Returning to the Qianqing Palace, Su Yan noticed it was nearing noon and bowed to take his leave. The Emperor, seeing his earnest departure and sensing his concern, decided not to insist on a meal.
As Su Yan exited the palace doors and reached the courtyard, he saw dozens of palace attendants surrounding a red and gold embroidered palanquin with cloud and phoenix patterns approaching slowly. Recognizing it as the harem’s consort palanquin, he quickly stepped aside.
The palanquin stopped at the steps, and the attendants carefully helped a pregnant woman step down from it.
Su Yan recalled that the Crown Prince had mentioned the pregnant Imperial Concubine Wei before and looked over with curiosity. She was dressed in a bright red jacket embroidered with golden peonies, and a peach-shaped hairpin was inserted into her golden hair. Her water-colored skirt swayed gracefully with her steps, presenting a strikingly beautiful figure. He couldn’t help but look a few more times, his heart momentarily stirred.
Unfortunately, one of the palace attendants noticed him and whispered to Imperial Concubine Wei.
Imperial Concubine Wei stopped in her tracks and said, “Who dares to be so bold? Call him over.”
Su Yan quickly came to his senses, realizing he had been distracted by her beauty. He stepped forward and bowed, “This humble official, Su Yan, pays his respects to Niang Niang.”
“Su, Yan.” Imperial Concubine Wei slowly pronounced the name, her eyes filled with deep meaning. Then, she smiled lightly and said, “So it is Su Shidu. The Emperor mentioned your name, saying you are a talented individual. Today, seeing you in person, it is indeed true that you are outstanding in appearance.”
“Outstanding in appearance” meaning… is he just a pretty face with no other merits? Is she implying that he is just a vase?
Su Yan pondered the underlying meaning of Imperial Concubine Wei’s words and put on a humble expression, “Niang Niang overpraises me. There are many talents in the court, and I am merely a tiny firefly, not daring to overestimate myself.”
“You seem quite perceptive.” Imperial Concubine Wei lightly caressed her rounded belly. “A firefly’s light may suffice for reading a book by the table, but to hope to add brilliance to the sun and moon is laughable.”
Su Yan lowered his head and said, “Thank you for the guidance, Niang Niang. I will reflect on it.”
Imperial Concubine Wei gave a slight wave with her slender fingers, and the attendants stepped forward to assist her as she ascended the steps to the palace.
Su Yan stood alone in the courtyard for a moment, then smiled and turned towards the Duanben Palace.
It was expected that Imperial Concubine Wei would be formidable. Her warning not to aspire to high positions while not mentioning the incident with Fengan Marquis suggested that she viewed him as part of the Crown Prince’s faction.
This hinted at the presence of a familiar palace intrigue. The mysterious appearance of “The Hanlin Tales of Romance” in the Eastern Palace was likely related to this atmosphere.
Imperial Concubine Wei seems utterly convinced that the child in her womb is a son, or perhaps she’s confident enough in her ability to monopolize the emperor’s favor and sway his decisions.
No matter the case, the most perilous struggle in the palace is always the battle for the throne. While history books state that Zhu Helin eventually succeeded, who knows if this world follows real history or exists in some parallel timeline? What if the future changes because of the ripple effects from his small actions, like a butterfly flapping its wings? Su Yan steeled himself, silently reminding himself to never lower his guard.
***
At the Bureau of Classics, Su Yan carried a stack of books requested by the scholars for their lectures as he walked through the corridor. By the base of a rock garden, a group of Interpreter Attendant from the Chancellery were huddled together whispering. Their gossip carried across the open corridor, making it impossible for Su Yan not to overhear.
“Have you heard? Something happened at the Imperial Academy…”
“Chancellor Zhuo is so audacious! How could he commit such illegal acts? Forming factions, taking bribes—even his subordinate Siye couldn’t stand it and reported him for impeachment.”
“They say Chancellor Zhuo may not hold a high rank, but his background is noble. He was the top scorer in the palace examination back in the day and a protégé of Li Gelao. If the Gelao intervenes, perhaps this whole matter will be downplayed.”
