blinked at it in surprise. “Not to doubt your skill with the brush, Lin Shu-gege, but…”
Xiao Jingyan was looking at Lin Shu’s hand as he rubbed the paper between his fingers. “Not a thief, not a spy. Someone who loves their horse and can move freely in the stables and training grounds, yet is not part of the troops – xiao-Shu, we’ve narrowed down the possibilities.”
The moonlight seemed suddenly brighter. All three of them looked in the direction of the training grounds together, as though already seeing the mysterious steed stepping across the night, rider on its back.
The wind tossed Lin Shu’s unbound hair like a banner snapping in battle.
“Operation codename?” He murmured…
“Catch the Moonlight horse!” Nihuang blurted out.
Wordless, Jingyan pressed a hand to his forehead. "Let's just call it Xu Hour Patrol [10]."
In the shadows of the stables, three small figures crouched like night owls on a hunt, breaths held, focus intense. The waxing moon hung low in the east, and chimes on the eaves of the manor in the distance could be heard clinking in the wind; sound and silence emphasizing the stillness of the night.
Xiao Jingyan leaned against the brick wall in the shadows of a shelter, body taut like a drawn bowstring. His right knuckles were pressed against a crack in the wall, and his left hand hovering near his waist. The place where the prince’s jade pendant would normally hang was empty, with it now removed for quiet and ease of movement.
Mu Nihuang was perched with one knee to the ground behind the haystack by his side, her ears straining on high alert. Even the grinding of teeth by the horses in the stalls could not escape her finely tuned hearing, honed through years of training fiery steeds. She suddenly raised two fingers – Lin Shu could barely make it out across the training grounds lit by moonlight, but still he immediately understood. This was the signal for the upcoming second watch announcement of the night.
Meanwhile, Lin Shu had positioned himself comfortably at the fork in the thick branches of the pagoda tree, each branch of the fork as thick as his own waist. This placed him further in the sidelines, but it was a good vantage point, and as he watched with single-minded focus, his fingers unconsciously rubbed at the edge of his sleeve peeking out past his arm guard. For this occasion he had deliberately changed into a narrow-sleeved black robe, further secured with said arm guards. His hair was tied tightly with a leather cord, and he was looking every bit like a vanguard about to raid an enemy camp.
Moonlight filtered through gaps in the leaves, casting scattered highlights across his nose and illuminating the dark, fast-turning eyes beneath unusually thick lashes. If Lin Xie were here, he would recognize that much feared expression – his terror of a son was considering military tactics.
A sudden rustling came from the other side of the haystack. Xiao Jingyan’s pupils shrank instantly, his right hand already on the hidden dagger at his waist. Mu Nihuang’s fingers silently slid toward the whip coiled at her side. Lin Shu, however, signaled, 'Not horse – rat.'
Sure enough, a gray shadow darted through the moonlight.
Shoulders that had been taut relaxed simultaneously, and Lin Shu even curved his lips in a triumphant, ‘as I predicted!’ grin, prompting Xiao Jingyan to mime jabing him with his knife sheath.
The second sound came suddenly.
This time the real, dulled thuds of hoofs striking dirt came mixed with heavy snorts. Xiao Jingyan’s back immediately stiffened into a straight line again, even Mu Nihuang’s bracelet and earrings were suspended in midair, utterly still. Lin Shu, in contrast, relaxed completely, ready for what was coming.
The moon suddenly brightened. As a gap opened in the clouds, they saw a slight figure leading a short horse through the gate. The horse’s coat was a deep chestnut except for one patch of white on its forehead, in its shape, the hint of a crescent moon, visible even in the meagre light.
“That’s a Yunnan mountain horse!” Mu Nihuang nearly blurted out, only to have Xiao Jingyan clamp his hand over her mouth.
She gestured urgently instead, her fingers streaks in the moonlight – she was signaling that the horse wore the distinctive woven horse shoes unique to the southern border. That stepping on stone, they made that muffled, unmistakable sound.
Lin Shu’s eyes lit up. In the breast of his robes, his Frontier Military Horses Manual felt like it was burning a hole through the cloth. If it was possible at that moment to pull it out to show his companions the exact entry, he would have. As it was, he had to be content with the memory of the pages on the Yunnan horse covered in dense, flyaway annotations in his mind’s eye.
“Short, good at climbing, tolerates coarse feed, lacks explosive power.” And a last annotation that Lin Shu now wanted to add dramatically: Hoofbeats sound like drums; within seven steps of it, friend may be distinguished from foe.
