The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

"Yes, all of them." Yelü Zongwang admitted frankly, his tone heavy with bitterness. "My hands were truly trembling. The moment those twenty cannons fired simultaneously, I almost thought that the Song Dynasty had planted live ammunition on the Imperial Street, setting up a trap. Only at that moment did I truly realize that the Southern Dynasty's century-long reputation for weakness had been completely shattered, and that your military might was truly enough to crush the Northern Frontier. As a Liao person, my fear was no exaggeration."

"As for deliberately losing his composure..." He looked up at Zhao Zongshi, a struggle flashing in his eyes, "I need a plausible reason that the Liao envoy was intimidated by the might of the Song army and lost his composure. Only in this way will Xiao Xiaoyou lower his guard against me, tacitly allow me to stay in Bianjing and secretly travel around, and not suspect that I have ulterior motives."

He lived too cautiously and too wearily. As a Liao person, belonging to the Liao court, he secretly colluded with the Southern Dynasty and served the crown prince privately; burdened by the ties to his family and country, yet seeing through the corruption of his homeland, he dared not wholeheartedly pledge allegiance, nor dared to completely betray it. He spent half his life navigating the treacherous waters, every step a gamble on thin ice.

Zhao Zongshi silently raised his hand, took out a thin scroll from his sleeve, and gently pushed it across the table. The paper was densely covered with fine red ink writing, a complete record of the ironware, salt permits, tea, and military supplies traded through the north-south trade routes under the name of Yelü Zongwang Trading Company over the past year.

"This is the transaction record for the entire year last year." Zhao Zongshi tapped the end of the paper with his fingertip, his tone calm but his words firm. "You are nominally the largest smuggler between the north and south of Liao, traveling between the two countries to make a living. But the fine iron you transported into Liao territory was enough to arm two elite detachments of a thousand men; the secret trade routes you opened up became the lifeline of my northern border intelligence network. You openly profited for the Liao people, but secretly paved the way for my Great Song. In the past three years, you have never made a mistake, and you have never forgotten your roots."

Yelü Zongwang lowered his eyes, gazing at the ledger that recorded half of his life's secrets. His fingertips hovered in mid-air, hesitant to touch it. A complex mix of emotions surged within him.

Why would he want to be such a two-faced person?

Born in the Liao Dynasty and raised in the northern frontier, he was of Liao blood and his homeland was the grasslands. He was not entirely without ties to his country. However, he had traveled extensively throughout the north and south, gaining a keen understanding of the true nature of both nations. He had witnessed firsthand how the Liao emperor Yelü Hongji indulged in hunting and neglected state affairs, how the Liao nobles were extravagant and corrupt, exploiting the military and civilians, and how border generals privately amassed troops, sold weapons, and emptied the national treasury.

He knew better than anyone else that the Liao Dynasty's structure had long since decayed. Although it seemed to dominate the northern frontier and intimidate the world, it was actually hollow inside and riddled with diseases, and could not sustain a prosperous and stable reign for many more years.

Loyalty to the Liao court will inevitably lead to the downfall of the country and the loss of one's bones; secretly surrendering to the Song dynasty means betraying one's clan, becoming a traitor, and forever bearing the infamy.

For the past three years, he seemed to be thriving and making countless profits, but in reality, he was tormented day and night, caught in a dilemma. Every smuggling operation was like tearing flesh from the wounds of his homeland; every intelligence delivery was like jeopardizing the foundation of the northern frontier. But he had no choice. In the chaos of war, a nobody like him could only choose his path in advance and gamble with his life to survive.

"Your Highness." Yelü Zongwang raised his eyes, his gaze filled with weariness, struggle, and fear. His voice was low and hoarse. "I have been lying low for Your Highness for three years, not out of loyalty, but simply to survive. I see clearly that the Liao Kingdom is doomed and I am unwilling to be buried with a corrupt dynasty. But I am still a Liao person, and my clan and relatives are all in the capital. Every time I do something for the Song Dynasty, I am adding to the sin of destroying my homeland and adding to the crisis of my entire family being executed."

