Spoiled and mad critic of powerful ministers

Pei An accepted the order.

Pei Zhihui mounted his horse. The black horse snorted and exhaled a puff of white air.

He held his daughter in one arm and tightened the reins with the other. His gaze drifted to the distant mountains, and the murderous intent in his eyes rekindled, more intense and pure than before.

Zhao Qiyan's bill was settled. But Prince Shou's bill had only just begun.

"Send word to Fu Chuan'ang." Pei Zhihui's voice was so cold it could drop ice shards. "Close the net. The thirteen merchant guilds of Jiangnan have already cut off Prince Shou's source of income. The thirty thousand Zhenbei Army will immediately break camp and surround Prince Shou's residence. I want Prince Shou's entire lineage, not a single one left alive."

The sound of horses' hooves echoed.

The black horse carried the most powerful man of the Great Sheng Dynasty and his lost and recovered treasures on its journey home.

In the capital, Shen Qiongju sat at her desk, checking the final accounts for the purchase of all the unpolished rice in the Jiangnan market. Unbeknownst to her, her husband was leading their daughter, braving the swirling snow, rushing towards her.

Pei Residence, Main Courtyard Study.

The crisp clinking of abacus beads formed a dense curtain of rain. Shen Qiongju sat behind a large rosewood desk, her left hand flying across the page, checking the last stack of account books that had been delivered urgently from Jiangnan. Her right hand held a vermilion brush, drawing glaring red circles on the yellowed Xuan paper.

Du Hengniang sat to one side, holding a stack of newspapers in her hands, her eyes dark with fatigue.

"The twelve underground banks in the East and West Markets experienced a run on their banks as soon as they opened this morning. Small investors, taking advantage of the false information we spread, all rushed to withdraw their cash. The managers of the banks under Prince Shou's name couldn't get any cash and have already sealed off their shops." Du Hengniang opened a letter, "Along the Grand Canal in Jiangnan, the canal gangs have seized thirty-nine of Prince Shou's iron transport ships. We've driven the price of pig iron in the market to rock bottom; his iron can't even cover the transportation costs now."

Shen Qiongju moved the last abacus bead. A crisp "snap" sounded.

"What about the other side where food supplies have run out?" she asked.

"The coarse rice from Huguang has all gone into our granaries. The three thousand private soldiers that Prince Shou secretly raised at the western camp outside the capital have been without food for two days. Their morale has collapsed."

Shen Qiongju placed the vermilion brush beside the brush washer, and the red ink from the brush tip spread into the clear water, creating a blood-red hue.

"Close the net." She interlaced her fingers and placed them on the ledger. "Spread the news that the Prince Shou's bank has no money to redeem to all the nobles in the capital. Those old foxes entrusted their lives and fortunes to him. Now that the money is gone, we don't even need to lift a finger; they can trample down the threshold of the Prince Shou's mansion."

When business wars reach this point, it all comes down to who has the most capital and who is the most ruthless.

The wind outside the window stopped. The weight of the snow broke a withered branch of the old plum tree in the yard, making a crisp cracking sound.

A chaotic clatter of hooves echoed outside the gate. Not just one horse, but hundreds, even thousands, of iron cavalry trampled through the long street and came to a stop outside the Regent's Palace. The snorting of the horses and the metallic clanging of armor pierced through the thick courtyard walls.

Shen Qiongju suddenly stood up. She stood up too quickly, and her knee slammed into the corner of a drawer on the large rosewood desk. A bruise appeared. She ignored it, lifted her skirt, and ran out.

As she stepped across the threshold, her embroidered shoes slipped on the remaining snow outside. She tumbled forward and fell onto the flagstones. Her palms were scraped and bleeding.

Du Hengniang went to help her up. Shen Qiongju got up on her own and scrambled towards the gate of the Prince's Mansion.

The vermilion gate was wide open.

Pei Zhihui dismounted. His black cloak was stained with mud and blood, the hem frozen into hard ice shards. He held the reins with one hand, while the other hand tightly protected a bulging cloth bag in front of his chest.

