The meeting hall of the Four Families was shrouded in calculated dimness. Oil lamps, strategically placed in black marble niches, cast golden circles of light that barely illuminated the faces of the patriarchs. The air smelled of sandalwood incense and restrained ambition. Wei Jian, seated at the eastern end of the carved jade table, tapped his right index finger against the polished surface in a rhythm that betrayed his irritation. Each tic of his knuckle against the stone echoed like a whip crack in the silence.
"We cannot attack directly," Li Chang repeated for the third time, tracing a circle on the silk map spread before them with the nail of his little finger. "Every move we make must appear as a reaction, never a provocation." His words, always measured, fell like drops of icy water.
Cong Qing, leaning over the map until his long silver braid brushed the parchment, pointed to a series of red marks near Guangling. His narrow eyes, gleaming like ancient coins, lifted toward Wei Jian.
"An Lu already controls the mountain passes," he murmured, sliding a finger over the trade route marked in crimson ink. "If he strengthens further, he won't even need rebels to strangle us. All he has to do is close the salt trade route."
Bei Xian, reclining in his chair with the elegance of an old cat, intertwined his fingers over his stomach. The jade rings on his fingers clicked softly as he moved.
"An open confrontation…" he began, drawing out the words as if tasting them, "would leave us exposed to the other clans. Do you remember what happened to the Songs when they tried to crush the southern rebels? They became a target for all factions." A thin smile appeared beneath his graying mustache. "No, we must be… creative."
Wei Jian stopped tapping the table. His brow, furrowed by decades of distrust, deepened.
"Creativity," he repeated hoarsely. "Like when you trusted that drunkard of a general to guard our western lands? Now we have bandits raiding granaries thanks to his 'creativity.'" He spat the last word like venom.
Li Chang raised a smooth, unadorned hand, silencing the retort already forming on Cong Qing's lips.
"The past is a dry well," he said, letting his sharp gaze settle on each face. "Today, we water new seeds." His fingernail slowly scratched over the name 'Luo Wen' written in the map's margins. "Our opponents have what we lack: blind fury and what one might even call loyalty to Yuan Guo. Yuan Guo is their spiritual father. They will see his capture as an insult that only blood can wash away."
Bei Xian leaned forward, the brocade of his robe rustling.
"You propose setting them loose like hunting dogs?" he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
Cong Qing let out a brief, dry chuckle.
"We don't need to set them loose," he corrected. "We only need to open the cage." His ink-stained, knotted index finger tapped twice on the drawing of Guangling. "We'll send Luo Wen a scroll filled with fiery words. We will speak of trampled honor, of justice…" He paused, baring his teeth in a grimace that was not a smile. "He will take the bait. He's one of those idealists who mistake stubbornness for courage."
Wei Jian snorted, crossing his arms over his chest.
"And if he wins, we'll have a strengthened rebel on our southern flank," he warned, though without much conviction. They all knew that even victorious, Luo Wen would be too weakened to be a threat.
Li Chang slid a folded fan toward the center of the table, its surface painted with a resting tiger beneath cherry blossoms.
"That is why we will accompany our words with action," he said, unfolding the fan with a theatrical gesture. "We will send troops… but not our own. We'll hire mercenaries from the desert tribes. Brutal men who fight for gold, not loyalty." He snapped the fan shut. "If Luo Wen wins, we discard them like dead skin. If he loses, we deny any connection."
Bei Xian nodded slowly, stroking his beard with his bejeweled fingers.
"Meanwhile," he added, "a delegation will visit An Lu. We will express our concern over the… instability. We will offer to mediate in exchange for minor concessions: passage rights, a reduction in taxes on iron mines…" His smile widened. "He will suspect, of course, but doubt is a cancer. While he wrestles with himself, his preparations will be delayed."
Wei Jian let out a grunt that might have been approval. His sunken eyes gleamed with a flicker of interest.
"The mercenary troops," he muttered, "must be numerous enough to give Luo Wen hope, but not so many that they tempt him to betray us later. Men with rusted armor and chipped swords. Lame horses." A rough laugh shook his chest. "Let them fight with the equipment we give them… and die quickly."
Cong Qing leaned back, satisfied. He narrowed his eyes, imagining the scene:
"When both sides are exhausted, bleeding on barren land…" he whispered, raising a hand to catch a moth that hovered near the closest lamp, "then we will act. With a fresh, well-fed army. We will sweep away the remnants of both forces and take what has always been ours."
Li Chang folded the map with precise movements, each crease a sentence.
"The message to Luo Wen must be carefully crafted," he warned. "Words that inflame his wounded pride. Speak of the Four Families' outrage at such an affront…" His lips curled into a thin line of disdain. "The young always believe history will judge them by their intentions, not their results."
Bei Xian rose, stretching his back in a slow, deliberate motion. The jewels on his belt jingled like wind chimes.
"I will send my finest calligrapher," he said. "He will use paper scented with plum blossoms and ink mixed with gold dust. Let Luo Wen feel the weight of our… sincere indignation."
For the first time in the meeting, Wei Jian showed something resembling a smile.
"And for An Lu," he added, "we will send Xie Han. No one is better than that fox at planting doubts with smiles and bows."
Cong Qing crushed the moth between his fingers, letting its broken wings fall onto the table.
"The game begins at dawn," he murmured. "May the gods have mercy on those who believe in flags and loyalties."
The four patriarchs exchanged glances heavy with centuries of successful betrayals. Outside, beyond the lacquered doors, the empire slept in ignorance. Soon, it would awaken to a new order… carved with silver daggers and gilded lies.