The late-night air was heavy with dew. Su Yan added an extra layer over his tan robe, opting for a copper-green coat. After tidying his disheveled hair and securing it with a simple jade hairpin, he followed Gao Shuo out to the front courtyard.
Gao Shuo, walking briskly, suddenly noticed Su Yan lagging behind. Turning around, he found Su Yan leaning against a pillar, struggling to catch his breath.
“My lord, are you unwell?” he asked with concern.
Su Yan, one hand gripping the pillar and the other supporting his aching waist, forced a smile. “No problem. I just… accidentally twisted my waist.” Gritting his teeth, he shuffled forward unsteadily.
Under the flickering lantern light, Gao Shuo studied him closely. There were faint dark circles under Su Yan’s eyes, and his features bore an exhausted, worn-out look as if he had been drained to the bone. Yet, oddly enough, his lips were plump and crimson, almost like an overripe fruit ready to burst. Gao Shuo couldn’t figure out whether this was due to physical weakness or a sign of internal heat.
With good intentions, he suggested, “My lord, you don’t look well. Should I call a physician to check your pulse?”
Su Yan knew full well that his condition was due to a loss of yang energy. If a physician diagnosed him with “excessive indulgence,” he’d die of embarrassment. Waving it off, he said, “It’s just a slight discomfort from the change in weather. A bit of nourishing food will set me right.”
Gao Shuo, lacking experience in such matters, didn’t dwell on it. However, he did remember his superior’s urgent orders, delivered by carrier pigeon: Keep a close eye on that rogue from the martial world and never let him be alone with Su Yan.
To be honest, this task was no easy one. One clung to Su Yan like a shadow, while the other was so carefree and trusting that he rarely raised his guard. And Su Yan’s frequent declarations of “Ah Zhui’s company suffices; the rest of you may leave” made it even harder for Gao Shuo to intervene openly. All he could do was watch closely behind the scenes and hope to nip any problems in the bud.
Yet he quickly grew frustrated. Trouble was everywhere, and it spread like wildfire—far beyond what one man could manage alone.
This job is impossible…. Writing intel reports to his superior while sighing in despair, he often thought, Let me go back to spying on officials from rooftops in the capital instead!
Tonight, Gao Shuo noticed something unusual: Jinghong Zhui wasn’t following Su Yan like a loyal hound. Puzzled, he asked, “Where is Guard Jinghong? Why isn’t he by your side, my lord?”
Su Yan choked on his breath, suppressing a pang of bitterness. Feigning nonchalance, he replied, “I sent him on a secret mission. He’ll be gone for quite some time. For now, my safety is in your hands.”
Gao Shuo was delighted and vowed, “Rest assured, my lord. We will protect you with all our strength and dedication!”
As they reached the front courtyard, seven or eight Oirat warriors were arguing loudly with the Embroidered Uniform Guard, their gestures and voices growing increasingly aggressive. Tempers flared on both sides, and weapons were already drawn.
Su Yan quickly raised his voice. “Stop! There’s no need to fight—let’s talk this out.”
The Oirat warriors, though visibly angry, hadn’t reached the point of open combat. Their leader, a bearded man with a square face, looked familiar to Su Yan. He vaguely remembered sharing a meal of noodles with this man, who had even paid for it.
Smiling, Su Yan greeted him, “Ah, it’s my noodle-eating friend!”
It was unclear whether it was due to Aletan’s prior instructions or their gratitude toward him, but the Oirat people’s attitude softened significantly in Su Yan’s presence. The square-faced man sheathed his curved blade and explained their purpose in heavily accented Mandarin.
Earlier that afternoon, after completing most of the formalities for trading horses with the authorities, they stayed behind to inventory tea and salt and load the goods onto their carts. Meanwhile, Aletan, with nothing better to do, wandered around the nearby horse market, intending to pick up gifts to bring back to his family.
But as he strolled, he vanished without a trace. They searched everywhere, and only at dusk did they find Aletan unconscious in a secluded dead-end alley. Surrounding him were five corpses, their wounds indicating that they had been killed by Aletan’s blade.