Shen Qiongju rushed in front of him, her steps abruptly halting. She stared at the cloth bag, her chest heaving violently, unable to utter a sound.

Pei Zhihui loosened the reins and handed over the cloth bag.

Shen Qiongju snatched it away with great force, causing Pei Zhihui to stagger forward half a step.

She crouched in the snow, her fingers trembling as she unwrapped the tattered fox fur coat she wore. One layer, two layers. Revealing the dirty little face beneath.

Nian'an was sleeping soundly. Her little mouth was slightly open, and her breathing was even. Her face was smeared with black ash, and there was a red mark the size of a fingernail on her forehead, from being scratched by a branch.

Shen Qiongju reached into the swaddling clothes and touched Nian'an's arms, legs, and back. The bones weren't broken, and the skin and flesh were intact. She then pinched the little feet; they were warm.

Confirm that all parts are intact.

Shen Qiongju plopped down in the mud. She pressed Nian'an tightly against her chest and tilted her head back.

Tears mixed with snot streamed down my face, covering it completely.

All the scheming and perseverance she had put in for three days and three nights without sleep collapsed at this moment. She was terrified.

Deep down, she was still that merchant's daughter in Liangzhou, calculating every penny and only wanting to survive. All that feigned shrewdness was just to save her life and her daughter.

Nian'an was awakened by the tears, her mouth trembled, and she started wailing. The mother and daughter cried together in the snow.

Pei Zhihui stood to the side. He looked at his wife sitting in the mud, his Adam's apple bobbing.

He covered his mouth with a handkerchief, bent over, and coughed violently. The coughing was excruciating, as if his lungs were about to burst. The white handkerchief was covered in mottled black blood.

Once the coughing subsided, Pei Zhihui stepped forward. He didn't pull Shen Qiongju up, but instead lifted the blood-stained cloak and knelt on one knee in the mud.

He stretched out his arms and embraced the wailing mother and daughter, along with the mud and snow, into his embrace.

His chin rested on the top of Shen Qiongju's head. He closed his eyes and didn't speak.

The three thousand iron cavalry of the Northern Garrison outside the Prince's Mansion remained silent. Pei An raised his hand and gestured, and everyone retreated ten steps in unison, turned around, and faced the long street, hiding the embarrassment in this small space behind them.

She cried for a full half hour. Shen Qiongju's voice became hoarse, and she could no longer make a sound, only intermittent sobs remained.

She pushed Pei Zhihui away, picked up Nian'an, and stood up. Her skirt was soaked and clung to her legs; she shivered from the cold.

"Prepare water," Shen Qiongju ordered the maid who came to greet her in a hoarse voice. "Light the heating."

She didn't even glance at Pei Zhihui, carrying her daughter straight into the inner courtyard. Her protective instincts made her distrust everyone; she wanted to bathe her daughter herself and breastfeed her herself.

Pei Zhihui propped himself up on his knees. He swayed slightly.

Pei An quickly stepped forward and supported his forearm.

"Master, your health..."

"I won't die." Pei Zhihui pushed Pei An's hand away, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief, and asked, "Is there any movement at the Western Camp?"

"Our spies report that the steward of Prince Shou's residence left the city half an hour ago and went to the western camp. The private soldiers in the camp are distributing weapons. Prince Shou has been cut off from his source of income; he's going to resort to desperate measures."

Pei Zhihui looked up at the gloomy sky. It was about to snow again.

"Send word to Fu Chuan'ang," Pei Zhihui said calmly, without any inflection. "Dig barricades around the outer perimeter of the Xishan camp. Deploy 800 musketeers from the Shenji Battalion to the city walls."

He paused, then threw the blood-stained handkerchief into the snow.

"Tonight, we'll close the door and beat the dog."

Inside, the underfloor heating was burning fiercely, and the heat baked the carved window frames.

