Chapter Fifty-Two: The Homing of the Boundless Waves (Part One)

Xuanwu Gate, Headquarters of the Thousand Riders. Zheng Zhong had arrived early in the morning, familiar with the place. The Thousand Riders’ adjutant, an experienced and steady civil official, kept him company, entertaining him with tea in the flower hall, and their conversation was relaxed and pleasant.

Next to arrive was Zhao Liu, the Grand General of the Left Martial Guard. “General Zheng, you’re early. I thought I’d be the first today.”

“Greetings, Grand General. I’ve barely just arrived myself—a matter of minutes,” Zheng Zhong stood, hand to chest and heel to floor, giving a proper military salute, though his words were far less formal. He and Zhao Liu were both military commanders of the Eastern Capital, always crossing paths and deeply familiar with one another.

At the hour of Chen, Quan Ce arrived right on time. After the usual greetings, the adjutant withdrew and sent a clerk to summon Sima Gong Siyie of Luoyang, who was late.

With the group incomplete, Quan Ce, Zhao Liu, and Zheng Zhong fell into casual conversation, reminiscing about their campaign against Li Zhen, Prince of Yue, and stories from their days in the Chang’an Thousand Oxen Guard. Zhao Liu held Quan and Zheng in high regard; his mood was lively as he reflected, “Life truly is unpredictable—good fortune and misfortune come and go. Since meeting you, General Quan, my career’s taken many twists and turns. I’ve endured hardships, yet my rank has only risen, all thanks to your good fortune.”

“I wouldn’t dare take credit, Grand General. Your courage and wisdom, your command, have brought you here—it’s only natural,” Quan Ce demurred, waving off the praise.

Zhao Liu laughed, his handsome, bold features only marred by the two scars that twisted with his expression. “Natural? With my family background and abilities, making it to the fourth rank as a general is already a stroke of luck. To be sitting as Grand General now—I still find myself dazed, as though in a dream, several times a day.”

“Well said, Grand General. I remember when I first met our general—it feels like yesterday. Now that we each hold command, my heart is far less at ease than when I trained under him,” Zheng Zhong spoke with genuine emotion, openly acknowledging his closeness to Quan Ce. He often dreamed of those brotherly nights they’d shared.

Quan Ce replied with a smile, “Then come to the Thousand Riders. My horsemanship has improved—let’s put it to the test.”

As they chatted, the adjutant returned, hesitated, then leaned in to whisper to Quan Ce. But Quan waved him off, “There are no outsiders here. Speak openly.”

“Yes, General.” The adjutant stood straight. “We sent word to Sima Gong at the Luoyang government office. The clerk there replied that Sima Gong had planned to arrive more than half an hour early, but the Chief Secretary of Langqiong Commandery summoned him. He had no choice but to go.”

Quan Ce’s expression darkened slightly. He dismissed the adjutant, who withdrew quietly.

“Gong Siyie grows more audacious by the day—a mere local adviser, yet he dares override the Empress’ orders?” Zheng Zhong’s face was grim.

Zhao Liu’s expression was equally somber. “With the court so far away in Chang’an, the local powers of the Eastern Capital have grown arrogant. It's not surprising.”

Quan Ce gave a faint laugh. “Enough. Since Sima Gong is otherwise engaged, let’s not wait. I have some thoughts to share, and if there’s anything amiss, we can discuss it further.”

Before he could continue, Zhao Liu took the initiative. “No need for formalities, General Quan. Since Gong Siyie isn’t here, the security of Luoyang falls squarely on the Left Martial Guard.”

Zheng Zhong thumped his chest. “The Imperial Palace and inner precincts are the Thousand Oxen’s responsibility. Let the ornamental officials stand guard—leave the real work to us.”

Quan Ce was delighted. “So be it. The river gates on the Luo and Yi, all the city gates of Luoyang, and the official roads within a hundred li of the city shall be patrolled and guarded by the Thousand Riders.”

The three exchanged glances. Such a matter, concerning the entire defense of Luoyang, had been settled in a few words, all in perfect accord. How invigorating it was to work with such trust.

