When rebellion brews among the soldiers, plunder the people; when unrest stirs among the people, plunder the merchants.
The world bustles with the clamor of profit-seeking, its glittering surface masking hardship and desperation beneath. Those adorned in finery and wealth risk becoming mere ornate husks in this mortal realm with a single misstep.
Bai Changming, entrenched in the machinations of the court, long understood himself to be but a chess piece of greater weight. Disillusioned by the self-preservation and cowardice of career officials, he defied convention. Empowered by arcane arts and unorthodox tactics, he subtly stoked flames of discord while maintaining a facade of humility, quietly laying groundwork in the shadows. The fire of rage had long since charred him, layer by layer, forging a piece with a polished surface yet concealed edges. Like all officials, no matter how he maneuvered, he remained a pawn ultimately delivered into the emperor's hands, a cog in the imperial machine.
The night's wine left him weary but not drunk. Without another word to Xuerong, he retreated to his chambers and sank into deep slumber.
Xuerong, however, lay restless. Draping a robe over her shoulders, she slipped into the corridor. Whispers of Bai Changming's preternatural hearing lingered in her mind. She removed her shoes and padded forward in socks, drawn toward his quarters by an impulse she couldn't name.
Pressing her palm to the doorframe, she rotated the latch soundlessly. Inside lay his residence—a cluster of rooms for living, study, and sleep, dimly lit and unadorned. The parlor, furnished with screens and scholarly scrolls, felt sterile, as if copied from some official template. She nearly laughed at its blandness.
Tiptoeing further, she reached his bedroom. Bai Changming slept deeply, moonlight dappling his face. For a moment, Xuerong stared, disarmed by his unguarded tranquility—pale features softened, dark hair framing him like a youth. Years in office had left his appearance unchanged.
A glint caught her eye: a white jade magnolia hairpin, exquisitely carved, half-clutched in his hand. Such trinkets were gifts for young women, yet he kept no wife, scarcely any female ties. *Do you too carry someone in your heart?*
Retreating to the study, she found a creased map weighed by a jade seal. Black ink wove networks of regional officials, arrows charting schemes. One mark pointed to the Imperial Weaving Bureau, dated tonight, a vermilion check beside it.
Dread pooled in her stomach. Squinting in the faint light, she traced arrows to future dates until her gaze froze on a cluster of characters:
*"In Chang'an, where powerful clans vie for dominance, their roots must be severed. Restrict commercial traffic and suppress mercantile prosperity to weaken their foundations. Halt trade, stifle wealth's flow—thus may their influence wane, and thus may our scheme prevail."*
The script was sharp, coldly deliberate.
Xuerong's mind emptied. Bai Changming, she realized, stood at the plan's helm. These sparse strokes spelled ruin for merchants—her own family's trade empire centered in Chang'an.
As tears pricked her eyes, Bai Changming's voice cut through the dark like winter wind:
"You're clever by nature. Don't attempt to salvage a doomed situation…"