Lord Ling, His Majesty has sent twelve golden decrees in succession, summoning you back to the capital to discuss the northern campaign.
Back to the capital? The capital is in the north, in Bianliang, not in the south.
We can talk after we've conquered it.
He was descended from people who had fled the lost lands of Yanyun. His family had moved south 180 years ago, from the Five Dynasties to the present. His father had spent his life yearning for a northern campaign. As he lay dying, he clasped his son's hand. “After I die, hang my coffin in the ancestral hall. Until the northern campaign succeeds, I must not be buried.”
He came first in all three levels of the imperial examinations and entered Bianliang. This was the Eastern Capital during the Xuanhe era, when flower-and-stone tribute barges passed through the city and Longevity Hill rose from the ground. Among those who sat the exams that year were a prince using an assumed name, a promising young talent from Yangzhou, and an old friend from Mingzhou who would stand by his side for half a lifetime. But as Zhu Ling stood before the archival shelves of the Secretariat, another scene filled his mind: flames, cavalry, and a procession of imperial kinsmen taken captive and marched north.
He knew how it would end. He did not know when.