This was his deepest torment: reason told him that surrendering to the Song Dynasty was the way out; his conscience tormented him, believing that betraying the Liao Dynasty was the original sin.

"Xiao Xiaoyou's secret report has been sent back to the capital. The Liao court will surely tighten control over border trade and thoroughly investigate private merchants." He tapped his fingertips lightly on the table, his mood growing increasingly somber. "My deepest hidden mole, which used to be undetected, is now under intense scrutiny and could be exposed at any moment. I don't know how much longer I can remain hidden, nor do I know whether this desperate gamble will ultimately lead to survival or a dead end."

Fear, resentment, a sense of relief, and guilt weighed heavily on his heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

Zhao Zongshi watched him quietly, seeing through all his struggles, but he neither offered words of comfort nor made empty promises. He knew that in the game of chess in chaotic times, the most useless thing was insincere comfort, and the most precious thing was a real assessment of advantages and disadvantages and preservation.

He slowly retrieved the ledger and tucked it into his sleeve, his voice low and resolute: "I don't need you to make unnecessary sacrifices. I've kept this secret for three years, concealing it, just to use it as the most crucial move."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowered by the darkness, yet each word was clear and distinct: "I am about to head north for an alliance meeting. I need a 'Liao official approved' itinerary for the crown prince, his guard deployment, and his marching route, to be presented openly to Yelü Hongji, but secretly handed to me."

Yelü Zongwang's pupils suddenly contracted, and his heart trembled violently.

In an instant, he completely understood Zhao Zongshi's entire scheme.

The northern alliance meeting, the return of the Zhenyue Sword, and the signing of the North-South peace treaty were all mere pretexts. Zhao Zongshi's true purpose was to use the alliance meeting as an opportunity to penetrate deep into the Liao heartland, gain insight into the defenses of the capital, stir up factional strife within the Liao court, and exploit the deep divisions between the pro-peace and pro-war factions, the imperial power and the nobility, and the border generals and the court to divide the government and the people, disrupt defenses, and sow the seeds of internal strife.

Yelü Zongwang was the most crucial pawn—he delivered accurate intelligence as a Liao official, seemingly loyal to the Liao court and dutiful, but in reality, he misled the Liao court's judgment, disrupted the defense of the northern border, and paved the way for the Song Dynasty to recover Yanyun and launch a northward military campaign.

This move was both incredibly clever and incredibly dangerous. If it were exposed, he would face certain death and his entire clan and relatives would be implicated.

Overwhelmed by immense fear and inner turmoil, he was instantly consumed by a multitude of emotions. The instinct for survival, the guilt of betrayal, the urge to gamble with his life, and the terror of his family's extermination all clashed and tore at him violently within his heart.

He remained silent for a long time, his throat dry and tight, before finally asking the most honest and poignant question: "Your Highness, if this is exposed, and the Liao court thoroughly investigates and holds those responsible accountable, will you protect my life?"

Without empty words or empty promises, Zhao Zongshi's gaze was clear and steady, like an autumn pool at its bottom, as he answered honestly: "I guarantee it."

"But I will not deceive you. As long as the matter remains undiscovered, you can remain calm and quietly lie low; if the matter is exposed, I will do everything in my power to help you escape back to Song, change your name and identity, settle your affairs for the rest of your life, and ensure that you live a peaceful and worry-free life in your later years."

"But before that, you need to keep yourself hidden and play your last move."

A single truth is worth more than a thousand empty promises.

The turmoil raging in Yelü Zongwang's heart subsided considerably. He knew that Zhao Zongshi never spoke falsely, nor did he make promises cheaply. Gambling on this crown prince was now his only way out, and also his only way out.

He picked up the slightly cool tea and drank it all in one gulp. The chill seeped into his stomach, suppressing the last trace of hesitation. All the guilt towards his country and family, all the fear of life and death, were ultimately suppressed in his heart by the resolute will to survive in this chaotic world.

He slowly rose, put his felt hat back on, concealing his face, and once again concealed himself beneath the disguise of a shrewd merchant and ordinary Liao envoy. Reaching the door of the private room, he paused slightly, his back to Zhao Zongshi, his voice so soft it almost blended into the night, carrying a hint of relief, a touch of tragic grandeur, and a resolute determination born of desperation:

"Next month, my caravan will have a batch of sable pelts entering Liaodong from Taiyuan. Your Highness replied, and it was placed inside the lining of the third bundle of sable pelts. The old rule will never be changed."

