Su Yan slowly opened his eyes and bowed to Emperor Jinglong. “I heard it clearly.”
Emperor: “Then my effort summoning you to the palace in the middle of the night wasn’t wasted.” His voice was like still water. “What are your thoughts?”
Su Yan pursed his lips but didn’t respond.
Emperor: “I warned you long ago—do you remember?”
…Yes, he remembered.
On the first day of the New Year, after the incident at the Court of Diplomatic Rites, the emperor had summoned him to a private meeting in the southern study. The emperor had asked about the Plum Immortal Spring, and then scolded him: To dare touch the emperor’s blade—are you not afraid of getting your hand cut? Do you even know what kind of sword that is? Do you think you wield the sword—or that the sword is wielding you?
“I entrusted the Northern Surveillance Bureau to Shen Qi. Do you think I don’t know what kind of man he is? He’s a hidden blade—made for slaying monsters in the dark. But kill enough monsters, and you become one yourself. Every time I speak to him, I look at that seemingly respectful face and stare straight through his eyes to his soul.”
“Guess what I see—and hear—inside his heart?”
Su Yan shook his head.
The emperor said, “A ferocious beast, chained, snarling and tearing.”
Su Yan drew a shallow breath, but still shook his head.
“The old eunuch Lan Xi may be fond of flattery, but his eye for people is sometimes quite accurate,” the emperor said, suddenly bringing up an unrelated person. His tone shifted. “He said Shen Qi is a xiao cai — a renegade talent. You surely understand what that means.”
Su Yan replied softly, “A xiao is a defiant creature, one that defies proper order and acts with cruelty and tenacity. But Shen Qi—”
“Lan Xi still underestimated him,” the emperor interrupted. “In my eyes, he’s a taowu — a savage beast. Violence and bloodlust are in his nature. Even if bound by morality, order, or sentiment, it’s nothing more than a series of tenuous chains—ready to snap at any moment.”
“I’ve watched you ignore warnings, approach this beast again and again, even treat him as a friend, naively thinking affection alone could tame him. Do you know what I feel when I see that?”
Su Yan’s face paled slightly. “I’m grateful for Your Majesty’s care, and I understand your concerns. But I am not a child—I can judge people for myself. He has repeatedly risked his life for me, put himself in peril time and again. I am human—how could I remain unmoved?”
“As for his temperament, everyone is different. Perhaps he’s naturally unyielding and his methods harsh. Your Majesty makes use of his sharp claws but also fears those same claws. Yet with me, those claws are always sheathed.”
The emperor shook his head slightly. “But how long can someone restrain a nature like his? Do you know how Shen Qi got the nickname ‘Life-Taking Qilang’?”
“I… do not.”
“The prisoners in the imperial dungeon gave it to him. Because when he carries out torture—smelling the blood, hearing the screams—there’s a genuine enjoyment in him. That joy sends chills down everyone’s spine.”
Su Yan fell silent. He recalled the first time he entered the dungeon, catching a glimpse of Dean Zhuo hanging from the torture rack—so bloodied he couldn’t bear to look again.
No matter how he tried to excuse it—Shen Qi was only following orders, had no choice, was struggling to survive in a world of death—when Zhuo’s mangled corpse was laid out in the square before Fengtian gate, every torn piece of flesh, every exposed rib was unmistakably the work of the “Life-Taking Qilang.”
The emperor said gravely, “Shen Qi may not fear death—but what’s terrifying is that he might find joy in it. A man like him, when cornered, doesn’t long for open skies. He becomes even more extreme, more vicious, leaving no retreat for others or himself—dragging everything to ruin. Watch what he does now that I’ve pushed him tonight.”
Su Yan staggered slightly, reaching out to steady himself against the lattice door, fingers digging into the carved wood.
“He won’t obey,” Su Yan said firmly.
“And then? What will he do?” the emperor countered.
Being asked so directly, Su Yan wavered. Shen Qi certainly wouldn’t deliver him to Yu Wang’s bedchamber. But how does one defy a royal command?
He might run, resign and flee with him… or worse—Shen Qi might snap, eliminate Yu Wang outright—or cut the problem off at its root—
Su Yan shivered faintly.
The emperor placed his palm over Su Yan’s hand on the lattice—it was cold as jade.
He leaned closer, his jaw brushing Su Yan’s temple. The emperor’s breath touched his brows and lashes, warm and damp.
