In the backyard of the doctor’s house, Su Yan saw Chen Shiyu lift the curtain and walk out. He hurriedly went to greet him and asked, “Mr. Yingxu, is he okay?”
Chen Shiyu bowed and sighed, “I’ve tried my best…”
Before he could finish his words, a patient from the front hall rushed in and shouted, “Doctor, my baby is dying! Quick, help!”
Chen Shiyu gave Su Yan an apologetic nod and hurried away.
Su Yan’s legs went weak. His mind was filled with scenes from television dramas of his past life—chief surgeons walking out of operating rooms, regretfully telling families: “We did everything we could.” He staggered and rushed through the curtain.
Behind the curtain was a large main hall divided into several consultation rooms, all with closed doors.
Without thinking, Su Yan pushed open the nearest door and saw a person on the examination bed, face and head already covered by a white cloth. He cried out, “Qilang!” Grief overwhelmed him, and the world went black. His body collapsed.
In the darkness, someone seemed to catch his falling body. A blurry voice called out, “Qinghe! Qinghe!”
Su Yan was trapped in breathless vertigo. His heartbeat was erratic, and his awareness seemed separated from the world by a thick veil of water. Any light or sound that seeped through came warped and distorted.
The voice kept calling persistently, and a warm stream of inner energy slowly flowed into his heart meridian from his back. Su Yan drew a long breath and opened his eyes, as if coming back from the dead.
He saw clearly that the speaker was Yu Wang. His lips moved, but no sound came out. His fingers clutched the man’s arm with a spasm-like grip.
Yu Wang was kneeling on the ground, holding Su Yan in his arms. Seeing some color finally return to his pale face, he continued transferring inner energy and reassured him, still shaken: “It’s alright… It wasn’t Shen Qi. That was my estate’s guard commander.”
Only then did Su Yan’s soul and spirit return to him. Regaining his breath, he asked urgently, “Where is Shen Qi?”
Yu Wang hesitated, then answered, “The innermost room.”
Su Yan scrambled to his feet and rushed out the door without another word.
Yu Wang gave a wry smile behind him.
This time, when Su Yan pushed open the door, he immediately saw Shen Qi lying on the bed, bare-chested and wrapped in bandages, lower body covered with a quilt, eyes closed in sleep. He strode quickly to the bedside and checked the pulse at Shen Qi’s neck—it was warm and steady.
A heavy weight finally lifted from his chest. He sat on a low stool beside the bed, covered Shen Qi’s hand with his palm, and his eyes welled with tears that had come too late.
When Chen Shiyu entered, he saw Su Yan silently weeping while holding Shen Qi’s hand and couldn’t help but sigh inwardly: Such deep affection, these young people.
He cleared his throat. Su Yan quickly let go of the hand, wiped his tears with his sleeve, and stood to bow: “Many thanks, Mister Yingxu, for saving his life.”
Chen Shiyu returned the gesture. “You’re too kind, Lord Su. It wasn’t that this old man’s skills were exceptional—Lord Shen’s physique is naturally strong, and his will to live extremely fierce. Though he suffered three sword wounds to vital areas, thankfully none struck his heart meridian. That’s what allowed him to survive.”
Cold sweat broke out down Su Yan’s back. He muttered, “Shen Qi is incredibly skilled… To be injured like this—how powerful must the attacker be!”
Chen Shiyu stroked his snow-white beard. “This old man does not practice martial arts, but I served as an army doctor for over ten years and followed His Highness Yu Wang for quite a while. I’ve picked up some insight. Judging from the wounds, the sword was unimaginably sharp—sharp enough to slice hair in midair—and the strikes were delivered at incredible speed. That’s why the cuts were clean, which actually made suturing easier.”
A master swordsman wielding a divine weapon—could he be one of the ‘Players’ as well? Su Yan worried silently. Was this a chance encounter, or has the enemy set their sights on Shen Qi?
On the bed, Shen Qi let out a low groan.
Chen Shiyu stepped forward to take his pulse and said, “He’s about to wake up. He was fed mandrake soup earlier—an ordinary person would stay unconscious for three or four hours, enough to get through the worst of the post-surgery pain. But it seems the medicine doesn’t work on him. Now he’ll have to endure it.”
Shen Qi’s brows were tightly furrowed, his face twisted in pain. The hand near the edge of the bed kept making a grasping motion. Su Yan quickly placed his own hand into his palm. Shen Qi gripped it, as if he had just swallowed some miraculous elixir, and immediately quieted down.
Seeing this, Chen Shiyu stroked his beard and chuckled. “This old man has other patients to tend to. Lord Su, why don’t you stay here and keep Lord Shen company? It may work even better than mandrake soup.”
Su Yan felt a bit embarrassed at his teasing, but fortunately the old doctor said no more and left the room on his own.
Shen Qi slowly opened his eyes. When Su Yan tried to rise, his hand was clasped tightly and wouldn’t let go.
