“Aletan… is dead?”
Su Yan’s face was filled with shock. A secret imperial edict, personally written by the emperor, slipped from his fingers and drifted to the ground.
He staggered half a step backward, and Jinghong Zhui immediately reached out to support him.
“Lord Su?” Chu Yuan, who had rushed over with an urgent message delivered from six hundred miles away, called out with concern.
Su Yan raised a hand to stop him, then sat down in his chair, murmuring, “Don’t speak—I need to clear my head and think…”
He covered his brow with one hand, his thumb and fingers pressing against his temples, forcing himself to stay calm and piece things together.
Aletan had been wounded by a flying needle, poisoned with the deadly toxin Border City Snow.
According to Yan Chengxue, this poison was extremely potent, and its victims were supposed to die within half an hour. Yet, for some unknown reason, Aletan had managed to survive for over two hours—perhaps due to his exceptional physical strength.
When I visited his tent, it was just as he was suffering his final bout of poisoning. In that perilous moment, my own wounded palm accidentally dripped blood onto the tattoo on his abdomen. Miraculously, he managed to hold on for a little while longer… And at that moment, I seemed to experience a fleeting hallucination—caused by the sacred oil smeared on his body—where it felt like that God Tree tattoo… came alive?
Could it be that the tattoo ink contained some kind of secret medicinal ingredient that was activated by blood, allowing it to seep deeper into his body and counteract the poison, thus pulling Aletan back from the brink of death?
As a modern-minded person, Su Yan couldn’t help but make a rational hypothesis.
Even in his past life, he had heard of the ancient and mysterious practices of Northern Shamanism. It was said that their healers and sorcerers were one and the same, capable of communing with nature itself.
If this tattoo had been a life-saving enchantment bestowed upon Aletan by the tribal shamans of the Oirat, then its effects shouldn’t have been so fleeting—it should have at least kept him alive until he returned to his people.
Aletan’s condition had been relatively stable when he was escorted away from Qingshui Camp. That meant something must have happened along the way…
Could it have been that square-faced man, Shalidan, who betrayed Aletan?
No, that didn’t seem right. Aletan’s warriors had been fiercely loyal to their prince. The way they spoke of the Golden Prince, their eyes filled with admiration, was proof enough of their devotion.
That meant the most likely scenario was an ambush during the journey—one that involved the mysterious black-robed figure known as the High Shaman Heiduo.
I had explicitly warned Shalidan beforehand to be cautious of their return route and advised them to use deception—building a false trail while taking a hidden path. Reports from the city guards confirmed that they had indeed split into two groups, with most of the Oirat warriors escorting an empty carriage as a decoy.
Perhaps, despite their precautions, their secret route had been discovered, and they ultimately failed to evade the assassins. If Aletan had been unconscious at the time…
Su Yan felt his chest tighten in alarm, pressing a hand over his heart.
Jinghong Zhui, noticing his distress, placed a hand on Su Yan’s back and gently infused a stream of internal energy into his lungs and meridians, helping to regulate his breath and disperse stagnation.
Su Yan exhaled a deep breath, his complexion recovering some color. He turned to Chu Yuan and asked, “When did the court receive this news?”
Chu Yuan replied, “Seven days ago. The Oirat Khan, Hu Kuoli, sent a formal letter to our empire, claiming that his eldest son, Prince Kunle, was murdered through the most despicable means by a Ming official. He demands that His Majesty hand over the culprit and give their entire tribe an explanation. If not, they will raise an army to seek vengeance and reclaim justice. The letter was written in harsh, accusatory terms and has caused an uproar in the imperial court.”
Seven days ago… meaning it had been nearly three months since Aletan left Lingzhou.
Based on the timeline, Aletan had indeed been killed midway through his return journey. News of his death had reached the Oirat heartland, Hu Kuoli had sent envoys to investigate at Qingshui Camp, and then a formal diplomatic complaint had been submitted to the Ming court—altogether, about three months.