The copper bathtub was filled with hot water and sprinkled with mugwort to dispel the cold. Shen Qiongju rolled up her sleeves, revealing her two fair forearms, and personally bathed Nian'an.

The little one hummed contentedly as she soaked in the hot water. The black grime was washed away, revealing her original plump and pinkish-white appearance. Shen Qiongju gently wiped away the wrinkles on her body with a soft cloth.

After her bath, she was dressed in a brand-new red jacket embroidered with gold thread. Nian'an, having finished her milk, lay in her cradle with a thick fox fur cushion, her little hands clutching a rattle drum, playing by herself.

Shen Qiongju sat by the cradle, her eyes fixed on her daughter.

The sound of water came from behind the screen.

Half an incense stick later, Pei Zhihui emerged. He had washed away the bloodstains covering his body and changed into a brand-new black python robe. A four-clawed python embroidered in gold thread coiled on the robe, baring its fangs and claws.

His hair was unbound, long and wet, cascading over his shoulders. In his hand he held the embroidered spring knife, its blade dulled.

Walking to the cradle, Pei Zhihui pulled up a chair and sat down. He placed his long sword across his knees, took out a clean white silk handkerchief from his pocket, and slowly wiped the blood grooves on the blade.

"Zhao Qiyan is dead," Pei Zhihui said, his voice hoarse from days of exhaustion.

Shen Qiongju's hand, which was fiddling with the rattle drum, froze in mid-air.

"He took a sword for Nian'an. The soft sword of the Broken Crossbow Battalion was coated with a deadly poison." Pei Zhihui didn't even raise his head, the silk handkerchief sliding down the blade little by little. "I promised the Zhao family hereditary succession, to live and die with the nation."

Shen Qiongju lowered her eyes. Looking at Nian'an's carefree little face, she recalled the arrogant young master in silver armor in the tavern of Liangzhou Prefecture.

Shen Qiongju shoved the rattle into Nian'an's hand and remained silent for a long while.

Pei Zhihui paused in wiping the knife. He turned his head to look at his wife.

He felt a pang of sadness welling up inside him, but he held it back.

So they changed the subject.

"The Prince of Shou harmed my daughter; he must be executed." Shen Qiongju turned her head and looked directly at Pei Zhihui. "This score is not settled yet."

"It's not finished yet." Pei Zhihui stood up.

He walked to the cradle and bent down. Nian'an saw him, dropped the rattle, and reached out her two chubby hands to grab his drooping hair.

Pei Zhihui let her hold him, his expression softening. He extended his index finger and gently touched Nian An's delicate cheek.

"Father is going to kill a few people. He'll be back soon."

He straightened up, turned and walked towards the door.

Pushing open the door, a cold wind carrying snowflakes swept into the corridor.

Pei An stood below the steps, kneeling on one knee.

"My lord, the city gate guards have reported that three thousand private soldiers from the western camp, under the banner of 'purging the emperor's corrupt advisors,' are five li away from Zhengyang Gate."

Pei Zhihui stepped out of the door. The gentle demeanor he had shown towards his wife and daughter just moments before vanished. He stood on the steps, looking down at the elite Zhenbei Army troops who had assembled in the courtyard of the Prince's mansion.

Where is Prince Shou?

"Prince Shou personally led the troops, holding the central command position," Pei An replied.

Pei Zhihui drew the cleaned embroidered spring knife from the table. The blade gleamed a cold, hard, bluish-gray in the dim light of the lantern.

"Open Zhengyang Gate," Pei Zhihui ordered. "Let them into the barbican."

The barbican, surrounded by high walls and heavily fortified, was a death trap used to annihilate the enemy.

"Here you go!"

Prince Shou's Mansion.

Broken porcelain shards littered the floor. Prince Shou kicked over a mahogany table and pointed at the trembling accountant kneeling on the ground, cursing him vehemently.

"All thirty-six shops are sealed off? The iron transport from Jiangnan can't get here? What are you bunch of good-for-nothings good for?!" Prince Shou's eyes were bloodshot, like a wild beast driven to the brink of despair.

