Time rewinds a little.
Jinshi was being jostled in a carriage while facing an opponent he would rather not deal with.
A carriage — though calling it that was generous. With ten horses hitched together, it was closer to a mobile residence than a vehicle. Beast pelts covered the floor, and a round table sat in the center.
The man who was always supposed to be grinning — Rakan, — now wore an irritated expression as he glared at a map. Behind him, his adopted son kept glancing between Rakan and Jinshi's faces while slipping bills in and out of his robes, sizing up the situation. It was as if he were saying — everything comes down to money, and I will adjust my approach based on how things stand.
That fellow Rahan was the biggest miser Jinshi had ever known, but he was genuinely grateful that the man had shown up this time.
Jinshi was in a position where Rakan would be perfectly within his rights to punch him at any moment.
Standing behind him, Gaoshun, had his hand resting on the sword at his waist, ready to draw at any second.
To raise a hand against Jinshi meant you had only yourself to blame if Gaoshun cut you down — but the current Rakan could not have cared less about that. He probably wanted nothing more than to straddle Jinshi and beat him senseless.
In fact, before they had even departed, Rakan had already seized Jinshi by the collar.
It was when he told him that his daughter, Maomao, had vanished from the Rear Palace.
Rakan doted on Maomao. It did not matter that nobody regarded him as her father, or that he was treated as less than mud, less than an earthworm. Jinshi recalled the tirade Rakan had unleashed at the banquet the other day. The hand he had injured then was still wrapped in bandages, and even holding a brush looked difficult.
The former higher consort Rouran had fled — and it was believed Maomao had gone with her, or been taken along.
Since this was an escape from the Rear Palace, it fell under Jinshi's responsibility.
Shishou and his close relatives were no longer at their estate. It was assumed they had barricaded themselves inside a fortress with their entire clan.
And Rakan — who had twice charged the Rear Palace and been shattered each time — would never forgive Jinshi for this. He had screamed it so close that Jinshi's ears still rang: if she had been right under your nose, this would never have happened.
Jinshi understood all of that.
Even if the Rear Palace had a secret passage and none of those involved had known of its existence, he had no intention of shirking responsibility.
They traced the secret passage back to the contractors who had built it at the time, squeezing information out of them about whether anything of the sort existed. There was no honest soul who would simply confess, "Yes, I built a secret passage," but they managed to piece together that a craftsman—who was already dead—had done similar work.
A small shrine in the Rear Palace honored the court ladies who had died there, and beneath its floor, they found the secret passage, cleverly hidden away.
The one who stopped Rahan just as he was about to raise a hand against Jinshi was Rahan's nephew and adopted son, Rahan.
"Father, hypothetically speaking—if one were to lay hands on a member of the imperial family, would the blame end with that person alone?"
It was with such roundabout words that Rahan stopped his father.
Raising a hand against Jinshi would mean the end of the entire family. Even Rahan's daughter Maomao would fall under that judgment.
Rahan knew exactly who Jinshi was. With eyes like his, no ordinary person could hope to deceive him.
Rahan, too—when he had come for negotiations the other day, Jinshi had suspected as much, and it seemed Rahan had indeed noticed.
Wondering what to do, Jinshi asked Rahan for his counsel, and the answer that came back was very much in character for the Rahan clan.
"Height, weight, bust, waist—they all match the same numbers. You don't just find a person like that walking around."
Jinshi realized that Rahan possessed that same uncanny perception that few others could hope to understand.
Given that, he had arranged for Rahan to serve as an special aide to his father despite being a civil official.
Today's Jinshi was not merely a eunuch bearing that name. A silver hairpin secured his tied-back hair. Gone were his usual black official robes; instead he wore a thick padded jacket beneath dark purple armor.
Jinshi and his group were on the march. At the same time, they were reworking their strategy.
"Are we really going to be all right?"
"There is no problem."
The one who answered was Rahan.
The map spread before them showed the surroundings of a fortress backed by mountain terrain.
It was a fortress that had not been used for a long time, and the map itself was quite old, but they had gathered veteran military officers who had once been stationed there and reworked it from scratch.
Mountains lay behind, with open plains stretching out in front.
Moreover, according to Rahan's estimate, there was a possibility that firearms were being manufactured there.
That region was rich in timber. It was the kind of land they desperately wanted for its forest resources, and for generations, the clan of Zi had guarded it.
Hot springs bubbled nearby, making it possible to obtain sulfur as well.