“Don’t go…” Shen Qi said, his voice dry and hoarse.
“I won’t go. I’ll just fetch you a cup of water.”
“Don’t go,” Shen Qi repeated.
“All right, all right, I won’t go.” Su Yan sat back down on the bedside and laced their fingers together. “Does the wound hurt badly?”
Shen Qi gazed at him without blinking. “With you here, I don’t hurt.” Then he added, “That’s doctor’s orders.”
Su Yan wanted to thump him, but halfway raised his hand he drew it back, instead brushing his fingers over the bite mark at Shen Qi’s tiger’s mouth. The mark was still unhealed, its edges ragged—it was clearly new injury layered atop old, like an obsession that refused to be let go. Su Yan sighed. “You… do you have both a masochistic streak and a sadistic one?”
Shen Qi’s eyes flickered. “I am willing to accept anything my wife does to me in bed. If that counts as masochism, then I have it. Conversely, I would never do anything to harm my wife’s body or heart. If that counts as sadism, then I do not.”
Su Yan’s face flushed red. He pressed down on the unhealed bite mark at Shen Qi’s palm. “Already injured like this, and you’re still spouting indecent talk. You deserve to be in pain!”
After a thought, he added: “And who is your wife?!”
Shen Qi’s lips tugged into the semblance of a smile, cold sweat beading at his forehead. Su Yan used his sleeve to gently wipe it away, his heart aching with each moment, and asked, “Who hurt you?”
Shen Qi weighed whether to tell him. He relished the wholehearted care Su Yan was showing him right now, and didn’t want to spoil the moment by speaking another man’s name. But if he didn’t say it, and that man came again, Su Yan—unaware of the truth—might still treat him as a trusted guard, and that could endanger his life.
So he had no choice but to answer: “It was Jinghong Zhui.”
Su Yan froze. “Who?”
“Jinghong Zhui.”
“…”
Forcing himself to stay calm, Su Yan thought it over again and again, but still could not believe that Ah Zhui would plot behind his back to kill Shen Qi. Besides, Ah Zhui had previously gone to pursue Fuyin and vanished into the secret passage under Linhua Pavilion, never to be seen since. Whether he succeeded or failed, he ought to have returned to report. How could he suddenly appear in the night market, attempting to assassinate Shen Qi?
He thought of a possibility he really didn’t want to accept — Ah Zhui had fallen into the hands of the Seven Kill Camp and had once again become that emotionless killer who only knew how to carry out orders: “Wuming.”
“You tell me specifically—what was his condition when you saw him? Anything unusual?” Su Yan pressed.
Shen Qi thought for a moment and said, “A dead face with no expression. Uglier than before.”
Su Yan sighed helplessly. “At this point, can we stop insulting each other?”
Insulting? Shen Qi pointed to the wounds on his body.
Su Yan was left speechless.
Shen Qi added, “His eyes were blood red, just like those assassins who tried to kill the Crown Prince.”
“Blood eyes?” Su Yan’s heart skipped a beat. “He’s been consumed by that cultivation technique again—fallen into qi deviation?”
“Again? So he’s had a qi deviation before, and you knew? You were there?” Shen Qi narrowed his eyes in displeasure. “Those blood-eyed assassins are like beasts that only know how to kill. You’ve seen what a mad dog he becomes, and yet you still kept him by your side? Qinghe, are you so fond of putting yourself in danger? Do you want me to worry all the time?”
Afraid Shen Qi would start interrogating the details of the night Ah Zhui lost control, Su Yan quickly apologized, “It was my fault—I should’ve told you earlier. That cultivation technique called ‘Nightmare Enchantment’… I suspect there’s something seriously wrong with it…”
He then described the cultivation method in detail and said, “Ah Zhui promised me he’d never use it again, so I trusted him. He’s a man who keeps his word. If he’s turned into a blood-eyed killer again, there’s got to be something fishy going on. Tell me—could it be the Seven Kill Camp has some secret method that causes their assassins to fall into deviation even without actively using the technique?”
Shen Qi pondered deeply, then suddenly said, “Drugs!”
“…Right!” Su Yan also recalled. “That crazed assassin’s ramblings weren’t entirely nonsense—he said, ‘Time to take the medicine, take the medicine, be obedient.’ The Seven Kill Camp doesn’t just use dark arts, they also use secret drugs to control their assassins. Ah Zhui must’ve fallen into their trap!”
Now convinced he was on the right track, Su Yan’s thoughts became even clearer. “Fuyin isn’t as skilled as Ah Zhui—he wouldn’t be able to take him down. Ah Zhui wouldn’t hesitate to trap him; he wouldn’t be deceived so easily. That leaves only one possibility: there was another expert in that tunnel who subdued Ah Zhui.”
Shen Qi said, “Jinghong Zhui may act like a dead dog and a mad dog, but his martial skill is top-tier. Among elite fighters, he still ranks high. When he fought me last night, he had only some superficial wounds, which means whoever he encountered the previous night subdued him without much effort. That person’s skill must be unfathomable.”