After Aletan’s incident, I had immediately sent an urgent report to the emperor regarding the assassination attempt and the possible involvement of Yan Chengxue and Huo Dun.
The emperor had even asked me in private: You were present at the time—what do you think? Were Yan and Huo the true culprits?
I had carefully considered my response before answering: While Yan and Huo had motives, there is no irrefutable evidence against them. There are too many suspicious elements in this case, and there may be another hidden hand at play with deeper schemes in mind.
The emperor’s verdict was: Place them under house arrest. I have ordered the Shaanxi Judicial Commissioner to investigate in secret. Once you’ve handed over the case, focus on your own assignments.
Thus, when I left Lingzhou, not only was Yan Chengxue confined, but even Huo Dun had been detained by the arriving Judicial Commissioner, forbidden from leaving the fortress.
At the time, I had visited Yan Chengxue in his confinement. He looked weary but remained composed and had promised to continue working on an antidote.
Huo Dun, on the other hand, had flown into a rage. He had pounded on the doors, yelling that he had never attempted to assassinate Aletan—nor had Yan. He swore that if they let him out, he would dig up the High Shaman Heiduo himself and clear his name.
Yet, despite a thorough lockdown and search of Qingshui Camp, the black-robed shaman was nowhere to be found. He had vanished like an ominous wisp of smoke, leaving no trace behind.
Su Yan picked up the fallen imperial edict with his cold fingers and continued reading.
The emperor informed him of the Oirat’s national letter to keep him away from Lingzhou.
“This is not merely an assassination case; it is likely a conspiracy that will trigger a larger chain reaction. Even if I convict and execute Yan and Huo as the culprits, this matter may not be resolved.”
Su Yan’s thoughts aligned perfectly with the emperor’s.
At first glance, the choice seemed simple—hand over the two guilty officials to be dealt with by the Oirat and pay a compensation sum to quell their anger, allowing alliance negotiations to continue.
However, doing so would confirm that Aletan was indeed unjustly murdered by the Ming, which would severely damage the empire’s reputation and plant the seeds of major instability in the northern frontier.
“Only by capturing the mastermind and uncovering the conspiracy can this case truly be settled. If we fail, our dynasty may find itself at war with both the Tatars and the Oirat. The northern defenses will be strained, and conflict will erupt. Qinghe… You are to oversee horse administration in Pingliang only; do not approach the city walls. Disobey me at your own peril.”
Su Yan’s fingers traced over the last words—“Disobey me at your own peril.” A wave of warmth and deep gratitude surged in his heart.
The Emperor Jinglong, despite his overwhelming responsibilities, still took the time to personally warn him to stay away from the frontier, fearing that he might be caught in the flames of war. Such consideration went far beyond ordinary sovereign-subject relations—how could Su Yan not be moved?
Carefully putting away the secret decree, Su Yan turned to Chu Yuan and asked, “I understand His Majesty’s intentions. How is Lingzhou being handled?”
“The court has appointed a new general to take command.”
Su Yan nodded and continued, “Commander Chu, I need a favor. Take my personal letter to Lingzhou and deliver it to the Inspector General. Have Yan Chengxue and Huo Dun escorted to Pingliang. Firstly, I have questions for them. Secondly, Huo Dun has spent years building strong influence in Qingshui Camp. If he stays, the new commander will undoubtedly be hindered.”
Chu Yuan pondered for a moment before saying, “Lord Su, you’ve considered this thoroughly. I will see it done.”
After Chu Yuan left, Jinghong Zhui frowned. “My lord, just now, your qi failed to return to its meridians—a symptom of reversed energy flow caused by emotional distress–”
Su Yan interrupted him, lightly patting the back of his hand in reassurance. “Hearing such bad news, I was momentarily overwhelmed, but I’m fine now. Aletan and I may not have known each other long, but we shared meaningful conversations. He could be considered a friend. His passing naturally leaves me with regrets.”