“You’ve guessed it,” the emperor whispered by his ear, “he’ll explode like the gunpowder last night—bringing blood and death, be it others’ or his own. How could I possibly let someone like that near you?”
“Please,” Su Yan begged. “Your Highness, don’t force him. He will be loyal in his duties and he will—”
“—he will, without changing his nature, continue to treat you as his possession.” The emperor sneered. “Tell me, where does he get such audacity to lay a hand on one of mine? From a lone fit of righteous anger, or because he relies on your protection and your willingness to cover for him time and again?”
Su Yan was almost pinned against the latticed door; the imperial scent on the emperor’s robes filled his nostrils in waves, seeping into his chest. He found it hard to breathe — whether from nerves or panic he couldn’t tell — and his heart pounded fiercely.
“I protected him partly because he once saved my life, and partly because he truly is a talent…”
“Zhen holds the realm in my hand. What pillars of the state could I not recruit? Previously Zhen spared his life only because Zhen felt a lingering pity for his talent, and more importantly, out of regard for you, Su Qinghe. Otherwise, taking his head would have been but a glance from me. How could he have survived to this day while pretending obedience, deceiving his superiors, and living in cowardly secrecy?”
It could no longer be hidden…nor was there any need to hide it; the emperor’s mind was as clear as a mirror. The life and death of everyone rested on the sovereign’s single thought.
What had Shen Qi done wrong? He only wanted to spend his life with his wife.
And what had the emperor done wrong? The times and society had endowed him with immense power; he had already restrained himself to the utmost in using that power — but no amount of restraint could tolerate a world where ruler is not ruler and subject not subject.
Su Yan fell into a painful dilemma.
But one thing in his heart was firm and clear — he wanted everyone to live well; no one must come to harm.
Su Yan drew a deep breath and made up his mind. “Your Highness,” he said softly, “I am willing to be that iron chain. Even if it is ultimately broken, I am willing.”
The emperor’s body stiffened; his grip momentarily lost control.
Su Yan felt the pain of his knuckles being squeezed hard but made no sound.
The emperor quickly realized and immediately eased his strength, though he did not let go. With nearly all the composure he had, he forced himself back into the posture befitting a sovereign, his face ashen as he barked, “Qinghe, don’t be foolish!”
“I am perfectly clear-headed.” Su Yan replied calmly. “If I bind him with my own person as the chain, and he is willing to be bound by me, then both publicly and privately it is for the best. Your Highness need not waste attention worrying about the consequences of a beast breaking free.”
“And what if the restraint fails?”
“Then I will feed him with my flesh and blood.”
“Su Qinghe! Do you really think yourself some bodhisattva who cuts flesh to feed a hawk?” The emperor’s anger turned to a bitter laugh. With his other hand he seized the back of Su Yan’s neck, forcing him to look up. “Are you worthy of the parents who raised you, the teachers who cultivated you, worthy of your own ambition to help the world and set it right — worthy of Zhen?”
Su Yan’s eyes brimmed with tears. With unwavering resolve, he declared: “I remember all of this, Your Majesty! I only wish that, as I walk this path bearing firelight, I may never fail those who shield me from snow, who clear the thorns ahead, who share their breath with mine. Is this hope so difficult to fulfill? Tell me, Your Majesty—is it truly so hard?”
“There’s no need for that. However far you wish to go, I alone am enough to protect you, to support you.”
“Your Majesty…” Knowing full well it might offend imperial dignity, Su Yan still forced out the words stuck in his throat: “You are not an omnipotent deity. And I… I am not your son.”
Crack! The carved lattice door splintered beneath the Emperor’s grip, sending woodchips flying. A moment later, the entire panel collapsed with a crash.
Su Yan flinched, instinctively raising his sleeve to shield himself.
The noise was loud enough to rouse the attendants waiting outside the hall, who shouted anxiously, “Is His Majesty safe?” But none dared enter without permission.
“…It’s nothing. Do not panic,” the Emperor called out in a voice laced with anger.
Turning his head, he suddenly noticed two quivering figures crouched in the dim corner of the inner chamber. He scowled. “Who’s there?! Eavesdropping in the shadows—do you not value your lives?!”
Two junior eunuchs crawled forward in terror, explaining hastily, “We brought Lord Su into the hall at Your Majesty’s command. You also instructed us to keep an eye on him, lest he hear something halfway and rush out impulsively… Once Your Majesty entered and began speaking with him, we dared not interrupt, nor leave without permission. So we knelt quietly in the corner, waiting to speak only when bidden. We have erred, but we truly did not mean to eavesdrop. We beg Your Majesty for mercy!”