“Could that person be… the leader of the Seven Kill Camp?” Su Yan speculated.
Shen Qi had the same suspicion and blurted out, “Brain Worm.”
Su Yan laughed. “You actually remember the nonsense I made up?”
“I remember everything you say,” Shen Qi replied.
At the doorway, someone clicked their tongue sharply. Su Yan turned his head and saw Yu Wang leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and expression dark.
“Why is Your Highness here?” Su Yan asked, only then recalling that the corpse in the outermost examination room had been Yu Wang’s guard commander.
Yu Wang stepped into the room. “So, you remember now?”
Su Yan, having just been helped by the prince, didn’t want to seem ungrateful. He stood and cupped his hands. “Thank you, Your Highness. I was reckless earlier and made a scene.”
Yu Wang waved a hand, signaling it was no big deal, though inwardly he was sour: Reckless? You were just frantic with worry. Too bad Shen Qi didn’t die—your grief-stricken little widow act was wasted.
He grumbled internally but didn’t dare say it aloud. Thinking of Su Yan’s earlier collapse still gave him chills. He silently cursed himself for giving directions in the heat of the moment.
“Why did your guard commander have an accident?” Su Yan asked, assuming it wasn’t a mere illness if he was brought to a surgical clinic.
Yu Wang’s expression turned grim. “At the end of the shenshi hour last night, Chu Yuan came to the prince’s manor to inform me that the Emperor would soon arrive in disguise. He also said that informants had reported remnants of the Hidden Sword Sect nearby and urged me to tighten security. I immediately summoned all the manor’s guards. Han Ben, as the commander, should have been the first to arrive upon receiving the order, but he never showed up.
“After the Emperor left the manor and returned to the palace, I ordered a search for Han Ben. This morning, we found his corpse in a house he had rented.
“Doctor Chen confirmed that he died from a poisoned short sword, shaped unusually—barely over a foot long, like a needle or spike. He was stabbed in the abdomen, but there were no signs of struggle. I suspect the killer was someone he knew, or someone he trusted, which is why he was caught off guard.”
Su Yan asked with a frown, “Was there anyone or anything else at the scene?”
“Based on dust patterns on the ground, there was likely a second corpse. Perhaps Han Ben managed to kill the attacker with a counterstrike before dying. But we don’t know who took that second body—and the murder weapon is also missing,” Yu Wang replied.
Su Yan considered this, then asked, “What was Han Ben’s relationship with Fuyin—he went by the alias ‘Yin Fu’ in your manor, correct?”
Yu Wang’s face clouded, both furious and grieving. “Han Ben always protected that brat, maybe even had feelings for him. I warned him, but in the end, this is what happened… Are you saying the other body might be Yin Fu?”
Su Yan nodded. “Fuyin was cornered by Ah Zhui and hid in Han Ben’s rental. They happened to run into each other. I don’t believe Han Ben protected him to the very end—otherwise, he wouldn’t have died by his hand.”
Yu Wang sighed deeply. “Han Ben followed me for fifteen years, since I was just a—ah, never mind.”
Su Yan saw he was genuinely upset and felt bad himself. He tried to keep a rational tone. “The one who took Fuyin’s body was likely someone from the Seven Kill Camp. But there’s one thing I find suspicious.”
“What is it?” Yu Wang asked.
“Chu Yuan claimed he got word from informants that Hidden Sword Sect remnants were nearby. That message came rather suddenly—was it real? If true, then the so-called ‘remnant’ might have referred to the wounded and hiding Fuyin. But if false, then it was likely a ploy to draw Chu Yuan away from the Emperor’s side. But for what purpose? Assassination? Yet nothing happened that night.”
Su Yan fell into deep thought.
Shen Qi’s gaze turned dark and profound. He knew exactly what the other side was up to—squeezing out the last bit of use from Fuyin, luring Chu Yuan away, and then having Gao Shuo deliver the message to him. The goal: to make him believe that it was Chu Yuan who was tailing him, and that the emperor already knew about his secret meetings with Ning Wang’s contact.
This would force him, in a bid to clear his name, to enter the palace and report Ning Wang—falling straight into a trap of sowing discord, which would only deepen the emperor’s suspicion that he was framing a prince with ulterior motives.
In that case, he’d have only one path left to survive: to fully commit to the power behind his contact.
—They’d succeeded.
Now, on the surface, he remained the emperor’s trusted Embroidered Uniform Guard officer, chief of the Northern Surveillance Bureau. But in truth, he had become a hidden pawn embedded in the court, waiting for the right moment to act.
Emperor Jinglong was a shrewd strategist, but clearly, the other side had made the superior move. What kind of showdown would this ultimately lead to? As this thought took root in Shen Qi’s mind, he even felt a grim excitement.
He looked toward Su Yan—so long as he could ensure Qinghe’s safety, there was nothing he wouldn’t do.