They pulled a poisoned black-iron flying needle from Aletan’s back on the spot, immediately realizing it was an assassination attempt.
When they helped him up, Aletan briefly regained consciousness, but soon after, he coughed up black blood and fell back into a coma. He has yet to wake up. His once jet-black hair had turned silver-white, and his breathing was growing weaker by the moment. They had called for a doctor, who suspected poisoning but was unable to determine what kind of poison it was, let alone find an antidote.
In a foreign land, unfamiliar with their surroundings, reporting the incident to the authorities was not as effective as seeking help from an old acquaintance—especially since Su Yan himself was an official.
“I have known Aletan for some time. Since you’ve come to me, I will do my best to help. But why must you resort to violence?” Su Yan asked.
The square-faced man responded, “Those five men—Aletan killed them. I recognized one of them; he was one of your soldiers!”
Su Yan was surprised. “Whose soldier are you talking about?”
“The one who tricked us into the fortress—the general with the spear. One of his personal guards! I remember!” The square-faced man grew increasingly agitated, mixing in several words in Oirat dialect. Su Yan finally understood—he was referring to Huo Dun’s personal guard. The man had intervened in Huo Dun and Aletan’s duel before, which was why the square-faced man had remembered his face.
“Huo Dun’s personal guard? How did he end up dead at the scene of Aletan’s assassination? And what about the other four deceased?”
“They were Central Plains men too! Soldiers! Calloused hands from handling guns!”
“…Where are the bodies?”
“We have them. They’re evidence.”
The Oirat people were convinced that Huo Dun and Yan Chengxue—who had once plotted against them—were the masterminds behind this attack. Since Su Yan held a higher official rank than them, they hoped he would deliver justice. However, their anxiety led them to break into his residence in the middle of the night, which resulted in a violent clash with his Embroidered Uniform Guards.
Su Yan frowned. He recalled how, that afternoon, he had stood on the city wall’s watchtower with Jinghong Zhui, watching the scenery. They had spotted Aletan in the crowd, tailed by several unknown figures.
At the time, Su Yan hadn’t noticed the five pursuers—it was Jinghong Zhui who pointed them out. Although the men were dressed like Central Plains people, their physical features suggested they were from the Northern Desert.
Su Yan had been concerned for Aletan’s safety and worried that someone might use the situation to stir up trouble at Qingshui Camp. So, he had sent Jinghong Zhui to follow them.
Yet somehow, after setting off in perfect condition, Jinghong Zhui had returned completely unhinged.
There was no way Jinghong Zhui had been mistaken, let alone deceived him.
So, how did the five Northern Desert men tailing Aletan turn into Huo Dun’s subordinates?
What had happened to Jinghong Zhui while he was tracking Aletan? Who caused his breakdown?
Who was behind Aletan’s assassination? Where had the black-iron flying needle come from? And what kind of poison was used?
Countless questions swirled in Su Yan’s mind. Out of habit, he called out, “Ah Zhui!”
No response.
That familiar voice—My lord, what are your orders?—never came.
Su Yan turned his head toward the empty space beside him and suddenly remembered.
Jinghong Zhui was gone.
“If my lord truly does not wish to see me… I will stay far, far away from your sight. But please, do not harbor thoughts of ending your life!”
That was the last thing Jinghong Zhui had said before leaving.
Su Yan felt a moment of disorientation. His fingers clenched tightly around his sleeve, an indescribable emotion welling up inside him.
Some people, some things—when they are around every day, you take them for granted. You use them without much thought. They don’t seem particularly rare or special.
But the moment they are gone, their absence becomes glaringly obvious, impossible to ignore. No replacement feels quite right. You can’t help but think about them, miss them, feel uneasy until they return.
Even if, once they return, they occasionally frustrate you—annoy you with their sharp edges, never fully aligning with your expectations—still, they are yours. And over time, they become an inseparable part of your life.
A sudden wave of melancholy washed over Su Yan.
He took a deep breath, forcing down the emotion, and issued orders in a steady voice: “Aletan—where is he? Take me to him.”
