A caravan set out from Xianyang in Qin, its wagons laden with goods from the Qin Lands. It made no secret of its journey, traveling openly through Hangu Pass and into Zhao.
Another caravan, led by Gong Mao, first traveled east from Xianyang into Wei. After unloading its goods and completing its trade in prosperous Daliang City, the caravan changed its appearance. Its members recruited several small-time Wei merchants and formed a new Wei caravan bound north for Zhao. It carried Wei silk and lacquerware, and its destination was Handan. Its identity and travel permits had passed through so many hands that every trace of its origins had been scrubbed clean.
Lu Buwei’s trading caravans spanned all seven states. Arranging such a thing was easy for him.
In a small courtyard in Handan’s outer district, Zhao Ji had spent over a month in constant terror. She had grown visibly thinner, her eyes sunken and her appetite gone. All day, she peered through a crack in the door, jumping at the slightest disturbance.
She was terrified that word would get out, and that the vicious Zhao soldiers would kick down the courtyard gate and kill her.
Ying Zheng went about his daily routine as usual. He even ate a little more than before, washing down mouthful after mouthful of coarse bean rice with plain water.
“Mother, please eat something. You haven’t had a drop of water all day.” Ying Zheng pushed a pottery bowl toward Zhao Ji.
She stared at his calm profile, her voice trembling and close to tears. “It feels like there’s a fire burning inside me, and ice weighing me down at the same time… What if the people of Zhao catch us? My throat hurts so much. I can’t eat.”
Ying Zheng set down his bowl and wiped his mouth with a cloth. His voice remained steady. “If you don’t eat now, we might not have even this much once we’re on the run.”
When he had traveled with Fan Ju, at least he had been among a Qin diplomatic mission, with carriages and provisions. But if luck turned against them, they might have to live like Wu Zixu, the fugitive from Chu: traveling by night, hiding by day, surviving in the wilderness, perhaps even begging for food…
No matter what, I have to get back to Qin.
Even if I die, I’ll die on Qin soil!
Zhao Ji gazed blankly at her son. His eyes were so like his father’s, yet filled with a calm far beyond his years. Somehow, that steadiness quieted her panicked heart.
“Zheng’er has always been more sensible than other children,” she murmured.
Ying Zheng tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He simply thought that, between the two of them, one person being scared out of her wits was enough.
What an unreliable adult…
When the caravan from Qin reached Handan, its leader paid the customary visit to Bian Zi, the Handan magistrate.
The gifts had been prepared well in advance: two boxes of fine gold ingots, a set of bronze wine vessels from the Qin royal house, and several bolts of Shu brocade worth a fortune.
Bian Zi received the caravan leader in a side hall of his residence. He was around forty, with a fair complexion and narrow eyes that always seemed half-lidded.
“Hmm. Lu Buwei knows how to behave.”
With well-kept fingers, he leisurely sifted through the gold ingots in the box, enjoying their pleasant clink. A satisfied smile curved his lips.
This wasn’t the first time Bian Zi had accepted a lavish bribe from Lu Buwei. If he hadn’t turned a blind eye all these years, Zhao Ji and Ying Zheng—an orphaned mother and son—could never have hidden in Handan for so long.
“Zhao has been having a few disputes with Yan lately, so things are a little stricter in the markets,” Bian Zi said. “But you know the rules. Just focus on doing business.”
He counted the gifts, his smile deepening.
How much did the king pay him? A pittance. And unlike Lord Pingyuan, he had no fief of his own. If he wanted to earn more, he had to find another way.
When all he had to do was look the other way to bring in an extra hundred gold a year, he’d have been a fool not to take it.
The caravan leader’s face was wreathed in a deferential smile. “Of course, Senior Official. This humble merchant knows the rules. Before we left, Master Lu told us to cause no trouble, conduct our business properly, and not inconvenience Magistrate Bian.”
Bian Zi nodded, pleased, and waved for someone to escort the caravan away. As he watched them leave, the hint of a false smile slowly disappeared from his face. He turned to the retainer standing nearby.
