Su Yan returned home just before the heavy snow began.
As soon as he stepped out of the carriage, he saw the main gate swing open. Jinghong Zhui came out holding an oil-paper umbrella made from the bark of the hibiscus tree. Su Yan ducked under it and smiled, “Ah Zhui, have you been waiting by the gate? Came out as soon as you heard the wheels?”
Jinghong Zhui gently brushed the snowflakes off his shoulder. “If you hadn’t come back soon, I was about to go to the Court of Diplomatic Rites to fetch you.”
The two shared the umbrella into the courtyard. In the flower hall, Xiaobei and Xiaojing had already prepared hot soup and dishes, keeping them warm over the charcoal stove, waiting for their master’s return.
After washing up, Su Yan sat down. As Xiaojing set the table, he grumbled, “Even on New Year’s Day, no peace. Being an official is too exhausting! Can we at least rest tomorrow?”
“Nope. We still haven’t made any progress on the case.” Su Yan drank half a bowl of hot chicken soup and exhaled comfortably, warmth spreading in his belly. “Don’t worry. Your master doesn’t treat himself poorly. If I want to slack off, I will.”
Xiaobei, for once, agreed with Xiaojing. “If this is what slacking off looks like, then the court has no diligent officials left. All the bureaus are sealed shut, but you’re still working.”
“Not true. The emperor himself is still busy with state affairs. If we’re talking about diligence, no one compares to him.” Su Yan reassured his young attendants, “You two stay home, rest and tidy up as needed. Come the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth, I’ll take you to the Meridian Gate to see the Aoshan Lantern Fair—from a prime VIP spot.”
After dinner, Su Yan summoned Jinghong Zhui to his room, saying he had something serious to discuss.
Jinghong Zhui, filled with a secret and fluttering excitement, washed thoroughly, changed into new clothes, and entered Su Yan’s room without even carrying his usual sword.
Su Yan had just bathed. Over his underclothes, he wore a padded cotton robe and was warming himself by a brazier he had pulled close to the bed. Looking up, he smiled, “Is that your New Year outfit, Ah Zhui? This ‘rosy blush’ color suits you, though it’s a bit pale. A little deeper red would be better.”
The more embarrassed Jinghong Zhui felt, the stiffer his expression became. He stepped onto the stool before the bed, half-kneeling, and pulled Su Yan’s socked feet into his lap. “Bright red is better suited for bed linens—it really brings out your snow-white skin, my lord.”
“…Huh?” Su Yan sensed something was off.
Seeing that Su Yan hadn’t scolded him—hadn’t even refuted him—Jinghong Zhui took a bold step. “Then I’ll start by kissing your feet and toes… and kiss every inch of you until your whole body blushes like this color.”
Su Yan: “…”
Su Yan: “Jinghong Zhui. Have you eaten too much? Looking for a beating?”
Jinghong Zhui: “However the Lord wants to punish me, I’m not afraid. If I had known, I’d have brought my own whip.”
Seeing him trying to strip off his socks, Su Yan kicked him in the chest. “You’ve lost your mind! I called you to talk about something serious—what the h*ll are you thinking?!”
Jinghong Zhui froze. “I thought… you summoned me to serve in your bed.”
Su Yan was thunderstruck. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t need you in my bed! Get up!”
Jinghong Zhui looked a little aggrieved. “If you don’t want me, is it because you want that wolf-like Shen Qi instead? Why? If it’s because I wasn’t skilled enough to please you, I can study harder…”
Su Yan lost it. “I don’t want any of you! Get out! Shameless, all of you! Your faces are thicker than the city wall. At least his is out in the open—you’re all sneak attacks! D*mn it! Let go of my sock and put it back on!”
Jinghong Zhui reluctantly obeyed. Then, still kneeling on the footstool, he said, “I misunderstood your intentions. Please punish me.”
Punish how? Scold you? You’ll humbly accept and never change. Hit you? My hands will hurt! Su Yan sighed in defeat, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to sit beside him at the edge of the bed, warming themselves by the fire together.
“I called you for a real reason.”
Jinghong Zhui lowered his head in shame and nudged the brazier closer to Su Yan’s side with his toe. “Please instruct me, my lord.”
Su Yan explained the whole Court of Diplomatic Rites case in detail and asked, “You’re from the martial world—you should have more reliable intel than the Northern Surveillance Bureau. Do you have any suspects?”