“Chu Yuan, take a team to the fortress and question Huo Dun’s personal guards. Use the roster to check their numbers—see if anyone is missing.”
“Gao Shuo, bring the best doctors from Qingshui Camp, at least two, for a joint consultation. Be quick.”
“The rest of you, come with me.”
—
Under the guidance of the Oirat people, Su Yan lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.
Aletan lay flat on a wolf-pelt mattress, hands crossed over his abdomen. His face was ashen, his eyes deeply sunken, and his once-black, shoulder-length curls had turned into a cascade of silver-white. They draped over his shoulders, eerily still.
Su Yan approached, examining him closely. Aletan’s lips were dark purple, his skin dry and peeling—signs of severe dehydration. Pressing his fingers against the side of Aletan’s neck, Su Yan barely detected a weak, intermittent pulse.
“Help me roll him onto his side. I need to check his back.”
Two Oirat men moved to assist—one gripping Aletan’s shoulder, the other pushing at his hip and thigh, carefully shifting him onto his side. Su Yan pulled down the sleeve of his robe, exposing a well-built back.
On the tea-brown skin was a barely noticeable round puncture wound, no larger than the tip of a hairpin. A faint blue halo surrounded it.
“Where is the weapon?”
One of the Oirat men stepped forward with a wrapped bundle. Su Yan carefully peeled back the cloth, revealing a black-iron flying needle—its double-pointed, diamond-shaped form gleaming with an eerie blue sheen. He roughly estimated the size and length of the needle, confirming that it matched Aletan’s wound exactly.
“Are there any other injuries on his body?” Su Yan asked.
The square-faced man shook his head. “We didn’t check elsewhere. Aletan never let anyone touch him under his robes.”
He suddenly cast a peculiar look at Su Yan. “You can touch him. Even his tattoo—he lets you touch it. You can. Go ahead, take his clothes off.”
Su Yan was momentarily stunned, recalling how he had indeed touched the tattoo on Aletan’s abdomen before. The residual heat and sensation from that memory seemed to surface abruptly, causing his fingertips to tingle inexplicably.
“Hurry up and check him,” the square-faced man urged impatiently.
Repeating silently to himself, a life is at stake, Su Yan stepped forward and began removing Aletan’s robe.
The robe, a long Zhisun-style garment, reached down to Aletan’s calves. Removing the belt and loosening the cross-collar front required lifting Aletan’s neck and back slightly to slide the sleeves off both arms. Su Yan attempted to lift him but found this big man astonishingly heavy, like an immovable iron weight.
When the accompanying Embroidered Uniform Guard guards moved to assist, the Oirat men stopped them. The square-faced man insisted firmly, “No one else is allowed to touch him!”
Left with no choice, Su Yan encircled Aletan’s neck with one arm in a half-embrace, using the other hand to quickly pull the fabric off his upper body.
Beneath the robe, Aletan wore no inner shirt on his torso but had long pants on his lower half. That enormous tree-shaped tattoo sprawled across his toned abdomen, its crown resting just above his navel while the trunk extended downward, disappearing into the waistband of his pants.
Facing those close-up, chiseled abs and the intricate tattoo, Su Yan inexplicably felt heat rise in his chest. A faint blush crept over his cheeks.
Mocking himself internally—It’s just eight-pack abs. I had them too in my past life; what’s the big deal?—he nevertheless felt flustered as he stripped off Aletan’s long pants, revealing a short loincloth underneath.
The loincloth was tightly packed, bulging noticeably. Su Yan decided he absolutely wouldn’t touch it. Instead, he called for the guards to bring the candlelight closer and carefully examined Aletan’s entire body, finding only the wound on his back.
By then, Gao Shuo had returned with two physicians—an elderly man in his sixties and a middle-aged one in his prime.
The Oirat men tolerated the physicians better but still wouldn’t allow them to touch Aletan’s abdomen, fearing it would desecrate the sacred tree tattoo. Su Yan had no choice but to cover the tattoo with a handkerchief and press lightly over it himself.
After examining the patient and soaking the flying needle in a medicinal solution to analyze the toxin, the physicians deliberated for a long time but were unable to identify the poison. They decided to test it on a black goat.
