At midday, Wu Tong, Li Qian, and the Beggar Sect elders gathered in the main hall of a roadside inn. A brazier glowed faintly, steam rising from cups of hot tea, while all present discussed heatedly the matter of An Lushan's upcoming Fengshan ceremony at Mount Hua.
Li Qian frowned, her tone steady yet edged with worry:
"Elders, what is the purpose of the Yan army at the foot of Mount Hua?"
Elder Qian He stroked his beard thoughtfully and said slowly:
"Our allied scouts report that these troops are a vanguard unit for the Fengshan ceremony. Their task is to survey the terrain and prepare the grounds for the ritual."
Elder Jiang Feng added grimly:
"Reliable word has it that the commander is none other than An Lushan's second son, An Qingxu."
At the name, the room stiffened. An Qingxu was reputed for his cunning and knowledge of strategy. This could not be a mere ceremonial deployment—there was surely more hidden beneath.
The old Beggar Sect leader, Fei, nodded gravely, then turned to Wu Tong:
"Tong'er, what is your view?"
Wu Tong's eyes flickered with thought. After a pause, his voice rang firm:
"Tonight, I would infiltrate the Yan camp myself and learn the truth. What say you?"
The sect master's eyes gleamed with approval. This youth was indeed bold and far-sighted. But such a task was no simple scouting—it was fraught with peril. With a wry smile he replied, wisdom glinting in his gaze:
"Tong'er, if you only wished to sneak in like my disciples did—bringing back roast sheep, roast pig, and jars of wine—that would be nothing. But I sense your intent goes far deeper, does it not?"
Wu Tong laughed heartily and clasped his fists:
"Master is discerning indeed! I will go all out, venture deep, and draw forth true secrets."
Fei's expression turned solemn:
"To enter the tiger's den is the only way to seize the cub. Such daring fits the style of the Hall of Loyalty's master. With your skill, retreat will not be hard—but tread carefully. Do not alert the foe. If there is danger, withdraw at once."
Wu Tong bowed:
"I understand. I will be cautious."
At that moment, a bitter wind howled outside, sweeping fine snow through the cracks of the door. The inn's candle flames flickered, shadows dancing wildly. Elder Chen Yan frowned toward the window:
"With winds like this, tonight will surely bring heavy snow…"
And indeed, when night fell the weather turned violent. Black clouds smothered the sky, gales roared, and after the hour of the Tiger the snow fell thick and endless, whitening the land beneath Mount Hua. In that storm of ice and wind, Wu Tong prepared to steal into the enemy camp.
By dawn, Wu Tong and Li Qian had crept near the Yan encampment. Hoofbeats rang suddenly through the snow. Hastily, the pair slipped into a large command tent. Just then, a guard's voice rang out:
"Report! Lord Yan has arrived!"
Within, a general answered:
"Invite Lord Yan in."
The flap opened, and through the blizzard strode Yan Zhuang, attended by two retainers. They stripped off his snow-laden cloak. The general hurried forward:
"My lord, what brings you here so late?"
Yan Zhuang's voice was low and sharp:
"You two—stand guard outside. Admit no one."
The attendants obeyed. The general followed suit, clearing the tent. Once the flap was shut tight, Yan Zhuang spoke gravely:
"Prince of Jin—what of the matter we discussed before?"
For An Lushan, having declared himself emperor of the Great Yan, had granted his second son, An Qingxu, the title of Prince of Jin. And it was into his tent that Wu Tong and Li Qian had slipped unawares.
An Qingxu hesitated, voice uncertain:
"This requires careful thought. After all… he is my father."
Timid by nature, his tone wavered. Yan Zhuang's eyes burned:
"Do you know how the emperor treats me?"
An Qingxu sighed:
"You are my father's most trusted minister—his very right hand."
Yan Zhuang gave a bitter laugh:
"Trusted? Perhaps in the eyes of others. But in truth, the emperor is violent and foul-tempered. I carry his commands to the court, and all follow my word, yet behind closed doors I suffer his whips. Do you know what it is, for a minister to be lashed by the Son of Heaven? This is no bond of ruler and subject, but tyranny!"
Wu Tong and Li Qian, hidden in the shadows, were struck with shock.
An Qingxu, too, let out a weary sigh:
"Not only you. Have not I and my brothers all tasted his lash?"
Yan Zhuang leaned close, his voice urgent:
"This cannot wait. The emperor summons Qing'en often of late. Do you not see? Your position as crown prince is slipping away."
At this, An Qingxu's face grew stricken. Yan pressed harder:
"Do not waver! Eunuch Li Zhu'er has long borne his beatings. He will act soon. And if the emperor dies suddenly—will the throne be yours?"
An Qingxu sighed again:
"Then it is Heaven's will. My brothers and I must follow fate."
Yan Zhuang's temper flared.
"Fate? Fool! Think of your brothers. If Qing'en ascends, will he spare you? Will he spare them? When a throne is at stake, who waits to show mercy?"
An Qingxu's face blanched.
"He… he would dare?"
Yan Zhuang snapped:
"If he becomes emperor, he dares all! Who has ever claimed the throne without striking first?"
The young prince froze pale and speechless.
Yan Zhuang's voice lowered, heavy with fury:
"You fight and bleed outside the palace. Yet what is it for? If Qing'en rules, will he spare you—or me? We both will die. If we remain dutiful sons and loyal ministers, we are doomed alike!"
His words thundered within the tent. Wu Tong and Li Qian's blood surged as they listened, hearts pounding. She pressed against him in fear, their hands clasped tight, breaths shallow.
Then—suddenly—the storm outside howled louder. With a loud crack, a gust rattled the tent.
An Qingxu shouted in alarm:
"Who is listening outside?!"
The lamplight sputtered, plunging the tent into sudden gloom.
Wu Tong tightened his arms around Li Qian. She gripped his hands, eyes wide with terror, neither daring to breathe, their bodies taut with dread as An Qingxu's gaze swept the darkness…