Their gazes met in the dark like sparks of lightning. At that moment, they were no longer children at play but tacticians on a battlefield analyzing the enemy.
Xiao Jingyan raised two fingers, a military gesture signalling 'flank attack'. Mu Nihuang shook her head and made the sign for ‘assault’. Lin Shu, however, grinned, baring the tiger tooth that had long amused the Grand Empress Dowager, and executed a crisp gesture for ‘direct capture of the enemy leader’.
The horse’s hooves drew closer. Beneath the moonlight, the rider attempted a serpentine path; the movements were practiced though not exactingly precise, yet the rise and fall of the steps subtly followed a tactical principle – and Lin Shu froze. He recognized it as a maneuver from the Chiyan Army’s basic cavalry drills. Despite being basic, it was never taught to anyone outside of their brothers.
At that moment, suddenly, as accidents often happened, Xiao Jingyan’s boot encountered a stick. The unexpected - snap - sharp in the silence of the night, startled the horse into a misstep. But rider reacted instantly with remarkable skill, landing firmly despite being thrown off balance.
Lin Shu immediately leapt from the tree with a dramatic flourish.
Still hidden in the shadows, Xiao Jingyan circled behind the dismounted rider to block his retreat.
Nihuang rose to her feet. “What fine horsemanship!” She praised genuinely.
“Who’s there?!”
The slight rider had originally taken a stance ready for a desperate fight at her words, but the tension left him the moment he had time to take his position and the three of them in.
His gaze swept over Xiao Jingyan’s partially visible guan glinting coldly under the moonlight, Mu Nihuang’s silver bracelet at her wrist and chains with precious gems woven through her hair, then finally rested on Lin Shu’s expressionless face. On his own dirt-streaked face, a strange calm appeared, like a drowning person finally touching the riverbed.
“So, you’re the children of nobility.” He loosened his tight grip on the reins, fingers brushing comfortingly through the horse’s mane. The horse seemed to understand what he needed, lowering its head to nuzzle his hand instead with its moist nose. In that moment, the moonlight grew unusually clear as the clouds rolled away, illuminating the layers of calluses on the boy’s palm – marks worn from long years of holding the reins, with edges still bearing fresh blisters.
Lin Shu noticed that his right shoulder sat slightly lower than the left, a posture shaped by years of drawing a bow on one side. Xiao Jingyan studied the rider’s boots, patched repeatedly from rough cowhide, with coarse cloth peeking from the tops and faint dark-red stains visible.
Only someone who had trekked long distances in substandard boots would know how painful it was for fabric to stick to a healing wound.
“This is my cousin’s private horse that he purchased cheap from the southern border,” the boy suddenly said, his voice so soft it seemed like a secret not meant to be heard. “He… he passed last winter.”
The horse seemed to sense his pain, ears folding back as it let out a long, mournful whinny.
As if he had drawn strength from that, the boy continued. “On his last rest period before he died, he taught me stirrups and reins…” His fingers traced the path of a word on the saddle longingly.
Mu Nihuang moved forward and crouched carefully, pressing her palm against the horse’s ribs and belly. Having grown up sleeping alongside her own horses in their stables, this was a normal check for her. With a light touch she declared, “It hasn’t eaten proper feed for at least a month.” Raising her hand speckled with straw, she added, “You’ve been feeding it from sweepings from the stables here, haven’t you? That’s why we saw barley chaff in the manure and old hay in the store.”
The rider’s face flushed bright red. His thin chest heaved violently as he dug into his robes and pulled out a rough cloth bundle. When he untied it, a few grains of coarse rice fell to the ground – inside was also an old hardened flatbread.
“Good feed is costly. What’s taken is stuff they won’t miss, and it keeps him strong enough to train with me. Someday I’ll take the exams – I’ll serve like Chengzhi-ge did.”
Xiao Jingyan’s brow furrowed sharply, enough to pinch a mosquito. He stepped forward, that half-step carrying the natural authority of a prince. “Trespassing in a military camp is punishable by thirty strikes of the discipline rod.”
Before the words finished, the horse suddenly stepped in, placing its body between its rider and Xiao Jingyan – its stance so protective it could be written into a cavalry manual.