“I wonder which department will handle the case—the Ministry of Justice or the Dali Temple? Both censors in the Censorate were his classmates, so they’ll probably recuse themselves to avoid suspicion.”
“But the Shilang of the Ministry of Justice is also one of Li Gelao’s protégés. Will the Shangshu himself have to take charge?”
“That’s why the case has been handed to the Dali Temple and the Northern Surveillance Bureau. I heard he’s already been detained in the Embroidered Uniform Guards’ prison.”
“The Embroidered Guards? Well, Chancellor Zhuo’s about to suffer for sure.”
The group clicked their tongues and shook their heads, treating someone else’s misfortunes as casual gossip to pass the time. One of them noticed a shadow passing through the corridor and quickly signaled to the others. They all turned away, pretending to be just passing by.
Su Yan walked straight ahead without sparing them a glance, acting as if he hadn’t noticed anything.
Such ominous gossip was fine to overhear but not to get involved in—there was never any good in meddling. Besides, what did the troubles of the Imperial Academy’s head have to do with him, a humble manager at the central library?
As a result, the connection slapped him in the face with a resounding “smack” that very night.
He had completely forgotten that the original owner of this body had risen through the ranks via the imperial examination system, naturally cultivating relationships along the way—mentors, classmates, and a network of connections.
And these relationships were highly valued in ancient times. Serving one’s teacher was akin to serving one’s father; betraying a teacher was a grave act of rebellion, severely violating universal moral principles. Such actions would provoke collective condemnation from scholars and the general populace, effectively putting an end to one’s career.
Su Yan’s first mentor was a highly esteemed scholar of great renown. Ten years prior, while traveling through Fujian, he had been persuaded by Governor Su’s heartfelt invitation and generous gifts to enlighten his son. This mentor’s name was Zhuo Qi—Zhuo Anxing.
Later, Zhuo Qi returned to the capital and received a promotion, while Su Yan became a Xiucai and apprenticed himself to a different master. However, an elementary school teacher is still a teacher! Ignoring such a relationship would invite public criticism. That very night, several “elementary school classmates” and students from the Imperial Academy came knocking, hoping this rising star in the bureaucracy could speak on Zhuo’s behalf before the Crown Prince or Emperor.
“….I’ve only just been beaten with the court rod and can barely walk properly,” Su Yan lamented, hastily applying ginger juice to his face before meeting his guests to give himself a sickly appearance. He sighed weakly, like a wind-battered willow, “If I were to trouble His Majesty again, it might backfire and implicate my teacher instead.”
“Why would you say that, Qinghe! We imperial censors are duty-bound to advise the emperor and uphold free speech. Being punished with a court rod is an honor—what is there to fear?”
Brother, you’re an imperial censor; I’m not! I’m just here to play along! Su Yan silently complained.
“Indeed! When we heard you’d received fifty strokes of the rod, everyone was envious. They all said that if it doesn’t kill you, it’s a badge of honor, and you’ll be praised as someone who is ‘upright and outspoken’ and ‘a paragon of integrity.’ After all, being flogged at the Meridian Gate is a mark of distinction. If it does kill you, you’ll die a martyr and be remembered in the annals of history!”
Su Yan was dumbfounded, inwardly cursing, You bunch of masochists!
“At the very least, you should request an imperial favor or speak to the Crown Prince to visit him in the Imperial Prison. A student visiting his teacher is perfectly justifiable.”
“Exactly! We tried earlier today, but as soon as we entered, we were chased out by the Embroidered Uniform Guard. That’s why we’ve come to you for help.”
“Brother Qinghe, our mentor is in trouble. Surely, you wouldn’t turn a blind eye and sit idly by?”
Hats kept being passed down, one after another, and Su Yan suspected that if he uttered even half a word of “no,” by tomorrow, memorials would be presented at court to impeach him for “disrespecting the teachings of his elders and lacking in virtue.”
He could only reluctantly agree, “Tomorrow I will go to the Eastern Palace to request a favor and visit my mentor in the imperial prison.”
Only then did his classmates and fellow students depart, satisfied.
