“…So after giving him that warning, I left,” said Jinghong Zhui.
Su Yan was leaning against the headboard, wrapped in a quilt, listening and pondering.
His personal guard hadn’t returned, so he hadn’t dared go to sleep. He drank strong tea to stay awake and waited until the Hour of Hai (around 9–11 PM). When Jinghong Zhui returned and saw the light still on, he didn’t wait until morning—he knocked and entered to report everything that had happened at Yu Wang’s manor that night.
Su Yan chuckled, half amused, half skeptical. “You made all those promises to your junior brother face-to-face, and then turned around and sold him out. Doesn’t your conscience hurt?”
Jinghong Zhui was calm. “An assassin doesn’t need a conscience. Besides, I’m your guard now. All that matters is that I’m loyal to you.”
Su Yan laughed heartily and patted his arm. “Not bad. You’ve got your priorities straight—and your butt’s firmly planted on the right side.”
Jinghong Zhui shifted two feet inward on the bed and took off his boots, crossing his legs to show that he was, in fact, sitting very properly.
Su Yan asked, “Will your words really keep Fuyin in check?”
“For now, yes,” Jinghong Zhui replied. “But I suspect he’ll feel threatened knowing I’m aware of what happened. He’ll likely try to reconnect with his so-called ‘employer.’”
“You don’t think he did it just for money?”
“He’s not short on cash. He’s always been shrewd and calculating. He’s taken many high-risk assassination jobs before and surely kept a stash. Killing for money doesn’t make sense here.”
Su Yan nodded. “So if it wasn’t about money, then he’s just another pawn of the puppet master behind the scenes. But why hide in Yu Wang’s manor?”
Jinghong Zhui lowered his eyes slightly, concealing a trace of his own selfish motives. “He initially wanted to join you, but I didn’t want you getting entangled with a wanted member of the Hidden Sword Sect, so I refused him. As for why he went to Yu Wang’s manor… only he knows.”
Su Yan murmured, “Killing the Oirat envoys is meant to stir further conflict between Great Ming and the Oirats, to reignite war at the borders. If the Oirats team up with the Tatars, our frontier defenses might collapse, and the capital’s three elite camps would have to be redeployed north. That would leave the capital vulnerable…”
Jinghong Zhui’s expression turned grim. “They’re trying to take the capital?”
“This is the emperor’s city. It’s not that easy to take. What I worry about is that the mastermind isn’t just banking on the Oirat move. He’s playing multiple hands at once. Think of the Crown Prince’s assassination attempt. What if something had happened to the young lord—who would benefit?”
“The death of the heir would destabilize the nation… they’d have to appoint a new crown prince.”
Su Yan said, “The emperor has only two sons. If the young lord dies, only the second crown prince remains—Zhu Hezhao, son of Imperial Consort Wei.”
“Wei clan!” Jinghong Zhui’s brows furrowed, eyes flashing with murderous intent.
“Zhu Hezhao is still an infant—not nearly as willful or uncontrollable as Zhu Helin. The Wei family has long schemed to elevate the second crown prince. If they succeed, Imperial Consort Wei becomes Empress Wei, and later Empress Dowager Wei. Then the Wei family would hold power, just like Dou Xian and Liang Ji.”
Jinghong Zhui wanted to ask who those two were, but didn’t dare.
Su Yan, as if seeing through his quiet embarrassment, explained naturally, “Those two—one was the maternal uncle of Emperor He of Han, the other of Emperor Huan. Both were powerful regents because the emperors were young and the empress dowagers held court. They could depose and enthrone emperors at will, making the power of in-laws reach its peak.”
Jinghong Zhui understood. “If it really comes to that, wouldn’t the entire realm fall into chaos?”
Su Yan nodded. “But it seems the one behind all this doesn’t think things are chaotic enough yet—they’ve even reached their claws into Yu Wang’s residence. Though Yu Wang is just an idle, hedonistic prince in the capital, he’s still the Emperor’s only full-blooded brother. And on the way to Shaanxi, I remember hearing from Gao Shuo that Yu Wang’s former fief was Great Tong, one of the Nine Border Garrisons. He once commanded a military force called… what was it…?”
