At White Cloud Inn in the eastern district, Huo Dun and his personal guards stood in the lobby. He turned to Su Yan and said, “Lord Censor, please go to your room and pack your belongings. I’ll wait here.”
Su Yan knew Huo Dun wasn’t waiting for him but for the official appointment documents to verify his identity. There was no point in further delay. The truth could not be avoided. Resigned, he offered a bitter smile. “This place is too public for us to speak openly. Please, Commander Huo, come upstairs to discuss things in private.”
Huo Dun complied and followed him upstairs into the room. Once there, Su Yan revealed the issue of the missing documents. Huo Dun’s expression changed halfway through the explanation. “You two have acted suspiciously from the start, and I’ve long doubted your identities. As expected, you lack proper credentials. Do you realize that impersonating an official is a crime punishable by death? On top of that, you trespassed into a military fortress and deceived me into releasing Oirat spies! Clearly, you’re colluding with northern barbarians against our empire. Men, seize them!”
The soldiers drew their weapons and surrounded the two men, their stance wary and prepared. Jinghong Zhui, however, didn’t regard the soldiers as a threat. His focus was solely on Huo Dun’s spear, his right hand poised near his sword hilt, ready to strike like lightning at a moment’s notice.
Su Yan scrutinized Huo Dun. “You don’t strike me as someone who acts rashly or without reason. Why are you so eager to fight without understanding the situation? Are you genuinely worried about impostors, or are you more afraid that once my identity as a censor is confirmed, today’s actions by you and Lord Yan will come to light and bring retribution from the court? Would you rather hope I’m a fraud?”
Huo Dun’s face betrayed a flicker of murderous intent as Su Yan’s words hit home. His tone turned icy. “If you can prove your identity, I will say no more. But if not, don’t blame me for following the law. Anyone resisting arrest will be executed on the spot.”
Su Yan sighed inwardly, realizing Huo Dun had resolved to align himself with Yan Chengxue.
Being an imperial censor was a perilous role, especially when rooting out corruption and misconduct at the local level. Honest officials had nothing to fear, but those with skeletons in their closets would naturally resent such scrutiny. And for the truly unscrupulous, eliminating the censor was sometimes seen as a viable solution.
Recently, rumors had circulated about a censor sent to oversee disaster relief efforts near the Yellow River flood zone, only to meet a suspicious end in a local county. That case was still under investigation by the Northern Surveillance Bureau.
If Su Yan could produce the imperial decree and his credentials, Yan Chengxue and Huo Dun wouldn’t dare harm him, as killing an imperial censor would be a direct challenge to the throne. But without proof of his identity, they could easily frame him as an impostor, arrest him, and fabricate an excuse to kill him in custody, leaving no trace of the truth.
Yan Chengxue, in particular, would likely carry out such an act without hesitation. Even Huo Dun, though less inclined to murder, might steel himself to protect his friend’s future and interests.
—You have close allies? Well, so do I.
Su Yan reflexively moved to stand behind Jinghong Zhui, peeking out just enough to speak. “Commander Huo, I urge you to reconsider. Leave yourself an out for the future. Whatever you and Lord Yan have done regarding the Oirat is not necessarily unforgivable. But if anything happens to me—a censor under imperial mandate—you’ll have far more to worry about than just the emperor’s wrath. For one, I’ll personally ensure your heads roll. Oh, and did I mention I hold the title of Crown Prince’s Shidu and am technically still part of the Eastern Palace staff?”
Huo Dun hesitated visibly, caught in an internal struggle. His eyes flickered with uncertainty.
Is it satisfying to bluff your way out of danger? Su Yan asked himself. Absolutely. Hugging a powerful thigh brings instant joy, and the more allies, the merrier.
At the moment, he was still figuratively clinging to Jinghong Zhui’s thigh. If words failed, he was prepared to flee with the martial artist’s help.
The standoff reached a delicate impasse.
Suddenly, the wooden door burst open with a loud bang, slamming against the wall as several figures rushed into the room.
—
Chu Yuan led his Embroidered Uniform Guard unit and cavalry team, accompanied by the local garrison commander, to the camp fortress, demanding to see Huo Dun.
The gate guards informed them that Commander Huo had just left, escorting two alleged spies to the White Cloud Inn to search for evidence.
Chu Yuan felt a chill run down his spine. “What spies?”
The guard scratched his scruffy eyebrows with the hilt of his knife. “Not entirely sure of the details. There was a major fight in the camp today, even collapsing the council hall. Apparently, some northern spies infiltrated and tried to assassinate the commander. Then, for some reason, the commander released the barbarians but detained two local collaborators… You tell me, why would good Ming citizens side with Tatars? What’s wrong with people?”
Chu Yuan, puzzled, pressed further. “What did these so-called collaborators look like?”
“I saw them myself—a scholarly boy around sixteen or seventeen, quite the looker, and one older than him dressed as a guard.”
Gao Shuo slapped his thigh. “This is bad! Those aren’t spies—they’re our ancestors!”
Chu Yuan shared the same suspicion. A martial artist capable of causing such destruction at the camp—who else could it be but Jinghong Zhui?
After inquiring about the location of the White Cloud Inn, several Embroidered Uniform Guard hurriedly mounted their horses, whipped them into a gallop, and rushed off, leaving the cavalry unit behind. The garrison commander chased after them, shouting, “What about these cavalry? Where should they go?”
Gao Shuo replied loudly without turning his head, “They belong to Sheng Qianxing of the Shaanxi Regional Command Office. Do whatever you see fit!”
