The next day, Su Yan made another visit to the Northern Surveillance Bureau.
Shen Qi, unable to be with his beloved during the holidays, had chosen not to take any days off. Since the start of the new year, he had come to the office every day, not only working on the case of the envoys from Oirat, but also cleaning up old case files.
With the chief himself on duty, the subordinates dared not slack off. As a result, the Northern Surveillance Bureau was the only government office fully operational during the New Year period.
Shen Qi’s diligence became so well-known that even the Ministry of Personnel’s Evaluation Office and the Censorate heard of it. Besides the “Righteous Hero” title personally granted by Grand Chancellor Li Chengfeng, he also earned the nickname “Doing utmost Qilang,” which diluted the infamy of his original nickname, “Life-taking Qilang.”
Of course, this wasn’t Shen Qi’s intention—he only wanted Su Yan to be able to see him whenever he came by.
Su Yan, trailed by his usual entourage of four Imperial Guards, sat down in the main hall. He placed an oil-paper-wrapped parcel and a wooden box on the table with a smile. “Lord Shen, fancy seeing you working through the New Year. Truly admirable. I received the gift you sent earlier—this is a small return gesture, hardly worthy.”
Shen Qi replied politely, “Lord Su is too kind. My small gift was merely a token. There’s no need for a return.”
Su Yan continued with the niceties, “As colleagues in court, it’s only proper to exchange gifts.”
A clever junior officer quickly brought the return gifts before Shen Qi.
Shen Qi opened the oil paper and saw dried white lotus seeds. In the box were a string of red adzuki beads from Lingnan, a golden tortoiseshell-patterned horn comb, and a red, translucent amber hairpin for men.
Lotus seeds, sounding like “pity for one’s beloved.”
Adzuki beads, also known as “lovesick seeds.”
A comb, symbolizing brushing from youth to old age—lifetime companionship.
A hairpin, to stay with one’s beloved day and night, forever.
…Each item was a symbol of deep affection!
Shen Qi’s heart surged with emotion, and he almost got up to embrace his beloved. But under the cold stares of the guards, he forced himself to stay composed, his fists clenching and loosening behind his back in an effort to stay calm.
Su Yan remained unbothered, as if these little gestures had nothing to do with him, and smoothly shifted to business. “I heard someone reported a lead yesterday regarding the suspect from the Court of Diplomatic Rites case?”
Shen Qi collected himself and replied, “The Embroidered Uniform Guard arrested the suspect early this morning. He confessed without resistance—said he used flute music to lure the four Oirat envoys into the icy pond where they drowned. His motive was revenge for family members killed by the Northern Barbarians. The case was resolved surprisingly smoothly. Lord Su, you truly were prophetic.”
This suspect was likely the scapegoat Fuyin had promised to find after his deal with Ah Zhui. Su Yan understood this, and he suspected Shen Qi had also noticed something was off. Though not aware of the full story, Shen Qi was still willing to go along with the act.
Su Yan smiled, “This way, the case can be closed officially. The real culprit will think the deal with Ah Zhui worked, and will lower their guard—surely exposing themselves again.”
“That wanderer from the martial world,” Shen Qi frowned, “what’s his involvement?”
Su Yan walked over as if to share confidential information, and leaned in to whisper the full details of the Fuyin investigation in Shen Qi’s ear.
He spoke in hushed tones, covering his mouth with one hand. The four guards stood several meters away, seeing the two men talk in close quarters but unable to hear a word.
Not that they were curious—officers discussing case details in private was normal. Besides, their orders were to guard and report when needed, not to monitor Su Yan’s every word.
After explaining everything, Su Yan pulled out the blood lotus sketch from his pouch and handed it over. “The Northern Surveillance Bureau has extensive intelligence. Lord Shen, have you seen this symbol?”
Shen Qi opened the paper, his pupils contracting sharply. “Yes, I’ve seen it!”
He gave quick orders to a trusted aide, who returned shortly with another sheet. Su Yan opened it—it was another eight-petal blood lotus, seemingly a rubbing of an original carving or drawing.
Shen Qi said, “Do you remember the assassination attempt on the Crown Prince?”
