“He must be alive…” Su Yan whispered again, steadying himself in Jinghong Zhui’s arms. “Aletan… he must not die!”
Jinghong Zhui’s arm tightened around Su Yan’s waist. Rationally, he understood the importance of Aletan’s survival—not only to prevent a devastating war but also to uncover the mastermind behind this grand conspiracy. However, hearing Su Yan’s words, feeling the weight of his conviction, a hard lump formed in Jinghong Zhui’s chest, as if he had swallowed a jagged, ice-cold stone.
Lord Su was right. Jinghong Zhui forcibly suppressed the faint bitterness and ache in his heart. His lord placed the welfare of the people and the nation above all else—how could he, for the sake of personal jealousy or selfish emotions, hinder Su Yan’s greater purpose?
The news of Aletan’s death, the High Shaman Heiduo’s conspiracy, the entangled affairs between nations, and the impending chaos at the borders—wave after wave crashed upon Su Yan. After half a year of endless travel, careful calculations, and relentless effort, his frail scholar’s body finally reached its limit, leading to this momentary lapse in composure.
Moments later, he managed to regulate his breathing. Realizing that he was still leaning against his personal guard’s chest in front of everyone, he felt the situation was somewhat undignified. He patted Jinghong Zhui’s hand, signaling him to let go. After straightening up, he swept his gaze around somewhat guiltily.
The surrounding Embroidered Uniform Guard officers looked at him with concern. Even the dismissed and imprisoned Huo Dun and Yan Chengxue didn’t appear particularly gloating—instead, their expressions bore traces of worry.
Between them and Su Yan, there were ideological clashes, differing beliefs, even grievances and resentment. Yet, when faced with a national crisis, personal grudges were temporarily set aside.
Huo Dun asked, “Censor Su, after escorting us to Pingliang, interrogating us about the case—what do you intend to do with us?”
Su Yan countered, “What do you think I will do?”
Yan Chengxue sneered and spoke to Huo Dun, “Most likely, he’ll keep us locked up. Once the Oirat start making a fuss, he’ll use us to calm the storm or exchange for some benefits. Whatever. We’ve broken the law—dead either way. If our heads can serve the nation, so be it. The only pity is that this will add yet another achievement to Censor Su’s political career.”
His words were sharp, but it was unclear whether he was speaking earnestly or sarcastically. Yet Su Yan wasn’t provoked. Instead, he patted Yan Chengxue’s shoulder with a smile. “Not bad. Your sense of duty has improved. Seems like imprisonment has had a positive effect.”
Yan Chengxue shuddered in disgust and immediately shrugged off Su Yan’s hand.
“Well, since it’s working, we’ll continue with it. Men, take these two former officials to the Pingliang Prefectural Prison,” Su Yan ordered lazily, deliberately emphasizing the word former. “Tell the jailers to guard them properly—no mistreatment, but no special treatment either.”
At his command, the Embroidered Uniform Guard immediately stepped forward to escort the two men to their cells.
Huo Dun hesitated, glancing worriedly at Yan Chengxue.
Yan Chengxue’s face was pale and haggard, the blue veins under his skin clearly visible. His lips, thin and sharp as ever, were pressed tightly together.
Huo Dun opened his mouth as if to speak, but after a moment’s struggle, he swallowed his words and instead muttered, “…Old Yan.”
Yan Chengxue turned slightly, offering him a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
“Well, at least we share the same fate in hardship, even if not in fortune. If we end up in the underworld together, we won’t be alone,” Huo Dun said with a dry chuckle, the deep wrinkles between his brows finally smoothing out.
“…Idiot,” Yan Chengxue muttered, turning away and walking ahead without hesitation.
Gao Shuo stole a glance at Su Yan, noticing that he was watching the retreating figures of the two prisoners while clicking his tongue, as if contemplating something.
Then he noticed Jinghong Zhui, eyes unwaveringly fixed on Su Yan, completely engrossed in him. If anyone claimed there was nothing between them, Gao Shuo would refuse to believe it.
He couldn’t help but grumble internally: Old Yan and Old Huo, a pair of star-crossed companions—at least they could still share a prison cell. But our commander? He hasn’t seen his sweetheart for months, waiting like a poor scholar in a desolate, freezing yamen… Meanwhile, someone over here is busy flirting and attracting attention left and right! If nothing else, shouldn’t Shen Tongzhi have some self-respect?!
Then again, Su Yan was exceptionally good-looking.
After all, everyone had the same number of eyes and a nose—so what made Su Qinghe…
Su Yan had already walked several steps ahead. Turning back, he noticed that Gao Shuo was still standing dazedly in place and called out, “Gao Shuo?”
Startled, Gao Shuo instinctively turned toward the sound of Su Yan’s voice. He saw him dressed in a dark blue scholar’s robe, draped in a fur-lined cloak. His ink-black hair was bound neatly with a jade crown, and his pale, elegant face stood out against the snowy landscape, luminous like a pearl in frost.
