Flower Stealing Master

“Leading a hundred thousand riders, taking beauties down to Yangzhou!” Song Qingshu’s expression was radiant. “Excellent verse! Excellent, indeed!”

Seeing his self-satisfied expression, the women in the room exchanged strange looks. 

Ah Jiu could not hold back and burst out laughing.

Song Qingshu was somewhat embarrassed. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Ah Jiu smiled, pressing her lips together. “Though Song Lang is a genius, this poem is rather ordinary.” Having been born into royalty, she had been taught from childhood by the greatest scholars and Hanlin Academy members in the nation. She could naturally tell good from bad.

Beside her, Zhao Min added with a smile, “Not just ordinary. It also smacks of exaggeration.”

Song Qingshu was indignant. “Where did I exaggerate?” He sighed inwardly. *Other transmigrators could show off so brilliantly with Tang and Song poetry. Why am I so unlucky? The problem is the dynasty I’ve landed in. All the famous poems of history have already been written. The most famous Qing poet, Nalan Xingde, is still alive, so I can’t plagiarize him either. The one time I manage to write a couple of lines myself, my own lovers mock me. This is so frustrating.*

“If you scraped together every horse in your entire army, you’d be lucky to get five thousand riders. A hundred thousand?” Zhao Min’s eyes curved into crescent moons. “When will you visit our Prince Ruyang’s residence? I’ll show you what a hundred thousand riders really looks like.”

“You women with your nitpicking—that’s the pedantry of stale scholars. What matters in poetry is the spirit, the imagery. Forget it, you wouldn’t understand. I’m going to check on the preparations outside.” Song Qingshu fled. Hearing the silver bell-like laughter of the women from the tent behind him, he grumbled to himself. *I should have written ‘taking my beauties down to Yangzhou.’ Then I would have ridden whoever laughed!*

****

Soon, Song Qingshu led his army on the march. Following his instructions, the Golden Serpent Camp commanders adhered to the principle that capturing the heart was more important than capturing the city. With the main force of the Green Standard Army destroyed and Li Kexiu captured, the various prefectures and counties of the wulinai region were already in turmoil. Most surrendered at the mere sight of the approaching army. Any who resisted were like mantises trying to stop a chariot—quickly crushed.

In about half a month, Song Qingshu led his army into Yangzhou, signaling that the Golden Serpent Camp had occupied all of Li Kexiu’s former territory.

The Southern Song court quickly responded to the wulinai upheaval. Troops began assembling at Caishiji, Nanjing, Zhenjiang, Changzhou, and Suzhou. The two sides faced off along the river, on the verge of a major battle.

Song Qingshu gathered the high-level commanders of the Golden Serpent Camp to discuss how to handle the situation. The majority advocated pressing the advantage. The string of victories and Song Qingshu’s divine displays had inflated their confidence. Yangzhou was only five or six hundred li from Lin’an. If they could break into Lin’an, the Southern Song would crumble. The Golden Serpent Camp could then take the opportunity to found a new dynasty. They would become the founding ministers, enjoying glory for generations.

However, some more prudent voices opposed attacking the Southern Song as too risky. But these were quickly drowned out by the pro-war faction.

As the group argued, Song Qingshu remained noncommittal. Instead, he turned to Zhao Min and asked, “What do you think, Miss Zhao?”

The room quickly fell silent. During this time, they had learned Zhao Min’s identity. They were not fooled by her delicate appearance. After all, she had once played countless men like puppets and nearly annihilated the orthodox factions of the Central Plains *wulin*. Her reputation was formidable.

Zhao Min of the North, Huang Rong of the South—these were recognized as the two most resourceful women in the world. Some wits had even adapted the famous saying about “Sleeping Dragon and Fledgling Phoenix” from the Three Kingdoms period: “Zhao Min of the North, Huang Rong of the South. Obtain one, and you can bring peace to the realm. Obtain both, and you can seize the empire.”

Though it was a jest, the saying spread widely throughout the *wulin*. After all, Guo Jing had obtained Huang Rong and risen from a simple young man to a great hero, holding the Mongol cavalry at bay at Xiangyang and preserving the Southern Song’s remaining territory.

Zhao Min needed no introduction. With a small taste of her abilities, she had thrown the Central Plains *wulin* into bloody turmoil and elevated her father, Prince Ruyang, above countless other Mongol princes to become one of the four most powerful princes in Mongolia.

As for obtaining both Zhao Min and Huang Rong, everyone took it as idle talk. Either of them alone was a once-in-a-generation prodigy. To obtain one would require one’s ancestors’ graves to emit green smoke. Moreover, Huang Rong was already married. With Guo Jing’s upright character, how could there be any connection with Zhao Min?

A person’s reputation preceded them. Seeing that Zhao Min was about to speak, everyone else fell silent.

Zhao Min smiled faintly, her voice soft and crisp. “As a Mongol commander, I of course hope the Golden Serpent Camp will press its advantage and march straight into Lin’an.”

The pro-war faction, hearing her side with them, became excited. They began chattering away, criticizing the peace faction.

“Surnamed Zhao!” Zhou Zhiruo’s willow brows arched. She rose to speak, but Song Qingshu pulled her back down.

“Let her finish,” Song Qingshu said, his expression calm, unreadable.

As if finding a kindred spirit, Zhao Min smiled radiantly—then immediately shifted her tone. “But as Song Qingshu’s friend, I advise you to seek peace with the Southern Song.”

“Why?” The pro-war faction erupted, all speaking at once.

Zhao Min did not answer directly. Instead, she asked, “May I ask, how does the Golden Serpent Camp’s current fighting strength compare to the Mongol cavalry?”

The group exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, someone admitted, “Probably not as good.” In recent years, the Mongol cavalry had swept across the northern desert, the Central Plains, and the Western Regions. No matter how arrogant they were, they would not go so far as to claim superiority.

“But we have the Golden Serpent King,” someone protested weakly.

“Song Qingshu is still flesh and blood.” Zhao Min glanced at him. “Do you expect him to take the enemy commander’s head from amidst thousands of soldiers in every single battle?”

Seeing the group fall silent, Zhao Min continued, “The Song royal house may appear weak, but if actually attacked, they would unleash surprising power. Our Mongol armies have swept across all directions, but the only place where we’ve suffered the most losses is here with the Southern Song. You’ve won a few victories, and it’s gone to your heads. Dreaming of marching into Lin’an—that’s pure fantasy.”

The group was rendered speechless. Many thought, *If we end up with such a formidable mistress, our lives will become difficult.*

Seeing that the moment was right, Song Qingshu spoke. “Besides what the Commander has said, there are two other important reasons. First, the Jianghuai region has just surrendered. Our foundations are unstable. We haven’t even had time to digest our previous gains. To start another war now would be unwise. Second, the Central Plains are in chaos, foreign tribes are rampant. The Southern Song represents the orthodox Han Chinese rule. If we attack them, we risk being despised by Han people everywhere. That’s a risk we cannot take.”

“Therefore,” Song Qingshu stood, his gaze toward the distant south, “I have decided to send an envoy to the Southern Song to negotiate peace and an alliance.”

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