Seeing Su Yan’s emotions settle, Jinghong Zhui breathed a sigh of relief. “Fate is unpredictable. He is gone now, and sorrow won’t bring him back. Please take care of yourself, my lord.”
Su Yan replied calmly, “I understand. I’m tired tonight and don’t feel like tending to my body. Go get some rest.”
Jinghong Zhui still felt something was off. He lingered, reluctant to leave—fetching a washbasin and towel one moment, helping Su Yan remove his robes the next.
Su Yan sighed in exasperation. “Ah Zhui, what else do you want to say? I already listened to your advice.”
Jinghong Zhui shook his head. He had seen too many partings between life and death and had no more words of comfort to offer.
“Then why are you still here? I don’t need anything else.” Su Yan, now dressed in his night robe, sat at the edge of the bed, his face clearly saying, “Get lost.”
Jinghong Zhui reached into the cold bed, pressed his hand against the mattress, and said, “No, my lord still lacks a bed warmer.”
Su Yan laughed in disbelief. “You want to warm my bed? What’s next? Serve me in bed, too?”
Jinghong Zhui nodded without hesitation.
Su Yan threw a pillow at him. “Get lost! Look at that deadpan face of yours—who knew your mind was full of filth?”
Jinghong Zhui easily caught the pillow, placed it back at the head of the bed, then glanced at Su Yan’s bare feet resting on the wooden step of the canopy bed. He resisted the urge to lower his head and kiss them, instead picking up one foot and kneading the pressure points before tucking it into the warm bedding.
“Cold seeps in from the soles. My lord should take better care of his health. I shall take my leave.”
Su Yan glared at his retreating figure, muttering, “You’re getting bolder. If I let this continue, you’ll be climbing over my head next—”
Then he suddenly remembered that Ah Zhui had, in fact, climbed over his head before. The d*mn beast had once straddled his face, a memory that still haunted him. His insult suddenly felt weak.
So he sullenly shut his mouth and laid down to sleep.
The oil lamp on the table remained lit, casting flickering shadows onto the tent’s ceiling. Su Yan laid on the thick, soft bedding, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
Even with his eyes closed, it felt as though a gaze lingered upon him. In his mind, images flashed like a lantern show, shifting incessantly:
—A long braid adorned with golden beads and green jade.
—Golden nipple rings on a muscular chest.
—A tree-shaped tattoo at the waist.
—A deep, lingering voice, like the sound of a sliding bowstring.
—Olivine-colored eyes, gleaming with a smile as warm as the autumn sun.
—A distant and longing expression as he gazed toward the capital.
—Boiling milk tea, thick with fragrance.
—A light green silk ribbon wrapped around a dark-skinned arm, jade leaves clinking softly…
Half-asleep and half-awake, Su Yan felt as if he were riding a wild, prehistoric beast—a great, untamed horse galloping beneath him. His body rose and fell with the movements of the horse’s back. Whether he was controlling the beast or being controlled by it, there was no real difference. He was equally at the mercy of that primal, intoxicating rhythm.
In the blink of an eye, the horse transformed into a towering god. Su Yan landed against the god’s broad, powerful chest, as if he had fallen onto the smooth curves of a rolling hillside. To avoid slipping further, he instinctively reached out, grasping desperately—finally seizing hold of a golden ring…
—Su Yan abruptly opened his eyes and sat up, staring blankly into space. After a moment, he got out of bed and walked to his wardrobe.
Inside was a wooden chest filled with miscellaneous items. He rummaged through it and pulled out a leather waterskin with a gold-threaded and turquoise-inlaid neck, along with an unremarkable pair of thick woolen leg wraps.
Uncorking the waterskin, he took a sniff. A faint trace of milky sweetness still lingered. On impulse, he extended his tongue and licked the mouth of the flask.