“That case from a few months ago?” Su Yan asked. “Why bring it up now? Is it related to this symbol?”
Shen Qi nodded. “The blood-eyed assassin we captured went mad after his arrest. His Majesty and the Crown Prince even came here to interrogate him personally and confirmed his insanity. But during the questioning, that assassin suddenly shouted, ‘Hit me! Hit me!’”
Su Yan’s heart tensed. “Even insane, he remembered his mission. That shows how thoroughly he was conditioned. What else did he say?”
Shen Qi, an expert investigator with a sharp memory, repeated it word for word: “‘It’s him, it’s him! He ran! Time for medicine. Take the medicine. Obey. Die. Don’t die.’”
Su Yan mulled over the words, repeating them softly: “‘He’—who does that refer to? The Crown Prince? Or someone else? Who ran away? ‘Take medicine’ and ‘be obedient’ sound like a method of control used by the mastermind over their assassins. And ‘die’ or ‘not die’—what could that mean…?”
Shen Qi, staring at the two nearly identical blood lotus drawings, was also lost in thought. “Why did that crazed assassin who bit off his own finger and killed himself carve a blood lotus on the prison wall before he died? Could it be that he briefly regained his sanity before death, trying to convey a message? Is this eight-petal blood lotus a secret code? Or does it hold deeper meaning? What kind of people and forces lie behind the destroyed Hidden Sword Sect…”
“Jinghong Zhui!” Shen Qi suddenly said.
“What?”
“He’s the one closest to the truth.”
Su Yan frowned slightly. “But he’s already told me everything he knows. I trust Ah Zhui. He would even entrust me with his life. He wouldn’t hide anything from me.”
Shen Qi, full of sour frustration, gave a cold chuckle. “That’s not necessarily true. Life is important, yes—but for some people, there are things even more important than life. Obsessions. Beliefs.” Like you.
Su Yan thought for a moment, then still shook his head. “I still believe Ah Zhui hasn’t hidden anything. Maybe he left early, and there are many secrets he doesn’t know. Or perhaps all of the trainees were in the dark from the start. They were just tools being used.”
Seeing how strongly Su Yan defended Jinghong Zhui, Shen Qi was consumed with jealousy—yet also worried that Ah Zhui might betray Su Yan’s trust and hurt him one day. He thought: Why not seize this opportunity to get that outlaw under my thumb? Toss him into the capital prison and put him through all eighteen tortures. I don’t believe he can hold out. He’ll spill everything eventually.
Just as this glint of hostility and murderous intent flashed in his eyes, Su Yan caught it.
Su Yan grabbed Shen Qi’s sleeve and leaned in to whisper, “I trust Ah Zhui. And I trust you too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have told you about his background. Qilang, we rise or fall together. And so does he. If you label him a leftover remnant, then I become guilty of harboring a criminal.”
No matter how careful… still got dragged into this! Shen Qi gritted his teeth in frustration, but he knew the current situation left no choice. If he used the Hidden Sword Sect purge as an excuse to eliminate Jinghong Zhui, it would be no different from cutting off Su Yan’s arm. To avoid harming Su Yan, not only could he not touch Jinghong Zhui—he’d have to protect him.
Fine then. If now’s not the right time, I’ll bide my time. I already have the leverage. Sooner or later, I’ll get to deal with him properly.
With that thought, Shen Qi softened, offering Su Yan a compromise with a touch of feigned grievance. “Since you, Lord Su, are vouching for him, how can I refuse you this courtesy? Besides, he’s now acting on your orders. Even if I dislike him, I won’t drag you down.”
Su Yan felt a flash of guilt. Though he said nothing, he leaned slightly to shield their exchange, and his fingertips sneakily slipped into Shen Qi’s sleeve to tickle his wrist in a playful gesture.
The tickling made Shen Qi’s heart itch with rising heat. He wanted nothing more than to throw Su Yan over the desk and “sentence” him right here in court—perhaps to a thousand strokes of his meat gavel, and see what followed. But alas, with the emperor’s spies nearby, he couldn’t act on such thoughts.