“Go. Pick two quick-witted men and have them follow those Qin merchants. Keep a close eye on whom they meet and where they go. Most importantly… find out if they meet a mother and son in secret. And make sure they don’t notice.”
He wasn’t a complete fool. Relations between Qin and Zhao were delicate, and the mother and son’s identities were sensitive. He wanted the profits, but he also needed to know the risks. If the Qin managed to take the pair from under his nose, he might lose his post.
Meanwhile, a caravan that had traveled from Wei by a circuitous route had quietly settled into an inn in Handan’s West Market. Its members kept a low profile. By day, they openly sold their wares and dealt with local brokers, giving no hint of anything unusual.
In just a few days, they sold every last item they had brought from Daliang.
That night, the moon was dim and the stars sparse. Heavy clouds swallowed the last traces of daylight.
Gong Mao slipped down from the wall and appeared soundlessly at the rear gate of the small courtyard. He wasted no time on explanations. He simply nodded to Zhao Ji, so tense she could barely move, and to Ying Zheng, calm as still water, then handed them two sets of coarse clothes.
“Prince, Madam, hurry and gather your things. We have to go,” he whispered.
Ying Zheng changed quickly. When he was done, his eyes swept over the corners of the room to make sure nothing important had been left behind.
His gaze settled on the clothes he had taken off. He carried them to the table, dipped his fingertips into the remnants of vermilion ink, and swiftly wrote several lines in the corner of the fabric.
Then he used a pottery bowl to pin a strip of silk firmly in the middle of the table. Without another glance around the room, he turned and headed for the door.
A short while later, two figures followed Gong Mao into the deep night. After several turns and detours, they finally disappeared into the lodgings occupied by the Wei merchants in Handan’s West Market.
The next day, before dawn had fully broken, while the morning dew still clung to the ground, the Wei caravan—after seven days in Handan—finished packing and hurried out of the city as soon as the gates opened.
The dirt road beyond Handan’s west gate was still shrouded in a thin morning mist. Overnight dew clung to the grass. A dozen or more baggage carts rolled in a line, interspersed with several carriages. As the sun rose, its first light slowly burned through the lingering fog over the road.
One of the men guarding the carts sat with his hands tucked into his sleeves atop a grain sack. His breath mingled with the steam from the mules’ nostrils as he cheerfully chatted with Gong Mao.
Gong Mao made conversation, but every so often his eyes drifted toward the carriage behind him.
The caravan had barely traveled three miles beyond Handan when the lead packhorse suddenly gave an uneasy whinny. Looking ahead, they saw a troop of armored riders approaching.
Gong Mao’s heart lurched. This is bad.
Who else could ride around in armor outside Handan? Had they been discovered? But that made no sense. It had been barely two hours since the prince left the courtyard and the caravan departed the city. How could they have been exposed so quickly?
There were seven or eight riders, all in light armor with long swords at their waists. Their leader was a man nearing forty, square-faced and dark-skinned, with sharp eyes and a murderous air. He didn’t dismount, merely raising a hand to signal the caravan to stop.
“I am Fu Xiong, a retainer of Lord Pingyuan,” he announced coldly.
“On my lord’s orders, I’m patrolling the main roads. General Lian Po is away with the army, and Handan’s defenses are thin. We can’t rule out bandits or spies from other states slipping in. Where have you come from, and where are you headed? What are you carrying?”
Lord Pingyuan! These men belonged to Lord Pingyuan!
Gong Mao’s heart tightened, and cold sweat instantly dampened his back.
Everyone in Zhao knew the current King of Zhao, Zhao Dan, was a fool unworthy of notice. But Lord Pingyuan, Zhao Sheng, was a man of great renown. A few years ago, when Qin’s army had besieged Handan and Zhao was on the verge of ruin, Lord Pingyuan had taken his retainer Mao Sui on a mission to Chu and secured a Vertical Alliance between Chu and Zhao. He had also joined forces with Lord Xinling, leading to the latter’s theft of the military tally and rescue of Zhao.
Lord Pingyuan was far more troublesome than King Zhao.