Lin Shu, however, smiled. His motion to remove the wooden tally from his belt was smooth as flowing water; under the moonlight, the glint of polished wood was warm. “Tomorrow at the third quarter of Mao,” He said, placing the jade in the boy’s callused palm, “Take it to the Chiyan training camp to see Instructor Zhou.” Seeing the boy frozen, he added, “Just tell him Lin Shu sent you to collect a missing saddle set.”
The horse snorted sharply. As Lin Shu stroked the patch of white on its forehead, and his fingers paused slightly on a hidden brand. Mu Nihuang noticed immediately – that was a mark unique to the southern border defense army, usually branded only on horses that had distinguished themselves in battle.
“Do you know why warhorses are branded?” Lin Shu asked suddenly. Before the boy could answer, he continued himself. “Because good horses, like great generals, should have their names remembered. As the saying goes, 'How can one say we have no clothes? We wear the same robe [11].”
The boy suddenly knelt, his knees hitting the packed ground with a muffled thud. As he bent, the vertebrae of his neck protruded in a line, like a string of pearls dulled by life. “Zhang Ergou is willing…”
“Zhang Chengzhi.” Xiao Jingyan interrupted abruptly, his voice unusually gentle. “Your cousin’s name is Zhang Chengzhi, listed in Volume Seven of the Chiyan Army’s roll of soldiers rotated out, but freshly marked as fallen.” He took the boy's sleeve in his hand and pulled him to his feet, pressing his jade pendant firmly into his palm. “Tomorrow, go and collect a mounted archer’s uniform. Your cousin's size does not suit.”
Mu Nihuang was already removing her silver bracelet as Xiao Jingyan spoke. Before the boy could react, she wriggled at a mechanism, and the bracelet split into two halves.
“Take this to the horse stables in the second ward of the southern district of Jinling,” she said, placing one half in the boy’s hand. “Ask them to teach you to weave the Yunnan special-made horseshoes.” Seeing the boy hesitate at the precious gift, she suddenly scowled, curling his fingers around it for him. “What? Do you think a girl’s gift isn’t useful?”
Amidst the boy’s hasty denials and formal thanks coming in a jumble, Lin Shu laughed heartily. “This is the kind of young man Liang needs!” But then he continued. “Remember: feed your horse well, and keep your own back straight -”
He lowered his voice. “If Instructor Zhou asks you this, the second half of ‘How can one say we have no clothes?’ is…”
“We wear the same robe!” the boy blurted out. At that moment, his previously hunched back straightened and a light shone in his eyes that had nothing to do with the moon above them.
The three friends exchanged smiles. None of them spoke further; their smooth, instinctive accord earlier mirroring a scene they would one day share again when they were older, weathered but unbroken.
But that is a story for another time.
At the third quarter of Yin, Lin Shu had already been pacing outside his father’s study for half a tea cup’s time. His fingers unconsciously pinched the knuckles of his other hand. Morning mist had soaked his narrow-sleeved outfit, dew clinging to his hair tips, glinting under the manor’s lanterns like a youth prematurely turned white-haired.
“Playing at being a door god, are you?”
The door suddenly slid open to reveal Lin Xie, dressed for morning drills, polishing an unfamiliar saber under the candles. Cold light glanced across the marshals eyes, illuminating the Chiyan camp’s night duty log spread on the table – the freshly inked characters ‘Zhang Ergou’ glaringly visible. Lin Shu’s heart skipped a beat; his father had anticipated this all along.
“Father, I acted on my own initiative and overstepped.” As he began to kneel in a proper formal greeting, a little clumsy from unfamiliarity, he glimpsed the hoofprint diagram he had drawn yesterday, weighed down by a paperweight. Red corrections sprawled across it like a spiderweb.
The saber hit the table, the ensuing shockwave causing the copper chimes under the eves to tinkle subtly. Instantly, his self preservation instincts kicking in, Lin Shu went the rest of the way down.
Lin Xie tapped the log with his fingers. “Chiyan Regulations, Chapter Seven, Article Three?”
“No unauthorized horses may enter the camp.” Lin Shu swallowed hard but continued. “The horse’s brand shows it once belonged to the southern border army.”
Lin Xie hummed. “And Chapter Six, Article Nine?”
“Unauthorized transfer of insignia is considered defiance of…” The boy’s voice lowered, then suddenly lifted. “But Father also taught me: A general must read the signs and know when to advance or retreat!” He opened the cloth bundle in his arms to reveal a half-moldy bran flatbread. “That child comes at Hai to train and wakes at Yin daily to feed the horse. The string he winds round his wrist bears thirty-seven knots – exactly the number of days since his cousin passed!”