After that little tease, Lord Su innocently pulled his hand back, sat upright, and picked up his teacup like nothing had happened. “As for Fuyin, I’ll have Jinghong Zhui keep following the trail, see if he can get to the one behind all this. And regarding the blood lotus symbol—apologies for troubling you, Lord Shen. If you uncover anything new, please inform me at once.”
Shen Qi plucked a few lotus seeds from the wax paper, chewing them whole—bitter cores and all—to suppress the fire in his heart. He replied with a double-edged remark, “His Majesty already ordered our office to cooperate fully with the Dali Temple. Satisfying Lord Su is part of my duty. It’s hardly a burden. Rest assured—I’ll give it my all. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”
Su Yan nearly choked on his tea. He coughed a few times, then stood and gave a respectful bow. “Lord Shen… take care of your health. Don’t overwork yourself.”
Shen Qi returned the gesture with a faint smile. “To hold office is to fulfill one’s duties. If I don’t do my part, wouldn’t that be failing the emperor’s grace? Don’t you agree, Lord Su?”
—
A few days flew by in a blur. In the blink of an eye, the Lantern Festival on the fifteenth of the first month had arrived.
It was the final day of the New Year holiday. The whole capital—from officials to commoners—was immersed in a festive atmosphere of joyous revelry.
That night, the grand Aoshan Lantern Festival kicked off in spectacular fashion. From the Meridian Gate to Chengtian Gate, even stretching out beyond the Golden Water Bridge to Great Ming Gate, the long plaza was filled to the brim with all kinds of lanterns.
These weren’t just hung or piled up randomly. They were intricately arranged into the shape of Ao Mountain. Tens of thousands of small colored lanterns formed the base—a dazzling river of stars as if the Milky Way had spilled onto the ground. On top of these were countless palace lanterns in every shade imaginable, each with a unique design, none repeating the next.
At the summit of Aoshan, a cluster of multicolored gem-like lanterns formed the glowing characters “Long Live the Emperor,” shining brilliantly in the night. Only from the city towers flanking the square could one see the full inscription clearly.
Nearby, artisans had crafted giant maze-like lanterns that people could wander through freely. Some of them had riddles attached—not only did scholars and poets use them for verses, but common folk could also guess them to win prizes.
For this one night, the capital knew no class, no rank, no gender. Only a sea of light, and a city full of laughter and cheer.
Officials of fourth rank and above, dressed in festive court robes, gathered at the Meridian Gate. When the emperor failed to appear, they gradually dispersed to enjoy the lanterns.
Su Yan was studying a lantern showing the Three Heroes battling Lü Bu when someone suddenly covered his eyes from behind.
That person leaned on his back and, in a disguised voice, asked, “Guess who?”
Su Yan grabbed the wrist and chuckled. “Little Dog?”
“…Try again!”
“Little Pig?”
The person huffed and let go. “It’s your young master!”
So I did say little Zhu*, wasn’t wrong! Su Yan turned around and smiled, cupping his hands. “Ah, it’s Young Master Zhu—your servant was blind to Mt. Tai.”
* same sound as pig
Zhu Helin was dressed in pomegranate-red ceremonial robes, his hat topped with a matching gemstone tassel. A phoenix-patterned belt hugged his waist. He looked every bit the pampered rich heir, and now wore a mock-angry face. “You did that on purpose! Oh-ho, showing disrespect to your young master? That calls for punishment!”
“And what’s the punishment?”
“Your punishment… is to accompany your young master in choosing lanterns.” Zhu Helin announced, lifting the revolving lantern that had caught Su Yan’s eye, and looping his other arm around Su Yan’s as they headed deeper into the lantern mountains. “We still need eight more. Help me pick the most beautiful, the most unique ones.”
Su Yan asked as they walked, “What do you need so many lanterns for?”
A cloud of wistful melancholy passed over Zhu Helin’s proud, handsome face. Staring into the flickering flame of the lantern in his hand, he said quietly, “The old palace staff said that my mother, the Empress, loved lanterns. Every festival, the Kunning Palace would be adorned with them, some even made by her own hand. I don’t know how to make lanterns… so I can only choose the best ones at the lantern fair and hang them in her palace. I hope her spirit in heaven can see them… maybe appear to me in a dream tonight.”
“Filial piety to the Empress…” Su Yan sighed softly. So the little crown prince is missing his mother.