"What about saltpeter?"
It was another essential ingredient for making gunpowder.
"Perhaps it's because of the hot springs. Small animals find it easy to overwinter, and apparently there's a massive cave nearby."
The cave supposedly had enormous deposits of bat guano. It seemed extracting saltpeter from animal excrement was entirely feasible.
Jinshi groaned. If they were to use firearms, it wouldn't be something as simple as fire-lances or the like, would it? They'd position weapons on the walls to take aim at the enemy all at once.
If they were to use cannons, it would be rather troublesome.
Whatever Jinshi could think of, Rahan already knew.
The map spread out before them would probably look like nothing more than a game board to him.
Rahan's finger pointed toward the cliff behind the fortress.
"In theory, it's possible."
Rahan said flatly.
"If it's possible, then that's the most logical way to go about it."
Rahan's strategy was to seize control without ever letting them deploy their cannons.
The gunpowder used in cannons was extremely susceptible to moisture. Even if there was some kept on hand near the cannons at all times, the rest would normally be stored in the armory to keep it dry.
This was especially true given that the fortress sat on high ground in terrain where snow fell heavily. According to the scouts, tonight too, the snow was coming down in a steady, silent blanket.
A normal advance would make them sitting ducks.
So Rahan suggested taking out the armory first to render the cannons useless, but the method was wildly unconventional. What made this man truly terrifying was that it was unconventional yet entirely feasible.
"I think this would be a remarkably economical approach."
Rahan was probably pushing ahead because the word "economical" appealed to him. In such a short time, Jinshi felt he already understood this diminutive man's personality more than well enough.
"We need to hurry up and secure the place, then get Maomao out."
"Papa's"
"coming to save you!"
He almost let a wry smile form at the word "Papa," but he couldn't afford to do that.
Jinshi bit down hard, thinking of the small, slight girl.
Whether she had been taken as a hostage, or for some other reason, or perhaps she had gone of her own free will—he just didn't know.
But if she was behind enemy lines, he wanted to rescue her immediately. She had a thin, frail body that looked like it might break at any moment. Her condition surely wasn't back to normal yet.
Jinshi's fist clenched tight.
"Let's go with that."
"Please hold on."
The one who interjected into Jinshi's decision was Gaoshun.
"There is an issue."
Gaoshun knelt with a furrow between his brows to put forward his proposal.
"What issue?"
Besides Jinshi, both Raohan and Rahan were tilting their heads in confusion.
"Have you forgotten about the nature of this campaign?"
The force they were leading was a single brigade—more than enough for a fort of that scale. If Raohan's plan went well, he expected virtually no casualties on their side.
"The Imperial Guard conducting a surprise attack?"
Jinshi froze for an instant.
Slowly, his hand drifted to the hairpin on his head—the royal family's insignia carved in the shape of a qilin.
Spend too long as a eunuch, and you sometimes forget your own position. The Jinshi of now was not Jinshi. Gaoshun was no longer Gaoshun either.
If he considered his true position, he ought to be crushing this with a commanding presence befitting his rank.
He knew that, but different words had already come out of his mouth.
"I concur with the Captain's opinion."
"...Understood."
Gaoshun meekly withdrew.
His gaze was directed at the man standing behind.
Those piercing eyes seemed to stab at the back of Jinshi's neck.
"I'm glad to hear that. I have no interest in fashioning drinking cups out of skulls, after all."
With that, Raohan snorted and stepped outside the tent. It was a joke that landed with no laughter.
Rahan was clicking away on his abacus, checking his calculations for any errors.
"......sama"
It was Gaoshun who had called Jinshi by his true name.
A deep furrow was etched between his brows.
"From now on, you'll need to change how you deal with that girl."
Gaoshun spoke in a tone one might use to coax a child.
"I know."
Jinshi let out a long breath. The air was cold, and his breath turned white.
He shuddered, then pulled on a white hooded cloak that covered his head completely.
◯●◯ The thunderous noise came well past midnight.
Koshou sat up, wondering what it was, and strapped on the sword he'd placed by his pillow.
He had gone to bed, but there was no way he could sleep. Even if they called him a crafty old tanuki at court, he still retained enough sensitivity to spend a sleepless night over it.
Sleep was out of the question.
For over a decade now, he hadn't been able to sleep even when he tried. As a result, his eyelids had darkened, giving him dark circles that made him look exactly like a tanuki.