Panic surged in Gao Shuo’s heart as his previous thoughts abruptly changed course—was Su Qinghe some kind of reincarnated fox spirit? If Shen Tongzhi had lost his mind over him, well… that was understandable…
A cold wave of sword intent swept over him from a distance—Jinghong Zhui’s silent warning. Gao Shuo shivered, hastily brushing aside his stray thoughts and catching up with the group.
Su Yan walked on through the sharp winter wind, heading toward the government offices.
Jinghong Zhui saw the slight furrow in his brow and asked in a low voice, “My lord, did you just say that Aletan is the only chance to break this deadlock?”
Su Yan nodded slightly. “But I can’t find him. In fact, after he was sent away, I wasn’t completely at ease. I had the Embroidered Uniform Guard track the carriage’s wheel marks to see if we could lure out the mastermind behind this. But by the time they caught up, all they found was a field full of wolf corpses and a burned carriage. They reported that the carriage was filled with charred bodies, but judging by their size, none of them appeared to be Aletan. At the time, I thought the diversionary tactic had worked—that Shalidan had taken Aletan another way, and he should have safely reached Oirat.”
“But three months have passed, and Aletan is still missing.”
“Yes. No matter where he went, whether he survived or not, Shalidan should have sent word back to the tribe. This complete lack of news makes no sense. So I’m beginning to wonder if he’s really…” Su Yan sighed worriedly, unable to finish the sentence.
Jinghong Zhui hesitated for a moment, then made up his mind and asked, “Do you need someone to go search for him?”
“Who would I send? The Embroidered Uniform Guard?”
“I’m skilled in concealment and tracking. If you deem it necessary, I can—”
Su Yan suddenly halted and gave him a sidelong glance. “Oh? Weren’t you just saying you needed to stay by my side to ensure my safety? Now you’re willing to leave just like that?”
Jinghong Zhui lowered his head. “My lord has thousands of Embroidered Uniform Guards around him—there is no risk to your safety. But seeing how much this weighs on your heart… excessive worry is not good for your health. It would be better if I at least made an attempt to find him.”
“—Hypocrite! Using a retreat as an advance, trying to test my feelings? Good for you, Jinghong Zhui! I thought you were straightforward, but turns out you’re naturally cunning!” Su Yan jabbed a finger at his chest, though his tone wasn’t harsh.
“It’s not a trick.” Jinghong Zhui mumbled in protest, but that finger poking his chest made his heart itch.
Su Yan scoffed lightly. “The Northern Desert is vast—endless stretches of sand, grasslands, snowy mountains, and forests. Where would you even begin to look? And to go to Oirat, you’d have to pass through all of Tartar territory. I won’t send the Embroidered Uniform Guard, and I certainly won’t send you.”
“If Aletan is truly dead, then that is his fate—it is also the misfortune of both the Great Ming and Oirat. When the time comes, if negotiations are possible, we negotiate. If explanations can be made, we explain. But if they refuse to believe us and insist on war, then we raise our armies and meet them in battle. War is the ultimate tool of the state—it must not be wielded lightly, but if wielded, it must bring shock and awe before retreating. I trust that His Majesty does not wish to start a war easily, but he will never cower from one either.”
Su Yan’s voice rang firm as metal and stone. He glanced toward the northwest, where snowflakes drifted from the sky, then turned and quickened his pace.
“So, what does my lord plan to do next?” Jinghong Zhui asked.
“Write a memorial requesting leave to return to the capital for the New Year.” Su Yan stepped into the yamen with the wind and snow, shaking off the moisture and rubbing his frostbitten hands. “The framework for the military horse reforms is all set. As long as it’s implemented correctly and under Inspector General Wei’s oversight, my absence for a month or two won’t be an issue.”
“This year’s snow has come early, which means the grasslands might suffer from a white disaster. Every winter is already a season of Tartar raids, and if they struggle to survive due to the disaster, these nomadic tribes will become even more desperate. Ningxia, Datong, Liaodong—every border town will have to be on high alert. I, a mere civil official with no martial prowess, have no reason to waste Embroidered Uniform Guard resources on protecting me.”
“The storm is rising, and I need to return to court. The communication in this era is too inconvenient. An important policy decision from the imperial court might not reach me until it has already been implemented—perhaps even succeeded or failed—before I even learn of it. This won’t do.”
Unknowingly, as he spoke, Su Yan had already begun seeing himself as part of the state’s decision-making body—his sense of responsibility unmistakably strong.
To others, this would be seen as an open ambition for power—the very same desire every official pursued: a seat at the heart of the empire’s authority. But Jinghong Zhui knew that Su Yan’s intentions were pure. He genuinely wanted to do something for this country.
Jinghong Zhui channeled his inner strength to warm Su Yan’s cold hands, then took a cup of hot tea from a maidservant and handed it over.
Su Yan cradled the steaming tea and drank several large gulps before finally feeling warmth return to his bones. He let out a comfortable sigh. “Actually, the main reason is that the hotpot in the capital is delicious. Winter is meant for staying indoors, eating hotpot, and singing songs—that’s how the New Year should be celebrated.”