The late Empress passed away not long after giving birth to the Crown Prince. Zhu Helin grew up without a mother’s love and couldn’t find comfort from his grandmother either, so he clung even more to the memory of his mother. Emperor Jinglong, understanding his son’s grief and out of respect for the Empress, never established a new empress. Kunning Palace had remained untouched for over a decade, preserved exactly as it was when she lived.
Whenever Zhu Helin missed her or felt restless, he would go sit alone in Kunning Palace. On every festival, he would personally hang lanterns in her memory.
Understanding the sentiment behind it all, Su Yan patted Zhu Helin’s arm reassuringly. “I’ll help you pick them—only the brightest and most stunning ones.”
The two of them compared and selected five more lanterns, which were handed to an attending eunuch. Just as they were about to continue, the sky suddenly erupted with the roar of firecrackers and ceremonial cannon fire—it was the emperor’s arrival at the Meridian Gate. The masses erupted into cheers.
All around the square, people dropped to their knees and shouted “Long live the Emperor!” in unison, a thunderous chorus that shook the earth like a crashing tide. Su Yan, watching the tearful, ecstatic crowd bowing and calling out, was struck by the scene and murmured, “The will of the people…”
Zhu Helin’s expression was a mix of respect, pride, and unyielding ambition. He solemnly vowed, “One day, I’ll do the same—and do it even better.”
Su Yan smiled, nodding. “I believe in you, young master.”
Zhu Helin gripped his hand tightly. “When that day comes, I want you by my side.”
Su Yan replied, “I can only stand behind you. The one by your side should be the Empress.”
Zhu Helin stubbornly declared, “To h*ll with the Empress. She can get lost. I only want you.”
Just then, a few palace eunuchs arrived. Spotting Su Yan, they brightened and stepped forward. “Greetings, young master. We’ve finally found you. Lord Su, His Majesty summons you.”
Only then did Su Yan remember that, as an official, he was part of the imperial procession tonight. Getting pulled around by the crown prince, he’d nearly forgotten. He quickly replied, “Understood—I’ll go right away.” He turned to Zhu Helin and added, “There are three lanterns left to pick. Young master, you go ahead and choose them. After I’ve finished attending the Emperor, I’ll come back to help. But by then, I’m sure you’ll have made your picks.”
Zhu Helin couldn’t bear to part from his personal tutor and blamed his Royal Father for choosing to summon his Su Qinghe of all the officials in the court. He scowled and said, “Where’s Royal Father viewing the lanterns? I’ll attend him too.”
“On the watchtower beside Queyou Gate,” the eunuch answered, hesitating. “But… His Majesty only summoned Lord Su…”
Zhu Helin glared at him. “You d*mned eunuch! Just because Royal Father didn’t summon me, doesn’t mean I can’t go up!”
“Yes, yes! I spoke out of turn. Please, this way,” the eunuch quickly bowed and led them to the foot of the tower.
Zhu Helin was pulling Su Yan up the stairs when the palace guards stationed at every third step blocked their way.
“By imperial command, only Lord Su is summoned. All others may not ascend without decree.”
Zhu Helin snapped, “I’m the Crown Prince! If I want to see my Royal Father, I will! Move!”
The guard didn’t budge. “Forgive me, young master. The Emperor’s orders take precedence.”
Su Yan quickly pulled Zhu Helin aside and spoke in a low voice. “It’s a festival, don’t get angry. His Majesty probably wants to discuss something with me. Why don’t you enjoy the lanterns for now? I’ll come find you later.”
Zhu Helin frowned. “It’s not that I’m being childish or disrespecting Royal Father… It’s just… Sigh, Qinghe, you don’t know!”
“Don’t know what?” Su Yan asked, puzzled.
“At the Mid-Autumn palace banquet, Royal Father left halfway through. In the Imperial Study, he was holding the memorial you submitted from Shaanxi. While gazing at the moon, he sighed, ‘The green osmanthus unplucked, I can’t stop reading.’”
Su Yan: “Huh?”
Seeing he still looked confused, Zhu Helin grew annoyed. “You still don’t get it? He wants to pluck you, you idiot! And now you’re just skipping merrily into his clutches? Are you asking to be plucked?!”
