Caravan

Great Yin had five provincial prefectures under its rule.

Cool Prefecture in the north was a frigid land, vast and sparsely populated—a barren wasteland.

The two southern prefectures had each risen in rebellion, plagued by warfare year-round and teetering on the brink of losing control.

Cloud Province and Phoenix Prefecture lay at the heart of the realm and still retained some foundations, but in these final years of the dynasty, they were hardly doing much better.

Thanks to the efforts of aristocratic families and clans across the land, Great Yin's final breath seemed ready to be breathed out.

Several dozen li from the prefectural city, a caravan of traveling merchants was making its way along a rugged goat track.

The caravan's chief steward sat atop his horse, speaking with great flourish as he analyzed the state of Great Yin.

"It still has to be Lord Prince Jing. If he hadn't governed Cloud Province so properly, we'd probably have followed in the south's footsteps long ago."

The Prince Jing he spoke of was the Great Yin Emperor's younger cousin. After ascending the throne, the Emperor had enfeoffed Prince Jing in Cloud Province.

As for just how good Prince Jing's reputation truly was, that depended on who was speaking.

The caravan steward's surname was Song. He belonged to the Song Clan, one of the great families of the prefectural city.

After Prince Jing arrived in Cloud Province, he had won over numerous aristocratic families and sects.

Having received many conveniences from Prince Jing, they naturally spoke well of his "reputation."

The young laborer driving the cart wore coarse hemp clothes. Hearing Steward Song's words, he asked with a face full of yearning.

"Steward Song, I heard Lord Prince Jing values martial arts and treats people kindly. No matter how lowly their status,