Jinghong Zhui had also been present at the time and never forgot what he heard, so he filled in, “The Jingbei Army.”
“Yes, that’s it. For the one behind the scenes to make a move on a prince who’s commanded troops before—that’s a very telling move.”
With Su Yan laying everything out like this, Jinghong Zhui’s mind suddenly became much clearer. Though he looked down on Yu Wang for being licentious and bullying others with his status, he had to admit the prince was a formidable martial artist. He wasn’t sure if Fuyin could gain the upper hand against him.
Su Yan, however, seemed a bit worried. “Even the sharpest blade rusts after ten years without use. Let alone that open attacks are easy to defend against, while covert ones are hard to guard against. From what you said, although Fuyin’s swordplay and inner strength don’t match yours, that Soul-Bewitching Flute of his is rather troublesome.”
“You want to warn Yu Wang… to beware of Fuyin?” Jinghong Zhui asked.
Su Yan nodded at first, then hesitated and shook his head. “No, we can’t alert the enemy. Fuyin is just a pawn—I want to follow the vine and find the hand that moves the chess pieces. Even if I only touch a fingertip, that would be a major breakthrough in this situation where we’re in the dark and they’re in the light. As for Yu Wang, let’s hope he’s sharp enough not to act foolishly.”
“Ah Zhui,” Su Yan’s expression turned serious. “I have a task for you.”
Jinghong Zhui immediately sat up straight. “Your orders, Lord?”
“Keep close watch on Fuyin. Who he contacts, how he contacts them. Starting now, I want you to follow him for twelve hours a day without being noticed. Can you do that?”
He could. But… Jinghong Zhui hesitated. “If I’m not by your side, how will your safety be ensured? Don’t forget—Fuyin’s original target was you. Which means the one behind the scenes might be after you as well.”
Su Yan said, “No need to worry about that. Tomorrow I’ll enter the palace to report all of this to His Majesty. I’ll ask to borrow a few guards for the time being. His Majesty is always farsighted and wise—I’m sure he sees even more clearly than I do.”
Su Yan seemed to have forgotten that after being beaten and reprimanded in court earlier, he had described the emperor as “deeply calculating, heavily suspicious.” Now, though the words meant more or less the same, the tone was entirely different—full of praise.
Seeing how highly his lord now spoke of the Emperor, Jinghong Zhui couldn’t help feeling a bit sour. But this was, admittedly, not his strong suit. He couldn’t say anything in rebuttal or risk disrespecting his master, so he simply stayed silent.
Su Yan, misreading his gloomy expression, thought he was recalling some painful memory. He gently asked, “Ah Zhui, what was your life like in the Hidden Sword Sect? Could you tell me about it?”
Jinghong Zhui was caught off guard. He hesitated. “It’s not a pleasant story. Are you sure you want to hear it?”
Su Yan nodded with a warm smile. “Yes. I want to hear it—and I want you to try and recall everything, piece by piece, and tell me all of it.”
“Why?”
“When we first met, I clumsily asked about your sect, but you didn’t answer me. It wasn’t until tonight that I learned you came from the Hidden Sword Sect. Because of the Eastern Palace assassination attempt, the sect was wiped out by the court, and its remnants are now fugitives. But you had already betrayed them, cut all ties long ago.”
“…I didn’t want to drag you down.”
“No need to worry. Even though that imperial edict was spoken in anger by the Emperor himself, he’s no tyrant who doesn’t reason. I’ll find the right time to explain everything to him, and it’ll be fine. But I’m more worried about you.”
“I’m doing fine now. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“You’re fine—as long as you don’t look back. But I know, even if the wound’s scarred over,” Su Yan tapped his chest, “it’s still festering inside. Only when you’re ready to cut it open and let the rot drain out will you truly be healed.”
Jinghong Zhui was silent.
After a long while, he said, “If you really want to hear about it, then I’ll tell you everything—the scenes that only exist in h*ll, the process of stripping away humanity until nothing’s left but the beast. I’ll tell it all.”
Su Yan shivered slightly and slid back under the warm covers. “Go on. No matter how painful it was, you lived through it. I’m only hearing it from the side—what do I have to be afraid of?”