The garrison commander sighed, “…Fine, they’re all masters. This way, please.”
The Embroidered Uniform Guard, fearing that Su Yan might encounter more danger after being found with great difficulty, pushed their horses to their limits, galloping straight into the inn’s courtyard.
Chu Yuan and Gao Shuo, in their urgency, didn’t even bother with the stairs. They leapt from their saddles, stepped on the railings, and vaulted onto the second-floor corridor. Grabbing a shop attendant, Chu Yuan barked, “Which room did Lingzhou’s Canjun Huo Dun enter just now? Speak quickly, or I’ll kill you!”
The attendant’s brain lagged behind his reflexes. Before he could think, his hand instinctively pointed to a nearby door.
Releasing the attendant, Gao Shuo and Chu Yuan pushed the door open simultaneously.
The Embroidered Uniform Guard stormed in like eagles diving on prey, immediately facing a scene where Huo Dun’s soldiers, weapons drawn, surrounded Su Yan and Jinghong Zhui.
Chu Yuan bellowed like thunder, “The Embroidered Uniform Guards are here! Anyone who dares act rashly will be charged with rebellion. Drop your weapons immediately!”
The soldiers flinched at his roar. The Embroidered Uniform Guard’s infamous reputation was enough to strike terror even in the farthest reaches of the empire, and their authority echoed in Lingzhou as well. The soldiers hesitated, looking to Huo Dun for guidance.
Huo Dun, stunned and shaken, quickly realized that today’s events were spiraling out of control.
In desperation, his hand moved towards a hidden pouch at his waist, brushing against the sharp edges of a dark iron throwing dart laced with deadly poison concocted by Yan Chengxue himself. Just as he was about to act, clarity struck him—what was he doing? Using the dart would be the ultimate point of no return, dooming not just himself but also Yan Chengxue and their families.
At the last moment, he let out a long sigh and ordered his soldiers, “Stand down. Withdraw the encirclement.”
Chu Yuan, ensuring that Su Yan was unharmed, then took out his Embroidered Uniform Guard identification token, flashing it before Huo Dun. In a cold tone, he declared, “By imperial command, we are escorting Censor Su to his post in Shaanxi. The emperor has decreed that if anyone endangers his life, we are authorized to execute them on the spot and report later.”
Huo Dun’s face turned ashen, and he said nothing.
Gao Shuo’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he half-knelt before Su Yan, cupping his fists in salute. “This subordinate has failed in his duty. I was unable to protect you amidst the chaos of battle, nearly betraying… betraying the trust placed in me by my superior. I beg your lordship to mete out punishment.”
These words were, in fact, highly inappropriate. As an imperial guard directly serving the Son of Heaven, he should have said “betrayed the Emperor’s grace” rather than treating his superior as the object of his loyalty.
Yet, after all his struggles, after finally laying eyes on Su Yan once more, an uncontrollable urge surged within him—to let Su Yan understand, beyond all doubt, exactly who had worried and agonized over him, who had entrusted his safety with such fervent care.
His superior might toil in the shadows, doing everything possible behind the scenes, but Gao Shuo could not remain merely a pair of silent eyes and hands.
If he left these words unsaid, he would never be at peace.
Su Yan’s eyes turned red in an instant. The name “Qilang” circled the tip of his tongue like a sharp blade, unable to escape, cutting him from the inside out. The pain was searing, morphing into a suffocating, metallic taste of blood that wrapped around him in both agony and tenderness.
To conceal his impulse to cry, Su Yan tore his gaze away from Gao Shuo and instead studied the remaining Embroidered Uniform Guard one by one. With a choked voice, he asked, “Where are the others?”
The Embroidered Uniform Guard lowered their heads slightly, unwilling to let their grief meet his eyes.
“Nine. Including those recuperating in Yanan, ten… Half of them are still missing. When will they return? I still remember each of their faces and names…”
Even these nine battle-hardened men, who had long grown indifferent to life and death, found themselves deeply moved in this moment.
Chu Yuan struggled to suppress the stinging in his nose. “Lord Su, please restrain your grief. We will bring our fallen comrades’ ashes back to the capital.”
Su Yan clenched his fists tightly. Suddenly, he stepped forward and embraced each of the dust-covered, sweat-streaked Embroidered Uniform Guard. His arms wrapped around their shoulders, fists knocking lightly against their backs—an unspoken gesture of camaraderie, the way soldiers embraced on the battlefield.
Finally, he turned to Chu Yuan. “Hei Tantou,” he said hoarsely, “I owe you ten lives.”
Chu Yuan gritted his teeth and replied, “We serve under the Emperor’s command. Even in death, there is honor. If His Majesty had ordered us to protect someone else, the outcome would have been the same. Lord Su owes no one—only the Emperor’s grace must be remembered.”
Su Yan loosened his grip and sighed. “Yes… There is so much I must remember.”
Steadying himself, he turned his still-reddened eyes toward Huo Dun. “Chu Yuan, did you retrieve my bundle at the foot of the slope? Show him the appointment document inside.”
Gao Shuo unfastened the bundle slung across his back, pulled out the official decree, and handed it to Huo Dun.
Huo Dun stared blankly at the bright red official seal of the Ministry of Personnel. Slowly, he raised his hands in salute, bowed his head, and said, “Lingzhou Officer Huo Dun pays respects to the Censorate Inspector and Provincial Inspector of Shaanxi, Su Yan, Lord Su.”