Gong Mao hurried down from the carriage and rushed over to Fu Xiong’s horse, almost breaking into a run. His hand slipped quietly into his sleeve.
“So you’re a brave retainer of Lord Pingyuan! Forgive us for not recognizing you!” His tone was exceedingly respectful, edged with fear.
“We’re merchants from Wei. We came from Daliang to trade in Handan, and now that we’ve sold our goods, we’re heading home. The carts carry horses, fodder, and dried rations and pickled vegetables for the road. Nothing else. With the country in such turmoil, we’re only trying to make a living. We wouldn’t dare harbor any other intentions.”
As he spoke, Gong Mao slipped two small but weighty gold ingots from his sleeve. Bowing as he presented them, he swiftly pressed them into Fu Xiong’s hand.
“A small token of our appreciation. Buy a drink to warm yourselves, brave sir…”
“Hm?” Fu Xiong’s brow furrowed. He didn’t take the gold. Instead, he turned his wrist and seized Gong Mao’s, gripping it so tightly that Gong Mao’s face went pale.
“Why the sudden generosity?” Fu Xiong’s gaze scraped over Gong Mao’s ashen face like a blade. “I, Fu Xiong, was once a humble roving swordsman. Lord Pingyuan recognized my worth and entrusted me with this patrol. I’m here to ease my lord’s burdens. You try to tempt me with these filthy trinkets? What sort of man do you take me for? Perhaps your caravan really does have something to hide.”
Gong Mao was in agony. So Fu Xiong was a swordsman after all!
Lord Pingyuan was famed for keeping worthy men in his service, and his swordsmen were all willing to die for him. You couldn’t buy them off with money. Put a blade to their throats, and they’d still face death without flinching.
Fu Xiong flung Gong Mao’s hand away. The two gold ingots went clink as they hit the ground, rolling through the dust.
“Search them!” Fu Xiong barked, waving his hand.
“Brave sir, please, wait!” Gong Mao was nearly out of his wits. He tried to stop them, but two soldiers had already dismounted and grabbed him by the arms, holding him fast. The others rushed at the carts like wolves, roughly tearing away the oilcloth covers and rummaging through the cargo.
Fu Xiong strode straight to the lead carriage and yanked open its curtain.
The carriage was packed with bundles of hides, leaving almost no room to stand. Beside a disordered pile of fur goods, a boy of about ten, dressed in coarse cloth, lay curled up as if asleep. Startled by the sudden commotion, he blinked blearily awake.
He rubbed his eyes, still drowsy, and mumbled in a thick Wei accent, “Uncle… Is it morning?”
Then he seemed to notice Fu Xiong, standing outside in bright armor with a stern face, and the soldiers watching him. Real fear instantly appeared on his young face. He shrank back and asked in a trembling voice, still in the Wei dialect, “Who… who are you? Where’s my uncle?”
“My maternal uncle serves under Lord Xinling. Don’t think you can bully me just because I have no one to back me!” The boy spoke in formal speech, heavily accented with the Wei dialect. He tried to sound fierce, but his voice wavered.
Fu Xiong was from Zhao and knew only a little of the Wei dialect. But he understood the words “Lord Xinling.” One of the men beside him, who had come to Zhao from Wei years ago, immediately leaned in and explained in a low, rapid voice, “The boy says his maternal uncle is a retainer of Lord Xinling, Wei Wuji.”
Fu Xiong’s brow knitted tightly. He hesitated.
Lord Xinling, Wei Wuji, now served as Supreme General of Zhao. Years ago, he had stolen the military tally and rescued Zhao, breaking the siege of Handan—but he had also thoroughly angered the King of Wei and had remained in Zhao ever since. Having saved Zhao from destruction, he held a place of honor in the state and enjoyed the king’s deep trust and considerable power.
More importantly, Lord Xinling was the younger brother of Lord Pingyuan’s wife. The two men were family as well as close friends, and they saw one another often.
Fu Xiong had always admired Lord Xinling’s character and chivalry. He knew that Lord Xinling had brought many trusted retainers with him from Wei.
This really did seem to be nothing more than a caravan trading between Zhao and Wei.
The air froze.