The wooden door opened and closed softly, silently and cleanly. The hurried yet steady footsteps gradually faded into the distance, completely disappearing into the deep night below.

The private room returned to silence, the flickering candlelight casting a desolate glow.

Zhao Zongshi sat alone by the window, gazing at the white porcelain cup on the table, still bearing traces of tea. The shallow pool of water at the bottom reflected the cool moonlight outside the window, like a hidden piece in a dead corner of a chessboard, unnoticed by anyone, yet capable of influencing the entire board.

He gently placed the teacup upside down on the tray, settling the dust and completing the initial chess game. He then rose and slowly walked downstairs.

In the dark alley behind the teahouse, Zhao Shun, leading a bound-hoof blue mule, stood quietly in the shadows, holding his breath and waiting.

"Your Highness, shall we return to the Eastern Palace?"

"Return." Zhao Zongshi mounted his mule, the night falling on his shoulders. His voice was calm and cold. "Send a message to Qin Tiedan: launch a western expedition against the Karakhanid Khanate. A swift victory is needed. Before winter, withdraw all troops and return to Yumen Pass."

Zhao Shunxin's heart skipped a beat, and he immediately accepted the order.

"After the spring, with the Western Regions pacified, the Northern Frontier will become the center of gravity for the entire region." Zhao Zongshi gazed at the heavy northern sky, a sharp glint in his eyes. "The game in the north requires his firearms battalion; all personnel are in position."

The blue mule moved slowly, its hooves wrapped in thick cloth treading over the stone slabs, silently traversing the slumbering streets and alleys of Bianjing. A vast expanse of stars stretched across the sky, the North Star shining brightly and coldly, illuminating the vast northern frontier beyond the Yanshan Mountains. Occasionally, a shooting star would streak across the long night, vanishing in an instant, like a secret report from the Liao court speeding north—the ink barely dry, yet the tide had already turned.

At the same time, in the capital of the Liao Dynasty, the inner palace was brightly lit by candlelight all night long.

Yelü Hongji sat upright before his desk, on which lay Xiao Xiaoyou's urgent secret report delivered over 800 li. He read it carefully four times, paying great attention to every word. His eyes gradually shifted from initial disdain to solemnity and apprehension, eventually settling into a deep, cold pool.

After a long silence, he raised his hand to put down the secret report and solemnly issued an order to his close advisors below the steps:

"Summon the Privy Council to hold a meeting tomorrow to redefine the defenses of the northern border and strictly control trade between the north and south."

He paused slightly, then lightly tapped the line on the paper: "The Crown Prince of the Southern Dynasty possesses strategic vision, and his military might is already established," his tone chilling.

"Furthermore, thoroughly investigate the actions of the Southern Dynasty's Crown Prince over the past three years. Investigate all those he has met, all that he has done, and all the systems he has changed, and report back on each one."

As the winds rose in the north, the game between north and south quietly turned around.

In the autumn of the second year of Jiayou, on the 23rd day of the ninth month, the autumn light in Bianjing was clear and bright, and the wind was slightly cool, which dispelled the heat of summer and added a touch of peaceful warmth to the city.

Morning light streamed through the carved windows of the East Palace study, casting dappled shadows on the blue brick floor. The hall was solemn and serene, devoid of court clamor or the chilling clang of weapons; only an old book and a handful of embers held within, concealing the winds of thirty thousand miles of sea and a lifetime of ups and downs. Zhao Zongshi sat upright at his desk, his back straight, his fingertips gently unrolling a scroll of damp, wrinkled hemp paper. The ink, weathered by the sea winds, had slightly blurred and faded, yet every word, written with a resounding force, penetrated the paper, a heartfelt expression of despair. The edges of the pages were stained with varying shades of dark brown watermarks, marks left by the salty sea winds and storms of a lone boat, concealing the path of an old monk's wanderings and eventual enlightenment.