The Emperor recalled having given them orders—and forgotten them entirely. With a wave of his sleeve, he dismissed them. “Hold your tongues, and leave.”
The two kowtowed and scrambled out of the hall.
Su Yan, eyeing the broken wooden slats scattered across the floor, was visibly shaken. He stammered, “May… may I take my leave as well? It’s nearly the third watch. Your Majesty must rise early for court tomorrow…”
He bowed and began retreating. But the Emperor seized his robe and yanked him back with a cold smirk. “I may not be a god—but I don’t want to be your father either. What, do I seem too old for you now? Eighteen years your senior—you think I’m all desire and no strength, is that it?”
Su Yan turned pale. “Absolutely not! Your Majesty is in the prime of his life—”
“Flattering words don’t count. Why don’t I let you find out for yourself whether I’m old or not?”
Without giving Su Yan a chance to resist, the Emperor dragged him toward the bed. Su Yan struggled and pleaded, “You’re not old, not at all! Your Majesty is full of vigor—spare me!”
“You wanted to be my son?”
“No, no! I misspoke—it was a terrible lapse—I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness!”
With absurd ease, the Emperor threw the impertinent minister onto the bed. In contrast, Lord Su’s robes were in disarray, his cap askew, breath uneven, face flushing red then pale in turn, panic written across his features.
“If Your Majesty would punish me, I accept it gladly—just please, don’t scare me like this—”
“Wrong again. How can you call this scaring?” the Emperor said, voice unreadable as he leaned closer. “This… is called favor.”
—
Shen Qi, under the watch of two imperial guards, galloped through the silent night streets. His face was dark, lips tightly sealed. He said nothing—except to stop once at a tavern to buy a jug of strong wine.
At the gates of the Su residence, he dismounted in one fluid motion, wine in one hand, and knocked with the other.
It was late. The servants were likely asleep. He thought it would take a long time, but before long, Su Xiaojing’s voice came from inside. “Coming, coming! Is that the lord returned?”
Not home? Where would Qinghe be, this late? Unless… Shen Qi glanced sharply at the two guards on horseback. Neither had dismounted. They must have known all along that the master wasn’t here.
Su Xiaojing called a few more times. Hearing no reply, he muttered something and went back inside.
Shen Qi stepped off the stone steps and asked the guards, “Where is Lord Su Yan?”
The two exchanged a look. One finally replied, “We do not know.”
But Shen Qi could read them. They were lying. His face darkened. “If Lord Su isn’t home, I cannot complete my task. I shall return to the palace and report.”
Guard B frowned. “Lord Shen, if I may… a word of advice. Don’t return to the palace tonight.”
“…Then what about tomorrow?” Shen Qi asked. “Surely after court I can report to the Emperor?”
“Tomorrow? Who knows if His Majesty will even attend court tomorrow,” Guard A chuckled and winked. “Spring nights are short, and one rises late.”
Shen Qi’s expression shifted drastically. His voice was ice: “What are you implying?!”
Guard B glared at his companion, warning him to hold his tongue.
Without an imperial summons, entry into the palace was impossible. Shen Qi clenched his jaw and moved to knock again—to ask the servants directly where Su Yan had gone. But Guard A added, “No use. Can’t you see? This is the Emperor’s way of punishing you.”
Shen Qi ignored him and called out: “Su Xiaojing!”
The servant jumped at the voice. Upon opening the gate and seeing Shen Qi, he relaxed. “Lord Shen, what brings you here at this hour? Our lord isn’t home.”
“Where did he go?”
“About an hour ago, the imperial guards came with a message—His Majesty summoned him to the palace. He hasn’t returned since.” He leaned over and spotted the guards below the steps. “Oh! It’s you two gentlemen, isn’t it?”
Shen Qi turned to glare at the guards. Guard A made a mocking face.
“No more questions, I’ll be closing the gate now. When the lord returns, I’ll let him know you came by.” With that, the door slammed shut.
A dark, violent fire roared inside Shen Qi’s chest, held back only by sheer will. He asked the guards, “If this is His Majesty’s little game, why are you still following me?”
Guard B was about to speak, but Guard A scoffed, “Obviously to make sure you don’t storm the palace or cause some grand commotion that might ruin His Majesty’s… good mood.”
Shen Qi slowly unclenched his fists. His palms throbbed with pain, empty and aching, as if craving the hilt of a blade. His expression, however, calmed—taking on a still, deadly coldness. He said nothing. And rode off like a storm across snow.