They broke into hearty laughter, their voices echoing off the rafters.

“Grand General, Generals, I beg your pardon for my tardiness!” At long last, Gong Siyie appeared. He was round-faced, small-eyed, short and thin—his official robes seemed too grand for his frail figure, but he moved nimbly, dropping to his knees with genuine contrition.

Zhao Liu and Zheng Zhong sneered in silence, but Quan Ce bent to help him up. “Please rise, Sima Gong. These are court duties, not your fault. Just fulfill your responsibilities—maintain order and suppress banditry. Nothing more.”

Gong Siyie, halfway risen with Quan’s help, collapsed again, kowtowing repeatedly with a voice nearly in tears. “General, I cannot accept such praise. I have just over two thousand militia under my command in Henan, and more than nine hundred constables in Luoyang. Though not as valiant as the palace troops, we can still serve the Empress and the court.”

Zhao Liu frowned. Civil and military officials operated in separate spheres; such humility, if made public, would only invite accusations of overreach for Quan Ce. He pulled Gong Siyie to his feet. “Please, rise. If you are willing, you may cooperate with the Left Martial Guard in securing the city, so as not to offend visiting envoys.”

This time Gong Siyie stayed upright, bowing low to Zhao Liu. “I dare not. My abilities are limited, my reputation not established. I’m adequate for paperwork and logistics, but leading troops is beyond me. Should I fail the Empress and court, my guilt would be immense. In these extraordinary times, I am willing to have my men follow the Grand General’s orders and cooperate as needed.”

“Very well. Sorry for the trouble,” Zhao Liu agreed. With a million residents in Luoyang and only eight thousand Left Martial Guards, a few more hands could only help.

Quan Ce soothed Gong Siyie with a friendly pat on the shoulder, inviting him to tea, and casually asked, “May I ask, when did you assume your current post?”

“During the reign of Emperor Shisheng,” Gong Siyie answered respectfully.

Quan Ce only smiled, making no further comment. After a short while, the group dispersed.

During the years since Emperor Shisheng’s reign, Gong Siyie had served as Luoyang’s Sima for a full six years. He may not have forged an ironclad power base, but he certainly had time to cultivate loyal followers. Why, then, was he so quick to yield authority? Why would a local deputy, so eager to liaise with foreign envoys, even at the cost of defying his superiors? This slippery, inscrutable Sima—did he have any connection to his own father?

Quan Ce again found himself lost in a fog of doubts. Wearied by speculation, he decided action was better than discourse. “Someone, prepare my horse. Order the main unit to assemble. Follow me to patrol the city gates.”

Having taken command, Quan Ce was struck by the disorder among the Thousand Riders. He promptly divided them into five units: Left and Right Wings, Left and Right Scouts, each with 150 riders, and the Main Unit, 400 strong, which was then divided into three squads—the core squad, his personal guard, numbering 160.

Quan Ce disliked endless deliberation. Exiting through Xuanwu Gate, he led a hundred riders in a wild gallop north along the imperial palace walls, past Yaoyi City and Yuanbi City, then eastward through Longguang Gate and Suiyou Gate, finally arriving at Anxi Gate.

“Salute to the General!” The gate warden at Anxi, Du Guanshan, was over forty, tall and imposing, with a square face. He recognized Quan Ce—drills by the Thousand Riders often involved grueling laps around Luoyang, so the gate wardens all knew this seemingly delicate-faced but iron-willed general.

Quan Ce gazed up at the gate—solid, formidable, easy to defend but hard to attack. Yet for all its might, what could one warden accomplish alone?

He turned his horse to look northward, toward the far distance—Luoyang’s northern gate, then beyond, to Jinyang, or perhaps further still, to the boundless northern grasslands?

“Father…” Quan Ce murmured, his voice suddenly sharp and commanding as he ordered the riders behind him, “Return by the same route!”

The wind howled past his ears as his steed thundered forward. His heart surged with hot and cold uncertainties. If that man was acting in secrecy, and it did not endanger his family, then let him have his way—just this once.