Lin Xie’s eyes flickered. He suddenly shook a yellowed letter from his sleeve, and presented it to Lin Shu. The boy took it wordlessly, and then his eyes became fixated on the dedication, pupils dilating.
“Three months ago, Zhang Chengzhi’s final letter to his superior already mentioned this cousin.” Lin Xie confirmed, taking it back. He pressed a hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. “But army regulations are no joke – do you think Instructor Zhou is on duty this month by coincidence?”
The neat rhythm of morning drills came from outside. Only now did Lin Shu realize that today’s orders were unusually urgent – a Chiyan wing’s emergency assembly. He suddenly recalled the pleased look Xiao Jingyan had flickered at him earlier that morning after their ‘Xu Hour Patrol’, he had thought that was triumph at their success.
“His Highness, the Crown Prince also…?”
“The Seventh Prince arrived last night at Zi,” Lin Xie said, a trace of a smile on his lips. “Bearing a written edict from the Eastern Palace.” He turned and took a humble wooden box from the antiquities shelf. Opening it revealed a brand-new set of light armor. “As for this—”
“Horse armour from Yunnan’s House of Mu.” Lin Shu was so shocked, he forgot to even fake offense. He’d needled Nihuang for this for years in vain. But his father’s next words shook him out of it.
The marshal closed the box heavily. “But now tell me – what identity do you intend for that boy to have in the camp?” Seeing his son freeze, he suddenly drew the discipline rod from beneath the table. “Twenty strikes for a mounted attendant, thirty for an assistant officer. Your choice.”
Lin Shu’s back stiffened like a bowstring. He saw the veins in his father’s right hand bulging as he gripped the rod while his left hand hovered lightly over Zhang Chengzhi’s letter, smoothing it out it occasionally. Morning light suddenly flooded the room, illuminating the cinnabar ink across the paper like it was blood.
“I choose…” He unfastened his belt and hair tie, letting his thick black hair cascade down. “Chiyan Regulations, Chapter One, Article One: the commander’s direct kin entering service must first endure fifty blows of the discipline rod.”
A drop of sweat slid from Lin Shu’s eyelash to the floor, the room so silent that the sound was as sharp as ice breaking.
“Ha!”
Lin Xie suddenly laughed aloud. The rod twirled elegantly in his palm before landing across his son’s shoulders. “We’ll mark these fifty blows for now.”
With a light flick of the rod, the box flew into Lin Shu’s arms. “Bring him to see me at after lao-Zhou is done with him today. If he fails the assessment…” The marshal lowered his voice, “That novel between the pages of the third volume in your bookcase? I’ll personally send it to Tutor Li for appraisal.”
Lin Shu’s hands trembled as he caught the box, almost dropping it on his foot. Before he could protest, his father threw a scroll in his general direction, forcing him to leap to his feet and execute a swift dart to catch it. Unrolled, this turned out to be a freshly arrived urgent military dispatch from the Northern Border; in fact, the sealing clay was still warm to the touch.
“Find three flaws and your novel shall be spared.” Lin Xie turned to straighten campaign maps, his shoulder plates gleaming cold in the morning sun. “Remember - a true steed capable of running a thousand miles -”
“A thousand-mile steed may be grazing in a poor field,” Lin Shu replied, remembering Nihuang’s words about the grain sweepings, “but it can still run far - if someone knows to see it.”
He laughed then, tiger tooth flashing, already spotting inconsistencies. “This dog-eared page... are reports to the emperor handled so carelessly now? Even the imperial commentary is forged, isn’t it?”
The marshal’s shoulders twitched almost imperceptibly.
Suddenly, the Lin family head steward, Steward Lu’s voice could be heard from the courtyard. “Marshal, you have a visitor.”
When the Lins, father and son, came to the side-room to their main hall, Lin Shu recognized the familiar figure despite seeing it for the first time in the sun.
It was Zhang Ergou, slender with narrow shoulders, but now standing straight as a bamboo sapling, a white hemp band tied across his forehead, ends gently fluttering like a banner in the breeze.
The boy had come wearing his cousin’s old military uniform.
And though it appeared bulky and oversized on his lanky frame, he had surely found some way to secure it, and Lin Shu was sure nothing would dislodge it from his shoulders throughout the grueling tests that day.