The sweetness flitted across his tongue like a fleeting shadow, then quickly vanished—leaving only a faint sourness, a numbing tingle, and an ever-growing, unbearable bitterness…
Su Yan tightened his grip around the empty waterskin and the supple leather leg wraps. His eyes grew hot and misty as he silently questioned the void:
Aletan… are you truly gone?
Five days later, Su Yan met Huo Dun and Yan Chengxue, who had been escorted from Lingzhou by the Imperial Guards on horseback.
Huo Dun dismounted swiftly, and before he could even steady himself, Su Yan asked him directly, “Huo Canjun, after completing the trade with Aletan, have all the soldiers we sent to escort the tea and salt returned?”
Huo Dun hesitated for a moment before recalling that Su Yan and Aletan had reached an agreement at the time. The Great Ming side was responsible for preparing the pack horses and assigning escorts to deliver the traded tea and salt to the Oirat. The escorting troops had been a cavalry squad under his command.
“Only two returned,” Huo Dun answered grimly. “They were traveling slowly due to the cargo, and by the time they reached the Oirat territory, news of Aletan’s death had just reached Khan Hu Kuoli. Overcome with grief, Hu Kuoli took out his anger on them. They refused to be captured, so they braved a hail of arrows to escape. After enduring great hardship, only two out of fifty men managed to return to Qingshui Camp.”
Su Yan continued, “Did you interrogate these two survivors about the situation in the Oirat camp at the time?”
“I did,” Huo Dun replied. “One of the survivors, a squad leader, spoke with Hu Kuoli directly. He told me that the Oirat never recovered their prince’s body. They were told that after Aletan was poisoned in Ming territory, even his corpse had rotted into sludge. The only thing Hu Kuoli had left of his son was a single lock of white hair.”
Su Yan’s eyes lit up as if he had caught an important clue. “‘They were told’? Who told the Oirat people this?”
“The squad leader said there was a tall, thin man in a black robe standing beside Hu Kuoli. His face was obscured, but the squad leader understood some of the barbarian language and heard the Oirat refer to him as the ‘Great Shaman.’”
“The Great Shaman Heiduo!”
Huo Dun nodded. “I had the same suspicion when I heard the testimony. It seems that Heiduo holds a high status in the Oirat camp and wields significant influence. Hu Kuoli trusted him completely, accepting Aletan’s death without even seeing the body.”
“What about Aletan’s personal guards? Did they return to the camp?”
“I asked about that too. The squad leader didn’t know. No one mentioned them, and since he didn’t recognize Aletan’s guards, even if he saw them, he wouldn’t have realized.”
“Aletan’s guards were likely wiped out on the way back. Otherwise, if even one had returned, the situation wouldn’t be as it is now.” Su Yan spoke calmly. “We must see the living or recover the dead. Until we see his body, we cannot assume Aletan is truly dead. This is our only chance to break the deadlock.”
Huo Dun was puzzled. “Lord Censor, do you mean…”
Su Yan turned to Yan Chengxue. “Yan Siqing, has the antidote been made?”
Yan Chengxue, pale and shivering from the cold after his journey, still carried his usual aloof and indifferent expression. “No. Several key ingredients are still missing. You promised to send people to the southern border to find them. Haven’t they succeeded yet?”
Su Yan frowned. “The distance is vast, from north to south, and those ingredients are rare. We can’t acquire them so quickly.”
Yan Chengxue scoffed. “Then we wait. Though waiting is pointless. Censor Su, are you dreaming? That barbarian was poisoned with ‘Border City Snow.’ It’s been three months—there is no chance of survival.”
Su Yan’s voice turned cold. “If Aletan is truly dead, both you and Huo Dun will die, whether you are the true culprits or not.”
Huo Dun grew anxious, about to speak, but a sharp glare from Yan Chengxue silenced him. Yan Chengxue sneered, “If you want to use us as scapegoats to appease the wrath of the Oirat Khan, go ahead.”