Jinghong Zhui laid on his side. Su Yan pulled the blanket over so it covered them both. In that position, foot to foot beneath the quilt, Jinghong Zhui began to speak—his voice cool and clear like moonlit spring water.
He told how, when he first entered the Hidden Sword Sect, he was looked down on and treated like cannon fodder, abused in every way imaginable. But he never gave in—he bet his life on training, on the sword, and finally transformed himself in half a year.
He told how he was selected for the Seven Kill Camp, thinking it was just a brutal training camp—only to find his first mission was to finish off a young girl who had been tortured within an inch of her life.
He told how he had to harden his heart to survive the “Gu Trials,” killing his fellow disciples, becoming tougher, colder, deadlier.
He told of how it was nearly impossible to sleep in the scorching summer heat or on icy stone in winter.
He told of the blood and raw meat, the stench, and how hunger was even worse.
He told of how many he’d been ordered to assassinate while enslaved to the Camp—which ones deserved it, which ones didn’t, and which were innocent.
He told of how he risked everything to escape the camp and avenge his sister—how he was hunted after defecting.
He told of how he’d gone to kill the old traitor Wei Jun, determined that once his revenge was complete, he would end his blood-soaked life and go down to the underworld to beg his sister for punishment, walking through one layer of h*ll after another to atone.
He told of how, right before death, Su Yan found him and saved him—
—like reaching through the gates of h*ll and grasping the last sliver of sunlight in the world of the living.
Su Yan listened in silence the entire time, and when the tale was done, he let out a long, deep sigh.
Just as Jinghong Zhui thought the long sigh meant rejection, disappointment, or an inability to accept, he heard Lord Su beside him clearly say: “Ah Zhui, you are an extraordinary person.”
Extraordinary… Jinghong Zhui was suddenly struck with panic. Was the master being sarcastic?
But Su Yan continued: “If I were you, I’d have had a mental breakdown in less than a year. Yet you endured seven full years. Not only did you survive, you clawed your way out of a pit of beasts and demons with sheer determination. Not only are you still alive, your swordsmanship has reached great heights—and more importantly, your conscience remains intact.
“To live is far harder than to die.”
“To stay clear-headed is harder than to go numb.”
“To keep one’s conscience is harder still than losing all humanity.”
“You’ve always chosen the hardest path—not tempted by money, power, or fame. Always pushing forward, always holding your sword to your heart.”
Jinghong Zhui almost didn’t dare look at Su Yan’s face. He stammered, “I… I’m not as great as you say… I… I was moved by you…”
Su Yan smiled, the corners of his eyes glistening gently in the candlelight. He took the calloused hand of his personal guard and said softly:
“In this moment, I am moved by you too.”
He turned slightly and pressed his face to Jinghong Zhui’s, no longer drawing a line between them. “I’m very glad I found you under that bridge.
“And I’m even more glad that, despite all you’ve suffered, no matter how confused or lost you felt inside, you insisted on staying by my side.
“I’m grateful you chose my path to be your own.
“Ah Zhui, I don’t know where this road leads, but if you don’t mind… let’s walk it together.”
Jinghong Zhui suddenly remembered that day.
When he had just begun to follow Su Yan into the city of Yanan. He saw a poor farmer, unable to survive, selling his children. It reminded him of his own hungry, helpless childhood.
Su Yan had also held his hands then, eyes slightly red—not out of cheap pity, but a pain that came from shared experience.
Back then, he had given a faint smile and said, “I’m okay now.”
Su Yan hugged him gently and said, “You’ll be okay in the future too.”
But the truth was, he had never truly been okay. As Su Yan had said, the wound had scarred, but inside, the pus still festered—like a poisonous snake gnawing at his heart day and night. He clung to Su Yan like a drowning man clinging to driftwood, drawing warmth and life from him.
He might’ve been able to endure the dark, if he had never seen the light of day.
He had always loathed his past self, a ghost in the dark—but Su Yan said he was extraordinary.
Turns out, Su Yan didn’t merely “allow” him to stay, but was grateful that he stayed.
Jinghong Zhui felt that—for the first time—he was truly okay.
And Su Yan… Su Yan… there is no one better in this world than him.