As soon as the goat was pricked by the needle, its black fur began fading to a pale gray. Within moments, it convulsed and collapsed. Su Yan, having purchased a Western pocket watch at the horse market earlier, timed the process—it took less than five minutes for the goat to die.
The elder physician finally shook his head regretfully. “I must admit my medical knowledge is inadequate. This poison is both potent and bizarre. That this northern guest has survived two hours after being struck is already a miracle. Unless the poison maker is found and the formula obtained to concoct an antidote, there is nothing more I can do.”
At that moment, Aletan’s body suddenly began to convulse—starting with his limbs and quickly spreading throughout.
The younger physician exclaimed, “The poison is reaching its final stage! He likely won’t make it!”
The Oirat men, panicked and helpless, called out desperately in their native tongue, repeating a phrase over and over.
Cold sweat broke out across Su Yan’s back as he tried to restrain Aletan’s convulsing limbs.
The handkerchief covering the tattoo slipped to the ground, and the bandage wrapped around Su Yan’s injured palm was torn off during the struggle.
Aletan’s body suddenly jerked violently, then fell eerily still. Su Yan found himself leaning over Aletan, drenched in sweat, heart pounding as he reached to check the pulse at his neck.
No pulse…
A despairing sound escaped Su Yan’s throat. Beads of sweat dripped from his face like falling tears.
Just then, his fingers caught the faintest sensation—a pulse. Weak at first, then steadily stronger, until it became distinctly clear.
Stunned, Su Yan felt heat rising through his injured hand.
Alarmed, he lifted his palm to inspect it and discovered it was pressed against Aletan’s abdomen. The reopened wound on his hand had bled slightly, staining the tree-shaped tattoo with fresh blood, turning its black ink a dark crimson.
Su Yan wiped at the bloodstain with his sleeve but found it impossible to remove. It seemed to have seeped into the very fibers of the skin.
In his dazed state, Su Yan felt as if the tattooed tree were absorbing, growing, expanding—its massive trunk and branches unfurling until it stood tall enough to pierce the heavens, its canopy engulfing the entire sky.
It wasn’t until the guards called his name that he snapped out of his trance. The tattoo had returned to its original size, no larger than a fan. Meanwhile, Aletan, still unconscious, had begun to breathe steadily again, his condition stabilizing with faint yet rhythmic breaths.
After checking his pulse, the physicians marveled, calling it a miracle. Though the toxin remained in his body, some unknown force had suppressed its effects, granting Aletan a temporary reprieve and perhaps a few more days of life.
The Oirat men rushed out of the tent, knelt on the ground, and began fervently praying to heavens, tears streaming down their faces.
Still in a state of shock, Su Yan found the near-death-to-life transition surreal. But knowing Aletan was alive brought him immense relief. He silently thanked the gods of Daoism, Buddhism, and every foreign faith he could think of, pleading for their continued blessings and divine intervention.
Exhausted and weak, Su Yan was eventually helped off Aletan’s body by the Embroidered Uniform Guard guards.
On the Qingshui River grasslands, Chu Yuan’s subordinates rode in at full gallop, dismounted, and entered the tent to report to Su Yan: “Commander Chu has checked the roster. Five soldiers from Huo Canjun’s unit are indeed missing.”
“What did Huo Dun say?” Su Yan, sitting at the edge of the bed, took a towel and wiped his sweat as Gao Shuo knelt to re-bandage his hand.
“Huo Canjun said the five soldiers disappeared without permission. They were already missing during the evening roll call, and he thought they had deserted together. He was about to organize a team to pursue them.”
Su Yan dropped the towel and stood up, addressing the square-faced Oirat man: “Take me to see the bodies of those five men.”
Before leaving the tent, he hesitated, then turned back to carefully dress the barely clothed Aletan in his robe.
Just before stepping out, his hand brushed against the pale green hair ribbon tied around Aletan’s left arm. The ribbon’s ends dangled, and the jade leaf ornaments at the tips chimed faintly as they knocked together.
“Aletan,” Su Yan said softly, his tone a mix of plea and command, “stay alive.”