The two imperial guards hurried to catch up. Guard B asked sharply, “Lord Shen, what are you doing? We’re just following orders—don’t make it hard on us.”
Shen Qi didn’t respond, only urged his horse on faster.
The guards relaxed slightly when they realized he wasn’t heading toward the palace, but instead veered eastward. Still, they were puzzled.
Shen Qi galloped all the way to the eastern market. From afar, he saw the wonton stall by the Tonghui River still lit by lantern light. A flicker of murderous intent flashed through his eyes.
He dismounted in front of the stall, walked over to the table, and sat down.
The two guards followed, still confused. Guard A scratched his head and laughed. “So it was just to eat wontons. Good, we’re hungry too. Boss, three bowls of pork wontons, make them big.”
They sat down on either side of the square table.
The vendor, a man with a dirty towel slung over his shoulder, ambled over. “Three bowls of pork wontons?”
“Didn’t we just say that? Are you deaf?” Guard A said impatiently.
“No,” Shen Qi said coldly. “One bowl. Pork wontons—without any filling.”
The two guards immediately frowned. “Lord Shen, it’s just a few copper coins. Do you have to be that stingy?”
The vendor stared at Shen Qi and slowly smiled. “Told you Lord Shen would come back.”
Shen Qi closed his eyes. When he opened them again, it was as if he had made a painful and momentous decision. “I didn’t just come back. I brought two tokens of loyalty.”
The two guards looked baffled. Guard A was just about to ask when Shen Qi’s embroidered Spring Blade rang as it left its sheath, plunging from beneath the table into Guard A’s abdomen before he could react.
Guard A was quick—he twisted his body just in time. The blade went into his side instead of a vital spot.
Shen Qi pulled the blade out. Blood splattered across the table and chairs. Guard A clutched the wound, staggering back as he drew his own sword.
Guard B lunged forward, slashing directly at Shen Qi.
The vendor backed away toward the wall, seemingly unfazed by the sudden bloodshed, still wearing a dumb, placid smile.
Shen Qi held his ground against both, even gaining the upper hand. He seized an opening and drove his blade straight through Guard A’s heart, then kicked him into the river.
Seeing the tide turn, Guard B tried to flee using qinggong, hoping to summon reinforcements.
Shen Qi grabbed a handful of chopsticks from the bamboo holder on the table and flung them in a scatter like deadly darts. Guard B spun his blade to deflect most, but one chopstick, like an iron spike, pierced straight through his throat.
Guard B tumbled from the rooftop and splashed into the river.
Shen Qi ran to the riverbank. In the reflection of the waning moon on the black water, blood slowly welled up from below, spreading out in dark, eerie tendrils.
The vendor came up behind him unhurriedly. “Need help fishing them out? I’m good at handling bodies.”
Shen Qi said, “Let the fish have them. No bodies, no trouble.”
The vendor chuckled. “Lord Shen, you’re ruthless. Decisive. A man fit for great things.”
“Are these two tokens enough?” Shen Qi asked.
“What if they aren’t?” the vendor countered. “Could you kill a few more?”
Shen Qi sneered. “You ever see someone pay the full amount when they’ve only just made a down payment? And besides—do you decide what’s enough? You’re just a gatekeeper.”
“You want to see the one above me?” the vendor asked. “Too bad. First, you’ll have to deal with Emperor Jinglong. Two imperial guards go missing without a trace—don’t you think he’ll investigate?”
“Who says they disappeared without a trace?” Shen Qi replied. “We were ambushed by the remnants of the Hidden Sword Sect. The two guards died heroically in battle. Couldn’t even retrieve their bodies. As for me… I was lucky. Only seriously injured.”
He pressed on his fractured rib, inhaled sharply, and added, “All I need now is a sword expert to stab a few holes in the right places.”
The vendor sighed in admiration. “Lord Shen, you truly are ruthless. No need to look any further. I’ve got someone right here—our top swordsman, sent just in case.”
He whistled oddly and called, “Number Twenty-Three!”
From the shadows emerged a ghost-like figure, as if he’d always been part of the darkness. Under his black hood, the young man’s face was expressionless. His eyes glowed a terrifying crimson—like those of a beast, cold and deadly, holding terrifying explosive force.
“This is ‘Crimson-Eyed Wuming,’” the vendor said proudly. “Top assassin of the Seven Kill Camp.”