Perhaps startled by the noise, the moans echoing from the next room fell silent. The voices of the aroused women shifted into murmuring.
Just one wall away, Azuma was probably drinking herself into a stupor. She would parade the women of her clan in provocative attire and have them enjoy themselves with men purchased with gold. That had been his wife's daily routine ever since their daughter Rouran was born.
She indulged in these pleasures specifically where Koshou would notice.
The women with her had been bewildered at first but now enjoyed the games. She drew in only those who had already borne children and fulfilled their roles as wives, taking pleasure in watching virtuous wives fall.
She hadn't always been like that.
Koshou stepped out onto the terrace and gazed outside.
He had thought it was an enemy attack. The army—probably the Imperial Guard—its lights were still far off. From this fortress on high ground, he could see for dozens of miles in every direction. There should have been enough time to take a brief rest.
Mm— Shishou noticed that something foul was mixed in with the breeze.
Sulfur.
Could that be what it was?
They were making gunpowder underground. Could it have exploded? The realization hit Shishou.
Sure enough—he gripped his collar tightly.
He had to do something, but even thinking that, he couldn't move. Pathetic. He had no strength in him.
A favorite of the empress dowager, a man even the emperor couldn't push around, a cunning old fox.
The Shishou known at court and the present Shishou were two entirely different people. Even he himself thought so, so there was no helping it.
He clutched the gut that had sprung out past forty and inched forward, step by step. To check the situation, going outside meant passing through the room where his wife was. That act was unbearably painful.
The woman given to him by the late emperor— or rather, the fiancée he had finally had returned to him after twenty years, had grown thorns during her time in the rear palace.
When she finally returned to Shishou, he already had a wife and a child. That child was— Shisui.
—what she had turned out to be.
His wife had grown not merely thorns, but poison.
That poison had killed Shisui's mother, and it continued to devour Shisui to this day.
He had to do something about it soon.
Persuading himself, he finally opened the door. The male courtesans were startled, and the women—perhaps out of whatever modesty they still had—hurriedly threw on their outer robes.
His wife alone lay on the sofa, puffing at her pipe. Her sharp eyes held undisguised contempt.
"What was that noise just now?"
She spoke in a languid tone, exhaling purple smoke.
He was about to say he would go check right now, when— The corridor door burst open with a crash.
Standing there, covered head to toe in soot, was a girl—Rouran.
"What's with that indecent outfit of yours?"
"I don't want to hear that from you, Mother."
Rouran said flatly, turning her gaze to the women snatching at the outer garments.
"I don't want to hear it from either of you — the ones who abandoned your children to indulge in pleasure."
At Rouran's words, one woman finally remembered her own child and started to rush forward. But Rouran slapped her across the cheek. The woman crumpled to the side. The male courtesans, sensing the gravity of the situation, fled.
Is this really my daughter? Shoushou tilted his head in disbelief. He had thought Rouran was an obedient girl — a doll-like child who dressed and behaved exactly as her mother told her.
Rouran walked briskly to the back of the room and slid open the doors of the shelves lined against the wall. When she opened the largest sliding door, she noticed a young woman confined inside the narrow space.
"I'm sorry, Sister. I'm a little late."
The trembling woman had her limbs bound and had clearly been beaten. Her face bore a strong resemblance to Rouran's — it was Shisui, the other daughter.
Shoushou's face twisted. He had known she was being punished, but he hadn't imagined she had been subjected to something like this.
Rouran untied Shisui and rubbed her back.
Then she turned to look at her father, Shoushou.
"Father."
Rouran smiled sweetly.
"At the very least, take responsibility."
He didn't even have time to ask what responsibility she meant.
A grinding sound drew closer and closer.
"!?"
Just as he registered a different kind of roar, the entire fortress shook. He braced himself against the wall, steadied his footing, and stepped out onto the terrace again to see what had happened.
Snow powder was scattering through the air. The eastern side of the fortress was pure white, rendering everything invisible. At first, he couldn't understand what had occurred.
Then, once the cloud of snow settled slightly, he realized. The building that had been there was buried in snow. There had been an armory there, he was fairly sure.
But the avalanche had crashed in and buried half of it.
As Shoushou stood there in stunned silence, Rouran spoke to him.
"You should have known it was an opponent you couldn't defeat. Take responsibility."
Mother, I will take responsibility for you — The girl stood before her own mother with a dignified bearing, lightly tossing her slightly singed hair.
Take responsibility—at his daughter's words, Koshi clenched his fist tight.