Jinghong Zhui’s face turned cold as he listened. After a moment of silence, he replied, “Yes. But I need to verify it in person, to avoid accusing the wrong person and misleading you.”
“You really do have someone in mind? Is it a descendant of the Tianyin Sect? Or someone from another sect?”
“You should rest first, my lord. I’ll be back in an hour or two.” Jinghong Zhui didn’t answer directly and stood to leave.
Su Yan reminded him, “I know you’re highly skilled, but caution keeps you alive. Don’t take risks—come back early.”
Jinghong Zhui looked at him deeply. “My lord cares for me—I’ll remember that.”
Su Yan felt uneasy under his gaze and looked away. “You’re my personal bodyguard, of course I want you in one piece. Otherwise, I’d have to find another—”
The second half of the sentence was cut off.
Su Yan was suddenly tackled backward onto the bed, struggling and mumbling in protest. But he couldn’t win, so he let it happen.
Moments later, Jinghong Zhui, his nose brushing Su Yan’s, whispered, “My lord, breathe.”
Su Yan gasped for air, his face flushed crimson. Jinghong Zhui kissed him again—this time far more skilled than before, not “awkward” at all. But his hands were still untrained, because Su Yan was gripping his wrists tightly, not letting him slip them under his robes.
“You… aren’t you leaving already…” Su Yan was nearly breathless, trying to shove him away.
Jinghong Zhui obediently said “Mm,” and quickly withdrew, returning to his room to fetch his sword.
Su Yan laid on the bed, finally catching his breath, and cursed at the canopy above, “Getting bolder by the day! If I don’t assert my authority soon, the concubines will be climbing on top of their lord!”
—
Jinghong Zhui changed into dark night gear, carrying his sword and hidden weapons, and made his way to Yu Wang’s residence.
He wasn’t sure if Fuyin had followed his suggestion and come here to avoid danger, but it was a lead worth checking.
The estate was vast, full of servants. Knowing Fuyin’s proud temperament, he wouldn’t settle for menial labor—most likely he’d be a guard. So Jinghong Zhui snuck directly into the guards’ quarters, checking room by room.
Ordinary guards shared rooms with four bunks, many of which were empty due to the holiday. Some were on night patrol, while others drank, played cards, or slept.
After some effort, Jinghong Zhui found Fuyin asleep in a relatively spacious and refined side room.
It was clearly a room reserved for a higher-ranking officer—his junior was doing quite well here, it seemed. Jinghong Zhui silently entered the room. The air reeked of wine. He picked up a bowl on the table, still damp with liquor, and sniffed it carefully.
He set the bowl down and walked over to the bed, staring coldly at the man sleeping there.
Then, he slammed the hilt of his sword down hard onto the bulging blanket.
Fuyin had no choice but to open his eyes. He chuckled, “Since you came to see me, Senior Brother, why not look a little longer? Why the need to wake me up so rudely?”
Jinghong Zhui turned into an impenetrable block of ice in front of his former sect mate. He said stiffly, “I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead,” Fuyin sat up leisurely.
“Where were you last night?”
“New Year’s Eve? Of course, here in the residence. I have nowhere else to go. I thought about freeloading off you for a New Year’s meal, but considering you wouldn’t even let me meet your ‘lord,’ you surely wouldn’t let me stay for dinner either. So I just ate with the other guards.”
Jinghong Zhui closely observed the minute expressions and flickers in his eyes. “Using the Bewitching Sound technique to control four people at once—even with the help of charm-based inner arts—should’ve been exhausting, right? Or have you improved that much since I left the Seven Kill Camp?”
Fuyin looked back innocently. “What are you talking about? I haven’t played the flute in ages. The last time was just to lure you out. As for people in this residence, what use is there in controlling them? To get a raise?”
Jinghong Zhui didn’t waste another word. He lunged forward to seize Fuyin’s pulse.
Fuyin sprang up, a flute slipping out from under the blanket, aiming for Jinghong Zhui’s vital point to force him to back off.
They were intimately familiar with each other’s techniques and tactics. Both also wanted to avoid alarming the guards outside, so they only exchanged blows silently, without causing a commotion.
After a dozen moves, Jinghong Zhui seized the upper hand. His right-hand sword was now pressed against Fuyin’s throat, while his left hand had latched onto his wrist, probing his internal energy.
The qi surged backward chaotically, his blood energy depleted, and there were many yet-to-heal tears in his meridians—classic symptoms of internal backlash from overuse of power. Jinghong Zhui declared firmly, “Those four Oirat envoys who died last night at the Court of Diplomatic Rites—it was your doing.”