Su Yan was both amused and exasperated. “What nonsense are you spouting!”
“It’s not nonsense!” Zhu Helin pinched his waist in warning. “No matter what sweet talk he gives you, don’t let him succeed! Understand? He’s all about saving face. If you stand firm—even crash into a pillar to protect your chastity—he won’t dare touch you.”
“…He cares about face, but I don’t?” Su Yan slapped the hand away, annoyed. “And you! What sort of indecent filth are you saying?! If His Majesty overhears, you want a royal scolding?”
Zhu Helin was angry too. “If you dare to submit to him, then I will throw away my face! Let me make myself clear—if you so much as bat an eye and play that ‘it’s the emperor’s will, I had no choice’ cr*p, I swear I’ll raise h*ll across the entire empire!”
Su Yan nearly slapped him then and there. Clenching his fists, he forced himself to stay calm. “Young master, be reasonable. His Majesty would never force a subject. And you—scheming to defy the Emperor—is enough to destroy everything I’ve worked for. You’re the Crown Prince. Start acting like one. Think of the greater good!”
“But I’m also his son!” Zhu Helin cried in frustration. “In what world do a Royal Father and son fight over the same man…”
Su Yan couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief. “What the h*ll—which man are you talking about, huh? I’m still alive and breathing! Since when did I become some prize you and your Royal Father can bicker over?!”
“I don’t care! We’ve already kissed—I’m your man!”
If he really counted like that, then d*mn it, Su Yan thought, he had three men now! No—two and a half. One of them was just a little brat. Competing out of jealousy? Learn to grow all your hair first, then we’ll talk.
He didn’t say that out loud though, afraid the little tyrant would explode.
Thinking it through, Su Yan figured the only way to handle a stubborn mule was to smooth its fur the right way. He sighed, “Alright, alright, whatever you say. I know Little Lord is acting out of concern, worried I’ll suffer, that I’ll be forced to yield under imperial pressure and accept favor against my will. I know.”
Zhu Helin’s eyes reddened slightly. “At least you’ve got some conscience left… Before leaving the capital, you promised to wait until I grew up. So why can’t you give me a little more time? One day… one day, I won’t have to fear anyone. When that day comes, I’ll protect you, and you’ll be able to do whatever you want. Just hang on a little longer, okay?”
Su Yan’s heart softened, with a tinge of ache. He gently said, “Okay. But you have to promise me too—grow up quickly, stop being so up and down all the time. You make me worry.”
Zhu Helin finally calmed down a bit. “Little Lord has already made great progress, just hasn’t shown it in front of you. It’s your fault—whenever I see you, I just… forget it, forget it. Go keep Royal Father company—just get through it, but don’t go doing anything, anything like ‘unlocking the jade vessel’s secret,’ or ‘searching the golden valley for flower hearts’—those shameless things, you hear?”
Su Yan kept a stern face. “What’s a ‘jade vessel’? What’s a ‘golden valley’?”
Zhu Helin couldn’t answer. He couldn’t exactly admit it came from a romance novel, and that he didn’t fully understand it himself, could he? Feeling deeply judged by someone older, he turned around with a huff, muttering, “Little Lord will figure it out eventually,” and stormed off in embarrassment and frustration.
Su Yan let out a long sigh and returned to the base of the wall, then climbed the stairs.
On the tower, Emperor Jinglong stood in a formal robe adorned with round dragons and a high-collared tunic. His imperial robe was a rare smoky blue, like mist over cold waters, and over it he wore a dark silver cloak trimmed with black sable. Among the sea of vibrant festive reds and purples, he stood out with a serene and distant air.
The emperor had his back to him, leaning on the railing. Just as Su Yan was about to kneel and salute, he heard the emperor’s calm voice: “Qinghe, come here.”
Su Yan paused, then quietly stepped forward, standing slightly behind the emperor.
The emperor raised his hand, curling a finger to signal him to come closer. Su Yan had no choice but to obey, daring to stand shoulder to shoulder with the sovereign.
The surrounding attendants bowed deeply and silently retreated down the stairs, leaving only the two of them on the tower.