…Fine, so there was a personal motive after all. Jinghong Zhui’s lips curled into a faint smile. But this personal motive—well, it was rather endearing.
Su Yan was admirable, respectable, and inspiring. But he was also… lovable.
He just didn’t know how much longer he’d have to wait until he could kiss him again. Would he really spend his whole life as nothing more than a personal guard? After that single golden night beneath the autumn moon, was he really never going to have another chance to serve his lord in bed? The thought left Jinghong Zhui feeling both bitter and helpless.
But what could he do? Su Yan was detached from worldly desires, living like a young ascetic monk. He couldn’t very well drive himself into madness just to force the issue. Besides, if he truly did go mad again, Su Yan was prepared this time—he’d probably have him tied up and buried in the snow to cool his head.
“Ah Zhui, don’t you want to return to the capital with me for the New Year?” Su Yan studied his expression. “Is it because… Wei Jun is still alive? Because there’s still a bounty on you in the capital?”
Jinghong Zhui’s face darkened. “No, I will return with you. The bounty has no portrait of me—not even my real name. And that old dog Wei is beneath contempt. Sooner or later, I’ll sever his head.”
Su Yan nodded. “That old traitor Wei Jun… Sooner or later, we’ll settle the score. Besides, there’s another matter on my mind—the establishment of the Heavenly Works Academy. It’s been half a year since I proposed it. I wonder how it’s progressing…”
Speaking of the Heavenly Works Academy inevitably brought thoughts of Yu Wang—the most unreliable man alive. Ten years of debauchery had certainly left his brain addled. It was difficult enough getting a single letter from him, and when it did arrive, it contained not a single word about the institute—just endless nonsense about romance and pleasure.
Bah! Calling it “romance and pleasure” was too generous. It was pure debauchery! That lecherous degenerate! Su Yan ground his teeth in frustration.
No, this wouldn’t do. That b*stard Yu Wang was probably going to waste every bit of effort he had put in! If things really went south, he’d have to petition His Majesty to hand the project over to him—and find a few truly learned scholars to take on the responsibility of advancing the nation’s technology.
Su Yan thought the more he dwelled on it, the more he felt he needed to split himself into eight copies just to personally handle all the matters weighing on his mind.
Heaven have mercy—when he first transmigrated, he had only wanted to be a carefree rich young master! Later, when he became a scholar and took office, he just wanted a cushy bureaucratic job with light duties. And then… how did he end up worrying before all under heaven?
Honest and loyal officials never had a good ending. If they didn’t work themselves to death, they offended the powerful and got persecuted. Being a treacherous courtier would be so much easier—just keep the emperor happy, and there was nothing he couldn’t have. So why did he insist on taking the rugged, uphill road instead of the smooth, easy one?
With a sigh, Su Yan continued writing his memorial, feeling that perhaps his brain was completely fried.
Standing behind him, Jinghong Zhui maintained a stern, indifferent expression, but in reality, he was craning his neck to steal glances at Su Yan’s calligraphy, studying every stroke more intently than he would a martial arts manual.
After setting down his brush, Su Yan turned his head and smiled. “Ah Zhui, do you want to learn to write?”
Jinghong Zhui feigned indifference and answered flatly, “I know how to write. As long as the words are legible, that’s enough.”
He thought of the two handwritten notes he had left for Su Yan—one a farewell letter, the other a suicide note. His handwriting had been an absolute mess, like something scratched out by a pig or a dog. And yet, Su Yan had kept them. He even carried them with him when he left the capital. When Jinghong Zhui had snatched the envelope back from him, his face had burned with embarrassment.
Su Yan nodded in agreement. “That’s true. Everyone has their own specialty. You’re a martial arts expert—handling a sword well is already impressive. As long as your writing is readable, there’s no need to fuss over the finer details.”
Jinghong Zhui lowered his head, his gaze lingering on Su Yan’s sharp nose, framed by his dark lashes, and the lips that curled faintly at the corners. How could Su Yan be so good? So good that he felt both ashamed and irresistibly drawn to him.
“Lord…” Jinghong Zhui said hoarsely. “I’m going to offend you now.”
Su Yan was caught off guard, then startled, but before he could get angry, a dark sword hilt tipped his chin up, tilting his face back.
Jinghong Zhui leaned in from behind and, upside down, captured his lips.
The skin at Su Yan’s throat tightened painfully. His lips parted in a muffled protest, fingers still holding the brush.
At first, the brush trembled wildly, flinging ink in all directions. Then, its movements slowed, strokes becoming erratic. Finally, it slipped from his fingers, landed with a soft plop, rolled a few times, and lay still.
A moment later, Su Yan coughed violently. “I—choked—on—saliva—”
Jinghong Zhui, full of guilt, said, “My technique is clumsy. I need more practice to master it.”
“…That’s not how you use ‘clumsy technique’!”
“Yes, my hands were clumsy.”
“…Then get your hands off me! You b*stard!”
“Bast—”
“Shut up! Say one more word, and I’ll tear you apart!”