Su Yan smirked mockingly. “You think you two alone are enough to serve as scapegoats? You overestimate yourselves. Let me tell you the truth—Hu Kuoli has already sent a hostile letter to the court. If war breaks out, Great Ming will be fighting both the Tatars and the Oirat at the same time. What do you think our chances of victory are?”
Yan Chengxue’s face turned even paler, but he remained stubborn. “A war with the northern desert tribes is inevitable. Fighting now doesn’t necessarily mean we have less of a chance.”
“Then I’ll be sure to take your head and Huo Dun’s for a battle sacrifice first!” Su Yan pointed at him and scolded, “Because of your narrow-minded prejudice and selfishness, the entire nation could be plunged into war. Countless soldiers will shed blood, countless civilians will be displaced… Yan Chengxue, even if you died a hundred times, you wouldn’t be able to atone!”
Yan Chengxue’s voice turned sharp, his eyes blazing with anger. “If I truly killed Aletan and caused a war, I’d accept a thousand cuts! Forget you using my head as an offering—I’d throw myself into a boiling cauldron! But I am not the killer! I’m not!”
Su Yan now confirmed that Huo Dun and Yan Chengxue had no direct involvement with the crime or with Heiduo. They were merely tools Heiduo had used to incite war between the two nations. If it hadn’t been them, it would have been some other Ming officials.
Aletan’s journey to the Ming Empire had been a mere pretext for a grander conspiracy.
“Those who obstruct the divine will shall be reduced to ashes by the wrath of the gods…”
If the divine will, as Heiduo saw it, was to ignite a war between the two nations, then those who sought peace—Khan Hu Kuoli, who once wanted an alliance with the Ming, and Aletan, who nearly married into the Ming royal family—became obstacles in his path.
He had used Yan Chengxue and Huo Dun’s hostility to assassinate Aletan and frame the Ming Empire, only to be discovered by Jinghong Zhui. The moment Jinghong Zhui tried to save Aletan, he too became an obstacle and was nearly killed. If not for his superior martial arts, he would have died on the spot.
Who would be the next to stand in Heiduo’s way? The Ming border troops? Emperor Jinglong, who sought stability in the north? Or Su Yan himself, determined to uncover the truth?
In this grand conspiracy, the only unexpected factor for Heiduo was that Aletan’s body had never been found.
Yet, through his manipulations and influence, he had still succeeded in fueling Hu Kuoli’s rage and thirst for vengeance.
If he wished to fan the flames even further, how would he incite hatred on the Ming side…?
Su Yan suddenly recalled the Tatar raiders who had pillaged and killed within Ming territory—the ones bearing wolf-head tattoos that could be wiped away.
Perhaps those raiders weren’t Tatar at all.
Perhaps they were Oirat.
Perhaps they were yet another scheme of Heiduo.
Imagine this: if these impostors, who deliberately mixed in with the Tatars, were captured by the Great Ming army and their true identities were exposed, what would Emperor Jinglong think?
— So the alliance and goodwill from the Oirat were a complete sham from the very beginning. While they were accepting the benefits granted by Great Ming, they were also plundering its lands and people.
The emperor would be utterly furious, and this fire of vengeance would only burn fiercer. Unless one side was completely annihilated or both were left in ruins, there would be no stopping it.
This High Shaman Heiduo… Su Yan gritted his teeth. What is he after? Could he truly be some kind of madman who revels in destruction?
And what role does the Tatar play in all this? Are they Heiduo’s puppet masters? His accomplices? Or merely another tool being used?
A wave of nausea rose in Su Yan’s chest, and he stumbled back two steps. Jinghong Zhui quickly supported him, pressing his back against his own chest, channeling a steady flow of internal energy into him while whispering anxiously, “My lord, calm your mind and breathe.”
“He must be alive…” Su Yan struggled to suppress the turmoil in his heart and murmured softly in Jinghong Zhui’s embrace, “Aletan… he absolutely cannot die!”
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