The accountant kowtowed repeatedly, "Your Highness, the Regent's Consort has mobilized the entire resources of thirteen merchant guilds. She's sold off pig iron at any cost and bought up all the grain in the market. All our cash is tied up in goods, the banks are under closure, and our financial chain has been completely broken!"

"Where is the Broken Crossbow Battalion? Why haven't the men sent to Xishan returned yet?" Prince Shou grabbed the collar of the tent clerk.

"No...no news. Xishan is surrounded by the Zhenbei Army; not even a fly can get out."

Prince Shou pushed open the tent flap. He drew his sword from the shelf and pierced the tent flapman's chest with a single thrust.

Blood splattered on the screen.

"Pei Zhihui! You've gone too far!" Prince Shou drew his sword, letting the blood drip down.

He endured twenty years of humiliation, feigning madness, and finally outlived the late emperor. Just when the throne seemed within his grasp, Pei Zhihui abruptly overturned the chessboard.

"Steward!" Prince Shou roared.

"This old servant is here." The steward tumbled in from outside the door.

"Prepare the horses! Send word to the western camp: the entire army is to attack Zhengyang Gate! Pei Zhihui is nothing but a sickly man; the main force of the Zhenbei Army is at the border, leaving the capital's defenses weak. Tonight, I will carry Pei Zhihui's head to offer as a sacrifice to the late Emperor!"

Even a cornered beast will fight.

Prince Shou donned his golden silk armor, drew his sword, and stepped out of the palace gates. Little did he know, he was embarking on a path of no return, leading to the deepest hell.

It was midnight, outside Zhengyang Gate.

The snow was falling heavily. Three thousand private soldiers, carrying torches, stretched like a long, fiery dragon along the official road. These men were mostly outlaws recruited from Jiangnan, a mix of mountain bandits and refugees, well-equipped, and carrying weapons privately forged by Prince Shou.

The city gates were tightly closed.

Prince Shou, mounted on a tall horse, stood in the center of the army. He gazed at the heavy, vermilion city gate, his long sword raised high.

"Attack the city! Whoever enters the inner city first will be rewarded with one hundred taels of gold and ennobled as a marquis with ten thousand households!"

With a generous reward, brave men will surely emerge. The suicide soldier carrying the battering ram let out a shout and charged towards the city gate.

"Bang!"

The battering ram slammed heavily against the city gate, producing a dull, resounding thud.

There was no movement on the city wall. No arrows were fired, no logs or stones were rolled.

The second time, the third time.

Accompanied by the sickening sound of wood cracking, the Zhengyangmen gate, which had remained unconquered for a century, slowly opened inward.

The private soldiers were stunned for a moment, then burst into a deafening cheer.

"The city gates have been breached! Charge in!"

Prince Shou was overjoyed, thinking that the city's garrison had defected. He squeezed his horse's flanks tightly and charged into the city gate first.

Three thousand private soldiers surged in like a tidal wave.

Passing through the city gate, a wide open space came into view. On all sides were towering city walls, built of blue bricks, seemingly indestructible.

This is the barbican.

As the last private soldier stepped into the barbican, the Zhengyang Gate behind him roared and slammed shut. The massive bolts fell, locking away any escape route.

The cheers abruptly stopped.

Prince Shou reined in his horse and looked up at the high walls around him.

Torches blazed atop the city walls, illuminating the rows of heavily armored Zhenbei Army soldiers.

On the city gate tower directly in front, there was a grand armchair. Pei Zhihui, wearing a black cloak, sat upright in the chair. On a small table beside him was a red-hot brazier and a bowl of steaming medicinal soup.

He held the medicine bowl in his hand and a spoon in his hand, stirring it slowly.

The barbican was deathly silent. Only the rustling sound of the wind whistling through the snowflakes could be heard.

"Pei Zhihui!" Prince Shou roared from horseback, his sword pointed directly at the city wall. "You traitorous scoundrel! Today is your death day!"