The emperor nodded toward the plaza below. “Look.”
Su Yan looked out over the square in front of the Meridian Gate: ritual music from the Bell and Drum Bureau rang out, the female musicians from the Entertainment Bureau danced gracefully to the flowing melody, their figures like celestial maidens from the Jade Pool. The festival lights blazed like silver blossoms on fire trees, turning night into day. Singing, dancing, and joy filled the nation—it was like a grand painting of a prosperous era unfolding before their eyes.
“‘In high Tang, sails were raised, and one line of poetry could buy a drunken night.’ Eight hundred years later, this sight lives again,” Su Yan sighed. “All thanks to Great Ming’s wealth and strength, and Your Majesty’s tireless governance.”
The emperor said, “With heavy responsibilities on my shoulders, I dare not forget the ancestors’ teachings or the peace of the nation, even for a moment. Yet at times, I feel like a great ao*.”
* mythological sea turtle
“…Who calls themselves a turtle…” Su Yan muttered.
“In ancient times, when Nüwa mended the sky, she cut off the legs of a giant ao to prop up the four corners of the heavens, stabilizing the crumbling firmament. Since then, that great ao has been unable to move, forever bound to the center of the earth, guarding all living things.”
Su Yan understood the meaning behind the metaphor and couldn’t help but glance at the emperor’s calm, refined profile.
The emperor continued, “Perhaps when the ao sleeps in exhaustion, it dreams of returning to the Eastern Sea, swimming freely in the endless blue, unburdened by heaven or earth, no longer concerned with the eyes of all beings. But upon waking, it must return to its fated path, supporting the world day and night, until the end of its life.”
A mist slowly gathered in Su Yan’s eyes. “The multitudes who rely on the ao truly appreciate it from the bottom of their hearts.”
“But such reliance and gratitude only make the burden feel heavier. There is no ease in it. The only peace it finds is in dreams. But dreams are fragile and fleeting. If one tries too hard to hold onto them, they fear the sweet dream will turn to nightmare—and then there won’t even be the memory of a dream left.”
Su Yan’s heartstrings trembled violently. He couldn’t help calling softly, “Your Majesty…”
The drums struck the third watch. Fireworks erupted in the plaza below. Rockets soared into the sky and exploded into dazzling starbursts.
“The New Year’s gift you sent—I liked it very much. I’d like to give you something in return. Look—” the emperor pointed skyward.
Countless fireworks bloomed among the moonlight, rainbow clouds curling around heavenly terraces. Sparks scattered like stars when they fell, whirling through the air with the sound of rain.
So many pyrotechnic blossoms formed shapes on the ground, which then lifted into the air and bloomed into four brilliant characters:
“Peaceful seas and clear rivers*.”
* written in chinese as Hai Yan Heqing; hint
Su Yan stared upward, his hand covering his mouth.
Starshine and snowfall drifted down together. The emperor removed his cloak and shook it out against the wind, wrapping it around Su Yan.
He lowered his head slightly. Warm breath brushed the back of Su Yan’s hand. Gently, but with undeniable strength, he pulled Su Yan’s hand away.
Through the soft sable trim and the emperor’s still-dark sideburns, Su Yan caught sight of the glittering sky. And the emperor’s eyes, so close, shone brighter than the fireworks above.
Amid firecrackers and a jubilant crowd, the sovereign of this flourishing empire had eyes only for one person.
One hand holding the cloak, the other cupping Su Yan’s cheek.
The world suddenly shrank, as if it were no larger than this one cloak, this one embrace. Su Yan found it hard to breathe, yet felt utterly safe. Like a fish floating to the surface, he wanted to whisper something to the sky—and the sky bent down and embraced him in return.
The emperor kissed him.
At first, a gentle brush, like spring waking a willow branch. Then, without hesitation, he claimed the budding shoots, savoring them deeply.
The emperor’s robes smelled faintly of incense—deep and elegant. But his kiss was fiery and unrestrained. Su Yan swayed, leaning into the emperor’s chest, clutching the golden dragon embroidered on his robe. His heart pounded wildly, and a searing heat spread through his chest.
The moment their tongues touched, he closed his eyes and offered an unbreakable dream to the ancient sea god.