***
The next morning, Su Yan mentioned the matter in the Eastern Palace, and Zhu Helin immediately agreed, even giving him a token for free access to the imperial prison.
However, Su Yan didn’t feel much attachment or sentiment toward his former elementary school teacher and had no desire to wade into such troubled waters. His plan was simply to take a look, deliver some clothes and food, and display a little humanitarian spirit.
But as soon as he stepped into the imperial prison, he started to regret it.
It was gloomy and cramped, damp and cold, filled with an overwhelming stench of blood. Somewhere, a gut-wrenching wail echoed, like the cries of vengeful spirits, faintly swirling around him.
Su Yan couldn’t help but shudder.
The accompanying Embroidered Uniform Guard, carrying a food box and a bundle of clothes for him, smiled as if it were routine. “Su Shidu, this way, please. The prisoner is held in the innermost cell, being personally interrogated by the commander. Normally, no one is allowed to visit before the trial, but since you have the Crown Prince’s token, there are no restrictions.”
Su Yan nodded in silence. It wasn’t that he was putting on airs; he just felt that if he opened his mouth, the stench of blood would rush right in.
Following the military officer to the deepest cell, they turned a corner behind a stone wall and entered the cell. A bloodied figure hanging mid-air suddenly appeared before his eyes, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble back several steps.
He bumped into a solid chest. The person behind him didn’t move, but Su Yan nearly twisted his ankle. After regaining his balance, he instinctively reached for his aching shoulder.
His wrist was immediately grabbed.
Startled, Su Yan turned around to see a tall and handsome Embroidered Uniform Guard standing behind him, staring at him with a faint smile.
This man looked familiar… Su Yan felt the man’s gaze was as sharp as a scalpel, dissecting him with a keen, ruthless precision.
They were standing too close, almost breathing the same air. Su Yan wanted to pull away, but the man held his wrist firmly, his grip surprisingly strong.
“Has Lord Su forgotten about me?”
At that moment, Su Yan remembered. It was the same Embroidered Uniform Guard who had almost dragged him away for “hangover soup” on the stone bridge in Chengqing Street that night he drank with the top scholar, Cui Jinping.
So it was the same Embroidered Uniform Guard commander who had touched his face!
“My surname is Shen, Shen Qi. Lord Su can call me Qilang,” the man said.
Although Shen spoke with the formal tone of a subordinate addressing a superior, there was no respect in his voice—his words carried a hidden mockery.
That night, the Embroidered Uniform Guards referred to him as “Commander.” If it were the Thousand Hu Commander, that would make him a fifth-rank official, just a half-step higher than Su Yan’s subordinate fifth-rank position as Xianma. Although the prestige of military ranks was generally lower than civil ranks, it would still put them on relatively equal footing. What, then, was the purpose behind such behavior?
Su Yan forced a chuckle. “I wouldn’t dare, Commander. Please, let go of me first, and let’s talk this through calmly.”
Shen Qi slowly loosened his fingers one by one, staring at Su Yan’s wrist with a feigned apology. “My clumsiness has dirtied Lord Su’s… body. I sincerely apologize.”
The way Shen Qi emphasized the word “body” sent a shiver down Su Yan’s spine. He quickly lowered his gaze to examine his wrist.
A ring of dark red blood stained his skin, still warm to the touch, transferred from Shen Qi’s hand. Unable to resist, Su Yan glanced over at Chancellor Zhuo hanging from the punishment rack. His chest and abdomen were a horrifying mess of flesh and blood, with ribs faintly visible. Su Yan couldn’t help but wonder if the blood on Shen Qi’s hand came from him… the sight churned his stomach.
“Oh, I assume Lord Su is here to visit his mentor. Such deep filial piety between teacher and student is admirable. I hope you won’t blame me for being too heavy-handed—I’m merely following orders.”
Su Yan diverted his gaze from his unconscious “mentor,” scrambling to come up with a few polite, perfunctory words to excuse himself and leave quickly.
Shen Qi raised his bloodstained fingers, prompting the officer leading the way to understand the signal. The officer immediately set down the food box and bundle he carried, then left the cell.