Fuyin’s lips curled in a smile, but his eyes were as cold as a frozen pond. “What, Senior Brother? A citizen of Great Ming, yet you feel sorry for some barbarian Tartars?”
“I don’t care whether they live or die. I just want to know—was this a mission from the Seven Kill Camp?”
“The Hidden Sword Sect is gone. The Seven Kill Camp has vanished into the shadows. I’m doing my best to cut ties—why would I accept any ghost mission?”
“Then why did you do it?”
“Can’t I just dislike those Oirat b*stards? Mongol savages—so I killed them. So what? Haven’t enough of our people died at their hands?”
Jinghong Zhui said coldly, “Back when you were ordered to assassinate the Governor-general Liaodong, you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care when we lost the border outpost. Don’t pretend you care now.”
Fuyin chuckled. “Aren’t you the same Senior Brother? We’re both shadows skulking through the night. Since when have we cared about the lives of the living? But now, Senior Brother has suddenly developed a patriotic heart. Funny. I just wonder—do you really love the country… or your ‘zhujia?”
In that era, “zhujia” was a term wives used for their husbands.
Jinghong Zhui’s face darkened—struck right in the heart. He pressed the blade harder against Fuyin’s throat. “Enough talk. You’re coming with me.”
“Where to? Report to the authorities?” Fuyin burst out laughing. “Go tell the Magistrate of Shuntian Prefecture that I’m a Hidden Sword Sect remnant—and so are you. And your beloved Lord Su? He won’t escape charges of harboring criminals either. I clearly remember the official wanted posters: ‘Anyone in close contact with the Hidden Sword Sect shall be considered an accomplice and punished severely.’ That’s an imperial decree! So it seems you don’t love your master—you hate him enough to drag him down with you.”
Jinghong Zhui clenched his back molars, nearly drawing his sword to slash his junior brother’s throat.
But in the end, there was still a sliver of sentiment between them. Among the entire Hidden Sword Sect and even the Seven Kill Camp, the only person who had both given and received favor from him was none other than Fuyin.
“No matter who ordered you or what your aim is, as long as you don’t interfere with my lord, I’ll spare your life. But if it happens again, don’t blame me for showing no mercy.”
Fuyin countered, “And what counts as interfering?”
Jinghong Zhui replied, “If Lord Su wants to protect someone, you’re not to touch them. If he wants to protect this nation, then you’re to stay away from anything that stirs unrest or weakens border defenses. Only then can you and I coexist peacefully. Tonight, I can let you off. Otherwise, I’d kill you with one strike, destroy your corpse, and make sure no one else gets dragged down.”
Fuyin thought deeply, clearly weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he softened and said, “I don’t want to fight you to the death either, Senior Brother. Last night’s attack on the Oirat men—I was just doing a job for money. I didn’t know it would cause border tensions. As for who hired me, I can’t say. Even though I’ve left the Seven Kill Camp, we still follow our code. You know that.”
“Since you’ve laid things out so clearly, let me make a promise: from now on, I won’t target anyone tied to court or national affairs. Even if I’m forced to take a job to survive, I’ll make sure the target deserves it. Is that acceptable?”
He sounded sincere. Jinghong Zhui, not wanting to execute someone without giving them a chance, nodded and said, “Remember your promise. Find a suitable scapegoat to let Lord Su wrap this case up smoothly.”
Fuyin readily agreed. As Jinghong Zhui turned to leave, he stepped forward and said, “Senior Brother”
Jinghong Zhui didn’t really want to talk to him anymore, but out of a sliver of patience, he paused.
“Have you ever thought about leaving all this behind—traveling the world, going where the sky meets the sea, free as a bird?”
Jinghong Zhui considered the idea and said, “Yes.”
A trace of joy flickered in Fuyin’s eyes, but before he could speak again, Jinghong Zhui added firmly, “Before I met Lord Su. Now, he is my sea, my sky.”
With that, he sheathed his sword and left without looking back.
Fuyin stared after him, eyes cold and sharp.
He stood there motionless for a long time before silently leaving Yu Wang’s manor, alerting no one.
In a quiet, deserted alley, his figure reappeared from the shadows. Like a ghost, he crouched down beside a battered wall and pressed his vermillion-stained index finger eight times in a fan shape, forming a blood-red lotus with eight petals blooming in the night.
